Her Heart's Surrender Read online

“Where are you going?” Hella rose too, throwing on his clothing. “You’re not leaving this room.”

  “Oh, I’m not? How do you propose to stop me, your grace?” She balled her hands into fists. “The Bloody Raven thought he could order me about, but he quickly learned I’m not easily tamed.”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t want to tame you. I want you to cooperate, to understand I have your best interests at heart.”

  “No? It’s your fault I’m here, your fault I’ve been a vikingr captive since childhood. Forgive me if I care what happens to our people. To you. Ingvar enjoyed reminding me I’m not one of you, but I have no one else. I don’t want any harm to come to anyone in the villages you command.” She turned her back to him. “I won’t stand motionless while jarls and frús make a fool out of you.”

  “No one is. If you must know, Njord sent his sons to his brother in the Frankish empire. There are rumors of an army coming this way. I’ve sent men to discover if it’s true.”

  She faced him again. “One of the Briton lords is rebelling?”

  Hella shook his head. “A Saxon named Diarmaid.”

  Her knees weakened. She grasped the foot of the bed. “Kentigern?”

  “So he claims. Njord tried to warn my father, but he wouldn’t hear it. It may not be true. Njord is over-worried for his family’s safety.”

  “Diarmaid is my brother. He wouldn’t...he doesn’t know I’m alive.” Her head swam. “You have to send a messenger to talk to him.”

  “Ealasaid.” Pity and disbelief colored Hella’s tone. “He wouldn’t waste valuable time reading my message or hear excuses from a messenger.”

  Frantic, she knotted her hands together. “Your father created the hatred in him. You have to do this. For me. For Birgir.”

  “I will not. I’ve done all I intend to do until we hear some word from the men I sent to learn the truth. Do you think he’d forget his plans to murder his old enemies if he learned you were alive? Your sisters may be too, for all we know. He isn’t seeking out family, he’s trying to kill Norsemen.”

  “If you don’t do something more, he will. You promised to keep Birgir safe in agreement for my hand in marriage. He’s your responsibility.” She bit the end of her tongue. “I can’t bear the thought of him suffering the way I have. You can’t imagine how my life changed when your people came to kill mine.”

  “Don’t,” he said. “I won’t have you mock my father this way. I’ve made amends for what happened to you.”

  “You’ve tried, but I will never forget.” The pain of her past lingered, a dark shadow casting doubt over the hopes she’d dared cast. She’d never be free from thoughts of Ingvar. “I asked one thing of you when we entered this marriage agreement. You swore my son would be safe. Now you must uphold your words.”

  “It does Birgir, or anyone, little good to ride for Diarmaid’s camp if he takes my head,” Hella snapped. “I won’t rush into anything and risk endangering the lives of my people or myself.”

  “No, you wish to wait and allow him to come to us. Where will we run if his army overpowers your men?” Fear gnawed at her. Why couldn’t he understand a peace treaty would benefit them well before the threat of war? “You must listen to me.”

  “You know nothing of war, Ealasaid. I’ve faced worse enemies and odds more dire than those your brother presents.” Hella balled his fists. “Leave the battle strategies to me. You have a child to coddle.”

  “You sneer, but until our wedding day, he didn’t have another person to depend on. If you die, my child will not have anyone to raise him into a proper adult.” Her heart couldn’t take Hella’s loss either, but with her anger so strong, her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  “That should please you, because if I take his care into my hands, you might suffer another stubborn vikingr man until he’s old enough to seek his own household.”

  Furious, she turned away. “Go on and admit you don’t want him. You never wanted him in our lives.”

  “Ealasaid.” He gripped her shoulder and spun her to face him. “That’s untrue.”

  “It isn’t. I saw the way you looked at him when he brought bread the night your father died. You disliked him instantly.” Tears burned the back of her eyes. “I know the truth.”

  Hella’s jaw jutted and his mouth twitched as though he couldn’t pull the right words from the air. “I admit, I wasn’t fond of seeing you with my father’s child.”

  Her fingernails bit into her palms. “He’s mine, not Ingvar’s. Birgir never belonged to that lowly dog. He attempted to kill my son before his birth.” She traced the scar on her abdomen. “And after, he made certain I could have no more. You and I will never have one of our own.”

