Get swept away by Joanna Fulford’s

VICTORIOUS VIKINGS

No man could defeat them. Two women would defy them!

DEFIANT IN THE VIKING’S BED

Proud warrior Leif Egilsson is enslaved by his enemies and vows his revenge on the woman responsible. Lady Astrid will become his slave—and will pay the price in his bed!

SURRENDER TO THE VIKING

Securing ships and weapons, powerful Viking Finn must take a bride in return. The fiery Lara may have to walk meekly to the altar, but she’ll fight their unwanted attraction each step of the way!

In memory of Jane Croft, writing as Joanna Fulford

DEDICATION FROM BRIAN,

HER LOVING HUSBAND

To Leonie Martin, Rosie Gilligan, Sue Pacey, Carol Vardy, Ann Norman, Gaynor Roberts and Graham Godfrey, who supported Jane throughout her writing career and me since.

Surrender to the Viking

Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Previous novels by the same author:

THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

(part of the Mills & Boon Presents … anthology, featuring talented new authors)

THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS

THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

HIS COUNTERFEIT CONDESA

THE VIKING’S TOUCH

THE CAGED COUNTESS

REDEMPTION OF A FALLEN WOMAN

(part of Castonbury Park Regency mini-series)

HIS LADY OF CASTLEMORA

CHRISTMAS AT OAKHURST MANOR

(part of Snowbound Wedding Wishes anthology)

DEFIANT IN THE VIKING’S BED *

* Victorious Vikings

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter One

Rags of mist drifted across the dark waters of the fjord and hung among the trees below the promontory, and the first rays of sunlight tinted the distant mountains pink and gold. At any other time Lara might have enjoyed the scene and the peace that attended the start of the new day, but just then her thoughts were turned inwards, her body moving automatically through the drill that Alrik had taught her. Her brother was absent but she had put their former lessons to good use, rising early to practise every day until the feel of the sword in her hand was as familiar as a distaff or a drop spindle.

No one in the hall would be stirring yet, and the promontory was far enough from the buildings to make discovery unlikely. If her father learned what she had been doing these past months his displeasure would be great. Lara grimaced. The tension between them was bad enough. They had barely spoken since their last argument a week ago...

‘You’re eighteen years old already and like to be an old maid, yet you continue to frighten off every suitor who offers for your hand.’

‘Frightened men have never held any appeal, you see.’

‘Don’t be flippant with me, girl,’ replied Jarl Ottar. ‘Indeed you would be well advised to mend your ways and cultivate some womanly charm.’

‘Am I not charming, Father?’

‘I’ve seen she-wolves with milder temperaments than yours. No man wants a sharp-tongued harridan for a wife.’

‘Then they are free to choose milksop brides if they wish.’

‘It is a woman’s place to be dutiful.’

Lara’s eyes flashed indignation. ‘Asa was dutiful, wasn’t she?’

Her father frowned. ‘Your sister did what was required of her. She understood what was due to her family.’

‘Don’t try to hide behind the family. Asa was forced into that marriage to satisfy your political ambition.’

‘It was a necessary alliance to prevent more years of feuding.’

‘You might as well have thrown her into a pit of vipers, but you will not use me as you used her.’

Lara lunged, thrusting the blade deep into the imaginary form of her erstwhile brother-in-law. It would have given her great pleasure to have disembowelled the living version but, unfortunately, he was far out of reach. She was also realistic enough to know that, were they ever to come face-to-face in combat, he would likely slay her with ease. She would never have a warrior’s strength or skill with a sword, but learning the rudiments of self-defence gave her a sense of accomplishment. It was also empowering, like watching her would-be suitors fleeing.

‘I will keep faith, Asa,’ she murmured. ‘I swear it.’

Regretfully she sheathed the blade once more and then picked up her cloak. People would be stirring now and she needed to get back. Recalcitrance didn’t extend as far as ignoring the round of daily chores that fell to her lot. Those were performed diligently leaving no room for criticism. She smiled to herself. Men who were well fed and comfortable generally complained less than those who weren’t. Anyway, it was good to be occupied. Idleness had never suited her.

She was just about to leave when she saw the ship rounding the promontory below her. Although it had the sleek lines and carved prow of a warship it was smaller than most of the sea dragons she had seen, with a crew of twenty or so. The lack of wind meant that the craft was under oars, the blades dipping and rising in perfect rhythm, barely ruffling the surface of the water. Lara silently acknowledged the skill of a crew working as one. Her gaze went from the rowers to the figure at the steering oar, a warrior in a mail byrnie. Her brow creased and she looked more closely. All the men on board were wearing them. Curiosity sharpened. The effort of rowing was great enough under normal circumstances; wearing mail would make it ten times harder. If they were doing so it argued that they had been under attack, that they expected to be or that they were about to launch an attack of their own.

* * *

She scanned the fjord but could see no sign of any other vessel. If they were being pursued it wasn’t evident. That didn’t necessarily mean that they intended to attack the steading but, all the same, it didn’t pay to be complacent. Forewarned was forearmed. For that reason the landing was always guarded. Her father never took chances like that.

Seconds later she heard the sound of the watchman’s horn announcing the approach of the ship. Wanting to see for herself she followed the track from the promontory but instead of turning right at the fork she bore left and headed towards the shoreline. The path led down a gentle gradient through a stand of birch before reaching the water. From the edge of the trees there was a good view of the landing and cover enough to remain unnoticed.

* * *

By the time she arrived the ship was nearing the shore. Half-a-dozen armed men watched its arrival. She heard the watchman’s challenge ring out. It was answered at once. Evidently the answer must have been satisfactory because the crew were invited to tie up and come ashore.

Two men vaulted over the gunwale on to the wooden jetty and proceeded to make fast the lines while their comrades prepared to disembark. Although Lara was some fifty yards away she could see that her previous assessment had been correct: this was a warship and her crew armed to the teeth. Their leader appeared to be the individual she had seen before at the steering oar. He had his back to her at present but when he rattled off a series of instructions they were obeyed without question. Even among a group of big men he stood out. He was several inches taller than the rest and, like them, had the powerful athletic frame of the warrior. Moreover, he carried himself with the confidence of one accustomed to command and to being obeyed: a nobleman probably.

Lara was quietly amused. Most men of that class thought they had a right to instant obedience. It was ingrained in the species, like arrogance. As she surveyed the scene, the tall warrior turned around. She had an impression of a clean-shaven face with strong clean lines, framed by a mane of fair hair. He was...distinctive, she conceded. Probably he was well aware of it too.

As though sensing that he was being observed he looked up, his attention moving beyond the landing towards the trees. The questing gaze spotted her and then locked fast. Seconds later the intent expression was replaced by amusement. Lara glanced down and realised that as she was carrying her cloak the sword at her side was plainly visible against the skirt of her gown. The realisation gave her a mental jolt. It was a careless slip and she was annoyed with herself for letting it happen. Mingled with that was indignation that it should be a source of amusement to the stranger. Nevertheless, if he thought she would be disconcerted by it he was mistaken. Lifting her chin she returned his stare and held it for a moment or two. Then, unhurriedly, she turned and walked away.

* * *

Finn remained where he was, his gaze following the girl until she was lost to view among the trees. Her presence there had been both unexpected and arresting as though a curious woodland fey had suddenly appeared to investigate their arrival. The impression was enhanced by flowing brown hair and a gown of forest-green. The fey was fair to look upon but somewhat aloof in her manner. Her expression just now had been a distinct challenge, like the sword she wore at her side. He was amused and intrigued, his curiosity thoroughly roused. Had circumstances been different he’d have investigated further.

‘My lord, will it please you to come with us?’

The watchman’s voice brought Finn back to practicalities. ‘Er, yes, of course.’

Leaving half-a-dozen men with the ship, he and the others followed their escort. It was but a short distance to Jarl Ottar’s hall, an impressive timber dwelling that spoke of the status of its owner. Around it were other buildings: stables, barn, byres, pig sties, workshops and forge. Finn and his men surveyed the steading with appraising eyes.

‘It’s a fine place,’ observed Unnr. ‘Looks like Jarl Ottar’s a wealthy man.’

‘Let’s hope he places a high value on old allegiances,’ said Sturla.

‘We’ll soon find out, won’t we?’

Any doubts they might have entertained were swiftly banished. As soon as they were announced Jarl Ottar came forward at once. He was in his forties and his red hair was faded and streaked with grey. However, his burly form suggested strength and vigour and his blue eyes were keen and shrewd. He smiled at the newcomers and then embraced their leader heartily.

‘Welcome, Finn Egilsson, and welcome to your companions too.’

