‘Sayrid, I marry a woman—not a man. Find a dress.’

Sayrid stared at Hrolf uncomprehendingly. ‘A dress?’

‘You do own a dress…don’t you?’

She released a breath and offered a prayer up to all the goddesses in the Aesir and Vanir. At last—a way to postpone the evil day with dignity. Somehow she’d discover what he truly wanted before she started believing that he wanted her. She could use this to buy time and find a solution to the mess. It wasn’t over until the ceremony was done.

‘My best dress is at home. What a pity. We will have to name another day, when I can be attired in the sort of clothes fit for a sea king’s bride.’

‘Borrow one.’ A glint showed in his eyes as he raked her form. ‘Or come naked. But I marry a woman. Today.’

AUTHOR NOTE

This story came about because I love seeing how women survived in male-dominated professions in bygone eras. So when I discovered it is highly probable that there were Viking shield maidens—aka female warriors—I knew what my next heroine Sayrid Avildotta would be.

While I was writing this book I was able to visit the Viking exhibit at the British Museum and see some of the artefacts there, such as ships, swords and several hordes of gold and silver. All exciting stuff. However, the Viking skull with filed teeth did make me wince …

The book from the exhibit—Vikings: Life and Legend—which details the latest research on Viking life, was also useful in answering several questions about the current thinking on certain aspects of Viking culture (for example, the misidentification of various pendants as Valkyries when they could easily be a depiction of real shield maidens).

I do hope you enjoy this tale of a shield maiden and the warrior who shows that she can be a woman as well as a warrior.

As ever, I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website www.michellestyles.co.uk, my blog www.michellestyles.blogspot.com or my publisher. I also have a page on Facebook—Michelle Styles Romance Author—where I regularly post my news. And I’m on Twitter as @michelleLstyles

Taming His Viking Woman

Michelle Styles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE STYLES was born and raised near San Francisco, California. She currently lives near Hadrian’s Wall with her husband, a menagerie of pets and occasionally one of her three university-aged children. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance after discovering Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt. Her website is www.michellestyles.co.uk and she’s on Twitter and Facebook.

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For my aunt Sandra K Erickson

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Historical Note

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

AD 830—north-east Sweden

Sayrid Avildottar stood in the ice-cold pond, fish spear raised, her eyes on a particularly large sea trout.

She and trout were old adversaries. Fishing helped to hone her eye and her hand when she was at home as well as providing food for the table. And out here in the pond, no one ever complained that she was far too tall, too clumsy or too unwomanly. Not that anyone did much these days. She’d proved her worth with five seasons of profitable sea voyages.

It was amazing how quickly people fell silent when you had gold in your purse, a reputation as a canny trader and a sword by your side that you knew how to use.

The jaarl would surely relent and allow her to lead a felag further east where fortunes truly could be made, instead of always trading with Birka and having to pay tribute to the various sea kings who prowled the sea lanes. And after that, she would never need to go on a voyage again. She would be able to stay at home and make sure her lands were safe. It would give her half-brother, Regin, time to become the capable warrior that she knew he could be and give her half-sister time to choose the warrior she married, instead of being forced into an unwise alliance with a man who had little respect for her.

She simply had to work out a way to make the jaarl see it was in his best interest.

The trout spun round and started back towards her, making its final bid for freedom. Sayrid balanced on her toes, waiting for that precise heartbeat when her spear would be most effective.

‘Sayrid! Sayrid!’ Her half-brother’s voice resounded about the pond at the very instant she was about to thrust the spear.

The spear fell harmlessly into the pond and the fish flashed away.

‘This had better be good, Regin,’ Sayrid called back, retrieving the spear and vowing that next time the old trout would not get away so lightly. ‘You’ve cost me a fish supper.’

‘Blodvin has sent an urgent message about the marriage.’

‘What can be important about that?’ Sayrid peered into the water, trying to spot the trout again. ‘The bride price was sworn last jul-tide. It was more than it should have been, but dewy eyes, honeyed curls and a sizeable portion of land come at a price.’

Svear custom dictated that before any marriage could take place, the groom paid a bride price to his intended’s family to show that he was capable of supporting her and any children in the appropriate manner. In return her family paid a dowry which he could use during his lifetime, but which reverted to the woman and her children at his death or after a divorce. The amount exchanged usually cancelled each other out.

‘Sayrid. Is that all you can think about—how much gold my marriage will cost this family? It is my future happiness at stake here.’

Sayrid rested her elbow on top of the spear. Gods save her from her family. Ever since her younger brother, Regin, had fallen for Blodvin, he’d changed and become more apt than normal to stare off into space.

‘I’ll forgive you supper, but stop panicking. Come the next Storting you’ll be married. Even Ingvar Flokison the Bloodaxe would not dare cross our family, not after the bride price has been agreed. That’s all I’m saying...’ She detected a slight movement in the water. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I have a bone to pick with this trout.’

‘Sayrid, look at me instead of dismissing me. Please.’

Sayrid turned around and winced at Regin’s tragic expression. Thankfully their father was no longer there to mock.

‘Regin, what is wrong?’ she asked in a far gentler tone. There was little point in rehearsing her old arguments against a match with Blodvin. Regin had made up his mind and his stubborn streak rivalled her own. It was why they had been able to face their father down years ago when he had tried to use his fists on their sister, Auda, when she could barely walk. ‘What new demand has Bloodaxe made? Whatever it is, I’ll deliver it. You know me and my ways. I always hate being disturbed when I’m fishing.’

‘She is marrying someone else.’

Sayrid froze. ‘Who? Who thinks they can cross this family without retribution?’

‘Hrolf Eymundsson. Her father doesn’t dare refuse him as he is a sea king with half a dozen ships under his command.’ Regin clutched his hair with both his hands. ‘I can’t lose her, Sayrid.’

‘What?’ Sayrid stood up straighter. ‘Whose idea of a joke is this? Hrolf Eymundsson isn’t here. The jaarl would have informed me. He would have requested my help in defending our village.’

‘Hrolf and our jaarl exchanged peace rings at Birka. They are allied against Lavrans and his Viken raiders.’

‘I heard about that.’ Sayrid scowled. If she had been there, she’d have counselled against it. Once a marauding sea king, always one. But she had been in Ribe with the Danes, seeing whether that market was any better than Birka, and the jaarl had followed his instincts. She had to hope that Hrolf the Sea-Rider would honour his pledges and deal with the threat from Lavrans. However, she suspected given time he’d prove the same as every other sea king she’d encountered—an oaf with an overinflated opinion of his self-worth and an insatiable desire for gold, leading to demands for more tribute. The jaarl had been less than pleased when she had voiced her opinion on the subject.

‘Hrolf arrived for a visit to cement the alliance two weeks ago.’ Her brother gave her a sharp look. ‘I thought you saw the jaarl when you returned.’

‘We spoke of other things.’ Sayrid concentrated on keeping her face blank. There was no need for Regin to know how badly the interview had gone and how she’d stormed out. ‘What does this alliance have to do with Blodvin?’

‘Eymundsson spotted Blodvin as soon as he stepped foot on our shores and made an offer that day. Her father wants the better match.’

‘Better match indeed! The dirty scoundrel! We have already paid part of the bride price!’ Sayrid gave vent to her anger and frustration at being kept in the dark about the sea king’s visit and threw the spear with all her might. It stuck deep in the mud, quivering. ‘No one cheats Ironfist’s children.’

‘Because of you, not me.’ Her brother plucked the spear out of the mud and held it out to her. ‘I’m the one she is supposed to marry. I’m not even head of the household. You hold that title by being a shield maiden.’

‘An agreement is an agreement.’ Sayrid crossed her arms and silently willed her brother not to cry any more. ‘Blodvin chose you above all her other suitors.’

‘Hrolf Eymundsson is another proposition altogether. You know his reputation as well as I. He came from nothing in a few years to commanding ships and a horde of Byzantium gold.’

‘Fortune’s wheel can turn sour just as quickly,’ she said. ‘Maybe his time has passed and yours is about to begin.’

Regin hung his head. ‘You know what I’m like in personal combat.’

‘That is all in your mind. Because of what happened when you were ten.’ Sayrid climbed out of the pond. ‘There is very little to wonder why your opponent won. He was a full-blooded warrior and you a mere boy. Far should never have forced you.’

Her father had a lot to answer for. He had been too quick with his fists and tongue, taking particular pleasure in tormenting her younger brother. He had only stopped when she had stood up to him, waving a sword in his face and threatening to use it. He’d retaliated by beating her until her back was bloody, but he had left Regin alone.

It wasn’t his fists she had feared, but his cruel tongue. The worst was when he had proclaimed that any man could have her and all his property as her dowry without paying the customary bride price if they could defeat her in combat.

What a start to her career as a shield maiden it had been! Fighting off a fat drunken imbecile while everyone laughed. The jeers had turned to respectful silence when she met the next contestant, a respected but elderly warrior and disarmed him as well, followed by a young warrior. After that, the challenges had dried up.

‘But Far said—’

‘Far said a lot of stupid things,’ Sayrid couldn’t help but reply. ‘Now he is dead from drinking far too much ale. He can’t hurt you again. Ever.’

