Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Read online

  “Strian?” Gressa’s eyes were closed, and her voice craggy as though she had not used it in days. “Strian, don’t leave! I’m over here! Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Why can’t you hear me?”

  Strian realized she was dreaming. Or rather, she was having a nightmare of the day fate separated them.

  “Strian!” Her scream turned into a whimper as her fingers combed through the air grasping nothing.

  “Gressa, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I can hear you.” Strian sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand. She relaxed as the pressure of his hand on hers registered, but she did not say another word.

  Strian let her sleep as his mind ventured to the same place that caused Gressa’s nightmare, the day war separated them. The day he lost his wife.

  “Stay close to me, Strian. When I run out of arrows, then you can move ahead. Let me pick off as many as I can before you have to fight.”

  Strian looked down at the little pixie face set in stone. His wife of three months was not joking. Gressa intended to protect him from the battle that was about to begin. She was just as fierce as any of the other shieldmaidens. She had the same skill and strength as Tyra and Freya, but unlike the other two women, she had something worth defending. Strian knew she would fight to the death to protect him just as he would do the same for her.

  His tribe had been tracking a band of neighboring Norsemen for close to a month after they raided his tribe’s home. Strian and Tyra both lost their mothers in that raid, and Lena had almost died while trying to hide the other women. Gressa and Strian, along with Leif, Freya, Tyra, and Bjorn, had been with their fathers on a fishing trip when neighbors to the south overran their homestead, killing any and every one they saw.

  “Strian, are you even listening to me?” Gressa pinched his forearm. “Stay behind me. You are a much bigger target than I am. Wait until there are few arrows flying before you charge forward.”

  Strian wrapped his large hands around Gressa’s trim waist and lifted her until she was eye level with him. He gave her a firm peck before putting her back on the ground with a spank to her backside.

  “I remember it was me who pledged to protect you. Don’t be reckless, Gressa.”

  She pinched his arm again before rising on her toes and kissing his chin, the highest part of him she could reach since he was a foot taller than her.

  “I would say the same to you. Just because you’re bigger than most warriors doesn’t make you any less mortal. You aren’t one of the gods, even if you look like one.” She grinned as she slapped his backside for good measure.

  They heard the call go up from Ivar and Eindride, Strian’s father. They moved into their position in the shield wall and waited for the order to move forward. It was only moments later that the first arrows bounced off their shields. Strian kept his shield locked with those at his shoulders, only pulling back long enough for Gressa to poke her bow and arrow through. The band of warriors moved as one with the shield wall unbroken, creating openings for archers to shoot at their enemy. They made steady progress, and Gressa would soon run out of arrows before the first chink in the shield wall fell. It was like a domino effect after that. One warrior after another screamed out in pain and tumbled to the ground, some to writhe in agony as others turned to stone.

  “The shield wall won’t hold much longer. Gressa, get behind me when it does. Shoot over my shoulder when you can, but otherwise stay down!” Strian had to yell to be heard over the cacophony of battle sounds even though Gressa was only inches away from him.

  “All right.”

  They continued to advance, and Strian could hear his father’s voice from further down the line, booming like thunder. The shield wall gave way, and the melee began in truth. Warriors from both tribes clashed as they wielded their shields as weapons just as they did knives and swords. Blood splattered across Strian’s chest as he used his long reach to block anyone who might try to get past him and get to his bride.

  “Strian, to the right.”

  Strian twisted in time for Gressa to release an arrow into the neck of a man he had not even seen approaching them.

  “Thank you.”

  “You can make it up to me tonight. With that thing you do with your tongue.”

  “You’re thinking about that right now?” Strian chuckled even though they were amid a gruesome scene.

  “I need something to look forward to.” Gressa teased as she threw her knife into the eye of a man who prepared to charge them.

  “I will gladly offer that if you don’t fall asleep again while I make love to you. It’s rather insulting.”

  “That happened only once. And it had been a long day of riding and then fighting. It wasn’t a reflection upon your skills.”

  Strian’s snort turned into a grunt as he lunged forward and brought his blade across his enemy’s ribs. The fighting became too intense to continue talking. Strian would regret for the rest of his life that he had not tried harder to keep talking to Gressa. He might have discovered she was missing far sooner.

  Gressa tripped over a body with sightless eyes as she tried to keep up with Strian. A fight with another shieldmaiden, who wielded a sword and an axe, forced her to fall behind. She was a fierce opponent but held too high an opinion of herself if she believed she did not need a shield. Gressa hacked and slashed until her opponent lay waiting for a Valkyrie to carry her to Odin. By the time Gressa could look around for Strian, she could not spot him. She scanned the battlefield, but he was nowhere in sight. She controlled the panic that wanted to take hold as fear flooded her. She was not scared about her own safety but that of Strian. She rushed forward toward other members of her tribe, but she still could not find her husband. She was nearly to where Freya and Tyra fought alongside one another, but fire ripped through her back and into her thigh. She staggered several steps until her leg went numb, and her entire body felt as though it disappeared from beneath her neck. Gressa pitched forward and landed with a thud, her head ringing with the vibration and the sounds of the ongoing battle around her. She looked around, but when she sensed someone stepping over her, she shut her eyes and remained motionless. Later, she would look back and realize pretending to be dead was what kept her from dying. Whoever felled her assumed they had killed her too, because they left her where she lay.

