Читать книгу Taming His Viking Woman - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSayrid’s soft kid boots made a satisfying sound as she strode towards the Assembly Hall. She wore her new leather trousers with the dark green tunic Auda had made for her last birthday belted over them. Her cape swung slightly. Everything was designed to give the impression of supreme confidence, even though her insides churned.
She had considered all eventualities. Blodvin wore her morning gift of two arm rings and a necklace. At Sayrid’s insistence, Blodvin had arranged her clothes so the pregnancy was evident to even the most casual observer. Blodvin and Regin were both prepared to swear a solemn oath that Regin was her chosen husband and she wished for no other. Surely Bloodaxe would do the decent thing and not demand Regin be declared outlaw for stealing away his only child.
Once the jaarl had declared in her favour, she would invite everyone to the wedding feast. Even now, the servants prepared the meat under Auda’s expert direction. And it would be a celebration of the joining of two families, not a lament for Regin’s death.
‘I’d wondered if you’d show, Valkyrie.’
Sayrid missed a step. The trouble was that she had momentarily forgotten about him and the probability of his being at the Assembly. And now the man who had recently featured in her dreams leant against the side of the building. Why was he not sitting quietly next to Ingvar Bloodaxe or, better still, departing from these shores in search of another bride?
‘Hrolf Eymundsson.’ She met his dark blue gaze without flinching. ‘Little point in arriving early and wasting my time.’
‘Sayrid Avildottar.’ He inclined his head so that his light brown hair flowed down his face, hiding his eyes. ‘Valkyrie suits you better. After all, you are the shield maiden who controls the magically secured harbour. How many raiders have lost their ships trying?’
‘Three came to grief after my father’s death, but it was more poor seamanship on their part than magic on mine.’
‘That is not what the gossips say.’
Her heart gave a little flutter, but then it sank. She knew what the gossips said about her and her lifestyle. ‘I’m flesh and blood, not one of Odin’s handmaidens. A series of blockades guard the harbour.’
‘Yet you swim. I hear rumours of your skill with the sword as well. Bloodaxe curses your name and fabled prowess on a daily basis.’
The rumours normally never bothered her, but a small part of her wished that he had remarked on her skills as a trader or navigator. She shook her head. Next she’d be hoping he found her attractive. Her limitations in the dainty and feminine part of life were as legendary as her skill with the sword.
‘I was never very good with the needle. Far too big and clumsy. My stepmother used to despair,’ she said, forcing her neck muscles to relax. If Hrolf thought he was going to humiliate her, he had another think coming. She’d long ago left behind the stringy girl who hid in the shadows praying that no one would notice her. She courted notoriety as it kept her ships and men safe. ‘The sword suits me better.’
He pushed off the wall, causing the dark blue velvet cloak he wore to swirl about his narrow hips. On his arms, there were at least three heavy gold arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that he was indeed as successful as the gossips implied.
‘Was that what the other night was about, adding to your legend?’
‘Preserving my family’s honour.’ She paused. ‘Perhaps a foreign concept to a sea king, but it counts for much in Svear.’
His eyes filled with ice. ‘Why did you kidnap Bloodaxe’s daughter?’
‘Harsh, when the woman went freely.’
‘People whisper that with one wave of your hand, the locks fell open and you used the full moon to cast a spell on her, turning her into a swan so she could escape undetected.’
‘If I’d done half the things claimed of me, I doubt I’d be standing before you. I’d be flying through the air to Constantinople on a pair of wings, as Kettil consistently refuses me a large enough ship to make that voyage,’ she said crisply, giving him the stare that normally managed to send men running for cover.
‘Why did you do it?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘The truth, because any games you choose to play, I will win. I make you that promise.’
Her mouth went dry and she bit back the words asking him what sort of games he had in mind. Instead she settled her features into a scowl. ‘My brother and his chosen bride deserved to be together.’
‘Any particular reason?’
She jerked her head towards where Blodvin and Regin stood waiting to hear their fate. ‘They make a handsome couple.’
