Blind Allegiance (22 page)

With the immediate threat neutralized, Randvior ran across the room to Noelle. He scolded her as he freed her hands and mouth. “How dare you leave my side?” Tears wet the corners of his eyes.

He was so tempted to make love to her right now. Instead, he spread his arms wide. She fell into them weeping and laughing at the same time.

“Tell me . . .” He pleaded as he enveloped her in his arms. The unfinished question was devoid of any vanity.
Promise me he didn’t touch you . . .
He needed to hear it from her lips.

Noelle didn’t hesitate—she shook her head slowly and said, “Only a kiss. He took my clothes and bound me because I tried to escape again.”

Randvior pulled her closer. His own brave Valkyrie, a tiny warrior the gods gifted him to love for eternity.

He still wanted to bash Sveinn’s brains in. A noise from near the entrance made him turn around and he found his men gathered in the doorway—some watching Sveinn and three transfixed by the naked beauty in his arms. “Get out!” he snarled as he released Noelle and walked to the door and kicked it shut.

“Get dressed, little one.” He turned his fury on Sveinn.

Although Randvior was not the type to torment an injured man he felt obligated to enlighten Sveinn before he died. Sveinn was braced against the far wall, his war axe still stuck in his body. Randvior ripped it free. Sveinn screamed in agonizing pain and fell face down on the floor.

“You’ll find no mercy here, Sveinn Ovesen. You’ve shamed your father’s name and assaulted the woman I love. Were you fool enough to think I’d bring such a delicate flower across the North Sea without establishing myself as her betrothed before we landed? I made love to her over and over again. As for you, your fate rests in the hands of my captain.”

Fully clothed, Noelle joined him and stared down at her kidnapper. She had no words, perhaps this time she agreed a man should die for his crimes.

Randvior took her bag and directed her to the door.

“Are you hurt?”

“My heart aches.” Big, tear-filled eyes stared up at him.

Enough of this place. He opened the door. “Aud! This bastard is yours to do with as you please.”

Randvior brushed past his men with Noelle in tow. Once outside, he gave her a brisk kiss and lifted her onto the saddle. He climbed up behind. They rode a short distance and faced the cabin. Aud came outside, leading Sveinn on a rope looped around his neck, his hands bound behind his back. Within seconds, the cabin turned into an inferno.

Randvior mouthed a prayer as he watched the flames rise higher.
“
To Odin, I am beholden. To Allfather, I am forever grateful. You have delivered mine enemies. Their blood, evidence of your unwavering favor. I am your slave, even after my death, where I beg to sit at your table until the last glorious battle where we must all sacrifice our souls for the sake of Ragnarǫk.”

Chapter 17

Ashes to Ashes

Time had become a shadow while Randvior was separated from Noelle. Now it drove him, he took no chances riding in the open. Staying vigilant with every inch of ground he covered, he looked over his shoulder continuously. If Sveinn had been shrewd enough to coordinate Noelle’s kidnapping, nothing would have stopped him from planting guards along the roadway to ambush them.

He headed northeast, away from the coast.

Randvior was unhappy with himself. Deep down, he still wished he’d been the one to kill Sveinn. But things were changing, especially inside. He’d demonstrated mercy by sparing the lives of those guards. His father had always told him it’s easier to kill than not to. And told him once he grew to manhood he’d understand the usefulness of benevolence. All men make war, but few possess the necessary scruples to make peace. Randvior had done that . . . and now, for Noelle’s sake, he allowed those men to live. He remembered her words—why she believed they could never be together. His violence was an abomination in her god’s eyes. Though he secretly wondered if her Allfather wore breeches or a dress.

Pallid light streaked the sky, the weather overcast and cold. None of it could penetrate the luxurious heat wrapped in his arms. Noelle’s slight form curled close to his heart. He held on tightly, galloping faster and faster. They passed the eastern border of his father’s steading and rode through vales and woods before a large lake came into sight. Someone unfamiliar with the landscape might not see it. Beyond the southern shore rose a configuration of starkly white standing stones, almost camouflaged by snow. There they would be offered sanctuary.

He didn’t want Noelle to miss seeing the holy place and called to her. People from all over Norway visited this site on pilgrimages during the summer months. She moved, popped open an eye, and quickly closed it again. He laughed delightedly. Anything she did right now would make him happy.

“Wake up,
min lille dukke
.”

She grumbled something unintelligible and peeked up at him. “Do I have a choice?”

Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, but she remained as adorable and pretty as ever. He pulled her hood back.

“I want you to
see
where we’re going.” He pointed across the lake. “This is an enchanted place, where Odin first made his treaty with us. If you look beyond the shoreline and keep your eyes sharply focused northward, where the trees begin to thin out, you can see a group of standing stones. Nine perfectly matched stones.”

He knew she adored history.

“And
why
is this place so important at this ungodly hour?” She yawned and tried to lie back down.

“We believe this is one of the places where heaven meets the earth. The gateway into Midgard, the lands Odin gifted the first man and woman, Ask and Embla, to live in.”

“Surely you know that’s a myth.” She was awake now.

“Is it less believable than a garden paradise?”

She considered it. “No,” Noelle sighed. “What do the stones represent? Is nine an important number in your world?”

He pinched her hand appreciatively. Her inquisitive mind wouldn’t allow her to fall asleep again. “Aye,” he said excitedly. “The universe is divided into three levels and nine worlds. Those worlds are Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Midgard, Jotunheim, Nidavellir, Svartalfheim, Hel, and Niflheim. Each stone represents one of those worlds. And the first Norse king, Harald Fairhair, swore the gods erected these stones as demarcations to show where we should live. They symbolize our sovereignty over the nations of the earth. And each one reminds us of the nine immortal virtues that Northmen strive to live by. If a man abandons them, his soul is doomed—his name forever stricken from the annals of Valhalla. Other legends claim maidens inhabit them, Odin’s own daughters as guardians of the realm.”

