Claimed by the Viking Chief
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Sarah Rodi
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Chapter One
The longhouse was a flurry of activity. Wren watched as the other thralls placed the last of the clean tankards, bowls and spoons on the tables. They scurried around her, sweeping the floor, laying out furs on benches, preparing the hall for Earl Ingrid’s guests the next day.
The warrior chief of the neighbouring settlement was coming to visit—and there were rumours Jarl Knud of Nedergaard had marriage on his mind.
Another Dane to despise, Wren thought. Another Dane who no doubt took whatever he wanted from unsuspecting villages, leaving homes destroyed and devastated families in his wake. Wren knew all too well what these ruthless chiefs were capable of, since such a man had seized her and taken her captive in battle when she was just a young girl, tearing her away from her home, ripping her from the arms of her screaming mother.
Gifted to the Earl of Boer’s daughter, Ingrid, to be her bond servant, the two of them had grown up together, becoming companions. But while Ingrid was the sole survivor of her family and had gone on to become the Earl of Boer herself, Wren was still trapped in a life of servitude, in a place she could never call home.
She raked a hand down her face, trying to cast aside her bleak thoughts. Things weren’t so bad. Earl Ingrid treated her as well as could be and she’d learned to find happiness in her daily tasks and comfort from her friendships with the other thralls here. When Wren had shown promise and a passion for combat from an early age, Ingrid had even allowed her to train alongside her shield maidens, sparring with the sentinels of Boer. And Wren served her ruler loyally. In return, in private, Ingrid sought out her company and often listened to her counsel. But not a day went past when Wren didn’t long to prove her merit, to be rewarded for her service and finally set free.
This rumbling of a union between the chiefs of Nedergaard and Boer troubled her mind, like a storm encroaching on an already overcast day, for such an alliance would affect them all, she thought, glancing around the hall again. If Earl Ingrid married, they would have a new master and Wren had heard just how formidable Jarl Knud could be. Famed for his imposing height and great strength, descriptions of Jarl Knud’s striking appearance and tales of his prowess on the battlefield had been relayed to them time and again and Ingrid had already begun to imagine herself in love with him.
He was known for his ruthless raids in faraway lands west of the ocean and it was said he had fought numerous tribes in the North before rising to be the powerful leader of Nedergaard—the centre of trade at the mouth of the Vesterhavet. But as to whether Jarl Knud’s character was to be as admired as his warrior reputation, they had yet to find out.
Wren swiped her hand across her damp forehead. Despite darkness descending, it was still warm for a midsummer night here and a sliver of moonlight spilled through the door, enticing her outside. Reckless rebellion darted through her and she excused the other thralls, bidding them goodnight. Surely no one would notice if she disappeared by herself for a while? After all, Earl Ingrid had already retired to bed and the work was done for the day.
Everyone knew war was coming to the shores of their lands, as the Earl of Forsa in the south was making plans to attack, wanting to claim the coastal settlements as his own, but there were as yet no signs of their enemy encroaching on their borders tonight. All was quiet, the settlement was safe.
Slipping out of the hall, Wren walked calmly across the square, so as not to draw any particular attention from the guards on the ramparts. She stole past the farmsteads, smoke billowing out from their rooftops, and through the fields of rye, gently swaying in the evening breeze. Then, glancing all around her, checking no one was about, as she would surely be punished for her disobedience, she prised open the little gap in the wooden fortress walls, as she’d done so many times before. On the other side, she took in a deep breath of freedom before charging across the flatlands in the light summer cloak of darkness.
The tide had retreated, exposing the vast expanse of mudflats and deep rivulets winding through the dark, craggy humps and out to the churning sea. It was a dangerous, oppressive place, yet with each stride Wren shrugged off more of her invisible shackles. She took one last look back at the stronghold before breaking out into a swift run, making sure she kept within the shadows of the moon.
She didn’t stop until she reached the tidal pool, her one and only sanctuary. Tearing off her threadbare tunic and her tattered boots, stripping down to just her undergarments, she leapt off the bank in wild abandon, as if she were still the young girl who was just five winters old when she was last free, and sank with delight into the freshwater bath. She relished the feeling of the pool washing away the chores of the day, soothing her tired, aching muscles.
It was only when she surfaced, wiping the water from her eyes, that she saw them—and she froze. There, on the outskirts of Boer, were twenty or so white tents lined up on the northern border, small campfires burning, and the distant, muffled tones of men talking carried across to her on the wind. Wren’s skin prickled—a sense of duty and a fierce need to protect the people of Boer tearing through her.