  Hella’s eyes glinted like steel. “If I hadn’t been away—”

  “You wouldn’t have killed him. Ingvar was a beast but your father nevertheless.” She hung her head. “When I was round with child, your father shoved me in the courtyard. Birgir came almost a fortnight early and decided to live. It was my duty to ensure he survived thereafter.”

  “He’s unlike my father in all the important ways,” Hella said. “You’ve taught him well. Given time, he will grow into a good man.”

  She met his gaze again. Some of her anger dampened. “Does it pain you to admit it?”

  Hella took her hands in his. “No. I admire your son, and I would be honored if you allowed me to call him mine as well.”

  Ealasaid’s mouth dried. “You would do that?”

  “I made an oath to you. A good king keeps his word. We are a family.”

  “You’re many things, a good king and fine husband included.” She pressed her hands to his chest. Beneath her right palm, his heartbeat hammered quick as bird wings.

  “I’d like to be the one who tells him.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Of course. It will mean more if he hears it from you.” Despite her fears of Diarmaid on the loose, riding this way to kill them, happiness threatened to overwhelm her. Ealasaid wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Thank you, m’lord. You’ve not only given Birgir a gift, but me as well.”

  He kissed her forehead. “The first of many, I hope. I’ll return shortly.”

  “Wait a moment.” She licked her fingertips then wiped the dirt from his cheek. “There, now you’re presentable.”

  He grimaced and stepped away. “It’s been a long time since a woman dared clean my face in such a manner.”

  “You don’t mind blood and gore, but spittle makes you cringe, my brave warrior king.” She laughed. “Go on, find Birgir before Ulrika ushers him to bed.”

  “When I return, I expect to find you ready and waiting again, little lamb.”

  His sinful grin made her heart race. “How can I ignore a direct order from my king?”

  “I expect you’d find a way to bend my words if it suited you.” He slipped beneath the curtain, leaving her alone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hella lowered himself to the ground beside Birgir outside Hilmir Hall under the light of a glowing torch. Shaky drawings of animals stretched in front of the boy. He ran a slender stick through the dirt and created the lines of a horse.

  Hella studied the pictures. “Are you drawing our animals?”

  Birgir nodded. “There’s Alfr, Skjótr, Vigr, and Rifa. Some cats and sheep too.” He tapped each drawing with the stick. “See?”

  He possessed many features similar to Ingvar’s but some of Hella’s too. No matter what he looked like, he’d proven himself to be a good boy, smart and helpful. Someday, when he was old, he’d need good men like Birgir to carry on his people’s ways.

  “Well done. I see the majestic arch of Skjótr’s neck.” Hella tilted his head back and gazed at the sky. A few stars dotted the inky blackness. How would Birgir take the news of adoption? He’d compared them—both with dead fathers, but Birgir had never mentioned desiring one. “Tomorrow, I must help the other men butcher hogs to smoke for meat this winter. You can co
me. It’s not too early to learn the proper ways. Someday, it will be your responsibility to oversee the harvest.”

  Birgir’s eyes widened. “Mine?”

  The child’s innocent question made him laugh. “Aye. Yours. You don’t want to let your people down, let them starve in dead winter, do you?” He picked up another stick and drew his house sigil next to Birgir’s animals. “This is the elkhound, the current symbol of our clan. My father’s was a red raven, also the symbol of his father’s house when they lived overseas. I wanted to be different, better. I chose it because hounds are loyal but also fierce protectors. Someday, you may also use the hound for your symbol, or you may pick your own.”

  Birgir cocked his head. “I don’t think my father had a sigil. We wouldn’t have been thralls if he had been a noble. But my grandfather the Kentigern used a bull.”

  The Kentigern’s banners burned the night Ingvar’s men raided Suibhne. The bull yielded to the raven in blood and ashes. “Your grandfather is dead and his flags no longer fly. My father defeated him and put the Kentigern to death. You understand? It’s dishonorable to fly a bull banner in a Norse village.”

