Sold To The Viking Warrior

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‘Pity there is no one to place a bet for me. I could make a fortune.’ He put up his hand. ‘Don’t even think about offering. They would not bet with a woman.’

She pleated her gown between her fingers. ‘It is possible that Thorbin plans some sort of treachery.’

He shook his head. ‘Thorbin knows that he will lose his men if he isn’t seen to fight fair at the start. Once the battle begins, anything is possible between us, but no one else may intervene. I’ve learned a trick or two since he broke my sword.’

She pressed her hands together and tried to hang on to her sanity. Sigurd seemed unnaturally calm about it. ‘Have you done this before?’

‘Challenge for leadership of a felag?’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘No, but I have fought many times, since Thorbin left me for dead. The surest way a man like me can rise. And I have risen, Eilidith, from the mud of society.’

‘Call me Liddy,’ she said before she lost the courage. ‘We are friends after a fashion and I loathe Eilidith.’

‘Liddy.’ He made her name sound exotic and mysterious, rather than plain. ‘It suits you better. Why are we friends suddenly?’

She gave an artless wave. ‘Because you need one.’

He tilted his head to one side and she felt the full force of his gaze. She was aware of how small this hut suddenly had become. ‘You may be right. My mother used to say a true friend was a pearl beyond price.’

‘I have heard that saying before.’ She watched her hands, feeling her cheeks go suddenly hot. She was bad at this sort of thing.

He stood up and walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Allow me to do the worrying. You bring me good luck—that is why I need you there.’

She turned her face away, tucking her chin into her shoulder to hide her mark. Now was far from the time or place to begin to explain about her problems, starting with the two tiny graves on the hillside and her part in making that boat capsize. Or her problems with her volatile ex-brother-in-law who blamed her for much that had gone wrong in Brandon’s life—the woman with the cursed face who lied to hide her inadequacies. ‘I am a woman of Cennell Fergusa. Worrying is something we do. What I do know is that my late husband, Brandon, would not have risked his life as you are about to.’

‘Only the fates know when you will die.’ He put his finger under her chin and raised it so her eyes met his piercing blue gaze. They were pools to drown in. Liddy hated that she wanted to believe in him. ‘I am trusting that my life’s thread runs longer than today. The three fates will have spun it longer.’

‘We come from different cultures,’ she whispered, watching his mouth. ‘God, not the fates, decides when we die.’

‘My mother used to say something similar. I can almost hear her voice, echoing down the years. Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ She watched his mouth as their breath interlaced. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he must hear and guess her attraction to him.

He dipped his head and his lips touched hers. This time was not a fleeting butterfly touch, but solid and real. Her mouth parted and she drank from him.

For one wild heartbeat she forgot everything but the taste of him. Her breasts brushed against his hard chest. Then she stepped back, knowing that her face burnt far more than before. She fingered her birthmark, placing her hand to hide the ugliness of it, her badge of shame. He had kissed her voluntarily and she had no idea why.

‘Did you take pity on me?’

‘I have never kissed a woman out of pity yet.’ He watched her with hooded eyes, making no move to recapture her.

‘What was that for?’

‘So that some of your excellent luck will rub off on me,’ he said. ‘You might not believe in such things, but I figure I need all the help I can get.’

‘That is fine, then.’ Her voice came out as a husky rasp. ‘I figure you need as much as possible.’

She turned on her heel and marched out of the hut. Behind her she heard a soft voice saying thank you, so soft that she wondered if she’d actually heard it.

* * *

A good-sized crowd had gathered about a makeshift arena. The atmosphere had altered since she was in the hut. It was now far more restless as if there was change in the air. Liddy hung back, wondering where she should stand.

A cold nose nudged her hand and she saw that Coll had quietly joined her. Next to him stood Hring with a superior expression on his face. Liddy took a deep breath. She might not trust him, but at least he was on Sigurd’s side.

‘How did you get in?’ Liddy gasped out.

‘It is amazing how distracted guards can become when a big fight is about to happen.’ Hring shook his head. ‘The discipline.’

‘You disobeyed his orders,’ she said. ‘You were supposed to stay outside the gates unless I screamed.’

