Tempted by Her Forbidden Warrior
Auteur·e
Michelle Styles
Lectures
18,1K
Chapitres
15
In a time when alliances mean the difference between life and death, will a Viking's forbidden relationship with a Celtic warrior threaten her kingdom's future? The warrior she shouldn't want But can't resist! Viking Sibba has traveled to a Scottish island to attend a king's wedding and maintain the fragile truce between their opposing clans. Not to engage in an impromptu archery contest with his son, Cal, with a kiss at stake if he wins… The Celtic warrior should remain forbidden, so Sibba's shocked by how much she wants to kiss him. She ought to stay away, but when the king's bride is kidnapped, Sibba must join forces with Cal to retrieve her before unrest rages through their kingdoms…and their dangerous desire overwhelms them both!
Chapter One
‘Land. Port side!’ came the cry from the helmsman.
‘Nearly there. Good.’ Sibba Norrsdottar shaded her eyes against the sunlight dancing on the dark blue waves.
The curve of silver sand with the green hills beyond gave a promise of fertile land and safe anchorage. Such a contrast with the overworked land of her youth where rain washed away the seed and the game had become scarce. The wedding between Bedwyr—the High King of Suthereyjar and the small isles—and Gettir the Sea King’s only child, Rindr, would ensure some sort of peace and stability returned to Lochlann, a peace which had been broken when the sea wolves of Barra had ambushed and murdered her father.
The muscles in her neck and back loosened. Just around the headland and then safety. Before they departed, she’d given the excuse to the Sea King that they were taking the northern route because her father had been ambushed. No doubt when they did arrive, the other captains would again laugh at her caution, but the excuse would continue to be accepted without question, and the true reason—her discovery of her brother’s secret affair with the Sea King’s daughter—would remain hidden.
Sibba glanced down to where her twin brother sat, head in hands in the bottom of the boat, groaning about the unfairness of life and the horridness of dictatorial sisters, rather than pulling his oar.
At least his eyes had stopped spitting daggers and his mouth screaming obscenities at her as they had done when she ordered the ship away from the harbour. Once he realised she’d irrevocably set her course, he’d lapsed into groans, heartfelt sighs and staring up to the sky, appearing resigned to the situation. It could be hard to tell with Haakon these days. When they were younger, he used to follow her lead, requesting her help when their father set him tasks like shooting arrows at a far-off loaf of bread or learning the basics of swordplay. But now they were grown, Haakon demonstrated a worrying lack of common sense, self-preservation, and—more importantly—preservation of the men she now commanded.
He simply did not understand that she had acted quickly and decisively in the only way she knew. As any good big sister would do. Just as he did not truly understand why she had challenged for the leadership of the felag, beating him and two other warriors in the process. Good leaders had to be willing to make hard choices quickly, but Haakon struggled with the simple ones, her father used to say, shaking his head. And she knew how to make those choices, better than any man.
‘Can we trust him to keep his mouth shut? Would he not be better gagged and trussed until we know what is going on with the wedding?’ her helmsman said, interrupting her thoughts and gesturing to where Haakon now lay, face to the startling blue sky, complaining about the unfairness of being thirsty.
‘Haakon understands the necessity of keeping his liaison secret.’ She forced her back to be straight and made sure her voice carried to all parts of the dragon-prow longship. ‘If anyone—Gael or Northerner—asks, we travelled by the northern route because I feared the sea wolves on Barra after what happened to my father. Nothing to do with missing the wedding or who the bride is. Same excuse I gave her father and mother when I asked permission to depart.’
‘One day you will go too far, sister,’ Haakon called out, suddenly sitting up. ‘Gettir and his wife are no fools. He will have guessed before we cleared the harbour.’
‘Now he decides I exist. Now at the journey’s end he deigns to speak to me.’ She dipped a cup in the bucket of weak ale and made her way to her brother. ‘Drink and give me one good reason why you should not be kicked out of the felag. One solitary reason. You endangered every one of us, Haakon.’