‘But...but...’ Her brother swallowed nervously.

‘Our family prospers. Didn’t Jaarl Kettil say how pleased he is with the amount of gold we brought back from our latest trading voyage?’ Sayrid attempted a bright smile. ‘You contributed to it.’

Regin shrugged. ‘I’m still not a great warrior like Far wanted. Kettil will eventually demand a seasoned warrior, one who can lead felags and hold this land, not just a shield maiden.’

‘You’ve other talents,’ Sayrid said before Regin listed his perceived failings as a warrior or Kettil’s stubborn refusal to allow her to lead a felag to the East. ‘You acquitted yourself well in Tønsberg. You saved the lodestone from being washed overboard on that wave.’

He gave a sad smile. ‘That was pure luck and we’d never have been near those rocks if I’d paid attention.’

‘You’re skilled at languages.’

Regin’s nostrils flared slightly, reminding Sayrid of a high-strung horse who was about to refuse to get on board ship. ‘Hrolf will challenge with the sword, not with verses of poetry.’

Sayrid stared at her brother. Where had his backbone gone? If he loved Blodvin as he claimed, he should be willing to fight for her. ‘Panicking never solves anything. You’re seventeen now, not an untried lad attending his first assembly. Every man has a weakness. Study him, find it and exploit it if you want the woman.’

‘Blodvin thinks she might be pregnant.’

Sayrid froze. ‘Yours?’

Regin went pink about his ears and he gave a slow nod. ‘Three months ago at the summer festival. It was the only time, I swear it, but she was so sweet in my arms.’

‘Blodvin’s father is a snake and not to be trusted, which is why you should have exercised restraint,’ she said between gritted teeth before Regin could give her the intimate details. ‘Wait, I said. Wait until you were safely married because of the possibilities of complications. Did I have to spell out what those complications were?’

‘Blodvin expects me to face down Hrolf and claim her and the babe.’ A nervous tic began in Regin’s right eye as it always did when he contemplated fighting. ‘Or I’m not the warrior she thought I was. She wants me to do it when they marry.’

‘Marching into a wedding and snatching the bride will cause a major feud, assuming you even get out alive. I forbid it.’ Sayrid concentrated on breathing. That woman would get her brother killed or, worse, start a feud which lasted generations. ‘Why wait until I was fishing to tell me?’

Regin hung his head. His blond curls fell forward, hiding his face. Unlike Sayrid, who took after their tall, strong father, Regin took after his mother and was far shorter. Their father used to say he’d been doubly cursed—his eldest daughter was taller than most men and his only son prettier than most women.

‘The message arrived this morning.’ The sunlight streamed on Regin, giving him a halo of golden curls. ‘Blodvin makes me feel like I have the strength of ten men.’

‘Blodvin can send the child here when it is time. I would never turn one of your children away.’ She held out her hands and willed her brother to take them. She knew her words were harsh, but the last thing she wanted was for her brother to be declared outlaw or worse over a flighty woman. ‘In time, you will see that this was the best course. The Norns will have a different woman in mind for you.’

Regin turned his head away. ‘There won’t be other women for me. I love Blodvin with all my heart.’

‘So speak all lovers until they meet the next woman.’ She waited for Regin’s sheepish smile.

His eyes burnt with a bright flame. ‘It’s only because you’ve never been in love that you make jokes.’

‘Me in love? Gods forbid. I have a household to run and hungry mouths to feed.’ Love was something that happened to women who didn’t tower over all the men and who knew how to dance prettily and pour the drink with the right amount of simpering deference. Her father’s scorn for once had held a ring of truth.

‘Some day, Sayrid, you will know what it is like to have your heart ripped out.’

‘I’m a shield maiden. First and foremost. I won’t marry unless the man can defeat me in combat. The jaarl agreed to my pledge.’ Sayrid made a practice throw of her fishing spear. She’d turned her father’s cruel jest around and had made it a virtue. ‘Don’t distract me with discussions about my future. What do you intend to do, if you won’t challenge Hrolf for the fair Blodvin’s hand? Sail east?’

The pleading expression on Regin’s face became truly heartbreaking. ‘This is also an insult to the family. Bloodaxe will say he broke the agreement because...’

‘Because I am unnatural and lead this house with my sword arm. Should I be sticking to my spinning and weaving, and wringing my hands when we lose everything to some arrogant sea king who sails into the harbour demanding tribute?’ Sayrid finished before Regin had a chance to say the words. ‘Because I am talented at the arts of war instead of those of love?’

‘Going Viking isn’t what women do.’ Regin coughed. ‘You have to admit my mother had a point.’

White-hot anger flashed through Sayrid. She had rejoiced the day her stepmother had remarried and moved more than a week’s march to the south, taking her poisonous tongue with her. ‘Funny how that excuse springs so readily to people’s lips. They like to forget the trade and wealth our ships bring.’

Regin drew a line with his foot. ‘Her father disapproves of you, but I don’t. That is not what I was going to say. He will claim it is because I delayed the marriage and he worried about the agreed price being paid. If we had done as he wanted, I would have married at jul.’

‘His wool sacks were light and I won’t pay good gold for less than the full measure. A man who will cheat on such things, will cheat on his daughter’s dowry.’ Sayrid put her hands on Regin’s shoulders and looked down at his watering eyes. ‘We delayed the marriage because Bloodaxe had difficulties with the dowry and Blodvin wanted to have her dress properly embroidered. Not because of anything we did wrong. The jaarl knows the truth.’ She paused. ‘It is something to unsettle you so that we will accept a lower dowry.’

Regin slammed his fists together. ‘I will marry Blodvin with or without your help...or die trying.’

Sayrid pretended to fiddle with the fishing spear. ‘After I’ve forbidden it?’

Her brother’s face took on his stubborn look. ‘I’ll go anyway.’

‘I won’t rescue you.’

His face fell. ‘Maybe this time I won’t need rescuing.’

A brief laugh escaped her throat. ‘Regin! Think!’

‘I love her, Say. I can’t stand aside and let her be married to someone like Hrolf Eymundsson.’

Sayrid mentally said goodbye to a quiet few weeks fishing and planning how to be put in charge of a felag. ‘If it means that much to you, then we will see if Blodvin needs rescuing. But if the lady wishes to be married to Hrolf Eymundsson, we leave her there and walk away. Agreed?’

Instantly, her brother’s face became wreathed in smiles. ‘I knew you’d do it. I told Auda you’d help.’

‘And, Regin, this is the last time...’

* * *

Hrolf Eymundsson watched his host and hostess from under his hooded eyes. They were hiding something from him. He could tell from the way they kept glancing at each other and then glancing at the door. ‘Is there some reason why you want the marriage to happen tomorrow?’

The sweat had beaded on Ingvar the Bloodaxe’s forehead and he signalled to his wife that he wanted his horn of ale refilling. ‘An agreed bride price and my daughter is everything you could wish for in a wife—accomplished and beautiful. Why wait?’

Hrolf inclined his head. When he’d returned from his latest felag to find Inga’s mother dead and Inga barely able to speak his language, he’d known that he had to take steps. He required a wife with land, particularly land with good access to the sea, but more than that he wanted his daughter brought up by a woman who understood what it meant to be Svear. It was why he’d returned to this land, rather than marry one of the women along the Rus trading route. As his uncle had explained many years ago, wives had a defined role and purpose. And although he had never particularly wanted to marry, it was the only way to keep his daughter and growing empire safe.

The bride price was slightly steeper than he would have wished, but Bloodaxe’s daughter had a number of suitors, according to the mother. Taking a bride from this area would demonstrate to Kettil that he was serious about their alliance—these shores would be protected from the menace that was his rival sea king, Lavrans. Unlike Lavrans, who continually demanded more tribute if he felt an ally was weak, Hrolf prided himself on honouring agreements to the best of his ability.

He had spied Blodvin looking after some children when he disembarked from his ship. She was pretty enough, with a vague look of Inga’s mother about her, and had responded to his query with a sweet smile. When he learnt her name and that she was unmarried, it seemed the Norns had blessed him. Bloodaxe and his father had been close once in the old days before his father lost his lands and his title... Hrolf gripped the drinking horn tighter.

He had righted old wrongs and paid off the debts he owed. He was now a sea king who ruled the waves. And Bloodaxe was right—what more did he want? His daughter was the correct woman to mother his Inga.

‘Blodvin is the proper sort of woman to be on a sea king and future jaarl’s arm!’ the mother said with a loud sniff. ‘I knew the Norns had a special future marked out for her.’

Hrolf took another draught of the indifferent ale. ‘Your daughter has no objections? We’ve barely spoken.’

The man and his wife exchanged quick glances.

‘Blodvin is quite shy.’ Bloodaxe slapped his chest and emitted a loud belch. ‘But she will make the ideal wife. She has spent years stocking her wedding chest. She knows all there is to know about housekeeping. Children adore her. Once she knows the match has been finalised, she’ll be more than eager to have her wedding night.’

Every sinew of his body urged caution, but there was no reason to suspect anything was amiss with the woman.

