She’s the wife he doesn’t want...

...and the woman he needs!

Desperate to escape her murderous brother-in-law and protect her young sister, Ragnhild agrees to marry an unknown warrior, and arrives penniless on his remote island. Only, Gunnar Olafson’s belief in love died with his family—he does not want a bride! But as yuletide approaches, Ragnhild transforms his isolated existence. Can she melt her Viking warrior’s frozen heart?

“Styles’ attention to detail will captivate readers, as will her powerful characters and elaborate plots.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Warrior’s Viking Bride by Michelle Styles

“Styles delves into the powerful psychological forces of doubt and distrust masterfully, keeping me turning the pages, and delivering a wonderfully satisfying ending.”

—Goodreads on The Warrior’s Viking Bride by Michelle Styles

Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives near Hadrian’s Wall with her husband and a menagerie of pets in an Edwardian bungalow with a large and somewhat overgrown garden. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romances after discovering Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt. Her website is www.michellestyles.co.uk and she’s on Twitter and Facebook.

Also by Michelle Styles

His Unsuitable Viscountess

Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

An Ideal Husband?

Paying the Viking’s Price

Return of the Viking Warrior

Saved by the Viking Warrior

Taming His Viking Woman

Summer of the Viking

Sold to the Viking Warrior

The Warrior’s Viking Bride

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Sent as the Viking’s Bride

Michelle Styles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08864-0

SENT AS THE VIKING’S BRIDE

© 2018 Michelle Styles

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Tim and Kathy de la Fosse, because you asked

so nicely when we visited and you gave us the

most memorable rooster, aka Hugo Buff-Orpington,

to protect the hens from foxes.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Author Note

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue
January AD 877—Colbhasa, modern-day Colonsay

Gunnar Olafson had spent a lifetime dreaming of his own land, but after he learned of his excellent fortune, all he could do was sit in stunned silence. Others would be shouting the news to the rafters, calling for more ale for everyone, but he wanted to savour it and hug it close.

He closed his hand about the tiny carved stone man his mother had given him the last time he’d seen her and recited the vow he’d made on her grave. It had seen him through two shipwrecks, five severe injuries and countless minor skirmishes.

His mind skittered away from the memory of the day he’d made that vow, the day when he knew the soothsayer’s dying words had power to harm those he loved. The curse still clung to his soul, but he wanted to believe that maybe one day, if he made his new lands prosperous, he’d show the gods that he was worthy and those words—all the women he loved would crumble to dust—would cease to have any power.

‘Are you going to tell me why Kolbeinn wanted to speak with you alone? What have you done wrong this Jul? Your oath of loyalty was as loud as any man’s.’ Eylir Rokrson banged his fists together as he settled on the bench next to Gunnar. ‘I won’t have it. We’re still treated poorly because we once followed his ex-wife and then his daughter.’

Gunnar slipped the stone man back into his pouch for safekeeping and regarded his best friend and drinking companion. They had fought long and hard together. He had hugged his good fortune to his chest for long enough. ‘Against all expectation, he has offered me land...on Jura. I had thought he was about to send me to Ireland on another impossible mission. Just to test my loyalty again.’

‘You thrive on such things.’

Gunnar examined the dregs of his Jul ale. ‘He hasn’t been able to kill me yet despite his best efforts. He thinks to put my back to better use and have me till soil even if the island is windswept and nearly uninhabited. We will only truly last long in this land if we put down roots.’

‘Yours is the better fate.’ His friend nodded. ‘Many of our former comrades were put to death.’

‘They betrayed Dagmar.’ Gunnar ignored the clenching of his stomach. ‘In the end I proved my loyalty and that I’d been tricked into giving her that cup of ale.’

‘Which was switched and made you ill.’

Gunnar winced, remembering how he’d inadvertently contributed to his former leader’s abduction. He had rejoiced at her restoration, but his punishment had been to serve her father, Kolbeinn. ‘For the last two seasons, I’ve served Kolbeinn well.’

‘What made him agree to honour the promise of land?’

‘I saved Lord Ketil’s life last season during that storm and, as Kolbeinn’s overlord, he demanded Kolbeinn reward me with land.’ Gunnar regarded the bottom of his goblet. Even now it was hard for him to believe that the man who had come from nothing and who had lost everything had the chance of making his dreams come true. His land. No more fighting in the stinking mud for someone else. No more offering his sword and oath to the highest bidder. He was going to build a hall which all would envy. His success should taste better than it did.

‘Far too modest.’ Eylir clapped him on the shoulder. ‘What next? Acquiring that northern wife you have always talked of? The one with the come-hither smile and plump bosom?’

Gunnar shook his head. ‘First the land tamed, then the marriage. One wild thing at a time.’

‘Send word for her now.’ Eylir made an expansive gesture with his hands. ‘Wanted: one sweet-tempered, buxom blonde who knows northern customs. Someone who doesn’t have inconvenient relatives, but does have accommodating thighs. One who listens, but forgets to open her mouth, except for your tongue.’

Gunnar laughed along with his friend, while privately wondering how much the other warrior had had to drink. ‘It sounds like a description for the woman of your dreams.’

Eylir shook his head. ‘Not I. I want a woman I can share my life with. But I’ve watched you long enough to know what you want—the type of woman who warms your bed when you can be bothered, but who plays no other part in your life.’

Gunnar twisted the goblet between his fingers. It was true he preferred blondes who asked for no more than he was prepared to give. ‘Do you indeed? When I go looking, I will remember your counsel. But I shall require a wife, not a concubine. We can discuss it further the first time you visit me in Jura.’

‘I’m required in the north. It is why I have come to find you.’ Eylir leant towards him, blasting him with alcohol fumes. ‘My younger brother sent word. My sword arm must return north or the family faces destruction. The usual exaggeration, I’m sure.’

Eylir launched into his familiar tirade against familial obligations. Gunnar swirled his ale and listened with greedy ears while he tried not to think about the three snow-covered corpses of his mother and two young sisters before a darkened hut. Families were wasted on those who had them.

‘Family. You’d never forgive yourself if something happened to them,’ Gunnar said when Eylir reached the end of his recital.

‘Aye, you spoke true there.’ Eylir gestured with his hand, sloshing ale everywhere. ‘It is why I will provide you with a wife, the perfect wife for your new venture, one you can get sons on.’

Gunnar stood. ‘Your drunken prattling puts our friendship in peril.’

‘Serious.’ Eylir grabbed Gunnar’s arm. ‘You require a northern bride, but you have land to till, a hall to build. You admirably hold fast to the vow you gave to your mother before you departed, the one about only marrying a worthy northern woman. Wasn’t that the excuse you gave that Irish warlord who commanded you to marry his daughter last season? The redhead who gave you hungry glances and had no eyes for anyone else?’

Gunnar tightened his grasp on the goblet. ‘You should know better than to believe what I say in drink!’

‘Same excuse you gave that pretty widow from Bernicia with her many acres of lands. Or one of the dozen other women who have buzzed around you like bees searching for a honeypot. You’ve acquired your land. What excuse are you going to give for failing to travel northwards and find this elusive bride of yours?’