Haakon took the cup of ale from her, drained it, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Why did you make me go with you?’ He gestured towards the burly helmsman. ‘Why did you have me thrown over his shoulder like a sack of grain? I’m a warrior, not a child having a temper tantrum.’
‘Why did you try to kidnap Gettir’s daughter? His only child? Of all the women, you picked the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the North, a woman who is already betrothed,’ she countered, putting her hands on her hips. He appeared to have forgotten his ravings about how he was going to seize the rudder and steer the ship back to rescue his beloved. His beloved! He knew that woman’s destiny was different and that the safety of the felag depended on her marrying the High King.
Haakon pushed the hair out of his eyes. ‘Rindr is like...like the moon. Perfection in silver. Her voice is like the song of the nightingale I heard in Constantinople. Sweet and melodious.’
‘Spare me. You are no skald, Haakon. If you won’t pull the oar, answer the questions.’ She hunkered down beside him and put her hand on his sleeve. ‘Sulking seldom solves anything.’
Her brother frowned. ‘We are in love. We belong together. Our eyes met, and we both knew instantly. Not that you would understand, Sibba.’ He waved an extravagant hand. ‘You never allow any man to touch your heart. Too practical. Hard-headed. Unnatural in a woman. My beloved agrees with me.’
Sibba fought against the urge to scream. There was nothing unnatural about understanding that her duty to the felag came first. And the less said about how her heart had been trampled, the better. ‘This hard-headed person saved your life. Had anyone else found you two together, they would have skinned you alive.’
‘Is my life saved, though?’ Her brother gave a dramatic sigh. ‘My love isn’t with me, and my life is over.’
‘Breath goes in and out of your lungs. A sure sign you live.’
‘You must help me, Sibba. Allow me to talk to her before the wedding.’
‘Give me one solid reason why I should grant this request.’
‘If I can speak to her alone and if this marriage is what Rindr truly desires, I promise I will cease trying to rescue her.’ Her brother tilted his head and fluttered his impossibly long lashes. ‘All I want is her reassurance.’
Sibba made a noise at the back of throat. Unbridled lust like her brother’s current infatuation ruined families and destroyed fortunes. He knew they needed the alliance with the Gaels to give them any hope of fulfilling the oath they had both sworn on their father’s funeral pyre. The Northman pirate who had murdered their father needed to be destroyed, and they required help to do it.
‘You are always mooning over some girl, until you find another object of your affections,’ she said instead of breaking the news that the marriage had most likely taken place the instant Rindr set her daintily clad foot on the shore. Silently she prayed that the High King, with his power, wealth, and command of a huge cohort of warriors, would make Rindr’s eyes gleam and her heart flutter faster. When they had spoken last Jul, Rindr’s chatter had been of torcs, jewel-encrusted brooches, and finely woven dresses.
‘My feelings are deep this time, Sibba.’ Her brother thumped his chest. ‘I know the difference now. We want to live in a little cottage by the woods, with a stream and a small garden. We won’t harm anyone. We want to live our lives in peace.’
‘That dream will be a piece of hard cheese,’ Sibba said, shaking her head. The idea that Rindr and Haakon would be allowed to live like that was pure fantasy. Rindr’s father required a safe anchorage for his fleet to be finally able to attack the Pirate King of Barra, the man who had murdered her father. ‘I told you not to eat it. Made you imagine things and lose all common sense. We need allies, not enemies, if we are to truly avenge our father’s murder, rather than simply mouthing the words of the vow.’
Haakon’s pout increased. ‘We discussed it three days ago when she lay in my arms. I am certain I saw the sparks from Sky Cleaver as Thor worked on his thunderbolts. A sign that Thor favours us.’
Sibba kept her face carefully blank. The sky had been full of meteors the other night. She was undecided about their actual meaning, but the exploding lights had made her restless and uncertain about the proposed route that went near Barra and the Wolf King’s lair. To puzzle it out, she had gone for a walk and stumbled over the pair intertwined in the moonlight.
‘Forget omens from Thor. Soothsayers, runes, and omens are not real.’ Sibba took his hands in hers. ‘Rindr doesn’t mean any harm, but men seem to lose their minds over her. And I’ve seen it go ill for them. Last Jul—’
Haakon turned the cup round and round in his hand. ‘Those men were before me.’