‘I thank you, my lord.’

‘Your father was a great warrior and a staunch ally. I was proud to call him friend.’

‘He spoke of you too,’ said Finn, ‘and always with the greatest affection and respect.’

‘You have the look of him.’

‘My brother, Leif, also.’

‘When I heard of your father’s death it was with deep sorrow.’ Ottar shook his head. ‘There weren’t many like him. Nevertheless, it’s good to see one of his sons in my hall.’ He shouted for the servants to fetch ale and food. ‘When you have refreshed yourselves you can tell me what brings you here.’

* * *

When Lara returned the first person she saw was Alrik. He was two years her senior and he was considerably taller. Like her he had the deep red hair that was a family trait. His blue eyes held a gleam of amusement and were looking pointedly at the cloak she was holding closed over her gown.

‘Been practising again, eh?’ He gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell.’

‘I know.’ She glanced round to make sure they were out of earshot. ‘I need to go and put the sword away. In the meantime we have visitors.’

‘I thought I heard the horn sound.’

‘A vessel has just arrived at the landing.’

‘A trader?’

‘A warship.’

He frowned. ‘How many men?’

‘I counted twenty.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Don’t you want to find out why they’re here?’

He grinned. ‘You mean you want to find out why they’re here.’

‘All right, I admit I’m curious. Are you going to pretend you aren’t?’

‘No, I won’t pretend that.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘Go and hide your guilty secret. I’ll go to the hall.’

With that he hurried off. Lara made her way back to the bower. The place was empty now so she removed her cloak and unbuckled the sword belt before laying the weapon carefully back in the bottom of her chest and replacing the clothing on top. No one would suspect its presence there. Having done that, she straightened her rumpled gown and brushed a few tendrils of hair off her face. Then she went to find out what was toward.

By the time she reached the hall the place was bustling with servants carrying platters of food and jugs of ale. Her brother and father were deep in conversation with the guests. The servants had matters well in hand so she was able to stay in the background and listen.

* * *

Finn and his men took the edge off their hunger with bread and cold meat washed down by several cups of ale. Ottar made no attempt to discuss business until they had eaten. Then he made a gesture for the servants to replenish the cups and looked at his guests.

‘Now, will you not tell me why we have the honour of your company?’

‘It is not pleasure only that brings us here,’ said Finn then, ‘but rather the political turmoil in Vingulmark. The royal house did not look kindly on their defeat at Eid.’

Ottar regarded him intently. ‘You were there?’

‘Leif and I fought for Halfdan Svarti. So too did our cousin Erik and all the men you see before you. The fighting was fierce but at the end of it King Gandalf’s army was routed. Heysing and Helsing were slain. Only Prince Hakke survived.’

‘Better if it had been the other way around,’ said Ottar. ‘I always thought him the most dangerous of Gandalf’s sons.’

‘There’s many would agree. Hakke is nothing if not vengeful. His next act was to carry off Halfdan’s intended bride, Lady Ragnhild, thinking to wed her by force. Fortunately we prevented it and rescued the lady, but, in the confusion, Hakke managed to escape us.’

‘That was ill luck.’

‘Ill luck indeed. He bided his time until he could have his revenge. It was to take the form of a hall burning. My brother’s hall to be precise.’

‘That is treachery of a high order.’

‘The hall was on an estate in Vingulmark, a part of the land ceded to Halfdan. It was a gift to my brother from the king—a generous gift too, but its location made it vulnerable.’

‘I can see how it might.’

‘Hakke intended to surround the place and trap us within before he set fire to it. But for a timely warning the plan might have succeeded,’ said Finn. ‘As it was we were heavily outnumbered. We decided to split up so that the enemy would have to divide his force in order to give chase.’

‘Which, knowing Hakke and his adherents, they did.’

‘My men and I were pursued by a big warship under the command of Steingrim. They would have overtaken us for sure but, mercifully, the fog came down and we managed to lose them.’

‘As well for you that you did.’

‘Steingrim won’t give up easily. If we’re to have any chance of defeating him we must have reinforcements.’

‘Ah.’

‘I was hoping you might be able to help us, my lord.’

Ottar nodded. ‘Whatever can be done will be done.’

‘I appreciate it.’

‘You are the son of a friend and an ally. Your enemies are mine.’

‘I shall not forget this,’ said Finn. ‘Nor do I expect such a favour for nothing. You will tell me what I may do for you in return.’

Ottar was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then his gaze met Finn’s and he smiled. ‘I will think on it. In the meantime I invite you and your men to remain here for a few days as my guests. Tonight you must take pot luck. On the morrow we shall feast you properly.’ He looked round, his gaze scanning the room. Then it lighted on the person he sought. ‘Ah, there you are. Come here, girl.’

Finn glanced round casually, assuming that his host was addressing one of the servants, but as the girl in question crossed the room towards them he stared, recognising her at once. Seen at closer quarters she reinforced his earlier impression of a fey; the face with its high cheekbones and small pointed chin was dominated by beautiful blue-green eyes. Her hair, which he’d originally believed to be brown, was actually deep red and naturally curly, spilling in a glorious mass over her shoulders and down her back to a waist he could have spanned with his hands. Despite its slenderness her figure had the alluring curves of womanhood. The green gown he had noted before was made of fine wool and belted by an embroidered girdle. The only thing missing was the sword.

‘Jarl Finn and his men will be staying with us for a while,’ said Ottar. ‘You will make whatever arrangements are necessary.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Ottar went on, ‘This is my youngest daughter, Lara.’

Finn made a courteous bow. ‘I am honoured, lady.’

The blue-green eyes surveyed him coolly for a moment and then she inclined her head in acknowledgement.

‘The honour is mine, my lord.’

The tone was polite but also aloof. The words were not accompanied by a smile, or a blush or the lowered gaze that he might have expected. It was as though she were merely observing the outward forms of courtesy but was inwardly unconcerned about whether she pleased or not. It was far removed from his usual experience with women. Then again, the women with whom he’d associated in recent times had a vested interest in pleasing a man. This was the daughter of his host so it behoved him to make an effort.

‘I did not know that Jarl Ottar had so fair a daughter.’

‘Didn’t you?’ she replied.

Finn was momentarily taken aback, which it seemed she had intended. He recovered quickly. ‘No, I regret to say I did not.’

‘Why regret?’

‘I could have brought a suitable gift.’

‘I have no need of gifts.’

‘A gift does not have to supply a need,’ he replied. ‘It may be given as a token of regard.’

‘True, but since we have only just met the gesture would seem excessive.’

He knew he should probably drop the subject but at the same time couldn’t resist pushing it a little further. ‘So you would not appreciate a necklace of amber beads or a gold brooch?’

‘That would depend upon the giver. If it came from my father or brother I would treasure the gift.’

‘But not if it came from a visitor.’

‘No, my lord, for then I should suspect an ulterior motive.’

‘Oh, what motive?’

‘I should have to ask myself what would be expected in return.’

It was bold and blunt and provocative. No doubt that was quite intentional too and no doubt he should let it go, but the underlying challenge was becoming irresistible. ‘A gift should not come with strings attached.’

‘No, but they usually do in my experience.’

‘Is your experience so great, then?’

‘Great enough to make me wary of gifts—and givers.’

It was politely spoken but it was a rebuff all the same. She was quite impervious to compliments of any sort and, by extension, impervious to him. Nor, he suspected, was it a ploy to increase his interest. On the contrary he was fairly sure that she didn’t like him. He didn’t know whether to be amused or piqued.

Before he could think of a suitable reply her father cut in. ‘You must excuse my daughter, Jarl Finn. She has a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.’ He frowned at her. ‘That is why she is still unmarried at eighteen and is like to remain so.’

Finn winced inwardly at that, but the girl didn’t bat an eyelid. If anything he thought he saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. However, it was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain.

‘Yes, do excuse me, my lord. I’ll take my offending tongue elsewhere.’ She inclined her head respectfully. ‘Father.’

Jarl Ottar frowned. He was on the point of saying something more but evidently decided not to although his annoyance was apparent. Looking on, Finn was more intrigued than ever. Nothing here was what it seemed, he was sure of that. He was too experienced not to recognise a skilled performance when he saw one and the past ten minutes had been exactly that, but a performance to what end? His gaze followed Lara’s progress across the room: it was unhurried, almost studiedly so. His lips twitched. She must have anticipated that he would be watching her. Any moment now she would look back. Women invariably looked back, which meant that they were not as aloof as they pretended.

Lara did not look back and a short time later was in conversation with two servants. When they departed to carry out whatever instructions she had given, she left the hall by the rear door. Still she did not look back. Finn sighed, feeling mildly aggrieved.