  “Yes,” Birgir whispered. “Ma told me how he couldn’t protect the settlement. Many people died that night. I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it.”

  “Battles are terrible and many good men die in them, but we fight when we must. Stronger men more suited to rule this land took over. The hound is the symbol of my rule here.” He drew in a deep breath. “I am king and you will be someday.”

  Birgir frowned. “I can’t be, because you’re going to name Erik, but Ma said you’ll train me to be a jarl. It’s an honor, she says, since we were slaves before.”

  Hella held Birgir’s gaze. “Erik is my brother and my closest friend. However, I’ve made my decision. We’re family now. You will be king in my stead.”

  Birgir’s fingers tightened around the stick. His pale blue eyes widened. “Me? Are you sure?”

  Hella nodded. “My word is law.”

  “I’ll try hard to be a good king.” The boy lowered the stick the ground. “Though I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll teach you.” The weight of his words struck him hard. He would raise this boy to be a great leader. Someone he would be proud to call his son. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m grateful for you. I could not have asked for a better child.”

  “I didn’t like the old king.” Birgir pulled at his earlobe and stared across the village. “He used to hit Ma. She would say she’d fallen, but I saw him. She taught me striking someone out of anger is wrong.”

  Hella gritted his teeth and nodded. “She’s right. I wouldn’t hit her for any reason, and you wouldn’t either. We don’t strike others who deserve our respect. Your mother is brave, and I won’t permit her to be hurt any longer.”

  The boy’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Can I call you Da?”

  “Aye.” An unexpected knot grew in his throat. Ealasaid said he’d given her a gift by accepting her son. The hopeful expression on Birgir’s face tugged at Hella. “I would be honored if you did.”

  Birgir grinned. “Will they call me Birgir Hellason?”

  “They will. I will proud to hear it.” He would never treat his son as Ingvar had treated him. There would be no tribute, no demands that Birgir give his property away. Whatever the boy earned, he would keep and add it to his great legacy.

  “Me too.”

  Hella pulled Birgir to his chest in a hug. “It’s growing late. Find Ulrika and have her ready your bed. Tomorrow we’ll tell all of Freysteinn the good news.”

  * * * *

  The leaves of the apple trees in the orchard were curling and beginning to show the first signs of withering as autumn descended. Hella climbed into a tree, settled on a branch, and plucked the apples in reach, tucking them into a bag. Below him, Birgir inspected the fallen fruit for good flesh.

  Since announcing Birgir as his heir, the boy hadn’t ceased following him. He took everything Hella taught him seriously. In the evenings at meals, he recounted his knowledge to Ealasaid. She beamed with pride and praised him for remembering the details.

  With his family life comfortable, the peaceful days at Freysteinn seemed endless. Ealasaid ceased her worried talk, although he often caught her staring into the distance as though trying to guess if Diarmaid would arrive soon. To combat her fears, he’d sent riders to the closest villages for word of an approaching army. Thus far, there wasn’t any word of impending danger.

  “Da?” Birgir stood at the base of the tree, one small hand on the trunk, gazing through the leaves. His face twisted with anxiety. “Erik’s coming on his horse, fast.”

  Hella peered through the leaves. The dark bay his brother rode tore through the path in the trees. Those helping harvest ducked out his way and yelled curses as Erik passed them.

  Erik slowed the horse then leaned down near one of the men. “Where is Hella?”

  The man pointed.

  Erik dismounted and thrust the reins at the worker. “Get down, you brute. This is urgent. Diarmaid has attacked Kilsarn, six days’ ride southeast of here.” Erik wiped sweat from his forehead. “He left nothing behind except mutilated heads on pikes. The entire village burned. He took no prisoners. A single farm boy managed to escape. The Saxon bastard is headed this way.”

  Hella jumped from the tree. His blood ran cold at Erik’s description. Gods help us. “How many men in Freysteinn?” They’d brought forty villagers including ladies and female thralls.

  “Not enough to form an army in so little time.” Erik shook his head. Dark hair slithered over his shoulders. “Two hundred fifty at best.”

  “How many march with Diarmaid?”