‘Sigurd’s a good fighter.’ He patted his chest. ‘I predict my purse will be heavier tonight.’

‘What will he say when he discovers what you have done?’

Hring bared his pointed teeth. ‘I’ve never been one for following orders precisely. Sigurd knows that. And your dog pined for you. What should I have done—allowed him to take a chunk out of my arm?’

Liddy gave an uncertain laugh. Somehow it was easier to have Coll with her. She curled her fingers around his collar. With Coll there, she had at least one protector. Heaving a great sigh, Coll flopped down at her feet.

‘Sigurd is going to fight, but I worry Thorbin may not fight fair.’

‘Thorbin is arrogant, but he isn’t stupid. The men would turn against him if more joined in. Two men challenge and fight to the death in these situations. It is our law and our heritage. It works well.’

‘Killing your brother cannot be considered a good thing where you come from.’

‘Half-brother, and it has been known to happen, but Sigurd isn’t planning on killing him.’

Liddy blinked in surprise. ‘Why not?’

‘Ketil Flatnose wants that pleasure.’ Hring rubbed his jaw. ‘If it was up to me, I would disobey that order during the fight, but Sigurd is different. He knows when to stop. I’ve seen him fight before. There are reasons why I backed him. But you needn’t worry, my lady, any sign of trouble and I will get you out of here. You’ve held your side of the bargain, I reckon we can hold ours.’

Liddy tightened her grip on Coll’s collar. The large Northman with strange pointed teeth no longer frightened her. ‘Good to know.’

Sigurd was the first to emerge. He wore his tunic and carried his sword. Someone threw him a shield which he caught easily. In the sunlight, his hair gleamed gold and he moved with a great purpose, like one of the angels in church come to life. Her breath caught. It was hard to believe that he had actually kissed her.

‘I was simply the nearest woman and he’s a Northman with different beliefs,’ she whispered to Coll. ‘That was the reason.’

Coll opened one eye and gave a low growl of disapproval.

* * *

Sigurd banged the sword against the shield. All his muscles had tensed. It was good to be out in the open, good to be doing something, rather than skulking in the shadows. ‘Thorbin. I am waiting. We are all waiting. Are you a warrior or a coward?’

Thorbin came out of the hall, dressed in a finely wrought tunic and tight-fitting trousers. In his right hand he carried a gleaming sword and in his left a highly polished shield.

‘Is this how you dress for battle?’ Sigurd roared, not bothering to control his anger at the contempt Thorbin showed him. ‘You will rip your trousers and show your bare arse to the world before you take five steps.’

‘Maybe that is all I will need.’

‘You will need more than that, Thorbin, as you well know.’

‘I would have a deputy fight for me. Do you wish to nominate someone as well?’ Thorbin gave an ice-cold smile. ‘A courtesy as we share a father. Blood will out, even if one has the blood of a whore.’

Sigurd glared at him. Trust Thorbin to bring up their heritage. Thorbin had been the legitimate son, the one with all the advantages. Thorbin’s mother had made sure of that. ‘Under the terms our mutual overlord has set, it is not permissible for either of us to have a deputy.’

‘King Harald...’

‘Ketil Flatnose has decreed no deputies in fights of this nature.’ He dug into the pouch and withdrew a rune stick. ‘We thought you might attempt this.’

Thorbin took the stick and read it with a curled lip. He tossed it away.

‘I had no wish to kill my brother, but you will keep returning.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Sigurd retorted. ‘I have not considered you my brother for years.’

‘I have no idea why the fates spared you, Sigurd,’ Thorbin sneered. ‘But it will be my pleasure to cut your life thread and then take the woman you desire. Like old times, Sigurd the Tender Hearted.’

Sigurd damped down the rage. He had used Liddy to get in here and owed her something for that. That was all. So why did it bother him that Thorbin could get under his skin in this way? He barely knew the woman. Women were not part of his existence. He used them when necessary, but mainly he focused on his vow and regaining his honour. His belief in love had died the day of his mother’s death. And yet, his lips still tasted of Liddy’s sweetness.

‘Your pathetic attempt to unsettle me does you no credit, Thorbin. I only met the woman yesterday. A means to an end.’

