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

  He gazed upon his wife with deep respect, knowing she spoke truthfully. Yes, his actions were a negative influence on Runa. However, when it came to his sister’s future, he swore to carry out his father’s wishes. The girl must marry. Soon. “I will speak with her.”

  “You’ll be patient?”

  “If she is forthcoming and reasonable.”

  Eva rewarded him with a smile, then curled up on her side, still tired from the long delivery of their beloved twins. Roald closed the door quietly, sincerely happy for the first time in his life. He walked through the great hall, headed for the women’s quarters on the other side of the longhouse.

  He knocked on Runa’s chamber door.

  “Enter,” she called.

  He found her seated at a table, reading a scroll. “Are you too busy to speak with me?”

  Runa quickly rolled the parchment up. “I am never too busy for my jarl.” She stood then, motioning to an empty chair. “Join me, Brother?”

  He did. “I want a full account of what transpired between you and Olvir last night.”

  Runa sighed. “Did you not hear his words, Sir? He dared to ask you to submit my nephew and niece to baptism. Those words alone are reason enough to take his life.”

  Roald swallowed his laughter, secretly admiring her fierceness. But her aggressive behavior couldn’t go unpunished. The eyes of every woman in the crowd had been upon her, watching closely. Runa must live according to the traditions of her family, serving as a role model for all the impressionable young girls dependent on his family for sustenance.

  “That isn’t a satisfactory answer.”

  She waved her hands. “What do you want me to say? I was born with the same temperament as you. When I see or hear something that goes against everything I believe in…”

  “You are a woman.”

  “I am Norse.”

  “You will learn to manage that quick temper and sharp tongue or I will be forced to take action.”

  She thrust her hand on her hip, throwing him a challenging look. “And what will you do? Take a strap to my back the way Father did? Withhold food? Confine me to my room?”

  Roald stood. “I’ll marry you off to the most decrepit suitor I can find from the furthest reaches in the south where belief in the White Christ is taking root. And if you think my demands are too much, Runa, wait until you find out how strict Christian priests are with females. They blame a woman for the downfall of humanity.”

  She clicked her tongue. “I’ll resist you.”

  “I would expect no less.”

  “I will take a public oath, Roald. I will swear allegiance to Odin and make it impossible for you to deny my true calling.”

  He captured her arm from across the table and gave her a shake. “Empty threats. Konal’s future is still dependent upon your obedience, Runa. Did you think the fate-binding held no weight? We are at peace now, but if I deny Konal’s right to establish his own steading, he will leave Norway. Is that what you want, Girl?”

  She yanked her arm free. “What did I do to earn your bitterness?”

  “I made a promise, Runa. Now that I have my own family to think of, I refuse to risk their future by breaking my oath to Father just to appease a girl’s mindless dream of being a temple maiden. If I fail to honor my sire’s dying wishes, the gods will penalize me.”

  “I’ve never known you to fear anything, not even the gods.”

  “I’ve never been jarl before. And it’s not fear, Runa. Don’t mistake honor for fear. Cooperate and I will give you a say in what man you marry. Defy me and I alone will choose.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. “This is my punishment for defending our family?”

  “You threatened the son of a jarl. His words were ill spoken, but he made a fool of himself without your interference. Olvir is a weakling, Runa. No one took him seriously but you. My captains are tasked with guarding the great hall. You owe Thorolf much for taking charge of the situation when he did. For if that blade had drawn even a drop of Olvir’s blood, his father would have come here demanding a fight or weregild to reclaim his family’s honor.”

  “I care little for your politics, Brother.”

  “Aye,” he said. “All the more reason for you to keep your mouth shut in public. Carelessness like yours start wars.”

  “And your disregard destroys families.”

  Roald stalked to the door, irritated by her continued unruliness. “You will present yourself at the eventide meal as a lady. Dressed appropriately with a smile on your pretty face. You will eat and drink in silence unless you have something useful to say. Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” she said, fisting her hands at her sides. Someday she’d walk away from Roald for the last time, never to look back, happy to be rid of him forever.

