Michelle Styles - Taming His Viking Woman

Bragi blanched. ‘I will remember that.’

‘Have many tried to win her hand?’ Hrolf asked. ‘Or was it only old men and beardless boys who tried?’

‘What, and face the ignominy of losing to a woman?’ Kettil shook his head. ‘If all my warriors were like her, I would be king of Svear and Götaland, instead of a jaarl in a backwater.’

‘There is good...but I’m exceptional.’ Hrolf permitted his lips to turn up. Sayrid the Proud was about to learn an important lesson.

* * *

The flock of butterflies that had settled in Sayrid’s stomach had turned into a herd of rampaging reindeer now that the Storting had started. Ingvar the Bloodaxe and his wife certainly looked the part of distraught parents. She risked a glance at where Hrolf Eymundsson sat with an impassive face.

‘Regin Avilson stole my daughter from me,’ Bloodaxe began with a distinct whine in his voice. ‘He took her from my farm without my permission. He had no right to set foot on my property. He should be declared an outlaw and my daughter returned. Hrolf Eymundsson was there. He will confirm that Regin Avilson forced my daughter to leave against her will.’

‘Objection!’ Sayrid cried. ‘Regin Avilson never set foot on Ingvar Flokison the Bloodaxe’s property. How could he have stolen her?’

‘If he didn’t, who did?’ Bloodaxe asked. ‘Who else set my daughter free from a locked barn?’

‘Why was your daughter locked up?’

‘I asked the question first! Who released my daughter from my barn? Who undid the lock?’

‘I did,’ Sayrid answered in a firm voice and stepped out in the centre of the room. All eyes turned towards her. She stood taller with her shoulders back, never allowing her gaze to falter. ‘I wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumour that Ingvar Flokison had decided against honouring our agreement of last spring. Going towards the farmhouse, I heard a cry for help. I unbarred the door. Blodvin Ingvardottar then ran out of the barn and down to the river. What happened after that, I couldn’t say, but she found her way to my farm and my brother, demanding sanctuary!’

‘Did anyone see you?’ the jaarl asked, giving her a hard stare. ‘Can anyone verify this?’

‘Hrolf Eymundsson did. We spoke briefly.’ Sayrid focused her gaze on Hrolf. ‘He can confirm my story. And once Blodvin was safe, I sent word to you. I’ve not attempted to hide anyone or anything.’

‘Time to hear from the independent witness,’ the jaarl declared. ‘What happened on that night, Hrolf Eymundsson? Give your impartial account.’

There was a sudden intake of breath and everyone turned towards Hrolf. His dark blue velvet cloak shimmered with self-importance. The torchlight caught the gold of his arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that here was a man who was accustomed to power. Sayrid concentrated on his face and willed him to tell the truth.

‘I encountered Sayrid Avildottar,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘There was a woman with her who ran off, but it was dark and I could not see her face. Later Sayrid went to the river and I lost her. These are the only people I encountered before Ingvar Bloodaxe arrived. I swear this on my sacred honour.’

Bloodaxe started bleating and whining about how it had to have been Regin, but the jaarl ’s face grew ever more stern. Sayrid’s shoulders relaxed. Hrolf had told the truth. Regin was safe. And Bloodaxe would not start a feud with her.

‘If Regin Avilson did not capture your daughter and she ran away of her own accord, you’re not entitled to a fine,’ the jaarl pronounced. ‘Who among you believes that Blodvin Ingvardottar ran away of her own accord?’

Everyone except for Bloodaxe and his closest companions raised their hand.

‘Your request for compensation is denied, Bloodaxe.’

Bloodaxe stroked his chin. ‘As my daughter has run away, she is dead to me. I shouldn’t have to provide a dowry for her.’

‘She has married Regin Avilson. There was a prior agreement that they would wed and the bride price was paid,’ Sayrid argued. ‘The dowry includes all of the next bay.’

‘Why would anyone pay a dowry for a dead woman?’ Bloodaxe said as his wife sniffled noisily next to him. ‘My daughter ceased to exist the instant she decided to run. And her maid has been dealt with.’

Sayrid clenched her fists and concentrated on breathing steadily. Silently she promised to have the maid found and brought to her hall. She longed to draw her sword and start the feud for real, but if she did, she’d be made into an outlaw and all her lands would be forfeit. Some day she’d make him pay for the insult. ‘If that is the way you wish it. I would ask that Ingvar Bloodaxe pays me passage for the wool sacks my ships carried this summer as part of the bride price. Who would pay a bride price for a dead woman?’

The jaarl nodded. ‘A fair request. You will do this by the next Assembly, Ingvar. The matter is now closed and justice has been done.’

Bloodaxe muttered under his breath.

Sayrid raised her chin and carefully kept her face blank. Smug satisfaction would only rub salt into the wounds. Bloodaxe knew he’d lost. But the old miser would take his own sweet time in paying the amount owed. She’d be willing to wager gold on that.

Time to start making friends. Creating enemies benefited no one. She’d won. Regin was safe. She only hoped Blodvin was worth it.

‘I would like to invite everyone to a feast to celebrate my brother’s marriage to Blodvin the Fatherless.’

A loud cheering broke out in the hall, even amongst Bloodaxe’s supporters. Sayrid carefully schooled her features. Her instinct was correct. Everyone loved a marriage feast.

* * *

‘A word, Kettil, before the feasting begins.’ Hrolf prevented the elderly jaarl from rising as the hall cleared.

‘Your well-timed intervention prevented a bloody feud between two powerful families in this district.’ The older man inclined his head. ‘I salute your wisdom.’

‘I told the truth.’ Hrolf gave Kettil a hard look. ‘Something you should have done when I first enquired about Bloodaxe’s daughter. You encouraged me in the match when the woman was clearly besotted with another.’

‘Until a woman is married...’ Kettil waved a vague hand. ‘It can be, Sea-Rider, that maintaining peace is far harder than simply leading a felag . I was aware of the complications of the match, but not the depth of feeling between the pair. Young Regin is far from the sort of warrior I’d have chosen for my daughter if I had been blessed with a child instead of being cursed to love barren women.’

‘Is that so?’

‘After her father’s death, Sayrid promised he would become a good warrior, but I see little evidence of it.’

‘My problem remains. I desire a wife and land with a bay to keep my ships.’

‘You will have to seek her elsewhere.’

‘And the Shield Maiden? What is her dowry? Avil Ironfist was a considerable landholder.’

Kettil gave a short laugh. ‘Seek elsewhere. The maiden does not require a husband. She assures me of this every time she returns from one of her voyages. And she’d make a terrible wife. I doubt she knows one end of a loom from the other.’

‘How hard can it be to defeat a woman?’ Bragi asked. ‘Who has she fought in defence of her property? A few old men and beardless boys? If you won’t challenge for that prize, old friend, I will take the honour.’

‘Leave it, Bragi. Some things make poor jests.’

‘Do not think you are the first to covet Ironfist’s lands. She holds them well.’ Kettil raised a brow. ‘Sayrid is perhaps the best fighter I’ve seen. She’s quick and has a brain which is more than can be said for many warriors.’