‘Then you know nothing of her past or her family. Why do you seek to protect her?’

‘I have my reasons.’

‘We could end this now. There are opportunities for men like you if you pledge your loyalty to me.’

Sigurd struggled to contain his temper. He would barely last a day before he encountered a knife in his back. ‘I will pass. Shall we begin?’

‘Your funeral.’

‘Your meeting with destiny.’

Sigurd lifted his sword and drove forward. As he expected, Thorbin easily blocked it with his shield and tried to rain a blow of his own. Sigurd lifted his shield with plenty of time to spare.

‘Getting old?’ he asked, mocking his half-brother.

Thorbin shook his head and made a furious stab forward. This time the sword was harder to block.

Sigurd concentrated and began to fight in earnest, matching blow for blow and drawing on all the skills he’d learnt during his time as a sell-sword.

* * *

The crowd roared with encouragement every time Thorbin landed a blow and catcalled Sigurd. Liddy’s stomach twisted. Even if Sigurd won, would he really be able to command these men?

However, very quickly the crowd became silent as it was obvious Sigurd was the better fighter and Thorbin was quickly tiring. Thorbin made one last attempt and forced Sigurd to his knees.

A scream echoed round and round the crowd. Liddy realised with a start that it was her voice.

She hid her eyes, unable to watch. Coll nudged her with his cold nose and she peeked through her fingers.

Somehow Sigurd had managed to twist and Thorbin’s thrust forward missed. Sigurd half-pivoted and crashed his shield down on Thorbin’s outstretched arm.

The sword dropped to the dirt as Sigurd brought his sword down onto Thorbin’s neck. Liddy risked a breath. Sigurd was going to win. He was going to live. She quickly amended it to her father and brother were going to be freed. Whether a Northman lived or died meant nothing to her.

She fingered her lips. She could almost feel the imprint of his mouth. He’d kissed her voluntarily. It was almost enough to make her believe Brandon’s mistress had lied when she said that no man would voluntarily touch her.

She pushed the thought away. Passionate encounters belonged to women who were made differently than she was. After today, she would never encounter him again. All she wanted was for him to keep his promise and free her family. Then maybe people would say her birthmark brought luck rather than shame.

* * *

Sigurd became aware of distant noises as the fog of battle cleared. He had done it. Thorbin was at his mercy. But he also knew that it had been Liddy’s cry that had given him the extra surge of strength he needed.

He had fought better because Liddy believed in him. And that scared him more. Since his mother’s death, he’d been alone, caring for no one but himself and the men he fought with. Finer feelings and tenderness had no place in his life. He barely knew her and already she was under his skin. She’d be returning back to her lands with her father. Liddy was not going to be part of his life. And the fact made him annoyed.

‘You cut my ankle,’ Thorbin whined, bringing him back to the reality. ‘Unsporting.’

‘Do you surrender?’

Thorbin made a noise.

Sigurd kept the point of his sword touching his half-brother’s neck. For many years he had anticipated the pleasure he’d have when he killed this man, but now that it came to it, he found the desire vanished. Something deep within him revolted at the thought of killing his brother, even though he knew Thorbin would not have had the slightest hesitation.

‘Louder, so all can hear. I am wise to your tricks.’

‘I surrender.’ His face showed real fear. ‘I can’t rise, Brother.’

‘Louder!’

‘You have won, Sigurd!’ Thorbin screamed. ‘You have defeated me!’

The silence was deafening. Sigurd knew the majority of the crowd expected him to drive the sword home. He was well within his rights.

‘Let Ketil decide what to do with you!’ He tossed the sword aside as he motioned to Hring who stood next to Liddy. The warrior had obeyed him in his fashion.

The colour had rapidly returned to her face. He hated that something twisted in his gut, a reminder to keep people at a distance. Allowing them to become too close risked losing everything that he’d worked for. He’d seen it before.

After he dealt with Thorbin, they would say their goodbyes. It was how it had to be. He kept no one close. Beyla had taught him that lesson. Women were self-interested and their protestations of love meant nothing in the clear light of day.

The big man came forward, withdrawing the chains from the pouch he carried. Sigurd clamped the irons on to Thorbin’s wrists and then shackled his ankles.