Gunnar instinctively fingered his mother’s stone man. ‘You exaggerate as usual.’

‘Nevertheless, I will send you a Jul present to remember if you win the wrestling competition.’

‘How much Jul ale have you consumed?’

A self-satisfied smile crossed Eylir’s face. ‘I watched you in practice this morning. Peak physical condition. A man would have to be a fool to bet against you.’

‘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
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.’

‘Next time remember some things remain private, but you are young, Svana, and I forgive you.’

Young. The girl was indeed too young to have made this journey in the winter. The fact knifed through him. While Eylir might enlist the aid of a woman, he would not stoop so low as to send a child on a perilous autumn journey.

‘Why did Eylir send vulnerable women alone on the sea?’

The woman gave a small cough. ‘We agreed that I’d travel alone as the circumstances dictated.’

Circumstances—whose? Eylir’s or this woman’s? Something had driven her across the seas, but she wanted to keep it a secret. ‘Truly?’

‘Would that he was here! You would greet your friend properly and we would not be forced to stand in the mizzle.’ A convulsive shiver racked her slender frame, but she kept her head proudly erect and her hands at her sides.

Gunnar winced at the accusation of less-than-proper hospitality. Worse, her words rang true. His mother would have been appalled. He’d allowed a lady, any lady let alone a lady of breeding, to stand outside while the rain pelted down. Despite the years since her death and against his instinct, divorcing himself from his mother’s teachings was impossible. ‘Into the hall with you. Get dry.’

Her eyes gleamed triumph. ‘Thank you.’

She motioned for her trunks. Gunnar gritted his teeth. Ragnhild would learn that he might have given on one point, but he would not give in on the other. She was most definitely not the wife for him.

‘No, they stay outside. It should not take long to clear this mess up.’

With its piles of filthy rushes, half-finished benches and the nearly cold hearth, the best thing Ragn thought about the hall was that it was out of the icy rain. But she was inside and that was a start. She would make this warrior understand that they needed to stay for the night, that returning on the boat to Kaupang was not an option. She’d worry about the future after that. Little steps, rather than focusing on the mountain looming in front of her.

‘Has there been a mistake, Ragn?’ Svana whispered. ‘He is going to allow us to stay, isn’t he? He won’t behave like... Vargr?’

Ragn glanced towards where Gunnar was busily filling tankards.

‘The future is in front of us.’ Ragn bent down so that her face was level with Svana’s. ‘Keep the past behind you. Never mention Vargr again. He is dead to us.’

Svana gave a little nod. Her sister was too young to understand that if Gunnar knew her brother-in-law’s identity, or the danger they faced in Viken, that he’d close his doors to them as many of her so-called friends had done. Survival depended on keeping their troubled past hidden.

‘Promise me you will remember that.’

Svana worried her bottom lip. ‘I’ll try.’

Ragn withdrew the rune stick, which she had insisted Eylir write, from her pouch. It should be sufficient to make Gunnar Olafson see reason now that he was being hospitable.

Once he had finished ensuring the captain and his men had drinks, Gunnar returned to where they stood. His face had settled into even harsher lines. Svana shrank back against her.

‘You are out of the wet. Explain.’

No please. No courtesy of any kind. Perhaps he had taken one look at her and decided, no, that she wasn’t attractive enough. Ragn stiffened her spine. This marriage wasn’t supposed to be about attraction, but mutual assistance. ‘We need to discuss our contracted marriage.’

Gunnar allowed his breath through clenched teeth. ‘I know my friend better than that. Tell me the truth. Where is Eylir?’

Two bright spots appeared on the woman’s pale cheeks, flooding her face with colour. A strong wind would blow her over. He knew her type. He had encountered enough of them back in the old country when he was growing up. She’d know about court gossip or the ways to recite a saga or how to fix a sweetmeat, but he doubted if she understood the hard back-breaking work life on this rugged western isle required. He was doing her a favour by sending her back.

‘I was given to understand that you required a wife and that I satisfied those requirements. It seemed like the perfect alternative to my life in Kaupang. My husband recently died and we had no other male protectors.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘Someone may have been playing a joke, Gunnar Olafson, but the joke was on me and my sister, not you. I accepted the offer under false pretences. I have left my home and everything I held dear to travel here for a new life. I cannot return with these men. Know that much.’

Her voice was clear and steady and not unpleasant to the ear. Her gaze direct, rather than downcast. The tilt of her chin reminded him of how his mother acted when the world was against her and the silver fire shone again in her eyes.

A tiny voice inside Gunnar questioned why he was watching this woman so closely if he was going to send her on her way. He ignored it. No man or woman dictated what he should do or whom he should marry. He’d earned the right to make his own choice. And this woman wasn’t his choice.

‘My friend acted without thinking things through properly.’ Gunnar roughly shoved the remaining tankard of ale in her general direction and waited for her to refuse it. Fine ladies should be served mead or wine as they turned their noses up at ale, according to his mother’s dictates.

Her fingers brushed his and he was aware of her—the sweep of her neck, the length of her fingers and how her dress hinted at her slender curves, rather than revealing them. He wanted to reveal those curves and explore them more in depth.

Gunnar buried the unexpected feeling down deep. It was merely because he had been busy with the estate, rather than seeking female companionship. Jul was coming and with it, his annual oath-taking at Kolbeinn’s hall. There he was certain to find an instantly forgettable buxom blonde who would attend to his physical needs.

She regarded him from under her lashes with those silver-flecked eyes. ‘What are we to do about this non-authorised promise? Forget that it ever happened?’

Gunnar ran a hand through his hair. Better she went now before he started to hope for the curse’s end. Before he was responsible for another woman’s death.

‘Eylir overstepped. That much is clear. When I spoke of acquiring a bride last Jul, I expected to travel northwards once the hall and the farm were prosperous. Ketil would have understood the necessity of waiting.’ He pronounced the name of the overlord of the Western Isles and Manx with enough lack of reverence for Ragnhild to understand his status.

Ragnhild held out a rune stick. ‘King Harald has issued new decree about men needing to be married in order to hang on to the gifted lands. Eylir acted in your best interests.’

Her tone implied he would be an idiot for acting otherwise. Gunnar clenched his jaw. Harald Fine-Hair had once been a close comrade-in-arms when they’d served in the Byzantine Emperor’s personal guard. He doubted if the King intended to enforce the decree on everyone. The King would use it as he used other decrees, to chivvy those he disagreed with and reward his cronies.

‘Exceptions can be made. They have been in the past. Harald uses such decrees to further his own ends, enforcing where he chooses. Kolbeinn will keep his own counsel about this. I never considered Eylir for being an old woman worrier.’

‘As your friend is in Kaupang, he is better placed than you to judge the mood of the King and his court.’

‘How did your husband die?’

‘A boring story which has little relevance to me standing here in front of you.’

‘We differ on that view. Had he lived, you would not be here. Had he left you with lands, you would have remained on them.’

‘Neither of us can rewrite history.’

Gunnar frowned. ‘You must think me naïve to take everything on trust. How do I even know Eylir sent you?’