Sibba curled her fists and wished she could stop a habit of a lifetime. ‘Think, Haakon. Sparks from Thor’s hammer always mean a battle is on the horizon. We will be fighting the Pirate King before the summer is out, and we must have safe anchorage if we want any hope of victory. Rindr will be the weft who ensures the alliance stands.’
Haakon dropped the cup, his eyes alight with a fierce passion. ‘Rindr wants to be with me, not with some aged high king who should be taught a lesson about obedience to the North.’
‘The Gaels of Suthereyjar have defeated all would-be conquerors, including Thorkell, the Sea King of Barra.’
‘Her bridegroom is much older than her. He probably has no understanding about a skald’s poetry or decoration of a hall or how the twinkling of the stars makes the night beautiful.’ He held out one of his hands. ‘And my fingers are smooth, not gnarled. Rindr likes feeling my hands on her.’
Said as if a mutual love of such things rendered their recently sworn duty to Gettir, the safety of their men and indeed their honour unimportant. ‘Have you forgotten your oaths that quickly?’
‘The Gaels will never listen to a woman about strategy. Rindr told me that.’ Haakon’s generous mouth turned down in another pout. ‘I should be the one heading our felag if you want them to notice us.’
‘You lost the archery competition. Badly.’
‘But I look like a leader.’ He had the sort of good looks which were wasted on a man. Or rather, as their father had once put it, it would have saved a great deal of trouble if Haakon had been the girl and Sibba the boy. Like many things her father had said, his unkind words had a ring of truth. However, he was wrong. Haakon was completely male even if he was not as skilled at the sword or bow as she was, and she enjoyed being a woman.
To her mind, there was no reason why a woman could not be a leader of a felag even if very few women had ever succeeded in doing this. Her father had considered that women’s power lay in the gentler pursuits like hospitality, forging connections, and smoothing men’s way. After winning control of the felag, Sibba was determined to prove she could handle both the diplomacy and the strategy.
‘You might have defeated me, but Rindr is being sold like a piece of meat,’ Haakon said, making a lunge for the helm and making the boat swing wildly. ‘She begged me to help her. Me. Not you. I intend to give that help with or without your blessing.’
Sibba rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘The last man Gettir caught sniffing around his daughter had his back flayed. And that was for a peck on the cheek, not what you two were up to.’
Her brother hung his head. ‘How was I to know Rindr and I were observed?’
‘What would her father have done if he had caught you two together like I did? What would the High King have done—or his son, Calwar, the one who is supposed to be the fiercest warrior the Gaels have ever produced?’
Haakon gathered her hands between his. ‘But you will help us? Rindr and I want to be together. We must be together. Our true destiny.’
Sibba inwardly sighed. She loathed having to act the leader, instead of the sympathetic sister. Even if she had private doubts, a part of her did want Haakon and Rindr’s love to be genuine and for them to be happy together somewhere without endangering the fellowship. And it would be wrong to give him false hope.
‘If I can figure out a way...’ she said, trying to let her brother down gently.
‘Thank you for your promise, sister.’ Haakon gave one of his smiles. ‘Bedwyr will not want an unwilling bride. He is a proud man, from all the tales I have heard. Explain it to him or to his son, that warrior Calwar who negotiated the alliance.’ He kissed her cheek, all sweetness and light now that he had his way. ‘You are good at convincing people. It is why the men follow you instead of me.’
Sibba frowned as the ship rounded the headland. The rest of the fleet should be here, but there were no other ships, not even Rindr’s father’s ship. And she knew Gettir planned to be based there for the next few months before he attempted an all-out assault on Thorkell’s lair as he’d asked for her patience.
‘No one is here, my lady,’ her helmsman said in an undertone. ‘How is that possible?’
A faint prickle crept down the back of her neck. The others were taking the quicker route which went far too close to where Thorkell had attacked and destroyed her father’s fleet. Earlier, Gettir had scoffed at her womanish fears but had allowed her to go the longer way as a special favour in memory of her late father and how she’d had discovered the aftermath. She and her crew had only escaped because they were delayed due to a broken sail line. ‘No one... But that is impossible. All seven ships should have been here by now.’