‘Your brother should have challenged for the right. What good is a man if he cannot protect his wife and children?’
‘Blodvin made her own choice.’ Sayrid ignored his remark. ‘No man cheats my family.’
Hrolf’s eyes became deadly. ‘Strong words. How did precisely Ingvar the Bloodaxe cheat?’
‘When a bride price is agreed and paid, one expects the bride to remain available as long as she is willing.’
‘Payments can be returned.’
Sayrid gave a soft cough. ‘Next time ask around. Better still, ask the woman if she wants to be married to you.’
He slammed his fist against his open palm. ‘Bloodaxe swore there was no impediment.’
She rolled her eyes. It amazed her that a warrior such as Hrolf Sea-Rider would be inclined to believe Ingvar Flokison. But he’d been away in the East for a long time and perhaps had not thought to listen to gossip.
‘A man who constantly delivers light sacks of wool should always have his word tested.’ She poured scorn into her voice. ‘Didn’t you think to listen to the rumours and gossip before entering into negotiations? And you, a sea king with a reputation for quick thinking.’
A dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Women’s talk around the distaff and weaving loom?’
‘Men gossip far more than women. They just like to think they don’t.’
‘Truly?’
Sayrid ground her teeth. Hrolf was precisely like any other Northman—women were there to provide food, drink and pleasure only. She clenched her fists and regained control of her temper. ‘Listening and heeding dockside chatter saved my ship on my first voyage. We went a different way home and avoided the sea raiders.’
He instantly sobered. ‘What else did you learn, Valkyrie?’
Even now the hardship of that first voyage rolled over her—the storms at sea, the lodestone being washed overboard and the men who had tried to cheat her simply because she was a woman. And the others who gawped at her height.
‘Things far too countless to mention.’ She lifted her chin and adopted her no-nonsense voice. ‘I wish you good day, Hrolf Eymundsson. My family needs me to make this right.’
‘You care for your family more than your life.’
Sayrid shrugged. ‘You’ll find another bride, particularly as I’ve arranged for a feast after the Assembly to celebrate the marriage. I can suggest a name or two—women who are not spoken for and whose kinsmen are honest. I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake twice. Feuds ruin families.’
His piercing blue gaze locked on her mouth. ‘I make my own choices. Without interference.’
Her stomach flipped over. Nearly kissing him the other night had been a mistake. She should have gone for another approach like stamping on his foot. ‘I had only meant to be helpful.’
‘I look forward to speaking more after the Storting...if you intend on being helpful.’
Sayrid frowned. What sort of game was he playing? Men didn’t flirt with her. Perhaps he did really want introductions. Her heart panged slightly.
She made a breezy gesture. ‘We’ve no quarrel, you and I.’
His hand descended onto her shoulder. The touch seared through her wool tunic, making her insides do a giddy loop. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She moved away from him and sought to dampen down the bubbly feeling. This warrior was the same as the rest of them, worse even. Her father’s long-ago words about how she had little to recommend herself even to a desperate man echoed in her brain. ‘May you find the bride you truly desire, Sea-Rider. I wish you a long life and prosperity.’
‘And you, Shield Maiden.’
* * *
The large hall teemed with people. After so many years being in the East, Hrolf was pleased to be amongst his own people again. He’d done the right thing to come here and strengthen his alliance with Jaarl Kettil. This was the sort of place where a man could put down roots and where his daughter could be brought up safely.
‘Where did you get to?’ Bragi, Hrolf’s best friend and helmsman, asked in an undertone. ‘Jaarl Kettil remarked on your absence. I thought we were here so you can identify the man who stole your bride as Ingvar the Bloodaxe requested. We want this resolved.’
Hrolf made a temple with his fingers. Sayrid was correct. Unfortunately. He’d forgotten his father’s story about Bloodaxe and his failure to provide promised weapons on the battlefield until Sayrid mentioned the light wool sacks. And Bloodaxe’s daughter was very obviously pregnant. There was much more to this than he’d first considered. What was really going on? ‘I’m making sure that I understand the truth before I decide which cause to support. A man’s life is at stake.’