She shoved the rune stick towards him again with an overly bright smile. ‘Read the runes. I can tell you what any of the unfamiliar marks means, if you like.’

Gunnar gritted his teeth. What secrets had Eylir confided? The last thing he wanted was to be laughed at by this woman because of his trouble with reading runes, because he was more skilled at the sword and axe than at learning and frippery. ‘They are clear enough.’

‘Your eyes remain sceptical. Do you require more proof? Captain, come here and inform this man who paid my passage and why.’ She gestured towards the captain who hurried up and confirmed the woman’s story. Eylir the Black had paid for the passage for this woman. One way for the bride of Gunnar Olafson, extra because of the time of year. The woman had paid for her sister, but it had been barely enough because everyone knew women with eyes like that offended the sea gods.

Gunnar caught his top lip between his teeth. The fool should trust his skill, rather than seeking to sacrifice the innocent when the first squall blew up.

The boatman gave a shout about the shifting tide and the need to be away from the rocks sharpish. He wanted to know where he should put the trunk. Ragnhild shouted to hold on, that the tide would wait a while longer.

‘Your friend said that you were a fair man. I have travelled far and staked a great deal on this marriage which now turns out to be a false promise.’ She took a step forward and her eyes blazed a deep silver, making her pale face come alive.

He screwed his eyes tightly shut. A fair man. He pictured Eylir saying that with one of his careless laughs, the sort that made the unwary relax.

‘Where will you go? Will you return to your family in Viken?’

‘For a price, I am sure the captain will take me somewhere.’ She glared at him with her silver-blue eyes and he fancied fear underneath the bravado.

‘For a great price.’ The captain smacked his lips. Behind him, the crew sniggered. In his gut, Gunnar knew neither woman would reach another shore.

‘Wait.’ Gunnar put a hand on her trembling arm. Something stirred deep inside of him. He was aware of her, the way her chest rose and fell and how the ends of her flyaway tendrils curled about her forehead. All Ragnhild Thorendottar had done was behave like his mother might have done after his father’s death, if the option had been open to her.

‘Why wait? The tide shifts.’ She gave his hand a pointed look and he slowly released her. ‘You’ve already decided. I regret troubling you or in any way causing you embarrassment. I must accept my fate.’

‘Eylir sent you to me. I have an obligation to ensure your safety, but I will choose my own bride. You remain here.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Why are you willing to do this?’ she whispered. ‘My sister and I are strangers.’

‘I would hate for your shades to haunt me. That boat appears barely seaworthy,’ he said, opting for a half-truth.

Her bitter laugh rang out. ‘My shade would be haunting others first.’

‘The least I can do after you have travelled all this way.’ Gunnar took a deep breath. He was providing shelter, not allowing this woman and girl into his life.

She held out her hand. ‘I accept as a guest, not a bride.’

Chapter Two

A hard, soaking rain lashed down and the pale light from the sky made the looming mountain turn a deep brooding purple, but Ragn knew her feet were on firm ground. Being here with a reluctant host was a thousand times better than being on that ship where, when this storm hit, she and Svana would have been tossed overboard. Best of they’d escaped Vargr’s reach. Small gifts from the gods. She had the most precious of commodities—time.

‘Where are the women of the household?’ Ragn asked as it became increasingly clear Gunnar’s men had deserted his cold hall for their own homes rather than bedding down there.

‘I manage well enough on my own. I can even brew ale and boil meat. My men’s wives turn their hand to the spindle and loom as well as any and I enjoy the silence.’

He gave a superior sort of smile, but one which made his features become breath-taking. One smile and the women in his life must melt and do his bidding. She silently resolved that she would not join the legion of panting followers.

‘Indeed.’

‘Years of warring. In time, when I marry, there will be women, but for now it is just me and my dogs.’

‘Surely you have servants or...’ Ragn hesitated. How to explain that Svana was terrified of the dogs? Any explanation would have to include Vargr. Then there would be awkward questions about the estate, why no man would fight for her rights and why they were on their own. Later, she promised that little voice in her head, once they were warm and dry, once she had formulated a new plan now that there would be no marriage.

His brow lowered. ‘I see no point in acquiring women as then I’d have to endure their prattling and twittering company.’

Endure their company.

Ragn’s heart sank. Eylir had kept quiet about his friend’s views on women and their usefulness. ‘Eylir failed to mention that you disliked women.’

A dimple shone in his cheek. ‘I love women at the right time and in the right place. Other than in my bed, most women flutter about like birds, chirp up all the time about nonsense until my back teeth ache and leave messes to be cleaned up.’

Ragn took three deep breaths of air. ‘The reasons why your friend despaired of you ever marrying become ever clearer.’

‘A few more days and I would have departed for Colbhasa and the start of the Jul celebrations,’ he said, pointedly changing the subject. ‘Not the comfort you must be used to, but it will serve until for the short time you will be here. You depart and my solitude can return. Have I mentioned that I enjoy the quiet?’

Ragn ignored the words about going. Her head pounded enough as it was. She had to concentrate on the positives, starting with not being in the boat.

‘When did you plan to go to the north? To find a bride?’ She deliberately paused, racking her brain for what Eylir had said about his story. The truth was that she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been that grateful for a way out of the shadows and hiding, half-expecting every knock on the door to bring Vargr and his berserker assassins. ‘Or would you have found a reason why you need to be somewhere else rather than bride-hunting?’

‘Eylir has been telling his usual far-fetched tales.’ The planes on his face hardened to chiselled stone. ‘I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride.’

‘And the King’s decree that owners of gifted lands must be married?’

‘There is a great deal of water between me and the King’s shining new hall, the one which shimmers like gold on a summer evening and many other unmarried jaarls who are closer.’

Her heart felt a little easier. It wasn’t her, it was the entire concept of marriage he objected to. Maybe in time... She rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again. If she had looked like Trana with spun gold for hair, pouting lips and a bosom for a man to bury his face in, they would be married. Instead she knew what she looked like—all teeth and no figure with her one beauty, her long hair, burnt away in the fire, along with her dowry.

‘Returning to Viken is not an option. Let me—’

‘I choose my own bride, not Eylir. I will travel to the north to find her, like I vowed on my mother’s grave.’ His blue-eyed gaze raked her form. ‘The sort of bride I have in mind will be entirely different from what you keep offering.’

The words cut far deeper than they should. She should be used to it after Hamthur’s barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late husband had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety for Svana and that meant finding somewhere far from Vargr’s influence.

‘Thank you for the clarity,’ she said in a tight voice.

All the amusement fled from his face. ‘Pardon for any offence. I merely meant my bride will not have to travel on her own. Those men would have killed you or your sister if you’d travelled with them further.’

‘I see.’ Ragn inclined her head and allowed the untruth.

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand upright. ‘I’m more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It is something I must work on before I travel north to woo.’

‘Ladies do expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they are wooed.’

He gave a rich laugh which warmed her to her toes. ‘You possess a tart tongue and are unafraid to mince words. Perhaps you should learn honey-coating as well.’

‘Curbing my tongue has always been a problem. Allow me to try again.’ She made a curtsy. ‘I’m pleased you have taken pity on me and my sister and have allowed us to stay. I will trust your assessment of the captain who brought me. No good would have come of our returning to the north.’