‘We must have had the tides right,’ Haakon declared, rubbing his hands together. ‘You worry overmuch, sister. Var is with us. Our luck is in. Rindr remains unmarried. Your promise holds, sister dear.’
Sibba firmed her mouth. Haakon had a funny notion of luck. She saw things going spectacularly wrong. And she’d given her word about rescuing Rindr, counting on the fact that she would have been married long before she and Haakon arrived. Silently Sibba offered up a prayer that she’d be able to keep her word without putting her men in danger.
By the time they had beached the ship and had started to disembark, a small party led by a tall dark-haired man arrived on the flower-strewn dunes above the beach. At some point, the leader had experienced an injury to his mouth causing it to lift slightly. The combination of the neatly clipped beard with his penetrating eyes moving intently over the scene caused her breath to catch. When he spotted her, his lips turned up into a crooked smile. It was as if he glimpsed the dark recesses of her soul and knew her innermost secrets.
‘Northmen, do you have a reason to visit these shores?’ his deep voice boomed out in highly accented Norse.
Sibba smoothed her gown, before motioning to Haakon to keep quiet and the men to remain silent. She rested her hand on her knife and silently blessed the fact that her favourite nurse had been a Gael and had taught her the language.
‘Gael, do you have a reason to be unpleasant to people who come in peace? Whose greatest wish is to celebrate your wedding?’
His brows drew together. ‘Not my wedding, my father, the High King Bedwyr’s, my lady.’
Sibba inclined her head. ‘I stand corrected.’
‘Calwar mac Bedwyr, scourge of the North.’ He made an elaborate bow. ‘You may have heard of me, my lady. And I trust your visit will be short.’
Behind her, her men nosily lowered their shields.
‘Given the welcome you appear to offer, perhaps you have misgivings about this marriage,’ she said in Gaelic. ‘Here I thought you arranged it—a blood alliance to defeat our common enemy. Nothing else would do.’
The scar above his lip quirked upwards. ‘A Northwoman who speaks the language of my people, instead of expecting us to speak hers. Unusual. Why have you arrived on your own instead of with the fleet?’
‘Your fame as a warrior has reached even our ears. Only a fool would attack such a well-defended place as Suthereyjar,’ she continued in Gaelic, pointedly ignoring the fact he’d addressed her in Norse. ‘I speak in your tongue so that your men will know what I say. My men have a basic understanding of your language. A necessary requirement, to my mind, if one is to trade peacefully in these waters.’
She gestured towards his men rather than answering his question directly. Until she knew why Rindr wasn’t here and wasn’t married, she kept quiet about her promise to Haakon. She’d apologise to Haakon later, if necessary, but they would do what Rindr wanted, not what any man in her life dictated.
‘You travelled here to be at the wedding, but not with the wedding convoy,’ he answered in Gaelic. ‘Raises suspicions. Some from the North are unhappy about the proposed blood alliance.’
Sibba forced a smile and held out her hands, palms upwards. ‘Gettir gave his permission due to my womanish fears. Ask him when he arrives.’
‘I intend on it.’
‘A woman speaks for the group while warriors remain silent. What mischief is this, Calwar?’ A tonsured priest bustled up, flapping his arms like a great hooded crow.
‘Our customs differ from yours,’ Sibba said firmly. At her nod, the men beat their swords against their shields. She snapped her fingers, and they ceased. ‘Where is Gettir? I wish to speak to him.’
The priest fled, and even Calwar retreated a step. ‘Alas, Gettir and his daughter have yet to arrive, but I will ask them when they do. A woman leader is unheard of.’
Silently she counted to ten before she spoke. ‘Yet my men obey me.’
His gaze appeared to take in everything about her appearance. Sibba absurdly wished she had worn her more usual sailing clothes instead of changing into her best gown to appease any Gael who might not like the notion of a woman warrior. She always felt like people took her more seriously as a leader when she wore trousers. ‘Who are you?’ Calwar asked. ‘I don’t remember you being present at the negotiations.’