  Chapter Seven

  Thorolf stared at the empty seat only three places down from his own spot at the high table. A second trestle had been added to the dais to accommodate the jarl’s growing family. Roald, Eva, Konal, Silvia, Haakon, the chair kept open for the absent brother, Bruin, and Runa were supposed to be in attendance at every eventide meal, as were the jarl’s four captains. But tonight, Runa had ignored the order her brother had given her earlier.

  Several influential men were in attendance, invited to meet the jarl’s beautiful sister. Thorolf fisted his hands under the table as he chewed on a mouthful of venison and then swallowed it. Roald had secretly assigned him to keep watch over Runa. A responsibility he took very seriously but should have passed on. He couldn’t possibly remain neutral with Runa. He cared about her and admired her unadulterated passion and devotion for the gods.

  Not to mention the assortment of jarls and first sons waiting eagerly to lay eyes on the promised girl. Thorolf’s gaze moved slowly over the men who were stuffing their faces with the jarl’s bounty. Seated at the next table, they were dressed in finery and attended by their own thralls.

  Thorolf knew five of them. The first, Jarl Durin, ruled a small but prosperous area to the east. Hedin and Lodmund were the sons of jarls. Jarl Vandrad hailed from the southern regions. And Axel was a Swedish prince—the worthiest suitor of all. But the dark-haired stranger at the end of the table bothered him the most. He had the eyes of a ravenous wolf and wore Saxon armor to eat in. Did the stranger wear it to bed, too?

  “Where is your mind?”

  Thorolf twisted in his chair as soon as he heard Roald’s deep voice. The jarl was sitting next to him now.

  “Too much wine, my lord,” he lied, wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand.

  Roald slapped his back. “Only the best drink for our honored guests. But these great men won’t stay long if my sister doesn’t do her duty. Bring her here, Thorolf, even if you have to throw her over your shoulder kicking and screaming. Better a potential suitor sees Runa at her worst now than send her back weeks after the wedding night with a complaint about her rebellious nature.”

  Thorolf left the great hall, determined to escort Runa to the feast willingly. He’d never laid hands upon a woman in an aggressive manner. Unless wrestling with childhood friends counted. That memory made him smile as he stepped into the passageway that led to the women’s quarters. He was greeted by several thralls as he passed by.

  “Where is Lady Runa?” he asked one.

  “In her chamber,” the girl pointed.

  He nodded and didn’t hesitate to open the door without knocking first. Let Runa taste the urgency of the situation here instead of making a public spectacle of herself.

  “Captain Thorolf,” the girl greeted him nonchalantly as her maid worked on her pitch-colored hair. “Is something wrong?”

  Ragnarok couldn’t shake this woman’s resolve.

  “Jarl Roald…”

  “Yes, yes,” she tsked. “Let me guess. My impatient brother has sent you to fetch me because I’m a few minutes late for the feast?”

  “Aye.”

  Her soft, feminine laughter warmed his insides.

 
“Doesn’t he know I wish to look my best before he opens the bids for my betrothal?” The maid finished with her hair and stepped back, offering Runa a flat, polished disc of bronze so she could admire herself. “Yes, I think I’m ready. Do you agree, Captain?”

  Unable to resist looking, Thorolf studied her features appreciatively. Her hair had been pulled away from her face, intricately braided at the sides, its length twisted high on her head and pinned in place. She had a long, elegant neck and broad shoulders for a woman. A gold, Thor’s hammer pendant hung from the chain about her throat.

  Somehow, Thorolf always found his gaze drawn to her almond-shaped eyes. At the moment, they were bright with mischief.

  “Well, Sir?”

  He cleared his throat. He’d almost forgotten about her gown, the color matched the deep green of her eyes, revealed just a hint of her milk-white flesh at the breast, and perfectly complimented her slim waist and full hips. “If your aim is to snare a husband, Lady, you have my word, you won’t fail.”

