Sela watched the boat draw up and the fully armored men leap down, swords drawn.

Her heart went to her throat as she saw the lead warrior, recognized his armor and his sword with its intricate marking.

Vikar Hrutson.

She screwed up her eyes tight and then looked again, hoping he would be a ghost from her memory, but he remained. Deep down inside her, she had known he would be here from the first moment she had heard the dragon ships. Something had told her that her idyllic life of the last few years had ended. She had to face this and win.

He towered over the men; broad-shouldered, commanding. She had no doubt his face would be as rugged as ever. He had reached the rocky shore and stood there. Proud. Arrogant. Determined.

But why now? Why after all these years?

Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife

Harlequin® Historical

MILLS & BOON

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VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE
MICHELLE STYLES

VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE

To the eHarlequin community, in particular

to the denizens of the Mouse and Pen, the SWC

and the Library.

Always there. Always supportive. Always appreciated.

Contents

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

Chapter Sixteen

Author’s Note

Chapter One

AD 794, Central Norway

‘Prepare shields! Raise spears! Unsheathe swords! The gables of Bose the Dark’s stronghold are on the horizon,’ Vikar Hrutson, jaarl of Viken, shouted to his men.

‘It is a serious step you take, Vikar,’ Ivar said in an undertone. ‘What if you are wrong? What if Bose desires peace with Viken?’

Vikar turned from where he studied the headland with its inlets and rocky islands towards Ivar, his fellow jaarl and co-leader of the felag. His dark green eyes regarded his friend and comrade. ‘The time Bose is at peace is when he sleeps. The raid on Rogaland was only the beginning. He has broken the truce and declared war.’

‘But will Thorkell agree?’ Ivar shifted uneasily. ‘It was pure good fortune we had stopped at Rogaland. My sister and her husband could never have withstood the raid alone.’

‘It was a victory for the felag, for Viken.’

‘It was your sword and shield that brought down Hafdan. He could have been acting alone. He sailed under his own standard.’

‘Only one man could have ordered that raid and he still breathes with his lands intact.’ Vikar tightened his grip on the railing, and looked towards where the dark walls of the great hall rose from the fjord. ‘Bose the Dark ordered that raid, that destruction. Hafdan would never dare draw a breath, let alone attack a Viken jaarl’s main hall without his express order. I warned Thorkell that Bose would strike again. It gives me no pleasure to be right.’

Ivar banged his fist against the railing. ‘Thorkell should never have spared Bose. What he nearly did to Haakon was unthinkable! He should have known that Bose would not be content in the north.’

‘I am not a soothsayer. I have no great insight into the king’s mind. Haakon lives and thrives. Our friend is very happy with his new wife and child.’ Vikar gave a slight shrug. ‘Bose twists words to suit his purpose. The only thing he understands is deeds. This time, he will lose…everything.’

‘And Thorkell—what will he do when he discovers that you have led a raid on Bose’s stronghold?’

‘He will reward me. Bose broke the truce. This time I administer the punishment.’ The breeze whipped Vikar’s blond hair back from his forehead. ‘The battle will be long and bloody, old friend, but Thor and Tyr will be with us. Underestimate Bose at your peril. The man is a master strategist, slipperier than Loki.’

‘If you say such things, I believe them.’ Ivar tapped the side of his nose. ‘You were once married to his daughter.’

‘Thankfully it was a short alliance.’ Vikar refused to think about his former wife today. Was she there with her long blonde hair, tempting curves and pig-headed temper? Or had she married again? Someone who was more willing to be Bose’s lapdog? Vikar stared at the intricately carved gables. It no longer mattered. She was the symbol of all that was wrong with women, why he would never marry again.

‘Is it true Bose’s daughter never appeared in Thorkell’s court after the divorce? And that the hall was built on the bones of wild men who will rise up and fight any invader?’

‘Men at oars tell too many tales.’ Vikar pushed off from the railing and strode towards the prow of the boat. There he could catch a glimpse of how his new, red sail fared in the wind. A sail fit for one of the leading jaarls in Viken, a man who had made a fortune through one single raid last summer, a man whose exploits were lauded by the skalds in the latest poems.

A low horn sounded across the water of the fjord. Their boats had been spotted. The battle would begin when he set foot on the shore.

‘Exactly what are you planning, Bose the Dark, up there in your splendid hall? I cannot help but think you expected this. You longed for it.’ Vikar’s jaw tightened and his hand felt for his sword’s hilt. ‘I have ceased being the gullible warrior who married your daughter a long time ago. We will meet, and this time, this time, Bose, there will be only one victor.’

‘Sails round the headland. One dragon ship, maybe more.’ Sela forced her voice to remain calm as she entered her father’s bedchamber.

Unlike the hall, the bedchamber was resplendent with furs and tapestries, and, in the centre, a gigantic bed where her father, Bose the Dark, lay. She winced as her father struggled to sit up right, each movement an effort with his paralysed side.

He had been such a vigorous man a few months ago. Then the affliction had struck. Cursed, some muttered in the shadowy corners of the hall. His fabled luck gone. Sela ignored such doom-mongers. Her father had suffered enough.

‘Friendly?’ he croaked out of the side of his mouth.

‘Impossible to say. It is far too soon to see if they will lift their shields or leave them hanging.’ Sela smoothed a stray strand of honey-blonde hair from her forehead, a nervous gesture from her girlhood, one she was positive he’d know. She hid her hands in the folds of her apron-dress and concentrated on the bedstead. How much dared she reveal?

‘What is the lead ship’s sail pattern?’ Her father’s eyes suddenly focused and he plucked restlessly at the furs. ‘You are keeping things from me, Daughter, but I remain the master of this hall. I deserve to know the worst.’

‘The sail pattern is not one I recognise.’ She paused, and watched her father’s face become grave. He made a small gesture with his hand, telling her to continue. ‘Maybe if Hafdan were here, he would know the answer.’

‘We had to find new markets for our goods. Kaupang is closed to us now.’ Her father’s face reddened. ‘The East offers the best hope. Thorkell must allow me to feed my people. Hafdan will return and once again our coffers will cascade with gold.’

‘Did I say a word? Hafdan has departed to find new markets.’ Sela pressed her lips into a firm line. ‘And you remain jaarl of Northern Viken.’

Her father gave his crooked smile and held out his good hand. ‘I want your inheritance to overflow with wealth, Daughter, not be a silver arm-ring and a much-mended sword like mine was. It was right to send Hafdan. You will see in time.’

‘Hafdan wants his own glory. He could do anything.’ Sela crossed her arms, and glared at her father.

‘Hafdan has ambition, but he will return.’ Her father’s eyes twinkled. ‘I have seen how he looks at you. He has much to recommend him. Once I am gone, you must have a strong man…’

‘I tried marriage once, thank you.’ Sela snapped her mouth shut to prevent more words from tumbling out. Her former husband had been a man of ambition as well. She had no wish to relive the memories or the bitter taste they left.

‘You were younger then.’ Her father waved a dismissive hand. ‘Vikar Hrutson was a poor choice. He did not like to listen to my counsel. I sincerely regret that I did not see my mistake until it was far too late to prevent you getting hurt.’

‘It was nearly four years ago. You weren’t to know.’ Sela touched her father’s withered cheek. When her father had discovered the situation, he had moved swiftly, rescuing her and her unborn child, rather than letting her face the humiliation of a woman scorned.

‘Four years? Sela, it is time you laid your ghosts to rest. Other men…’

‘I have no ghosts in my life, Father, far from it. If I remarried, who would look after you?’

‘Hafdan is different.’ Her father gave a crooked smile. ‘He is loyal. You will see…in time.’

‘We have these unexpected visitors, and few men to protect the hall.’

‘We shall have to be wary—wait and see.’ Her father gestured towards the iron-bound chest. ‘Send someone to dress me. My mail shirt, and the sword Thorkell gave me in happier days. I am not without pride. I want to give the ships a proper welcome, one that shows Bose the Dark remains jaarl of the north. They will not find easy pickings here.’

‘Far, you cannot fight. I forbid it,’ Sela said, positioning her body between her father and the chest. ‘Your legs may hold you upright, but your sword arm is useless. How long do you think you would last in a fight? You would be a danger to the men.’

‘Do you think you are telling me something I don’t know, Daughter?’ Her father attempted to move his arm and nothing happened. He set his jaw and managed with difficulty to shift it slightly. ‘I am the one who has to live with it. With the arm and the face. May Odin send curses on the witch who caused this.’

‘Stay here, in this chamber.’ Sela caught his hand. ‘Let me greet them in the correct manner. I will hide your infirmity as best I can.’

