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Sixteen years later…

The boat lurched and swayed as it glided across the silver water. Mocking cheers and taunts greeted Erik Hoffstad’s ears as he struggled to break free of his bindings, but there was no chance of him breaking free. The ropes were taut against his wrists, biting into his flesh. He had always been a strong man, perhaps not as strong as his father Ragnar and certainly not as ready to rise to anger as his brother, but his blood was still that of the Vikings—with a dash of Highland hardiness from his mother—and his strength was unmatched by most men. But even so, he could not break through these bindings. How he wished that he could have broken free, and then he would have seen how many of these men were eager to taunt him. Right now, they were spitting and laughing at him even when he was blindfolded and unable to fight back. They had no honor, and that would be their undoing, but as it happened, there was little he could do to change the situation.

He had come out here to make peace with the raiding Viking tribes, to try and explain to them that there were settlements in the Highlands that meant them no harm. After the terrible crimes of Arne Hagen, who had deceived innocent Highland villages and cast aspersions on the reputation of good Vikings, there was much that needed to be discussed with his brethren. But on the way to Norway, the ship Erik was on had been attacked without warning. The day after his brother had been married, Erik had almost been killed. The Vikings had boarded the ship with their swords brandished, ready to be coated in blood. Many had died before the crew had a chance to react. Erik had only been on a small ship, so they were outnumbered easily, and despite Erik’s best efforts, he had been captured.

Great shame weighed on his heart. He couldn’t help but think his father would have been able to fight the men off, for his prowess as a warrior was renowned throughout the land. Even the man he had been named after, his uncle Erik, had been a fine warrior. Erik was trained in the art of war as ably as any of his relatives, and indeed, over the years, he had proven himself to be a sturdy foe to anyone that challenged him, but he had also taken many lessons from his mother. He had learned the art of diplomacy. Perhaps that meant he wasn’t a true Viking, as sometimes his brother Egon had sharply declared, and in this instance, Erik felt as though he had let himself down.

The taunts rained down upon him one after the other, as though each was an arrow that had arced through the sky and now landed. He longed to fight back, but each time he struggled, he was reminded of his bonds. The battle still flashed through his mind; how quickly and savagely these Vikings rampaged through his boat. Sometimes it was easy for him to forget the nature of Vikings. All his life, he had lived in the Highlands in a village where Vikings and Highlanders had set their differences aside a long time ago. There were stories frequently told of raids and fights, but for most of Erik’s life, there had been peace. Only recently did the raids start coming closer to home. Egon had been dispatched to deal with them in the hope of rounding out some of his rougher edges. If the situation had been different, Erik would have smiled at the irony of the fact that Egon was at home with a wife while he was out on the sea, for their ambitions seemed to have been reversed.

But now, Erik did not know what awaited him in the strange lands far beyond the sea. Arne Hagen had been defeated, but it was clear that there were other threats in league with him, and if he failed to deal with them, they might end up striking straight toward his home. He had seen firsthand the devastation left by a Viking raid, and while he was confident that his father and brother could defend the land from attack, the thought of his home suffering from such a fate was abhorrent and made his stomach twist in fear.

For now, all he could do was wait and hope that there was a chance for him to escape before they killed him.

By Erik’s count, three days had passed. Food had been pushed into his mouth: morsels of stale bread that were difficult to chew, and water poured into his throat so roughly that it had made him choke. His strength had been sapped as his head lolled to the same swaying motion that carried the ship along the waves.

Then there was a shout of land from somewhere else in the ship. The boat landed on the shore with a shudder, and quickly enough, rough hands were upon Erik, pulling him to his feet and leading him off the boat. Since he was still blindfolded, Erik stumbled and had to trust in the man leading him, which was difficult. He moaned and grunted at them, demanded to be told where they were taking him and who they represented. He was met with laughter again, and nobody answered his questions.

He stumbled and staggered before he was finally thrown to the ground. The blindfold was torn off his face, and for the first time in his life, he saw the land of his ancestors. Norway was familiar to him. Like the Highlands, the land was green and fertile, with mountains rising high in the distance. There was something comforting about it, a feeling that was familiar in his soul. He pushed himself to his feet and blinked, for his eyes took a few moments to adjust to the new light after being under a blindfold for so long. It was too late to react when he noticed that people had put him in a cage, along with the other prisoners. Erik grabbed the bars and shook them, but they were sturdy and hammered deep into the ground, so there wasn’t even a chance of digging his way out. He growled and grit his teeth at his captors, glaring at them with fury in his eyes, as though he was promising their deaths then and there, but they just laughed, feeling that there was nothing Erik could do to harm them.

“Welcome to your new home,” one of the enemy Vikings said as his blindfold was torn off. “You’re a prisoner of Ivar.”

Erik searched his mind for knowledge of this clan, but he wasn’t sure he had ever heard of this name. He bemoaned his knowledge of the Norwegian clans, trying to figure out who this man was. Being in the Highlands had been an adventure for his family as they made alliances with Highland clans and forged a new destiny for their people, but it also led to them neglecting their history and being unaware of the alliances between tribes in Norway.