Chapter Two

When she was away from the hall Lara relaxed a little. It was hours before she’d need to face the company again and then her role would be confined to ensuring the smooth service of food and drink. She would not be required to take part in the conversation. After the past ten minutes that was a relief. Jarl Finn might have a polished manner but he also had a high opinion of himself. She conceded that he was good at holding his own in an argument. At times she had half suspected that he was enjoying himself. That probably wasn’t the case; she took good care to ensure that men didn’t enjoy her company so it must be that he didn’t like to be bested.

As she turned the corner of the building she was rudely jolted out of thought by a small body cannoning into her legs. It bounced off and went sprawling.

‘What on earth—?’ She broke off, recognising the steward’s son. ‘Yngvi. I might have known.’

He sat up looking slightly dazed. Lara sighed and bent down to look at him.

‘Are you all right?’

He nodded. ‘I...I think so.’ As she helped him back on to his feet he regarded her apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. Drifa and I were playing tag.’

His younger brother nodded. ‘I was trying to catch him.’

‘I see.’

‘Did I hurt you, my lady?’ asked Yngvi.

‘No, you didn’t. You’ll be the one to get hurt if you race blindly around corners like that.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Lara smiled. ‘Go on, get along with you.’

Needing no further urging they ran off. As she watched their receding figures she shook her head feeling fairly certain that her warning would go unheeded. At the age of six Yngvi was proving to be a natural risk-taker, and where he led Drifa would follow.

She reached the weaving shed without further interruption and resumed work on the length of blue cloth she had started a few days earlier. As she did so, her mind went back to the days when she and Alrik and Asa had played tag together; happy, carefree days, and all too short. Let Yngvi and Drifa play while they could; they’d grow up soon enough. When she was a child she’d longed to be grown up. Everything had seemed so straightforward then: she would marry and have children and keep her husband’s house. It was what all girls did. Back then it had never occurred to her to question the matter. Now she knew better. Marriage was a trap and a handsome face was no guarantee of a good heart.

For no reason Jarl Finn drifted into her mind and lingered there. Reluctantly she was forced to admit that he was an imposing figure, no easier to banish mentally than he was to brush off physically. However, putting aside the ridiculous conversation they’d had together, she had been interested in the things he’d discussed with her father. While she knew about King Halfdan’s victory at the Battle of Eid, it was the first time she’d met anyone who’d actually been present. She’d have liked to ask Finn about it. That would have been a conversation worth having. She’d have liked to ask him about the kidnapping and subsequent rescue of Lady Ragnhild too. It sounded exciting, full of action and danger. It was also the stuff of romance.

Lara caught herself there. Romance was a notion for silly young girls who didn’t know any better. Nevertheless, the king must have cared very much if he was prepared to go to such lengths to get his lady back. Clearly he wasn’t the kind of man who dealt in mealy-mouthed flattery and trumpery gifts. Ragnhild was fortunate. Such men were rare. Most were strutting, vainglorious fools with no thought in their head beyond the winning of fame. Some were cruel to boot. To them a woman was a chattel to be used and abused. Asa’s husband had been proof of that.

Her sister had been a pawn in a deeper political game, married to seal a pact with former enemies. By the sound of it Jarl Finn had enemies, powerful ones too. Hall burning was a brutal form of revenge so it was fortunate that he and his kin had been warned in time. She couldn’t wish such a fate on anyone, not even on a man as annoying as he was. Happily he wouldn’t be around for much longer: once he’d got the extra swords he needed he’d be on his way.

* * *

With that happy outcome in mind Lara found it much easier to fulfil the obligations of hospitality that evening, plying the guests with mead and ale. Given the arrival of guests with no notice she’d been forced to improvise with the meal. It wasn’t exactly a banquet but at least there was enough food to go around. As she had anticipated her father would feast his guests properly on the morrow as hospitality required.

‘I’ve organised a hunt,’ he said. ‘Some of the men will go out first thing. A roast boar wouldn’t go amiss. Maybe even some venison.’

‘Either would be good,’ she replied.

‘You see to the rest.’

‘Of course. I’ve already spoken to the servants about extra bread and ale.’

‘I’ll say one thing for you, girl, you know how to keep house and provide a good spread.’

Well, yes. It’s what I’ve been trained to do from childhood. With an effort Lara clamped down on sarcasm and smiled instead. ‘Thank you, Father.’

He regarded her suspiciously, suspecting irony, but her expression was innocent so he grunted and held out his cup. She refilled it.

‘You should be putting those skills to use in your husband’s hall,’ he went on. ‘That’s the role you were intended for.’

‘In the meantime I am happy to practise here,’ she replied.

He snorted and turned away. Lara moved on.

‘Your father is right,’ said Finn as he held out his cup for a refill.

‘About what?’ she demanded.

‘The meal was excellent.’

The jug hovered a moment and she looked up quickly, undeceived by the bland tone. It wasn’t what he had meant at all but it was safer if she pretended to believe him. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, my lord.’

‘Clearly you are a good organiser.’

‘Women are trained to be good organisers.’

‘I suppose they are. Even so, twenty extra mouths to feed is quite a task.’

This was a first. ‘Men don’t usually consider such things. They seem to assume that food will magically appear at the given time. Then they eat and think no more of it until the next meal is due.’

He laughed. ‘There is some justice in what you say, although, having been responsible for a ship’s crew, I have learned about the importance of provisions.’

Her surprise increased. Not a complete fool, then. ‘Yes, I imagine you have.’

‘I enjoy my food as much as the next man. Besides, a well-fed crew complains less.’

‘So the way to their hearts really is through their stomachs.’

‘Battle loot plays its part as well.’

Lara’s expression altered. This was more like it. Now she had the opening she’d been hoping for. ‘You were at Eid, weren’t you?’

‘That’s right. How did you know?’

‘I heard you speaking to my father.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Were you eavesdropping?’

‘Of course. It was an interesting conversation.’

She looked quite unabashed by the admission. Finn’s lips twitched. ‘Battle might be deemed an unfit topic for the ears of a woman.’

‘Why should it?’

‘Because it’s brutal and bloody. A pretty woman should think of other things.’

She sighed. ‘Like necklaces of amber beads and gold brooches perhaps? Or maybe flirtation and romance?’

‘Isn’t that what young women usually think about?’

Lara was silent, wrestling with irritation and disappointment. For a moment she’d really thought he might be different from the others. She looked away. ‘Excuse me for asking an inappropriate question. It’s just that I was hoping for an intelligent answer. I should have known better.’

* * *

As Finn watched her walk off, he uttered a soft laugh that was compounded of disbelief and annoyance, the latter directed inwards. He hadn’t missed the sudden eagerness in her eyes when she asked him about Eid. If he hadn’t antagonised her, she might have let down her guard and they could have had a lively and interesting discussion. Instead he’d spoken without thinking and the barriers had come up at once. He was the one who should have known better. Had experience taught him nothing?

‘Pretty girl,’ said Unnr.

Finn glanced up and nodded. ‘As you say.’

‘Difficult, though. Redheads always are.’

‘So I’m told.’ Difficult was an understatement, thought Finn. Volatile was closer to the truth. When that was allied to a keen intelligence and a ready wit, it made for a challenging combination. Challenging and intriguing.

‘Take a bold man to tame that one,’ Unnr went on. ‘My oldest brother, Sveinn, married a redhead. Lovely to look at but a temper like a fiend when roused.’

Sturla frowned. ‘Regretted the match, did he?’

‘Certainly not. Sveinn loves a challenge—always did. A timid sort of woman would never have suited him.’

‘Each to his own.’

‘I’m with Sveinn,’ said Vigdis, who, like several others, had been listening with close attention. ‘A spirited woman has to make for a more interesting relationship.’

Murmurs of agreement greeted this.

Thus encouraged Unnr continued, ‘That’s right. Sveinn had fancied Halla from the start, see, because she was a real looker, but it wasn’t till she went for him with an axe that he really understood the depth of his feelings.’

Vigdis nodded. ‘I can see how something like that could help you make up your mind.’

‘It did. He fell head over heels in love.’

‘So he told her right away, then?’

‘Not quite. It wasn’t until he’d wrestled her to the ground and taken the axe away that he finally managed to convince her. Anyway, they made up the quarrel and married the following week. They’ve got five sons now.’

Ketill shook his head in admiration. ‘Your brother sounds like quite a romantic.’

His companions nodded.

‘I think he is,’ replied Unnr, ‘though of course he’d never admit it.’

‘Action speaks louder than words, eh?’

‘Correct. And love’s a funny thing. Take my cousin Snorri for instance...’