‘Daughter, you are the best daughter a man could hope for,’ her father said, holding out his good hand, tears forming in his eyes.

Sela straightened her back. She understood her father’s wordless plea. ‘I will handle our unwelcome callers, come what may.’

‘I know you will.’

‘Morfar, Morfar.’ A blond boy rushed in, holding a bird’s nest. ‘See what I have found. The nest had fallen down on the ground. Thorgerd says that there will have been starlings in it.’

‘Kjartan, how many times must I tell you not to burst in on your grandfather like that?’ Sela looked at her son and saw his shining face fall, his deep-green eyes became less bright. Instantly she regretted her harsh words, but Kjartan had to learn the proper respect. If he was eventually to be a jaarl, he had to have proper training. But with whom?

‘Sela, Sela, he is only three. Time enough for ceremony later.’ Her father patted the side of his bed. ‘Kjartan, come here and greet your grandfather properly.’

‘You were never like that with Erik or me.’

‘Grandchildren are different. You will understand in time, Sela.’

‘Mor, I want to show Morfar my bird’s nest.’ Kjartan held out a jumble of sticks and mud. He wore a serious expression on his face. ‘I found it by the barns. I’m a good warrior. Someday I’ll be great like Morfar, and like my father.’

‘Your face is dirty and you have torn the knee of your trousers. Even great warriors wash their faces before they greet their jaarl,’ Sela said with a smile as Kjartan immediately started to scrub his cheeks with his filthy hands. Her heart expanded. She had never thought that she could love one scrap of humanity so much.

‘Thorgerd says a dragon ship is coming. My father’s?’

‘Kjartan, show your grandfather the nest.’ Sela spoke around a sudden lump in her throat. She looked down at the blond tousled curls and the trusting dark-green eyes, eyes that reminded her every day of who Kjartan’s father was and of the humiliation she had suffered at his hands. A great warrior like his father—where had that notion come from? But she refused to destroy his illusions. Life would do that soon enough.

She bit her lip. If the ships were from Thorkell, her father with his infirmity was not the only one who would have to remain hidden. Her son would have to as well. Vikar remained an integral part of the court, Asa’s chief confidant if the rumours that reached this far north were true. And she had every reason to believe them.

Kjartan advanced towards his grandfather, holding out the nest and chattering away. The two took great pleasure in each other. A pleasure that could be easily destroyed. Under Viken law and custom, her son belonged to his father. She had been married when Kjartan was conceived, but she’d refused to give him up, to turn him over to someone who had little concept of the notion of love and devotion. How could she permit that to happen to her only child?

Her eyes met her father’s slate grey ones. He gave a slight nod and held out his good hand.

‘Come here, Kjartan, you can keep me company for a while. We can recite some of the sagas together.’

‘Will you tell me about Loki and the tricks he played? I like that god.’

Sela listened to her father’s gravelly voice begin to solemnly recite a story. Kjartan would be safe with her father, and she would be able to see about defending the hall.

‘Far,’ she said softly.

He raised his eyes, paused in the story.

‘If there is any problem, you know what to do. Promise me, the hut in the woods…’

‘I know, Sela. You have other things to think about besides me. I am not so feeble that I cannot look after one small boy. Send Una to me if you wish. Your former nurse can do something besides warm her bones by the fire for a change.’

‘Yes, Thorgerd can look after the women. She is sensible. Una and her tales make the women nervous.’

He cleared his throat as Kjartan drew closer to the bed. ‘Now, if you will excuse us, the gods are in a rather tight spot and Loki needs to rescue them.’

She gave one last backwards glance. Grey hair next to blond, engrossed in the tale of Loki’s mischief. Then she walked away, walked toward her responsibilities.

‘My lady, it was as you suspected, the men in the dragon boats are armed, armed to the teeth,’ Gorm, her father’s aged steward said, coming to stand beside Sela where she watched the dragon ships’ final approach. ‘See how the sunlight glints off their shields and swords.’

‘They are not coming for a social call, Gorm.’ Sela fingered the hilt of the sword. For a time at her father’s encouragement, she had played at swords, enjoying the thrill of mock combat, something the dainty Asa had declared as unfeminine when Sela had arrived at court. The occasional echo of mocking laughter and barbs about the overgrown clumsy women from the north still haunted her dreams. Now, her former skill might have some use. ‘Neither are they coming with a proclamation demanding my father to return to Kaupang. Those days have gone.’

‘It is a sad state of affairs, my lady.’

‘If we stand our ground here…’ Sela gestured about her ‘…and do not advance towards the shore, they may not even disembark. Raiders want easy pickings, not fierce fights. My father’s hall is famously impregnable. It will be a bold man who tries. My father’s saga is—’

‘Your father sets a great store by his saga my lady, but I was there and I find it hard to believe.’

‘It is not you who needs to believe, but our unwelcome callers.’

Sela kept her eyes trained on the shore. Except for the lapping of the water against the dragon ships as they drew ever closer, there appeared a sort of hush as if even the birds and animals knew that something was about to happen.

‘The men will lock shields, but do you think this the right place for you, my lady?’

‘I know how to handle a sword,’ Sela said through gritted teeth. ‘My father demanded it. I would far rather be here than cowering with the women. I have a right to protect my home.’

‘But the men will want to defend you. You will destroy their concentration.’ Gorm lowered his eyebrows and looked disapproving. ‘Let me stand with the men, one last time.’

‘You have seen me fight before, Gorm. The men have as well. I can wield the sword equal to any man.’ Sela bit her lip. ‘But you respond to the challenge. It would not do for the enemy to think they have a woman fighting in their midst.’

‘You said it would not come to fighting.’ The white-haired man gulped. ‘I would never have brought you your brother’s armour or your father’s sword, if I had guessed.’

‘It is too late for regrets now, Gorm.’ Sela readjusted her helmet so that the nose-piece was more central and stared out to the fjord. ‘The first dragon ship comes ashore.’

She watched the boat draw up and the fully armoured men leap down, swords drawn. Her heart went to her throat as she saw the lead warrior, recognised his armour and his sword with its intricate marking.

Vikar Hrutson.

She screwed up her eyes tight and then looked again, hoping he would be a ghost from her memory, but he remained. She had known he would be here, deep down inside her from the first moment that she had heard of the dragon ships. Something had told her that her idyllic life of the last few years had ended. She had to face him and win.

He towered over the men, broad shouldered, commanding. She had no doubt his face would be as rugged as ever. And his hair would be that certain shade between gold and brown. He had by now reached the rocky shore, and he stood there. Proud. Arrogant. Determined. But why now? Why after all these years?

Then, with heart-stopping insight, she knew what the answer had to be.

Kjartan.

Someone had whispered. Her mouth twisted. She had thought she had been so careful, had covered her footsteps, allowed the rumour to go out that Kjartan’s father was dead. She’d never shown her face again in Kaupang. And now it appeared somehow he knew.

She wanted to turn back and snatch Kjartan up, then run. Put as much as possible between her son and his father. But her legs refused to move.

‘What do you wish to do, my lady? I responded to the challenge. The men await your orders.’ Gorm spoke in an urgent undertone.

Sela opened her mouth and no sound came out as reality struck her. The direness of the situation nearly crippled her. The men looked to her. She was stuck out here, and could not desert. They deserved a leader for their loyalty.

She should have made Kjartan her first duty. She had to hope that her father would look after him.

No pretence to peace. These warriors would take her land, her son and her very being if she let them. She stood there frozen, unable to move, following the increasing torrent of warriors.

‘Shall we surrender, my lady? The odds are not with us.’

‘Surrender? Would my father surrender? Never.’ She withdrew her father’s sword, and held it over her head. ‘We fight.’

‘Your instinct was true, Vikar.’ Ivar nodded towards where the group of warriors massed in front of Bose the Dark’s hall. ‘This is no friendly welcome. The challenge has been issued and answered.’

‘It gives me no pleasure.’ Vikar adjusted his helmet. ‘I see Bose’s standard, but not his sword. It was Gorm, not Bose, who answered. What game is he playing now?’

‘It’s his sword there in the centre. Has to be.’ Ivar pointed into the mass of warriors. ‘I’d recognise the gold hilt and silver blade anywhere. A sword of legend, that one. You must have missed it.’

‘I see it now.’ Vikar shielded his eyes and saw where Ivar pointed. A slender figure held aloft the sword, a gesture of defiance. Vikar scanned the mass horde. Old men and boys mostly, hardly fit for holding a sword. ‘But there are too few. Where has Bose put the rest? Where is he hiding them, his fabled army of men?’