She hadn’t been there, and neither had Haakon. They had been too busy trying to fix their sole remaining longship, arriving at Rindr’s father’s hall to the fait accompli. She had discovered Rindr gently weeping and had told Haakon to cheer her up with a song or three, little dreaming of the consequences. Too late to worry about that now.
‘Sibba Norrsdottar,’ she said, ensuring her voice carried over the dunes to where she was certain the priest skulked. ‘My father, Norr the Red, used to be the Lochlann Sea King in the southern isles until Thorkell arranged for his murder last year.’
His hand relaxed slightly on the sword at her father’s name. ‘I knew your father slightly and was sorry to hear of his untimely death. I understand his felag fell apart, and his warriors scattered.’
‘Not all, obviously. We are allies with, but not of, Gettir’s felag.’
‘Sibba! Sibba! Sibba!’ Haakon started the chant, and the others took it up until she raised her hand and stopped it.
Calwar blinked twice. ‘I see.’
‘What do you have a problem with, Calwar—my leadership or my wish to celebrate this new blood alliance? I speak true.’ She paused, remembering the Gaels were Christian and might object to her swearing by Var, the north god of sacred oaths and unbreakable vows. ‘I swear on my brother’s life.’
Haakon dug his elbow into her side. ‘My life? Sibba, you can’t, you shouldn’t.’
She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I just did.’
‘Forgive me if I am wary, my lady of unexpected Northern guests.’ Calwar made an elaborate bow, but his eyes remained deadly and focussed on her. ‘My people have cause to know the treachery of the North.’
‘If we concentrate on past grievances, no one will be able to enjoy the fruits of this unexpected peace.’ Sibba raised her chin and concentrated on breathing steadily. If she gave in to her temper and reacted with fury to his provocative words, she stood the chance of losing everything.
One day, she’d teach this arrogant Gael a lesson, but right now she had more pressing concerns. Patience rewards in unexpected ways was one of the first and best lessons her father taught Haakon and her.
‘Fine words for a woman. Your tongue may be polished, but is your sword?’
The Gael was far from alone in his scepticism. She had mouthed the same words eleven times in the past few weeks.
‘A matter between me and my men. But I won my position, rather than being gifted it. And I intend to keep it in the only way I know how—through my skills as a leader.’
‘My sister can outshoot any man!’ Haakon shouted. ‘She won the felag fair and square. I will fight any man who says differently.’
‘When I require assistance, brother, I’ll request it,’ Sibba whispered. ‘Until then, still your tongue.’
Haakon put his hand over his mouth.
Calwar frowned. ‘I accept you arrive in peace. Make sure you leave in peace.’ Said with a grimace, and there was no mistaking the undertone: they were to depart immediately.
‘We will remain for the wedding. I wish to toast the bride,’ Sibba said, making an elaborate curtsy. No one threatened her or her men like that. ‘When the rest of the fleet arrives, the truth will out.’ She permitted a smile to cross her face. ‘Jump to the wrong conclusion and the entire situation may unravel.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘A threat?’
‘An observation. For future reference, I rarely threaten. I keep my promises.’
Her men hit their swords against their shields in agreement, but Sibba snapped her fingers twice. They instantly halted in midthump. She appreciated the gesture, but the darkness had returned to Calwar’s face. And she knew he was a hair’s breadth from ordering his men to defend the shore against the invaders.
Sibba kept her face carefully blank and ignored the growing tightness of her gut. The fleet would arrive on the next tide. The alternative—that somehow the remainder of the fleet had experienced a grave difficulty and people were now injured or worse—was her mind playing tricks. ‘I promised to attend Rindr’s wedding,’ she said in quiet voice. ‘I always strive to keep my promises.’
Calwar drew his brows together and assessed her under hooded lids. His gaze seemed to peer deep down into her soul. Sibba forced her shoulders back and her chin up. ‘When should I expect the bride, o lovely and gracious Sibba?’