‘Who is that?’ Bragi asked as Sayrid marched to the front. Her cloak swung slightly, revealing a few curves, if one bothered to look. ‘Can anyone introduce me? Pray to the gods she is single.’
Hrolf frowned. Bragi would barely come up to Sayrid’s shoulder.
‘Sayrid Avildottar, shield maiden and in charge of the largest estate in the area after mine.’ Kettil spoke before Hrolf had a chance to answer.
‘Then she is single.’
‘Her father declared that she will marry no man unless he first defeats her in combat.’ The jaarl smiled slightly. ‘It suits my purpose to have her sword under my command, but she grows bold and makes demands. She wants to lead a felag to Byzantium. Imagine.’
‘Thor’s beard, she is tall,’ Bragi answered and added a slightly crude remark about the shape of her legs.
Hrolf fought against the urge to pummel his friend to the ground. It made no sense why he should feel protective of Sayrid. He barely knew the woman. For him, women were objects of beauty to be enjoyed while on shore. His uncle had taught him that lesson after his father’s death. The way to prosperity was never to allow a woman to interfere with the important business of making a fortune.
‘Only a brave or extremely foolish man makes remarks like that in her hearing.’ Kettil moved his finger in a slitting motion across his throat. ‘She takes offence easily. Her first voyage saw her defend her honour more than once.’
Bragi blanched. ‘I will remember that.’
‘Have many tried to win her hand?’ Hrolf asked. ‘Or was it only old men and beardless boys who tried?’
‘What, and face the ignominy of losing to a woman?’ Kettil shook his head. ‘If all my warriors were like her, I would be king of Svear and Götaland, instead of a jaarl in a backwater.’
‘There is good...but I’m exceptional.’ Hrolf permitted his lips to turn up. Sayrid the Proud was about to learn an important lesson.
* * *
The flock of butterflies that had settled in Sayrid’s stomach had turned into a herd of rampaging reindeer now that the Storting had started. Ingvar the Bloodaxe and his wife certainly looked the part of distraught parents. She risked a glance at where Hrolf Eymundsson sat with an impassive face.
‘Regin Avilson stole my daughter from me,’ Bloodaxe began with a distinct whine in his voice. ‘He took her from my farm without my permission. He had no right to set foot on my property. He should be declared an outlaw and my daughter returned. Hrolf Eymundsson was there. He will confirm that Regin Avilson forced my daughter to leave against her will.’
‘Objection!’ Sayrid cried. ‘Regin Avilson never set foot on Ingvar Flokison the Bloodaxe’s property. How could he have stolen her?’
‘If he didn’t, who did?’ Bloodaxe asked. ‘Who else set my daughter free from a locked barn?’
‘Why was your daughter locked up?’
‘I asked the question first! Who released my daughter from my barn? Who undid the lock?’
‘I did,’ Sayrid answered in a firm voice and stepped out in the centre of the room. All eyes turned towards her. She stood taller with her shoulders back, never allowing her gaze to falter. ‘I wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumour that Ingvar Flokison had decided against honouring our agreement of last spring. Going towards the farmhouse, I heard a cry for help. I unbarred the door. Blodvin Ingvardottar then ran out of the barn and down to the river. What happened after that, I couldn’t say, but she found her way to my farm and my brother, demanding sanctuary!’
‘Did anyone see you?’ the jaarl asked, giving her a hard stare. ‘Can anyone verify this?’
‘Hrolf Eymundsson did. We spoke briefly.’ Sayrid focused her gaze on Hrolf. ‘He can confirm my story. And once Blodvin was safe, I sent word to you. I’ve not attempted to hide anyone or anything.’
‘Time to hear from the independent witness,’ the jaarl declared. ‘What happened on that night, Hrolf Eymundsson? Give your impartial account.’