‘Your family would not welcome your return.’

She examined the dirty rushes. His words were far too close to the truth. She need to seize control of the conversation and steer it away from tricky subjects like why her family would not assist her. ‘Perhaps one day I will thank you for choosing not to marry me. I know I certainly have no wish for an unwilling husband. However, I believe in looking forward, not harping on past mistakes.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ His laugh rang out. ‘My temper is far too short. I’ve a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women have detailed my defects.’

‘Then we should be friends as we’ve both avoided something that was destined to make us unhappy.’

He examined her from hooded eyes. ‘Can men and women ever be friends?’

‘I like to think they can be.’ Ragn hoped she was telling the truth. Her parents had had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. ‘I consider you one for giving me and my sister a place to stay instead of forcing us back on that ship. You saved our lives.’

He bowed his head. ‘I’ll take you to Ile in the morning. The commander, Sigurd Sigmundson, is a friend. He can find you passage on a ship northwards when the ships begin to move in the spring.’

Ragn firmed her mouth. She had heard of Ile. Vargr had had something to do with it a few years before, but she believed the commander of the fort had changed. ‘The captain and his crew feared Svana’s eyes. I sacrificed a gold necklace to calm the sea. If such a thing happened on the return journey, I doubt I could prevent it.’

‘Fools.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘As if how a passenger looks matters more than the skill of the navigator or the pilot. They should remember Odin only has one eye, but still manages to navigate his ship. Your sister has two good eyes, even if one turns inward.’

A dog’s howl made him stop and cock his head to one side.

‘Is there something amiss?’ Ragn asked as Svana froze at the sound. In another breath Svana would throw herself on the ground and reveal precisely why the sailors feared her.

‘I shut my dogs in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’

‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.

‘You and your sister remain here out of the cold and damp. Wait here until I return.’

Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’

Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’

Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.

When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.

In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’

‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’

‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’

Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’

Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’

‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to think straight when your belly rumbles. Remember I brought dried herbs and mushrooms in our trunks. I spied the kitchen building when he had the trunks dragged up here. No need to stay in this ice palace.’

Svana wrinkled her nose, but her face lost its terrified expression. ‘How will that help us stay?’

‘His friend said that he longed for the old country, perhaps once he has a taste of it...he will be in a better mood. And as a general rule, dogs stay out of kitchens so you will be safe there.’

The tightness of Svana’s face eased. ‘Truly?’

Ragn made her voice sound positive and hoped her words rang true about the dogs. If her scheme failed, they would at least have a decent meal in their bellies, something they hadn’t had since before they left the north.

Svana clapped her hands. ‘You will succeed. I know you will. You’re a good cook and you make the best ale. You can show this man that he needs to have you here. I can’t face the sea again and the waves.’

‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’

‘Most of the time.’

Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.

Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.

He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.

When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.

‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’

Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.

He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.

When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.

He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.

‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’

The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.

He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.

He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.

His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.

‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’

‘You made stew?’

‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’

He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.

‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.

‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’

‘It certainly smells delicious.’

‘I put some dried cloudberries into the porridge for the morning. I always find it best to have it sitting overnight in the embers. Saves time in the morning.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘I like my hands to be busy.’

‘My mother used to do that. Cloudberries when she had them for a special treat, but making it the day before. She’d have to chase me out of the kitchen to keep me from sneaking them.’ After he found his family’s bodies, he could not bear anything which reminded him of those times, but now a sharp longing to taste cloudberries’ tart tang filled him. ‘Something I’d forgotten.’

‘Then we are agreed—cloudberries for the morning.’

‘Earlier...’ he said as she put out several bowls, ones he’d not seen before.

‘Shall we leave it in the past?’ She deftly scooped out a bowl of stew and placed it in front of him before serving up two more bowls. ‘Behind us both. A new beginning.’

He took a taste and the stew was every bit as good as it smelled. ‘It might be best. Hunger always makes me irritable, or so my mother used to claim. She’d ensure I had a bowl of stew when I came home.’

‘Hunger does that to many people.’

Gunnar took another bite. He had been far too hasty in dismissing Ragnhild as someone who was content to be decorative. To his surprise, the bowl seemed to have emptied without his realising it. Kolka and Kefla advanced and sat before Ragnhild, wagging their tails and making little whimpering noises.

‘Your dogs are hungry?’

‘They have a soft spot for stew.’

Ragnhild ladled several spoons into wooden bowls and put them in front of the dogs before she put another steaming bowl in front of him. The traitors lapped it very quickly.

‘You should eat,’ he said, dipping his spoon into the broth. He’d forgotten how good food tasted, rather the burnt mess he always seemed to create. His stomach growled in appreciation.

‘In good time. Svana, come here and get your food. It is going cold.’

Gunnar glanced over towards the girl sat rigid on the bench, her eyes wide.

‘You promised, Ragn! No dogs. Not in here! Not in a kitchen! Please, no!’

‘Svana, come here!’ She held out her hand. ‘The dogs are busy eating their supper.’

The girl got up and made a big circuit about the dogs. The dogs, seeing her, gave sharp welcoming barks, but each time she heard the noise, she visibly shuddered. Her silver eyes grew wider. When she reached Ragnhild, she threw her arms about her and made little whimpering noises. Gunnar frowned. It was unnatural that a child would be that afraid of dogs.

‘Svana, what will our host think of you?’ Ragnhild said, picking the child up and carrying her to where her stew sat. ‘His dogs are very well behaved. They will not hurt you. They simply wanted their supper. Time you ate and stopped this nonsense. A full belly makes everything better. Gunnar agrees with me.’

The girl stopped making sniffing noise and peeped out from behind a curtain of hair. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad. I never mean to be.’

‘Eat. Leave the poor dogs in peace to enjoy their supper. Once they have finished, I am sure they will have better things to do than bother one girl who is busy with her supper.’

Ragn put a few more ladles of stew in the dogs’ bowls before adding another to his.

The child dropped her spoon and instantly Kefla headed towards it to investigate. The child’s face became white and pinched.

‘Your sister’s hands shake,’ he said, frowning as he recalled long-buried memories about Asa his youngest sister, her affliction and how the other villagers had shunned the family because of it.

‘The sea voyage has unsettled her.’

Svana gave another cry of sheer terror and drew her feet up. Kefla stopped, tilting her head in confusion.

‘Could they go out?’ Ragnhild asked. ‘Maybe just for the night.’

‘My dogs like the fire on a cold and wet night.’

Ragnhild pointedly cleared her throat. ‘Svana, we need to find you a place to sleep. You are clearly over-tired. Remember we are here on sufferance. Gunnar Olafson has been kind. You hated the storm-tossed sea. After you are rested, the world won’t be as scary as it seems now.’

The girl screwed up her nose. ‘Will the dogs eat me if I sleep? They are awfully large. If I don’t give my stew to them, they will eat me.’

Ragnhild pressed her hands on the table as she gave him a nervous glance. ‘Svana. Please.’

