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Bloodaxe muttered under his breath.
Sayrid raised her chin and carefully kept her face blank. Smug satisfaction would only rub salt into the wounds. Bloodaxe knew he’d lost. But the old miser would take his own sweet time in paying the amount owed. She’d be willing to wager gold on that.
Time to start making friends. Creating enemies benefited no one. She’d won. Regin was safe. She only hoped Blodvin was worth it.
‘I would like to invite everyone to a feast to celebrate my brother’s marriage to Blodvin the Fatherless.’
A loud cheering broke out in the hall, even amongst Bloodaxe’s supporters. Sayrid carefully schooled her features. Her instinct was correct. Everyone loved a marriage feast.
* * *
‘A word, Kettil, before the feasting begins.’ Hrolf prevented the elderly jaarl from rising as the hall cleared.
‘Your well-timed intervention prevented a bloody feud between two powerful families in this district.’ The older man inclined his head. ‘I salute your wisdom.’
‘I told the truth.’ Hrolf gave Kettil a hard look. ‘Something you should have done when I first enquired about Bloodaxe’s daughter. You encouraged me in the match when the woman was clearly besotted with another.’
‘Until a woman is married...’ Kettil waved a vague hand. ‘It can be, Sea-Rider, that maintaining peace is far harder than simply leading a felag. I was aware of the complications of the match, but not the depth of feeling between the pair. Young Regin is far from the sort of warrior I’d have chosen for my daughter if I had been blessed with a child instead of being cursed to love barren women.’
‘Is that so?’
‘After her father’s death, Sayrid promised he would become a good warrior, but I see little evidence of it.’
‘My problem remains. I desire a wife and land with a bay to keep my ships.’
‘You will have to seek her elsewhere.’
‘And the Shield Maiden? What is her dowry? Avil Ironfist was a considerable landholder.’
Kettil gave a short laugh. ‘Seek elsewhere. The maiden does not require a husband. She assures me of this every time she returns from one of her voyages. And she’d make a terrible wife. I doubt she knows one end of a loom from the other.’
‘How hard can it be to defeat a woman?’ Bragi asked. ‘Who has she fought in defence of her property? A few old men and beardless boys? If you won’t challenge for that prize, old friend, I will take the honour.’
‘Leave it, Bragi. Some things make poor jests.’
‘Do not think you are the first to covet Ironfist’s lands. She holds them well.’ Kettil raised a brow. ‘Sayrid is perhaps the best fighter I’ve seen. She’s quick and has a brain which is more than can be said for many warriors.’
Hrolf ground his teeth. The jaarl appeared to think that he was a green boy just returned from his first voyage, not a grown man who had spent years honing his battle skills. ‘Which goes to show that they are worth fighting for.’
Kettil clapped him on the back. ‘A solution will present itself. For now I will enjoy the time we spend together before you go in search of the land you seek. In time our mutual enemy Lavrans will be defeated but, I think, far from these shores.’
Hrolf schooled his features. Kettil had always intended this outcome. But he was disinclined to walk away from a challenge, particularly when the prize was attractive as Sayrid Avildottar.
* * *
Sayrid breathed in the still evening air. She twisted first one way, then the other, attempting to loosen the tight muscles in her back. The sounds of the feast echoed out on to the quiet street. The skald started the first verse of the saga of ‘The Sword Tryfling and the Shield Maiden’. It was apparently one of Blodvin’s favourites, but Sayrid hated everything about it. Shield maidens never found true love except in stories.
It had been a spectacular feast, despite Bloodaxe’s and his wife’s non-attendance. Although there had been the usual niggles of people objecting to the seating arrangements and several questioning the quality of the ale, by and large the meal had passed without incident. She wished that the feeling of foreboding would go and that she could relax.
A movement in the shadows made her start. She crouched, instinctively reaching for her knife. ‘Who skulks in the shadows? Show yourself!’
‘I do my best thinking in the shadows.’ Hrolf stepped forward. The torchlight picked out the planes in his face and the curve of his bottom lip. ‘You should be in there, toasting the happy couple, listening to the skalds and basking in the glory. Your impassioned plea for the lovers carried the day, Sayrid.’
Now was not the time to explain that such gatherings always unnerved her. Everyone always seemed to stare at just the time she knocked over the ale or laughed too loudly or accidentally banged her fist on the table. ‘Regin and Blodvin are fully capable of enjoying it without me.’
‘And what do you plan to do next?’
‘Fish, and try to convince Kettil to allow me to go east and down the rivers to Constantinople, instead of returning to Birka. You have been there, haven’t you?’
