Читать книгу Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 10

The space between Sela’s defenders and the invaders shrank to nothingness in the matter of a few heartbeats. She knew she should have held her men back, but the untried amongst them charged down the slope, eager to join the battle, rather than holding firm. And once a few had gone, the rest followed, giving up the high ground. Sela’s heart sank. Even with the little experience she had, she knew it meant disaster.

Her father and brother had always maintained that battle was unique. Now out here, facing the enemy, rather than engaging in a mock combat on the practice field, she knew that they were right.

A sort of wild exhilaration, swiftly followed by sheer terror, hung in the air. She glanced upwards, half-expecting to see Valkyries, Odin’s maidens who gathered the fallen from the battlefields, riding on the sea breeze.

The opposing forces met with a deafening crash. Sela’s ears buzzed with the dull thump of sword meeting wooden shield, reverberating throughout her body, but she forced her sword to remain high and her shield steady. She had to give the impression of leadership or the day would be truly lost.

First, and against all her expectations, the household retainers appeared to gain the upper hand. Her fears had been unfounded. She started to mutter a prayer of thanksgiving. Suddenly like the tide, the battle turned. Imperceptibly, but then like a raging flood. Gorm went down, his sword shattering on a shield. From her position on the top of the hill, she saw the outer edges begin to collapse and fold inwards. Her men faltered and fell, held up their shields to defend themselves from the merciless onslaught, but nothing worked.

Her father’s banner swayed.

She started forward, clashed swords. The reverberation went through her arm so strongly that she nearly dropped her father’s sword. She planted her feet firmly and struck out again, lifting her shield. She had to make it through, to help defend. She passed one man, lunged towards another. Her foot struck a pebble and she stumbled slightly, her knee hitting the ground. She struggled to right herself, cursing at the unfamiliar weight of the armour. Arms came around and held her, checking her progress. Quickly she tried to push away, to move out of the embrace, but her captor held a sword to her throat. His other arm hauled her back, so that her body was held tightly against his firm chest.

‘It is unlike you to leave your left flank unguarded,’ came the low rumble that slid over her like the finest fur. Teasing her senses. A remark made as if they were in Thorkell’s great hall and the dancing was about to begin. ‘I thought you had learnt that particular lesson years ago, Sela, Bose the Dark’s daughter.’

Sela struggled for a breath. She had not thought to hear that voice again in her lifetime. Or feel his body against hers. She opted for a solemn face as she eyed the gleaming sword.

‘A mistake, Vikar Hrutson,’ she said around the lump in her throat. ‘Thank you for pointing it out. It will not happen again.’

She twisted her body, but the action only drew her more firmly against his solid chest. She hated the flare of warmth that went through her, hated that her body remembered the last time she had encountered his.

‘You face total destruction.’ His voice rumbled in her ear. ‘Yield now and some of your men may yet be saved. You have no hope. Do you wish to die on the field of battle, Sela? Do you aspire to become a Valkyrie?’

Sela attempted to move her head and confront the voice, but the sword pressed more firmly against her throat, forcing her to view the scene of carnage before her. The generally quiet shore teemed with dust, men and swords. And all around, her men tumbled like flies.

Had her life really come down to this? Leading elderly men and young boys to their death? She had only meant to stand firm, not yield, a show of strength, and instead she presided over a rout. Another mistake to add to her long line of failures.

She swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture back in her throat. She refused to give in to her fear, give Vikar the satisfaction.

‘I had not placed you as a killer of women.’ She stretched her neck higher, away from the sharp blade, and gave a strangled laugh. ‘An indiscriminate lover of women, perhaps, but never a killer.’

‘Some might say your attire shows a certain contempt for your status, for your sex.’ The blade relaxed slightly. ‘Are you now going to plead special privileges because you are a woman? The world operates by different rules, Sela.’

‘It is impossible to swing a sword in a tight-sleeved gown.’ She kept her chin up, ignored the gleaming blade, forced her breath to come evenly and smooth. ‘Saving my home is far more important than dressing in the latest court fashion.’

‘I thought everything was more important than fashion to you.’

Sela rolled her eyes towards the skies. Fashion. She had failed at that particular competition years ago. She could not wear the type of gown favoured by Asa, gowns that accentuated the queen’s own petite, gilded looks, but made Sela resemble an overgrown youth with lumps in all the wrong places. She had sought other ways to shine, ways Vikar had disapproved of. And being young and naïve, she had taken a perverse enjoyment in provoking him.