‘They look like the sort which Mor-Mor told me about—the sort who snap up little girls when they are naughty,’ the girl whispered in a voice which he had to strain to hear as she clapped her hands in imitation of a dog gnashing its jaws.

Another memory of Asa slammed into him, rising from that forbidden place where he kept all the memories of his family. It was the sort of thing she’d have said and then she’d have given one of her piercing screams to prove her point. She, too, had loved the terrifying stories their grandmother or mor-mor had told on long winter nights.

The last thing he required right now was a piercing wail which set the dogs off. The entire situation would careen out of control, worse than a long ship which had lost its steering oar.

He knelt down so his face was closer to her level. She did not shrink away from him, but stared with a solemn gaze.

‘Kolka and Kefla are my wolfhounds,’ he said in as soft a tone as he could manage. ‘They listen to me. You are safe here.’

Svana put her hands over her mouth. ‘I once saw some dogs in a battle. Spittle dripped from their great fangs.’

‘Hush, Svana. That is in the past.’ Her sister put an arm about the girl. ‘Things in the past can’t hurt you. Only things in the present. We discussed this.’

‘I know, Ragn. Forgive me?’

‘Always. Now breathe slowly and finish the stew.’

The room went quiet as the dogs put their heads on their paws and the child ate a few more mouthfuls.

‘Does he know about putting out porridge for the nisser?’ the girl asked in a loud whisper when she’d finished.

The innocent words sent a knife through his heart. Nissers... He’d nearly forgotten about them. His sisters had believed in them as well, declaring the nisser would only stay if he put out porridge and said goodbye to him. He’d scoffed that last time. By the time he returned in the dead of winter, the farm had failed and his family had starved to death. He abruptly stood.

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Kefla gave a small whine and the girl cringed again.

‘Hush, Svana. You have too many notions in your head. Gunnar Olafson has enough to think about. Nissers indeed.’

‘But you put the barley on to seep, that works,’ the child persisted, sounding just like Asa and Brita had.

‘No porridge,’ he said, his head erupting with tremendous pain.

The girl winced and Ragnhild’s mouth pressed to a thin white line. He frowned. The words had come out far harsher than he’d intended. ‘My dogs tend to gobble porridge up given half a chance. Nissers respect hard work. When one realises how hard I’ve worked, then he will come.’

‘It is quite a new hall,’ Ragnhild added. ‘Anyone can see how hard Gunnar worked. The stout walls keep out the wind and rain. Remember the ruined hut we sheltered in, Svana?’

‘Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.’ Svana stifled a small yawn and her eyelids fluttered. ‘I know a nisser will be here soon. This place is safe and nissers require such things.’

Safety. A lump came into Gunnar’s throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the old farm safe for Brita, Asa and his mother.

Ragn put an arm around her sister. ‘My sister needs a place to sleep. She is exhausted.’

‘There is a small chamber you two can use. I made up a bed in case Eylir visited. It will suffice for the night.’ He clenched his jaw. The woman might infuriate him, but she had regard for her sister. None of his business. They were leaving in the morning but he would find them somewhere safe, just somewhere away from his farm. ‘I know how women value their privacy. It is unfinished and probably not up to the standard you are used to, but it will serve for now.’

‘You have little idea what we are used to. A pig sty would be a luxury after that ship.’

Swift anger at the implied criticism went through him and he took refuge in it. ‘I believe my hall extends to more comfort than a pig sty.’

Her cheeks went pink. ‘I didn’t mean...’ she said. ‘My tongue sometimes runs away. I merely didn’t want you to go to any more trouble. You’ve been too kind already.’

Kind was the last word he expected her to use. Remorse tugged at him. He held up his hand. ‘My friend sent you on a fool’s errand. Nothing more. Nothing less. But abandoning women to the wilds... I was raised better.’

‘There are not many who would have taken us in. I am pleased that we won’t have to go back on the boat.’ She bit her bottom lip, turning it the colour of summer berries. ‘I worry that Svana would not have survived the return journey.’

‘I have the chores to finish. This farm doesn’t run on its own. The dogs always assist me. I would suggest you and your sister are in bed before I return to avoid misunderstandings.’

The corners of her mouth curved upwards. ‘You mean your nisser fails to live up to expectation? What a surprise!’

His smile answered hers. ‘Nissers only assist those who are prepared to put the hard work in. If you had trouble in the past, perhaps you failed to work hard enough.’

‘My problems stem from something other than hard work.’

‘Would you care to tell me about them?’ The words tumbled out before he stopped them.

‘My problems, not yours.’ She quickly busied herself, collecting up the bowls.

Rather than answering, he made a clicking noise at the back of his throat and the dogs followed him out of the hall. One night, then his life returned to its predictable pace. He liked the solitude. He ignored the little voice which called him a liar.

Chapter Three

‘The dogs obeyed him. Instantly. Hamthur’s dogs rarely obeyed him,’ Svana declared, stifling another large yawn. ‘Are you certain we will have to leave tomorrow? I thought you were married to Gunnar.’ Her brow furrowed with concentration. ‘A proxy marriage.’

‘I gambled everything on a few vague promises. I should have seen Gunnar’s friend only wanted to impress Trana.’

Ragn forced the bitter bile back down and kept her hands moving, reshaping the straw in the mattress into a serviceable bed instead of a heap. The straw had seen better days, but it was clean and smelt of summer meadows.

Cleaning the kitchen had gone far more quickly than she’d anticipated, with Svana, having recovered from her earlier fright, eagerly drying the dishes, carefully sweeping the floor while humming a little song about how the nissers always help the helpers.

Hearing Svana’s lisping tones had lifted her spirits and made her long for easier days, when she, too, had believed in such things.

Rather than give her a lecture about making friends with the dogs, Ragn banked the fire in preparation for Gunnar’s return and marched Svana into the tiny cupboard of a room.

‘You must be able to do something.’ Svana’s hand clutched hers. ‘A reason to keep us here. Our luck is changing, Ragn. I can feel it. My hands are all tingly. See.’

Ragn’s breath caught in her throat. Another of Svana’s attacks? They were there on sufferance already. She pushed Svana’s hair from her forehead. Her skin wasn’t clammy, a good sign. Gunnar might not mind the inward-turning eye, but if he discovered Svana flailing about and foaming at the mouth? What would his great dogs do then? Might they not be better off just leaving? Ragn worried her bottom lip. They had a roof over their heads here and she had no idea of what the conditions were like on Ile.

‘Hopefully I can convince him that he requires a housekeeper, instead of relying on a magical sprite. He certainly needs help.’ Ragn’s breath caught. She knew how to make a household prosper despite Hamthur’s extravagances. However, she’d utterly failed in the marriage bed. She’d been young and eager to please at the start of the marriage, but nothing she did seemed to please him. Hamthur had rapidly grown disenchanted with her efforts and mostly sought other women’s beds.