There was a sudden intake of breath and everyone turned towards Hrolf. His dark blue velvet cloak shimmered with self-importance. The torchlight caught the gold of his arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that here was a man who was accustomed to power. Sayrid concentrated on his face and willed him to tell the truth.
‘I encountered Sayrid Avildottar,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘There was a woman with her who ran off, but it was dark and I could not see her face. Later Sayrid went to the river and I lost her. These are the only people I encountered before Ingvar Bloodaxe arrived. I swear this on my sacred honour.’
Bloodaxe started bleating and whining about how it had to have been Regin, but the jaarl’s face grew ever more stern. Sayrid’s shoulders relaxed. Hrolf had told the truth. Regin was safe. And Bloodaxe would not start a feud with her.
‘If Regin Avilson did not capture your daughter and she ran away of her own accord, you’re not entitled to a fine,’ the jaarl pronounced. ‘Who among you believes that Blodvin Ingvardottar ran away of her own accord?’
Everyone except for Bloodaxe and his closest companions raised their hand.
‘Your request for compensation is denied, Bloodaxe.’
Bloodaxe stroked his chin. ‘As my daughter has run away, she is dead to me. I shouldn’t have to provide a dowry for her.’
‘She has married Regin Avilson. There was a prior agreement that they would wed and the bride price was paid,’ Sayrid argued. ‘The dowry includes all of the next bay.’
‘Why would anyone pay a dowry for a dead woman?’ Bloodaxe said as his wife sniffled noisily next to him. ‘My daughter ceased to exist the instant she decided to run. And her maid has been dealt with.’
Sayrid clenched her fists and concentrated on breathing steadily. Silently she promised to have the maid found and brought to her hall. She longed to draw her sword and start the feud for real, but if she did, she’d be made into an outlaw and all her lands would be forfeit. Some day she’d make him pay for the insult. ‘If that is the way you wish it. I would ask that Ingvar Bloodaxe pays me passage for the wool sacks my ships carried this summer as part of the bride price. Who would pay a bride price for a dead woman?’
The jaarl nodded. ‘A fair request. You will do this by the next Assembly, Ingvar. The matter is now closed and justice has been done.’
Bloodaxe muttered under his breath.
Sayrid raised her chin and carefully kept her face blank. Smug satisfaction would only rub salt into the wounds. Bloodaxe knew he’d lost. But the old miser would take his own sweet time in paying the amount owed. She’d be willing to wager gold on that.
Time to start making friends. Creating enemies benefited no one. She’d won. Regin was safe. She only hoped Blodvin was worth it.
‘I would like to invite everyone to a feast to celebrate my brother’s marriage to Blodvin the Fatherless.’
A loud cheering broke out in the hall, even amongst Bloodaxe’s supporters. Sayrid carefully schooled her features. Her instinct was correct. Everyone loved a marriage feast.
* * *
‘A word, Kettil, before the feasting begins.’ Hrolf prevented the elderly jaarl from rising as the hall cleared.
‘Your well-timed intervention prevented a bloody feud between two powerful families in this district.’ The older man inclined his head. ‘I salute your wisdom.’
‘I told the truth.’ Hrolf gave Kettil a hard look. ‘Something you should have done when I first enquired about Bloodaxe’s daughter. You encouraged me in the match when the woman was clearly besotted with another.’
‘Until a woman is married...’ Kettil waved a vague hand. ‘It can be, Sea-Rider, that maintaining peace is far harder than simply leading a felag. I was aware of the complications of the match, but not the depth of feeling between the pair. Young Regin is far from the sort of warrior I’d have chosen for my daughter if I had been blessed with a child instead of being cursed to love barren women.’
‘Is that so?’
‘After her father’s death, Sayrid promised he would become a good warrior, but I see little evidence of it.’
‘My problem remains. I desire a wife and land with a bay to keep my ships.’
‘You will have to seek her elsewhere.’
‘And the Shield Maiden? What is her dowry? Avil Ironfist was a considerable landholder.’