It seemed unreal to be speaking of fashion and court matters with the sounds of battle raging around her, but it kept her from giving in to her natural inclinations and sinking to her knees in despair.

‘Tell me,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘how long does Asa decree the train length to be this year? We hear very little of such things out here in the wilds.’

‘As much as I would like to discuss the state of your wardrobe, my business is with your father.’ The blade lowered, but his arm tightened about her waist. ‘Where he is and why does he send a woman out to do a man’s job?’

With her father?

The air rushed out of her lungs, making her feel giddy. She struggled to control the sudden racing of her heart as hope filled her. She had expected him to say his business was with her, to demand to see his son.

Did he even know? Silently she offered up a prayer to Sif, Freyja and all the other goddesses of Aesir for a miracle.

‘I volunteered.’

‘The Bose the Dark I knew would have rejected the idea before the last syllable had fallen from your lips.’ Vikar’s grip forced her around, compelled her to look into his face. She realised with a start that his eyes were a far darker shade of green than she had remembered. ‘Does he live?’

‘My father is very much alive, but he saw the sense in my leading the men. He is indisposed and has little control over what I do.’

‘It makes a change.’ The sarcasm dripped from his mouth. ‘I had understood he always gave the orders.’

Sela, feeling the sword give way, swung around and faced her former husband. Despite her height, he towered over her. His helmet shadowed his face, but she had no doubt that when he removed it, the arrangement of his even features would remain the same. One of the most sought-after warriors in all of Thorkell’s court. Time had not altered him as much as she had hoped. ‘I am a grown woman, Vikar Hrutson. I take responsibility for what I do.’

‘And you take responsibility for this?’ His eyes offered no comfort, no glimmer of understanding. ‘For this carnage? Why did your men rush down the slope? That was a fatal mistake.’

‘My men were over-eager and rushed forward.’ She forced her head to remain high. ‘I should have anticipated that. The result lies on the green slope. My failure, not theirs.’

‘Save your men.’ His lips were a thin, white line. ‘How many more must die for your vanity?’

Sela stared at her former husband in dismay as her stomach lurched. She had wanted to save her home, her son. She had not started this battle. She had wanted to avoid bloodshed.

Vanity? Was that what he thought? She forced her head high, schooled her features, grateful that the nose-piece on the helmet would keep her face in shadow.

‘I call it something else.’

‘It does not matter what you call it.’ Vikar gestured around the battlefield with his sword. ‘Men are dying. You have lost the battle. How much more do you wish to lose? Yield now, and I may be disposed to give you favourable terms.’

Sela flinched. She could hear the cries of the wounded and the dying. One young man lifted his head, and reminded her of Kjartan. Vikar was right. She had things to live for, secrets to keep—for ever, if possible.

‘As you wish.’ She bowed her head and accepted the inevitable. She took off her glove and put her hand on the outstretched hilt of the sword. Her fingers grazed the ring embedded on the top, a little gesture, but one fraught with meaning. Surrender. She bowed her head, swallowed hard. ‘The battle ends.’

She stepped backwards. All perfectly correct. She knew the form. She had seen others bow down to her father, but she never thought she would have to make the gesture herself. She had believed in her father’s boast that no one could ever take this hall.

She opened her mouth to speak the final damning words, but her voice refused to work. She glanced up into the unyielding planes of Vikar’s face, pleading silently that it was enough; she had done all she could. She wished she hadn’t given in to the impulse as his lips turned further downwards. ‘The words escape me.’

‘No, you tell your men. It must come from you. You hold your father’s sword. You say the words of surrender.’ Vikar’s green eyes were colder than a frost giant’s. ‘I know Bose the Dark’s tricks. He matches Loki in resourcefulness.’

Sela glanced towards the hall, half-expecting her father to appear, half-fearing he would. The doorway remained vacant, a gaping black hole.

Removing her helmet, Sela raised her hand showing her surrender. She waited. Nothing happened. She glanced at Vikar, who gestured for her to repeat the movement. She tried again. Nothing.

Vikar nodded towards the standard. She went over to it, took it from her man’s hand and waved that, then lowered it with one sweeping motion. ‘The battle belongs to you…my lord.’

Bose’s standard with its dark sun against a golden background fell, hitting the ground with a solid thump. And with it, her hopes and dreams.

