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‘Then there are plenty of fools. Maurr is the favourite.’
‘Nobody ever called me a fool.’
The wrestling was a high point on the Jul celebration. During the last two seasons, he had made it to the quarter-final and the semi, never to the final. He’d be out in one of the first rounds this year by his best guess.
‘Your gold to waste.’
His first and second opponents were inebriated and then the next warrior was someone Gunnar personally disliked. And so it continued until he was proclaimed champion.
When he looked over his shoulder as all around him shouted his name, Eylir was there, gesturing with the sack of gold he’d won. ‘Look for your northern bride before next Jul.’
Gunnar allowed the shouts to wash over him. The last thing he needed to worry about was a drunken friend’s idle promise—he had a hall to construct.
Chapter One (#uebe3344e-81d5-5074-be5c-e9005130c4d6)
November AD 877—Jura, Viking-controlled Alba, modern-day Jura, Scotland
The newly built longhouse shone like a beacon of hope in the thin grey light and behind rose the great purple mountains or paps which dominated the island. The ship had come the long way around, avoiding the great whirlpool. According to the captain, on a day like today, the whirlpool would writhe like a great cauldron and suck the life out of any ship which ventured close.
Ragnhild Thorendottar gripped the side of the boat with her hands and willed it onward towards the shore. Nearly there. Nearly safe. A new life for her and her younger sister, a safe life away from her brother-in-law and his murderous greed beckoned. Some day she would get her revenge and regain her lands, but for now she required safety.
Hard work on a desolate island failed to frighten her. She feared other things such as berserkers in the night, burning houses and, most importantly, her brother-in-law’s fury if he knew that she and Svana had escaped. If he ever discovered they had not perished in the fire, he would send his berserkers after them again. For who would go against one of the King’s closest advisors? Who would take the risk? Who would believe her? Even now, with her burns nearly healed, Ragn scarce credited how completely her safe world had been destroyed.
She tucked Svana’s hand into hers and squeezed. Her sister gave a tremulous smile. Her right eye turned in more than ever, but there was no rolling back of the eyes or the fearful twitching which had begun the night of the attack, after Svana took the blow to her head, a blow meant for Ragn when her back had been turned and which would have certainly ended her life.
Ragn heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe Svana’s affliction would vanish. Maybe her actions had not damaged her sister for ever. Maybe this island would truly be a fresh start, one where the shadows of the past failed to flicker. She pushed the thought to one side and concentrated on the tangible. Dreams had tumbled her into this mess and she refused to indulge in that luxury ever again.
‘Our new home,’ she said, pointing to the gabled hall which shone in the gathering gloom. ‘Soon you will be running in the pastures, helping me to brew the Jul ale and a thousand other things. We will make it a Jul to remember, something to make this year good.’
Unlike last Jul, which had been one to forget, she silently added.
Her sister’s face lit up. ‘Jul is my favourite time of year. I love everything about it—the flaming wheel, the Jul log burning bright during the days of darkness when the Sun Maiden is in the belly of the wolf and most of all the feasting and celebrating when she returns.’ A pucker appeared between Svana’s brows. ‘Will this Gunnar Olafson understand everything which needs to be done? And in the proper fashion?’
‘Jul will happen, sweetling. I promise.’ Ragn tightened her grip and willed Svana to keep her thoughts silent—Ragn had ruined so many things recently, could she be trusted not to ruin this as well?
‘Are you certain he will welcome me as well as you?’
‘Smile,’ she said, putting an arm about Svana. ‘See the great purple mountains? Gunnar Olafson’s farm is at the base of the middle one. It has a good bay and there are good forests with straight trees for building ships. It is as his friend told me. A true home, Svana. Think about that.’
Svana gave her a brave but uncertain nod. Ragn’s heart contracted. ‘A true home. I’d like that. We haven’t had one since...’
‘It is going to happen, love,’ Ragn said before Svana attempted again to blame herself for the tragedy. Svana had been the innocent one. Ragn had been the one to arrange the witch woman’s visit attempting to end the quarrel between her husband and his brother over the inheritance. She’d never anticipated the old crone would prophesy that Svana would bring about her brother-in-law’s death or that her husband would take Svana’s part, refusing his brother’s demand for her immediate death and instead bodily removed him from the hall.
‘Do you think I will be able to meet the farm’s nisser? To make sure he knows that I intend to look after him properly with porridge and everything. That way he will know to favour this farm,’ Svana said, interrupting Ragn’s thoughts.