How had she not noticed them before? If she had, she would never have been as foolish as to come here alone. She would have returned to the hall and sounded the warning horn instantly. Were these men from Forsa? Straining to hear the low tones, she realised the men were laughing heartily, some even singing. Strange—that wasn’t something they’d do if they planned to make a surprise attack.
In alarm, she turned to wade back to the muddy dunes where she’d so carelessly discarded her clothes—and the small wooden knife she carried secretly in her boot, for she was forbidden from having a weapon of her own. When she heard the snapping of a birch twig and two male voices drawing closer, her blood ran cold.
‘You know, it’s not too late to change your mind...’
She ducked lower in the water, backing farther into the long reeds of grass. If she were to be caught, if she were to be found here, there was no telling what these men would do to her.
‘We’ve come this far,’ the taller of the two was saying. In the pale glow of the moonlight, she could just make out his incredibly broad shoulders and dark blond mane of hair, just long enough for it to be fastened at the base of his neck in a band. He had a thick, well-groomed beard and full lips.
‘This woman may be able to patch up the cracks in Daneland, strengthen our borders, even, but can the same be said of your heart?’ The blond’s companion was dark, with a deep scar etched through his brow.
They matched each other in height and, going by the look of their armour and weapons tucked into their belts, these men were definitely of the dangerous, fighting kind. She swallowed. She was a fool. She should not have left her lookout post at the entrance to the longhouse.
‘I appreciate your concern, but I care not for matters of the heart, you know that,’ the blond one said dismissively. ‘Her status and her army, those are the only things of importance to me. You may have married for love, Rædan, but I will only suffer the bonds of marriage again for something far more important—power.’
Typical Dane, she thought scornfully.
‘This calculated selection of a wife sits uncomfortably with me,’ the one named Rædan continued, sounding troubled. ‘It reminds me too much of the rulers of my past.’ At least that one seemed to have some sense.
‘And I, like them, must think of the strategic gain. It is a legacy I need, not love.’
‘A legacy. You mean your reputation, children—or both? So you do at least plan to consummate this marriage, then?’
‘I have bedded enough women in my time—I can’t imagine I shall find that part a hardship.’ He grinned. ‘And if it is, I shall only need to share her bed long enough for her to produce an heir.’
‘You sound as if you would turn her into some kind of concubine, or an animal kept to breed from.’
The blond one laughed and Wren bit down on the inside of her cheek in disgust. His open assault on those of a lower position in life made her seethe with anger. She pitied the poor woman this man was planning to wed. How could he think so little of his future bride and of women in general? The thought had her ducking farther beneath the water. A man such as he would not treat her kindly if he were to discover her hiding here, listening.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘Trust me, I do...’
‘Then let us join the others and have some ale, for this could be one of your last nights of freedom, my friend,’ the one called Rædan said, cupping the other’s shoulder.
Wren’s heart lifted in hope. Were they leaving? This could be her chance to get away, to warn the people of Boer that an army of men was at their gates.
‘You go ahead. I’ll be along shortly.’
No! She pressed herself farther into the reeds, not caring about the sharp rocks grazing into her skin as she watched in dismay as the dark one strolled away, heading back towards the camp, while the other took a few steps closer towards the marsh pool. His brow was furrowed as if deep in thought as he stared down into the water. Soft shadows fell across his face and he momentarily took her breath away. He was a lion of a man, beautiful but robust, and yet, she reminded herself sharply, his words had been so ugly and unfeeling.
It was only when he cast off his animal pelt from his shoulders and began to pull off his chainmail that she started, aghast. Blind panic took over at the sight of him tugging up his tunic, revealing his bare, taut stomach. His broad chest was covered in dark streaks of dramatic ink snaking their way over his shoulder, and scars—lots of them. His large muscles in his arms flexed as he discarded the material and one thing was suddenly very obvious—he intended to enter the pool.
There was no way she could cry out to stop him coming closer, because what would he do, a red-blooded warrior, upon finding a woman out at night, all alone, barely wearing anything? A woman with telling short, cropped hair and a slave collar around her neck... She would be fair game to him and his men. And yet she couldn’t not warn him she was here, as right now he was kicking off his boots, reaching for the tie on his trousers, and within moments he would be joining her in the pool, completely naked.
‘Stop!’ she cried, fear charging through her, forcing her to speak out, as she thrust herself forward, making sure to keep her body and her neck beneath the rippling surface. ‘Don’t come any closer.’ She needed to get to her clothes and her weapon. She needed to get to safety.