‘You will have to ask Bose.’ Ivar raised his shield. ‘By Thor’s hammer, they are moving downhill. Whoever is leading them is very brave or incredibly reckless.’

‘And we will meet them. We will win!’ Vikar started forward, the cries of his men thundering in his ear. Despite the swirling of spears, swords and axes, he kept his eye trained on the leader. Once he had reached him, he would engage him and the battle would be won.

‘To me, men. The day is ours!’

Chapter Two

The space between Sela’s defenders and the invaders shrank to nothingness in the matter of a few heartbeats. She knew she should have held her men back, but the untried amongst them charged down the slope, eager to join the battle, rather than holding firm. And once a few had gone, the rest followed, giving up the high ground. Sela’s heart sank. Even with the little experience she had, she knew it meant disaster.

Her father and brother had always maintained that battle was unique. Now out here, facing the enemy, rather than engaging in a mock combat on the practice field, she knew that they were right.

A sort of wild exhilaration, swiftly followed by sheer terror, hung in the air. She glanced upwards, half-expecting to see Valkyries, Odin’s maidens who gathered the fallen from the battlefields, riding on the sea breeze.

The opposing forces met with a deafening crash. Sela’s ears buzzed with the dull thump of sword meeting wooden shield, reverberating throughout her body, but she forced her sword to remain high and her shield steady. She had to give the impression of leadership or the day would be truly lost.

First, and against all her expectations, the household retainers appeared to gain the upper hand. Her fears had been unfounded. She started to mutter a prayer of thanksgiving. Suddenly like the tide, the battle turned. Imperceptibly, but then like a raging flood. Gorm went down, his sword shattering on a shield. From her position on the top of the hill, she saw the outer edges begin to collapse and fold inwards. Her men faltered and fell, held up their shields to defend themselves from the merciless onslaught, but nothing worked.

Her father’s banner swayed.

She started forward, clashed swords. The reverberation went through her arm so strongly that she nearly dropped her father’s sword. She planted her feet firmly and struck out again, lifting her shield. She had to make it through, to help defend. She passed one man, lunged towards another. Her foot struck a pebble and she stumbled slightly, her knee hitting the ground. She struggled to right herself, cursing at the unfamiliar weight of the armour. Arms came around and held her, checking her progress. Quickly she tried to push away, to move out of the embrace, but her captor held a sword to her throat. His other arm hauled her back, so that her body was held tightly against his firm chest.

‘It is unlike you to leave your left flank unguarded,’ came the low rumble that slid over her like the finest fur. Teasing her senses. A remark made as if they were in Thorkell’s great hall and the dancing was about to begin. ‘I thought you had learnt that particular lesson years ago, Sela, Bose the Dark’s daughter.’

Sela struggled for a breath. She had not thought to hear that voice again in her lifetime. Or feel his body against hers. She opted for a solemn face as she eyed the gleaming sword.

‘A mistake, Vikar Hrutson,’ she said around the lump in her throat. ‘Thank you for pointing it out. It will not happen again.’

She twisted her body, but the action only drew her more firmly against his solid chest. She hated the flare of warmth that went through her, hated that her body remembered the last time she had encountered his.

‘You face total destruction.’ His voice rumbled in her ear. ‘Yield now and some of your men may yet be saved. You have no hope. Do you wish to die on the field of battle, Sela? Do you aspire to become a Valkyrie?’

Sela attempted to move her head and confront the voice, but the sword pressed more firmly against her throat, forcing her to view the scene of carnage before her. The generally quiet shore teemed with dust, men and swords. And all around, her men tumbled like flies.

Had her life really come down to this? Leading elderly men and young boys to their death? She had only meant to stand firm, not yield, a show of strength, and instead she presided over a rout. Another mistake to add to her long line of failures.

She swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture back in her throat. She refused to give in to her fear, give Vikar the satisfaction.

‘I had not placed you as a killer of women.’ She stretched her neck higher, away from the sharp blade, and gave a strangled laugh. ‘An indiscriminate lover of women, perhaps, but never a killer.’

‘Some might say your attire shows a certain contempt for your status, for your sex.’ The blade relaxed slightly. ‘Are you now going to plead special privileges because you are a woman? The world operates by different rules, Sela.’

‘It is impossible to swing a sword in a tight-sleeved gown.’ She kept her chin up, ignored the gleaming blade, forced her breath to come evenly and smooth. ‘Saving my home is far more important than dressing in the latest court fashion.’

‘I thought everything was more important than fashion to you.’

Sela rolled her eyes towards the skies. Fashion. She had failed at that particular competition years ago. She could not wear the type of gown favoured by Asa, gowns that accentuated the queen’s own petite, gilded looks, but made Sela resemble an overgrown youth with lumps in all the wrong places. She had sought other ways to shine, ways Vikar had disapproved of. And being young and naïve, she had taken a perverse enjoyment in provoking him.

It seemed unreal to be speaking of fashion and court matters with the sounds of battle raging around her, but it kept her from giving in to her natural inclinations and sinking to her knees in despair.

‘Tell me,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘how long does Asa decree the train length to be this year? We hear very little of such things out here in the wilds.’

‘As much as I would like to discuss the state of your wardrobe, my business is with your father.’ The blade lowered, but his arm tightened about her waist. ‘Where he is and why does he send a woman out to do a man’s job?’

With her father?

The air rushed out of her lungs, making her feel giddy. She struggled to control the sudden racing of her heart as hope filled her. She had expected him to say his business was with her, to demand to see his son.

Did he even know? Silently she offered up a prayer to Sif, Freyja and all the other goddesses of Aesir for a miracle.

‘I volunteered.’

‘The Bose the Dark I knew would have rejected the idea before the last syllable had fallen from your lips.’ Vikar’s grip forced her around, compelled her to look into his face. She realised with a start that his eyes were a far darker shade of green than she had remembered. ‘Does he live?’

‘My father is very much alive, but he saw the sense in my leading the men. He is indisposed and has little control over what I do.’

‘It makes a change.’ The sarcasm dripped from his mouth. ‘I had understood he always gave the orders.’

Sela, feeling the sword give way, swung around and faced her former husband. Despite her height, he towered over her. His helmet shadowed his face, but she had no doubt that when he removed it, the arrangement of his even features would remain the same. One of the most sought-after warriors in all of Thorkell’s court. Time had not altered him as much as she had hoped. ‘I am a grown woman, Vikar Hrutson. I take responsibility for what I do.’

‘And you take responsibility for this?’ His eyes offered no comfort, no glimmer of understanding. ‘For this carnage? Why did your men rush down the slope? That was a fatal mistake.’

‘My men were over-eager and rushed forward.’ She forced her head to remain high. ‘I should have anticipated that. The result lies on the green slope. My failure, not theirs.’

‘Save your men.’ His lips were a thin, white line. ‘How many more must die for your vanity?’

Sela stared at her former husband in dismay as her stomach lurched. She had wanted to save her home, her son. She had not started this battle. She had wanted to avoid bloodshed.

Vanity? Was that what he thought? She forced her head high, schooled her features, grateful that the nose-piece on the helmet would keep her face in shadow.

‘I call it something else.’

‘It does not matter what you call it.’ Vikar gestured around the battlefield with his sword. ‘Men are dying. You have lost the battle. How much more do you wish to lose? Yield now, and I may be disposed to give you favourable terms.’

Sela flinched. She could hear the cries of the wounded and the dying. One young man lifted his head, and reminded her of Kjartan. Vikar was right. She had things to live for, secrets to keep—for ever, if possible.

‘As you wish.’ She bowed her head and accepted the inevitable. She took off her glove and put her hand on the outstretched hilt of the sword. Her fingers grazed the ring embedded on the top, a little gesture, but one fraught with meaning. Surrender. She bowed her head, swallowed hard. ‘The battle ends.’

She stepped backwards. All perfectly correct. She knew the form. She had seen others bow down to her father, but she never thought she would have to make the gesture herself. She had believed in her father’s boast that no one could ever take this hall.

She opened her mouth to speak the final damning words, but her voice refused to work. She glanced up into the unyielding planes of Vikar’s face, pleading silently that it was enough; she had done all she could. She wished she hadn’t given in to the impulse as his lips turned further downwards. ‘The words escape me.’

‘No, you tell your men. It must come from you. You hold your father’s sword. You say the words of surrender.’ Vikar’s green eyes were colder than a frost giant’s. ‘I know Bose the Dark’s tricks. He matches Loki in resourcefulness.’