‘You, of course, know your daughter best.’

The faint sound of a creaking door caused Hrolf to stiffen. Instinctively he grasped the hilt of his knife. But neither Bloodaxe nor his wife appeared to take any notice of the sound. Hrolf forced his shoulders to relax. He’d lived for too long amongst warriors and raiders where any unusual sound could mean an enemy attack.

‘I’d like to meet your daughter formally before we finalise the agreement.’ He inclined his head. ‘For courtesy. I’m sure she is as you describe her.’

‘Get her, Wife. The time is right.’ Bloodaxe’s smile widened. ‘You’ll see that I speak the truth, Hrolf the Sea-Rider. Tomorrow night, you’ll have your bride warming your bed.’

Bloodaxe’s wife made a quick curtsy, but there was a nervous tic in her right eye. ‘Blodvin has longed for this day.’

She scurried from the room. Deciding he’d exhausted Bloodaxe’s limited range of small talk, Hrolf wandered over to the small window. In the fading light, he spied two cloaked figures entering the yard.

An owl hooted and the first figure hurried off. The other cloaked figure stood still in the shadows, listening, clearly up to no good.

Three heartbeats later, a woman’s scream echoed around the room. Hrolf drew his sword.

‘Husband! Blodvin has escaped from her room!’

‘I locked her in the barn myself after she heard about the rumoured match,’ Bloodaxe thundered. ‘This is the last time she behaves in this fashion! She will obey me.’

‘Shall I go and check the barn and see if my bride is still there?’ Hrolf enquired in a silken tone.

* * *

The gods were with her on this venture. Sayrid released the breath she’d been holding all the way from the river as the entire farm yard was bathed in silence except for the noise coming out of the barn.

Bloodaxe was utterly predictable in his hiding places. Blodvin was locked in the barn, loudly bemoaning her fate.

‘Blodvin, it’s Sayrid. Can you be quiet while I get this door open? You are making it impossible to think.’

‘Sayrid! Why are you here?’

‘Your maid delivered a message to Regin, begging for help.’ Sayrid struggled with the bolt. ‘Your prayers have been answered.’

‘My father is about to marry me off to Hrolf Eymundsson. I overheard them plotting the other night and just had time to send Tove off before he locked me up. Hrolf is nothing but a grizzled old sea king! Rescue me, please!’

Sayrid put her weight into the bolt and it shot free. She opened the door with a loud creak. ‘If you want to leave, then go and find your life.’

Blodvin rushed forward and gave Sayrid a crushing hug. ‘I’ll be your devoted follower forever, if you get me out of here unscathed. They want to marry me off before the next Storting, so Far can have the gold to pay his debts. Hrolf the Sea-Rider agreed to pay double what you were going to pay. Can you imagine?’

Sayrid stepped out of the overly familiar embrace, feeling overgrown and awkward around the much smaller woman. ‘I sent word asking for an emergency gathering of the Assembly.’

‘You’re far too good to me.’ Blodvin gave a long sigh. ‘Where is my beloved? Where is Regin?’

Sayrid stepped backwards and accidentally kicked a bucket over. Why was it that she could lead her men in battle and never put a foot wrong, but in the company of other women, she always seemed to be the one to make the mistake?

Blodvin covered her mouth as the bucket rolled.

‘We go now.’ Sayrid gripped Blodvin’s arm. ‘Regin waits on the river for you. He has a rowboat and will get you to our ship. I’ll take care of any problems.’

Blodvin tried to peer around Sayrid. ‘But Regin is with you? My beloved who pledged his life to me?’

Sayrid fought against the urge to be sick. She had forgotten how sickly sweet Blodvin was. Love was truly a condition she never wanted to suffer from.

‘Regin loves you,’ she said roughly. ‘But I’ll not have his hide nailed to the barn door.’

Blodvin nibbled her bottom lip. ‘I wanted my future husband to rescue me.’

‘Either you come with me and be Regin’s wife or I leave you here.’

‘I’ll come! I want to!’ Blodwin linked her arm with Sayrid’s. ‘We’ll be sisters and it doesn’t matter what anyone says about you. You’re saving me from a fate far worse than death.’

Sayrid hooted like an owl. Instantly Regin returned the call. The tightness in Sayrid’s shoulders eased. Everything was going to plan. ‘There is Regin’s signal. He waits for you.’

They had rounded the corner when a woman’s scream rent the air. Blodvin froze.

‘They’ve discovered I’ve gone! We’re doomed.’

‘Run, Blodvin, run!’ Sayrid grabbed the woman’s arm and started to pull her along. ‘Now is not the time to have second thoughts.’

‘But they’ll catch us.’

‘Not if I’ve anything to do with it. Go to the river. Tell Regin to cast off. I can swim.’

Sayrid shoved Blodvin forward, drew her sword and started to retreat. Each backward step was another victory. With any luck, Bloodaxe would not think to look in the river until it was far too late.

The sound of heavy footsteps caused her to freeze.

‘Who goes there?’ a commanding voice called out.

‘A stranger going about her business.’ Sayrid winced. She should have just said nothing, but she had to give Blodvin time to reach the river and safety. And she was willing to bet that at any more than the slightest hint of trouble, Blodvin would collapse in a heap. ‘What is it to you?’

In the dull light, an unfamiliar Northman stepped forward. His blue eyes gleamed. Hrolf Eymundsson, perhaps, or one of his men? He was far too well dressed to be one of Bloodaxe’s servants.

‘You have taken something which does not belong to you.’

Sayrid shook her head to clear it. Now was not the time to notice his broad shoulders or the way his light brown hair flowed. Or that his height was equal to hers. Or to wonder about his name. Now was the time to save her life and to get out of there without encountering Ingvar the Bloodaxe.

‘Why would I have done that? I’ve every respect for those who dwell here.’

‘A mystery to me, but here you are on this moonlit night.’

‘Perhaps I fancied a stroll?’ Her voice was a bit too breathless for her liking. She gave a little cough. ‘Walking after supper is good for you.’

‘Unlikely. I’ve no time for games.’ His gaze raked her form, making her aware of her slight curves. ‘Even with a Valkyrie such as yourself.’

Sayrid pulled the cloak tighter about her body. Normally she never thought about such things, but the way he looked at her made her intensely aware that she was a woman.

The faint sound of oars slapping the water gave her courage. Blodvin and Regin were safe.

‘No idea what you are talking about.’ Sayrid made a steady shrug, but her heart thrummed. Encountering a legendary sea king had not featured in her plan, but she could still make it work if she kept calm. ‘If you’ll forgive me, I’ve business elsewhere.’

‘I would speak with my intended bride. Fetch her.’

Sayrid sucked in her breath. Blodvin definitely needed her eyesight adjusting if she thought Hrolf Eymundsson grizzled in any shape or fashion. He might not be in the first flush of youth, but he was very easy on the eye.

‘Find a willing bride.’

The dimple in his cheek increased. ‘Are you offering to take her place?’

‘Hardly!’ She slowly curled and uncurled her hands to stop them trembling. ‘Next time, make sure the bride has not irrevocably pledged her heart to another.’

‘Her father claims she is free.’

Sayrid rolled her eyes upwards. ‘Ask him who else has paid the bride price.’

‘Shall we ask him together? You and I, Valkyrie?’

Time to melt into the shadows. Sayrid took another step backwards. All her muscles tensed, ready for the final piece of her escape. All she needed was one more step. ‘Another time.’

The warrior reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her back against him. ‘The truth...Valkyrie. Why have you kidnapped my bride? What grudge do you hold against me?’

She matched his furious blue gaze with one of her own. ‘Ask Bloodaxe why he sought to cheat my family.’

He looked puzzled, but then a wide smile broke out over his face, transforming it. Her heart skipped a beat and her entire being was aware of him as a man. Sayrid angrily damped down the feeling. ‘Your grievance is with Bloodaxe, not me. But you should take this to the Storting and allow the jaarl to resolve it.’

‘You expect him to rule in your favour, Sea King? The jaarl is a man of law who won’t rule in favour of whoever pays him the most gold.’

Hrolf froze. The split heartbeat of hesitation allowed Sayrid to twist her arm out of his grip and start sprinting for the river.

Behind her, she heard the pounding of his footsteps, but she kept on running.

Five steps from the river, a heavy weight landed on her shoulder and spun her around. ‘Try that again and I won’t be responsible for the consequences.’

His furious face was inches from hers. Their breath laced and she was aware of his muscle-bound arms imprisioning her.

Sayrid forced her shoulders to relax as she scanned the darkened river. She spotted her brother’s rowboat, moving downstream. All she had to do was to let the current take her—the backup plan she’d worked out with Regin.

She leant forward. Her breasts accidently brushed his chest, making her body tingle. For one long heartbeat, an intense awareness of his lips filled her. If she slanted her head slightly to the right, their mouths would meet. She checked the movement with less than a breath to spare. ‘I will take the consequences.’

Ducking, she wriggled free from his now-slack arm and tore the few yards to the river. Wading into thigh-deep water, she executed a perfect dive.

