Randvior Sirgurdson walked along the perimeter of the fore building overlooking the courtyard. Here the heaviest concentration of English defenders guarded the entrance to the castle, and
here
is where most of them perished. He acknowledged their bravery—never failing to recognize men who fought gallantly, although quite foolishly. Outnumbered five to one, at least forty broken bodies were being stacked along the back wall. He’d let the English bury their dead, only after the details of
surrender were agreed upon.
After he’d called for a truce, several skirmishes had broken out. His captains put an end to them nearly as quickly as they’d started. A complete waste of time in his mind; why risk his men’s lives if he could negotiate terms and bring the castle under his control without bloodshed. In the old days, he would have fought until the last English dropped. After fifteen years of raiding, he was exhausted—finished with pillaging and murdering. His father spent too much time and money on his education and training to piss it away.
My sights are set on the future, where seafaring will be altered forever.
Christian kings were uniting in an effort to defend against foreign invaders. Soon, Norway would face its own challenges—the White Christ had already claimed many converts in the south.
Quick and calculated strikes yielded the most rewards now.
Of course, it helped that
the lord of
this
castle sired a known coward for a son.
He left Aud Magnusson, his most trusted captain, in charge and headed for the great hall. There were many things to discuss. Gold, silver, and a ravishing beauty that caught his attention the moment she appeared on the landing inside the hall. Praise Odin for favoring him this night. He even considered exercising his excellent manners—taught by the best English tutors during his childhood. He could perfectly emulate the speech and behavior of the most refined English gentleman at will. What he never fully grasped was their effeminate nature.
In spite of his limited patience, he entered the hall with good intentions. Confirm reasonable terms and go home. A huge commotion broke out somewhere near the back. He rushed past guards and women—pushed his way to the stairs. The dark bastard he recognized as the heir had a knife in his left hand and a woman’s long hair coiled around his right. She struggled to stand, but he kept her bent over in front.
“What’s going on here?” Randvior queried.
“This woman has no respect for authority. She’s a disobedient bitch,” Brian said.
“Drop the knife,” he spoke dangerously low, poised for attack.
“Take another step and I’ll cut the hag’s throat.”
Constructed mostly of stone, the castle would survive a fire. But countless wood outbuildings, alcoves, rafters, and floors might fuel one for hours. The closer Noelle came, the stronger the stench of scorched wood. Men were scrambling in the courtyard still. Through the thin torchlight, she could make out bodies on the ground—some wearing her father’s colors and others dressed in chain mail.
Getting inside was going to be a challenge. There were only two entrances—the main doors and the entryway along the north end. She hadn’t been to that side in a long time. The castle was a sprawling mass and the newest quarters to the north served as barracks for her father’s army, close to the cellar.
Convinced she was out of danger at the present, Noelle emerged from the woods and hurried across the clearing. She stayed close to the wall while taking measured steps. Halfway around the wall it started to snow. Her feet were already freezing cold and wet.
Loathing swelled inside her. Not knowing the extent of damage to her home was the hardest thing to accept, and now a throbbing headache threatened to slow her down. Whatever inspired men to conquer and take what didn’t belong to them didn’t matter, she knew greed and lust drove them to sin, and very little inspired them to seek forgiveness. These invaders were godless heathens, soulless barbarians.
Noelle stopped and crouched to catch her breath. Part of her wanted to run into the open, waving her arms like a madwoman casting spells, and send them slithering back to their ships in fear. Only in legends . . .
Noelle put her head in her hands and covered her mouth to stifle a scream. She prayed fervently for guidance and strength. She deeply regretted running away before knowing where her sister was. She had acted in haste and forgotten everything her father had taught her.
Upon finding renewed perseverance, she stood.
Only a hundred more yards to the cellar door.
A frigid wind cut through her cloak, chilling her to the core, and she ran the rest of the way. She peered around the corner. The north side of the castle was near the water, separated by a narrow strip of beach. The cursed vessels she’d spied from her windows were closer. Noelle touched her fingers to her heart and lips and pledged to forever hate the man who commanded those ships.