Ragn stared at the rapidly approaching spit of land, trying to decide if her sister asking about the mischievous elf who was supposed to guard homes but often played tricks on the inhabitants was a good thing. Such creatures in Ragn’s experience did not exist or, if they did, they were not inclined to assist her.
‘Tending to your chores will do more to ensure the farm prospers than putting out porridge. Believe me. This farm will prosper with me in charge.’
‘And this will be my home for ever? You won’t make me marry unless I want to?’ Svana gestured towards her inward-turning eye. ‘No true man will want me like this. I have heard the whispers. What the men on board this ship said about me, what they wanted to do.’
‘Stop doubting my schemes. I might start to think you have lost faith,’ Ragn said lightly.
Svana squeezed her hand. ‘I trust you, Ragn. I just can’t help overhearing what other people are saying.’
Ragn clucked her under the chin. ‘Would you believe them if they said the sky was green? So why believe them about that? We will be fine.’
We have to be, I have no other plan to save her life, she added under her breath.
The boat made a scraping noise as it hit the shore. Ragn was jolted forward and her stomach hit the railing. The ill-favoured crew leaped out and dragged the boat further up the shingle.
Ragn’s legs wobbled slightly when she first set foot on the rough shingle. She forced them to stagger a few steps. ‘Svana, firm ground. Good ground. Safe ground.’
‘It wobbles.’
‘Only because we have been on the sea. It will pass quickly.’ Ragn prayed to any god that her words were correct.
She glanced about the barren windswept beach. Their approach had to have been noted. They had come in peacefully with the shields down. And it was obvious from the smoke lazily curling in the sky that someone was at home.
To hide her discomfort, she directed the long-nosed captain to put her trunks on the shore above the tideline. The man shrugged his shoulders, muttering about the tide turning and having to leave quickly.
When she was about to give in to despair, a large man came out of the hall. A shaft of winter sunshine illuminated him, turning his skin and hair golden. His shoulders were broad and powerful, a man used to fighting and hard work, rather than a courtier like her late husband, a man a woman could count on to fight for her and her family and win. Her next thought was why in the name of Freya did a man who looked like that need to send to the north for a wife? Women would be buzzing about him like bees around a honeycomb.
‘He isn’t very friendly and wants us gone. He should have tankards of ale to offer strangers, but his hands are empty.’ A worried frown puckered Svana’s forehead. ‘Something is very wrong, Ragn, isn’t it?’
Ragn forced a laugh. ‘They do things differently here, I suspect. We will soon have their manners.’
Svana glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘On the ship, they said I brought that storm. I didn’t. I promise. I am not bad luck and shouldn’t be thrown overboard.’
‘As if I’d allow that to happen to you!’
‘You are wearing your serious face, like you did when you spied Vargr and his berserkers riding towards our old home.’
Ragn forced her lungs to fill with air. Vargr believed them dead in the fire he and his men had set. He did not know they had escaped just as the roof caved in. He would not come looking for them, particularly not with the North Sea between them. Vargr had feared the North Sea ever since his father perished on it.
‘Nothing is wrong, sweetling. Wives are for civilising. Warriors are for defending their land. It is why he has sent for a wife—to learn how to be civil. I can do that.’
‘Who goes there?’ her soon-to-be husband asked, placing a hand on the large sword he wore. ‘We are a simple farm, not a market. I’ve little wish to waste your time or mine. Best be gone before the tide turns.’
Despite its roughness, his deep voice was easy on the ear. Ragn placed her hand on her stomach and bid the butterflies to be gone. It was possible the captain had made a mistake and this golden mountain of a man wasn’t her intended. Her husband was probably old, missing a limb and confined to bed. This warrior would lead her to him.
‘Ragnhild Thorendottar, the contracted wife of Gunnar Olafson, come from Viken as requested.’ She made the sort of low curtsy she’d make to the King or Queen.
The only sound was the cawing of the seagulls. The man’s stance turned more foreboding. He drew his brows together.
‘Contracted wife?’ he said after what appeared to be a lifetime. ‘Of whom did you say? Gunnar Olafson?’
‘Are you Gunnar Olafson, also known as Gunnar the Strong Arm, of Kolbeinn’s felag? Or his steward?’ she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her voice sounded thin on the breeze. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Or must I seek him elsewhere?’
Ragn watched the man from under her lashes now that she clearly saw him. His features were regular, his hair was a dark blond which had begun to go to brown and had been shaved at the sides but allowed to grow long on top. He sported two golden rings in his beard. Everything about him proclaimed vitality and virility.