Hrolf stared at the dark river, willing the woman to resurface. He’d miscalculated badly. His entire being had wanted to taste her deep red lips and he’d allowed her to escape. He had no business calling himself a sea king if he behaved like an untried warrior who had never bedded a woman before.

Then he saw her head break out of the water as she drifted towards a small rowing boat. Someone pulled her aboard. Over the water, the sounds of laughter floated back.

Hrolf tightened his grip on his sword. ‘This is the beginning, Valkyrie, not the end. No one plays me for a fool.’

Chapter Two

Sayrid’s soft kid boots made a satisfying sound as she strode towards the Assembly Hall. She wore her new leather trousers with the dark green tunic Auda had made for her last birthday belted over them. Her cape swung slightly. Everything was designed to give the impression of supreme confidence, even though her insides churned.

She had considered all eventualities. Blodvin wore her morning gift of two arm rings and a necklace. At Sayrid’s insistence, Blodvin had arranged her clothes so the pregnancy was evident to even the most casual observer. Blodvin and Regin were both prepared to swear a solemn oath that Regin was her chosen husband and she wished for no other. Surely Bloodaxe would do the decent thing and not demand Regin be declared outlaw for stealing away his only child.

Once the jaarl had declared in her favour, she would invite everyone to the wedding feast. Even now, the servants prepared the meat under Auda’s expert direction. And it would be a celebration of the joining of two families, not a lament for Regin’s death.

‘I’d wondered if you’d show, Valkyrie.’

Sayrid missed a step. The trouble was that she had momentarily forgotten about him and the probability of his being at the Assembly. And now the man who had recently featured in her dreams leant against the side of the building. Why was he not sitting quietly next to Ingvar Bloodaxe or, better still, departing from these shores in search of another bride?

‘Hrolf Eymundsson.’ She met his dark blue gaze without flinching. ‘Little point in arriving early and wasting my time.’

‘Sayrid Avildottar.’ He inclined his head so that his light brown hair flowed down his face, hiding his eyes. ‘Valkyrie suits you better. After all, you are the shield maiden who controls the magically secured harbour. How many raiders have lost their ships trying?’

‘Three came to grief after my father’s death, but it was more poor seamanship on their part than magic on mine.’

‘That is not what the gossips say.’

Her heart gave a little flutter, but then it sank. She knew what the gossips said about her and her lifestyle. ‘I’m flesh and blood, not one of Odin’s handmaidens. A series of blockades guard the harbour.’

‘Yet you swim. I hear rumours of your skill with the sword as well. Bloodaxe curses your name and fabled prowess on a daily basis.’

The rumours normally never bothered her, but a small part of her wished that he had remarked on her skills as a trader or navigator. She shook her head. Next she’d be hoping he found her attractive. Her limitations in the dainty and feminine part of life were as legendary as her skill with the sword.

‘I was never very good with the needle. Far too big and clumsy. My stepmother used to despair,’ she said, forcing her neck muscles to relax. If Hrolf thought he was going to humiliate her, he had another think coming. She’d long ago left behind the stringy girl who hid in the shadows praying that no one would notice her. She courted notoriety as it kept her ships and men safe. ‘The sword suits me better.’

He pushed off the wall, causing the dark blue velvet cloak he wore to swirl about his narrow hips. On his arms, there were at least three heavy gold arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that he was indeed as successful as the gossips implied.

‘Was that what the other night was about, adding to your legend?’

‘Preserving my family’s honour.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps a foreign concept to a sea king, but it counts for much in Svear.’

His eyes filled with ice. ‘Why did you kidnap Bloodaxe’s daughter?’

‘Harsh, when the woman went freely.’

‘People whisper that with one wave of your hand, the locks fell open and you used the full moon to cast a spell on her, turning her into a swan so she could escape undetected.’

‘If I’d done half the things claimed of me, I doubt I’d be standing before you. I’d be flying through the air to Constantinople on a pair of wings, as Kettil consistently refuses me a large enough ship to make that voyage,’ she said crisply, giving him the stare that normally managed to send men running for cover.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘The truth, because any games you choose to play, I will win. I make you that promise.’

Her mouth went dry and she bit back the words asking him what sort of games he had in mind. Instead she settled her features into a scowl. ‘My brother and his chosen bride deserved to be together.’

‘Any particular reason?’

She jerked her head towards where Blodvin and Regin stood waiting to hear their fate. ‘They make a handsome couple.’

‘Your brother should have challenged for the right. What good is a man if he cannot protect his wife and children?’

‘Blodvin made her own choice.’ Sayrid ignored his remark. ‘No man cheats my family.’

Hrolf’s eyes became deadly. ‘Strong words. How did precisely Ingvar the Bloodaxe cheat?’

‘When a bride price is agreed and paid, one expects the bride to remain available as long as she is willing.’

‘Payments can be returned.’

Sayrid gave a soft cough. ‘Next time ask around. Better still, ask the woman if she wants to be married to you.’

He slammed his fist against his open palm. ‘Bloodaxe swore there was no impediment.’

She rolled her eyes. It amazed her that a warrior such as Hrolf Sea-Rider would be inclined to believe Ingvar Flokison. But he’d been away in the East for a long time and perhaps had not thought to listen to gossip.

‘A man who constantly delivers light sacks of wool should always have his word tested.’ She poured scorn into her voice. ‘Didn’t you think to listen to the rumours and gossip before entering into negotiations? And you, a sea king with a reputation for quick thinking.’

A dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Women’s talk around the distaff and weaving loom?’

‘Men gossip far more than women. They just like to think they don’t.’

‘Truly?’

Sayrid ground her teeth. Hrolf was precisely like any other Northman—women were there to provide food, drink and pleasure only. She clenched her fists and regained control of her temper. ‘Listening and heeding dockside chatter saved my ship on my first voyage. We went a different way home and avoided the sea raiders.’

He instantly sobered. ‘What else did you learn, Valkyrie?’

Even now the hardship of that first voyage rolled over her—the storms at sea, the lodestone being washed overboard and the men who had tried to cheat her simply because she was a woman. And the others who gawped at her height.

‘Things far too countless to mention.’ She lifted her chin and adopted her no-nonsense voice. ‘I wish you good day, Hrolf Eymundsson. My family needs me to make this right.’

‘You care for your family more than your life.’

Sayrid shrugged. ‘You’ll find another bride, particularly as I’ve arranged for a feast after the Assembly to celebrate the marriage. I can suggest a name or two—women who are not spoken for and whose kinsmen are honest. I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake twice. Feuds ruin families.’

His piercing blue gaze locked on her mouth. ‘I make my own choices. Without interference.’

Her stomach flipped over. Nearly kissing him the other night had been a mistake. She should have gone for another approach like stamping on his foot. ‘I had only meant to be helpful.’

‘I look forward to speaking more after the Storting...if you intend on being helpful.’

Sayrid frowned. What sort of game was he playing? Men didn’t flirt with her. Perhaps he did really want introductions. Her heart panged slightly.

She made a breezy gesture. ‘We’ve no quarrel, you and I.’

His hand descended onto her shoulder. The touch seared through her wool tunic, making her insides do a giddy loop. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

She moved away from him and sought to dampen down the bubbly feeling. This warrior was the same as the rest of them, worse even. Her father’s long-ago words about how she had little to recommend herself even to a desperate man echoed in her brain. ‘May you find the bride you truly desire, Sea-Rider. I wish you a long life and prosperity.’

‘And you, Shield Maiden.’

* * *

The large hall teemed with people. After so many years being in the East, Hrolf was pleased to be amongst his own people again. He’d done the right thing to come here and strengthen his alliance with Jaarl Kettil. This was the sort of place where a man could put down roots and where his daughter could be brought up safely.

‘Where did you get to?’ Bragi, Hrolf’s best friend and helmsman, asked in an undertone. ‘Jaarl Kettil remarked on your absence. I thought we were here so you can identify the man who stole your bride as Ingvar the Bloodaxe requested. We want this resolved.’

Hrolf made a temple with his fingers. Sayrid was correct. Unfortunately. He’d forgotten his father’s story about Bloodaxe and his failure to provide promised weapons on the battlefield until Sayrid mentioned the light wool sacks. And Bloodaxe’s daughter was very obviously pregnant. There was much more to this than he’d first considered. What was really going on? ‘I’m making sure that I understand the truth before I decide which cause to support. A man’s life is at stake.’

‘Who is that?’ Bragi asked as Sayrid marched to the front. Her cloak swung slightly, revealing a few curves, if one bothered to look. ‘Can anyone introduce me? Pray to the gods she is single.’

Hrolf frowned. Bragi would barely come up to Sayrid’s shoulder.

‘Sayrid Avildottar, shield maiden and in charge of the largest estate in the area after mine.’ Kettil spoke before Hrolf had a chance to answer.

‘Then she is single.’

‘Her father declared that she will marry no man unless he first defeats her in combat.’ The jaarl smiled slightly. ‘It suits my purpose to have her sword under my command, but she grows bold and makes demands. She wants to lead a felag to Byzantium. Imagine.’

‘Thor’s beard, she is tall,’ Bragi answered and added a slightly crude remark about the shape of her legs.