All around her the noise subsided until the very stillness appeared to be unnatural. The men turned towards her. She saw Vikar nod imperceptibly towards his men, and they lowered their swords.

The fighting was over; the carnage littered the gentle slope.

Sela started towards the nearest fallen warrior. She wanted to use her skills as a healer to help with the wounded, but Vikar’s arm clamped around her wrist, preventing her.

‘Let me go.’ Sela moved her arm sharply downwards, but Vikar’s hand remained. Strong and determined. ‘I have done as you asked. You are the victor here. The battle is over. I have surrendered. You are the master. You may take what you wish from the hall but my men need my aid. I possess some small skill that might be of service.’

‘War leader, now healer. What other talents do you possess, Sela?’ Vikar’s hard, cynical eyes and tight mouth mocked her.

I had no talent for being a wife. The thought pierced her with its suddenness, drawing the breath from her lungs.

Gorm’s broken sword caught her eye and she swallowed hard. And it would appear she possessed little skill as a war leader either. This hall was supposed to impenetrable, but it had fallen in less time than it took a shadow to cross the courtyard. Her failure at Vikar’s hands was absolute. Her knees threatened to give way. She straightened her back, and drew her dignity around her like a cloak.

‘What can I say? I am my father’s daughter.’

‘Bose the Dark absent from this battlefield? What mischief is this?’ Vikar said through clenched teeth. ‘The truth, Sela. How did he breathe his last?’

‘My father lives.’ The breeze blew strands of hair across her face. She tried not to wonder where her father was. Or if he knew that she had lost, that their world had irrevocably changed. ‘He might not be able to lead his men in battle, but his mind remains clear.’

‘It is only you who have surrendered, not the hall, not the jaarl of the northern lands. My men remain in danger.’

‘You bandy words. We have no more men.’ Sela held up her hands. ‘Look around you. You have defeated us. The hall is yours, to do with what you will.’

‘Your father’s hall boasts of many more retainers. He keeps an army as great as Thorkell’s.’ Vikar gestured to where the men stood or sat with their heads in their hands. ‘These are the old, the young, the infirm. Where are your father’s warriors?’

‘If I had had the warriors, I would have used them.’

‘Are you leading me into a trap, Sela? Seeking to lull my men with the promise of victory only to have it snatched from their hands.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I know about women and their honeyed promises. I learnt my lesson well, Sela.’

Sela kept her head raised, and met Vikar’s eyes. ‘The bulk of my father’s force departed weeks ago…to find new markets…in Permia.’

‘But your father remains. His standard fluttered in the breeze when we first arrived. It was his standard, not yours that you lowered.’

‘He is here. My entire family is here,’ Sela replied carefully. Every fibre of her being tensed as she waited to hear him reveal his true reason for making war—the command to see his son.

‘Take me to Bose.’ Vikar’s face was hard and uncompromising underneath his helmet. ‘I desire to speak with him.’

Speak with Bose. Demand that he swear allegiance if he was lucky or meet a swift death if he was not. Sela had no illusions about what Vikar intended. The rules were harsh. And there would be no recourse to Thorkell. He had allowed her father enough men to defend himself. It was not Thorkell’s fault that they had chosen adventure with Hafdan, instead of their duty. For their sakes, she hoped that they had gone to Permia and had not decided to raid Viken as one of the women whispered they might.

Sela forced her mind to concentrate.

There had to be a way to stall Vikar and to allow her father a chance to escape with Kjartan. If he held out, if Hafdan and his men returned quickly enough, the hall might yet be restored. Kjartan might inherit more than a broken sword and an arm-ring. She had to find that way. She had to give her father and Kjartan a chance.

‘What about my people? The wounded must be seen to.’ Sela nodded towards the battlefield where the wounded lay, moaning and crying out. ‘The hall will have to be secured, but neither my father nor I would desert our people. I have a responsibility to bind wounds.

‘They are no longer your concern.’

‘But they are,’ Sela protested. ‘They depend on me.’

Vikar’s eyes hardened and became chips of green stone. ‘You lost that right.’

The hall was very different from the last time Vikar had entered its walls. Then it had been hung with expensive tapestries, furs had lined every bench and the air had been scented with sweet perfume. No expense spared for his only daughter’s wedding. Vikar pressed his lips together to form a tight line.