He balked, his hand halting. ‘What the—?’ he muttered, his brows knitting together as he searched out the owner of the voice in the darkness, his gaze skimming across the water. Finally, his deep brown eyes collided with hers in the moonlight, and her breath hitched.
‘Who are you?’ he barked. ‘And what the hell are you doing out here?’
‘I was about to ask you that very question,’ she snapped back.
‘Are you...bathing?’ he asked, incredulous, his piercing eyes narrowing. ‘This late in the evening?’
‘I didn’t know there were rules about what time you could bathe...’
‘There should be!’ He bent over, swiftly snatching up his tunic from the ground.
‘That’s strange. It looked like you were about to do the same,’ she said, fiercely treading water.
He pulled the material back over his bare skin, tugging it down, and she let out a slow, relieved breath.
‘I’m a man, you’re a woman. Are you out here all alone?’ he asked, glancing around. ‘And at night?’
‘I thought I was alone. I came out here for that very reason. I didn’t know anyone would think to intrude—especially not an army of monstrous men!’
‘Monstrous?’ he mocked, his lips twitching. And she felt a dart of annoyance slice through her. ‘We’re hardly an army. This is Jarl Knud’s camp,’ he said, motioning with his head to the tents behind him in the distance. ‘We’re visiting Boer on the morrow.’
Relief swept through her that this wasn’t one of Forsa’s men, but one of Nedergaard’s soldiers instead. ‘Well, you can tell your chief you’re early,’ she said. ‘Earl Ingrid isn’t expecting him till the sun is at its highest point in the sky.’
‘What can I say? He’s keen.’ He grimaced, raking a hand over his hair while peering down at her in the water, as if trying to get a better look at who he was talking to. ‘Are you from Boer?’
‘What’s it to you?’ she said rudely, her legs beginning to tire now.
‘If you are, then you definitely shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘This is no man’s land—between Boer and Nedergaard. You should know it is inhospitable. Unsafe. And word has it that Forsa’s men are on the move. They could attack any day.’
‘Exactly. No man’s land. Like you stated so obviously, I’m a woman.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that you’re behaving like one. Come, now, get out of there.’
‘Not a chance, for how do I know you won’t attack me when I get out?’
‘Believe me, I have better things to do than attack wild, sharp-tongued women! Besides, I doubt you have anything worth looking at, let alone pouncing on.’
‘Then perhaps you could take your leave?’
He folded his arms over his chest, suddenly grinning. ‘I don’t think so.’
She scowled at him, taking the opportunity to look him up and down again. He was infuriating! There was no denying he was an incredibly attractive man, but she had heard his unkind words about his future bride, practically likening the woman to chattel, and was now bearing witness to his beastly behaviour.
Still, she didn’t think he would hurt her. He hadn’t called to his men to show them what he’d chanced upon and he’d reinstated his clothes, not carried on removing them. No, if anything, he was just mocking her. He didn’t seem to think she was worth attacking, but by the looks of it, he wasn’t planning on leaving her be, either.
Well, she refused to let him intimidate her. This was her place, where she liked to come to be alone, and he had interrupted and then insulted her. Glowering, stubborn pride overtook all reason as she waded to the other side of the pool. Wanting to jolt him into moving, and desperate to reach her weapon and her clothes, she launched herself out of the water, making sure her dark hair covered the metal around her neck.
‘Við hamri Þórs!’ he muttered in shocked surprise, holding up his hands in defeat as he swiftly turned his back on her. ‘I was teasing you. I didn’t expect you to take me at my word!’
She felt a shaft of triumph shoot through her, before it was wiped away by the sudden blast of cool night air hitting her damp skin and she forced herself to hold back a little squeal from escaping her lips. Instead, she strode over to the few things she owned in life, telling herself not to run, to keep calm. She did not want him to know she was deathly afraid of him.
‘Your civilities are severely lacking—just like your clothes!’ he said, although seemingly unable to help himself from glancing back over his shoulder.
She stole a look at him in return as she swiped up her tunic and began pulling it on over her wet, clinging underclothes as fast as her trembling fingers would allow, tugging it firmly into place. She wrapped her hand around the handle of the hidden knife.
‘As are yours, talking about a woman in such a hateful way. I feel sorry for the poor lady you were discussing,’ she said, stealthily crossing the distance between them.
‘Were you spying on us?’ His back was still turned, his hand braced on his hip.
‘No, but perhaps someone should be, to keep your civilities in check,’ she said, gently pressing the tip of the knife into his back.