Hrolf fought against the urge to pummel his friend to the ground. It made no sense why he should feel protective of Sayrid. He barely knew the woman. For him, women were objects of beauty to be enjoyed while on shore. His uncle had taught him that lesson after his father’s death. The way to prosperity was never to allow a woman to interfere with the important business of making a fortune.

‘Only a brave or extremely foolish man makes remarks like that in her hearing.’ Kettil moved his finger in a slitting motion across his throat. ‘She takes offence easily. Her first voyage saw her defend her honour more than once.’

Bragi blanched. ‘I will remember that.’

‘Have many tried to win her hand?’ Hrolf asked. ‘Or was it only old men and beardless boys who tried?’

‘What, and face the ignominy of losing to a woman?’ Kettil shook his head. ‘If all my warriors were like her, I would be king of Svear and Götaland, instead of a jaarl in a backwater.’

‘There is good...but I’m exceptional.’ Hrolf permitted his lips to turn up. Sayrid the Proud was about to learn an important lesson.

* * *

The flock of butterflies that had settled in Sayrid’s stomach had turned into a herd of rampaging reindeer now that the Storting had started. Ingvar the Bloodaxe and his wife certainly looked the part of distraught parents. She risked a glance at where Hrolf Eymundsson sat with an impassive face.

‘Regin Avilson stole my daughter from me,’ Bloodaxe began with a distinct whine in his voice. ‘He took her from my farm without my permission. He had no right to set foot on my property. He should be declared an outlaw and my daughter returned. Hrolf Eymundsson was there. He will confirm that Regin Avilson forced my daughter to leave against her will.’

‘Objection!’ Sayrid cried. ‘Regin Avilson never set foot on Ingvar Flokison the Bloodaxe’s property. How could he have stolen her?’

‘If he didn’t, who did?’ Bloodaxe asked. ‘Who else set my daughter free from a locked barn?’

‘Why was your daughter locked up?’

‘I asked the question first! Who released my daughter from my barn? Who undid the lock?’

‘I did,’ Sayrid answered in a firm voice and stepped out in the centre of the room. All eyes turned towards her. She stood taller with her shoulders back, never allowing her gaze to falter. ‘I wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumour that Ingvar Flokison had decided against honouring our agreement of last spring. Going towards the farmhouse, I heard a cry for help. I unbarred the door. Blodvin Ingvardottar then ran out of the barn and down to the river. What happened after that, I couldn’t say, but she found her way to my farm and my brother, demanding sanctuary!’

‘Did anyone see you?’ the jaarl asked, giving her a hard stare. ‘Can anyone verify this?’

‘Hrolf Eymundsson did. We spoke briefly.’ Sayrid focused her gaze on Hrolf. ‘He can confirm my story. And once Blodvin was safe, I sent word to you. I’ve not attempted to hide anyone or anything.’

‘Time to hear from the independent witness,’ the jaarl declared. ‘What happened on that night, Hrolf Eymundsson? Give your impartial account.’

There was a sudden intake of breath and everyone turned towards Hrolf. His dark blue velvet cloak shimmered with self-importance. The torchlight caught the gold of his arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that here was a man who was accustomed to power. Sayrid concentrated on his face and willed him to tell the truth.

‘I encountered Sayrid Avildottar,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘There was a woman with her who ran off, but it was dark and I could not see her face. Later Sayrid went to the river and I lost her. These are the only people I encountered before Ingvar Bloodaxe arrived. I swear this on my sacred honour.’

Bloodaxe started bleating and whining about how it had to have been Regin, but the jaarl’s face grew ever more stern. Sayrid’s shoulders relaxed. Hrolf had told the truth. Regin was safe. And Bloodaxe would not start a feud with her.

‘If Regin Avilson did not capture your daughter and she ran away of her own accord, you’re not entitled to a fine,’ the jaarl pronounced. ‘Who among you believes that Blodvin Ingvardottar ran away of her own accord?’

Everyone except for Bloodaxe and his closest companions raised their hand.

‘Your request for compensation is denied, Bloodaxe.’

Bloodaxe stroked his chin. ‘As my daughter has run away, she is dead to me. I shouldn’t have to provide a dowry for her.’

‘She has married Regin Avilson. There was a prior agreement that they would wed and the bride price was paid,’ Sayrid argued. ‘The dowry includes all of the next bay.’

‘Why would anyone pay a dowry for a dead woman?’ Bloodaxe said as his wife sniffled noisily next to him. ‘My daughter ceased to exist the instant she decided to run. And her maid has been dealt with.’

Sayrid clenched her fists and concentrated on breathing steadily. Silently she promised to have the maid found and brought to her hall. She longed to draw her sword and start the feud for real, but if she did, she’d be made into an outlaw and all her lands would be forfeit. Some day she’d make him pay for the insult. ‘If that is the way you wish it. I would ask that Ingvar Bloodaxe pays me passage for the wool sacks my ships carried this summer as part of the bride price. Who would pay a bride price for a dead woman?’

The jaarl nodded. ‘A fair request. You will do this by the next Assembly, Ingvar. The matter is now closed and justice has been done.’

Bloodaxe muttered under his breath.

Sayrid raised her chin and carefully kept her face blank. Smug satisfaction would only rub salt into the wounds. Bloodaxe knew he’d lost. But the old miser would take his own sweet time in paying the amount owed. She’d be willing to wager gold on that.

Time to start making friends. Creating enemies benefited no one. She’d won. Regin was safe. She only hoped Blodvin was worth it.

‘I would like to invite everyone to a feast to celebrate my brother’s marriage to Blodvin the Fatherless.’

A loud cheering broke out in the hall, even amongst Bloodaxe’s supporters. Sayrid carefully schooled her features. Her instinct was correct. Everyone loved a marriage feast.

* * *

‘A word, Kettil, before the feasting begins.’ Hrolf prevented the elderly jaarl from rising as the hall cleared.

‘Your well-timed intervention prevented a bloody feud between two powerful families in this district.’ The older man inclined his head. ‘I salute your wisdom.’

‘I told the truth.’ Hrolf gave Kettil a hard look. ‘Something you should have done when I first enquired about Bloodaxe’s daughter. You encouraged me in the match when the woman was clearly besotted with another.’

‘Until a woman is married...’ Kettil waved a vague hand. ‘It can be, Sea-Rider, that maintaining peace is far harder than simply leading a felag. I was aware of the complications of the match, but not the depth of feeling between the pair. Young Regin is far from the sort of warrior I’d have chosen for my daughter if I had been blessed with a child instead of being cursed to love barren women.’

‘Is that so?’

‘After her father’s death, Sayrid promised he would become a good warrior, but I see little evidence of it.’

‘My problem remains. I desire a wife and land with a bay to keep my ships.’

‘You will have to seek her elsewhere.’

‘And the Shield Maiden? What is her dowry? Avil Ironfist was a considerable landholder.’

Kettil gave a short laugh. ‘Seek elsewhere. The maiden does not require a husband. She assures me of this every time she returns from one of her voyages. And she’d make a terrible wife. I doubt she knows one end of a loom from the other.’

‘How hard can it be to defeat a woman?’ Bragi asked. ‘Who has she fought in defence of her property? A few old men and beardless boys? If you won’t challenge for that prize, old friend, I will take the honour.’

‘Leave it, Bragi. Some things make poor jests.’

‘Do not think you are the first to covet Ironfist’s lands. She holds them well.’ Kettil raised a brow. ‘Sayrid is perhaps the best fighter I’ve seen. She’s quick and has a brain which is more than can be said for many warriors.’

Hrolf ground his teeth. The jaarl appeared to think that he was a green boy just returned from his first voyage, not a grown man who had spent years honing his battle skills. ‘Which goes to show that they are worth fighting for.’

Kettil clapped him on the back. ‘A solution will present itself. For now I will enjoy the time we spend together before you go in search of the land you seek. In time our mutual enemy Lavrans will be defeated but, I think, far from these shores.’

Hrolf schooled his features. Kettil had always intended this outcome. But he was disinclined to walk away from a challenge, particularly when the prize was attractive as Sayrid Avildottar.

* * *

Sayrid breathed in the still evening air. She twisted first one way, then the other, attempting to loosen the tight muscles in her back. The sounds of the feast echoed out on to the quiet street. The skald started the first verse of the saga of ‘The Sword Tryfling and the Shield Maiden’. It was apparently one of Blodvin’s favourites, but Sayrid hated everything about it. Shield maidens never found true love except in stories.

It had been a spectacular feast, despite Bloodaxe’s and his wife’s non-attendance. Although there had been the usual niggles of people objecting to the seating arrangements and several questioning the quality of the ale, by and large the meal had passed without incident. She wished that the feeling of foreboding would go and that she could relax.

A movement in the shadows made her start. She crouched, instinctively reaching for her knife. ‘Who skulks in the shadows? Show yourself!’

‘I do my best thinking in the shadows.’ Hrolf stepped forward. The torchlight picked out the planes in his face and the curve of his bottom lip. ‘You should be in there, toasting the happy couple, listening to the skalds and basking in the glory. Your impassioned plea for the lovers carried the day, Sayrid.’