All of that was long gone, including the marriage. The rafters with their carved men and strange beasts stared down on a stone floor and cold hearth. Even stripped bare, Bose the Dark’s hall remained an impressive site. Large, echoing.

The benches were pushed to one side. The tables stacked, ready for the last defence. A defence that had never come. Why had Bose left his hall so unguarded? Had his pride reached such a state that he thought none dare attack him? Even when he attacked others?

‘Your father fails to come forward with open arms and a horn of mead to greet his former son-in-law,’ Vikar said as he looked at the slim woman before him. ‘Why does this fail to surprise me?’

‘You expected him to be?’ Her full bottom lip curled slightly and her eyes became daggers. ‘My father has never been foolish.’

‘It was foolish to try to hold this hall with such a force.’

‘One has to do something when raiders come calling.’

‘I will grant you that.’ Vikar looked at his former wife with narrowed eyes. Most women would have been wailing and tearing their hair. but Sela looked as if she wanted to run him through. Her beauty had grown and matured in the intervening years since they had last seen each other. Tall, proud and defiant in her borrowed chain mail and trousers, yet somehow absurdly feminine. Vikar refused to feel pity. This situation was entirely of her making. ‘Your father should be ashamed sending you out to do his job.’

‘Thorkell forced it on him. My father and I had to make the best of what little remains. And we have done so.’ Her eyes flicked around the large bare room as if searching for something.

‘That is open to interpretation,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘My business is with your father, and as my men have paid the price in blood, I expect to speak with him, and to offer him my protection.’

‘You mean his surrender.’

‘If you want to call it that—yes. It is over, Sela. How many more must die?’

‘You wouldn’t. I surrendered. The battle is over.’

‘Not until I see Bose the Dark. Take me to him.’ He stared at her, and she was the first to flinch. Her head was bowed and her body hunched. Defeated.

‘He was in his chambers when we last spoke. Now allow me to retire.’

‘There, it was not difficult. And where is he now? He will surrender to me, Sela.’

‘Thorkell will have something to say…’ Now she was just trying to stall him, to give her father more time to get away with Kjartan.

‘Thorkell will approve of my action and I know your penchant for disappearing.’ Vikar shook his head, remembering how easily she had vanished before. One day there and the next, gone with a scribbled rune and Bose’s messenger, Hafdan delivering the news his marriage had ended. Vikar had derived a certain pleasure at Hafdan’s expression when he realised who had ensured his place at Odin’s table. ‘Did you think I had forgotten?’

She gave a half-shrug that could mean anything. Her face turned mutinous, her lower lip sticking out slightly in a way that he had once found charming. ‘I have never known what you remembered. Sometimes, I was certain you had forgotten our marriage and my existence.’

‘No, I only wished I had.’

‘You have fared well since we last met,’ she said in a calm measured tone and Vikar allowed her to change the subject.

‘You heard of the raid on the Northumbrian monastery.’ Vikar wondered briefly what she had thought when she had heard the news. Did it give her pause for thought? Did she regret divorcing him, dismissing him as worthless?

‘All Viken did.’ Sela inclined her head and a tiny smile touched her lips. ‘You and your fellow jaarls are famous. The saga of the voyage has rapidly become a favourite in this hall. You and the other jaarls of Lindisfarne will be remembered long after the Valkyries have called you to Odin’s banqueting hall.’

‘Sagas are meant to entertain. Much has been twisted and exaggerated in that particular tale. Haakon caused it to be written, and you know what he is like.’ Vikar gave a brief shrug.

‘I am hardly that naïve. The sagas about my father rarely hold any truth. Do you know one actually claims he stole an egg from the nest of the great aurorc who sits on the top of the tallest pine tree in the forest?’ She shifted her weight and gave a little laugh. ‘Can you imagine? My father hates heights.’

‘And you are sure your father remains in the hall? You are not trying to stall me while he slips away, like a rat out of one of his fabled secret passageways?’

‘Secret passageways?’ Her defiant chin was in the air, but her eyes held a wary look as her hand plucked at the bottom of her mail shirt. ‘Such things are far more suited to sagas than real life. You really must stop believing everything you hear, Vikar. Truly, I say this as someone who once cared about your welfare.’

‘You lie.’ Vikar wrapped his fingers tightly about the hilt of his sword and regained control. ‘Your father showed me one, years ago when we were first married.’