His face hardened in the dim light. ‘A hard journey. Many I’ve travelled with fell on distant shores.’
‘We need to go to the markets ourselves, instead of paying a premium for other traders to go. The Viken give an even worse return than the Götalanders.’
‘And Kettil disagrees?’
‘He refuses to fund me.’ She winced the instant the words emerged from her throat. It sounded like she was begging to be part of his next felag. She straightened her shoulders. ‘But one day, I will go as the leader of my own felag. I will get enough gold for the proper-sized ship.’
‘You are very determined.’ His soft voice curled about her insides. Sayrid concentrated on breathing. Hrolf was used to women falling at his feet.
‘Have you seen any pretty women to assist in your quest for a wife?’ she asked to distract her thoughts from the shadowy hollow in his throat.
He gave a rich laugh and took a step closer. ‘What is it about feasts that brings out the matchmaker in every woman?’
Sayrid carefully shrugged. ‘You must be seeking a wife or you would not have offered for Blodvin.’
‘I can find my own wife,’ he said without moving away. ‘My requirements are very exacting.’
His gaze honed in on her mouth as sure as an arrow shot from a hunter’s bow. The very air between them crackled with energy. She knew all she had to do was to lean forward and she’d see if his lips moving over hers matched her dreams.
A loud laugh punctuated the air and broke the spell. Sayrid rapidly stepped back. She hoped the shadows hid the burn in her cheek. If she’d given in to her impulse and kissed him, he would have recoiled in horror or, worse, laughed at her folly. How could she ever forget for a heartbeat what she was and what people thought of her?
‘Then I wish you every luck with that. I...that is we...should return to the feast. The skald has finished with the Tryfling saga.’
‘Together? Aren’t you afraid people will talk?’ His voice rippled over her skin, doing strange things to her insides.
‘About us?’ She made her voice drip with scorn. ‘Please give me some credit for knowing my reputation. Stealing kisses in the dark with a sea king would be dismissed as far too fantastical to be credited.’
‘Some people are blind.’ He put a firm hand on her back. ‘After you, Shield Maiden.’
The noise fell to a deafening silence as everyone turned to look at them. Several people’s mouths fell open and three women started whispering, putting their heads together and pointing.
One of the more drunken guests called out in jest that Hrolf the Sea-Rider was seeking to bypass the required challenge for her hand. Someone else took up the cry and the word ‘challenge’ reverberated from the rafters.
Sayrid’s cheeks burnt fire. She bared her teeth in a fierce scowl designed to silence the crowd.
When the jesters fell silent, she started towards her place. However Hrolf grabbed her elbow, pinning her to his side.
‘Keep still,’ he commanded.
‘Why? These people are best ignored. I am going to walk back to my seat and forget this ever happened. There will be no challenge.’
Hrolf held up his palm, calling for silence. The room became a sea of expectant faces. ‘There is something I wish to declare.’
Sayrid frowned. Hrolf couldn’t take these jibes seriously. A great hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She knew what was coming next—humiliation as he made it clear that he had no interest in her. She twisted her elbow.
‘Let me return to my seat in peace.’
His face became hardened planes. ‘You might wish to stay.’
‘Doubtful. You have had your fun, now let me go.’ She took another step towards the high table.
‘Have it your way, but I did warn you.’
‘Go on, Hrolf the Bold. What does a sea king want with this feast?’ Kettil called from the high table where he sat with his wife. ‘What does he want from the Shield Maiden?’
Hrolf reached out and captured her wrist, pulling her towards him. She missed her step and went tumbling against his hard body. ‘I wish to take up Avil the Ironfist’s challenge and fight for the hand of his daughter.’
Sayrid stared at the large Northman in disbelief. She had to have heard wrong. He wanted to marry her? He desired her? What new form of torture was this?
‘Now I know you have had too much ale!’ she gasped out, pulling away from him.
‘There is only one way to win the hand of fair Sayrid,’ someone called out. ‘Fight her.’
He inclined his head, but the traces of an ironic smile touched his lips. ‘Any challenge of this nature needs to be issued in front of everyone. I’d no wish to disrupt proceedings earlier, but I’ve waited long enough. I will win the prize your father promised all those years ago.’
A hard knot formed in the base of her stomach. Her father’s words had been designed to teach her the ultimate lesson in humiliation. Was that what Hrolf desired also? She longed to see his arrogant face humbled.
‘Why? Because your chosen bride preferred another?’ she asked in a furious undertone. ‘Go ahead. Have your boorish joke, laugh about it with your friends and comrades, but I don’t fight with ale-soaked warriors. There is no sport in it.’
