Shrill whistles sounded from behind.Maybe Tyr’s men were covertly watching after all. Rachelle twisted around and glared at the handful of sailors who stood within earshot. She’d be damned if she was going to provide more entertainment for these cretins. Biting her tongue, she flung her hands on her hips. “Who would believe that?”
“One look at you and my men would fully understand the challenges I faced.”
Laughter and humiliation were her newest companions. Ones she refused to live with. She gestured at the water. “I’ll jump.”
Anger flashed across his face. “If I can’t trust you to stay onboard, I’ll tie you to one of those benches.” He pointed to an empty space between two rowers.
Both men stood, revealing large symmetrical bodies. One patted the crudely made pew with his hand. His salacious grin made her insides squirm. Pouting, she pivoted on shaky legs. Empty threats hadn’t inspired Tyr to be kinder or forced him to be honest with her. Why was she here?
Turning back, she stared at him unflinching. Nothing about this arrangement made any sense. She’d escorted him to thebeach and watched him swim. What had brought him back? She intended to find out. For now, fearing he’d follow through with his threat to strap her down, she decided to apologize. Uncle Henry often advised her topick her battles wisely.
“I’ll do whatever you ask,” she said.
For now.
“Good.” He latched onto her arm. “Your lovely backside would have gone numb sitting beside Wulfgar and Onetooth for a solid week.”
All the same, he dragged her to the designated seat. Prepared to find Onetooth’s mouth in a terrible state when he smiled, she unexpectedly discovered a perfect set of teeth. Much to her surprise, he was missing his left eye instead. She gasped.
Humored, the mature Viking said in English, “My nickname has the same effect on women everywhere.”
“I see—” She covered her mouth, ashamed she made any reference to seeing anything.
Onetooth chuckled. “Laugh at my expense.” He scooted over to make room for her. “Sit. I kept it warm for you.”
Unsure about his easy acceptance, she still plopped down next to him.
An hour afterlifting anchor, the ship rocked rhythmically on the waves and lulled Tyr into a half dream, in which he openly mourned his brother and countrymen. How many of Odin’s Berserkers had perished? These legendary warriors fought audaciously—with all-consuming bloodlust and blind fury. Allfather depended on them to guard the old ways. With depleted numbers, a new generation would need to be chosen and trained. Until then, who would defend the old religion?
The answer came. He’d have to realign his priorities and play a bigger role in regional politics. Something he didn’t want to do. His heart pounded. Unlike his father, Tyr preferred privacy.Although he was a seasoned diplomat and actively participated at the Thing every year, he still valued solitude.
Stretching, he sat up. Destiny had cast her net wide and caught King Hardrada. Now, everyone would suffer the consequences. Snapping his fingers, a thrall appeared seconds later, holding a white linen shirt. He stood and dressed. Damn Hardrada’s black soul—the after effects of this defeat would be felt for decades.
Sharp instincts gave Tyr a distinct advantage in war and politics. But it set him at odds with the royal family and drove a wedge between him and his father. His sire, the legendary Jarl Randvior Sigurdsson, commanded by Odin to abandon his lands and establish a new home, had complied without question. Tyr believed the gods should be beholden to a greater power—they too deserved to be tested. A man’s future was his own. And blind faith in any deity represented one of two things, fear or mental incapacity.
Now, a woman’s fate… Tyr’s gaze swept the deck. Watching her enjoy the company of another man provoked him, even if it was his oldest friend, Onetooth.
Should he try to distance himself from further relations with Rachelle? A female’s life depended on the men who protected her; his possession of her confirmed it. Comforting her went against everything he’d been taught by his elders in Norway. Regardless of his bloodline, a man’s beliefs were the foundation of his judgment—the core of his intellectual capabilities. He’d known that all his life. Wisdom was more valuable than gold.
Temporarily forgetting his annoyance, he made rounds. By now, the vessel had cleared the cove and moved swiftly in open water.
“It’s too late for the last harvest celebration, but we’ll arrive in time for the celebration of Winternights andÁlfablót, thewinter sacrifice. And perhaps a hunt before the snow comes.” His words were meant to keep his men diligent.
Indulgences overdue, he licked his lips in the promise of his pleasure. A harem of females lived at his steading, with a flock of children running loose behind them. Not known as the sort of lord to forbid his men from enjoying the pleasures his household offered, the parentage of some of these offspring remained unknown. Still, he loved them all. Variety was his greatest pleasure in life. He lived by that belief, whether it pertained to statecraft or the bedchamber.
Nearing mid-ship, Rachelle’s feminine laughter had a perverse effect on him. Why did he bring her, a lapse in judgment? Perhaps an uncontrollable desire to have his way with her… no… she was more than a sexual conquest. When he had first cracked his eyes open to see who was standing over him on the battlefield, he thought Odin had sent a Valkyrie to escort him to Valhalla. The girl turned out to be flesh and blood. What delicious flesh to see, but damn her Saxon blood.
After stalking to a row of wooden boxes stored near the mast, he opened one. Taking out a large fur, he closed the lid, then faced the girl. If she was going to stay with him, he’d better consider her safety more. Slipping behind her, he covered her shoulders. She snuggled into it, welcoming the warmth. There should be dry clothing for her somewhere. As for shoes, he eyed his young thrall. His feet might be near the size of Rachelle’s. The boy could wrap his feet in strips of fur to keep warm. Anticipating colder weather, he didn’t want his precious cargo getting chilled.
Any encouragement Rachellereceived from Onetooth, to make her feel more welcome within the confines of the ship, disappeared by the third day of the voyage. Today, Tyr amassed most of his men. He glanced at Rachelle. She hugged herself,knowing what must be done. He’d condemn only himself by sharing the news that Norway had no king. Having grown up in an officer’s home, she’d been exposed to many unhappy conversations regarding military affairs. The thrill of victory wouldn’t be experienced by these men.
Looking as dignified as he possibly could, Tyr began. “Every man is responsible for his own life. Limitless rewards are bestowed upon the man that girds himself with vigilance and wisdom and who keeps his eyes focused heavenward for signs from the gods. Hardrada’s men threw caution to the wind after we conquered York.”
The longer he hesitated, the more she noticed how his head dipped and his shoulders became a little less erect.
“I will not dishonor our brethren by recounting useless details—I’m not particularly interested in who was at fault—logic was abandoned in York. After King Harold attacked, most were not prepared to defend our position.” His voice was thick with regret. “A single warrior stood out amongst Hardrada’s forces. Raising his weapons fearlessly against our enemies, he alone held Stamford Bridge and prevented the complete annihilation of the army. What you deserve to know, need to know…” His head drooped. “King Hardrada is dead.”
A graveyard possessed more life than this vessel in the moments following Tyr’s pronouncement. Shock and confusion set in. Rachelle overheard heated words. Fists were raised toward heaven. Threats and curses were sworn against the Saxons. Shrinking back, she met Tyr’s steady and hardened gaze. Although she deeply respected his constraint, she couldn’t help feeling threatened. A lamb trapped in a lion’s den.
