Lord of the Seas Page 7

  He didn’t say anything, only stared at her while all the people watched. It was enough to make her blush and she had to break the moment.

  “I thank you for the dress, Northman. And the food was excellent, as you promised.”

  He blinked, then inclined his head. “I’m glad you approve. Come with me to the front of the room. I want to introduce you to my people so there is no mistake about you.”

  Introduce her as what? He kept hold of her hand as they made their way between the tables.

  He bent to speak in her ear. “Try to be nice.”

  “I will, if you will.” She spoke through her clenched teeth.

  “I think I can manage that. The gods forefend I should forget the sharp tongue behind that beautiful face.”

  Heat burned her cheeks as he turned her toward his people. He spoke in Norse, so she couldn’t understand everything he said, but she did grasp quite a few words. When he finished, the people spoke among themselves, still casting glances her way.

  She took her hand from his. “What did you tell them?”

  “That you’re my bed slave and that I’m going to chain you to my headboard and do all manner of perverse things to you.” He grinned.

  She wanted to hit him. “You did not. I heard the word for guest.”

  “I see Kaia taught you some of our language on the voyage.” He sighed. “Where’s the fun in that? You’re right. I told them you’re an honored guest here and that they’re to welcome you in all ways. They are to make your stay a pleasant one.”

  It was her turn to blink. His kindness was unexpected and it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be beholden to him for anything. It was his fault she was here to begin with. She was more at ease feeling angry with him. If he smiled at her, and said kind things, it might soften her resolve. That mustn’t happen. He was the enemy.

  She had to get away from him before she said something she shouldn’t. Again. “I’d like to leave now. I rested a little bit after the sauna, but I need to sleep in a bed that doesn’t rock and isn’t wet.”

  “I can think of many reasons why a bed would move and be damp. And they don’t involve rest.”

  She gasped, her cheeks flaming again. “Heathen.”

  His laughter followed her as she headed for the door. Then she skidded to a stop. In the corner, where she couldn’t have seen it before, a harp leaned against the wall. It was carved with leaves and flowers, its strings glistening in the soft light. All her embarrassment forgotten, she went to it and touched the top.

  Her father had given her harp to her when she was very young. They’d had their own harpist at the keep then, and he had taught her. She often played for her mother because it soothed her pain and sorrow. Her father’s gift to her was something they both shared. Now it would stand quiet and Rohesia’s anguish would go uncomforted.

  She stroked the strings and they trembled under her fingertips. How could she ever play again without thinking of her father’s betrayal and lies? The sound, the notes, would drive it all home to her again. Her throat closed with sorrow and unshed tears.

  “No one here knows how to play it. Do you?” Rorik stood beside her.

  She blinked the moisture away so he wouldn’t see her weakness, and splayed her hand on the strings to stop their vibrations. “I used to. Not any longer.”

  Leaving the harp and him behind, she stepped outside. Night had fallen and a soft breeze came from the fjord. On the water, the ships floated in the moonlight. She breathed in the night, seeking its calm. Her music brought peace to those who listened, but no one here needed it. Except her.

  Though from now on music would never bring her comfort, only sorrow. She could never play again. Both harps, at home and here, would remain forever silent.

  Chapter Five

  Rorik watched her leave, the sound of her fingers on the strings still playing in his mind. Gods, she was beautiful. In Northumbria, she’d fallen in the dirt, her hair was messed, and she was angry and tearful. He’d been too frustrated to care what she looked like. After the long voyage with no bath, none of them had looked attractive. When she’d stood in front of him, the full impact of her beauty hit him. He’d stared like an untried youth. She’d looked up at him with her large, blue eyes, her honey-colored hair braided in the front. The curls poured down her back to her waist and he could only imagine them covering him as he drew her naked body over his.