* * *

As the others pressed closer to listen Finn detached himself from the group and moved aside. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, evoking memories that he’d have preferred to leave alone. Unnr was right though: love was a strange thing. It entered in by the eyes and embedded itself in the heart. Its removal left a wound that never healed. Betrayal was always ugly no matter what form it took. Unnr’s brother was lucky in his choice of wife: evidently deception was not part of her nature. A man knew exactly what to expect from an axe. Moreover, he could see it coming. He didn’t know about betrayal until it was too late.

He should have read the signs, but he’d been so besotted with Bótey that he’d been blind. When he’d finally understood how blind, love had given way to jealousy and killing rage. She knew what his reaction would be and sought to put as much distance between them as possible. Not enough distance though, not nearly enough. He’d caught up eventually. Slaying his rival was a matter of natural justice, an act for which none would condemn him. A man must defend his rights and avenge himself on those who wronged him. That was the way of things. He had no qualms about killing his wife’s lover. It was what followed that sickened him and for that, in his own mind at least, he would stand forever condemned.

* * *

He and his men slept in the hall that night, or rather his men slept and soundly too. Finn found it much harder. His mind was too busy, not least with concerns about the immediate future. If he didn’t take care of Steingrim it was over. He and his men would be hunted down and slain. The mercenary force wouldn’t give up until that was accomplished. However, Finn had no intention of allowing them to keep the advantage. When he had the extra swords he needed the fight would be taken to his enemies, and when they least expected it. We’ll choose our own ground. Leif was right about that. He wondered how his brother was faring and whether he’d got his woman away safely. Presumably he had: once Leif had a goal in mind he invariably achieved it no matter who tried to stop him. Anyway, Astrid was a pretty girl.

Finn acknowledged the fact even though he felt dispassionate about it. His taste ran more towards dark hair, dark or deep red. For a moment Lara’s face floated into his thoughts. It was remarkable that she was still unmarried at eighteen. She could not have lacked for suitors. Surely among their number had been those who were not deterred by the kind of challenge she represented; any red-blooded man in fact. It suggested that Lara must have rejected them. Had she used an axe? He smiled to himself. It wasn’t hard to visualise such a scenario. The fey didn’t seem to like men very much. She certainly didn’t like him. There were admittedly some grounds for her dislike, but it didn’t explain her antipathy for the male sex as a whole, and that made him curious.

When his marriage ended it had been a while before he’d embarked on any kind of sexual adventure. At first it was the sort a man paid for; uncomplicated and mutually beneficial. Later there were longer liaisons with palace courtesans; more complicated and more expensive but more enjoyable too, while they lasted. He was all in favour of the giving and taking of pleasure and was generous when it came to rewarding the objects of his attention, but he never offered more than that. His terms were made clear at the outset. That way there could be no misunderstandings and no one got hurt.

Had Lara suffered a disappointment? Was her manner a defence against being hurt again? He didn’t know why his thoughts should keep coming back to her. He regretted his thoughtless words earlier: they had cost him an entertaining discussion. All conversations with her were entertaining. He had never met a woman who challenged his opinions before, or who held her own in argument with such accomplished ease, making him think on his feet. She made no attempt to flirt either and clearly resented it when he did. That too was novel. Women invariably enjoyed flirting with him. Some went out of their way to do so and the invitation they extended was blatant. Usually he was happy to oblige them with an hour of his time. He couldn’t imagine Lara seeking five minutes alone with him, never mind an hour. Probably it was just as well. There was no question of any dalliance with her, even if she had been so inclined. To take advantage of his host’s goodwill in that way was dishonourable. It would also jeopardise his mission here and that would be foolhardy in the extreme.

All the same Lara roused his curiosity. If he were honest she aroused rather more than that. Vigdis was right: a spirited woman was infinitely more interesting than a timid one. Finn smiled to himself. Had she been a lady of the court he’d have taken up the challenge she represented: in his experience every woman could be wooed and won; every rebel conquered—eventually.

Chapter Three

Somewhere amid these thoughts he dozed off and eventually slept until dawn. Around him his sword brothers snored on. Wanting to stretch his limbs he rose quietly, taking care not to disturb his companions, and slipped out of a side door. The morning smelled of dew and damp earth. It had rained in the night but the clouds had passed over and the new day looked promising. That was just as well when there was so much to be done. He was mentally listing it all when he glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye.

Automatically he whipped round, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. He wouldn’t put it past Steingrim to sneak up on his foes as they slept. However, far from being the enemy’s bulky form, the figure was slight and female. A proper look revealed her identity. He relaxed. She hadn’t noticed him at all and was heading away from the buildings along a track that led towards the trees. For a second he hesitated, debating with himself. Then curiosity won.

* * *

Lara reached the promontory a few minutes later and, having divested herself of the cloak, drew the sword from its scabbard and began to warm up as Alrik had taught her. Then, closing her mind to everything else, she went through the drills, slowly at first, letting each movement flow into the next, then faster until the blade became almost invisible and the air hissed with its passing. Left, right, thrust, parry...left, right, block, feint, turn... Suddenly she froze, seeing the still figure just yards away at the edge of the trees. Shock was swiftly replaced by a range of uncomfortable emotions.

Jarl Finn! How in Hel’s name had he found out? He must be enjoying the discovery enormously. No doubt the tale would be all over the steading by midday. She’d be a laughing stock. Her father would be furious...

Finn pushed his shoulders away from the tree he’d been leaning on, and strolled towards her. Lara lifted the sword, strongly tempted to run him through. It wouldn’t be easy because he was armed, trained, battle-hardened and much bigger. All the same she’d be willing to try. He halted a few feet away. She glared at him, bracing herself for mockery.

‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘but you need to raise your elbow a little higher when you parry.’

Lara blinked. ‘My elbow?’

‘Yes, like this.’ He drew his sword and demonstrated. ‘It prevents your enemy from delivering a downward stroke to your shoulder, you see.’

‘Oh.’

He demonstrated once more. ‘Now you try.’

Gathering her wits she resumed her stance and tried to copy him. It wasn’t quite as easy as he made it look. He stepped behind her, placing a hand under her elbow. ‘There.’ The hand moved on and his fingers closed around hers, the touch warm and strong. ‘Now, turn your wrist a little.’ His grip tightened just a fraction. It didn’t hurt in the least but her arm had no choice save to move as he dictated. Retaining his hold he took her through the manoeuvre again. Lara tried to focus on the sword, not on the man who was now standing so close to her. Gods, he was big, and disconcertingly strong with it. Had she really been mad enough to contemplate taking him on? He’d have snapped her like a twig.

‘That’s it.’ Finn released his hold. ‘Now run through that sequence again.’

He stepped away to give her space. She hesitated, torn between annoyance at the commanding tone and a wish to improve. His gaze met and held hers. One eyebrow lifted a little. The challenge was plain. Lara’s chin came up at once. Assuming the correct stance, she began to repeat the moves, aware all the time of the man looking on and the cool grey eyes that missed nothing.

‘Better,’ he said. ‘Again.’

She took a deep breath and took a firm hold of the hilt. You can do this. You want to do this. This time she made herself concentrate, performing the sequence once more.

‘Keep your body sideways to your opponent. You haven’t got a shield, remember, so you need to reduce the size of the target.’

Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Lara adjusted her position and then repeated the exercise. He watched critically, commenting on each move, instructing, encouraging and even offering an occasional word of praise. Nor could she detect anything remotely patronising in his manner. It was quiet and businesslike, requiring the like response from her. Gradually she began to relax a little and to enjoy herself. It was fun and she’d learned more in the past half an hour than in the previous three months. Knowing the basics was one thing but this had just taken the art of sword craft to a whole new level. She listened attentively now, obedient to his every command, understanding the reasons for what he was saying.

It was tempting to stay and continue for a while but the sun was above the hills now and a new day beginning. Reluctantly Lara lowered her sword.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just that I have to get back. People will be stirring soon, if they aren’t already.’

‘You’re right. I’d lost track of time.’

‘I also.’

He watched her sheathe the sword. ‘Who taught you to fight?’

‘My brother, Alrik.’

‘How long have you been practising?’

‘About three months or so.’

‘Not so long, then.’

‘That must be obvious to you.’

‘Yes, it is,’ he replied, ‘but Miklagard wasn’t built in a day. You’ve made progress but you need more practice.’

She nodded, glad that he hadn’t lied to flatter her and encouraged that he should think she had improved if only a little. ‘I’ll persevere.’

‘Good.’

Lara retrieved her cloak and used it to swathe the sword before tucking it under her arm. ‘I must go.’