  Gressa laid in the same spot, blood pooling around her, for what felt like hours. The battle shifted away from her, and the sun moved across the sky. She forced herself into action and dragged her uncooperative body behind her as she crawled on her elbows until she met the tree line and could hide. It was several hours later that she heard a voice she recognized.

  “Gressa!” The voice screamed over and over.

  “I’m here.” She could not muster more than a whisper. No one, not even her, could hear her as she tried to lift her arm. Most of the bleeding had slowed, but she was too weak to do more.

  “Gressa! Where are you?” Strian’s despair was palpable, and her heart ached to cause him such pain when she was so close.

  “Strian, we must go.”

  Gressa twisted her head to see Bjorn running towards her. She tried to call out to him, but no sound came from her mouth.

  “Strian, we’ve searched for hours. No one has seen Gressa. They may have taken her.”

  “All the more reason to search for her. Bjorn, I’m not leaving without my wife. Go without me. But I will not leave without her.”

  “You have little choice. Ivar is ordering us all back to the boats.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Bjorn was incredulous. “You can’t say no to the jarl’s order.”

  “I can, and I am. I already found my father’s body. Without Gressa, what do I have to return to? Nothing. I am not leaving without her.”

  Gressa watched as Strian changed directions and started to walk towards where she hid in the bushes. She reached out her hand and called to him.

  “Bjorn, shh. What was that? I’m sure that was Gre
ssa calling me.”

  Gressa held her breath before trying to yell as loudly as she could, but it was more a whimper than a bellow.

  “There it is again. I know I heard my name.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. Come on, Strian. We must go. Ivar won’t wait much longer.”

  “And I told you, I’m not going anywhere without her.”

  Gressa watched in horror as Strian drew his sword against his best friend, and in turn Bjorn pulled out his knife. They circled one another, but before the fight could begin, it ended. Leif and Ivar lunged forward and caught Strian’s arms as Bjorn, joined by Strian’s uncle Einar, caught his legs. He twisted and writhed, head butting Leif more than once, but he was no match for the four large warriors. They bound him and dragged him away.

  “I curse each one of you. I will never forgive you for this. She is alive and nearby. I know it, and you’re abandoning her. May the gods curse each of you. I won’t leave my wife.”

  Those were the last words Gressa heard from Strian even though his howls carried through the air. Anyone who had not seen Strian being restrained would have thought it was an engaged wolf baying at the moon.

  Exhaustion had a choke hold on Gressa as the last dregs of energy evaporated along with her hopes of rescue. She regretted thinking the trees would offer her safety. Instead, they were her undoing. She closed her eyes and gave into the craving to sleep.

  “Here’s one,” a whiny tone filled Gressa’s ears as her eyes fluttered open. She snapped them shut when pain surged through her back and leg. She gagged as the excruciating tingling and burning rippled from her wounds into every inch of her.

  “This one is alive. Barely. I saw her fight. She’s worth keeping. She’ll bring plenty of money if she survives.”

  Rough hands grabbed Gressa’s hair and lifted her head from the ground.

  “Yes, this is the one I saw, too. Remarkable archer and would be good with a sword if she paid more attention to those around her. I was the one to cut her down. I claim her as my thrall.”

  Gressa watched a middle-aged woman walk around her until the older woman’s toes slipped under her shoulder. Gressa could not swallow the groan when the other woman used her foot to push her onto her back. Gressa was in agony as her wound hit the ground. Any thoughts of responding were gone when blackness swallowed her once more.

  Gressa had never been seasick, but she was sure she would be as her stomach pitched one direction then the next. She struggled to open her eyes as they felt crusted shut. Her tongue slid along her salty lips, and Gressa knew she was on a boat.

  Various thoughts fluttered through her head, but the two loudest were that she did not know whose boat she was on or where it was headed.

  “Mae hi'n effro.” A man’s voice floated to her. She searched her memory for the words she heard, but there were barely any memories to begin with, let alone ones in a foreign language.

  “Who are you?” Another voice asked in her own Norse tongue.

  “Gressa,” She mumbled.

  “Gressa what?”

  She refused to give any more information until she knew who held her captive and where she was going.

  “Gressa what?” The voice repeated. After a long pause, a sigh followed. “You can make this easy for yourself or you can dig your own grave. I already know you are one of Ivar’s people, but you aren’t really Norse, are you?”

  Gressa bit her tongue. She refused to say or do anything. The owner of the voice came into focus. It was the same middle-aged woman who had found her on the battlefield.

  “You recognize me. Very well. You remember that I claimed you as my thrall?” Again, the voice waited, but Gressa did nothing. “I decided it’s worth more to sell you than keep you as my slave. I just have to keep you alive.”

  “Sell me back then,” Gressa managed to choke out.