When she’d first heard he’d been waylaid and murdered, she had felt relief. It was only later she’d learnt that Vargr had ordered the murder as retribution for Hamthur’s continued refusal to kill Svana. If she had known that he cared or even had done it out of selfish interests to protect his own skin, knowing his brother would find another excuse to attack or because he was in no mood to yield to his brother’s demands, she might have behaved differently, might have insisted that he take armed guards, instead of accepting his easy assurance he was a grown man.She accepted that she could never know for certain why he’d protected Svana, but he had and that was enough to make her feel sorry that she hadn’t tried harder to protect him. She should have guessed that Vargr would have behaved in that fashion.

‘You’re the best at managing,’ Svana said with a sleepy smile. ‘Far used to say that you magicked grain from any barrel, and ale from the lake—the sort of wife any man would be proud of.’

‘My lack of womanly charms is an established fact.’

‘Hamthur was jealous because everyone looked to you.’ Svana gave a big yawn. ‘Gunnar should marry you like he was supposed to. Once I catch that nisser’s shirt tail, you will see only good things for my sister, the best sister in all the world.’

The best sister. Ragn hated how her throat tightened. Did good sisters cause their sisters to get hurt? Did sisters ruin their younger sisters’ lives by inviting witch women to give predictions? Bitterness filled her mouth. Her great plan for restarting their lives in Jura had come to nothing.

‘Nissers don’t exist.’ She smoothed a lump out in the straw and discovered a small stone figurine, the sort her grandmother used to wear on a string around her neck. She carefully pocketed it before Svana proclaimed it a gift from the nisser.

‘You are his Jul present from his best friend. One should not give presents like that away.’

‘Presents of that sort are best not given as a surprise.’ Ragn swallowed hard. How much of her story Eylir had guessed or been told she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t volunteered. His offer had enabled them to escape Vargr’s murderous clutches.

Had she known the truth would she have accepted Eylir’s offer? Ragn sighed. Undoing the past was futile. She could only make the future better. For the thousandth time, she whispered her new resolution—past behind her and forgotten, the future was the only thing which mattered.

‘Gunnar never asked his friend for a bride,’ she said. ‘I will not hold him to the words Eylir said. Some day we will laugh about it and be glad that he refused me. We have a better future coming, sweetling.’

‘But he allowed us to stay the night and his eyes twinkled, particularly after he ate the stew. That means he likes you.’ Svana gave a smug smile.

‘It is character which matters. I learned that particular lesson the hard way. And Gunnar Olafson is grumpy.’

‘He is a hard worker. He built this all on his own.’

‘He has no interest in me.’

‘His eyes followed you. I saw them. Even if you didn’t. You always believed Hamthur about your looks and never me. Why?’

Ragn’s cheeks burned. She well imagined the sort of woman a man like Gunnar would like and it wasn’t a flat-chested, dried-up stick like her. ‘That is beside the point.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘You are over-tired and emotional. We will be leaving here in the morning for Ile, a great big island with lots of people. I will find a husband there.’

‘But...’ Svana’s bottom lip stuck out.

‘We won’t have to stay in Ile if we don’t like it,’ Ragn continued before the tears started. ‘We can go to another island, or possibly even the Isle of Colbhasa where Kolbeinn rules. He was our father’s friend and will find a place for us at his court. Then, there is Lord Ketil whose word holds sway over the Western reaches of King Harald’s domain. Our father had dealings with him as well. We haven’t travelled all this way simply to starve or give up.’

The hard knot in her stomach eased. The jaarls Kolbeinn and Ketil probably wouldn’t even remember their father, but it was a plan of sorts. From the stories her father told about his former comrade-in-arms, she doubted if Kolbeinn bent his knee to anyone, let alone someone like Vargr who thrived on the intrigues at court, rather than on the battlefield.

‘You give up too easily, Ragn.’ Svana looped her arms about her knees. ‘Nissers are happier where there is a family. Mor-Mor told me that. He will want us to stay so he can have a really real family to look after.’

Ragn was very glad she had not mentioned the little carved man she’d found. There would have been no stopping Svana’s pronouncements and then there would have been a full-blown fit when she realised that they would have to leave despite her predictions. ‘The self-proclaimed expert on nissers must get her sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day. Sleep.’

Svana started to get up. ‘If I sit beside the porridge, I can catch him by his shirt tail and force him to make Gunnar fall for you. Mor-Mor said nissers must grant wishes if you catch their shirt tail.’

‘You talk an awful lot of nonsense.’ She placed a kiss on her sister’s forehead. ‘May your dreams be pleasant ones. Your eyes are closing.’

Svana stifled a yawn. ‘In the morning then, I’ll go looking. He is probably hiding from those pesky dogs.’

‘Only if you do the tasks I set first. We must show Gunnar that we are grateful for his kindness. And that means working hard while we remain on this island.’

‘When I catch the nisser, you will have to admit you were wrong.’

Ragn sighed. Admitting that she was wrong was something she spent far too much time doing lately. This journey had seemed like the right thing to do back in Kaupang, but had she dragged Svana halfway around the world for nothing? Another mistake to beg forgiveness for?

‘It is not our home.’

Svana snuggled down into the bedding. ‘This time, Sister, I am right.’

In the morning she’d find a reason to distract Svana and hopefully her brain would work better. There was no point in believing in things you couldn’t see as you set yourself up for disappointment. She’d learned that lesson the first year of her ill-fated marriage.

Hard work and a pragmatic attitude were what was required. She had managed to get them this far. No one, particularly not Gunnar Olafson and his arrogant attitude, was going to force her to give up. She simply needed to find a plan which would work.

A faint noise made Ragn glance up from where she lay next to the softly slumbering Svana. She knew she should sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames which had nearly engulfed her and Svana. She’d vowed then to keep Svana safe and she would.

The bumping noise sounded again. As if something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Svana, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the noise and gave a soft snore.

‘Is something wrong?’ she called out and reached for her shawl. ‘Was I wrong to leave the fire banked?’

Gunnar stood looking at her from the doorway. The light from the hearth silhouetted him and the bundle he carried.

‘I’ve brought furs. It can be cold and damp at this time of year.’

Ragn scrambled to her feet, aware that all she wore was her under-gown. She contemplated reaching for her proper gown, but decided it was silly. The darkness obscured her form, not that there was much to see. She winced, recalling Hamthur’s jibes. ‘You brought furs? Whatever for?’

‘I can’t risk you or the girl getting sick. You will have to stay longer if you do.’ He dropped the furs on the ground beside the door. ‘Do what you like with them, but don’t go blaming me if you are uncomfortable or cold.’

‘Thank you for them. My sister will be appreciative.’

He stared at her a long time. ‘Thank you for the meal earlier. It has been a long time since anyone laid things out for me. The dogs appreciated it.’

Saying that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room before she said anything further.

Ragn rushed over to the bundle and withdrew several thick pelts. And there were so many that they could easily cover both Svana and herself. Gunnar made a show of being harsh, but underneath he had a kind heart. She needed to reach the man behind the rude mask, the one whose eyes had deepened to summer-sea-blue when he spoke of cloudberries. She shook her head—mooning over Gunnar’s eyes and the width of his shoulders would not solve her immediate problem.

She held the little figurine in her hand. There had to be a way of making him want to keep them there, just until she figured out somewhere safe for Svana, somewhere where Vargr and his followers would never think to look. Her actions had taken away so many things in that girl’s life, starting with their mother’s life and ending with Svana’s health.

