Passion's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 3) Read online

  Passion’s Fury

  Viking’s Fury Book 3

  Violetta Rand

  Copyright © 2016 by Violetta Rand

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For Mom, Jill M., Milisa Z., Phyllys C., Pat B., Meredith M.,

  Kathryn L.V., Victoria V., and Jessica F.

  all women who have helped shape my future.

  Thank you.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter One

  November 867 AD

  Trondelag, Norway

  How many people could Runa’s eldest brother, Jarl Roald, squeeze into the great hall at one time? She eyed the double doors in the back of the room, thrown open in the dead of winter to accommodate the guests that had traveled many miles to celebrate the birth of her nephew, Kollvein. Two lines of well-wishers spilled outside. Additional braziers had been set up in the courtyard, providing much needed warmth for their visitors.

  “There are an infinite number of joys to experience in this world,” Roald started, his toothy grin, permanent. “But this…” He lowered the fur-swathed bundle in his arms, revealing his newborn son. “Is the greatest of them all.”

  Silvia, Runa’s sister-in-law, appeared then. She, too, carried a similar bundle. “Unless you are blessed with two babes,” she added, standing next to Roald. “Eva insisted on introducing your daughter at the same time.”

  It made Runa smile, for Roald’s wife had given birth to twins only yesterday—a boy and girl. Her brother wished to keep it a secret, for some would misinterpret twins as a bad omen.

  “Meet Katla,” Silvia said, showing off the infant’s perfectly shaped head.

  Everyone cheered.

  “And who will wear the crown?” someone called from the throng.

  “Though my beloved wife is capable of many wonders, she didn’t deliver my son and daughter at the same time,” Roald assured them. “Kollvein kicked his way into the world first, then my sweet daughter arrived.” The jarl gazed at his second child with genuine affection. “When the time comes, rest assured, another generation of Jarl Brandr’s bloodline will sit on the throne.”

  “And will you offer these blessed children up for baptism?”

  The room fell deathly silent.

  Runa pushed her way through the crowd, recognizing the man who spoke. Recently returned from Northumbria, Olvir Olavson had converted to Christianity. All of the Trondelag was abuzz with the news. Anyone who betrayed the gods shouldn’t be here. Kollvein and Katla belonged to Odin.

  “Get out,” Runa hissed as she seized Olvir’s arm.

  The Norseman gazed at her. “Be quiet, woman. What right do you have to order me about?” He jerked free of her grasp. “This world must change. Otherwise, we will all burn for our sins.” He looked her over, disgust on his face. “Especially a wanton girl like you.”

  Refusing to be insulted, Runa unsheathed the knife she kept at her hip. She held it close to his face, unafraid. “Care to curse me again?”

  He chuckled, but didn’t make a move to strip the weapon from her hand. The people standing nearby were watching and listening closely.

  “I speak only truth.”

  “Do you?” Runa challenged. “Falsehoods you picked up in a foreign land. Belief in a weak God. Take your stories and go tell them to the wild pigs.” Runa shoved him in the direction of the doors. “Do not come back here, Olvir.” Her hand started shaking. It surprised her how desperately she wanted to use the knife, to stab him in throat and silence him forever.

  Before she could do anything, someone quickly disarmed her from behind.

  She spun around, finding Thorolf, Roald’s newest captain. “Be still, Runa. Let me take care of this fool.”

  Unable to resist staring at the handsome warrior, she often wondered why he didn’t have a wife and a dozen children. Thorolf resembled the men from ancient times, his wolf fur cloak worn as a symbol of his accomplishments as a Berserker, his chiseled features and golden hair a complete distraction.

  “Aye,” she said obediently, lowering her offending hand. “Do with him as you please.”

  She watched with fascination as he grabbed a fistful of Olvir’s collar and forcibly ushered him outside. There was no doubt in her mind why Roald had promoted Thorolf to such a coveted position in his personal guard. He had proven himself invaluable to her family. And now that she thought about it more, he always seemed to appear at the right time.

  Good instincts? Or did Odin work through him?

  “Now that the troublemaker has been extricated from the celebration, may I suggest we drink and eat, honoring the arrival of my children?” Roald raised his cup. “Skål,” he offered a traditional toast.

  A woman shoved a cup of mead into Runa’s hands. “To your family’s health and success.”

  Runa emptied the vessel in one swallow, irritated with herself. The best way for a girl who wanted to serve as a temple maiden to forget a man she was hopelessly attracted to was to indulge in as much mead as she could drink, then lock herself in her chamber where she could sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Thorolf released Olvir once they walked beyond the courtyard where no one could overhear them. “Consider yourself fortunate.” He eyed the dissenter, knowing trouble would follow him wherever he went. “Unlike Runa, I will not hesitate to punish you if I see you here again.”