‘And I need to go to the landing and visit my ship.’

‘Are you afraid something may have happened to it in the night?’

The grey gaze cooled. ‘My men and I are being pursued by a large mercenary force. I take nothing for granted.’

She bit her lip. ‘Forgive me. I’d forgotten about that.’

‘When you’re dealing with an enemy like Steingrim the day you become complacent is the day you die.’

Lara was silent, mentally berating herself. Idiot! Now he’ll think you’re an empty-headed little fool. Up until an hour ago she wouldn’t have given a sheep dropping for his opinion, but now somehow it mattered.

‘I beg your pardon, my lord. You speak from experience that I do not have.’

The tone was unwontedly humble and for a moment his eyes registered surprise.

‘As you say.’

With that he bowed and walked away. She watched the retreating figure for a moment or two and then hurried after him.

‘Jarl Finn?’

He looked round, surveying her steadily. ‘Lady?’

‘Thank you for your help this morning.’

The tone was sincere, unexpectedly so. He was about to make an appropriate reply but she was away, running off down the track towards the steading. He watched her go and then followed, albeit at a more relaxed pace. When she reached the fork in the path she slowed and stopped, hesitating for a moment. Finn stopped too, waiting. Would she or wouldn’t she? Lara took another step and then another. He sighed. She checked again and then darted a glance over her shoulder. For a second or two her gaze met his then she was off again. Moments later she was lost to view. Finn smiled to himself and continued on his way towards the landing.

* * *

The ship was fine and the guards on duty reported no sighting of an enemy craft. Finn relaxed a little. For the time being at least it looked as though they had shaken Steingrim off their trail. Next time they met it would be when Finn chose and he’d have the warriors to end it once and for all. Today he would settle the details with Jarl Ottar. Tonight’s feast would seal the agreement.

As he strolled back to the steading to speak to his host, Finn let his mind drift to his recent encounter with Lara. When he’d decided to follow her he’d no idea what his decision might lead to. He hadn’t expected to be so thoroughly entertained or, he admitted, so impressed. Her brother had taught her well and she’d evidently taken the lessons seriously. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her she’d made progress. However, he’d been very careful to avoid any suggestion of flattery or flirtation, adopting the tone he might have used with his men. It was the right strategy, although he hadn’t been entirely sure of that at first. He hadn’t missed her initial hesitation but, as he’d hoped, her eagerness to learn had overcome natural caution. She was a quick learner too. He had but to tell her something once for her to remember it. If she’d had someone to practise with she’d have been even further ahead by now.

He shook his head, not quite able to believe he’d been complicit in this. Her father certainly wouldn’t approve if he knew. As far as he was concerned the roles of the sexes were quite clear. Finn had to admit that he found it utterly incongruous to see a pretty girl wielding a sword. And Lara was a very pretty girl: small, slender, fine-boned—exquisite. The very idea of her in combat was ludicrous. It offended every masculine notion of what was acceptable. However, the early morning practices were harmless enough, providing an outlet for a rebellious spirit. Besides, in some measure, she had given him her trust and he would not betray it. In any case he wasn’t going to be around for very long.

* * *

As he’d anticipated Jarl Ottar was keen to speak to him and later that morning the two men adjourned to a quiet corner where they could speak privately. Finn sat down and waited for his host to open the conversation.

‘I have thought on the matter we discussed before,’ said Ottar. ‘I will supply you with a warship and the crew to man her. My brother, Njall, will provide another.’

Finn was momentarily incredulous. Two big warships would carry a hundred and sixty men. When combined with his own he’d have more than enough to defeat Steingrim.

‘That is generous, my lord.’

‘In addition I will ensure that each ship is well provisioned and her crew armed for the task.’

‘I thank you.’ The cost of provisioning a warship was considerable, never mind two. It was far more than Finn had been expecting. He was grateful too but such munificence came at a price. Clearly Ottar was expecting something considerable in return.

‘It will take a little while to organise this, of course,’ the jarl went on, ‘but not too long, I hope.’

‘In the meantime I will head down the coast to my estate at Ravndal. Our continued presence here will not go unremarked and eventually Steingrim will learn of it. I’ll not risk subjecting this steading to an attack.’

‘I appreciate your consideration. The ships will join you at Ravndal then.’

‘It is well.’ Finn paused regarding his companion shrewdly. ‘And now, my lord, perhaps you will tell me what I can do for you in return.’

Ottar’s gaze met his. ‘In return I want you to take my daughter to wife.’

Finn stared at him. He’d been expecting many things but nothing like this. Almost immediately he upbraided himself for not having foreseen it.

‘She has a fine dowry of silver and land,’ his companion went on. ‘I’m not going to pretend that my Lara is a biddable young woman. We both know she isn’t. She’ll need a firm hand and no mistake. The question is, are you willing to accept the challenge?’

Finn was silent, trying to order his thoughts. At first sight it might seem that Ottar merely wished to be rid of a problem but the truth went deeper than that. Marriage created enduring alliances and the jarl was a wealthy and powerful ally. Viewed objectively, the offer of his daughter’s hand was a considerable honour. Finn had not the least doubt that her dowry was handsome. Nor had he the least doubt that the ships and swords he required were dependent upon his accepting this condition. Furthermore, refusal would be regarded as a grave insult. He couldn’t afford to make an enemy when he might have a willing ally and Ottar knew that. Finn acknowledged with grudging admiration just how cleverly he’d been manipulated. There was only one viable response.

‘Yes, my lord, I’m willing to accept.’

Ottar beamed. ‘Excellent.’

‘However, your daughter may be of a different mind.’

‘Lara will be delighted.’

Finn had doubts about that though he didn’t voice them. The matter was decided now. He had not expected to marry again or indeed felt inclined to do so, but this was not just about personal inclination. It was about survival, his and that of his family. He would do what was necessary to achieve that. The immediate future was going to be more complicated than he’d envisaged but that couldn’t be helped. He turned his mind to practicalities.

‘The wedding will have to take place almost at once. I sail for Ravndal two days hence.’

‘The feast tonight can serve a double function,’ replied Ottar, ‘if you are so minded.’

Finn nodded. It made sense. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ll go and inform Lara of the arrangement and tell her to prepare herself.’

* * *

After Ottar had gone Finn left the hall and wandered down to the promontory. As he’d anticipated it was deserted now so he found a convenient boulder and sat down, his gaze on the view. However, his thoughts were not about the scenery. By now Ottar would have informed Lara of what was toward. Her reaction was not hard to imagine. Finn smiled wryly. Part of him wished he could have been a fly on the wall for that particular interview. In spite of their temporary truce this morning he was under no illusions that Lara had any tender feelings for him. Recent developments would only have added resentment to what was already a potent mix of emotions. He wished there had been time to talk to her first and perhaps offer a few words of reassurance. He might also have said other things too, about his admiration for her beauty and intelligence and spirit, but he surmised that she would have believed none of it, dismissing it as mere flattery. It wasn’t. To tell her he loved her would have been untrue. He had loved once, in another life, with a blind passion that had brought only pain and destruction. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. This time his eyes were open and the forthcoming marriage grounded in practicality. However, that didn’t mean affection would not grow later. It wouldn’t be hard to grow fond of Lara.

For the first time he let his mind move ahead a little. He didn’t deceive himself that she would be easily won, but then nothing worth the winning was ever easy to attain. Nevertheless, he did intend to win. The challenge added spice to the relationship.

* * *

Lara stared at her father in disbelief. He can’t be serious. ‘I’m to marry Jarl Finn? Today?’

‘That’s right.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘Not in the least. I offered him your hand and he has accepted.’

For a moment she was silent, trying to take it in. He has to be joking. But as she looked into his eyes she knew he wasn’t. Her stomach lurched.

‘You...he...’ She strove to find the words to express a raft of emotions and failed. Only one word came immediately to mind. ‘No.’

‘It’s an excellent match, Lara.’

‘For the two of you I have no doubt.’

‘And for you. Thor’s teeth! You’re eighteen years old. You should have been wed long since.’

‘I will not wed at your behest.’

‘You damned well will. I’ve put up with your games for long enough.’

‘A game? Is that what you think it is?’

He glared at her. ‘Isn’t it? Are you trying to tell me you haven’t enjoyed sending your erstwhile suitors packing?’

Lara’s chin tilted at a militant angle. ‘No, I won’t tell you that. I did enjoy it and good riddance to the lot of them. I’ll enjoy it even more when I send Jarl Finn packing.’

‘Are you really so simple as to imagine you could?’

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her scattered wits. It wasn’t easy while she was trying to fight a sensation of rising panic as well. Deep down a part of her suspected that what her father had said was true. Finn Egilsson wasn’t the kind of man who could be sent anywhere if he didn’t wish to go.

