The Pirate Bride (25 page)

“Which of you is lord of this keep?” Thork had bellowed.

“I am,” said one of the men sitting at the high table on a dais with another man and two women, probably their wives. Both men stood and proceeded to come down the steps toward him. People throughout the hall stopped eating and drinking to see what was happening.

“I am Sigurd Torsson, and this is my brother Osten.”

“Where is Vermund?”

“How would I know? I am not my brother’s keeper. Ha, ha, ha. Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?” Belatedly, Sigurd had glanced toward the back of the hall and saw a dozen of Thork’s men, along with Guthrom, in full battle gear, lining up to block the door, in the event someone might make a foolish attempt to escape. If they failed to find Medana here, Guthrom would be off to Northumbria for assistance.

“I am Thork Tykirsson of Dragonstead. You may have met my father Tykir Thorksson . . . or his cousin King Harald.”

Sigurd had cocked his head to the side. “Why did you not say so? Welcome to Stormgard. Wouldst care to share a cup of ale?”

Was he serious? The lackbrain!
“I would not share a cup of anything with you. Where is Medana?”

“There is no one here by that name.” Sigurd had turned to his brother. “Is there, Osten?” Osten shook his head.

“You know very well who I mean. Geira. Your sister.”

“Ah,” Sigurd had said, about to give a signal to some of his
housecarl
s to come to his assistance.

“I would not do that if I were you.” Thork had put a hand on the hilt of his broadsword. “You and your brother would be headless afore they could reach me.”

Sigurd had gasped, and Osten blanched, putting a hand to his neck.

“Geira is not here, as you well know if you managed to get by my guardsmen outside,” Sigurd had said. “What do you want with our sister, anyhow?” Osten had asked.

“She is my betrothed.”
Well, almost. If I ever catch up with her, she will be. Mayhap. Nay, she definitely will be. After all, she called me a loathsome lout that last day.

“She never is!” Sigurd’s already florid face had filled with color. “She is betrothed to Jarl Leistr Adilsson.”

Ah, so that was the latest puppet they’d lined up. “Is that so? Has the king given his permission? The king who is my father’s cousin?”

He had thought about telling the men that Medana carried his child, but he did not know if that was the case now, or if it had ever been the case. Or if they might mistreat her even more if they suspected her of having shared his bed.

“Where. Is. She?” he had gritted out.

Sigurd had shrugged. “Probably off pirating or whoring, from what I hear of her recent activities.”

Sigurd’s ill-chosen comment had caused Thork’s fist to fly to Sigurd’s lackwit mouth. “That was for the scars on your sister’s back.” When he broke a stool over Sigurd’s head, he had proclaimed, “And that is because you are a
nithing
of a man who feels big only when overpowering women.”

A melee had broken out then with Thork taking on Sigurd, Guthrom going after Osten, and the rest of Thork’s
hird
fighting the Stormgard warriors who had been seated. It had not been a fight to the death. Thork needed the foul Torsson brothers alive if they were to find Medana’s whereabouts. There had been numerous injuries on both sides, though.

After that, Thork had gone to King Harald’s court, then to Hedeby and Kaupang and Birka, trying to get news of Vermund’s whereabouts, figuring his absence to be telling. He’d even approached Leistr’s holdings in the Danish lands, but the old man was absent. Lacking success in those places, he’d gone to Dragonstead, where his father had reported equal failure, though he was gathering support from his neighbors for the upcoming Althing. Then Thork had gone back to Stormgard, where he had posted guards to watch for the Torssons’ doings and any travels they might be making. Eventually they gave up.

It was as if Medana had disappeared from the face of the earth.

So now Thork was about to arrive at Vestfold, where he would meet up with his father and all their supporters to await the Althing. He and his father had tried submitting petitions to the king for an audience, but the king was overburdened with preparations for the Althing and kept putting them off.

Bolthor and Katherine had gone back to their home in Northumbria. The skald had promised to come back, if he was needed.

Guthrom and Starri were with Thork, plaguing him at every turn over what he should do when next he met Medana.

Believe me, I know exactly what to do when next I meet Medana. I am going to grab on to her and never let go.

There were already a hundred or more longships of various sizes lined up along the wharves of Vestfold and anchored a short distance out in open waters. The Althing was to begin tomorrow. His parents, who’d been there for days—bless their kind hearts—had saved a spot for him, and he and his seamen were able to maneuver the longship into a tight space.

Once he alighted and hugged both of them, his father said, “Medana’s case will be heard before the law court at the Althing two days hence. You will have a chance to speak after her brothers.”