She gave a half-smile as she recalled one of her grandmother’s sayings. Faint hearts never won anything except a cold. Acting now while she had her courage was better than regretting the missed opportunity in the morning.

Gunnar stirred the embers of the kitchen’s fire as the faint snuffling noises from the pair made sleep impossible. Not that sleep was ever easy. He worked himself to exhaustion to avoid the dreams.

In the morning, once the current was right, he’d take Ragnhild and her sister to Ile and when he returned, he’d be back to his peace. It was what he wanted. He cursed Eylir for his rashness in sending them and hated that he kept trying to guess why his friend sent Ragnhild and her sister when he recollected Eylir teasing him about buxom blondes. He should have no interest in unpicking her mysteries. He shouldn’t have enjoyed the aroma of her stew, clashing wits with her earlier, or even watching her mouth relax into a smile. But he had.

A rustle made him glance towards the door. Ragnhild hovered on the step. Her hair was unbound, but far shorter than he had previously thought. A woman of her quality should have long hair. He narrowed his eyes. In the firelight, the vivid scars on her feet and ankles were visible. They were at most a few weeks’ old. The woman had been through a fire and possibly a raid. That fire and the girl’s fear of dogs were related.

Rather than trying to get rid of her to pursue the cousin, had Eylir sent her to the one place where she’d be safe? Where he trusted his friend would look after her?

Gunnar ground his teeth. Speculation did no one any good. Keeping someone safe and marrying them were two separate things entirely. He intended to get Ragnhild and her sister to safety—away from here and out of his life.

‘Yes? Do you require more furs?’

‘I found this in the bedding. I assume it belongs to you and is not a gift from any stray nisser.’ She held out a small carved man with a smile.

Time and his breath stopped. Her lips softly parted as she leant towards him with it. Their fingers brushed, sending a warm pulse jolting through him. She jumped backwards, dropping the stone.

Even as he caught it in mid-air, he knew it would be his good-luck charm, the one he’d misplaced weeks ago and had spent days searching for. His temper had become so foul that even his dogs had avoided him. He’d finally given up all hope and had become resigned to its loss.

His fingers curled around the amulet, warm from her palm. The anguished part of his soul eased. His last tangible connection to his family had been regained.

‘You found it in the bedding?’ he asked, trying to puzzle out where it had fallen. ‘You mean in the furs that I brought in?’

‘In the straw. If Svana had found it, there would’ve been no stopping her. Her belief in nissers inhabiting this place would have been proved true. She’d have clung to the doorframe to stay and see one.’ Her slight frown indicated that was the last thing she required.

His eyes widened. ‘And you know what it is?’

‘My father’s mother had a stone-man amulet like that. She used to swear it kept her safe. Perhaps it worked—she lived a long and prosperous life. It went missing after her death.’ She ducked her head and he saw how the fire had left her fringe long but burned the back of her neck. Her sister showed no such signs of injury.

Gunnar frowned. She and her sister would be safe...in Ile where she would be able to choose a better man than he as a husband. An unexpected twinge of jealousy at the unknown man stabbed him.

He pushed it away. It was for the best. His fate had been sealed the instant he spotted the soothsayer abusing those girls. An older warrior would have turned a blind eye, but he had acted to save those girls. Unfortunately, they had been too injured and died later. Now he lived with the consequences of the dying soothsayer’s prophecy.

She drew her brows together. ‘Is everything all right? Did you intend to lose the amulet? Is it bad luck?’

‘It belonged to my mother. All I have left of her.’ There was little point in telling Ragnhild that his mother had wanted to ensure he returned safely home for the start of Jul.

He turned the stone man over and over, feeling its familiar carvings. He almost heard his mother’s laugh as she told him that it would help him find the right partner in life.

He remembered Dyrfinna’s scorn about the crudely carved man when she discovered it. She’d pulled it from around his throat, saying it frowned at her. He’d intended on proposing marriage to her that evening, but her reaction made him question their relationship and possibly even saved his life. Rather than adoring him as she had pretended, Dyrfinna owed a debt to the soothsayer Gunnar had slain and had been determined to avenge his death. However, thanks to the stone man, they’d been arguing instead of being wrapped in the throes of passion when the assassins entered her house. The attackers were no match for his sword that day. But Dyrfinna had perished in the ensuing fight. Her last words had been that he’d been a gullible fool to love someone like her. Gunnar had hunted down the men until none remained.

Why did this woman have to find it? His mother would have approved of her—she was a good cook, came from the north and had a fine manner about her. And she was in trouble. His mother had raised him never to turn his back on women who sought his help. To be fair, it was the coming from the north part which his mother would have approved of most.

The walls pressed in on him. Ragnhild was standing a mere breath away. Her mouth was softly parted and her eyes large. Her lips would taste of summer strawberries or possibly cloudberries. They were ripe for the nibbling. All he had to do was to take her in his arms and declare he’d changed his mind, that he wanted her for his bride after all.

What would he look like then? ‘A gullible fool’—the words resounded in his brain, dripping with Dyrfinna’s precise intonations.

He shook his head to clear it and walked over to the hearth, putting the man next to his silver horn with a bang. ‘I will choose my own bride.’

The dogs and Ragnhild looked at him strangely. He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

‘The King’s decree about marriage you spoke of earlier,’ Gunnar said quickly before she started asking awkward questions and he confessed about his mother’s prediction. ‘I must go north for a wife in the spring. The Lords Ketil and Kolbeinn will hold off enforcing the decree on me until then.’

She gave a half-shrug which revealed the swanlike beauty of her throat. ‘If you think you have until then.’

‘I do.’ He drew a breath and regained control of his wayward thoughts. ‘Kolbeinn will give me time to choose a bride, rather than forcing me to accept the first one who crosses my path, once he learns of the decree.’

‘Bringing you that stone man was an act of kindness, not an expectation of a marriage offer.’ Her laugh sounded hollow as she started for the door.

‘Stay. Keep me company.’

She halted so quickly the material flattened against her, revealing the shapeliness of her legs. ‘Is there something more we can say to each other? Returning the amulet was the only reason I bothered you.’

He knew she lied. The deep hollows into which her eyes had sunk betrayed her. Ragnhild disliked her dreams every bit as much as he disliked his own dreams.

‘Your sister is far too thin,’ he said in desperation to change the subject. Ragnhild was not the sort of lady who would agree to the only thing he was prepared to offer a woman—one night of pleasure to keep the bad dreams away. ‘You can see her collarbones.’

‘I know. Once she ate like a horse, but the sea voyage failed to agree with her. She was often sick. Her appetite will return in time.’

‘The dogs like her, even if she doesn’t like them.’ He leant down and fondled the tan dog Kolka’s ears. ‘I trust their judgement. They are rarely wrong about people.’

Ragn watched him with wary eyes. She longed to ask what the dogs thought of her. Gunnar had clearly not meant to say the earlier words about choosing his own bride aloud. Once she’d taken it for a positive sign, but that was the problem with believing in such things, one ignored reality.