  She chuckled again. “Am I mistaken, Captain, or was that a compliment?”

  “Aye.” He sighed. “But you don’t need my praise. That glass you just peered into should give you the answers you seek.”

  “A special gift from my brother, Bruin, after he returned from Baghdad years ago. Though it gives me a chance to see myself, only a man’s opinion counts on such a matter. My self-perception is not the concern of my brother. Only what others think of me.”

  The girl intended to bait him into saying something against Jarl Roald. But his loyalty was unshakeable. She’d have to do better than that. “Our jarl wishes to secure a good future for you, Lady. To entrust your life to a man worthy of your respect and love. What if he didn’t care so much? What if he chose a man of poor character? One who would neglect you and beat you into submission?”

  Runa snorted. “I’d die before I’d let a man hit me.”

  “Precisely my point. Cooperate with your brother. Give him a chance to forge an alliance with one of these men that will both benefit you and your family.”

  “I want to be a temple maiden, not a wife.”

  “Shhh.” Thorolf surged forward and covered her mouth with two fingers. “These walls have eyes and ears.”

  She shrugged. “As do the trees and river. For anything I say is instantly reported to my brother.” She gave him an accusing look.

  “Not by my lips. I swear it.”

  “I believe you. And as I’ve said many times, you are the most honorable man in the Trondelag, perhaps in the world over.”

  Thorolf didn’t want to be known for that alone, not to a woman like Runa. If only he could temporarily break his oath to the jarl and give this girl a taste of the fire that burned within him—speak the words that filled his heart and mind. Share his deepest feelings, the ones best expressed in a bed in the middle of the night.

  “It pleases me that you trust me. Will you let me escort you to the great hall now?”

  “Tell me of the men, first … the dark one my maids do not recognize. Is he as wild looking as they say?”

  Thorolf took a restless stance. He didn’t want to discuss her suitors in detail. Truth be told, he disliked each one for different reasons, thoughts of which he’d keep to himself. The dark stranger bothered him the most. “He wears foreign armor, a cloak trimmed with fur, and a black tunic. I know nothing of his background or family. He hasn’t spoken with the other guests.”

  Runa folded her hands over her stomach, looking surprised. “You observed him that closely?”

  “Tis my way, Lady Runa.”

  “Yes.”

  Thorolf offered his arm then, hoping Runa would go quietly. Much to his relief, she did.

  They walked down the corridor together, then entered the great hall where entertainers were playing a song on their flutes and rebecs. The music stopped as soon as Jarl Roald stood. “Beloved Sister,” he said sarcastically. “I am happy to see you. I thought you were lost to us.”

  Laughter sounded as Thorolf walked to the high table, deposited Runa in her seat, and then claimed his own.

  Roald stared at his sister for a long moment, then raised his cup. “A toast to my beautiful sister. May the gods grant her long life and happiness.”

  The crowd cheered.

  “And a strong back,” the dark-haired stranger Runa had questioned Thorolf about called out before he took a drink.

  Thorolf shot up from his chair and unsheathed his weapon, offended by what the man suggested.

  “Wait.” Jarl Roald signaled him to stand down. “Explain the meaning of your words, Jarl Skrymir, before my captain challenges you to a fight.”

  Skrymir glanced casually at Thorolf, appearing more humored than worried. “I didn’t think I needed to explain. Are we here to judge the lady for her fitness as a wife or saint? My meaning is clear. A strong back for bearing the brunt of my weight as I climb on top of her in the wedding bed.”

  Thorolf growled as he heard the snickers following the crude comment.

  “Have you forgotten where you are?” Roald set his cup aside, rounded the table, then stepped off the dais.

  Skrymir stood. “In your hallowed hall, Jarl Roald. And I’ve shown nothing but respect for your family. My men warned you about the kind of man I am. I live in the far north, not here among the pampered and civilized people in the lowlands. If your sister possessed a horse face, I would not have been inspired to say such a thing. But look at her—her beauty is rivaled by few women I’ve seen. What else is a man supposed to think about? I need a wife and heir. You require new alliances to expand your power.”

