Page 1 of Summer Warrior

CHAPTER 1

Off the coast of the Isle of Man, summer 1135 A.D.

FROM THE DECK OF HIS GALLEY, rocking gently in the waters off the coast of Man, Somerled let his gaze stretch out across the azure sea to the green hills that sloped to the shore. He had paused in his voyage from Dublin back to Morvern in Argyll to give the crew a respite from the oars.

The sun-warmed grass of early summer blanketed the land like green velvet, beckoning to him. On the cliffs some distance away, a colony of cream-colored gannets with their black-tipped wings made raucous, throaty noises. Taking to the air, their cries became quieter as they flew to great heights and then plunged into the waters of the Irish Sea, catching fish.

Glancing behind him, he saw his men lazing at the oars. Their conversations faded into the background as he turned back to the green isle to consider the one who reigned there as king.

Somerled had never met Olaf the Red but he had heard much about him.

Olaf Godredsson was an unusual Norseman, the younger son of the King of Dublin, who had succeeded to a throne initially meant for his eldest brother. For his protection, Olaf had been raised in the court of King Henry I of England. Known for his skill in diplomacy, Olaf’s many alliances had kept him in power and his kingdom at peace for decades.

Somerled was jarred from his musings by the sight of a white horse galloping across the sloping green hills. On the back of the magnificent palfrey, her hands entwined in the horse’s mane, rode a girl with long red hair. The horse’s mane and tail whipped about in the wind as he drove on, his mistress’ dark blue mantle flying out behind her.

She did not seem to notice the galley resting just offshore as she sped north.

If the fire in her eyes matched her wild abandon and her command of the horse, she would be a woman to covet.

Who might she be?

“Best keep your eyes in your head,” said his cousin, Domnall. “That one is not for you.”

“She rides like she owns the isle,” he said, tying his long hair at his nape to keep the wind from blowing it about his face.

Domnall chuckled. “Aye, she might as well. She’s Ragnhild Olafsdottir. The king’s only daughter.”

Watching her, Somerled recalled what he had heard about the daughter of the King of Man. Men spoke of her beauty, wisdom and intelligence, valued by her father no matter she was young and female. Around the night fires, they speculated on the man to whom Olaf would give such a prize.

“She looks to be sixteen or seventeen summers,” Somerled muttered.

“Aye, thereabouts.”

Without turning from the vision, he said, “Doubtless she will be bartered for lands and wealth—or peace with the Norse or even the Irish.” Such was the way of things.

“Aye, and a man must have all those in hand to offer for her.”

Somerled could offer nothing, having lost his lands and his family’s title to the Norse pirates who had long pillaged the shores of Argyll and the Western Isles, forcing the Gaels into slavery or worse. Even his father had fallen to a Norseman’s axe in an attempt to retake what was theirs. Somerled and his brother, Angus, had fought fiercely at Gillebride’s side, their faces splashed with the blood of their enemies, but to no avail.

When the girl was gone from sight, Somerled heaved a sigh and turned toward his men, shouting the order that would take them north into the Irish Sea.

“FLJÚGA!” RAGNHILD HISSED in Fairhair’s ears, urging him on. His hooves pounded the earth as she bent low over his neck, her fists clenched in his mane. It felt good to ride with the wind, as if in fleeing Castle Rushen she could flee the fate her father hinted he would inflict upon her.

She would not wed Rognvald Kolsson, the Norse warlord who was Earl of Orkney—a man she knew to be a murderer. Having tried to wrest control of the islands from Earl Paul, his second cousin, he had attempted to lure the people of Orkney to his cause with a promise to build a great cathedral. Yet behind the scenes, he had Earl Paul kidnapped and spirited away from Orkney, never to be seen again.

Ragnhild remembered the lustful glances the earl directed at her last eve while he and his men dined in her father’s great hall. The earl’s leers sent chills down her spine. Doubtless he would embrace evil to accomplish his ambitions.

Rognvald looked at her as if she were yet another isle to conquer, another land to possess. Nay, she would not wed such a man, no matter her stepmother’s plotting to be rid of her. If she were to marry at all, it would be a man like her father, clever and wise, a man who listened to her even if he did not always agree.

As she neared the rocky promontory above Niarbyl Bay, she reined in Fairhair and slid from his back, sending a hare running through the grass. Around her, summer’s green was broken only by patches of amethyst-colored heather, brilliant in the sunlight.

She left Fairhair to nibble on the grass and, telling her racing heart to calm, took a deep breath and stared out to sea. In the distance, she spied a galley, half the size of her father’s longships, its red sail unfurled to the wind. It was unusual for such a vessel to sail so close to their isle. She wondered at its purpose for only a moment before her thoughts turned back to the predicament that had troubled her for days.

Idly, she watched the gulls circling the bay, their harsh shrieks echoing her inner protests. At times like this, she missed the counsel of her mother. The pain of Ingibiorg’s loss was still sharp. As the daughter of the powerful Earl Hakon, who had ruled Orkney before Ragnhild’s birth, Ingibiorg grew up around fierce warlords appointed by the King of Norway. She would have known what to do.

In the years since her mother’s death, Ragnhild had grown into womanhood surrounded mostly by her father’s men and the castle’s servants. It was only natural she should assume the role of Rushen’s chatelaine, serving as hostess for her father. Organizing his household and entertaining his many allies pleased her, for his court drew important men who made for interesting conversations.

She had often accompanied her father on his voyages, sailing to the Hebrides, Ireland and Galloway.