He sighed and gently raised his hands in defeat. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, sounding irritated now that she had caught him off guard.
‘I am none of your concern. Now close your eyes and say the runes out loud...’ And, just like that five-winters-old girl she still longed to be, she stuck out her tongue at his broad back in defiance, tucked her boots under her elbow and ran.
Wren stood behind Earl Ingrid in the square as the gates to Boer slowly opened the next day, to welcome Jarl Knud of Nedergaard and his men. Sweat licked Wren’s brow and she was unsure if it was due to the midday sun burning down on them or the unease tearing through her body. All at once, her panicked gaze took in the number of horses and their riders, surveying their armour and weapons, assessing the danger, the risk. Were they to be trusted? And yet she was distracted, she couldn’t stop herself from searching out the man she had encountered last night. Was he here? And if so, would he realise she was only a thrall and reveal her crime?
The moment her eyes fell upon him her heart sank, sickness churning like the ocean waves in her stomach. No! She did not expect his to be the first face she came across, heading up the convoy as the riders trotted their horses forward through the archway. Surely the man she’d had the unfortunate chance of meeting at the tidal pool last night wasn’t the Danish chieftain himself? No, no, no...
Wren wanted the ground to swallow her up. She wanted to be back in the flatlands, sinking beneath the water, washing her discomfort away. She shook her head slightly, trying to make sense of it all. How had she missed the signs?
He had, after all, been talking about making an advantageous marriage. An alliance to strengthen his rule. He was a man of power and raw ambition. He wanted to create even more of a name for himself—a legacy. Of course it was him! How could she not have pieced it all together when she’d heard him talking? Because all her thoughts had fled when she came up against his impressive looks and his wide-grinned mockery, that’s why!
He was not what she’d thought he would be like. She’d been expecting someone older—someone far less pleasing to look at. But he was larger than life itself, a man at his best, cocksure, today ornamented with chunky gold rings and silver arm and wrist bands that showed off his status and wealth. He drew the eye like a dazzling polished jewel, making his presence known—and she had never seen a man look so perfect.
His golden mane was neatly fastened and he wore chainmail and a leather vest over an exotic blue silk tunic with a trim of gold thread. A red cloak, lined with thick fur, was fastened tightly over his right shoulder with a brooch. He was a man who wanted to stand out, she realised, and she knew why—because power and status were the only things of importance to him. He’d said so himself to his friend. And as for the words he’d spoken about his future bride... About Ingrid... Now Wren knew, despite all that they had heard of his impressive warrior reputation, his character was clearly lacking.
But if his raiding triumphs and trading routes in the west were to be believed, they could certainly do with an ally such as he right now. And stealing a glance at her leader’s face, she could tell Earl Ingrid had already been won over by his good looks. Wren tutted—Earl Ingrid was almost slavering.
‘Earl Ingrid, it is an honour to meet you at last. Thank you for allowing us to visit you,’ Jarl Knud said, descending from his magnificent horse and approaching them with an easy smile. Wren’s stomach flipped at the flash of his straight teeth, the sound of his smooth, deep voice, and apprehension had her lowering her gaze to the floor. She couldn’t acknowledge him—if she did, he might recognise her and there was no telling what Earl Ingrid would do if she knew Wren had left the settlement last night.
She tried to calm herself...it was almost unheard of for Danish chieftains to meet the eyes of a thrall, or even talk to them—their only uses being their ability to work, as a commodity to trade...or as a bed wench. She swallowed. No, she was worrying for nothing—he wouldn’t even notice her.
Her ruler stepped forward to greet him. ‘Welcome to Boer, Jarl Knud. We have heard so much about you. I trust you had a safe journey?’
‘We did. Thank you. Fascinating scenery you have here.’
‘Yes, and so tricky to navigate! But I see it didn’t hinder you.’
‘Of course not. It would take more than a bit of mud to hamper us.’
Wren tried not to roll her eyes at his arrogance.
‘The rain has at least held off for you. You and your men must be hungry. We have a feast prepared, just as soon as you’ve settled the horses.’ Earl Ingrid turned to her. ‘Show our guests to the stables and then to the longhouse, would you, Wren?’
The chieftain turned to look at her and Wren nodded, holding her breath. There was no way she could evade his notice now—but it didn’t mean she had to return his gaze.
‘I shall await you and your men’s company in the hall, Jarl Knud,’ Earl Ingrid said before walking away.
