Passion's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 3) Page 13

  “Why would he kill him so mercilessly? He didn’t give the man a chance to speak or defend himself. I’ve never seen anything like it. Thorolf dragged him out here by the throat, threw him down on the ground, and leapt on him like a ravenous beast.” The scene played out in her mind over and over again. “Understand one thing about Thorolf, Captain, he’s an honorable man. Disciplined and fair. Little unsettles him. And if it does, he has this way of controlling his emotions so no one else senses his anger. It’s one of the reasons my brother appointed him to such a high position in his army.”

  “Are you familiar with his past?”

  “Nay.”

  “Perhaps the stranger slighted him or hurt someone he cared for.”

  “No matter the reason, I wish I knew.”

  “Father,” a young girl ran up to them, looking concerned.

  “Mara.” Harald greeted his daughter and kissed the top of her head. “Where are your mother and sister?”

  “Waiting at home.”

  “Does your mother know you’re out here?”

  “No.”

  “How many times have I told you not to run off without permission?” Harald chastised the pretty, dark-haired girl.

  “I needed to find you,” Mara said. “I didn’t like what our neighbors were saying about Lady Runa.” She looked at Runa and smiled.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Mara.”

  “As am I.” She curtsied.

  The captain had, indeed, told his family about her. The girl’s genuine concern warmed Runa’s heart. “I am sorry to keep your father away so long. If you return home and wait, I promise to bring you a gift tomorrow.”

  Mara’s eyes went wide. “You swear it, Lady Runa?”

  “I do.”

  Mara turned to the captain. “Is it all right for her to visit us?”

  “Lady Runa is welcome anytime.”

  Mara clapped her hands and wrapped her arms around Harald’s thighs, giving him a squeeze. “Thank you, Father. I will go home.”

  Runa watched the precious child sprint away.

  “Mara is very sweet.”

  “And unruly.” The captain scratched his head and grinned. “I’d have her no other way.”

  “You are a very fortunate man, Captain Harald.”

  “I don’t know why, Lady Runa, but I’ve taken a great interest in your happiness and welfare since the day we met. Something about you reminds me of my daughters, which we’ve discussed before. For that very reason, I want you to know, sanctuary will always be given you under my humble roof.”

  Runa touched his arm. “I am ever grateful, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Which is why I must caution you now. This place is as volatile as a battleground. Holy men eliminating their rivals to scratch their way closer to the high priest. Kings and jarls from rival families seek counsel here. Sometimes they fight just beyond our lands. I will show you the burial mounds, how many fresh graves there are. Most of the maidens serving in Odin’s sanctuary are forced here by their noble fathers, payment for past debts.”

  Runa narrowed her eyes, not wanting to believe it. “I don’t understand.”

  “Thorolf told me about your ambition to become a temple maiden. I beg you, put it out of your mind.”

  “Tis true,” she admitted. “Though I’m not sure why Thorolf spoke with you about something so private. I can only assume he has a good reason.” Like so many other things she’d recently discovered about him, she prayed he had an explanation. Especially for killing the stranger. “Take me to the sanctuary, Captain. I wish to wait for Thorolf there.”

  “Let me take you to your chamber or even to my cottage.”

  Runa shook her head. “I must insist.”

  Harald angled himself toward the temple. “Very well. Be prepared for a long night.”

  *

  After finishing a bowl of stew with the high priest in his solar, Thorolf waited for the servants to clear the dishes and bring more mead so their enlightening conversation could continue. He’d been starved, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. As for his thirst, he’d swallowed down six cups of mead already.

  The door closed finally and the priest stationed himself next to Thorolf. “The respite is over, Prince Thorolf. We’re alone and I can tell you why your cousin was here.”

  “Whatever you say won’t change my mind. So why waste our time?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Drunk? Me?” Thorolf laughed hardily. “I’ve never been truly drunk. Though, as of late, I’ve been tempted to drink myself into a stupor just to forget who and what I am.”

  “Ah…” The priest smiled. “The most honest thing I’ve heard you say since joining me here.”