‘I assure you I’m quite sober.’ He tapped his fingers together. ‘But you do bring up a good point. You were responsible for me losing a bride. I require retribution. Will you fight and prove yourself worthy of the title or no?’
‘You think you can defeat me?’
‘There is one way to find out.’ His stone-cold eyes met hers. ‘Fight me.’
Sayrid stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening to her. No man had wanted her. Ever. How many times had her father told her that? How many times had she heard the whispers which followed when she entered a new market town?
‘How do you answer, Sayrid Avildottar? The entire hall waits,’ the jaarl said. ‘A warrior such as Hrolf Eymundsson deserves a proper response when he issues a challenge.’
Sayrid swallowed hard. She hated that her pulse raced at the thought that Hrolf might want her. She rejected the idea instantly as absurd. Standing there, all arrogant in his sea-king finery, he was confident of victory and clearly planned to reject her as a wife after she’d lost. He’d then lay claim to the lands as the better warrior.
She jutted her jaw out. She knew how to fight and how to win. She could defeat any man, but she also knew about choosing her battles.
‘And your answer, Shield Maiden?’ Kettil enquired in a silken tone.
She took a deep breath. ‘My father died four years ago. That particular challenge has no relevance under our laws and customs.’
The entire hall erupted in pandemonium as people took sides. Kettil rapped his staff on the floor. ‘The maiden is within her rights. A dead man’s challenge does not have to be honoured.’
‘Then I make another.’ Hrolf’s eyes sharpened to daggers. ‘Sayrid Avildottar, I challenge for all the land you command against my ships and gold.’
Sayrid blinked. ‘What are you saying?’
‘If I win, your lands become mine. If you win, I go into your service and my entire fortune will be at your disposal for one year.’
The entire feast went silent. No one moved. Even the servants stayed still like frozen statues.
Sayrid clutched her hands together. Hrolf was offering her gold and ships. Enough to go to Byzantium? This was her opportunity if she was brave enough to take it. But...there had to be a catch. ‘No man wagers such a thing. Your entire fortune on one contest? Are you mad?’
‘Are you afraid to lose?’ Hrolf stood there, muscles taut, his face seemingly carved from ice. ‘Are you willing to admit I am the better warrior?’
Sayrid examined the floor. If she refused, Kettil would have grounds never to entrust her with a felag. He might even take the lands away on the pretext that Regin would never be as good a warrior as Hrolf. She could almost hear Kettil forming the words now.
How could she make sure her family was safe then? And if she accepted? Her heart beat a little faster. She could wipe the floor with him. Her earlier hesitation had been nerves.
‘Give me a moment. I need to consider.’
‘The offer is only good for tonight, Shield Maiden.’ Hrolf gave an arrogant laugh. ‘Time to test your powers against a real warrior, or are you afraid of the truth?’
‘The truth?’
‘You won’t fight because you know you will lose.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Because you have been living on a misplaced reputation and are past your best.’
She raised her head and met his stare head-on. ‘I’ve never run from a fight in my life. I accept with pleasure and I look forward to putting your ships to good use.’
His proffered hand was well shaped with long fingers and well-groomed nails, but it was also the muscular hand of a warrior. Sayrid gulped and returned his clasp with all her strength. She could defeat him, just as she had defeated every other man who tried. This time, she hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for it.
‘It is settled, then. We meet after dawn has broken.’
She started. ‘Why not now?’
‘I’d hardly wish to be accused of taking advantage of you...in the dark.’
Her face burnt as laughter rang out from the crowd. She balled her fists. That warrior would be laughing on the other side of his face when she was through with him.
‘In the morning, after the crow crows five times will be the proper time for the match,’ Kettil declared. ‘Sayrid has choice of weapons.’
‘I choose the sword and shield,’ Sayrid said.
Hrolf inclined his head. ‘The sword it shall be. I should warn you, Sayrid, I’ve never lost a bout which counted. Should you wish to withdraw before the match, we can agree terms.’
‘Why would I want to withdraw? I have yet to lose a match myself,’ Sayrid retorted, giving him a furious glare. She was fighting for her home and her family, he was only fighting for glory.
Sayrid sank down on a bench while pandemonium raged around her and everyone began laying bets on who would win. The enormity of what she had done sunk in. She was going to fight a sea king, someone who had carved his legend with his sword, not some youthful farmer who had never been in battle or a drunken warrior well past his prime.
And she had to win or else she’d lose everything.
Chapter Three (#ulink_e6c5578a-ed6d-599c-83ef-0780877c04bb)