  Olvir straightened his cloak. “I am helpless against the mandates of my new faith. I must share the message of my new God with everyone I meet. What harm is there in giving free men a chance to choose between Odin and the Christ?”

  Roald didn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d forgive a captain for mishandling a situation. Especially with a Norseman who had abandoned Allfather. “What you do in your own time is not my concern. But when you are standing on Jarl Roald’s lands, you will observe the same rules I do. Keep your radical ideas to yourself. Now, go.” Thorolf waved him off.

  “You would send me away in the middle of the night without my horse?”

  Thorolf sighed. “Payment for your disrespect.”

  “I am not a man without resources…”

  “What are you saying?”

  “A small measure of kindness now would be repaid threefold someday.”

  Thorol
f did not like what Olvir was implying. “Are you attempting to bribe me? To win my favor?”

  He shrugged. “I am requesting mercy. Tis a bitter night and I have a long walk home.”

  “Something you should have remembered before you opened your bloody mouth inside the great hall or insulted Lady Runa.”

  The man clicked his tongue. “If she passes for a lady anymore.”

  Thorolf didn’t think, he simply acted—pinching Olvir’s throat between his thumb and fingers. “What quarrel do you have with the lady?”

  “It’s a private matter.”

  “Nay.” Thorolf squeezed his neck tighter, knowing it would snap easily if he applied just the right amount of pressure. “Tell me or I’ll deprive you of air altogether.”

  Olvir struggled to swallow. “I’ve known her since our childhood.”

  “And this is why you treat her with such disdain?”

  “No. Before my sire sent me to Northumbria to train as a soldier, she promised to wait for me.”

  Thorolf didn’t understand. “Wait for you? Instead of your mount, perhaps I should claim your tongue.” He released Olvir and reached for Runa’s knife tucked in his weapon belt. “Then no one would suffer from your incessant babble again.”

  “I wished to marry her,” the smaller man clarified. “Though she never gave her outright consent, she agreed to consider our union.”

  “As you’ve already said. There is no ring upon her finger. And to my knowledge, Jarl Roald is the one you must gain permission from. He is her guardian now. When did you return from Northumbria?”

  “Eight days ago.”

  Thorolf assessed the man more closely, noting his expensive clothes. Not the garments of a hardened warrior. “Did you succeed in becoming a soldier? How many battles did you fight in? How many men have you killed?”

  “None.”

  Thorolf grinned. He knew the answer before Olvir spoke. But he credited the man for being honest. “So you failed as a footman? What good were you to Danes if you cannot wield a sword?” He also guessed the man couldn’t wield his pikk, for what woman would fuck a half-man with soft hands?

  Olvir leered at him and tapped his temple with his fingertip. “I adjusted to my surroundings. When Prince Ivarr learned of my quick wit and ability with numbers, he hired me as a scribe.”

  “A lap dog,” Thorolf muttered, loud enough for Olvir to hear him.

  “On the contrary,” Olvir said with confidence. “Physical strength might win the fight, Thorolf, but a keen mind keeps the war financed.”

  “I care little about what’s behind the battlefield.” Thorolf stepped closer. “But I know Jarl Roald would never accept you as a husband for his only sister. And I never gave you permission to use my name.”

  “I didn’t realize I needed it.” Olvir stood his ground.

  “Go, before I change my mind about what to do with you.”

  “I want my horse.”

  Thorolf sighed in frustration. The man was as persistent as a fly. “Leave. Now.” He poked Olvir in the chest for emphasis.

  “I will be back. My claim on Runa holds merit.”

  Anger swirled just below the surface then, for Thorolf deeply admired Lady Runa. More than that, the idea of this inferior creature touching her, even dreaming about her, made his stomach turn. “There will be no further contact between the two of you.”

  Olvir chuckled. “You are a soldier, not a member of the family. When it comes to deciding…”

  Thorolf didn’t need the finer things in life … didn’t care a fig for speaking as eloquently as a skald or priming his mind to be a scholar. He knew one thing and head-butted the nag, knocking him on his arse. “Argr.” He waited for Olvir to stop writhing in pain before finishing his thought. “Stand up like a man.” He’d not give him another chance to leave on his own accord.

  Olvir staggered to his feet, his forehead wet with blood. “What did you call me?” He sucked in his cheeks.

  “Did I stutter? Argr. You are every bit unmanned—womanish.”

  No insult cut deeper.

  “I challenge you,” Olvir said, his scowl as humorous as his fighting stance.

  “And what will you defend yourself with?” No weapon hung at his hip. “A bone used to carve your words?” He laughed violently. “I am tasked with protecting the jarl’s family. And as long as I draw air, you won’t set foot on these lands again.”