Sela glanced towards the hall, half-expecting her father to appear, half-fearing he would. The doorway remained vacant, a gaping black hole.

Removing her helmet, Sela raised her hand showing her surrender. She waited. Nothing happened. She glanced at Vikar, who gestured for her to repeat the movement. She tried again. Nothing.

Vikar nodded towards the standard. She went over to it, took it from her man’s hand and waved that, then lowered it with one sweeping motion. ‘The battle belongs to you…my lord.’

Bose’s standard with its dark sun against a golden background fell, hitting the ground with a solid thump. And with it, her hopes and dreams.

All around her the noise subsided until the very stillness appeared to be unnatural. The men turned towards her. She saw Vikar nod imperceptibly towards his men, and they lowered their swords.

The fighting was over; the carnage littered the gentle slope.

Sela started towards the nearest fallen warrior. She wanted to use her skills as a healer to help with the wounded, but Vikar’s arm clamped around her wrist, preventing her.

‘Let me go.’ Sela moved her arm sharply downwards, but Vikar’s hand remained. Strong and determined. ‘I have done as you asked. You are the victor here. The battle is over. I have surrendered. You are the master. You may take what you wish from the hall but my men need my aid. I possess some small skill that might be of service.’

‘War leader, now healer. What other talents do you possess, Sela?’ Vikar’s hard, cynical eyes and tight mouth mocked her.

I had no talent for being a wife. The thought pierced her with its suddenness, drawing the breath from her lungs.

Gorm’s broken sword caught her eye and she swallowed hard. And it would appear she possessed little skill as a war leader either. This hall was supposed to impenetrable, but it had fallen in less time than it took a shadow to cross the courtyard. Her failure at Vikar’s hands was absolute. Her knees threatened to give way. She straightened her back, and drew her dignity around her like a cloak.

‘What can I say? I am my father’s daughter.’

‘Bose the Dark absent from this battlefield? What mischief is this?’ Vikar said through clenched teeth. ‘The truth, Sela. How did he breathe his last?’

‘My father lives.’ The breeze blew strands of hair across her face. She tried not to wonder where her father was. Or if he knew that she had lost, that their world had irrevocably changed. ‘He might not be able to lead his men in battle, but his mind remains clear.’

‘It is only you who have surrendered, not the hall, not the jaarl of the northern lands. My men remain in danger.’

‘You bandy words. We have no more men.’ Sela held up her hands. ‘Look around you. You have defeated us. The hall is yours, to do with what you will.’

‘Your father’s hall boasts of many more retainers. He keeps an army as great as Thorkell’s.’ Vikar gestured to where the men stood or sat with their heads in their hands. ‘These are the old, the young, the infirm. Where are your father’s warriors?’

‘If I had had the warriors, I would have used them.’

‘Are you leading me into a trap, Sela? Seeking to lull my men with the promise of victory only to have it snatched from their hands.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I know about women and their honeyed promises. I learnt my lesson well, Sela.’

Sela kept her head raised, and met Vikar’s eyes. ‘The bulk of my father’s force departed weeks ago…to find new markets…in Permia.’

‘But your father remains. His standard fluttered in the breeze when we first arrived. It was his standard, not yours that you lowered.’

‘He is here. My entire family is here,’ Sela replied carefully. Every fibre of her being tensed as she waited to hear him reveal his true reason for making war—the command to see his son.

‘Take me to Bose.’ Vikar’s face was hard and uncompromising underneath his helmet. ‘I desire to speak with him.’

Speak with Bose. Demand that he swear allegiance if he was lucky or meet a swift death if he was not. Sela had no illusions about what Vikar intended. The rules were harsh. And there would be no recourse to Thorkell. He had allowed her father enough men to defend himself. It was not Thorkell’s fault that they had chosen adventure with Hafdan, instead of their duty. For their sakes, she hoped that they had gone to Permia and had not decided to raid Viken as one of the women whispered they might.

Sela forced her mind to concentrate.

There had to be a way to stall Vikar and to allow her father a chance to escape with Kjartan. If he held out, if Hafdan and his men returned quickly enough, the hall might yet be restored. Kjartan might inherit more than a broken sword and an arm-ring. She had to find that way. She had to give her father and Kjartan a chance.

‘What about my people? The wounded must be seen to.’ Sela nodded towards the battlefield where the wounded lay, moaning and crying out. ‘The hall will have to be secured, but neither my father nor I would desert our people. I have a responsibility to bind wounds.

‘They are no longer your concern.’

‘But they are,’ Sela protested. ‘They depend on me.’

Vikar’s eyes hardened and became chips of green stone. ‘You lost that right.’

The hall was very different from the last time Vikar had entered its walls. Then it had been hung with expensive tapestries, furs had lined every bench and the air had been scented with sweet perfume. No expense spared for his only daughter’s wedding. Vikar pressed his lips together to form a tight line.

All of that was long gone, including the marriage. The rafters with their carved men and strange beasts stared down on a stone floor and cold hearth. Even stripped bare, Bose the Dark’s hall remained an impressive site. Large, echoing.

The benches were pushed to one side. The tables stacked, ready for the last defence. A defence that had never come. Why had Bose left his hall so unguarded? Had his pride reached such a state that he thought none dare attack him? Even when he attacked others?

‘Your father fails to come forward with open arms and a horn of mead to greet his former son-in-law,’ Vikar said as he looked at the slim woman before him. ‘Why does this fail to surprise me?’

‘You expected him to be?’ Her full bottom lip curled slightly and her eyes became daggers. ‘My father has never been foolish.’

‘It was foolish to try to hold this hall with such a force.’

‘One has to do something when raiders come calling.’

‘I will grant you that.’ Vikar looked at his former wife with narrowed eyes. Most women would have been wailing and tearing their hair. but Sela looked as if she wanted to run him through. Her beauty had grown and matured in the intervening years since they had last seen each other. Tall, proud and defiant in her borrowed chain mail and trousers, yet somehow absurdly feminine. Vikar refused to feel pity. This situation was entirely of her making. ‘Your father should be ashamed sending you out to do his job.’

‘Thorkell forced it on him. My father and I had to make the best of what little remains. And we have done so.’ Her eyes flicked around the large bare room as if searching for something.

‘That is open to interpretation,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘My business is with your father, and as my men have paid the price in blood, I expect to speak with him, and to offer him my protection.’

‘You mean his surrender.’

‘If you want to call it that—yes. It is over, Sela. How many more must die?’

‘You wouldn’t. I surrendered. The battle is over.’

‘Not until I see Bose the Dark. Take me to him.’ He stared at her, and she was the first to flinch. Her head was bowed and her body hunched. Defeated.

‘He was in his chambers when we last spoke. Now allow me to retire.’

‘There, it was not difficult. And where is he now? He will surrender to me, Sela.’

‘Thorkell will have something to say…’ Now she was just trying to stall him, to give her father more time to get away with Kjartan.

‘Thorkell will approve of my action and I know your penchant for disappearing.’ Vikar shook his head, remembering how easily she had vanished before. One day there and the next, gone with a scribbled rune and Bose’s messenger, Hafdan delivering the news his marriage had ended. Vikar had derived a certain pleasure at Hafdan’s expression when he realised who had ensured his place at Odin’s table. ‘Did you think I had forgotten?’

She gave a half-shrug that could mean anything. Her face turned mutinous, her lower lip sticking out slightly in a way that he had once found charming. ‘I have never known what you remembered. Sometimes, I was certain you had forgotten our marriage and my existence.’

‘No, I only wished I had.’

‘You have fared well since we last met,’ she said in a calm measured tone and Vikar allowed her to change the subject.

‘You heard of the raid on the Northumbrian monastery.’ Vikar wondered briefly what she had thought when she had heard the news. Did it give her pause for thought? Did she regret divorcing him, dismissing him as worthless?

‘All Viken did.’ Sela inclined her head and a tiny smile touched her lips. ‘You and your fellow jaarls are famous. The saga of the voyage has rapidly become a favourite in this hall. You and the other jaarls of Lindisfarne will be remembered long after the Valkyries have called you to Odin’s banqueting hall.’

‘Sagas are meant to entertain. Much has been twisted and exaggerated in that particular tale. Haakon caused it to be written, and you know what he is like.’ Vikar gave a brief shrug.

‘I am hardly that naïve. The sagas about my father rarely hold any truth. Do you know one actually claims he stole an egg from the nest of the great aurorc who sits on the top of the tallest pine tree in the forest?’ She shifted her weight and gave a little laugh. ‘Can you imagine? My father hates heights.’