  Thorolf waved him off. “Most men would say the same. Life outside of this gilded cage is difficult at best.”

  “Not for you.”

  Thorolf stretched his long legs out and folded his hands behind his neck, sliding down in the padded chair. “A title won’t change my fate. Or bring my family back.”

  “Maybe not. But if you’ll just listen to reason, consider what I have to say.”

  “I can’t stop you from talking.”

  “No.” The holy man sighed, gazing skeptically at him. “But there’s no guarantee you’ll truly hear me.”

  “I’ve told you a dozen times already, any lingering connection I had to Borg is gone. It died the moment I ended my cousin’s life.”

  “Your uncle plotted against his own brother, Prince Thorolf. Slaughtered your family in the middle of the night like a thief would. Tis no fault of your own. You were but a boy.” The priest slapped the tabletop for emphasis, gaining Thorolf’s full attention. “Your uncle let you escape.”

  Thorolf leaned forward. “What?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t accidental. Your uncle wanted you to live. To suffer. To wander the world as a broken man while he enjoyed the power and wealth that rightfully belonged to you.”

  “Why?”

  “It is customary not to end the complete hereditary line of a kinsman, even if he’s your enemy. The gods would surely punish the offender and the laws of men also forbid it.”

  “How beneficial,” he said sarcastically, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling more and more uncivilized. Like he could kill anything that crossed his path, including a holy man in silk robes. “I am unfit for your company, Priest.”

  “Good,” the priest said severely. “I want you mad. Determined to take back what’s yours.”

  “I ask again, why?”

  “If you don’t claim the throne, there are others who will. Men with less honor. Cousins of yours who share similar views as Jarl Skrymir. Bastards who would sooner divide this country than hold it together for the sake of our people.”

  “Fuck!” Thorolf shot up.

  “You cannot deny the will of the gods.”

  “No,” Thorolf spouted. “But I can resist them.”

  “Your father’s captains spared the life of your cousin because your uncle let you live. Twas the right thing to do. Urd sought refuge here. I granted it so long as he agreed to live as a servant. To work for food and shelter. He lived in a sod-covered hut with only rags to wear.”

  Thorolf shrugged off his rage long enough to listen closely.

  “I prefer the comfort of my gilded cage, Prince Thorolf. To a man such as you, I might appear weak. But I’ve earned my position of power. As you’ve earned your title as a captain in Jarl Roald’s army. I am endowed by the gods to punish and pardon men who commit heinous crimes. Mercy is at my disposal. For commoners and kings alike.”

  This is what Thorolf had waited for. The high priest was about to pass judgement on him. “Get it over with.”

  “For murdering your cousin, Urd, I command you to wed Lady Runa, sister of Jarl Roald, six days hence at sundown, and then reclaim your throne in Borg. You will unite two powerful families through this marriage. In so doing, I will gain an ally in the north. Your uncle neglected his duty to this holy place.
I need gold and more men.”

  The finality of what the priest said made his whole body shake. Marry Runa? Do to her what she despised her brother for? Force her into a union she didn’t want? And become a king? “If I refuse?”

  “My decision is nonnegotiable, Prince Thorolf. I’ve already sent for an envoy from Borg. They will arrive in a few days. I will have the honor of crowning you king at the same time I preform your wedding ceremony. My order will be posted for the public to see. I suggest taking some time to consider your good fortune. And if at all possible, inform your beautiful bride that she’s going to be a queen.” The priest moved to his chair and ignored Thorolf.

  Thorolf crossed the room then, ready to hide from the reality of his new world. The priest had already sent for representatives from his home, before Thorolf killed Urd. Stopping at the door, he leaned his forehead against the wood, contemplating his future. Considering the joy of taking Runa to wife and returning to his beautiful home. Of thanking the loyal men who avenged his family. Good fortune had, indeed, smiled down on him today, whether he liked it or not.

  Suddenly, he wanted every man alive to know his true identity, to know Lady Runa belonged to him.