  “Aye, I do.” Roald stopped in front of Skrymir’s table, Thorold standing behind him. “I suggest learning to hold your tongue. We do not say such things about our women, not in mixed company, and surely not in the great hall.”

  The stranger nodded and reached inside his cloak, revealing a leather coin bag. He dropped it on the table. “Recompense for my bad manners.”

  Roald picked up the bag and weighed it in his palm. “An acceptable apology.”

  “Meant for the lady,” Skrymir looked over Roald’s shoulder.

  “Runa,” Roald called. “Join us.”

  Thorolf closed his eyes, itching to strike the bastard with a fist. But Jarl Roald had made peace with him. Thorolf opened his eyes then, sheathed his weapon, and relaxed as best he could under the circumstances.

  Runa appeared at her brother’s side.

  “Runa, meet Jarl Skrymir. He has traveled many days to be here,” Roald introduced her.

  She curtsied. “Where do you come from, Sir?”

  “Beyond the lands of the Laplanders, where the sun sets for months at a time in the winter and blazes gloriously for months in the summer.”

  “The dark reaches,” Runa commented. “Where men and beasts live as one.”

  “Aye.”

  Runa gazed at her brother. “Mother used to tell me stories about these men. How brutal and dangerous they are. You’d send me there?”

  Roald blinked several times but didn’t answer her. “This is a gift from Jarl Skrymir.” He offered her the coins.

  “Your words did not escape me, Jarl Skrymir. In the Trondelag, women are judged for more than their physical strength. It takes a strong back to cultivate extensive gardens, to cook in the kitchens, to carry children about all day while we work. I’ve managed the store rooms, livestock, smoke houses, tended to the needs of my family and thralls, overseen the weaving room, dealt with greater men than you, and still found the desire to smile every night at the eventide meal. Passing an unmemorable night with you in your bedchamber would be nothing compared to what I now do.”

  She made sure to smile demurely before she finished her thought. “And though I am not the kind of woman to turn down coin when it’s so hard to come by in these days of great turmoil, I must refuse your gift. Please donate it to the less fortunate, or better yet, to the temple maidens who pray for boorish men like you every day.”r />
  Roald’s eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open.

  “The lady has a charitable heart,” Skrymir observed. “You will make a good mother.”

  “No,” Runa disagreed. “I will make a fine temple maiden.” She stormed off, leaving a furious brother and shocked suitor behind.

  “Thorolf,” his lord spoke through gritted teeth. “Take my sister to Odin’s altar and make her sacrifice a bird or two in atonement for her continued disobedience and rude behavior toward our guest.”

  “Aye.” Thorolf, once again, left the great hall in search of the lady he was sure no man could tame or hold back for too long.

  Chapter Eight

  Runa had lied to everyone for the sake of her pride. Jarl Skrymir’s words had, indeed, cut deep, leaving her both disgusted and disappointed in Roald. How could her brother allow such a brute to sit at the same table with honorable men? To step inside their father’s house? To make an offer of marriage for her? She absolutely refused to defile her family’s name by considering such a match. The man wasn’t good enough to share space with the horses in the stable.

  Feeling trapped, she left the longhouse by the back door, breathing in the crisp nighttime air. As always, soldiers were gathered around the eventide fires, drinking and eating, playing dice or cards, and discussing their latest conquests. Idle talk as far as she was concerned.

  A couple grunted at her as she passed by, paying no heed to a lone girl walking about. She had grabbed a cloak off a peg by the entrance, hoping to conceal her gown and richly adorned hair. For no warrior would let the jarl’s sister go unescorted.

  Runa had been known to dress in the rags of a thrall to gain freedom from watchful eyes. She’d even donned a slave collar before. Peace and quiet were her favorite companions—whether found by the river or in the woods. There, she could think clearly and pray uninhibited, pleading her cause to Allfather and Thor.