‘And you are sure your father remains in the hall? You are not trying to stall me while he slips away, like a rat out of one of his fabled secret passageways?’

‘Secret passageways?’ Her defiant chin was in the air, but her eyes held a wary look as her hand plucked at the bottom of her mail shirt. ‘Such things are far more suited to sagas than real life. You really must stop believing everything you hear, Vikar. Truly, I say this as someone who once cared about your welfare.’

‘You lie.’ Vikar wrapped his fingers tightly about the hilt of his sword and regained control. ‘Your father showed me one, years ago when we were first married.’

‘You have a good memory, then.’ Her voice was chipped ice. ‘I had forgotten it. All I know is where I left him—in bed. Weak. He has not moved since the day after Hafdan and his men departed.’

‘Shall we put an end to our speculation?’

‘If you must, but I was enjoying our pleasant chat, Vikar Hrutson.’

‘You never could lie very well, Sela, but I will humour you.’ Vikar strode through the main hall, barely glancing to his left or right. It bothered him that Bose had decided to send his one remaining child out into battle while he stayed safely hidden. That Sela chose to fight did not surprise him. His former wife had never lacked courage. He had often thought she would be a better jaarl than her older brother. ‘One, two, three. Are you there, Bose the Dark?’

He pushed aside the curtains that concealed the jaarl’s chambers from the rest of the hall.

Empty. Still. Lifeless.

Sela released a breath and fought to keep her body upright.

Kjartan’s bird’s nest lay discarded to one side of the bed. She reached out and gently touched the delicate thing. Kjartan had been so proud of it. A lump rose in her throat. When would she see him again? When would she see her child again?

‘Where has your father gone?’ Vikar’s face was ice cold as he viewed her father’s empty chamber. ‘You knew they had gone when you told me to come here. I am through with your games.’

‘I am not my father’s keeper.’

Sela fought the urge to sink down on the floor and offer her thanksgiving up to Frejya, Sif or any of the gods and goddesses of Aesir who might be listening. Her father had escaped, as had Kjartan. They had not been with the women. They were away from this place and not under Vikar’s rule.

‘Tell me where you think he is.’

‘I was busy with other things, and I failed to see him depart.’ Sela struggled to keep the laughter from her voice. Her father and Kjartan had escaped and nothing else mattered. She looked at Vikar, meeting his hard, green gaze. She had forgotten how handsome she once thought him with his rugged blond features. Once they had made her pulse race, and then she had learnt the sort of heart they concealed.

‘You are too loyal. He left you to defend the hall and fled. He deserted you, Sela. Left you to die.’

Sela sobered and glared at him. ‘Did you expect him to stay?’

‘Coward was never a word I would have applied to Bose the Dark.’

‘He had his reasons.’

Sela forced her face to remain a bland mask. She was certain her father had escaped to save Kjartan, once he knew who was leading the raiding party. She had to protect Kjartan. She could not risk him meeting Vikar. Then there would be no doubting who the father was. With every movement Vikar made, she could see echoes of their son.

A child belonged to the father, after weaning age, according to Viken law. She curled her hand. She would never give her son up. Vikar had not wanted her, and he would not want her child. She refused to have her son grow up unwanted, and uncared for. She had seen how such children ran wild, and had vowed it would never happen to her child.

‘Is there anything else you wish to say, Sela?’

‘If you will permit me, Vikar, to retire to my chamber and change into my ordinary clothes, perhaps we can discuss this sensibly.’ Sela turned on her heel. Once she had changed, she would regain her balance, her control. She needed time to think and to plot her escape. ‘There I will ponder your request, and perhaps, given time, I might be able to remember where my father might have gone.’

‘No.’

Sela blinked at the unexpectedness of the sound, and swung around to face him. White-hot anger coursed through her. She clenched her fists, tried to control it. ‘What do you mean—no? You complained my attire was inappropriate. I am attempting to follow your wishes and please you.’

‘Please me? That is the last thing on your mind.’ Vikar crossed his arms and lounged against the doorframe, blocking her way. ‘You have no intention of doing such a thing. Your chief delight and pastime during our marriage was going against my wishes. Behaving how it best suited you, Sela. I know you far too well.’

Sela forced her lips to curve into a smile. ‘We are strangers, you and I, Vikar. We only thought we knew each other.’

‘You disappeared all too eagerly, Sela—ready to run from any unpleasantness.’ A muscle in Vikar’s jaw jumped. ‘In Kaupang four years ago, you left without a word. I came back to our chambers—emptied of all life. The next thing I discover is that you have divorced me.’

Breath hissed through Sela’s lips. She struggled to maintain a grip on her temper. Left without a word, indeed! She had waited and waited, wanting to believe in his innocence, and then his betrayal had been clear. He had given her no choice and so she had acted. ‘That is not my memory of the situation at all.’

Vikar made an irritated noise in the back of his throat, reminding her forcibly of Kjartan and why this man represented danger. ‘Enough of this foolishness. I do not give you leave to retire, to pretend as if nothing has happened. Your father broke his truce. He sent his men to raid Viken territory.’

Sela’s heartbeat resounded in her ears. An unprovoked raid?

‘Vikar, you have made a grave error of judgement. My father has not raided in years. Why should he? He earns enough from the trade of skins, soapstone and amber. Let us speak no more of his raiding, but instead of yours.’

‘Mine?’

She drew a breath and began listing the points on her fingers. ‘You did not come in peace. Dressed in chain mail and bearing shields, you and your warriors rushed towards us with drawn swords without issuing a proper challenge. We had the right to defend ourselves. Thorkell will be informed of this. We have that right.’

She watched with grim satisfaction as Vikar struggled for words.

‘Hafdan led a raid. He was stopped. I intend to have no more raiding parties threaten Viken. Thorkell will support me. I am the new jaarl of the north.’

Sela closed her eyes. Hafdan. She should have guessed. Vikar was correct. Thorkell would not support her father, would not send his men to avenge the raid. ‘And what happened to Hafdan?’

‘He perished as all vermin do.’ A muscle in Vikar’s jaw jumped. ‘He would never have gone anywhere without your father’s orders.’

‘They quarrelled. Hafdan left. Hafdan sailed under his own standard.’ She pressed her hands together. ‘My father and I knew nothing of the raid. He had no intention of bringing war to Viken. Do you mean to sack the hall?’

‘Bose’s lands are among the most profitable in Viken. This hall is fit for a king, let alone a jaarl. Why should I wish to destroy that?’

‘And my people? What will happen to them?’

‘Provided they show their loyalty to their new master, life will continue on as before.’

Sela dropped her head to her chest and felt a lump form in her throat. She would not have to watch her home burn, see the crops ploughed under and then have Vikar and his men leave. Her people would be spared that.

‘And what will become of me?’ she asked in a small voice, unable to stop herself

‘You are a problem I had not anticipated. Your father should have taken better care of you. He should have ensured your protection, rather than have you take charge of a rabble such as the one my men and I faced.’

‘It was my choice. My father did not have any say in the matter.’

‘Then is your husband amongst the fallen?’ Vikar lifted his eyebrow. ‘You should have said earlier. I send my condolences. Or perhaps it is why Hafdan left?’

‘Having experienced marriage once, and found it not to my liking, I had no great desire to return to the state, particularly not to someone like Hafdan. He was my father’s favourite, not mine.’ Sela kept her head high.

‘Interesting.’ Vikar stroked his chin and his eyes gleamed. ‘It saves me having to put a sword through an innocent man.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘No man should live if he forces his woman to fight.’ A muscle in Vikar’s cheek jumped. ‘You should never have been out there, Sela. Women are made for other pleasures.’

‘Perhaps I have giantess blood like Skathi in the legends. She put on her father’s armour to avenge his death and marched all the way to Aesgard to challenge the gods.’

‘But your father lives.’ He lifted his eyebrows and had the bad grace to appear amused, as if he had caught her playing in her brother’s armour, instead of trying to defend her hall.

‘Things had to be done. A defence had to be made.’

‘But not by you, Sela. Your father was the jaarl. It is to his banner the men flocked.’

‘My father…’ Sela hated the way her voice faltered. She would have to confess the truth about her father’s affliction. ‘My father is ill. He cannot lift his sword. I had no other choice.’

‘If you father is that ill, that afflicted, why did he allow Hafdan to sail away?’

‘Hafdan wanted more—more power, more everything. My father felt that letting him go to Permia would give him the prestige he craved.’

‘Your tales grow more fantastic by the breath.’

Sela fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. He did not believe her. She had told the truth and he did not believe her. ‘It is the truth, even you must see that.’