  He would not think of that. She was too caustic, too foreign. He liked his women blonde, Norse, and willing. None of those criteria applied to her. She’d be worth more as a hostage if she remained a virgin. Which was one reason he’d warned the men away from her. Even if she became interested in someone here, he couldn’t allow it and would have to make certain she remained untouched. She had to go to the church in Hedeby. Christians were obsessed with a woman’s purity. With her beauty, it might not be easy to keep the men from her. He might have to stake a claim to her himself. As a ruse, of course. His other women would love that.

  Grimacing, he went back to his seat. Leif was pouring another draft of beer for himself and he filled Rorik’s goblet without asking if he wanted any. He did.

  “She cleans up well.” Leif raised his cup then took a drink.

  “I suppose so. I didn’t notice.”

  “Of course not.” He smiled as he studied the beer in his cup. “You both were too busy staring into each other’s eyes to notice much of anything else.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Now you sound like my brother. You shouldn’t be so concerned about what I saw. They saw it as well, and there may be some repercussions.” Leif nodded to the table where several of Rorik’s women sat.

  He winked at them. They smiled back, but there was a hint of uncertainty in a couple of them, and wariness in the others. Gunnhild, who imagined herself his main lover, was the proudest of them all. If any of them gave Elfwynn trouble, it would be her. Still, she wouldn’t press, or she would lose him entirely. “They know better than to be jealous. I won’t tolerate it and there’s no need. There’s more than enough of me to go around.”

  Leif gave him a narrow-eyed look as he popped a honeyed nut into his mouth.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He ate another.

  “You have that expression you get when you see something in someone. I’ve seen you do it before. Your twin always takes note of it and asks your opinion. Now you’re looking at me.”

  “I’ve always had a gift for seeing into people. Magnus, in his wisdom, uses it to his advantage. Perhaps it’s kept him from killing me. I do have my uses.”

  “And what do you see now?”

  Leif took a deep breath. “I see a man who lacks what he needs most. He scatters himself among many, never feeling, always searching, not finding. Always skating on the ice, never looking for what lies beneath. So he moves on, afraid to peer too deeply into the depths.”

  Rorik raised his head. “First, I do not fear. Anything, or anyone. Second, I do not lack. Look at everything here. I have all I could ever want. Wealth, women, power. Every day, I see my gold increase and every evening, I have all my people and women to celebrate with me.”

  “All very true. If we surround ourselves with enough lamps and the glitter of gold, we needn’t see the darkness. In the night, when we are alone, though, is when the shadows come.”

  Rorik stiffened. “But I’m never alone in the dark at night.” He drained his cup and rose. “I like you better when you’re cracking jokes.”

  Leif gave a soft chuckle. “So do I. But you did ask.”

  “And I’ll know not to do that again. A good night to you.” He walked by the table where his women sat, brushing Gunnhild on the shoulder. She followed him into his room and shut the door behind her. Servants had lit all the oil lamps so the chamber was bright. He didn’t turn to her yet. She would wait.

  Leif had hit too close to home with his words. Damn him. The shadows were always there within him.
Of the past, his own failures, and the fear of madness. His cursed father’s blood still roared in his veins, and it would go no further. He did not seek comfort, for he could never find that in this lifetime. He only sought to exhaust himself every night with his women so he could fall asleep and not dream. Not see his past replayed over and over, and not see the blood that spattered it. In the day, his people surrounded him, keeping him busy. At the great markets, there were the sounds, the colors, and the mind games of commerce. In his ships, the wind and the seas cleansed him. In warfare, he focused on survival and his next opponent.

  But at night, that was when the shadows threatened. He turned to Gunnhild. She was already naked, her eyes hooded with desire. He’d bury his face in her fragrant hair until all he saw was its golden radiance, and lose himself in her pale body until he knew of nothing else. The fulfillment he gave her and all the other women lifted his sense of failure. The light they brought him and the pleasure he gave to them drove back the horror of the past, allowing him to make up for some of it. At least, for that brief time.

  That was why he was never alone in the dark.

