Viking Flame: Prequel to Viking Fire Page 2

  The servants grumbled and stole glares at him, but gradually returned to eating and whispering.

  Bram’s gaze drew to every woman with red hair. None here in the dining chambers had the bright vibrant red as the woman with the bow had been. It was like if the sun turned red and the spun into strands of hair. She was nowhere.

  Was she a servant then? Couldn’t be, she was dressed in too fine a clothing to be anything less than a noble woman.

  Finishing his morning meal, Bram nodded goodbye to the other servants.

  From the corner of his vision, a flash of white made him turn. Elva, the servant woman, snuck out of the dining chamber.

  He’d played too many a games with his eight brothers not to recognize when someone was up to something that wouldn’t be approved. Tracing her steps, he was outside in the courtyard and his breath caught. There was the woman from yesterday.

  “Where are you going?” a soldier asked.

  “Sorry, forgot something.” Bram sauntered toward where Elva had disappeared.

  From around the corner, the red-haired woman’s words carried on the breeze and he loved the Irish lilt of her voice. “Father can give my portions of bread and meat to the hungry.” Her back to him, she waved an arm out toward Elva. “They are starving in the fields and I can’t stomach the idea of fatty greasy meat while they lack. Surely, everyone would be able to scrape off—”

  “Your father will not be so kind as to give away food from his own table.” Elva turned and stared at him a moment.

  As if sensing that she wanted him to stay in the shadows from her raised eyebrows, he ducked behind a fig bush. When the two women return to chatting, Bram realizes Elva wants him to listen, so he stays hidden.

  “It’s not like he’ll miss it.” The red-haired woman kicked aside a stone. “Too often food goes back to the kitchens uneaten. The village children with their hollow eyes and long faces… I want to do something for them.” She snapped her fingers. “I know. Tell the cook to make the bread trenchers smaller. About a quarter of the size for the women and children, leave the men’s portions the same as always, save Douglas and Ernest—they eat less than even me. Give the remainder of all the excess food to me, and I’ll distribute them to the countryside.”

  “In what?” Elva placed her hands on her hips, but it didn’t sound like she tried to convince her mistress this plan was foolhardy.

  “Go fetch a wagon and a driver.” The red-haired lass glanced in his direction, but didn’t seem to notice him. Her emerald eyes caught the late afternoon sunlight before she glanced back at Elva. “Quickly now.”

  “I will find us a driver.” Elva paused at the bush and nodded at Bram. “It would do well not to have too many in this plot of yours as it could lead to someone taken you as ransom and the Laird would kill me if anything happened to you like your twin cousins.”

  Chapter Three

  Bram had no idea who his mystery woman was or even her name, but he knew she was at least a nobleman’s daughter by her bearing and velvet panels in the emerald gown she wore. If this was Rebecca, then the Norns had smiled upon him this time. He hoped this was Rebecca, though doubt made him cautious.

  Three guards laughed as they rounded the corner where he waited, then stopped. “You the Lachlan our Laird hired?”

  “I am.” Bram squared his shoulders and nodded.

  “You’re not as tall as the priests say Lachlans are.”

  “Then you’ve not met one of my brothers.” Bram smiled. “He’d probably bump his head on your low ceilings.” Even though Devin was the tallest of them, he added the exaggeration of his height. But he didn’t want to make enemies here. He had to live and work beside these men. “Perhaps tomorrow, we can do some sword play. I’m sure you’ve had training that would help me out in battle.”

  “Perhaps,” one answered. Then nodded his head in dismissal. “Good day.”

  Bram gave a nod then strode past them until he spotted Elva sweeping rushes down a corridor. He marched toward her and snatched her elbow, drawing her closer so no one would overhear them. “Take me to the wagon you and the wench plan to use tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t go anywhere near her.” She folded her arms and her eyes glaring. “Rebecca is your intended, not Kaireen.”

  “And I’m not about to let you two get yourselves beaten or worse over a wagon full of food.” Kaireen? She was beautiful, had another man already claimed her?