  “I will do as you command,” he informed the priest before opening the door and stepping out, no longer a captain, but a prince.

  *

  Seeing Thorolf safe thrilled Runa. She jumped up as soon as he exited the high priest’s solar. Although he looked exhausted and perhaps a bit irritated, he was back. “Thorolf.” She rushed to his side.

  “What are you doing here?” He took her hands, holding them tight. Then he eyed Captain Harald. “How long have you been waiting?”

  “Since they collected the man’s body from outside,” Harald answered, still sitting on the bench across the passageway.

  “Tell me,” Runa said, anxious and hopeful that the high priest had been fair. “Will there be a punishment? Is it severe?”

  Thorold stroked her fingers reassuringly. “Many things have changed, Runa. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but since you are here…” He looked in the direction of the sanctuary, to Odin’s altar. “Come with me.”

  He dragged her to the center of the vast chamber, staring up at the ceiling, smiling at the imagery of Allfather. “The gods have intervened on my behalf, Runa. Our behalf,” he corrected himself, staring at her. “I’ve prayed night and day, begged Odin to reveal a way we could be together as man and wife.”

  Impossible so long as Roald insisted she marry a jarl or prince. But she didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” he said, leading her up the steps to the dais where the holy men usually stood. “I’ve not been completely honest with you or Jarl Roald. I am not who you think I am.”

  Hope bloomed in her heart. Perhaps the high priest had appointed him to a position of authority with the temple guard. They could live here, free from her brother. “Title, wealth, power, none of it matters to me, Thorolf. I accept you for who you are—the man I’ve always loved. My heart cries out for you.”

  Passion darkened his eyes then and he tugged her closer. “Those words mean more to me than anything, sweet Runa. I believe you, for you’ve proven your love and dedication over and over again. You offered me your body and heart without the promise of marriage. Willing to risk your future on our happiness.”

  “I’d do it again.”

  “Aye.”

  “Now tell me. Why are we at the altar?”

  “You know only bits and pieces about my past.”

  “Yes, you’re from Borg, a kingdom far north. The great peninsula where giants are rumored to live.” She smiled. “Men like you.”

  “I’ve forgotten the legends of my birthplace.” He chuckled. “It is true; the fiercest warriors come from Borg. Do you know who King Wyborn was?”

  “The murdered ruler? The king with the greatest fleet in Norway?”

  “Aye, the very man.”

  “News of his demise reached our home long ago. I was but a child. I remember my father sacrificing a bull on his behalf, seeking the protection of the gods. Did you know the king? Did the man you killed have a hand in his death?”

  “He was my cousin. King Wyborn was his uncle.”

  “U-uncle?” She let go of his hands. “I don’t understand.”

  “I am not without a home, Runa.” He dropped to one knee in front of her. “I am King Wyborn’s son. The only surviving member of the royal family.” He confessed everything.

  Runa blinked several times, wondering if this was a dream. Why hadn’t he trusted her enough to confide in her? Especially after everything that had happened. They were lovers. Friends. Connected in a way most men and women never experienced. “You should have told me sooner.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why now?”

  “The high priest recognized me days ago, when I showed up asking for help. He said nothing, waiting for the right time to confront me. But now…”

  “Your cousin is dead, he had no choice,” she finished his thought.

  “Aye.”

  “And you are eager to return home.”

  “I am desperate to keep you. I’d stay a humble captain of the guard if it pleased you. If I could still have you. Marry you. Live in peace in the Trondelag.”

  She caressed his cheek. “Are you offering to make me a queen, Thorolf?”

  He gazed up at her, his beautiful eyes as turbulent as a stormy ocean. “I’m offering you the world, Runa. Me. My people. The kingdom of Borg. My army. My broken heart. Marry me, here, in the presence of the gods.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. How could it be? All this time, Captain Thorolf had really been Prince Thorolf. No, King Thorolf. And he’d catered to her every need without complaint. Protected her. Followed her about like a servant. Believed in her because he loved her. “Aye,” she said. “I’ll have you, as captain or king.”