Kettil gave a short laugh. ‘Seek elsewhere. The maiden does not require a husband. She assures me of this every time she returns from one of her voyages. And she’d make a terrible wife. I doubt she knows one end of a loom from the other.’
‘How hard can it be to defeat a woman?’ Bragi asked. ‘Who has she fought in defence of her property? A few old men and beardless boys? If you won’t challenge for that prize, old friend, I will take the honour.’
‘Leave it, Bragi. Some things make poor jests.’
‘Do not think you are the first to covet Ironfist’s lands. She holds them well.’ Kettil raised a brow. ‘Sayrid is perhaps the best fighter I’ve seen. She’s quick and has a brain which is more than can be said for many warriors.’
Hrolf ground his teeth. The jaarl appeared to think that he was a green boy just returned from his first voyage, not a grown man who had spent years honing his battle skills. ‘Which goes to show that they are worth fighting for.’
Kettil clapped him on the back. ‘A solution will present itself. For now I will enjoy the time we spend together before you go in search of the land you seek. In time our mutual enemy Lavrans will be defeated but, I think, far from these shores.’
Hrolf schooled his features. Kettil had always intended this outcome. But he was disinclined to walk away from a challenge, particularly when the prize was attractive as Sayrid Avildottar.
* * *
Sayrid breathed in the still evening air. She twisted first one way, then the other, attempting to loosen the tight muscles in her back. The sounds of the feast echoed out on to the quiet street. The skald started the first verse of the saga of ‘The Sword Tryfling and the Shield Maiden’. It was apparently one of Blodvin’s favourites, but Sayrid hated everything about it. Shield maidens never found true love except in stories.
It had been a spectacular feast, despite Bloodaxe’s and his wife’s non-attendance. Although there had been the usual niggles of people objecting to the seating arrangements and several questioning the quality of the ale, by and large the meal had passed without incident. She wished that the feeling of foreboding would go and that she could relax.
A movement in the shadows made her start. She crouched, instinctively reaching for her knife. ‘Who skulks in the shadows? Show yourself!’
‘I do my best thinking in the shadows.’ Hrolf stepped forward. The torchlight picked out the planes in his face and the curve of his bottom lip. ‘You should be in there, toasting the happy couple, listening to the skalds and basking in the glory. Your impassioned plea for the lovers carried the day, Sayrid.’
Now was not the time to explain that such gatherings always unnerved her. Everyone always seemed to stare at just the time she knocked over the ale or laughed too loudly or accidentally banged her fist on the table. ‘Regin and Blodvin are fully capable of enjoying it without me.’
‘And what do you plan to do next?’
‘Fish, and try to convince Kettil to allow me to go east and down the rivers to Constantinople, instead of returning to Birka. You have been there, haven’t you?’
His face hardened in the dim light. ‘A hard journey. Many I’ve travelled with fell on distant shores.’
‘We need to go to the markets ourselves, instead of paying a premium for other traders to go. The Viken give an even worse return than the Götalanders.’
‘And Kettil disagrees?’
‘He refuses to fund me.’ She winced the instant the words emerged from her throat. It sounded like she was begging to be part of his next felag. She straightened her shoulders. ‘But one day, I will go as the leader of my own felag. I will get enough gold for the proper-sized ship.’
‘You are very determined.’ His soft voice curled about her insides. Sayrid concentrated on breathing. Hrolf was used to women falling at his feet.
‘Have you seen any pretty women to assist in your quest for a wife?’ she asked to distract her thoughts from the shadowy hollow in his throat.
He gave a rich laugh and took a step closer. ‘What is it about feasts that brings out the matchmaker in every woman?’
Sayrid carefully shrugged. ‘You must be seeking a wife or you would not have offered for Blodvin.’
‘I can find my own wife,’ he said without moving away. ‘My requirements are very exacting.’
His gaze honed in on her mouth as sure as an arrow shot from a hunter’s bow. The very air between them crackled with energy. She knew all she had to do was to lean forward and she’d see if his lips moving over hers matched her dreams.