  Elva snorted. “And how do you plan on protecting us? You haven’t even got a sword.”

  “By the time the wagon is packed with food, I’ll be ready.” He strolled toward the armory. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Don’t leave without me, I’ll protect you both.”

  “And if Lady Kaireen sees you? As soon as she knows you’re a Viking, she’ll tell her mother and father regardless that all this was her plan. You’ll be hung, and I’ll be whipped.”

  “I’ll be one of her father’s guardsmen. Doubtful she knows all of them by name and face?” When Elva crossed her arms over her chest, he continued, “Tell her I’m mute. I swear I will never let anyone know I went with you both. You have my vow to Odin and Thor.”

  “Aye. And if you ever speak a word of it, even in the throes of lovemaking, I will gut you in your sleep.” A chilling breeze swept from her, gathering twigs and rushes and tossed them against his boots.

  Her shadow seemed to grow long between them as if she were a Völva. But she couldn’t be, not a handmaid. In his land, Völvas were respected and honored, not scrubbing laundry. Even if Ireland didn’t honor their wise women, fear alone would make them weary of one working as a servant. Instead of answering her threat, he turned on his heel and left her muttering. He rounded a corner and an unknown woman with brown hair and dressed in a yellow gown blocked his path.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Walking. I was on my way to the stables to view the horses.”

  “The stables are that way.” She pointed to his left. “You’re a stranger here?”

  “Aye. I’m Bram.”

  Her eyes widened and she dipped into a curtsey. “My Lord … I-I’m Rebecca.” Her cheeks appeared to be in a constant blush.

  “Stand.” He helped her up offering her his hand which she took in hers. “I’m no Lord.”

  “B-but you are to be my husband. The Lochlann from across the sea my Da told me about.” Her dark eyes filled with a mixture of awe and unease.

  He cringed. The word Lochlann was Gallic for Viking and meant as an insult. “I am he, but—” he paused. Might as well try to see if a spark could exist between him and Rebecca.

  His words were cut off when Rebecca grabbed his bearded face and kissed him. It wasn’t the kiss of an experienced woman. More like someone desperate.

  He broke the kiss. “Wait.” He pulled her hands away. “We have time to get to know one another before—” While he wanted a willing wife, he wanted a bit of a challenge too.

  “Have I displeased you?” her voice cracked.

  “You’re trying too hard.” He patted her hands and gave her a wink. “Let’s take the pressure of a marriage off both our necks… agreed?”

  She shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We have no need to rush.” He rose and offered her his arm. “The gardens are massive, how about giving me a tour?” If Elva left with Kaireen without him, he’d chase them both down.

  “Do you have gardens in your land?” She accepted his arm.

  “Not as lavish as this.” He waved a hand out as they walked. “Where are you lands?” He had no land back home. His family’s plot went to the oldest brother; the rest of them had to scrape for themselves.

  “Father promised if I had a husband, he’d give me half his lands.” She pointed south. “It’s about a day’s ride from here.”

  Rebecca’s presence was calming, but she didn’t excite him, not like Kaireen did. Friends. That was all he could imagine
right now. Or perhaps a certain red-haired lass had already ensnared his mind. Maybe in time, he’d solve Kaireen’s mystery of why he was drawn to her and be able to marry Rebecca as per his contract.

  After the tour of the gardens and escorting Rebecca back to the dining chambers, he dashed to the armory. If it took too long to get a sword and that blasted Elva didn’t wait for him… inside two guards jumped to attention when he entered.

  “I need a sword.”

  “And we need a pitcher of ale.” The guard to his right snickered. “Though either one right now is as folly as wishing the blasted sun would set sooner so that we’re off-duty.”

  He didn’t need these men delaying him further. “If I bring back a pitcher of wine, will you trade me for one of those swords?”

  “We’ll take the wine for you bothering us, but you’re daft if you think we’ll just give you a weapon.” The one polishing an axe never paused in his work.