  He roared with joy and lifted her high above his shoulders, spinning her about in his arms. “I am happiest man alive, Runa. No one can keep us apart now. The high priest has sanctioned our marriage. Not even the gods can overrule what he commands.”

  She didn’t care about the details. Runa just wanted to be alone with Thorolf, free to love him. “We have plans to make, milord.”

  Thorolf gripped her hand. “And many lessons to learn, don’t we, my perfect queen?”

  Heat spiraled through her body as she imagined his big warm hands touching her everywhere. “I love you, Thorolf.”

  “I love you, Runa. Let us celebrate with a glass of wine.” He led her away from the temple and back to the great hall, where people were still celebrating Thurseblot.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Surrendering to the high priest is an act of lunacy, Jarl Olvir. Why waste time in the high north when we can turn these horses around and be back in the Trondelag within three days?”

  Olvir slowed his mount, facing his loyal captain. “You consider me an honest man, Rolf?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you are fully aware of my conversion to Christianity while serving under Prince Ivarr in Northumbria?”

  “Your father made sure to let everyone in his household know about it. However, it changes nothing. Your sire’s men will follow you.”

  “You misunderstood me. As a Christian, I must confess my sins and submit myself to the authorities for the crime I committed. Since there isn’t a church within hundreds of miles, I must settle for the next best thing. The high priest will hear of my situation, from me.”

  “Why not wrap the rope around your own neck now?” Rolf sounded angry, but looked worried.

  Olvir appreciated his concern, but he must stay true to his faith. “I am not afraid to die,” he revealed. “In fact, I welcomed death until a couple days ago. My father’s abuse left me with no choice but to pray to my God for a quick end. Another sin. Absolution is attainable, but only if I publicly admit to my wrongdoing.”

 
“There is no mercy for Christians this far north. They’d sooner flay you and sacrifice you to Odin, then risk letting you spread the word of the White Christ like a plague. Turn back, milord, spare yourself. Find another way to make amends. I have heard stories about self-flagellation, how monks flog themselves as a form of religious discipline.”

  Impressed that Rolf knew so much about his faith, he smiled kindly. “Aye, it is true. Though no one is supposed to know when a monk does so, some seek attention and praise from their superiors for suffering through the daily practice. I am not a man of the cloth. This form of purification isn’t available to a scribe or nobleman. I would have to join an order, pledge eternal service to Christ, and give away all of my holdings or pick an heir to endow with my father’s title.”

  “I know another way.”

  As they emerged from the woods, Olvir stopped and dismounted, wanting a drink of water and some bread. “Tell me.”

  Rolf joined him. “Convert.”

  “Again?”

  “Aye.

  Abandon Christ to save his own life? A coward’s way out, he heard his father accuse. One thing Olvir had never considered himself was a coward. Only his sire thought so. Ivarr had praised him endlessly for his service across the North Sea. Even after he pledged faith in the Saxon God. But the Danes had been living among the Saxons for years and were more accepting of their customs. A wise conqueror allowed his thralls to worship whatever gods they chose so long as they worked and paid tribute. It kept the peace.

  “I’d rather face cold, hard death than lie. Let the high priest deal with me as fairly or cruelly as he wishes.”

  “Olvir the Honest will be known throughout the northlands before this is all over,” Rolf said, swallowing a swig of warm wine from a skin Olvir offered him.

  “We are only a few miles from the temple. When we arrive, find accommodations for yourself. You must tell no one of your affiliation with me until I find out what my punishment will be.”

  “As you command, milord.”

  They split a loaf of bread in a hurry, then mounted, riding full speed.

  As the fires in the courtyard outside the temple became visible from the hilltop they’d climbed, that’s when Olvir realized he was being followed by someone other than Rolf. He’d spent a fair amount of time in this holy place, knowing the routine of the guards. Bonfires were lit every night not only to keep warm by but also to honor the gods. Those flames represented the eternal fire burning in Odin’s heart and hearth in Asgard. Soldiers made routine checks around the perimeter of the complex, always prepared to fight.