She pressed her hands together to stop them from trembling. His gaze raked her form, making her immediately aware of her many failings from her lack of curves to her above-average height and overbearing manner which made men’s manhood shrivel to nothingness. Her late husband’s taunts, the ones he said when he drank far too much ale, echoed in her mind. She tried to list the good things she brought to a marriage—her willingness to work hard, her knowledge of making ale, and...her mind went blank. She no longer possessed any land or riches of any kind, nothing to tempt a successful warrior like this one.
‘I seek Gunnar Olafson.’
‘I am he,’ the man confirmed with a puzzled expression. ‘But I’ve made no contract for a wife. Ever. I have no wish or desire for one at the present. Who plots against me?’
Ragn’s stomach swooped and knotted. There had to be some mistake. She refused to risk Svana on the sea again with that crew. The captain of the boat had driven a hard bargain to bring her and Svana out here—a one-way passage only, no return or onward. Eylir the Black had paid for her passage as the morning gift for the marriage, but the captain had demanded double for Svana. She had relinquished both her grandmother’s gold brooches to pay for it. After sacrificing her gold necklace to calm the waves during the storm, all she had left was her mother’s silver necklace, but that would not pay for the return passage or safeguard Svana from being tossed overboard if the ship encountered another storm.
‘Eylir Rokrson, whom some call Eylir the Black, made the contract,’ she said, banging her fists together and bidding the doubts to be gone. ‘Are you saying that he played me false? Or are you not the Gunnar Olafson who grew up on the fjord near Kaupang? The Gunnar who served with Dagmar Kolbeinndottar and now serves her father?’
The man’s mouth became a thin white line, but without the slightest sign of a welcome. ‘I am that Gunnar Olafson, but I’ve never asked for a wife to be sent from anywhere. You came on the whisper of a false promise. Go back to where you came from.’
He turned his back and marched towards the hall. The rudeness of it nearly took her breath away. She had travelled here on more than a whisper or a promise.
Behind her, the long-nosed captain rubbed his hands together with glee at the thought of her paying more gold, gold which she didn’t have.
‘Eylir paid for the passage as the morning gift,’ she called out. ‘Why would he pay that much gold if the promise was untrue? Is he always that reckless with his gold?’
The man halted. His eyes narrowed. ‘Why in the name of all the gods would Eylir send a woman like you?’
His words hammered like physical blows, proof if she needed it that men always failed to look beyond the physical unless there was a possibility of material gain. Her sister’s fingers had grown ice-cold. The air chilled and the first spots of hard rain began to fall. Ragn wanted the earth to swallow her up. Her day of hope and triumph was fast turning into one of despair.
‘He informed me you were occupied in building your new hall, but required a wife from your home fjord as soon as possible. Have I been lied to?’ Ragn tightened her hold of Svana and resisted the temptation to hide her face. Her troubles were supposed to be behind her in this foreign land—instead, everything had become far worse. ‘Have I travelled here for nothing?’
‘Have you? Only Eylir can answer.’ Gunnar Olafson scratched his neck. ‘All I know is that your arrival is news to me. I never requested a wife from anyone, least of all from Eylir. I’ve no intention of taking one simply because some woman turns up on my beach, making outlandish claims. Now I bid you good day. May the gods guide your journey to wherever you need to go. I’m sure you will make some poor man a very able wife.’
Ragn squared her shoulders. This man, the person who was supposed to be her saviour, was not going to get away that easily. She would make him see reason. She marched up to him and caught his arms, halting his progress. His look was dark and furious. She released his arm and backed up two steps.
‘We have travelled a long way.’ She kept her head up and ignored the rain dripping off her nose. ‘Why would I have travelled this far on a whisper? Why would I leave my home and friends at this time of year? Will you listen to my tale? Please?’
The man brought his upper lip over his teeth. ‘If I listen, will I be rid of you quicker? Many matters require my attention.’
‘Please, my sister shivers from the cold. We have travelled across the winter sea because of your friend’s promise.’
He tugged at his beard. ‘You have until the tide turns.’
Gunnar Olafson ground his teeth as he stared at the slim dark-haired woman standing in front of him declaring with a toss of her head that she was his contracted wife and demanding to be heard. A wife! He’d never asked for such a thing and most certainly he didn’t require one. Until the curse was lifted, how could he risk any woman’s life?
The idea was laughable that Eylir would send this woman. Her face was far too angular, her mouth oversized and all teeth, her curves non-existent and her hair from what he saw peeping out from under the kerchief was dark as a raven’s wing. His tastes ran towards buxom blondes with easy smiles, few expectations and little taste for conversation, rather than sharp-tongued raven-haired women who had desire to order everything.