  Thorolf shoved him down the footpath. Olvir nearly lost his balance, but Thorolf didn’t care. He did it again and again until they’d gone some distance from the longhouse. The full winter moon shined overhead, casting the world in silver light. He stopped abruptly then, memorizing Olvir’s features.

  “The next time you expect a girl of fifteen seasons to keep her word about waiting for you, perhaps you should consider speaking with her father or guardian first. A man wouldn’t hold a child to such a severe promise.”

  Olvir spat on the ground. “She’s no longer a child.”

  “Aye,” Thorolf agreed. It pained him to envision her—so beautiful and strong willed—perfect in every way. “And after her reaction tonight, I think you have your answer.”

  Done wasting his time, Thorolf turned his back on Olvir, ready to return to the celebration and get drunk.

  Chapter Three

  The mead Runa consumed took the edge off her self-doubt and loathing. Instead of retiring to her chamber, though, she followed Thorolf outside. At a good distance, of course, for the last thing she needed was for anyone to know how she felt about the captain, especially him. She’d witnessed the confrontation between Thorolf and Olvir, privy to every bitter word exchanged. She had to cover her mouth to keep from gasping aloud when Thorolf head-butted her childhood friend for questioning his authority.

  The captain’s fierce loyalty and fearlessness not only impressed her, it set her restless heart on fire.

  Olvir was the only son of Jarl Otkel, a minor chieftain from an ancient family. She didn’t know what consequences would follow for Thorolf striking a future lord. Though a freeman, he did not possess noble blood. But in Thorolf’s defense, he’d done what any warrior should, sent the arrogant weakling home with his tail tucked between his legs.

  Marry him?

  The idea made her want to laugh and scream at the same time. Yes, she’d been infatuated with Olvir as a young girl. Odin forgive her. He seemed so clever back then, gifted with a deep singing voice and the ability to weave words together like a skald.

  The time apart had been hard at first. She dreamed of him often. But after a year had passed, her feelings cooled and she opened her heart to the gods, knowing where she belonged. North. Beyond the borders of the jarls. She sighed, thinking of the great temple tucked in the forest where only suppliants of Odin were welcomed until the Thing was called to order.

  There, the chieftains and freemen of the north settled important regional affairs, feasted, and offered blood sacrifices to the gods. Every five years, the grand council assembled at the temple, and it was there Runa hoped to declare her intention to become a maiden. She had five months to anticipate that day.

  Until then…

  She stopped walking. Surely, Thorolf had been too involved in his own thoughts to notice her following him back to the longhouse.

  “Step out of the shadows, Runa.” He didn’t bother turning around.

  She did as he asked, leaving the cover of the tree she’d hidden behind. “How did you know?”

  “I know the sound of your footsteps.”

  “Even in the snow?” She didn’t believe him.

  “Weight and size make a difference.” He pivoted, meeting her gaze. “And those boots…” He looked at her feet. “Bells couldn’t give your location away more.”

  She frowned, then stared at the precious gift her Sami sister-in-law, Eva, had given her a month ago. A pair of reindeer skin boots, embellished with fur and gold stitching. “These are fine boots. Warmer than any pair I’ve ever owned.”

  “An
d dangerous,” he said. “For no one in the lowlands wears a similar pair. I could track you like a fox would a rabbit.”

  “I’m curious why you know so much about me, Captain Thorolf.” She waited for an explanation but got none. “Let me guess—tis your duty.”

  The annoyed look on his face pleased her immensely.

  “Eavesdropping is not an admirable habit for a lady to have.”

  “Do tell, Captain Thorolf, what is then?”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Weaving. Stitching. Singing.”

  She giggled. “Not habits,” she corrected. “Those are treasured skills.”

  “I’d rather see you bite your fingernails than go unescorted late at night.”

  His genuine concern touched her in a place she carefully guarded. Her heart belonged to Odin—to the idea of becoming a temple maiden. Not to Thorolf or any other man. “That will be enough from you, Captain.” She started to walk by him, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

  “What I should have done earlier.” He let go of her arm, but blocked her path to the house. “Why did you threaten Olvir? Do you think you’re strong enough to kill a man of his size? Any man?” He pulled her blade from his belt. “This is a paring knife, meant for fruits and vegetables, not to maim someone.”

  She reached for the weapon, but he refused to give it to her. “I am sure if Jarl Roald wished you to own a weapon, he would have provided you with one.”

  She arched a brow. “My brother would do no such thing. He likely fears I’d stab him in the middle of the night.”

  His throaty laughter wrapped around her like a warm blanket, heating her insides. “So you’re a dangerous one?” He eyed the blade, then her. “Perhaps I should return this to the kitchens.”

  She shrugged. “Do as you must, Captain. I’ll only fetch another in the morn. I prefer being armed. This is a dangerous place.”

  “Aye.” He offered her the blade. “If you’d allow me the privilege of getting you a real one.”