‘This man isn’t like the others, Lara. If I’d thought so I wouldn’t have offered him your hand.’

No, he isn’t like the others. He isn’t like any man you’ve ever met and that is the problem.

‘I can’t marry him. I barely know him.’

‘Don’t you?’

‘How could I? We only met yesterday for goodness’ sake.’

He surveyed her with a level gaze. ‘And do you find him lacking in wit or intelligence?’

Gods, hardly. The man is sharp enough to cut himself. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Well, then, is his manner uncouth?’

‘His manner is highly polished, as well you know.’ It’s practically got a gloss on it.

‘Do you fear mistreatment at his hands?’

She shook her head. In spite of their short acquaintance she knew he would never be violent to a woman. Just how she knew was hard to say but the knowledge came from somewhere deep inside her. ‘No, I don’t fear that.’

‘Do you find him displeasing to look upon?’

Just for a moment his face appeared in her mind’s eye; a face composed of strong lines and planes, a blade of a nose, a firm mouth, square jaw and piercing grey eyes. The kind of face you couldn’t forget: arresting, disturbing. ‘He is not ill-looking.’

‘Perhaps it is something about his birth or rank that you find lacking.’

‘He is of good birth. I know that.’

‘What is it that you so dislike, then?’

Lara was silent for a moment. Then she met her father’s gaze. ‘What I dislike is being treated like a chattel. I am not some possession to be disposed of at your whim, Father.’

‘I never make a binding agreement on a whim and I have never considered you as a chattel, or your sister, hard as that may be for you to believe. That alliance was made because it had to be, but it was made in good faith.’

‘Good faith?’ She uttered a shaky laugh. ‘Is that what you call it?’

‘I regret the outcome as much as you do. That’s why your future husband is a different kind of man.’

‘He is not my future husband. I will not marry him.’

She steeled herself for the explosion of rage that must surely follow, but it didn’t happen. Her father continued to regard her calmly. It was more disconcerting than any outburst of anger would have been.

‘You’ll marry him,’ he replied. ‘You can either do it with a semblance of grace or you can be dragged into the hall by main force. It’s up to you.’

Her hands clenched at her sides as she conquered the urge to scream, rage, shout defiance. It wouldn’t do any good. His word was given and he would not be forsworn. If she tried to disobey him he would have her forcibly brought to her wedding all right, and under the gaze of the assembled company and, worse, Jarl Finn’s mocking grey eyes. The humiliation would be unspeakable.

She swallowed hard. ‘The use of force will not be necessary.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Incidentally, I shall expect you to wear your finest gown this evening and do honour to your husband. Is that clear?’

‘Very clear, Father.’

‘Good. I’ll leave you to it, then.’ He moved towards the door but as he reached the threshold she stayed him.

‘Does he even like me?’

‘He has not confided the matter.’ He paused. ‘However, you have looks and wit enough to win a man’s affections if you choose. Use them.’

‘Perhaps I do not choose to.’

‘Then you’re a fool.’

She looked away blinking back tears. Her father’s gaze never wavered.

‘Marriage is not easy even when both parties are making an effort. You cannot afford to be at odds.’

‘The situation is not of my making.’

‘True, but half of what happens hereafter will be of your making. Remember that.’

* * *

After he had gone Lara seized the nearest object and hurled it at the wall. The horn cup shattered into a dozen pieces. As though at a signal, the water in her eyes spilled over and for a while she paced the floor, uttering a protracted growl of fury and frustration. It was all happening again! In spite of her best efforts it was happening again. She’d been so determined that it wouldn’t. She’d promised Asa but in the end it was an empty promise. The matter had been decided without any reference to her or any consideration for personal inclination. She was powerless.

At length she sank down on the edge of the bed and shakily dashed away the tears with her sleeve. Tears were weakness and, anyway, they wouldn’t help her. She had to think. The trouble was that rational thought had never seemed so far away. The only thing that was clear was just how naive she had been to imagine her father would allow her to remain unmarried. When she’d refused to make a choice he’d done it for her. This man isn’t like the others. And, gods, wasn’t that the truth?

Lara drew in a ragged breath as Jarl Finn’s face impinged on her thoughts. He was all the things she had admitted before and yet she felt no closer to knowing who he really was. Her mind returned to the scene on the promontory. That man had been very different from the one she’d spoken to the day before but which was real, the smooth-tongued admirer or the warlord? Or were they just different facets of the same character? She’d known how to deal with the first but the second was another matter entirely. The warlord was charismatic but he was also dangerous. Some of that was about his sheer physical presence, but it went deeper. It was concerned with the aura of power he wore as effortlessly as the sword at his side. Everything about the warlord spoke of a natural leader, of a man familiar with command and to being obeyed. She’d already glimpsed his strength; he’d controlled her without even trying. In a few hours from now he would be her husband and his power over her would be total. As the realities of what that meant began to sink in the knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach.

Chapter Four

Finn half expected that his intended bride would refuse to appear that evening. As her father had said, Lara was not a biddable young woman and only a fool would imagine that she viewed this marriage with favour. She was more than capable of creating a spectacular scene. The possibility created a knot of tension in his gut. He had no idea how he would handle such a scenario never mind trying to visualise how her father would react if she exposed him to ridicule. The situation had all the potential for disaster. The only thing he could do now was to play his part and see this through.

His men had greeted the news of his impending marriage with amused interest but also with absolute understanding of the reasons for it.

‘With all those extra swords we’ll crush Steingrim like a louse,’ said Unnr. ‘Jarl Ottar is proving to be an invaluable ally.’

‘Quite so,’ replied Finn.

‘He does you much honour in wishing for a closer alliance. In fact, it does all of us honour.’

The others voiced their agreement. It pleased them greatly that their lord should be offered a noble bride with a fine dowry. Quite apart from the fitness of such a match it was indisputable evidence of their host’s good faith.

‘The gods must be smiling on us,’ said Sturla, ‘and especially on you, my lord, since your bride is fair into the bargain.’

Finn nodded. Lara is fair all right, and difficult and unpredictable. ‘That she is.’

‘And a redhead.’

Vigdis grinned. ‘No man can foretell the future but I’d be willing to wager that yours will not be dull, my lord.’

Dull was the very last word that Finn would have used to describe it. The coming years would take care of themselves; it was the next few hours that weighed on his mind. Needing occupation he bathed his hands and face and combed his hair. Having done that he changed his clothes, swapping his worn hose and old brown tunic for the best blue and replacing the current leather belt for the one made of interlinking silver discs. Then he buckled on his sword and slid the seax into his belt. A red cloak completed the costume, fastened with a gold brooch wrought in the likeness of a dragon. Whatever happened this evening it would be evident that he meant to honour his bride.

His men likewise prepared themselves and dressed in their best. They were in high good humour now, exchanging jests and banter. Ordinarily Finn would have joined in but as the hour drew nearer his nervous tension increased. It also occurred to him that he had not thought about a morning gift for the bride. Silver and land were the most usual offerings. He realised it would have to be the former since that was what he had to hand. He’d have liked to offer her a more personal gift as well but there hadn’t been time to arrange it. He’d have to address that later. Right now he had more pressing concerns.

Would Lara be compliant or would she publicly reject him? Would she even turn up for her wedding or was he going to have to fetch her? Uncertainty created a sense of anticipation. He realised then that he would fetch her if he had to. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that but one way or another she was going to be his wife.

* * *

Considering the limited time available the servants had done well: they had contrived to clean and sweep the hall and the delicious smells of cooking testified to the coming feast. When Finn and his men arrived they were greeted by their host. He too had changed his clothes and donned his best in honour of the forthcoming nuptials. Under his smile however, Finn detected tension. He thought he could guess the reason for it. A swift glance around revealed no sign of Lara.

‘The bride will be here shortly, my lord,’ said Ottar.

Five more minutes passed and still she did not appear. The men laughed and talked among themselves, apparently quite at ease. No one seemed to find anything amiss. Finn took a deep breath, trying to ignore the knot in his gut. She isn’t coming. It seemed he wasn’t alone in that suspicion because Ottar’s unease became increasingly apparent.

‘What in the name of the All-Father is keeping the girl?’ he demanded.

Finn summoned what he hoped was a soothing smile. ‘It’s a lady’s privilege to keep the groom waiting, my lord.’

Ottar grunted but looked unconvinced. When another five minutes passed his expression grew more annoyed. Some of those standing nearest began to notice and to exchange glances. Finn maintained an outward show of ease. Inwardly his thoughts were quite different. She definitely isn’t coming and this is getting more awkward by the second.