‘A day or two at most, if they altered course like I suggested and went the long way around.’ She forced a steadying breath. She knew the reality of her looks—hair the colour of dishwater, eyes a dull grey, and a figure with a shade more curve than she’d like. ‘Your father will be married on the day his bride arrives, if that is what he desires.’
Calwar bowed low, but his eyes burned with a barely surpassed fire. ‘All that remains then is for me to show you to your temporary accommodation.’
‘We will remain on the boat.’
‘But I must insist.’ His smile showed no warmth. ‘You will not mind if I post a guard or two until Gettir arrives.’
Said almost as an afterthought. He did not believe her words of friendship. Would she believe him if the positions were reversed? She sensed the men behind her ready to draw their swords and waggled her fingers behind her back. She heard the soft sound of swords sliding back into their scabbards. ‘Do you think we look like raiders?’
‘I’ve given up thinking what a raider looks like. I will not allow anyone to jeopardise this alliance. The safety of my people depends on it.’
‘May I confer with your father?’ Sibba asked between gritted teeth. If the son refused to see sense, the father surely must. King Bedwyr must have heard about her father and how he desired an alliance with the Gaels to counter the threat from Thorkell in the last months of his life. ‘He knew my father, I believe.’
‘My father will meet you when the time is right,’ Calwar said with a note of great finality.
‘You mean when the others arrive.’
‘I mean when my father and I decide it is appropriate. If I discover you seek to play me false, Sibba Norrsdottar, it will go ill for you and your merry men.’
Sibba rolled her eyes. Merry men indeed. As if the men who followed her were not seasoned warriors but ones more interested in drinking and skalds’ tales. One day he’d learn. Until then, Calwar was another arrogant man who had already made his mind up about her talents and ability to lead a band of warriors.
‘I think he guesses something is amiss, Sibba,’ Haakon murmured in her ear. ‘You must hold to your promise and rescue Rindr whatever happens.’
Sibba pretended to stumble and grabbed his arm. ‘You best hope that he doesn’t. Calwar is not a man I would care to cross. His reputation as a great warrior precedes him.’
‘But...but...’
‘We had best hope that Rindr arrives soon, safe and sound.’
‘Why?’
‘The felag should have arrived before us, and it failed to. Something is very wrong. We are about to get blamed for it.’
Her brother wrinkled his nose and thought for a few heartbeats. ‘I never considered that. Should we try to escape?’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘Not if you want to help Rindr.’
Calwar gestured towards a small wooden hut which stood on its own at little ways from the bustling ring of houses which surrounded a large wooden hall. About the best that could be said for the hut was it had an earthen roof to ward off the soaking rain which had begun to fall. ‘Your home for now. Leave your weapons outside the door. They will come to no harm.’
The knots in Sibba’s stomach had developed layer upon layer of further knots, but she forced her face to be serene as if being locked away was not a grave insult. ‘Poor hospitality has been the ruin of many a man’s ambition. The sea king will not take kindly to his ally being treated like this.’
Calwar’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘Many men would not dare to say such a thing to me.’
She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. ‘There again, I am not a man.’
He stopped, and she was aware that his gaze lingered on her curves. ‘Yes, you are most definitely a woman, a woman who proports to lead a group of peaceful Northern raiders.’
‘Do you require a demonstration of why I was chosen?’ she said in a brusquer voice than she intended. ‘I look forward to your apology when I best you with bow and arrows.’
He gave a slow smile, captured her hand, and raised it to his mouth. His tongue briefly touched her palm. ‘Apologies can be enlightening for both parties.’
The heat in Sibba’s cheeks rose. She rapidly pulled her fingers away from his warm grasp. Unlike Rindr, she had never felt entirely comfortable under a knowing male gaze, and she certainly had never deliberately sought out a flirtation, particularly not after the debacle with her former fiancé. She ducked her head and concentrated on his boots. ‘I will take your word for it.’
She turned on her heel, marched into the hut which smelt of decay, disuse and dust and silently promised that he would be the one to apologise.
The sound of his mocking laughter echoed after her. She balled her fists. One day very soon, she would demonstrate to the very irritating Gaelic warrior that she and her concerns needed to be taken seriously.