These ships had a different kind of grandeur about them. They called them dragonships because of the sleek design. Rumors claimed hideous effigies were carved into the bow and stern to ward off evil spirits. From where she stood, Noelle saw none. But that ruddy warrior in the hall could rebuff Satan himself—who needed carvings when mortal men looked like that?
Fear of those murderers using their superior numbers to overpower and torture members of the household haunted her as she crept forward.
If these were the same men who raided villages to the north, only a few months ago, all hope was lost. Those ghastly fiends pushed farther inland than ever before and burned everything in sight. They murdered dozens of monks and priests and stole holy relics. She tilted her head back to take in the full extent of the sail on the closest vessel. Begged Christ, she had been wrong the first time she saw it. The outline of the dragon glowed overhead like an ominous sign in the heavens
.
She lowered her gaze.
Sticky wet sand and snow clumped on the soles of her slippers as she paced anxiously. Believing them Vikings was one thing, confirming it another. And it had taken her too long to get there. Over an hour if her internal clock was working. No more useless deliberation. She had a specific goal.
As she made to take the last step in the direction of the cellar door, her legs tensed so tightly she feared she couldn’t move.
My home. My family. My life.
Male voices sounded from somewhere close by. Or maybe they were deceptively carried on the wind. Every nerve ending in her body pulsed warning. The noise eventually faded, and Noelle eyed the door. Hand resting on the knob, she went inside.
It seemed the young master of Durham lacked any moral sense. Randvior felt anger coiling inside as he threw Brian a measured look.
Threatening to slit a woman’s throat for disobedience is a coward’s way. Apparently his reputation is based on more than just rumors.
Randvior felt nothing but contempt and wished he’d never offered terms. His mercy had been wasted on the likes of this spineless creature.
Although the woman was English, he didn’t wish to provoke Brian. Innocent blood benefited no one. He chose a less menacing stance. Not one Englishman challenged the heir as he tightened his grip on the dagger and pressed it against the woman’s silky throat.
“Let me go . . .” she said.
“Not a chance,” Brian answered.
“You may think this is what you want, but you’re not thinking straight.” Her pleas made no difference.
The blade stabbed, cutting off her words as she sank to the ground at his feet. Blood pooled around her slim body.
Gasps resounded through the crowd, and a low growl escaped Randvior. He nearly pulled his weapon, hungered to chop Brian down like a cluster of weeds. But his hands were tied—bound by a promise to spare the wretch’s skin.
And Randvior Sigurdsson had never broken an oath in his life.
Chapter 2
Flesh and Blood
Noelle had vague memories of playing games in the storage rooms as a child. But as the years passed, they served a higher purpose—a sanctuary away from her brother’s growing insanity. Brian’s black reputation drew battle lines across Durham. Some men respected him, but most feared him. Her father did nothing to intervene.
Sons deserved absolute freedom, not daughters.
She stepped off the landing, surprised to find dozens of torches in floor stands down the main hallway. Someone had already searched there. Maybe for her or her sire’s gold. Noelle picked her way along the corridor, relying on the walls to provide the support she needed to keep going. As she reached the end, she could hear men talking above stairs.
Such a long way up.
One step, two, and three
, she counted, then climbed. The closer she came to the top, the more heated the conversation grew. Heavy footsteps pounded on the other side of the door, making her fidgety—even tempted her to consider a full retreat. Apparently, the battle was over, but the fight had just begun.
She prayed her brother managed to hold off the aggressors. Or perhaps he was dead and they were fighting over plunder—indulging in what pleasures her home had left to offer. She didn’t care about Brian’s fate at the moment. What she
did
think about were the women and how these bastards might rape them. Her body tingled with nervous anticipation and she froze at the door. Cautiously, she cracked it open.