  * * *

  “I need an emissary to meet with Jarl Thorir and invite him here for a talk.”

  Rorik sat at a table in the longhouse with his best warriors. He shouldn’t have stayed away for so many weeks. He had a mountain of work to do in handling the problems and business that had piled up in his absence. All that time spent away, and he had nothing to show for it except the memory of a burned ship and the tears of the women whose men had been slain in the battle with the earl. And one caustic little Christian woman.

  Several of the men were still feeling the effects of last night’s feast, but it never bothered him no matter how much he drank. They were bleary-eyed, wincing as the servant set the platters out for the morning meal.

  “I’ll go to Holtvik and speak with Thorir.” Galinn, the warrior who had sailed with Kaia, yawned. “As soon as I find my head. I know it’s here somewhere.” He peered into his cup.

  “Trust me. You don’t want to find it,” Leif said. “I know where mine is and I’m ready to cut it off to ease the pain. You’re better off without it.”

  “Whenever your head makes a reappearance, Galinn, you can leave. Take at least six men with you. We know Oddr and Kolbienn have forces coming into my lands. So far, they’re in the southern areas, but it pays to be careful.”

  “Those are the two jarls you’re having problems with?” Leif dragged a plate of cheese toward him, considered it, then pushed it away with a wince.

  It might be wise to tell him the situation. Leif could be useful. At the meeting with Thorir, he could study him without the jarl knowing. He had been a bit too close for comfort in his assessment last night, but Rorik would never admit it. Leif had some skill with seeing into people and if need be, he was a good fighter.

  Two of his men were snoring with their heads on the table, and the others didn’t seem much better off. It would be a while before he could continue any kind of business with them. Leif, at least, was coherent.

  “Very little of our homeland is farmable. Just here and the area around Haardvik and farther south into Rogaland. I own most of it near the Trøndheimsfjorden. A jarl named Thorir owns a large area of fertile land to my east. We’ve always had a truce between us, along with Grjotgard Herlaugsson Lade to my west. If we fought each other, it would destroy many of the villages here, unbalance the political power, and cause instability to trade and commerce. We’re all too powerful. Our people would suffer the most and none of us want that.

  “In the last year, two jarls to the south have eyed Thorir’s lands and mine. Perhaps they feel that since the two of us aren’t allies, if they joined forces, they could encroach on our lands and we wouldn’t have the strength to stop them.”

  Leif frowned. “Are they insane? You’re more powerful than most kings. You could be one yourself, if you wanted.”

  “I’m like you. You don’t want the responsibility of being a jarl, and neither do I. I don’t even call myself one. Then I’d have to perform rituals and all those bothersome duties I have no interest in. I took over this village when I came of age because I owed it to the people here. But I’d just as soon live on my ships, raiding and traveling the world. No cares. Just fighting, drinking, and making the ladies very, very happy.”

  Leif gave him a weak smile. “When do we leave?”

  “Perhaps one day, I’ll do that. Unfortunately, this situation with those jarls means I’ll have to remain here for a month or two. I have my people to look after.”

  “Gods, you do sound like my brother.” He lowered his head to the table with a thunk and groaned.

  “From what I know of Magnus, I’m honored. King, jarl—whatever I am, I have to stop this before it goes any further. I’m asking Thorir to meet with me to discuss an alliance. We have to make a good show of force to dissuade Oddr and Kolbienn. If we present a united front, it should drive them back. I don’t want to wait until their people move onto my land. Families would be caught in the middle. I have to head this off now.”

  “And this is a warning shot, like an arrow fired across the bow of a ship.”

  “Exactly. Just the rumor that Thorir and I have joined together might be enough to send them scurrying back to their own lands. I hope.”

  “It would encourage me to do so. But then, I wouldn’t cross you to begin with. If you need another sword, I’d look forward to a good fight. With Hakon, Toke, and the outcasts all slain, I was beginning to fear it would be a boring summer.”