  “All right. Wine and a fight against me with that axe you’re caressing.” Bram placed his hands on his hips. “After the gift of the wine, I’ll fight you barehanded… and if I win, I get my pick of a sword.” The blade in his boot from the Irish fishing ship would do him little good against a sword or axe anyway.

  “What’s in it for us?” the other guard beside the arrow slit asked.

  “Besides the wine?” Bram smirked. “You get to see how a Viking fights without losing your life.”

  Chapter Four

  The men laughed, but Bram narrowed his eyes. Vikings were feared. And these two, not giving him the impression of warriors, would falter somehow. At least he was counting on it. In the battlefield, even without a weapon, these two would not make him tremble.

  “Ready?” Bram clenched his fists.

  “The wine first.”

  They called his bluff.

  Before he spun around, Elva pushed past him. “Sorry, my lord. The wine master took longer than I expected.”

  Had she overheard his boast earlier? Must have and she’d taken pity on him—or she wanted to see if he could fight. Maybe Laird Liannon requested she observe him in a battle. That made sense. Why hire a Viking to fight with your clan if the man were merely a pretender… a farmer. And this making him wait for an audience; the Laird was obviously testing his patience.

  Both men stood; one drew his sword, the other gripped the axe tighter. “All right, Lochlann. Let’s see how you fair against two Irishmen.”

  “We’ll have to send you back home in pieces,” the other joked.

  Elva disappeared out of the chamber and her laughter echoed down the hallway. Did she laugh at the man’s words or their foolishness? Bram stood three inches taller than both men.

  Bram shrugged. “We will see, little men.”

  The slightly shorter of the Irishmen growled and hurled his axe. Bram leapt back, out of reach. With the momentum of the swing, the axe stuck in the wooden door beside him. Bram smiled and kicked the man under his chin. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped down along the stone wall, his boots hitting the wooden door. The wooden door swaying from the action.

  “Heathen scum!” the man raced forward with his sword raised.

  Bram danced to the side, but the blade sliced through his tunic and bit his arm. Seeing the blood, the Irishman smirked. The man dashed forward, swiping with his sword as if cutting down wheat. Using a wrestling move Bram learned fighting with his brothers; he ducked underneath the man’s raised arm and rammed his elbow into the underside of the man’s forearm. Then he crouched down, letting the man’s body continue its trajectory over him. A crack sounded as the man’s head hit the wooden door, fragments of wood splintering.

  “Thank you for the wine and sword, gentlemen.” From the armory wall, Bram snatched up a sword and scabbard. Wine, and a little sweat and blood, not a bad price for the items. He fastened the belt around his waist and sheathed the sword. It felt good to have a blade at his hip again – though he missed his own LegEater he’d sold for passage here.

  This one felt puny in his hand, but it was better than the small dagger in his boot. Now to keep Kaireen from getting hurt on her fools’ errand.

  *

  Bram jogged past the keep to the cluster of aspen, hawthorn, and elm trees. Inside the back of a wagon stuffed with barrels, Elva waited, but Kaireen was nowhere in sight. His steps lightened; perhaps her handmaid had convinced her to stay. He could take the food down to the village without worry about the women’s safety.

  His cloak flapped in the breeze as the sun dipped behind purple clouds. At the wagon, he meet Elva who stood waiting. “Is everything ready?”

  “Of course.” Elva bowed her head. “The food is inside the barrels. Now draw your hood and get ready to drive us before Kaireen sees your face and realizes you’re a Lochlann.” She climbed into the back of the wagon.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d believe Elva working as a handmaid was below her station. Regardless, he shook his head, but did as the woman bid and climbed into the driver’s seat. A few moments later, Kaireen dashed out of the gardens toward them. She didn’t stop until she leapt into the back of the wagon with Elva.

  “Hurry. That snooty Rhiannon is following me.”

  He clicked his tongue and the horses trotted ahead. “Who’s Rhiannon?” he asked hoping his accent fitted the more Irish brogue.

  “Just a miserly woman who longs to punish any she can.” After they’d turned onto the dirt road, Kaireen sighed. “I think we lost her. Rather deal with a punishment after helping those in need then before.”