Eylir and his blasted bag of gold at Jul.
‘The tide will be turning soon.’
‘You gave me until it actually turned. My sister needs to get out of the damp.’ She paused as if she expected him to invite her to the hall.
A silver-haired girl of no more than ten ran to the woman and grasped the woman’s hand so tightly that her knuckles shone white. There was a resemblance, but there was no way they were mother and daughter as the age gap was not enough. She, too, watched him with big eyes, inward-turning eyes which reminded him of his youngest sister, stirring unwanted memories. He turned towards the longboat. The crew were an ill-favoured lot.
‘Where is Eylir? Precisely.’ He half-expected to see his so-called friend rising up from the boat, his eyes creasing with laughter. Eylir’s jokes had finally transgressed beyond acceptable. He would have to teach the man a lesson about interfering in other people’s lives, but that was a task for another time.
Her eyes flashed with a hidden fire, but her voice was steady. ‘I’ve no idea where Eylir is. We parted company on Kaupang’s quayside.’
‘I swear he is trickier than Loki. Come out, Eylir, you have had your fun. Now let’s see what you are truly on about.’
The sailors stopped moving the trunks and regarded him as if he had lost his mind, but his friend failed to appear.
Gunnar swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Is this the wife you have been threatening to acquire? She has your same sense of humour. This prank has gone on long enough, Eylir.’
The seagulls mocked his call, but otherwise the only sound was that of the waves. The woman watched him with perfectly arched brows and a faint supercilious smile on her overly large mouth.
‘He remained in the north. He had business to attend to, but will arrive in the new year.’ The woman adopted a tone more suited towards talking to a young child than a grown man.
‘What business?’
‘His second cousin died. He needed to get the estate in order before sailing again to the west.’ Her hand trembled, betraying her nerves. ‘We agreed that it was best for all concerned if I undertook the journey immediately. There was nothing to keep me in the north.’
Her voice trembled on the last word. Fear? Fear of what? Why had she braved the sea at this time of year? What drove her to risk her life and that of her sister’s?
Gunnar frowned. Becoming interested in this woman’s problems was the last thing he needed. Better to get rid of her and be done with it. It was a slippery slope to caring and, if he cared, women died.
The soothsayer’s dying prediction resounded in his ears. His friends had warned him the old man had supernatural power, but he’d refused to allow the man to slaughter those young girls. He’d lost his temper and killed him. The necessary sacrifice to the gods instead of the girls who reminded him of his sisters, he’d proclaimed with a laugh. He’d stopped laughing when he’d discovered the bodies of his mother and sisters. By his reckoning, they had died about the same time as the soothsayer. And then it happened again with Dyrfinna’s betrayal and death. He forced his mind away from the past and back to the present.
The woman was connected to Eylir. How? He narrowed his gaze. Family matters had forced Eylir across the North Sea. Eylir had no sister. She had to be the family-forced bride as she was not the sort Eylir would take as a concubine.
‘Indeed.’ He forced a short laugh. ‘I suspect he wished to avoid being torn limb from limb once I got my hands on him. Your husband is notorious for his pranks, my lady.’
‘Eylir is most definitely not my husband.’ The woman made an imperious gesture towards where the longboat was pulled up on shore. ‘Ask the captain if you doubt me.’
‘He did tell Ragn to come!’ the girl called out. ‘He is soon to be married to our cousin, Trana Ragnardottar.’
‘How did you know that, Svana?’ Ragnhild asked, drawing her brows together.
‘I overheard them speaking as we left. He was kissing her.’ The girl smacked her lips. ‘They will have to get married after that as they will have lots of babies.’
‘You are being ridiculous, Svana. Trana’s father requires a different husband for his only daughter. Not a penniless sell-sword like Eylir.’
Gunnar kept his face impassive. Eylir had hidden his wealth from them.
‘After what he did for us, Trana will defy her father.’ The girl lifted her chin. ‘I just know it. And I made a wish about it as we left.’
Ragnhild gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You and your pronouncements. Would that the world was ordered the way you wish. One must be practical, child.’
‘Trana thinks he has fine legs and a good backside,’ Svana confided from behind her hand. Gunnar struggled to keep a straight face.
Ragnhild pinched the bridge of her nose, making her skin appear even more sallow. ‘That is more than anyone, let alone Gunnar Olafson, needs to know. Curb your tongue.’
Svana hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