Brian’s distinct voice sounded above the others. She scowled, while straining to hear exactly what he was saying.
My God!
Noelle nearly fainted. Did he really just reveal the locations of her father’s gold and silver? Caches hidden strategically around the castle in hopes no one would find them. Pushing the door wide, she managed to sneak across the threshold unnoticed. She hid in a curtained alcove. From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the long table situated in the center of the room. Brian sat on a bench by himself facing her direction. Five men were seated opposite, clearly interrogating him. Any lingering doubt she had clung to, that might prove her original theory wrong, disappeared. Judging by their armor and long hair, she knew who these men were.
Noelle studied her brother’s appearance more carefully. Unscathed. Not a single mark on his body that she could see. Maybe he never had the chance to fight. But something didn’t feel right.
A Norse sentry, with a broadsword in his left hand, stood at an angle six feet away. A second man of equally intimidating proportion paced nearby,
keeping his eyes fixed on the table. Her father’s men were corralled in a corner, and the women were standing together along the east wall. Much to her delight, John was still alive. Faithful John, who had protected her and Margaret so gallantly, looked a bit frayed around the edges.
The room grew insufferably hot and she mopped her forehead with her sleeve. Did her brother just agree to give these pigs three women as bargaining chips for leniency? Her eyes zigzagged across the table. She considered the loose parchment, ink bottles, and quills. Bottles of wine, too, at least eight were open. Her father’s favorite vintage. She recognized the bluish-white labels attached to the necks. What would he offer next, a place for these animals to bed the women?
Brian shifted in his seat as his eyes casually perused the room. She shut the curtain, afraid he might discover her. Noelle blew out a frustrated breath. Slow torture seemed a better fate than witnessing his cowardice. Bargaining continued and her brother was on his way to securing his freedom. She peeked out again. One of the negotiators now demanded thirty able-bodied men as compensation for the fighters he had lost during the siege.
“No more than ten of your own perished,” Brian countered. He spoke without conviction.
“Aye,” the Viking confirmed. “One of my men’s lives is worth at least three of yours.”
Noelle’s agitation piqued. She pulled the material wider and stared beyond her brother, at John. Dry blood crusted his face and his left arm was in a sling. Other men were seriously injured, a few resting on pallets on the floor. Even some of the women were nursing wounds.
“This is indecent . . .” She spoke aloud.
Before she realized what was happening, a pair of hands reached inside and extracted her from the enclosure. She jerked violently and broke free. The struggle attracted the attention of the men sitting at the table. She had a few choice words for them; and as for her brother, he deserved the worst of it. Her first duty was to protect her family’s interests and, if she were given a choice in the matter, she would dispute any stipulations.
Brian walked toward her as the guard manhandled her into custody. “Where were you?” he demanded. “Several men searched the woods and beach—we found Margaret and her companions over an hour ago and brought them back.”
“I’ve been close enough to overhear
everything
you said.”
Noelle squealed when the guard lifted her off the ground from behind. She kicked, but it made no difference. The man hugged her closer and laughed. She wanted to rip his flesh from bone. Instead, she reached between his legs and grabbed a handful of his ballocks. Twisted so hard every muscle in his body stiffened. He hollered like a stuck pig and let go.
She landed on her knees, hands barely breaking the fall. As she looked up, guards closed in around her with their backs facing in.
“Murderers—thieves!” she screamed. Laughter rolled around her, and much to her annoyance, this all seemed nothing more than a form of entertainment for them.
She stood and paced like a caged animal, couldn’t see beyond the ring of bodies. But she knew where Brian waited and prayed for him to intervene on her behalf.
He didn’t.
“Where are my sisters?” She let her anger take hold.
“Margaret is upstairs,” he replied. “I told you
all
the women were accounted for, save you. Now quit this foolishness and act like a proper lady.”
What absurdity.
We are prisoners in our own home and at the mercy of wicked interlopers, and he dares to command me to act like a lady?