  “Aye.” Elva cleared her throat. “Forgiveness is easier than sanction… especially with your father.”

  Kaireen laughed. “You’d think by now, he’d just give into what I want, instead of arguing with me all the time. If he listened to me more about important matters, we’d be better off.”

  “How so?” Elva asked and Bram guessed she already knew the answer, but was making conversation with Kaireen to keep her distracted about asking who escorted them.

  “I’ve told him this Lachlann he wants to hire to fight cannot be trusted.”

  Bram coughed to cover his laughter.

  “This one may be different—”

  “How can you say that? You saw what those heathens did to my cousins. Elizabeth was barely eleven and they’d raped and abused her so horribly even the finest physicians couldn’t keep death away the next morn. And Mary died covered in filth before we reached her.”

  “Not all men are the same.” Elva paused. “We’ve got good and bad on this side of the water too.”

  True enough. He’d fought alongside other Norsemen that made him want to switch sides.

  “Aye. Though if I was Rebecca, I’d rather marry a braying mule than a foul Lachlann.” Kaireen grunted as the wagon wheel dipped into a hole. “Father should cancel this agreement and send soldiers to turn this Viking back where he came from.”

  So, Kaireen hated his kind. Understandable from raids on their monasteries and taking of slaves and maidens. But why did she have such venom in her voice?

  The dirt road widened with lush towering oak trees lining both sides. It would be dark within the hour, he hoped they didn’t take that long to unload the food and give it to the villagers. Darkness could bring wolves or worse… men who couldn’t be trusted with a fine lass like Kaireen.

  “And you should know by now that you get your stubbornness from your Da and he’ll not void his promise. The Lachlann will live on our lands and fight with us,” Elva answered.

  Kaireen snorted. Too bad Laird and Lady Liannon would announce his presence and his betrothal to Rebecca tomorrow evening. He wanted to spend more time getting to know Kaireen. Find out more about her. Maybe convince her that Vikings weren’t all monsters.

  Elva had said she hated his kind and now he knew why. What if he could change her mind… or rather her heart? Even though a marriage contract was a serious thing and binding, annulments or other agreements could be met.


  The wagon jerked along the well-worn road until they reached the bottom of the valley. There, in the distance, stood blinking torches illuminated angry men’s faces and each had a weapon of either knives, sword, spade, and one held a scythe.

  “Oh, Hel and Loki be damned,” Bram mumbled.

  *

  A mixture of villagers, craftsmen, and what looked like rival Irish clansmen filled the road before them. Their torches flickering as dusk settled.

  “What have we here?” A burly Irishman licked his lips. “Two tasty morsels and a hunchback driver?”

  Bram looked over his shoulder to tell the women to stay down.

  “We brought food for the widows and poor.” Kaireen rose. Her shoulders straightened. “This is for them, not the lazy.”

  The man sneered. “And what’s to keep us from taking this food and you?”

  “I am.” Bram stood in the wagon and let his full height show.

  “A foreigner?” A man with an axe tapped the back of it against his boot and then spit.

  “Aye. And my blade has not tasted blood from my swings, yet.” Bram unsheathed his sword.

  “Are ye mad?” Kaireen reached over a barrel beside the driver’s bench and snatched at Bram’s arm. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on the crowd inching closer. “Let us leave the food and be gone.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off his enemy to look at her despite the tingles racing along his skin at her touch. “Elva, take her and get out of here. Now.” He didn’t know what was in the woods, but it would be better than what awaited them here with half the men giving the women leering stares.

  “Stay and watch.” A blacksmith heaved a hammer over his shoulder. “This won’t take long.”

  “Go!” Bram pushed Kaireen toward Elva. “I’ll hold them back as long as I can.” He knew this had been a bad idea. It’d been better if they’d let him do this alone.

  “B-but the food is for those who need it… not the greedy.” Kaireen protested but Elva dragged her back. “Ach, I should’ve brought my bow with me.”