‘Hafdan left, knowing you were unmarried and your father about to breathe his last?’ He slapped his hand against his thigh. ‘Hafdan always sailed under your father’s orders. He left to war against the Viken. He is now dead and your father’s plot is in ruins. Everything your father valued belongs to me…including you.’

‘What are you planning to do with me?’

‘You are unmarried.’ Vikar took a step towards her. A lazy smile appeared on his face. ‘You need a protector.’

Sela put her hand to her throat as she stepped backwards and felt the chest digging into her legs. ‘What sort of protector?’

His eyes raked her form, lingered on her breasts. ‘You would make an admirable concubine.’

Chapter Three

‘To you?’ Sela’s mouth went dry as the word echoed in her brain. The walls of her father’s chamber appeared to have shrunk, pushing her towards him, towards his hard unyielding body.

Unbidden, a memory of the last time they had joined assaulted her senses, the way his hands had stroked her body, playing it as expertly as he played the lyre, how his mouth had drawn the cry from her throat as the two reached their peak at the same time. She pushed it away, back in a place where she never ventured. She refused to remember what it was like before his betrayal, before she had learnt the truth. She forced her lip to curl.

‘I will pass, thank you very much.’

‘A challenge? You know I am never one to resist a challenge.’ A hint of laughter echoed in his voice. Sela remembered when that particular sound had sent shivers of delight down her spine. Such things had vanished years ago, along with her girlish illusions. She had grown in the four years since she had last seen him, become a different person. And the person she had become would not be attracted to him and his easy charm.

‘A refusal.’ She crossed her arms over her breasts, stared into his eyes and forced her lips to smile. ‘Surely by now, you must know the difference.’

A muscle in Vikar’s cheek jumped and his body grew still. Sela swallowed hard. Had she gone too far? A tiny shiver passed over her. She took a step backwards and tried to look somewhere other than at the green flame flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Vikar’s hands closed around her upper arms. He hauled her towards him until their bodies collided. The softness of her curves met the unyielding strength of his muscle.

‘Are you saying we were not good together? I seem to recall differently.’

He lowered his lips, captured hers, plundered them with expertise. His mouth drew the breath from her body, replaced it with a growing heat. Her body began to melt. A soft sigh escaped from her throat. His arms came around her, cradled her firmly against his body as her lips gave way under the onslaught.

Practised. Planned. Cynical.

Sela pushed against his chest with her last ounce of resolution, controlled her breathing and his arms fell away. Cool air encircled her as she sought to regain control of her breathing. Even in that brief span of time, her lips ached, longed for the warmth of his touch again, but she forced her body to remember how he had trampled her heart in the dust. She hoped he had missed her response.

‘My point proved.’ He inclined his head and a dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘We were good together. You and I.’

‘There is more to marriage than sexual attraction.’

‘Agreed, but it does help.’ He ran a finger down her cheek, and another pulse of warmth went unbidden through her. ‘It makes everything easier, less complicated.’

‘Our marriage died a long time ago.’ Sela jerked her head away. ‘It cannot be remade.’

‘I don’t believe I offered marriage. I simply stated the obvious.’ His eyes hardened. ‘You need a protector.’

Sela crossed her arms over her aching breasts. She gave a short laugh. Brittle and too high pitched. She swallowed hard and tried again.

‘I agree—I need protecting…from you and men like you. Men who use and discard women.’ A small sense of satisfaction filled her as Vikar’s jaw tightened. The barb had hit home. Good. She waited another heartbeat, then continued, making sure her voice dripped honey. ‘And you? What does your new wife think of your adventures? Is she more accommodating? How many concubines do you keep?’

Sela sought to keep control of her emotions. She was over him. She had to remember what he was like. She had seen the evidence, seen them with their heads together, laughing over some quip, her hand touching his cheek. It had been a knife in her heart.

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile.

‘I have yet to remarry.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘Like you, my first experience left a bitter taste, but Thorkell keeps trying to convince me that marriage is a worthy state. Apparently I need children tumbling about my hall, like young puppies. Haakon agrees. He says it will change my life. The touch of my own flesh and blood clutching my finger.’

Sela’s heart constricted and she shifted uneasily. How could she explain, if he did not know? How could she tell him about his son? How could she have Kjartan torn from her? She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hand.

‘And Asa? What does she say on the subject?’ The words slipped out before she could stop them—anything to keep away from the potentially disastrous subject of children. It was only when they echoed through the chamber that Sela realised how mean spirited they must sound.

‘Asa understands my reasoning.’ The green in his eyes grew cold. ‘It was a deep regret of hers that you two never became friends.’

Sela tightened her lips. Asa had had no intention of ever being friends with Sela all those years ago. She had taken great delight in humiliating her, pointing out her every mistake, laughing at her dress sense, shaking her head in mock despair at Sela’s unsophisticated ways. It was only when Sela discovered Asa’s love token beside her bed that she had known the truth. But that was in the past. And the past was finished. There was no return. There was only the future.

‘I do not want to make a rash decision. Can I have some time to think about your generous offer?’ Sela nodded towards the hall as the shouts of the men grew louder. ‘Your men will need your expert direction about what to steal.’

Vikar looked at her for a long time. Suddenly his green eyes blazed. ‘There can only be one answer, Sela.’

‘There is always more than one answer in life, Vikar. Haven’t you learnt that by now?’

‘I have bandied words with you for long enough.’

His hand closed around her arm, and he led her to the little room where her father did his accounts.

‘Why have you taken me here?’

‘It is a place for you to be alone. A place where I know there are no secret passages—only one entrance and exit.’ He gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘And the lock is complex. You need to turn the key three times.’

Sela gritted her teeth. Vikar had neatly trapped her. There would be no escape from here. ‘My father gave you too many confidences. How will I get released from here? What must I do?’

‘It will be your choice, Sela. Just as it was your choice to end our marriage. But you have a protector.’

‘And if my father is found?’

‘You will become his responsibility, not mine.’

With that, he swung the door and Sela heard the lock click into place. She sank to the floor and put her head on her knees.

How long until Vikar discovered that she was hiding more than her father?

‘Bose the Dark escaped into the woods,’ Ivar reported when Vikar returned to the dragon ships. ‘It has been confirmed by three of our men.’

The shoreline remained littered with fallen bodies and armour. Vikar shook his head. So much waste. All for what? Sela had to have known that she stood no chance with her host of ill-prepared and badly equipped men.

Why had she fought? Why had her father let her fight while he had escaped? The image of Sela standing there, proud yet vulnerable in her borrowed armour, was one that would haunt him for ever. He should have seen, should have realised earlier. Thankfully, Odin had allowed him to reach her before she had been injured.

‘Who has gone in the search party? How many men did you send?’ Vikar glanced towards the dark forest. He knew the answer from Ivar’s slightly shifting stance.

‘By the time I had received word, he and his party were long gone.’ Ivar fingered the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face, but did not meet Vikar’s eyes. ‘Our men would not have stood a chance in those trees. It is the realm of the wild men. I know the tales of how Bose the Dark subdued them, but they still lurk out there.’

‘Bose the Dark has spread many tales. Remember, this hall was supposed to be impossible to conquer.’ Vikar gave a satisfied smile. ‘I stopped believing in such things about the time I discovered a woman’s chest makes a soft pillow on which to lay my head.’

‘And I am sure many women would willingly provide that pillow.’

‘Not all.’ Vikar pressed his lips together and glanced towards where Sela was imprisoned. ‘I have no illusions, old friend.’

‘But you have proved luckier than most. Your bed is always warm. Whereas a man like me…’

‘Some might say that.’ Vikar stared over his friend’s shoulder.

There was little point in shattering Ivar’s illusions. Vikar’s bed had been cold for weeks, months. He wanted something more than the physical release, something indefinable. The succession of bedfellows, amiable as they were, did nothing for him, except increase his sense of dissatisfaction, his sense that there was a huge gaping hole in his life. He felt more in that brief kiss with Sela than he had done with any of his recent bed-companions.

Vikar turned his thoughts away from the memory of Sela’s lips trembling under his. Now was not the time for such things. He had an elusive jaarl to find, one who would employ every trick he could to stay one step ahead. One who would retake the hall and bring devastation to Viken if he could. A wounded animal was often the most dangerous. An old saying, but a true one.

‘How many men have you sent after Bose the Dark?’

‘None.’ Ivar banged his fists together. ‘I have no wish to send men on a fool’s errand. The pathways in that forest are many. He could be anywhere.’

‘Find a guide.’