He brightened at that. “Do you think Medana will be here?”

“I haven’t seen any sign of her or her brothers yet, but she is sure to be here for the court. Otherwise, I doubt the king will allow her case to be heard. He was not too fond of my requests that he absolve her in her absence, despite my continually reminding him of our blood ties,” his father related with a chuckle as they all began walking toward the king’s castle and beyond.

“ ‘Cousin? What cousin?’ King Harald kept saying. ‘This is the first I have e’er heard you brag of any kinship with me, Tykir,’ ” his father related with a loud guffaw.

The royal castle was a large one, but not large enough to accommodate all the people who were arriving. So a tent city was rising in the grounds beyond the castle for many hectares in the distance. That’s where they would be staying.

An Althing was a gathering of all noble Norsemen and freemen to discuss issues involving the country, usually their bloody Saxon enemies; to settle arguments; to arrange marriages; and to have a generally fine time with all kinds of entertainment. Thork did not feel one bit like being entertained.

As they walked through the pathways that had been made among the tents, he saw many wondrous sights. Vendors of all kinds sold everything from silver combs to silk fabrics, animals to longships, exotic fruits to homegrown honey. Craftsmen plied their skills on precious metals and rare woods. Music came from some of the tents, singing and instruments. Games were played. Horse races arranged. Wrestling matches. Gambling.

Starri stopped at one of them to speak with a very attractive woman with straight, pitch-black hair and a pearly complexion. A widow who had been a friend to Starri’s dearly departed wife, his mother told Thork with a twinkle in her green eyes.

His father was buying a flagon of wine from a drinks merchant to take back to their tent.

While they were waiting, his mother said, squeezing his arm, “I have a feeling that all will be over in a few days.”

“Yea, but will it be to my liking or not?” he grumbled.

“ ’Tis in the Lord’s hand now,” his mother prophesied.

He rolled his eyes. “I cannot stand by and wait for some celestial being to handle my problems.”

“And who said that you should? Pray to God, but sharpen your sword. That is my philosophy.” Even after all the years of living in the Norselands, his mother had never given up her Saxon Christianity.

“My sword is always sharp,” he grumbled some more.

“Ah, but there are swords, and then there are
swords
,” his mother said.

On that mysterious message, Thork decided to join his father at the drinks tent. He could use a beer . . . or twenty.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Breaking up is hard to do, even back in Viking times . . .

M
edana was in Vestfold. By the end of the day tomorrow, when she would appear before the law court, all would be settled.

Thork was here somewhere. She knew he was, but she could not think on that now. She girded herself with resolve. She would be strong. She would do what she must, even if it meant an end to any happiness she might have had with “the wildest Viking to ride a longship.”

She was walking now between her brother Sigurd and her betrothed Jarl Leistr Adilsson. Both handsome, albeit older, hardened men with a slash of cruelty about their square jaws.

But Medana was not the weak woman she’d been ten years ago. She’d demanded a private meeting with Leistr in which she’d promised to come to him willingly if he would “buy” Agnis and Egil from her brother.

“Why should I do that?” Leistr had snarled after grabbing for her and pressing hard kisses to her closed mouth.

“Because I can be a pleasing bedmate. Because, gods willing, I can give you sons, which you never got from your previous wives. Because I can make your home a pleasant, welcoming place for you to return to after going a-Viking or a-fighting.”

Adilsson had considered her words and apparently found some appeal because Agnis and Egil were now at Leistr’s estate under Osten’s watch, awaiting her wedding, after which they would become Medana’s thralls. As if she would ever keep slaves!

Medana was dressed today in fine raiment befitting her station, her brother having generously allowed her access to a trunk with her old garments. A violet
gunna
covered by an ankle-length, open-sided apron of dark purple samite silk in the Viking style. The
gunna
was pleated and trailed slightly in the back. The apron had matching gold pennanular brooches attached to the loops of both shoulders. On her feet were gold-embroidered purple slippers. Her blonde hair hung in a thick braid down her back, intertwined with pearls and amethysts.

She saw Thork before he saw her.

He, too, was dressed in the best finery. A deep green wool tunic brought out the green in his eyes. The tunic was belted at the waist over black braies and boots. His blond hair was clubbed back at the neck, calling attention to the thunderbolt earring in his one ear. He looked more the pirate than she had ever been. And, oh, she loved him so in that moment, so much that her heart clenched with pain.