Now was not the time to explain that such gatherings always unnerved her. Everyone always seemed to stare at just the time she knocked over the ale or laughed too loudly or accidentally banged her fist on the table. ‘Regin and Blodvin are fully capable of enjoying it without me.’

‘And what do you plan to do next?’

‘Fish, and try to convince Kettil to allow me to go east and down the rivers to Constantinople, instead of returning to Birka. You have been there, haven’t you?’

His face hardened in the dim light. ‘A hard journey. Many I’ve travelled with fell on distant shores.’

‘We need to go to the markets ourselves, instead of paying a premium for other traders to go. The Viken give an even worse return than the Götalanders.’

‘And Kettil disagrees?’

‘He refuses to fund me.’ She winced the instant the words emerged from her throat. It sounded like she was begging to be part of his next felag. She straightened her shoulders. ‘But one day, I will go as the leader of my own felag. I will get enough gold for the proper-sized ship.’

‘You are very determined.’ His soft voice curled about her insides. Sayrid concentrated on breathing. Hrolf was used to women falling at his feet.

‘Have you seen any pretty women to assist in your quest for a wife?’ she asked to distract her thoughts from the shadowy hollow in his throat.

He gave a rich laugh and took a step closer. ‘What is it about feasts that brings out the matchmaker in every woman?’

Sayrid carefully shrugged. ‘You must be seeking a wife or you would not have offered for Blodvin.’

‘I can find my own wife,’ he said without moving away. ‘My requirements are very exacting.’

His gaze honed in on her mouth as sure as an arrow shot from a hunter’s bow. The very air between them crackled with energy. She knew all she had to do was to lean forward and she’d see if his lips moving over hers matched her dreams.

A loud laugh punctuated the air and broke the spell. Sayrid rapidly stepped back. She hoped the shadows hid the burn in her cheek. If she’d given in to her impulse and kissed him, he would have recoiled in horror or, worse, laughed at her folly. How could she ever forget for a heartbeat what she was and what people thought of her?

‘Then I wish you every luck with that. I...that is we...should return to the feast. The skald has finished with the Tryfling saga.’

‘Together? Aren’t you afraid people will talk?’ His voice rippled over her skin, doing strange things to her insides.

‘About us?’ She made her voice drip with scorn. ‘Please give me some credit for knowing my reputation. Stealing kisses in the dark with a sea king would be dismissed as far too fantastical to be credited.’

‘Some people are blind.’ He put a firm hand on her back. ‘After you, Shield Maiden.’

The noise fell to a deafening silence as everyone turned to look at them. Several people’s mouths fell open and three women started whispering, putting their heads together and pointing.

One of the more drunken guests called out in jest that Hrolf the Sea-Rider was seeking to bypass the required challenge for her hand. Someone else took up the cry and the word ‘challenge’ reverberated from the rafters.

Sayrid’s cheeks burnt fire. She bared her teeth in a fierce scowl designed to silence the crowd.

When the jesters fell silent, she started towards her place. However Hrolf grabbed her elbow, pinning her to his side.

‘Keep still,’ he commanded.

‘Why? These people are best ignored. I am going to walk back to my seat and forget this ever happened. There will be no challenge.’

Hrolf held up his palm, calling for silence. The room became a sea of expectant faces. ‘There is something I wish to declare.’

Sayrid frowned. Hrolf couldn’t take these jibes seriously. A great hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She knew what was coming next—humiliation as he made it clear that he had no interest in her. She twisted her elbow.

‘Let me return to my seat in peace.’

His face became hardened planes. ‘You might wish to stay.’

‘Doubtful. You have had your fun, now let me go.’ She took another step towards the high table.

‘Have it your way, but I did warn you.’

‘Go on, Hrolf the Bold. What does a sea king want with this feast?’ Kettil called from the high table where he sat with his wife. ‘What does he want from the Shield Maiden?’

Hrolf reached out and captured her wrist, pulling her towards him. She missed her step and went tumbling against his hard body. ‘I wish to take up Avil the Ironfist’s challenge and fight for the hand of his daughter.’

Sayrid stared at the large Northman in disbelief. She had to have heard wrong. He wanted to marry her? He desired her? What new form of torture was this?

‘Now I know you have had too much ale!’ she gasped out, pulling away from him.

‘There is only one way to win the hand of fair Sayrid,’ someone called out. ‘Fight her.’

He inclined his head, but the traces of an ironic smile touched his lips. ‘Any challenge of this nature needs to be issued in front of everyone. I’d no wish to disrupt proceedings earlier, but I’ve waited long enough. I will win the prize your father promised all those years ago.’

A hard knot formed in the base of her stomach. Her father’s words had been designed to teach her the ultimate lesson in humiliation. Was that what Hrolf desired also? She longed to see his arrogant face humbled.

‘Why? Because your chosen bride preferred another?’ she asked in a furious undertone. ‘Go ahead. Have your boorish joke, laugh about it with your friends and comrades, but I don’t fight with ale-soaked warriors. There is no sport in it.’

‘I assure you I’m quite sober.’ He tapped his fingers together. ‘But you do bring up a good point. You were responsible for me losing a bride. I require retribution. Will you fight and prove yourself worthy of the title or no?’

‘You think you can defeat me?’

‘There is one way to find out.’ His stone-cold eyes met hers. ‘Fight me.’

Sayrid stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening to her. No man had wanted her. Ever. How many times had her father told her that? How many times had she heard the whispers which followed when she entered a new market town?

‘How do you answer, Sayrid Avildottar? The entire hall waits,’ the jaarl said. ‘A warrior such as Hrolf Eymundsson deserves a proper response when he issues a challenge.’

Sayrid swallowed hard. She hated that her pulse raced at the thought that Hrolf might want her. She rejected the idea instantly as absurd. Standing there, all arrogant in his sea-king finery, he was confident of victory and clearly planned to reject her as a wife after she’d lost. He’d then lay claim to the lands as the better warrior.

She jutted her jaw out. She knew how to fight and how to win. She could defeat any man, but she also knew about choosing her battles.

‘And your answer, Shield Maiden?’ Kettil enquired in a silken tone.

She took a deep breath. ‘My father died four years ago. That particular challenge has no relevance under our laws and customs.’

The entire hall erupted in pandemonium as people took sides. Kettil rapped his staff on the floor. ‘The maiden is within her rights. A dead man’s challenge does not have to be honoured.’

‘Then I make another.’ Hrolf’s eyes sharpened to daggers. ‘Sayrid Avildottar, I challenge for all the land you command against my ships and gold.’

Sayrid blinked. ‘What are you saying?’

‘If I win, your lands become mine. If you win, I go into your service and my entire fortune will be at your disposal for one year.’

The entire feast went silent. No one moved. Even the servants stayed still like frozen statues.

Sayrid clutched her hands together. Hrolf was offering her gold and ships. Enough to go to Byzantium? This was her opportunity if she was brave enough to take it. But...there had to be a catch. ‘No man wagers such a thing. Your entire fortune on one contest? Are you mad?’

‘Are you afraid to lose?’ Hrolf stood there, muscles taut, his face seemingly carved from ice. ‘Are you willing to admit I am the better warrior?’

Sayrid examined the floor. If she refused, Kettil would have grounds never to entrust her with a felag. He might even take the lands away on the pretext that Regin would never be as good a warrior as Hrolf. She could almost hear Kettil forming the words now.

How could she make sure her family was safe then? And if she accepted? Her heart beat a little faster. She could wipe the floor with him. Her earlier hesitation had been nerves.

‘Give me a moment. I need to consider.’

‘The offer is only good for tonight, Shield Maiden.’ Hrolf gave an arrogant laugh. ‘Time to test your powers against a real warrior, or are you afraid of the truth?’

‘The truth?’

‘You won’t fight because you know you will lose.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Because you have been living on a misplaced reputation and are past your best.’

She raised her head and met his stare head-on. ‘I’ve never run from a fight in my life. I accept with pleasure and I look forward to putting your ships to good use.’

His proffered hand was well shaped with long fingers and well-groomed nails, but it was also the muscular hand of a warrior. Sayrid gulped and returned his clasp with all her strength. She could defeat him, just as she had defeated every other man who tried. This time, she hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for it.

‘It is settled, then. We meet after dawn has broken.’

She started. ‘Why not now?’

‘I’d hardly wish to be accused of taking advantage of you...in the dark.’

Her face burnt as laughter rang out from the crowd. She balled her fists. That warrior would be laughing on the other side of his face when she was through with him.

‘In the morning, after the crow crows five times will be the proper time for the match,’ Kettil declared. ‘Sayrid has choice of weapons.’

‘I choose the sword and shield,’ Sayrid said.

Hrolf inclined his head. ‘The sword it shall be. I should warn you, Sayrid, I’ve never lost a bout which counted. Should you wish to withdraw before the match, we can agree terms.’

‘Why would I want to withdraw? I have yet to lose a match myself,’ Sayrid retorted, giving him a furious glare. She was fighting for her home and her family, he was only fighting for glory.