Erik stood at the door of the cage for a long time before he eventually sank to a sitting position and waited for whatever was going to come next, although he assumed it would be death. He didn’t think his life would ever end in a place like this, so far from home. There was much that he still wanted to accomplish, so much that he hadn’t experienced yet. He sighed as he wondered why the gods treated the mortals like playthings and wished he knew why they had cursed him with such trickery.

Erik had been sitting and waiting for what must have been hours. The village was much like the one he had grown up in. There were sturdy houses and plumes of smoke that rose from these houses. In the middle of the village, there was a large fire, upon which great hunks of meat were being roasted on spits. The smell of the sizzling meat was torture itself, and Erik didn’t have faith that he would be given a chance to enjoy the taste. Vikings walked around, laughing and boasting with each other. Occasionally, they pointed and laughed at the prisoners, but none of them seemed particularly bothered by the arrival of these caged men. Erik looked around at his fellow prisoners, who were sullen and depressed by what had happened.

“Keep your spirits up. We’ll find a way out of this,” he said.

Only one of them raised his head and looked at Erik with hollow eyes, as though he was staring right through Erik. “The gods have cursed us. Cursed us,” he hissed. “This is all because of your father. We should never have left our sacred home. I always knew I was going to die here.”

Erik grimaced but knew there would be no reasoning with the man. He instead turned his head to the scene in front of him, wondering when anyone was going to approach him or when someone would come to cut his throat.

In the end, someone did approach him, a tall man with a barrel chest and a stride that thundered against the ground. It was after feasting, and the smell of roasted meat was almost enough to drive Erik crazy. His stomach growled when the man approached, holding a chunk of meat. Juice drizzled down his chin and beard, and bits of meat were caught in the thick hairs. He tore at the meat and slapped his lips together, and Erik wasn’t sure he had ever been more envious of anyone.

“Did you just come here to laugh?” Erik growled as the man stood there for a few moments, looking at him and the other prisoners.

The man chuckled. “No, I came to welcome you to your new home.”

“This is no home of mine,” Erik growled.

“It is now, and the sooner you get used to it, the better. We’ve waited a long time to have a member of the Hoffstad family back in Norway.”

Erik’s ears pricked up as the man mentioned his name. So he had been a target for the attack after all.

“You knew my father?”

“Oh, indeed, and his brother. Bunch of troublemakers they were. I never understood why they went over to that accursed land, but I suppose they found fortune. Left the rest of us behind, though, didn’t they? They forget who they are, and then I hear they go against my old friend Arne Hagen.” The man shook his head and sighed heavily. “It’s such a shame when Vikings turn their backs on the gods.”

“They never turned their backs on the gods! Or their homes! Everything they’ve done has been in the name of the gods!”

“Oh yes, like mating with Highland women. How noble,” the man said with evident disdain. He pointed the bone of meat at Erik as though it was the point of a sword and continued speaking. “Your kind has deserved to be taught a lesson for a long time, and I’m glad to be the one to give it to you.”

“And what is the name of this most impressive teacher?” Erik said dryly.

“Ivar Bjork,” he said.

Now that he knew the man’s second name and had learned of his enmity toward the Hoffstad family, Erik could put everything into context. He remembered hearing stories about the savage Ivar Bjork, who sent his warriors out everywhere, showing no mercy to anyone who was weaker than them. Everyone was an enemy to Ivar if they had something he wanted. His warriors were some of the most vicious there had ever been, and Erik knew that he was in trouble.

“And what do you want with me? If you’re going to kill me, I suggest you do it quickly, for the longer I stay alive, the more likely it is that I’m going to find a way to punish you.” He narrowed his eyes, but the threat obviously lost much of its strength given the fact that it was made by a man who was currently behind bars.

Ivar laughed. “That attitude will soon be forced out of you. Those are big words for a slave,” he said.

The mention of the word slave gave Erik pause for thought. He had heard of Vikings doing such things, of course, but he had never imagined himself becoming a slave. It seemed incomprehensible that he should suffer so at the hands of people who were supposed to be of his blood! He was in the land of his ancestors, but never before had he felt so far from home.

A woman came up to Ivar. She was statuesque, taller than most women he had ever known because Viking women were more impressive than Highland girls, although he would never have admitted that to his mother. Her features were striking; her face had a steely determination to it, and her hair was blonde, although some streaks were as white as snow. She said something in a low voice to Ivar, and they walked away, but not before Erik locked eyes with this woman. He had no idea who she was, but she had certainly left an impression. This woman was like none he had ever seen before, but there was not a trace of sympathy in her eyes for Erik.

As she and Ivar receded into the distance, he turned his gaze behind him, looking at the shore and the land beyond—his home—that was well beyond the reach of his vision. He wondered what would happen at home, if anyone would come to rescue him. He thought it unlikely, given that they weren’t supposed to hear from him for a while yet.

He sighed and mused how much his fate had mirrored that of his uncle’s. The elder Erik had been thought to be lost in a shipwreck but had actually washed up on the shore of a small island. There he had found a new beginning and love with a Highland woman. No such fate would await Erik.

He slumped against the bars and ignored the gnawing hunger in his stomach. Staring at the ceiling, he prayed that the gods of Asgard would give him the opportunity to escape.

All he needed was one chance. Just one.