  “Back? To Ivar? To that husband who nearly got himself killed trying to abandon his people for his Sami bride?”

  Gressa lifted her head at the woman’s last comment.

  “Oh, yes. We watched from the bushes. Not only was your husband bound and dragged to his jarl’s ship, he jumped overboard the moment they untied him. He was trying to get back to you. Last any of us saw him, they lashed him then shackled to the mast.”

  Gressa stifled the sobs that fought to escape her throat. She looked away from the older woman as she pictured Strian fighting not only their jarl, but his uncle and his best friends. Fighting them to get to her. She prayed to Frigg and Freya that he would do nothing to get himself killed. She shifted slightly, but this time she could not suppress the sound that escaped as her wound shot blazing pain to the very tips of her toes and fingers.

  “I wouldn’t move around so much if you don’t want to bleed to death. You won’t do me much good dead.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You shall see when you arrive.” The woman bent over her and ripped apart the vest and tunic she wore. A bucket of water seemed to appear out of nowhere, and the woman dumped the saltwater over Gressa’s wounds. It felt like a thousand pinpricks dancing across the serrated skin of her back and leg. Before she caught her breath, the searing pain intensified as Gressa caught a whiff of syra, a fermented wine, as she poured it onto the wound. It was believed to have healing properties, but Gressa could not get past the putrid odor.

  “I must stitch this.” The middle-aged woman, whose name Gressa still did not know, took a needle and thread from a pouch tied at her waist. Gressa had no way of knowing if the woman knew what she was doing, but she trusted her. She hated to admit it, but it was obvious the woman was a seasoned warrior. Gressa was certain her wounds would not be the first the woman had sewn. Her would-be healer yanked the belt from Gressa’s waist.

  “Here.” Gressa took the leather and bit down on it before rolling back onto her stomach.

  It took the woman over an hour to stitch Gressa’s back and leg, and by the time she finished, Gressa had a raging fever and was unconscious.

  The next time Gressa awoke was when the boat bumped into something and lurched to one side. She lifted her head to see they were docked, and it was the dock that they had knocked against. Gressa had no idea where she was, how long she had been asleep, or what would happen next.

  “I see our invalid has rejoined the living.” The words came from a voice she did not recognize. “You’ve been battling a fever for a week and barely been awake. I doubt you remember any of it.”

  Gressa tested out shaking her head. There was a dull ache in her skull that matched the ache that seemed bone deep in her back. She tried moving her injured leg, and relief flooded her when she could flex her foot. She had feared she would lose the leg.

  “Where are we?”

  “Your new home. Wales.”

  Three

  Strian sat beside Gressa until she awoke. He had a pitcher of water and a tray that held cheese, bread, and an apple waiting for her.

  “Water,” Gressa croaked.

  Strian helped prop her up as she sipped the cool liquid.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “The rest of the day and into the night. I would say it’s an hour or two after midnight. Would you like something to eat?”

  “The apple, please.” She reached for it, but her hand remained empty. She watched Strian peel then cut the apple just as she had always preferred. He did not appear to give much thought to his actions, as though it was still a habit. He passed the wedges to her and waited in silence as she ate.

  “What happens now?” She asked around the bite of apple she had taken.

  “I’m guessing you would like to bathe and have fresh clothes.”

  Gressa’s brow creased as she was uncertain if Strian was being purposely evasive. She looked into his gray eyes; never having forgotten how they were so translucent that they appeared almost silver. It matched his sun-bleached hair. He wore it longer now than when they had been a young couple of seventeen and nineteen. Her fingers itched to
comb through the tresses just as she had done countless times while he courted her and then during their all too brief marriage. She forced her mind to return to the present.

  “It’s the middle of the night. I can’t go to the bathhouse at this hour.”

  “If you want the steam and then the cold-water dunk, then I will take you and stand guard outside, but if you’d prefer to stay here, then I still have the tub I could fill.”

  Gressa’s cheeks flamed red as a vivid memory of them making love in the tub on their wedding night and then several more times when his parents socialized at the jarl’s home.

  “Why are you being so solicitous?”

  Strian chose to ignore her, instead moving to a chest that sat in a corner. He lifted the lid and pulled out several pieces of clothing. Gressa gaped as he laid out the beautifully stitched knee-length tunic and the wide leg pants worn under the tunic.

  “You kept my clothes?” she murmured.

  “Of course. I assumed you would need them again one day.” Strian returned with a pair of her Sami rolled toe slippers.

  “But it’s been ten years.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Strian’s voice was tight as he forced out those three words.

  Gressa filled her lungs until they hurt, knowing she should not start this discussion now, but her curiosity would go unsatisfied until she had her answers.

  “Why don’t you have a wife?”

  Strian’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “I do have a wife.”

  Gressa considered playing ignorant but decided better.

  “A companion then?”

  “I pledged my fidelity to my wife.”

  At that, Gressa snorted.

  “You as much as admitted when we were at Castle Varrich that you’d been with other women.”

  “You assumed that. I never said I had.”