‘You have a good memory, then.’ Her voice was chipped ice. ‘I had forgotten it. All I know is where I left him—in bed. Weak. He has not moved since the day after Hafdan and his men departed.’

‘Shall we put an end to our speculation?’

‘If you must, but I was enjoying our pleasant chat, Vikar Hrutson.’

‘You never could lie very well, Sela, but I will humour you.’ Vikar strode through the main hall, barely glancing to his left or right. It bothered him that Bose had decided to send his one remaining child out into battle while he stayed safely hidden. That Sela chose to fight did not surprise him. His former wife had never lacked courage. He had often thought she would be a better jaarl than her older brother. ‘One, two, three. Are you there, Bose the Dark?’

He pushed aside the curtains that concealed the jaarl’s chambers from the rest of the hall.

Empty. Still. Lifeless.

Sela released a breath and fought to keep her body upright.

Kjartan’s bird’s nest lay discarded to one side of the bed. She reached out and gently touched the delicate thing. Kjartan had been so proud of it. A lump rose in her throat. When would she see him again? When would she see her child again?

‘Where has your father gone?’ Vikar’s face was ice cold as he viewed her father’s empty chamber. ‘You knew they had gone when you told me to come here. I am through with your games.’

‘I am not my father’s keeper.’

Sela fought the urge to sink down on the floor and offer her thanksgiving up to Frejya, Sif or any of the gods and goddesses of Aesir who might be listening. Her father had escaped, as had Kjartan. They had not been with the women. They were away from this place and not under Vikar’s rule.

‘Tell me where you think he is.’

‘I was busy with other things, and I failed to see him depart.’ Sela struggled to keep the laughter from her voice. Her father and Kjartan had escaped and nothing else mattered. She looked at Vikar, meeting his hard, green gaze. She had forgotten how handsome she once thought him with his rugged blond features. Once they had made her pulse race, and then she had learnt the sort of heart they concealed.

‘You are too loyal. He left you to defend the hall and fled. He deserted you, Sela. Left you to die.’

Sela sobered and glared at him. ‘Did you expect him to stay?’

‘Coward was never a word I would have applied to Bose the Dark.’

‘He had his reasons.’

Sela forced her face to remain a bland mask. She was certain her father had escaped to save Kjartan, once he knew who was leading the raiding party. She had to protect Kjartan. She could not risk him meeting Vikar. Then there would be no doubting who the father was. With every movement Vikar made, she could see echoes of their son.

A child belonged to the father, after weaning age, according to Viken law. She curled her hand. She would never give her son up. Vikar had not wanted her, and he would not want her child. She refused to have her son grow up unwanted, and uncared for. She had seen how such children ran wild, and had vowed it would never happen to her child.

‘Is there anything else you wish to say, Sela?’

‘If you will permit me, Vikar, to retire to my chamber and change into my ordinary clothes, perhaps we can discuss this sensibly.’ Sela turned on her heel. Once she had changed, she would regain her balance, her control. She needed time to think and to plot her escape. ‘There I will ponder your request, and perhaps, given time, I might be able to remember where my father might have gone.’

‘No.’

Sela blinked at the unexpectedness of the sound, and swung around to face him. White-hot anger coursed through her. She clenched her fists, tried to control it. ‘What do you mean—no? You complained my attire was inappropriate. I am attempting to follow your wishes and please you.’

‘Please me? That is the last thing on your mind.’ Vikar crossed his arms and lounged against the doorframe, blocking her way. ‘You have no intention of doing such a thing. Your chief delight and pastime during our marriage was going against my wishes. Behaving how it best suited you, Sela. I know you far too well.’

Sela forced her lips to curve into a smile. ‘We are strangers, you and I, Vikar. We only thought we knew each other.’

‘You disappeared all too eagerly, Sela—ready to run from any unpleasantness.’ A muscle in Vikar’s jaw jumped. ‘In Kaupang four years ago, you left without a word. I came back to our chambers—emptied of all life. The next thing I discover is that you have divorced me.’

Breath hissed through Sela’s lips. She struggled to maintain a grip on her temper. Left without a word, indeed! She had waited and waited, wanting to believe in his innocence, and then his betrayal had been clear. He had given her no choice and so she had acted. ‘That is not my memory of the situation at all.’

Vikar made an irritated noise in the back of his throat, reminding her forcibly of Kjartan and why this man represented danger. ‘Enough of this foolishness. I do not give you leave to retire, to pretend as if nothing has happened. Your father broke his truce. He sent his men to raid Viken territory.’