Sayrid sank down on a bench while pandemonium raged around her and everyone began laying bets on who would win. The enormity of what she had done sunk in. She was going to fight a sea king, someone who had carved his legend with his sword, not some youthful farmer who had never been in battle or a drunken warrior well past his prime.

And she had to win or else she’d lose everything.

Chapter Three

The full moon lit the space where her bout against Hrolf would be held in the morning with a ghostly silver hue. Sayrid shivered slightly and tried to concentrate on how she wanted the bout to go. She paced the area, imagining what her first few moves would be. Everything would hinge on those first crucial blows. If she could get Hrolf on the back foot from the beginning, she would stand a very good chance of winning.

‘Sayrid! Here I find you!’ Her sister’s voice rang out from the shadows.

‘Sleep evaded me,’ Sayrid admitted, turning towards where Auda stood. ‘It seemed best to come out here and practise before the crowds started gathering.’

‘Blodvin is crying her eyes out, convinced we are all doomed as you are bound to lose.’ Auda pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘No one can sleep when Blodvin weeps.’

‘What would she have me do? Back down? Give our land away? Lose my reputation?’ Sayrid gritted her teeth. ‘She should have more faith. We have everything to gain. Finally I will have the ships and men to make our fortune. Hrolf is overly proud. He will make the first mistake.’

‘Regin told her that. He wanted to wager, but Blodvin clawed at his face and told him not to be more a fool than usual.’

‘Hopefully they are not regretting their match after all the trouble it has caused.’ She shed her cloak and grabbed her favourite sword, the one that had belonged to her father, and a light shield.

‘Did you have to accept? Don’t we have enough gold? Enough honour? We get by, Sayrid.’

‘There is a world out there, waiting to be explored. Hrolf’s defeat will mean I can realize my dreams.’ Sayrid tried to stretch a sudden kink out of her back, the one that always came before she battled. Didn’t Auda understand what would have happened if she had refused? How much they would have lost? ‘And why should I give him anything?’

‘You could have tried to reach an agreement.’ Auda grabbed her arm. ‘Found out what he really wanted. We have gold.’

Sayrid tried to banish the memory of how they had nearly kissed. It was fantasy and folly on her part. In the second challenge, he’d never mentioned marriage.

‘If I hadn’t accepted the challenge, I would have lost my reputation and any hope of retaining such valuable and strategic lands until Regin proves himself.’ Sayrid shook her sister’s hand off. ‘I’m not going to lose everything I have sweated to build.’

‘But...do you really think you can defeat a warrior with his reputation?’

‘My own sister thinks I’ll lose.’

Auda pulled her shawl tighter about her body. ‘Someone has to be practical and both you and Regin are the dreamers in the family.’

‘I make my dreams happen.’

Auda shook her head. ‘You’re fighting for your pride. You can’t stand the thought of not being the Shield Maiden and being an ordinary woman again.’

‘You talk a lot of nonsense, Auda. What shall I bring you from the East? Enough silk to make seven gowns?’

‘I think you ought to have an alternative plan...just in case...’

Sayrid adjusted Auda’s shawl. In moments like these, she found it hard to believe how quickly her half-sister had grown up. Auda was old enough for the truth. ‘I’m going to win, Auda. I have to. If I’d refused, Kettil would never have trusted me with a ship again. And he would have stripped the lands from me. From us. Unlike men, I have to win and keep on winning. Luckily I find it easy to do.’

* * *

‘Look after these for me, Bragi,’ Hrolf said, handing his friend his arm rings as he finished his preparations for the bout with Sayrid. ‘I don’t want to get them damaged in the fight.’

Bragi accepted the rings, sliding them on his forearm. ‘Can you accept a woman as an overlord for a year? I don’t know if I could. You are worse than me when it comes to having only one use for a woman. Even with Anya, who bore your child, you barely had any time for her.’

‘Where else but in my my bed should a woman I desire be?’ Hrolf laughed. He followed his uncle’s path and kept the two parts of his life separate. He had seen from his father what happened when a man hid behind a woman’s skirts.

Sayrid was the key to gaining control of the headland, but he would also prove once and for all time that he was the best warrior to hold it.

He was going to win. Sayrid might enjoy a certain reputation, but it had not been forged in battle. She had not fought for everything as he had.

‘That does not answer my question.’

‘I hold your pledge. You follow me, not the other way around.’ Hrolf gave Bragi a hard look. His second-in-command was doubting his ability? Kettil might think Sayrid Avildottar could fight, but had she ever come up against real opposition? ‘Do you wish to become an oath breaker because of something which might not happen? You are worse than an old woman.’

‘But do you think you will win?’

Hrolf did a few squats to loosen his legs up. ‘My sword arm forged my reputation. Every man or woman has a weakness. The question is how to exploit it.’ He thought about how Sayrid had trembled when she stood next to him. She felt the attraction as well. She would end up in his bed. By Freya’s cats, she probably hated the front of toughness she had to put up. She needed a real warrior in her life. ‘And I know her weakness. She will concede with me barely breaking a sweat.’

Bragi clapped him on the back. ‘And you haven’t forgotten the land you owe me.’

‘I pay my debts, Bragi. Always.’ Hrolf did several practice swipes with his sword. It would be easy to tame this shield maiden. Kettil had cleverly talked up her prowess in order to keep rivals from claiming the bay. But he looked forward to exposing the lie and gaining the woman.

‘Where is this land of hers that you covet?’

‘The headland which first attracted me here and the land round to the next bay.’ Hrolf clenched his fist as he considered his rival sea king, Lavrans, and the trouble he had caused over the years. The alliance with Kettil would bring him from his hiding place to attack. ‘It will be enough to force Lavrans to act if he truly intends to cause mischief. I agree with Kettil. Someone here is alerting Lavrans to the movements of the ships and until we discover his identity, we have little hope of stopping it except by stationing our ships where they can exercise control of the bay.’

‘After you have dealt with Lavrans? What happens then? Will we be forced to make the trip east once again? You know how many men we lost on our last trip to Constantinople.’

‘We will do well here, Bragi—no more Desolation Pass or Heartbreak Rapids for us. Time for Sayrid to learn there is more to being a warrior than a scowl, swagger and a gleaming sword.’

Bragi’s face cleared. ‘Ah, I see you are thinking with your head.’

Hrolf turned his unflinching gaze on his second-in-command. ‘Since when do I think with any other part of me?’

* * *

The cleared area looked very different in the early-morning sunlight from the way it had last night—larger and more open with less chance to hide. Her stomach clenched. She’d forgotten how much she hated being the centre of attention.

Despite the hour, a great crowd thronged around the perimeter. It seemed as though the entire village plus a good portion of the countryside were here to watch her fight. Sayrid elbowed her way through to the empty arena. She ground her teeth. She’d deliberately arrived late to put pressure on Hrolf, only to find he was even later.

‘Where is Hrolf Eymundsson?’ She shaded her eyes and surveyed the crowd. ‘Perhaps the great sea king has thought better of his challenge?’

A hush fell over the crowd and they fell back, parting like waves on the shore.

Her breath stopped in her throat. Hrolf had not only shed his cloak. He had also shed his tunic. His muscular chest and broad shoulders gleamed in the early-morning sun.

‘I wanted to make sure you knew what you might be getting,’ he said.

Sayrid pressed her lips together. Arrogant in the extreme. ‘You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t do the same.’

His eyes roamed over her figure. ‘I look forward to having the pleasure of unwrapping you later.’

She deepened her scowl and banished the bubbly feeling to a far corner of her brain. ‘That depends on the outcome of this bout.’

‘That outcome is not in doubt.’ A faint smile touched his lips. ‘But if I should lose, I shall be at your service...one year. Think about that. I will be bound to do whatever service you require without question or hesitation for an entire year.’

Her face flamed like it was on fire. He was talking about their joining, not about who would win this contest. She concentrated on the ground and attempted to restore some measure of calm. She had never before had any trouble focusing on the match, but now she was intensely aware of the man. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘You made me a promise the other night. I intend to see it is fulfilled.’

‘What promise?’ She made the mistake of glancing at his face and was catapulted headlong into the fierceness of his gaze.

Her entire body tingled, but then she recalled his reputation with women and thought of the number of women he must have bedded. The man knew what he was doing.

Angrily, she made a swipe with her sword. ‘Stop trying to twist things to your advantage.’

His smile widened.

‘My mistake. Your body must have made the promise without informing your head.’ He leant towards her and lowered his voice. ‘We will be good together, Sayrid. Think about that as we fight.’

Sayrid glowered at him. ‘I know your game, Hrolf, and choose not to play it. Think about that as we fight. I am indifferent to you.’

Her heart beat far too fast, giving lie to her words. But he couldn’t have guessed. Sayrid tightened her grip on her sword. He must never know of her attraction.

‘You know nothing about me.’ He gave a mock blow to his chest. ‘I’ll never break your heart, fair lady.’

‘That’s because my heart will never be yours to break. I intend on teaching you a lesson. Shall we get on with it?’ She shrugged. ‘It will be a shame to mark your skin, but then maybe the next time you will not treat a woman opponent with such contempt.’