Wren felt the Jarl’s eyes burning into her and she ducked her chin in an attempt to further cover up her slave collar under the neckline of her tunic. For some reason, she didn’t want this man to see her as weak. And she certainly didn’t want his pity.
‘Ah, the wild woman from last night. So you do live here. I wondered if we’d meet again.’ His head was tilted slightly to the side to study her intently. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his smile was slowly building.
‘I’m sorry, Jarl Knud, you must be mistaken. I don’t remember us having met. I’m sure I would have remembered a man such as yourself,’ she said curtly, trying to focus on a vague spot just above his left shoulder.
His grin seemed to grow wider still at her lie and she noted his face had lit up with an inner glow of mischief. ‘I have to admit I’m offended. Women usually say I’m unforgettable.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ she said flatly, trying to feign uninterest.
He motioned to his men to follow him, with the mere tilt of his handsome head, and she turned on her heel, beginning to walk out across the square, glad to escape the assessment in his dark, penetrating gaze. ‘It’s this way.’
He began to pull his horse behind him, somehow still managing to catch up to her with his long, powerful strides. ‘It’s amazing I recognised you in your clothes.’
‘Helvete!’ she cursed, stopping abruptly, rounding on him unwillingly. For a moment, she cast her eyes upwards, to gather her thoughts—and her strength—while she felt a flush burn in her cheeks. And then she forced herself to turn towards him without meeting his gaze. ‘Forgive me, I should not have been out there in the pool alone,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘And I would appreciate it if we could keep...our encounter last night...to ourselves.’
She felt his eyes narrow on her and, after a moment, he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘Earl Ingrid does not know you have a penchant for late-night bathing?’ The smile still playing at the corner of his lips was distracting. Infuriating. But then he didn’t realise what was at stake here. He didn’t know who he was talking to, or what punishment would be bestowed upon her if he revealed her whereabouts yesterday evening. ‘I take it you don’t think she’d like it if she knew you were out there?’
She tipped her chin up. ‘Do you plan to tell her?’
He studied her face and she hoped he didn’t see the look of consternation beneath her proud demeanour. ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary.’
She let out a little breath of relief.
‘After all, who am I to get in the way of a woman’s cleaning habits?’ He was really enjoying mocking her, laughing at her. Like he’d laughed at the thought of using a woman as breeding stock or a concubine last night...
How could she have made a fool out of herself already, in front of this important, hateful man? she berated herself and continued to stride out towards the stables. As she finally stepped through the doorway, her anger had her biting back. ‘Keeping secrets from Earl Ingrid already?’ she tutted. ‘That won’t do.’
He joined her in the doorway and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to create a barrier between them.
‘I can tell you think it would displease her, hearing of your late-night whereabouts, so why would I want to make her unhappy?’
Wren refused to move, yet she was excruciatingly aware of his proximity, his chest almost brushing against her folded arms. Her breathing was momentarily halted. ‘Since when do you care about her happiness? You don’t even know her. And you made it quite clear last night you don’t care for any woman’s feelings—only your own.’ She was so close, she could smell his spicy, leathery scent. It was annoyingly captivating.
He inclined his chin, lowering his voice. ‘I would not have said such things if I knew I had an audience. But what you heard... I only spoke the truth. An alliance between Boer and our stronghold will strengthen Earl Ingrid’s seat of power, not just mine. Yes, Nedergaard needs a bigger force of men, but a union between us will also help Earl Ingrid to secure a major trade route between England, Nedergaard and Boer. This marriage makes a lot of sense for both of us.’
She didn’t know why he was explaining himself to her. Had he not yet spotted the metal cuff around her neck? ‘It sounds like you have it all worked out already.’
‘I do. And I admit I couldn’t resist taunting you, especially when I realised you did not know who I was.’
She opened her mouth to chastise him some more, but when she stole a look at him, his molten brown eyes were resting on her lips and it had her biting her tongue for once.
‘I feel as if we’ve got off to a bad start... Wren, is that your name?’
She nodded.
‘Then, Wren,’ he said, stepping even closer towards her, forcing her to drop her folded arms, ‘please let us put last night behind us and be friends.’
She scoffed. She had never known a chieftain to be friends with a thrall, let alone talk to one. This whole conversation was absurd. She was sure, indeed she hoped, that he would forget her the moment he walked through the longhouse door. ‘You really don’t need to trouble yourself,’ she said in the most scathing tone she could muster. ‘We do not need to be friends, or even allies, Jarl Knud. After all, it’s not me you need to impress, is it? I trust you can all find your own way to the hall?’