Ottar’s frown deepened but he kept his voice low. ‘If this is one of her Loki tricks I’ll thrash her before the entire company.’

Finn smiled as though at some pleasantry. ‘Let us be patient a little longer, my lord.’

‘You are gracious, Jarl Finn.’

‘It is but a slight delay. I’m sure there’s a good reason for it.’ The reason being that she has no intention of being married.

‘Two minutes more,’ growled Ottar. ‘Then I’ll go and find her and drag her here by the hair if I have to.’

Finn closed his eyes. This was about to become unpleasant. The question was how to prevent it. Somehow he was going to have to forestall his companion before matters spiralled out of control.

The two minutes passed. Ottar’s face was thunderous. ‘Right! She’s asked for it...’

He began to head for the bower but after two paces he stopped in his tracks, staring at the doorway opposite. Finn followed his gaze and then he too stared.

Lara! His heart gave a peculiar lurch as he watched her cross the room towards him. The green gown was gone now and in its place a fine dress of deep blue edged with red and gold at the neck and sleeves. A matching girdle rode her waist. Her beautiful hair was worn loose. A slim gold torc adorned her neck and there was a matching bracelet on her wrist. She looked a little pale but otherwise composed. It didn’t detract from the fact that she was stunning.

She eventually reached them and dropped a polite curtsy.

‘What in Thor’s name took you so long?’ growled Ottar.

She regarded him steadily. ‘A torn hem, Father. It took a little while to mend.’

Finn recovered his wits and smiled. ‘It was worth the wait.’

Her gaze flicked to his face. ‘You are all kindness, my lord.’

Realising that the groom was not offended, Ottar relaxed, apparently mollified. ‘Well, let’s get on with it.’

* * *

Lara shivered inwardly. It had been in her mind to defy her father earlier and not turn up at all. The torn hem had been a lie, an excuse to cover delay caused by mounting dread. Minutes in which her imagination had suggested various means of escape, each wilder than the last. In the end common sense reasserted itself. If she tried to run she would be followed and eventually she would be caught. At the very least she could expect a thrashing. If that had been the end of it she might have taken that option, but it wouldn’t be the end of it. She would still be forced to obey her father’s will. You can either do it with a semblance of grace or you can be dragged into the hall by main force. She’d opted for a semblance of grace but it was a thin disguise.

The sight of her future husband set her heart pounding like a fuller’s hammer. He had never seemed more imposing a presence than he did just then. The blue tunic was ideally suited to his colouring and by some fluke it almost exactly matched her gown. The costume also showed off his broad shoulders and athletic frame to considerable advantage, enhancing the suggestion of leashed strength. It was impossible not to feel intimidated. The other feelings he inspired were more complex and much harder to define. Nor was she inclined to explore them.

* * *

Ottar took her hand and placed it in Finn’s much larger one. Her hand was cool and it trembled a little. He glanced down at her but she wasn’t looking at him now and her expression revealed nothing. Is she afraid? Fear wasn’t a word he’d have associated with Lara. A little nervous possibly, and that was understandable. He squeezed her fingers gently. She did look up then, the blue-green eyes meeting his for a moment. Then she lowered her gaze again but not in time to conceal the strong emotions there.

It took only a short time to exchange the vows that would bind them henceforth. Ottar supplied the ring, knowing that the groom wouldn’t have had time to get one made. It was made of gold filigree, the workmanship delicate and beautiful. It was also tiny. Finn knew it would barely fit his little finger. However, it slid on to Lara’s hand with ease. Then Ottar declared them man and wife and called upon those present to attest the fact. It was done. Expectant silence descended.

Ottar looked at Finn. ‘Aren’t you going to kiss your new wife?’

Finn sensed rather than saw Lara stiffen but when he took her in his arms he was in no doubt. However, there was nothing for it now but to carry this to the expected conclusion.

* * *

Lara knew this had to come and steeled herself. She had thought herself prepared; prepared for that inevitable proximity; prepared for the strong warm hands on her waist; prepared for the symbolic seal of possession. However, as his lips brushed hers she was definitely not prepared for the resulting shiver along her spine, a shiver that had nothing whatsoever to do with nerves. His lips continued to flirt with hers, light, almost teasing. Her pulse quickened. The pressure on her mouth increased a little. She lifted her hands to his breast to push him away but his arm slid around her waist and tightened, pulling her hard against him, trapping her hands. The other arm closed round her shoulders. She gasped as her body was pressed against the lean hard length of his. Before she had a chance to protest his mouth closed on hers in a passionate kiss that ignored resistance until she abandoned the attempt and her mouth opened to his. His tongue tilted with hers, intimate and shocking like the sudden rising tide of warmth inside her. It rippled through her body to the core.

He took the kiss at leisure. As it went on a roar of approval erupted around them. When eventually he drew back she was breathless, the pallor in her face replaced by a rosy flush. Grey eyes looked down into hers and she saw him smile, almost as if he knew about that sudden flood of heat in her blood. He couldn’t know. She was imagining it. What she wasn’t imagining was his evident enjoyment of the situation. Nor was he alone. All around was a sea of grinning faces. Even her father was smiling. Embarrassment mingled with confusion.

Ottar raised his arms. ‘Let’s drink to health for the bride and groom.’

He gestured to the waiting servant who brought the ceremonial silver mead cup. Lara took it and then offered it to Finn. He drank and passed it back. She took a mouthful of liquor and swallowed it. It was cheering but it was also strong, particularly when taken on an empty stomach. She handed the cup back to her father. To get drunk was not part of her plan at all; she needed to keep all her wits about her.

‘Now we shall feast,’ said Ottar.

Finn held out his hand to Lara and obediently she placed her fingers in his, allowing herself to be led to the high table. When she had taken her seat Finn sat down beside her with Ottar on his left. The rest of the company took their places and the servants filed in with platters of food. Although she hadn’t eaten since morning Lara had little appetite. However, the meal gave her a reason to avoid looking at the man beside her, so she took refuge in the pretence of eating, forcing each morsel down and taking her time over it.

In contrast, Finn ate heartily, evidently quite untroubled by the anxiety she felt. However, he was attentive too, offering various dishes to her or enquiring whether she would like more meat or bread. Unwilling to let him see her unease she accepted another slice of the roast boar. Usually she would have enjoyed it but this evening it tasted of ashes.

The last time she had attended a wedding it was to see Asa married, an occasion that had given rise to similar feelings of impotent anger and bitter resentment. At the time she had felt them on her sister’s behalf. Tears and pleading had accomplished nothing: Asa was bound to a man she detested and who cared nothing for her. She was a means to a political end and no more. Lara’s fingers tightened on her cup.

‘Will you have something more to eat?’

Finn’s voice jerked her out of thought. ‘No, I thank you.’

‘You haven’t eaten much thus far. I’d hate to have you waste away.’

‘I’m not very hungry.’

He leaned back in his chair surveying her steadily, an unnerving scrutiny that brought creeping warmth to her neck and cheeks.

‘This has been a difficult day for you, hasn’t it?’

Difficult doesn’t begin to describe it. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘I regret the suddenness of this arrangement but circumstances dictated it.’

‘Why should you regret it? You have the ships and swords that you came for.’

‘So I have, but I’ve achieved far more than that,’ he replied.

‘Ah, yes, a bride with a rich dowry.’

‘A fair bride with a rich dowry.’

Lara looked away and took another sip of mead to try to quell the surge of resentment that his words had revived.

‘That wasn’t flattery by the way,’ he went on. ‘It was a statement of fact.’ He continued his scrutiny. ‘That gown becomes you very well incidentally.’

When she made no reply he smiled faintly. ‘That was your cue to say, Yes, I know.’

She did look at him then, her gaze smouldering. ‘Must I speak on cue now for your entertainment?’

‘There is no must, Lara, although you are invariably entertaining.’

‘I’m glad I amuse you.’

‘How could you not when your company is so enlivening?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Company that I greatly look forward to sharing.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’

He laughed softly. ‘That’s better. For a while there I was afraid you had laid down your sword.’

The warmth in her cheeks intensified. ‘If you thought that, then you were gravely mistaken, my lord.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it.’

‘You are pleased to mock.’

‘Not at all. I really am delighted. The greatest enemy to a relationship is boredom but I feel quite sure ours will never suffer in that way.’

‘Possibly not. Steingrim may slay you long before boredom sets in.’

Finn laughed out loud. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you there. Steingrim will not slay me.’

‘If he doesn’t perhaps I will.’

‘You have already slain me with your incomparable beauty and sharp wit.’

‘Would it were so easy.’