  “I’d also like you to sit in on the meetings and let me know what you think of him.”

  Leif crooked a brow at him. “And yet, I was completely wrong with what I told you last night.”

  “There’s always a first time.”

  “Of course. Anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “My thanks.” He looked at his men. “I don’t think I’ll get any work out of them today. I have to go down to the ships and see to the loading of cargo and provisions.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Leif said. “It’s better than sitting here watching them drool on the tables.”

  Rorik nodded in agreement. “Several of my ships will leave in the next few days for raiding forays into Francia. The kings there tend to hand over gold and silver for us to go away, so it pays to return each year. Their king, Charles, started it all with Ragnar Lothbrok six years ago. In many ways, Francia is the easiest target with its long coastline and many rivers. We’ve had a number of defeats in the western islands, including last year near the mouth of the Thames and in Ireland. I think I’ll avoid them for a while.” He stood.

  “Ireland.” Leif rose as well and walked with him outside. “It’s such a mess there, we’re even attacking our own people who hold the camps, like Dublin.”

  “That’s the Danes for you. They attack everyone, including us. There are so many kings among the Irish, they can’t coordinate any resistance to us. Makes it a little easier.”

  “Remember, only four years ago, they defeated us four times.”

  “Still, the island’s been raided so much that the entire situation is a disaster and I avoid it altogether. I’ll take an easier target any time.”

  Leif regarded him. “My mother was from Ireland. My father took her as a hostage there, fell in love with her, and when her ransom arrived, it became her dowry.” He stopped and smiled as he looked up the road. “Sometimes, the easiest target becomes the most complicated, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rorik paused. Elfwynn and Oslafa walked toward them, talking. The sun hit Elfwynn’s hair and it shone like dark gold. She wore the same blue dress she’d had on last night. It set off her coloring and her slender body, the skirt outlining her legs.

  His women were all icy Nordic beauties, tall, cool, and certain of their studied allure. They rimmed their eyes with dark pigment, bringing out the blue color. Their clothing was rich, their jewelry heavy. They understood their power ov
er men and used it to get what they wanted. Including him.

  Elfwynn’s beauty was earthy, like the forests and deep, growing things. Last night, when he’d stared at her like a shield-struck youth, a gleam of feminine knowledge had flashed in her eyes. Just for a moment. She knew her own beauty, but didn’t use it as a weapon. It was simply a part of her. Was it because, unlike his women, she had so much more to offer?

  She replied to something Oslafa said. Three bondsmen who were working on one of the houses stopped their labors and watched her, nudging each other and whispering. That was going to stop.

  As he walked to the women, he cast a hard stare at the men and they turned back to their work. He smiled. “If you’re going into the longhouse to find something to eat, Oslafa, I fear there are many half-dead bodies still in there. That’s fortunate for you, since most of them either couldn’t stomach food, or haven’t woken up yet to get sick. There’s plenty of breakfast there.”

  She glanced between Elfwynn and him, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “I’ll check to be certain there aren’t any indecent sights in there. One never knows after a feast.”

  “But Oslafa, every night is a feast.”

  “So true, Rorik. That’s how I know.” She hurried into the building.

  Gunnhild sauntered from the longhouse, her hair mussed, a contented, sleepy look on her face. She sidled up to him and slipped her hands up his chest, then down the front of his body and cupped him. “Good morning, Rorik. I was surprised to wake alone.”

  With a glance at Leif and then Elfwynn, he removed Gunnhild’s wandering hand. He kissed it. “Anyplace but in the street, love. Too much company.”

  “The next time you leave the street, I’ll hold you to that. And that’s not all I’ll hold.” With a smile, she walked off toward her house, her hips swaying.

  No doubt she’d been so forward for Elfwynn’s benefit. Staking her claim. Clearing his throat, he turned to the blushing little Christian. “Good morning to you, Elfwynn. I trust you slept well, and your bed was solid and dry last night.”