  Erik’s black expression intensified. “The boy who escaped can’t count. A thousand, two thousand. It hardly matters. There are more than we could hope to produce. It would take our allies far too long to join us.”

  Hella’s head pounded. A Pictish chieftain had controlled Kilsarn, but it had been a place of good trading. “Send a rider to Solstad. I need Bjorn to conscript as many men willing to fight as he can and march them here. Give the rider the swiftest horse we have. When the men arrive, they will receive food and further instructions. They’re to march through the night. Today, we must continue with the harvest. If we can fortify Freysteinn, hold them back, we will have enough food to sustain us.”

  “I’ll have Jarl Njord tell his men.” Erik turned toward his horse.

  Battle rage with a hint of fear welled in Hella’s chest. He’d bring in Diarmaid’s head himself. “Not yet. Send him to me at Hilmir. There are things we must discuss. Make certain our rider goes to Solstad within the hour.”

  “My king.” Erik inclined his head, then left.

  “Da, is someone coming to hurt us?” Birgir clutched an apple. “What will we do?”

  Hella scrubbed his hand over his face. He’d given up raiding years ago in favor of trading and exploring. The need for adventure and discovery carried him to Rus and Frankish lands. His father’s long illness put an end to his desire for travel. Duty to his people came first. He never went without his sword, nor ventured far without his mail. Foolish hope to think he wouldn’t need it again in his lifetime.

  “Don’t fret. You stay here and continue to work. Remember how important this is.” He ruffled the boy’s soft hair. “Do me proud.”

  Birgir frowned but nodded. “I promise.”

  “Good kings keep their word.” He offered Birgir a tight smile. “I have to return to Hilmir for a bit, but I’ll come for you before the midday meal.”

  “All right.” Birgir presented the apple. “It’s near perfect, just fell too soon. Only a little bruise here. You want it?”

  His stomach rebelled at the idea of food. “What if I give it to your mother for you?”

  “She’ll like it. Be careful, Da.” Birgir passed him the apple, adjusted the strap attached to the sack he carried, and returned to the tall grass where fruit might be hidd
en.

  The boy didn’t understand the danger an army presented them. Hella’s own sense of safety in the world vanished when he’d faced his first day of sword training. Azurr Agmar had placed a sword in his hands in Hella’s tenth summer and taught him to fight.

  He wanted to create a safer world for his son.

  * * * *

  Njord waited for him in the hall. “I told you they were coming, my king. We should have acted when you arrived.”

  “We should have acted before Ingvar died,” Hella snapped. “We don’t have time to gather an army the size we would need to defend against him. Our best hope is to protect our villages and pray winter sets in early. It should drive them away, or, at best, they’ll freeze to death on the land they’ve desecrated.”

  “We should harvest what we can, Hella, and send the women and children to Solstad. Diarmaid will have to march through us to get there. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to destroy one of your villages.”

  Hella nodded. “Call a meeting, have the people gather in the village center. It’s time they knew of their enemy.”

  “Of course, my king.”

  They arrived outside in time to see Erik sending off one of the men on the road to Solstad. His adopted brother’s brow furrowed. Erik’s expression mirrored the worry building a nest in Hella’s stomach.

  Many men would die if Diarmaid proved to be as cruel and unrelenting as the rumors said. Many more would die if the serpent dared cross into Norse territory without fear of retribution. Their numbers might be small, but the men sworn to Hella would fight with every ounce of courage in them. The stakes were their lives, the lives of their families. The risk was death, but the reward no small thing. If Diarmaid came, dozens, perhaps hundreds of men would greet the Valkyries with open arms and allow themselves to be escorted to Valhalla.

  No Norseman would lie down and refuse to fight with such a great prospect awaiting him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Diarmaid. Alive and angry somewhere beyond Freysteinn’s border. A mixture of emotion warred in Ealasaid’s mind. Should she be afraid because the rumors said he planned to attack or happy because he lived? Would she know him if their paths crossed or would he be a stranger? There was no proof the man bearing down on the village was her brother. The name wasn’t uncommon, but people whispered of a banner bearing a charging bull. Those rumors were enough to make her believe her brother marched to get his long-awaited revenge on the Norsemen who had destroyed his home.