Joanna Fulford - Surrender to the Viking

‘The hall was on an estate in Vingulmark, a part of the land ceded to Halfdan. It was a gift to my brother from the king—a generous gift too, but its location made it vulnerable.’

‘I can see how it might.’

‘Hakke intended to surround the place and trap us within before he set fire to it. But for a timely warning the plan might have succeeded,’ said Finn. ‘As it was we were heavily outnumbered. We decided to split up so that the enemy would have to divide his force in order to give chase.’

‘Which, knowing Hakke and his adherents, they did.’

‘My men and I were pursued by a big warship under the command of Steingrim. They would have overtaken us for sure but, mercifully, the fog came down and we managed to lose them.’

‘As well for you that you did.’

‘Steingrim won’t give up easily. If we’re to have any chance of defeating him we must have reinforcements.’

‘Ah.’

‘I was hoping you might be able to help us, my lord.’

Ottar nodded. ‘Whatever can be done will be done.’

‘I appreciate it.’

‘You are the son of a friend and an ally. Your enemies are mine.’

‘I shall not forget this,’ said Finn. ‘Nor do I expect such a favour for nothing. You will tell me what I may do for you in return.’

Ottar was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then his gaze met Finn’s and he smiled. ‘I will think on it. In the meantime I invite you and your men to remain here for a few days as my guests. Tonight you must take pot luck. On the morrow we shall feast you properly.’ He looked round, his gaze scanning the room. Then it lighted on the person he sought. ‘Ah, there you are. Come here, girl.’

Finn glanced round casually, assuming that his host was addressing one of the servants, but as the girl in question crossed the room towards them he stared, recognising her at once. Seen at closer quarters she reinforced his earlier impression of a fey; the face with its high cheekbones and small pointed chin was dominated by beautiful blue-green eyes. Her hair, which he’d originally believed to be brown, was actually deep red and naturally curly, spilling in a glorious mass over her shoulders and down her back to a waist he could have spanned with his hands. Despite its slenderness her figure had the alluring curves of womanhood. The green gown he had noted before was made of fine wool and belted by an embroidered girdle. The only thing missing was the sword.

‘Jarl Finn and his men will be staying with us for a while,’ said Ottar. ‘You will make whatever arrangements are necessary.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Ottar went on, ‘This is my youngest daughter, Lara.’

Finn made a courteous bow. ‘I am honoured, lady.’

The blue-green eyes surveyed him coolly for a moment and then she inclined her head in acknowledgement.

‘The honour is mine, my lord.’

The tone was polite but also aloof. The words were not accompanied by a smile, or a blush or the lowered gaze that he might have expected. It was as though she were merely observing the outward forms of courtesy but was inwardly unconcerned about whether she pleased or not. It was far removed from his usual experience with women. Then again, the women with whom he’d associated in recent times had a vested interest in pleasing a man. This was the daughter of his host so it behoved him to make an effort.

‘I did not know that Jarl Ottar had so fair a daughter.’

‘Didn’t you?’ she replied.

Finn was momentarily taken aback, which it seemed she had intended. He recovered quickly. ‘No, I regret to say I did not.’

‘Why regret?’

‘I could have brought a suitable gift.’

‘I have no need of gifts.’

‘A gift does not have to supply a need,’ he replied. ‘It may be given as a token of regard.’

‘True, but since we have only just met the gesture would seem excessive.’

He knew he should probably drop the subject but at the same time couldn’t resist pushing it a little further. ‘So you would not appreciate a necklace of amber beads or a gold brooch?’

‘That would depend upon the giver. If it came from my father or brother I would treasure the gift.’

‘But not if it came from a visitor.’

‘No, my lord, for then I should suspect an ulterior motive.’

‘Oh, what motive?’

‘I should have to ask myself what would be expected in return.’

It was bold and blunt and provocative. No doubt that was quite intentional too and no doubt he should let it go, but the underlying challenge was becoming irresistible. ‘A gift should not come with strings attached.’

‘No, but they usually do in my experience.’

‘Is your experience so great, then?’

‘Great enough to make me wary of gifts—and givers.’

It was politely spoken but it was a rebuff all the same. She was quite impervious to compliments of any sort and, by extension, impervious to him. Nor, he suspected, was it a ploy to increase his interest. On the contrary he was fairly sure that she didn’t like him. He didn’t know whether to be amused or piqued.

Before he could think of a suitable reply her father cut in. ‘You must excuse my daughter, Jarl Finn. She has a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.’ He frowned at her. ‘That is why she is still unmarried at eighteen and is like to remain so.’

Finn winced inwardly at that, but the girl didn’t bat an eyelid. If anything he thought he saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. However, it was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain.

‘Yes, do excuse me, my lord. I’ll take my offending tongue elsewhere.’ She inclined her head respectfully. ‘Father.’

Jarl Ottar frowned. He was on the point of saying something more but evidently decided not to although his annoyance was apparent. Looking on, Finn was more intrigued than ever. Nothing here was what it seemed, he was sure of that. He was too experienced not to recognise a skilled performance when he saw one and the past ten minutes had been exactly that, but a performance to what end? His gaze followed Lara’s progress across the room: it was unhurried, almost studiedly so. His lips twitched. She must have anticipated that he would be watching her. Any moment now she would look back. Women invariably looked back, which meant that they were not as aloof as they pretended.

Lara did not look back and a short time later was in conversation with two servants. When they departed to carry out whatever instructions she had given, she left the hall by the rear door. Still she did not look back. Finn sighed, feeling mildly aggrieved.

Chapter Two

When she was away from the hall Lara relaxed a little. It was hours before she’d need to face the company again and then her role would be confined to ensuring the smooth service of food and drink. She would not be required to take part in the conversation. After the past ten minutes that was a relief. Jarl Finn might have a polished manner but he also had a high opinion of himself. She conceded that he was good at holding his own in an argument. At times she had half suspected that he was enjoying himself. That probably wasn’t the case; she took good care to ensure that men didn’t enjoy her company so it must be that he didn’t like to be bested.

As she turned the corner of the building she was rudely jolted out of thought by a small body cannoning into her legs. It bounced off and went sprawling.

‘What on earth—?’ She broke off, recognising the steward’s son. ‘Yngvi. I might have known.’

He sat up looking slightly dazed. Lara sighed and bent down to look at him.

‘Are you all right?’

He nodded. ‘I...I think so.’ As she helped him back on to his feet he regarded her apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. Drifa and I were playing tag.’