‘None of his men will go. I tried threatening them. Offering gold. They are a poor lot, no spirit in them.’ Ivar hooked his thumbs around his sword belt. ‘And I would not trust them either. There is some mischief here that I don’t understand.’

Vikar gave a nod. Ivar was right. They needed someone they could trust to send them in the right direction, someone who would lead them directly to Bose. He would discover the truth of what was happening on Thorkell’s northern border and he would ensure peace. Bose the Dark had to see that his time of mischief-making was over. ‘Bose is obviously making for a sanctuary, a place where he can regroup or call in favours from other jaarls.’

‘But why would he leave his daughter?’ Ivar said. ‘Surely he must know her value as a hostage, if he should try to regain any of his land.’

‘It is the one piece of the puzzle I don’t understand,’ Vikar admitted. ‘Bose the Dark’s devotion to his family is legendary. Why did he deliberately put her in danger?’

‘Perhaps he grew tired of her and her demands. His daughter is reputed to be quite strong-willed and unmanageable.’

Strong-willed was an understatement. Stubborn beyond any sense was a better description. Her earlier refusal rankled. He had felt her lips move against his, her body begin to arch towards him. She was not as indifferent as she pretended. He had not mistaken the passion they had once shared. They would share it again, and he would be the one to do the leaving.

‘It is a possibility.’ Vikar rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. ‘But what I am more worried about is the remainder of Bose’s men. We are vulnerable to attack should he succeed in contacting one of his allies.’

‘Our situation?’ Ivar ran his hand through his hair. ‘Only two of our number made it to Valhalla. The other injuries are not life threatening. Surely it is a cause for celebration.’

‘Our victory was too easy.’ Vikar shook his head. ‘It was almost as if he wanted us to win. How quickly could he raise support?’

‘Would that all our fights were that easy! The gods were with us, but we did fight, Vikar.’

Vikar stared out towards the fjord. The water lapped at the ships. Had he inadvertently led his men into another one of Bose the Dark’s traps? Would he be the one defeated? He who had so proudly proclaimed that Bose could no longer manipulate him. Unthinkable, and yet the prickling sensation at the back of his neck refused to go. He had to find a way to discover Bose and force his surrender. While he was out there in the blackness, his men remained in danger. Bose had to formally surrender and accept him as the master of this hall. ‘It is not over yet.’

‘How so? We fought, they died. We won. It is the end.’ Ivar clapped his hand against Vikar’s back. ‘Stop seeing shadows where there are none. Our men deserve a victory feast.’

‘That army was commanded by a woman and the warriors were either past their best or untried. Someone wanted us to win here today. Someone knew we were coming.’ Vikar’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his dagger.

Ivar’s face showed his utter dismay. He glanced backwards as if he expected to see another host rising from the forest. He let out a soft sigh as the dark pines and birches remained devoid of life.

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘Find Bose. He is the key to unlocking this problem.’

‘Find him?’ Ivar’s eyes opened and his beard quivered. ‘He is in the forest, I tell you—he and two others—a woman and a child.’

‘So there were others. You should have told me to begin with. There will be a reason for that child.’

‘It is why they were let through,’ Ivar explained. ‘The old man looked harmless, leaning on his stick, and his face half-covered with a cloak. It was only after he was gone that someone noticed the resemblance. It had to be him—we have searched everywhere else.’

‘It will have been him.’ A faint breeze ruffled Vikar’s hair. The currents in this hall ran deep. He knew that nothing was ever straightforward. Sela knew far more than she was letting on. She would go to her father, if she could. She had always run to him after their fights.

‘Why would he have a child with him?’

It was not a question Vikar cared to answer or even speculate on.

What was the child to Bose the Dark? A shield and ruse or something more? The answers could only come from one source.

‘Bose has always been known for his personal bravery. If he can walk, he can fight. He remains a danger. Everything he does is for one purpose only—his personal gain and glory.’

‘But how are you going to find him?’ Ivar tapped a finger against his mouth. ‘No one knows where he has gone.’

‘Sela does.’ Vikar nodded back towards the hall, towards where she was imprisoned. ‘And she is going to try to reach him, if I allow her.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’ Ivar’s eyes widened. ‘Women are unreliable creatures.’

‘Sela reveres her father. She will go.’ Vikar permitted a smile to cross his face as he remembered Sela’s reaction to his suggestion. Concubine to a jaarl. Most women would have taken a pragmatic approach. But Sela made it seem as if he threatened to send her to the frost giants. ‘I have given her every incentive to go. I know the woman well. She will escape and I will be with her, dogging her footsteps.’

‘And how will you make certain you don’t lose her? I heard that when she divorced you, she vanished into thin air.’

Vikar gazed up at the sky—a hazy blue, signalling it was late in the day. The sun would not properly set this far north. He preferred not to think about that day when he had gone back to their lodging and discovered Sela gone. Later Hafdan had taunted him, beaten him. Vikar fingered his long healed jaw. He had learnt a lot since that day. It was then that he had lost his illusions, and had begun to grow up.

‘She escaped me once, but she will not again.’ The muscles in his neck tightened. ‘We must work out how many will guard the hall and what needs to be done to repair its defences. Bose has become lax in recent years.’

‘The men deserve a feast. They will want to sample the spoils. You seek to deny them their right.’

‘We feast tonight, and tomorrow you begin the work. This hall will not fall so easily again. I will find Bose. I promise you that.’

‘Very good, Vikar.’ Ivar adjusted his sword belt. ‘Can I help you with your problem? Is there anything more you need?’

‘Allow me to handle my former wife, my own way.’ Vikar put his hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘I have planted the seed. Let us see how she reacts to a bit more subtle persuasion.’

Concubine? To Vikar? After what had passed between them? He was determined to humiliate her. Determined to show the world his total mastery of her and her world.

Sela shook her head in amazement. Even now, some time after Vikar had locked her in the blackness of her father’s room, her lips ached slightly, giving lie to her declaration that she felt nothing for him. His final words circled around her brain, making it impossible for her to think of anything else.

Join with him? Willingly? Again?

Surely he had not been serious? He was trying to worry her, to make her act without thinking. He would offer some other man and then expect her to fall on her knees in gratitude. It would be entirely like him.

The man was insupportable. And there was no way of escape from this particular room except through the door.

Sela stamped her foot and felt a floorboard give way slightly. She sank down on the hard ground and her fingers searched for a bit of purchase. She tugged and pulled. The board gave way without warning, and she flew backwards, landing on her bottom. Gingerly Sela reached into the cavity, felt around the narrow space. Her fingertips touched the hilt of a dagger.

Hurriedly, Sela withdrew it and stuffed it into the waistband of her trousers. She felt better now that she was armed. She shrugged out of the chain mail and let that fall to the floor with a thump. Immediately her shoulders and back became lighter. Whatever happened, she had no intention of wearing that cumbersome piece of clothing again.

She bit her lip, trying to come up with some semblance of an escape plan. Vikar knew the ways of the hall as well as her father.

In those happy days when they were first married, she had taken great delight in showing him some of the secrets. Not all—thankfully there had not been time to show him where the safe houses were. It was always something she was going to do some day, but then their marriage had fallen apart.

She stretched her limbs.

Had it ever really begun?

Vikar had been a skilful lover and she, young and untried. Her body had responded to his skilled touch, but he had not cared for her. She had been naïve, overwhelmed that such a great warrior would want her. They had barely known each other. It had been a political match and it had been unfortunate that she had imagined otherwise.

The only part of the marriage she did not regret was Kjartan.

The door creaked, and Sela lifted her head, every nerve on alert. Her hand reached for the dagger, but she resisted the temptation. She’d wait, and only attack if provoked.

‘Who goes there?’

‘Vikar sent me.’

An unfamiliar giant of a man put a plate of dry bread, a mug of ale and a small rush light down on the floor near her, but not so near that she was tempted to rush him, and then backed away.

‘Why have you brought me these?’

‘Vikar says you are to eat. He will not have you starving.’ The guard leered before throwing a fur at her feet. ‘And he does not want you to be cold. You should sleep; soon you will not get much rest.’

‘How very generous of him.’

She examined the guard from where she sat. The man resembled an over-fed ox. Vikar had chosen well. She would have to trust Loki that another less obvious way to escape would appear.

The guard made another bow and slammed the door shut. Sela waited for the sound of the lock clicking into place. But there was only one click. Then the sound of heavy footsteps retreating, going out of the room.

There was only one click. Had Vikar forgotten to tell the guard?

She pressed her hand against her head and tried to think of how to open the door. Her heart pounded in her ears. Loki had heard her prayer, and given her a sign. Freedom beckoned, if she was careful.