A loud laugh punctuated the air and broke the spell. Sayrid rapidly stepped back. She hoped the shadows hid the burn in her cheek. If she’d given in to her impulse and kissed him, he would have recoiled in horror or, worse, laughed at her folly. How could she ever forget for a heartbeat what she was and what people thought of her?
‘Then I wish you every luck with that. I...that is we...should return to the feast. The skald has finished with the Tryfling saga.’
‘Together? Aren’t you afraid people will talk?’ His voice rippled over her skin, doing strange things to her insides.
‘About us?’ She made her voice drip with scorn. ‘Please give me some credit for knowing my reputation. Stealing kisses in the dark with a sea king would be dismissed as far too fantastical to be credited.’
‘Some people are blind.’ He put a firm hand on her back. ‘After you, Shield Maiden.’
The noise fell to a deafening silence as everyone turned to look at them. Several people’s mouths fell open and three women started whispering, putting their heads together and pointing.
One of the more drunken guests called out in jest that Hrolf the Sea-Rider was seeking to bypass the required challenge for her hand. Someone else took up the cry and the word ‘challenge’ reverberated from the rafters.
Sayrid’s cheeks burnt fire. She bared her teeth in a fierce scowl designed to silence the crowd.
When the jesters fell silent, she started towards her place. However Hrolf grabbed her elbow, pinning her to his side.
‘Keep still,’ he commanded.
‘Why? These people are best ignored. I am going to walk back to my seat and forget this ever happened. There will be no challenge.’
Hrolf held up his palm, calling for silence. The room became a sea of expectant faces. ‘There is something I wish to declare.’
Sayrid frowned. Hrolf couldn’t take these jibes seriously. A great hollow opened in the pit of her stomach. She knew what was coming next—humiliation as he made it clear that he had no interest in her. She twisted her elbow.
‘Let me return to my seat in peace.’
His face became hardened planes. ‘You might wish to stay.’
‘Doubtful. You have had your fun, now let me go.’ She took another step towards the high table.
‘Have it your way, but I did warn you.’
‘Go on, Hrolf the Bold. What does a sea king want with this feast?’ Kettil called from the high table where he sat with his wife. ‘What does he want from the Shield Maiden?’
Hrolf reached out and captured her wrist, pulling her towards him. She missed her step and went tumbling against his hard body. ‘I wish to take up Avil the Ironfist’s challenge and fight for the hand of his daughter.’
Sayrid stared at the large Northman in disbelief. She had to have heard wrong. He wanted to marry her? He desired her? What new form of torture was this?
‘Now I know you have had too much ale!’ she gasped out, pulling away from him.
‘There is only one way to win the hand of fair Sayrid,’ someone called out. ‘Fight her.’
He inclined his head, but the traces of an ironic smile touched his lips. ‘Any challenge of this nature needs to be issued in front of everyone. I’d no wish to disrupt proceedings earlier, but I’ve waited long enough. I will win the prize your father promised all those years ago.’
A hard knot formed in the base of her stomach. Her father’s words had been designed to teach her the ultimate lesson in humiliation. Was that what Hrolf desired also? She longed to see his arrogant face humbled.
‘Why? Because your chosen bride preferred another?’ she asked in a furious undertone. ‘Go ahead. Have your boorish joke, laugh about it with your friends and comrades, but I don’t fight with ale-soaked warriors. There is no sport in it.’
‘I assure you I’m quite sober.’ He tapped his fingers together. ‘But you do bring up a good point. You were responsible for me losing a bride. I require retribution. Will you fight and prove yourself worthy of the title or no?’
‘You think you can defeat me?’
‘There is one way to find out.’ His stone-cold eyes met hers. ‘Fight me.’
Sayrid stared at him in disbelief. This could not be happening to her. No man had wanted her. Ever. How many times had her father told her that? How many times had she heard the whispers which followed when she entered a new market town?