Sigurd’s fingers pinched her upper arm, noticing the direction of her stare. “Remember Agnis,” he hissed at her. “You seal Agnis’s fate and that of her whelp. Some men at the slave marts have a preference for pretty boylings.”

She got the foul message and nodded.

It was Thork’s brother Starri who called his attention to her. Starri, the opposite of Thork in appearance, with his dark red hair and freckles, was nonetheless a handsome man. They’d been talking to a dark-haired woman with creamy, English rose type skin.

When Thork first saw her, his face brightened, but then he turned thunderous when he saw the two men at either side of her. Sigurd’s injuries had not yet healed, and his chin showed a decided dark bruise.

“Medana!” Thork exclaimed, coming up to her. “I have been so worried about you.” He went to reach for her, but her brother pulled her back.

“As you can see, my sister is fine. No need to worry. Have you met her betrothed, Jarl Leistr Adilsson? They expect to be wed next sennight.”

“Medana?” Thork asked. When she didn’t respond, he said, “You don’t have to do this.”

Yea, I do.
“It is my wish,” she lied, and made sure her eyelashes weren’t fluttering.

Thork gasped, and it almost seemed as if he had tears in his eyes. “We need to talk,” Thork insisted.

She knew he would not give up, so she turned to Sigurd and said, “I will speak to Thork for a moment. No need for concern.” And to her stony-faced betrothed, she said, “He needs to be told of our plans.”

They allowed her to step away with Thork, but she knew it would be for only a few moments.

“Thork, I am fine, as you can see. I appreciate all you have done for me, but I must go on now and do what is best for me and . . . for me and those I care for.” She gazed pleadingly at him, wanting him to accept her decision without being told details.

“What about me?” he asked.

“You?” She pretended not to understand. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. There is no baby.”

He flinched. “Did that miserable brother of yours cause you to lose the baby?”

“I do not think there ever was a baby,” she told him, which was partly true. There might not have been.

“I am so sorry,” he said, putting his hand on her arm.

He is sorry. Does that mean he wanted our baby? Oh, I cannot think about that now.
She shrugged away. She could not allow him to touch her, or she would be lost.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting as if you do not care. I know you do, you called me a loathsome lout in your message to Brokk that last day.” He smiled, trying to cajole an answering smile from her.

She girded herself not to react to his charm. “Why would you care?”

“Because I love you, you foolish wench?” he said in a voice low and husky with meaning.

She moaned softly, then straightened. “Nay, you do not. That is guilt speaking. And I do not love you, either. It is over, Thork.”

He stared at her, struck dumb by her assertion.

“There is one thing, Thork . . .”

He didn’t even respond. Just stared at her, coldly.

“I would appreciate all you could do for Thrudr.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You do not intend to go back? Ever?”

She shook her head. “The Norns of Destiny are leading me in a new direction.”

The expression on his face was one of both anger and confusion.

As she walked away, tears streaming down her face, which Thork could not see, she felt him staring at her back.

“It is done,” she told Sigurd and Leistr when she returned to them. “Please do not ever mention his name to me again.”

Later that night, Lady Alinor slipped into her tent. She put fingertips to her lips to warn Medana to speak softly.

“What is wrong?” Alinor asked right off. “Why have you rebuffed my son? He is in a
drukkinn
rage, at the moment.”

Medana shook her head sadly. “I cannot help him.”

“Can you help yourself, my dear?”

“That is exactly what I am doing.”

Alinor pondered her words, then glanced around the small tent. “Are you here alone? No maid?”

“Just me. My brother is in the next tent.”

“Not even the young woman and boy that were taken the same day as you?”

“Nay, they are not here. They are back at Leistr’s estate.” Medana averted her eyes when telling this. The old lady saw too much.

“Safe?”

She nodded.

“Just one question, Medana. Do you love my son?”

Medana could not answer.

But Alinor had gotten what she came for. She patted Medana’s arm and left, but not before advising, “Pray.” She was smiling.

It was a medieval version of
Law and Order
 . . .

The elderly, white-haired law speaker, Steinvor of Lade, stepped up to the dais of the massive, open-sided tent where the Althing court would be held. If she were not so scared, Medana would have been fascinated by the Althing procedure.

The king sat in the center of a long table on the raised platform, surrounded by more than a dozen jarls and minor kings who would help settle the disputes of the day. Among them was Thork’s father, Tykir, who looked down at Medana and winked. Tykir’s jewel-adorned raiment would have done any king proud. The wink jarred her, but only for a moment. She sat stoically between Sigurd and Leistr, both of whom had firm hands on her forearms as if she might jump up and run away. Not at this late date.