‘I am not an easy man to kill, sweet Lara. You are destined to remain at my side.’

‘What a rousing prospect.’

‘Indeed I do hope to arouse you—very soon now.’

The implications of that produced a tide of heat that rose from her feet to her face. The man is outrageous. Utterly without shame. He was also very big and very strong and he was her husband. In reality he could do whatever he chose now. However, that didn’t mean craven surrender on her part.

‘You will never arouse me, my lord.’

‘Another challenge, Lara? I accept it, gladly.’

He is truly impossible. She sought for a witty and crushing retort but wit had temporarily fled and she had to make do with the latter. ‘You are loathsome.’

‘I’m sorry you should think so. I’ll do my best to change your mind.’

‘I will never change my mind.’

‘Shall we have a wager on that?’

‘There’s no point. You have already lost.’

‘Have I?’ He surveyed her speculatively. ‘I wonder.’

‘No need to tax your brain so, my lord. You may take my word for it.’

The grey eyes glinted. With quiet deliberation Finn set down his cup and got to his feet. Lara blinked, staring up at him in surprise. Had she routed him at last? A glimmer of hope kindled in her breast. It was short-lived. Without warning he bent and lifted her bodily off the chair. Ignoring the laughter and amused glances all around them he turned to Ottar.

‘I find myself impatient to be alone with my bride. Perhaps a private place has been prepared for us?’

The hall erupted with cheers and raucous laughter. Lara went hot and cold by turns, struggling furiously.

‘Put me down, you brute!’

Finn grinned, adjusting his hold a little so that he had a surer grip. ‘I shall, sweet Lara, as soon as we reach our bedchamber.’

The words elicited renewed efforts to escape. He held her with insulting ease and, surrounded by a laughing crowd, carried her from the hall.

Chapter Five

A small hov had been made ready for the bridal couple so that this night at least they might have privacy. Lara fought her captor every step of the way but to no avail: she was borne inexorably on until they reached their destination. Before anyone had a chance to intervene Finn carried her inside and heeled the door shut behind him. Then he set her down and barred it securely. At once a chorus of indignant voices rose from outside and heavy fists pounded on the wood. He ignored them, and turned towards his bride.

For several heart-thumping seconds they surveyed each other in silence. Lara darted a look around: lamplight revealed that the hov was sparsely furnished, the single room dominated by a large bed covered with furs. The window was shuttered fast. The only door was the one by which they had entered and Finn was between it and her. She moistened her lips. In the confined space he seemed much larger than before, a dominating and virile presence whose attention was now entirely on her.

‘Alone at last.’ He smiled and removed his cloak, tossing it over a chair. Then he looked at Lara and threw his arms wide. ‘Come here, sweet wife.’

She made no move to obey. ‘I will not. I agreed to wed you, nothing else.’

He evinced complete surprise. ‘Are you saying you will not share my bed?’

‘Yes, I am saying that.’

‘It’s a serious matter to deny a man his marital rights.’

The teasing tone was much more disconcerting than an outright display of anger, and much harder to deal with.

‘You’ve got what you wanted. This was about ships and swords and nothing else.’

‘Didn’t anyone mention that it’s actually about more than that? Would it surprise you to know that you must run my hall and perform all duties connected with that?’

Her eyes sparkled with indignation. ‘Of course it wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, good. That’ll save confusion.’ He paused in apparent contemplation of some mental list. ‘In addition I must mention, in case anyone else didn’t, that I shall want half-a-dozen fine sons to continue my line and that you must produce them. Not all at once of course,’ he amended. ‘I don’t wish to be unreasonable.’

Lara experienced a fresh surge of indignation. Along with that were other more elusive emotions that she didn’t want to explore. ‘I am not a brood mare to be used at your pleasure.’

‘You know, it would be very much my pleasure,’ he replied. ‘In spite of your vile temper you’re a comely wench. Bedding you will not be an unwelcome obligation.’

Lara backed a pace. ‘Stay away from me!’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I said stay away.’

‘What are you afraid of, Lara?’

‘I’m not afraid of you.’

He advanced unhurriedly. ‘No?’

‘No.’

It was a downright lie. Just then she’d never felt so scared in her life. All the same she’d rather have died than admit it. She would also have given anything to have had a sword in her hand.

‘Then come and kiss me, sweet wife.’

‘I will not kiss you.’

‘I really would like it if you did.’

Her stomach wallowed. Then her back met the wall. Desperately she edged along it, her eyes seeking some weapon, anything that might be used to hold him off. Her leg brushed a stool. She bent and grabbed it, hurling it at his head. Finn ducked and the missile flew past, crashing against the door. She heard him chuckle. Anger temporarily replaced fear and the stool was followed by a jug and a wooden bowl. He avoided them easily and came on. Heart pounding, she retreated step by step until she reached the corner. Seeing the danger she tried to dodge away but Finn was faster, dodging in front of her, forcing her back again, forbidding escape.

‘I really would like that kiss, Lara.’

‘Never.’

‘Never is a long time.’ He moved closer, trapping her there with an arm on either side of her shoulders. ‘Too long.’

‘Don’t you dare to touch me!’

‘Do I dare?’ He contemplated it briefly. ‘Yes, I believe I do. Otherwise what a world of pleasure would be lost.’

She had no idea what he meant and didn’t care. All she could see was the face looming above hers, a handsome arresting face wearing an infuriating smile.

‘I’m warning you. Get away from me.’

‘No, for if I do that I cannot pleasure you, and I do wish to pleasure you, very thoroughly.’

The words were beyond outrage and she struck him hard. His eyes glinted. Her attempt to launch a second blow ended in a gasp as her wrist was caught in an iron grip.

‘It’s no good, Lara. You won’t drive me off as you did all the others.’

‘Let go of me.’

‘No.’

He evaded a kick. Lara struggled, writhing in his hold, every particle of her being in revolt. He held her without any undue effort. His evident enjoyment of her predicament did nothing to calm her rage.

‘How dare you treat me like this?’

‘You have chosen the method.’

‘I?’ She kicked out again and missed. ‘Don’t try to blame me for your shortcomings, you devious rogue.’

‘Harsh words, ill suited to a bride.’

‘Well-deserved words! You are a rogue—an opportunist, a pirate, a low, cunning, smooth-tongued, scheming underhanded villain.’

‘Sweet Lara, did no one tell you that you must show respect when you speak to your husband, and that you must be obedient to his wishes?’

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘It would have a certain novelty value, I’ll admit.’ He strode across the room propelling her towards the bed. ‘Since you will not kiss me we shall have to omit that and just retire instead.’

Her heart leaped towards her throat. ‘I will not.’

He sighed. ‘Either you can remove your clothes or I will.’

She glared at him. ‘How I hate you!’

He ignored the words as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘If I do it you will likely never be able to wear that gown again, which would be a pity. The colour suits you.’

Her chin lifted. She wanted to defy him but knew that, if she did, it would end in humiliating defeat and a ruined dress. Throwing him a look of detestation she got to her feet and with fumbling fingers began to unfasten her girdle. As it came loose she let it fall to the floor. Then she drew off the shorter overdress. She paused, her eyes meeting his.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep going.’

The under-gown followed. Clad only in her shift now she waited, dread vying with fury. Was he going to demand that she strip? Was that to be her punishment for defiance? It occurred to her then that making her strip was likely to be the least of it. She was completely in his power and that wasn’t a comfortable thought. Was he going to hit her? Did he intend to hurt her? Once she had thought he wouldn’t offer violence to a woman, but now certainty was tainted by creeping doubt. She had never felt more vulnerable or more afraid in her life but she wouldn’t have let him know it for a shipload of silver. Her chin lifted.

The grey gaze never left her. ‘The bed awaits.’

Reluctantly she obeyed him, perching gingerly between the cool linen sheets, hugging her knees protectively. For a moment or two he remained quite still. Then he bent and retrieved his cloak, throwing it over his arm. Lara followed the movement in silent bemusement, confusion evident in her face.

He smiled mockingly. ‘Don’t worry. I shan’t rape you, Lara, easy as that would be. I prefer my women to be willing participants. When you tire of your cold, virginal bed and decide to become a real woman let me know. In the meantime sleep alone if you will.’

Speechless, she watched him cross to the door and unbar it. He paused on the threshold.

‘You had best secure this after me. I cannot vouch for what drunken pranksters may attempt later.’

With an effort she found her voice. ‘Then you’re not... You don’t mean to return?’

‘No, I don’t mean to return.’ His smile lost some of its mockery and was replaced by something much like regret. ‘Goodnight, Lara. Sleep well.’

With that he was gone, pulling the door to close behind him.

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