He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought his shirt. ‘The maiden has accused me of distracting her. And here I thought you and your unbreakable heart impervious to my charms!’

Sayrid saluted him with her sword. ‘Your future ladies will thank me one day.’

‘What makes you think I want any other woman?’

He returned the salute as the noise from the crowd grew louder. Sayrid took three breaths and focused on his sword. The first few clashes would be to assess his strength and identify his weakness. Warriors always had a weakness. Once she found his, she could exploit it. His arrogance would assist her, but she’d need something more to make him overreach. She could almost taste the power she’d command once she’d won.

Their swords clashed as he blocked her move and countered with a move that she easily blocked.

‘You’re not trying very hard.’

A wide smile split his face. ‘I’ve no wish to mark your skin, Valkyrie.’

‘That is my concern.’

‘Mine as well. I need to look after my bed partner-to-be.’

Sayrid ground her teeth. She didn’t know which was worse—talking about marring her skin as if that mattered or proclaiming it was a foregone conclusion that they’d share a bed whatever the outcome.

She redoubled her efforts to focus and the battle began in earnest. Sword meeting shield and sword meeting sword. Each time she tried something, he had a counter for it.

She had to admit that Hrolf was highly skilled, a far better opponent than she had faced before. His strength matched his agility. This was no drunken sot trying his luck or an ageing farmer, but a seasoned warrior.

Rivulets of sweat snaked down her face, nearly blinding her. With an impatient arm, she wiped them away. Surely he would make a mistake soon. Her light shield grew heavier and it took more effort to move it into place. But she forced her body to continue and to wait. Round and round the ring they went. One probing and then the other. Always searching for an opening, but not finding one. The cries of the crowd grew louder.

Despite her screaming back muscles she tried for a downward stroke. He blocked it with ease, but his eyes took on a triumphal gleam.

Sayrid swallowed hard. She summoned all her remaining energy. One more burst and she knew she’d break him.

He went for a deceptively simple move, but Sayrid was ready with the counter-attack and managed to land a blow on his arm. She pressed her advantage and forced him on the back foot. He stumbled and fell. His sword landed a few inches from him.

A wild exhilaration went through her. She had done it! He had made the first mistake. She was going to win. After this, no one would doubt her prowess. She’d be safe and her dreams would all come true. Her family would be provided for and she could stop waking up at night with worry clawing at her gut.

His lips turned up. ‘Definitely a Valkyrie. The last move proved it. You do Odin proud.’

‘Will you yield?’ she asked, standing over him with her sword point towards his neck. ‘You have lost your sword. I could drive my sword into your throat. Yield, Hrolf Sea-Rider, and I may spare your life.’

‘Overconfidence will be your downfall, Valkyrie.’

His foot snaked out and caught her calf, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her cheek bumped against a rock and sent a pain ricocheting through her. The air went from her lungs with the unexpectedness of it. One instant she was on her feet and the next, staring up at the sky. Her shield slipped from her grasp.

He made a downward stroke which she raised her sword to block. To her horror, she mistimed the move and her sword arched through the air, landing quivering in the dirt several feet from her.

‘Will you yield, Valkyrie?’ he asked with his sword a breath away from her neck. ‘Will you concede to a man?’

Sayrid collapsed back against the ground, utterly spent. Above her the clouds skittered across the sky and all about her was silence from the stunned crowd.

‘I can’t rise without aid,’ she whispered into the quiet.

Summoning the remaining bits of his energy, Hrolf reached down with his hand and clasped hers. He pulled her to standing. Sayrid, with rivulets of sweat running down her face and her hair plastered to her skull, looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. But she was his now.

‘It is over,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost your sword. Would you lose your life as well?’

A solitary unheeded tear hovered in the corner of her eye. ‘Yes, it is over.’

Hrolf glanced towards where Kettil stood, stony-faced. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the outcome.

‘Sayrid Avildottar conceded!’ He raised their clasped hands. ‘I claim victory. I claim Sayrid Avildottar and her lands.’

The entire throng hushed.

‘What does the Shield Maiden say?’ someone called out. ‘Has she given way?’

‘Go on,’ he commanded. ‘Say it so they can hear.’

‘Hrolf is correct. He has won.’ Sayrid’s shoulders slumped as she bowed her head. ‘I’ll honour my oath. My lands will be his.’

‘I claim everything, including your body!’

At his words, the crowd burst into loud laughter and cheers. Hrolf’s shoulders relaxed, but he kept hold of Sayrid’s wrist. Her expression of absolute horror intensified.

In all his years of fighting, he had never met a better opponent and he had begun to despair of winning, something he’d never experienced before.

Sayrid’s instant of hesitation had happened just after he’d sent a prayer towards any god who might be listening. Obviously Freya, the goddess of love and marriage, had been following the proceedings because he suddenly had known what to do and his strength had returned. He would honour the goddess today—by claiming Sayrid as his bride.

‘Marriage is not a death sentence,’ he murmured, hating the bruised patch just under her eye. He had tried to be careful, but obviously there had been moments when his fighting instinct had taken over.

Silently he vowed that it would never happen again. He would ensure that his wife was properly looked after, not left to fend for herself in a hostile world. He would make it right. His wife should be dressed in furs and silks, not battling for her life.

‘Set the date,’ she growled, twisting slightly to free herself from his grasp.

Hrolf concentrated and clung on to his prize—half to keep her next to him and half because if he let go, he knew he’d collapse in a heap of spent muscle.

‘When would you have this marriage of ours?’ she ground out. ‘A month? Two months? How long will you give me to prepare?’

A fury swept over him. Like most women, she delighted in treachery and deception. She might have escaped him the other night by diving into the river and swimming, but he knew what she was capable of now. And he wasn’t minded to chase halfway around the world after her.

This marriage would take place now while he could bind the loyalty of those she commanded to him. She would learn her place in his household. He had no need of women warriors—what he required was a wife.

‘The cooks had best get busy. Another feast is required.’ He gave a triumphant smile which took in all the onlookers. ‘The marriage takes place today!’

The crowd broke out in loud cheers.

All colour drained from her face. ‘Today? Impossible. A wedding requires arrangements. The proper alignment of the stars, the reading of portents and your father’s sword...’

He slowly lowered their arms before letting her go. She staggered back a step. ‘Nothing is impossible to a determined man. And my determination has never been in doubt.’

‘Why the speed?’ She licked her lips and her eyes darted about the arena. She gave every impression of a cornered animal searching for the nearest bolthole.

‘I would not put it past you to decide to go on a long voyage which you claim is vital for everyone in the village or, worse, disappear into the world, dressed as a man.’ He forced his mouth to smile as he cupped her cheek.

Her entire being bristled with anger and she turned her face away. ‘Having just returned from a long voyage, I wanted some months at home.’

‘These words are supposed to act as your guarantee?’ He inclined his head. ‘Forgive me if I require more.’

‘Snaking out your foot to trip me was unworthy.’ Her mouth turned mulish, but he could see the latent hint of passion in it.

‘There was nothing in the rules, my lady, against tripping. I saw an opportunity and took it.’

‘The only reason you challenged me was to prove a point. You are the better warrior than I am. Well, you’ve proved that. You can have the land you require.’

Hrolf watched her mouth. The exertion of the fight had turned it strawberry ripe and her tunic now clung to her body. His fingers itched to unwrap her. But he refused to give any woman power over him. He’d seen what gibbering wrecks men could become. When he discovered his father’s frozen body on his mother’s grave, Hrolf had vowed never to allow a woman to touch his heart, a sentiment that his uncle had encouraged.

‘Why do you attempt to put words in my mouth?’ he asked in a cold tone. ‘I know what we bargained for. I always claim what is mine by right and I do it in my fashion.’

Her eyes became a blue flame and she pulled her shoulders back. ‘My honour is without question. Do not suggest I would dishonour my oaths again.’

‘Sayrid, I marry a woman, not a man. Find a dress.’

Sayrid stared at him uncomprehending. ‘A dress?’

‘You do own a dress...don’t you?’

Sayrid released a breath and offered a prayer up to all goddesses in the Aesir and Vanir. At last, a way to postpone the evil day with dignity. Hrolf wanted to marry a properly dressed bride. His request made sense given the finery he wore. She could use it, buy time and find a solution to the mess. Somehow she’d discover what he truly wanted before she started believing that he wanted her. It wasn’t over until the ceremony was done.

‘My best dress is at home. What a pity. We will have to name another day when I can be attired in the sort of clothes fit for a sea king’s bride.’

‘Borrow one.’ A glint showed in his eye as he raked her form. ‘Or come naked. But I marry a woman. Today.’

Renewed anger flooded through her. Why in the name of Freya did he want to marry her? And why did it have to be today?

‘Every other woman is smaller than me by at least a full head.’

His smile became positively merciless. ‘That is not my problem. You do as I command.’

She stood toe to toe with him. ‘Or what?’

‘Or I will have you and anyone who helps declared outlaw and all their lands forfeit as well as yours.’ He bowed low. ‘Your choice, Sayrid Avildottar. Time to decide. Do you actually care about your family and the people who work the land? Or do you just care about yourself?’

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