Steinvor rapped his staff on the wooden floor of the dais, a call to attention, not just to the hundred or so men assembled in the tent but to the many hundreds sitting out on the grassy slopes on either side. They all had weapons and shields to be used in the
vapnatak
, the weapon clatter, the way voting took place at an Althing. There were no women present, except for those accused and witnesses who might be testifying. Medana did not want to turn around and see if Alinor might be there, for fear she would see Thork and lose all her nerve.

“Hear ye, one and all. The law court of King Harald is about to begin. I will recite the laws of old so they will be remembered.” He commenced outlining the laws of the Norselands, the crimes and punishments. There were no written documents, so he would list one third of them today, from memory, and the other two thirds tomorrow and the next day in the subsequent law courts. Such things as the penalty for thievery, which was chopping off of a hand, or a fine so large that the person was unable to pay it. A witch could be stoned. Certain
wergilds
were assessed for various crimes, depending on the severity of the crime and the social status of the victim.

Finally, it was time for various cases to be heard. First up was a charge of adultery for which a man wanted recompense from his wife’s lover’s family. Not only was a public flogging of the woman levied, but her family would have to take her back home in disgrace. Her lover would have to pay an oxen and five mancuses of gold to the aggrieved husband, but no flogging for him. Male justice!

Next came two farmers who had a boundary dispute, which was settled by one having to pay the other for having pastured his cows on the other’s land. The evidence was cow piles the aggrieved man brought to the court, much to the amusement of the crowd.

A man who murdered a friend by pushing him off a cliff was let go with a stern warning. Apparently, both men had been
drukkinn
for days and equally to blame.

Finally, it was Medana’s turn.

The law speaker read out her accused crime. Murder.

To her surprise, Tykir stood and addressed the king. He was dressed in such fine attire, he could have been one of the minor kings. “I respectfully submit that this case be dismissed. The family of the dead man, Jarl Ulfr, has agreed to my family paying a
wergild
of five hundred mancuses of gold. In return, we will
not
ask for a
wergild
on Lady Geira of Stormgard for rape and bodily assault.”

For a moment, Medana forgot that she was Geira.

“
What?
” Sigurd shouted as he stood and shook a fist in the air. “What right has this family to interfere in my family’s business? Geira is my sister.”

King Harald, already bored with the morning’s events and anxious to be off to something more entertaining, like enjoying his new third wife, asked, “Does that mean, Sigurd, that you would prefer to pay the
wergild
on your sister’s behalf?”

“Well, nay, but . . .” Sigurd’s face was red with humiliation. Everyone knew how tight-fisted Sigurd was with a coin, and now they also knew how little he valued his sister.

“Let us take a vote,” the law speaker said.

The air was filled with the loud weapon clatter.

“The matter is now settled,” the law speaker proclaimed.

“Next?” the king prodded the law speaker.

“Wait,” Sigurd yelled. “I need the king’s permission to arrange a marriage between my sister and Jarl Leistr Adilsson.”

“Why would you need my permission?”

“Because we wish to grant Jarl Adilsson my sister’s dower lands at Snow Pines as part of the marriage settlement.”

“You wish to break the Odal rights?” the king homed right in to the heart of the matter. “Are there any objections?”

Thork stood and glared their way. “You are bloody damn right there are objections.”

“And who are you?” the king asked as Thork stepped forward.

“Your . . . um, cousin,” Thork said, addressing the king. “Twice or thrice removed. I think.”

“Another close relative I ne’er knew about?” the king said to Tykir.

“Exactly. He is my son,” Tykir proclaimed proudly from the other end of the dais table.

“And what have you to do with this case?” the king asked Thork.

“Medana . . . I mean Geira . . . is my betrothed.”

“Wh-what?” Leistr sputtered, standing in outrage. “She is
my
betrothed.”

The king rolled his eyes. “Things are becoming clearer and more confusing.” He sighed and motioned to Thork. “Go on, explain this situation to me. And make it quick. My stomach is growling.”

“This man,” Thork said, pointing to Sigurd, “sorely abused his sister over the years and then offered her in a marriage to a man known for his perversions. I will not go into details here, to spare the deceased’s family, but they were well-known at the time.”

“That is not true. I did what was best for my willful sister,” Sigurd contended.

“Does anyone want to know what I have to say?” Medana said, standing between her brother and Leistr.

“Nay!” the king and most of the men shouted.

“Women do not speak at Althings,” the king declared. “Sit down.”