Right now, the marriage was unimportant, the staying here was. And his remark about going north in the spring had given her an idea. ‘There are not many who have been kind to Svana lately.’

Gunnar motioned to her to come closer. Both dogs looked up briefly and then settled their heads on their paws. They seemed to accept her. The stew had worked with them, if not with him. ‘And you? How did the men react to you?’

She carefully shrugged a shoulder. The men had kept their distance. ‘They were less than kind and I no longer expect kindness.’

‘But it is welcomed when you receive it.’

‘I’ve no wish to seem ungrateful or forward. I fear I might have been. I find it hard to be idle. I see a task which needs to be accomplished and I start. But worse than that my tongue runs away with itself when I have ideas for improvement.’

‘My mother was one like you.’

She gave a careful laugh, aware that one wrong word and the chance would slip through her fingers. ‘I hope that is a good thing. Finding your charm seemed to alarm you more than anything.’

He took a stick and stirred the fire so that bright sparks leapt in the air. ‘Night-time is the right time to sleep. We can speak in the morning as we cross the channel to Ile.’

‘My mind races far too much to sleep,’ Ragn admitted, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling. Gunnar’s mood had improved from earlier and there was an intimacy about the night which would vanish with the sunrise.

‘It is good that you will be going north in the spring. You have worked too hard on this hall to risk losing it for the want of a little thing like a bride.’

His eyes flickered to the stone man. ‘The bride I choose, not one which is foisted on me by well-intentioned friends.’

‘Did I say differently?’ She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the tightening of the knots in her stomach. ‘When you go north, you will leave this place empty. You need someone you trust to look after it. A caretaker to ensure it remains in good order.’

‘Eylir remains in the north.’

‘I meant me. I know how to run an estate. My husband used to leave me in charge when he went...when he went away.’ Ragn watched the glowing embers.

‘When your husband was off warring.’

‘That and other things. He served the King and was required at court.’

‘At court without you?’

‘Someone had to ensure the smooth running of the estate.’ She forced a placating smile. She needed to keep this conversation away from her past for both their sakes. ‘If you give my sister and me a place to stay, we will have every reason to be loyal.’

‘When I return, will I find my hall standing? The scarring on your limbs makes me believe your last hall burned to the ground.’

Ragn kept her chin up. ‘We were the only ones to escape the inferno. My servants...the loyal ones...perished.’

‘You carried her, shielded her.’

She fingered the indentations on her neck. The burns no longer hurt as they had done when they’d sheltered in that barn, but they still sometimes pained her. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Simple enough.’ He moved closer and his breath brushed her cheek. ‘Your hair is short while Svana’s remains long. You have scars. She doesn’t. Her right foot twists inward. She moves quickly enough so I’m guessing she was born with it, but outrunning flames would be beyond her.’

Ragn bowed her head. ‘The fire took hold quickly. A few more breaths and we would have died.’

He nodded. ‘How far did you carry her?’

‘A tale for another day. I ensured she survived. That is all you need to know.’

‘Quarrels with your husband? You must tell me the truth if you wish to stay here. Trust me.’

Ragn drew a shuddering breath. Where to begin and what to leave out. ‘My late husband quarrelled with his brother over his inheritance. My brother-in-law became determined to win at all costs. When his petition to the assembly was refused, he had my husband murdered and sought to take the lands. When I defied him and refused to leave the hall which had been my childhood home, he had it burned, leaving us for dead.’

‘Does he still consider you dead?’ Gunnar asked quietly.

That question had circled around her brain for days. ‘I must believe so. No one searched for us after the first night. Once I’d healed enough to walk, we made our way to Kaupang. Trana was the first person I encountered there and she offered a way out. It was better for everyone that we go.’

He tapped his fingers together. ‘Don’t you care about regaining your lands?’

‘I learned that day that the people you love are more important than any land. He is welcome to all of it—the part that was his father’s and the greater part which belonged to my family.’ She leant towards him. ‘I can keep this hall safe, better than safe. I can make this hall a place your bride will run towards instead of running from. Give me a chance to prove it.’

His eyes narrowed and for a horrible heartbeat she worried she’d overstepped. ‘Why here? What is special about this hall?’

‘I trust my sister’s instincts much as you trust your dogs’. She is convinced she will see a nisser. It will give her a chance to regain her strength and put meat on her bones.’

He nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

The breath whooshed out of her. He had not questioned her more about Svana and why she’d been incapable of running beyond her foot. Maybe he would never need know about the affliction she’d caused Svana. Maybe he would not need to know about Vargr and the power he now enjoyed as one of the King’s closest advisors. All those things happened a world away. It was the present which was important, not the past.

‘Then we may stay? Beyond tomorrow morning?’

‘I expect you to work hard.’

‘Hard work was never my problem.’

His eyes skittered to where the stone man perched. It appeared as if the man was grinning broadly. The firelight flickered and the expression disappeared.

‘You may stay until I bring my chosen bride home. I won’t have her displaced.’

She held out her hand. ‘Done.’

‘Done.’ His fingers curled about hers, strong and safe. The warm liquefying of her insides that she’d had when she returned the amulet increased. Her breath left her with a gasp. She stumbled forward. His mouth loomed large over hers and his arms came about her.

She rapidly pushed against him before her bones completely melted into him, before she begged him to kiss her and make her feel desirable. Before she made a fool of herself. ‘We agreed—marriage between us will not happen.’

Her voice was far too breathless for her liking.

His arms fell to his side and the cool air rushed between them. ‘Is there harm in sharing a kiss? I have shared many pleasurable kisses and remain unmarried.’

Ragn schooled her features. Hamthur’s taunts about her passion-killing abilities reverberated in her brain. ‘I know where such things can lead, particularly in the night. I refuse to jeopardise our agreement by adding coupling into it.’

‘Is it Eylir? Are you waiting for him?’ He stroked his chin. ‘Aye, I can understand that. Commendable even, but Eylir is a flighty man, constantly falling in and out of love.’

The lie trembled on her lips. Eylir was pleasant looking, but he was not the sort of man who made her blood run hot.

‘Eylir?’ She rapidly shook her head. ‘No, it is not him.’

His eyes were hooded. ‘Then what is it? A kiss to seal our bargain will not lead anywhere...unless you want it to.’

Ragn tightened her shawl about her shoulders and kept her chin up. ‘I refuse to become a warm body in the night where there is no marriage in the offing. I refuse to play some sort of seduction game with you where I can only lose.’

‘And marriage is the only situation in which you will consider a man in your bed?’ His voice purred, making her knees go weak. ‘You are resolved to make a stand?’

Ragn hastily backed up and her cheeks became hot. In her mind she repeated the reasons why starting anything with this man would be a mistake. ‘I have my principles to keep me warm.’

He made a bow. ‘I will abide by your principles...until you change your mind.’

‘Do women often change their mind about inhabiting your bed?’

‘I’ve never notice a shortage in past.’ He gave a husky laugh. ‘Eylir claimed bed-sport is the only use I have for women.’

Ragn lifted her chin and met his dancing eyes, eyes she happily drowned in. ‘I look forward to demonstrating to you that women have a use beyond the bedchamber.’

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