‘How do you answer, Sayrid Avildottar? The entire hall waits,’ the jaarl said. ‘A warrior such as Hrolf Eymundsson deserves a proper response when he issues a challenge.’
Sayrid swallowed hard. She hated that her pulse raced at the thought that Hrolf might want her. She rejected the idea instantly as absurd. Standing there, all arrogant in his sea-king finery, he was confident of victory and clearly planned to reject her as a wife after she’d lost. He’d then lay claim to the lands as the better warrior.
She jutted her jaw out. She knew how to fight and how to win. She could defeat any man, but she also knew about choosing her battles.
‘And your answer, Shield Maiden?’ Kettil enquired in a silken tone.
She took a deep breath. ‘My father died four years ago. That particular challenge has no relevance under our laws and customs.’
The entire hall erupted in pandemonium as people took sides. Kettil rapped his staff on the floor. ‘The maiden is within her rights. A dead man’s challenge does not have to be honoured.’
‘Then I make another.’ Hrolf’s eyes sharpened to daggers. ‘Sayrid Avildottar, I challenge for all the land you command against my ships and gold.’
Sayrid blinked. ‘What are you saying?’
‘If I win, your lands become mine. If you win, I go into your service and my entire fortune will be at your disposal for one year.’
The entire feast went silent. No one moved. Even the servants stayed still like frozen statues.
Sayrid clutched her hands together. Hrolf was offering her gold and ships. Enough to go to Byzantium? This was her opportunity if she was brave enough to take it. But...there had to be a catch. ‘No man wagers such a thing. Your entire fortune on one contest? Are you mad?’
‘Are you afraid to lose?’ Hrolf stood there, muscles taut, his face seemingly carved from ice. ‘Are you willing to admit I am the better warrior?’
Sayrid examined the floor. If she refused, Kettil would have grounds never to entrust her with a felag. He might even take the lands away on the pretext that Regin would never be as good a warrior as Hrolf. She could almost hear Kettil forming the words now.
How could she make sure her family was safe then? And if she accepted? Her heart beat a little faster. She could wipe the floor with him. Her earlier hesitation had been nerves.
‘Give me a moment. I need to consider.’
‘The offer is only good for tonight, Shield Maiden.’ Hrolf gave an arrogant laugh. ‘Time to test your powers against a real warrior, or are you afraid of the truth?’
‘The truth?’
‘You won’t fight because you know you will lose.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Because you have been living on a misplaced reputation and are past your best.’
She raised her head and met his stare head-on. ‘I’ve never run from a fight in my life. I accept with pleasure and I look forward to putting your ships to good use.’
His proffered hand was well shaped with long fingers and well-groomed nails, but it was also the muscular hand of a warrior. Sayrid gulped and returned his clasp with all her strength. She could defeat him, just as she had defeated every other man who tried. This time, she hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for it.
‘It is settled, then. We meet after dawn has broken.’
She started. ‘Why not now?’
‘I’d hardly wish to be accused of taking advantage of you...in the dark.’
Her face burnt as laughter rang out from the crowd. She balled her fists. That warrior would be laughing on the other side of his face when she was through with him.
‘In the morning, after the crow crows five times will be the proper time for the match,’ Kettil declared. ‘Sayrid has choice of weapons.’
‘I choose the sword and shield,’ Sayrid said.
Hrolf inclined his head. ‘The sword it shall be. I should warn you, Sayrid, I’ve never lost a bout which counted. Should you wish to withdraw before the match, we can agree terms.’
‘Why would I want to withdraw? I have yet to lose a match myself,’ Sayrid retorted, giving him a furious glare. She was fighting for her home and her family, he was only fighting for glory.
Sayrid sank down on a bench while pandemonium raged around her and everyone began laying bets on who would win. The enormity of what she had done sunk in. She was going to fight a sea king, someone who had carved his legend with his sword, not some youthful farmer who had never been in battle or a drunken warrior well past his prime.
And she had to win or else she’d lose everything.