It was easy, her father had often boasted. She simply had to…And her mind went blank.

Sela went over to the door, and attempted to turn the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried the other way. Nothing. Sela held up the little rush light, trying to find the secret way, but the wood looked smooth. It had no wish to deliver up its secrets. She beat against the handle with her fists, but it remained stubbornly shut.

‘Father! You created a trap for your own daughter!’

She kicked the bottom of the door and it swung open. Sela gave a strangled laugh. The answer so easy that it was in front of her. She wiped her hands against her trousers and peered out into the darkened chamber.

No guard stood there, waiting. Her brow wrinkled. Vikar must be losing his touch. Or perhaps he thought her incapable of escape. Whatever it was, it did not matter. The only thing that mattered was breaking out of the hall, rejoining Kjartan and getting as far away from Vikar as possible.

Vikar, arrogant in his superiority, had miscalculated. His own man had failed him.

She would be free. They would not soon recapture her.

She started towards the entrance to the chamber as the sounds of feasting swirled around her, then stopped.

Her escape would only work if it was not quickly discovered. She retraced her steps and arranged the armour and fur to look as though she slept. She then held up the sputtering remains of the rush light. Not perfect, but it was the best she could do. If the guard checked tonight, it would be late, probably after the feasting.

Voices rumbled outside her father’s chambers and Sela quickly doused the light, pulling the door to her former prison shut. She flattened her body against the wall, ready to run, if they entered the room.

Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she thought they must hear. Just when she thought she could no longer bear it and would have to act, the footsteps moved on and the voices receded. Sela relaxed against the wall. Waited. Risked a breath.

Staying here was asking to be recaptured. She might as well try to march through the centre of the feast and announce her plan to the entire hall. She had to move. She had to find a way. Kjartan was counting on her.

She eased the door back and looked out. The passage was silent. Beyond it, she could see the flickering light of the hall’s fire and hear the laughter as a skald started his tale. Sela clenched her fists. Vikar had wasted no time in making himself at home. These men were making free with the stores she had worked so hard to build up.

Cautiously she made her way along the passage, keeping to the shadows. She peeped out into the great hall. Vikar sat at the high table, with his back towards her. Over-confident in his finery and hearty laugh, but breathtakingly handsome. She stood watching the way his long fingers held the goblet.

A sudden burst of laughter at a poor joke about her father by the skald brought her to her senses. She should have expected it, but it still bothered her.

She fingered the knife and took a step forward. He deserved to suffer.

Her toe hit something—a little wooden horse. Rapidly she bent down and picked it up. Kjartan’s favourite, the one he took everywhere with him.

Tears pricked her eyes and she used the back of her sleeve to wipe them away. Kjartan would be lost without his horse. He must have cried when her father led him to safety. Sela straightened. There were more important things than exacting her revenge. And this horse would be her talisman.

She had loathed that tunnel ever since her brother had lured her there as a child. Her nurse had rescued her, shaken and dishevelled, after what seemed like hours in the company of bats and spiders’ webs. But there was no hope for it. She did not dare risk the kitchens or going through the main hall.

She would have to brave it and hope the bats had gone. Even the thought of the creatures in her hair turned her stomach. After the tunnels, the woods and then the long way around to the hut. It was safer and was bound to be the route her father had taken with Kjartan. She might even reach them before the fording place, if she hurried.

A sudden burst of applause as the skald reached the high point in his recitation of the saga about the Lindisfarne raid forcibly reminded her that she could not simply stay here, pressed up against a wall for ever. Her muscles tensed as she prepared to run to the next group of shadows. Vikar called something out to the skald and the place erupted in laughter. Coarse rough laughter from men who had filled their bellies with meat and ale. At the sound, she darted. Made it.

She kept to the shadows and reached the tunnel’s entrance without being challenged. The outlines of the trapdoor were clear for anyone who knew where to look. She would make it through. The way was clear. There were not hidden twists or turns. She simply had to keep going until the end.

‘Concubine?’ she whispered before raising Kjartan’s horse over her head in triumphant. ‘I choose another path.’

The trap door creaked slightly as she lifted it. She descended a few steps, pulled it firmly shut and allowed the blackness to envelop her.

‘Vikar,’ Ivar said in an undertone as the skald began another song. ‘The food has been delivered to your prisoner.’

Vikar drained his horn of ale, wiped his hand across his face and lifted his gaze to the shadows. ‘I know.’

‘But how can you know? The guard has just returned. He was waylaid in the kitchens. There is a lusty serving maid who caught his eye.’

The shadows shimmered and parted as a figure moved stealthily along the wall. Vikar permitted a smile to cross his face. He knew his former wife well, even after all these years. It pleased him that she had been so accommodating, so willing to take the opportunity and so foolish not to see that the way had been made clear for her. And she would be his, on his terms in the end. ‘The mouse has taken the bait, as I predicted she would.’

‘You are taking an awful risk, Vikar.’

Vikar raised an eyebrow. ‘It is a risk, yes, but it is the fastest way of discovering where our host for this feast is hidden.’

‘Someone else should go.’

‘No.’ Vikar banged his fist on the table and the skald stopped speaking, looking at him in amazement.

Vikar winced, remembering Bose the Dark’s reputation. The skald probably thought the tale had invoked his displeasure. He gestured for the man to continue with his saga.

Once the skald’s words flowed again, Vikar continued. ‘We have been over this, Ivar. This is my quest, my duty. You are to remain here and direct any defence that is needed. I know what my former father-in-law is like. I and I alone will bring him back for the surrender. Then, none in the Sorting will whisper and plot.’

‘I will do as you ask.’

Vikar knocked his horn with Ivar, before he drained the remainder. ‘Take care of the men until I return.’

‘May Odin and Thor speed your journey.’

The grey light, which a few steps ago had seemed only a cruel twist of the tunnel, grew brighter. Sela heaved a sigh of relief. She was nearly through the tunnel without incident. Her earlier fears seemed foolish now, but still she would be pleased when she made it through to the woods, when she no longer had to worry.

She reached the exit and gulped the fresh pine-scented air, a welcome relief after the close stale air of the passageway. She had lost count of the number of spiders’ webs she’d had to brush through, a sure sign that her father and Kjartan had gone a different way.

But they would be in the hut. They had to be. Sela clenched her fists, refused to give way to panic. They had agreed.

She dashed across the few open yards and made it to the screen of trees. There she waited to see if the alarm would be raised, but, except for the lone bark of one of the elkhounds, the yard was silent. She thought she saw the shadow of a man, but it vanished so quickly that she decided it was a trick of the light.

Her knees gave and she sank into the soft moss under the silver birch. A jay scolded her slightly and then flew off lazily into the hazy sky.

She listened to the sound of her heart beating and fingered Kjartan’s wooden horse.

Safety of a sort. After her breath had returned, she’d be away. And would not return except to free her people from Vikar. First her son, then her people. Somehow. Some way. She would prevail.

‘This is not the end, Vikar. This is only the beginning. I will regain everything. Everything!’

Sela raised her fist in the air and shook it towards the hall. Useless bravado she knew, but the little gesture of defiance made her feel better.

Her hair fell forward and she pushed it back behind her ears, pressed her fingertips into her eyes, concentrated on remembering the landmarks and their correct order.

In many ways, escaping from the hall was the easy part. Now she had to find her son. The thing she wanted most in the world was to scoop up Kjartan, hold him tight and never let him go.

She took a deep breath and plunged into the wood, picking her way along the faint track and keeping her eyes peeled for the faint signs her father had left to show the way—a cut in the bark here, a pile of stones there. To keep her spirits up, she hummed one of Kjartan’s favourite songs, a great rollicking one about a brave warrior.

Twice she lost her way and the track vanished into a pond or off a cliff, and she had to retrace her steps, going ever deeper into the woods. She kept one hand clasped around the dagger at all times.

A noise caused the hairs on the back of Sela’s neck to prickle. She stiffened and tightened her grasp of the hilt.

An animal? Bear? Wolf, or worse—one of the berserkers who had lost their minds and become more bear than human?

She half-turned, caught a flash of dark blue cloth. The energy drained from her body. So close and yet she had achieved nothing. She could throw herself down on the soft moss and weep.

‘You have had your amusement,’ she said, carefully enunciating her words so there could be no mistaking them. She put her hands on her hips and stared at the place she was certain he had concealed himself. ‘I wonder that you let me get this far. When did you plan to let me know that my attempt was pitiful?’

‘Your escape showed faint glimmers of ingenuity, Sela, I will give you that, but they have faded. Will you never learn about concealment?’

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