Sela’s heartbeat resounded in her ears. An unprovoked raid?

‘Vikar, you have made a grave error of judgement. My father has not raided in years. Why should he? He earns enough from the trade of skins, soapstone and amber. Let us speak no more of his raiding, but instead of yours.’

‘Mine?’

She drew a breath and began listing the points on her fingers. ‘You did not come in peace. Dressed in chain mail and bearing shields, you and your warriors rushed towards us with drawn swords without issuing a proper challenge. We had the right to defend ourselves. Thorkell will be informed of this. We have that right.’

She watched with grim satisfaction as Vikar struggled for words.

‘Hafdan led a raid. He was stopped. I intend to have no more raiding parties threaten Viken. Thorkell will support me. I am the new jaarl of the north.’

Sela closed her eyes. Hafdan. She should have guessed. Vikar was correct. Thorkell would not support her father, would not send his men to avenge the raid. ‘And what happened to Hafdan?’

‘He perished as all vermin do.’ A muscle in Vikar’s jaw jumped. ‘He would never have gone anywhere without your father’s orders.’

‘They quarrelled. Hafdan left. Hafdan sailed under his own standard.’ She pressed her hands together. ‘My father and I knew nothing of the raid. He had no intention of bringing war to Viken. Do you mean to sack the hall?’

‘Bose’s lands are among the most profitable in Viken. This hall is fit for a king, let alone a jaarl. Why should I wish to destroy that?’

‘And my people? What will happen to them?’

‘Provided they show their loyalty to their new master, life will continue on as before.’

Sela dropped her head to her chest and felt a lump form in her throat. She would not have to watch her home burn, see the crops ploughed under and then have Vikar and his men leave. Her people would be spared that.

‘And what will become of me?’ she asked in a small voice, unable to stop herself

‘You are a problem I had not anticipated. Your father should have taken better care of you. He should have ensured your protection, rather than have you take charge of a rabble such as the one my men and I faced.’

‘It was my choice. My father did not have any say in the matter.’

‘Then is your husband amongst the fallen?’ Vikar lifted his eyebrow. ‘You should have said earlier. I send my condolences. Or perhaps it is why Hafdan left?’

‘Having experienced marriage once, and found it not to my liking, I had no great desire to return to the state, particularly not to someone like Hafdan. He was my father’s favourite, not mine.’ Sela kept her head high.

‘Interesting.’ Vikar stroked his chin and his eyes gleamed. ‘It saves me having to put a sword through an innocent man.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘No man should live if he forces his woman to fight.’ A muscle in Vikar’s cheek jumped. ‘You should never have been out there, Sela. Women are made for other pleasures.’

‘Perhaps I have giantess blood like Skathi in the legends. She put on her father’s armour to avenge his death and marched all the way to Aesgard to challenge the gods.’

‘But your father lives.’ He lifted his eyebrows and had the bad grace to appear amused, as if he had caught her playing in her brother’s armour, instead of trying to defend her hall.

‘Things had to be done. A defence had to be made.’

‘But not by you, Sela. Your father was the jaarl. It is to his banner the men flocked.’

‘My father…’ Sela hated the way her voice faltered. She would have to confess the truth about her father’s affliction. ‘My father is ill. He cannot lift his sword. I had no other choice.’

‘If you father is that ill, that afflicted, why did he allow Hafdan to sail away?’

‘Hafdan wanted more—more power, more everything. My father felt that letting him go to Permia would give him the prestige he craved.’

‘Your tales grow more fantastic by the breath.’

Sela fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. He did not believe her. She had told the truth and he did not believe her. ‘It is the truth, even you must see that.’

‘Hafdan left, knowing you were unmarried and your father about to breathe his last?’ He slapped his hand against his thigh. ‘Hafdan always sailed under your father’s orders. He left to war against the Viken. He is now dead and your father’s plot is in ruins. Everything your father valued belongs to me…including you.’

‘What are you planning to do with me?’

‘You are unmarried.’ Vikar took a step towards her. A lazy smile appeared on his face. ‘You need a protector.’

Sela put her hand to her throat as she stepped backwards and felt the chest digging into her legs. ‘What sort of protector?’

His eyes raked her form, lingered on her breasts. ‘You would make an admirable concubine.’