“Name these virtues.”

“I cannot, they are forbidden to foreigners. But I shall reveal one,
love
.”

As long as she distinguished between Odin and her god, respected the significance of Allfather’s gifts, she would be welcome here. As they neared the clearing, she pointed at a cottage between the sixth and seventh stones.

“A caretaker lives here, a most beloved priest and friend.”

Randvior dismounted and she followed. He hobbled his stallion and they walked to the cabin. Before he could knock, the small door opened. A hoary-colored beard covered the stranger’s face; he wore a plain wool tunic. Randvior bowed and they exchanged pleasantries before they embraced.

The priest turned to Noelle. “Is this the woman I’ve heard so much about?”

“Aye.”

“Odin has an eye for beauty. Come and warm yourselves by the fire.”

The one-room cabin was sparsely decorated, with a crudely made bed, a table, four chairs, and bookcases brimming with ancient scrolls and manuscripts. The priest poured three glasses of wine from an open bottle and served them
.

“Does your lady know the purpose of your visit?”

“No.” Bloodlust still thundered in Randvior’s heart. No, it was time to speak of love now, not hate.

Growing thoughtful, Randvior set his drink aside and approached Noelle, who was standing in front of the hearth. For only the second time in his life, he knelt at the feet of a woman.

“As the priest has suggested, I brought you here for purely selfish reasons.”

She touched his face.

Unwilling to postpone their wedding any longer he said, “It is customary to spend weeks planning a wedding—inviting kinsmen and friends and holding elaborate celebrations. We can no longer delay the inevitable. We are still in danger, although I cannot say who wishes to see us both destroyed. I still feel it in my bones. I want to marry you here, on cherished ground. Pledge our hearts to the gods as we did at Odin’s altar. To Hel with the rest of the world . . . Noelle Sinclair, say once more you’ll become my wife.”

She swallowed and took Randvior’s hands in hers. Rewarded him with an intense smile. He nuzzled his head between her thighs.

“You didn’t need to ask me again.”

A few minutes later, satisfied she had agreed, he let go and stood. “There are a few preparations before the priest can offer the vows.”

In the farthest corner of the room, he unveiled a large chest. After he opened it, he showed her two swords. The first was the one he had laid across his knees during the oath taking ceremony. Randvior lifted the heirloom above his head.

“My sword was forged in the fires of my forefathers and I am meant to guard its tradition. Our eldest son will hold this weapon one day, and it will continue to symbolize everything we hold sacred—our freedom. Odin blessed this blade and our wedding vows will be spoken over it.”

He lowered it and lifted the second so she could see it clearly. The thin delicate blade gleamed coppery-silver in the soft light. “This one,” he wanted her to join him, “was produced in my armory for you. It’s meant to represent your ancestors.”

Noelle traced the metal with her fingertips. Her name was etched along the unblemished edge.

“Why should you honor my family?”

“
Min lille dukke
,” he said. “By custom we equally honor both families during a wedding.
Our
children will share the bloodlines of both our houses. The name Sinclair is honorable. It is only your brother I despise.”

“And these rings . . .” Noelle inspected the silver and gold rings set in the delicate pommel.

“The first of many oath rings for your blade. These,” he fingered two, “symbolize the beginning of our lives together.”

He tapped the handle. “Hereafter, every critical moment of our lives—births, weddings, and deaths—will be remembered by additional rings. For a people defined by oral tradition, they will act as a historical record. And long after we’ve departed this earth, they will serve as a legacy for future generations who will swear allegiances over them, too.”

Noelle handled the sword cautiously. It fit her hand so precisely, so perfectly balanced, and she swept it overhead with ease. Her mood improved the longer she admired the weapon. “Thank you.”

“Aye,” he said, “it embodies the beauty I see in my queen.” He took the blade and propped it against the wall.

“Are you ready to face the world as my wife,
min lille dukke
?”

“Only if you promise to quit teasing me so much and if you finally tell me what that bloody
term of endearment
you’ve called me since the first day I met you means.”

You need only ask . . .
“My little doll.”

Noelle raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

He devoured her with his eyes. “I’ve considered you
that
and so much more since that first day.”

She giggled sweetly. “Your honeyed tongue could talk any virgin out of her clothes.”

“Aye,” he said. “It already did.” He hugged her close. “Please believe my words are not practiced. You alone inspire me.” He could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

He swung her around like a child.

“Now,” he set her down. “More gifts await you.”

She clapped her hands as he pulled a powder blue gown and a tawny colored headdress, adorned with sprigs of heather and dried wildflowers, out of the trunk. “My mother wore this bridal crown and her mother before her. Now I wish you to wear it.”

“How is it you knew to bring these things here?”

“After Sveinn kidnapped you, I sent Brandon ahead, as my proxy, to receive my father’s blessing for this union. He brought the trunk, too. The priest has been waiting for days. I knew in my heart if we were reunited that not another day should go by without us being husband and wife.”

“You amaze me.”

“No,” He cupped her face. “
You
amaze me.”

An exaggerated cough disrupted their conversation.

“My Lord Sigurdsson, if you will follow me outside. Please help me set the hay bales, the lady will need time to prepare.”

Not wanting to leave her side, Randvior agreed to go, reluctantly. He planted a firm kiss on her forehead before he left.

The priest bowed reverently to Noelle from the doorway. “There is a looking glass inside the cabinet by the hearth if you need it to aid in your preparations.”

Noelle’s love for her groom increased tenfold once he showed her the gown and headpiece. How many men paid attention to such things? Love had blossomed between them so quickly. Weeks ago, she searched tirelessly for an escape. Now all she wanted waited outside. She touched the headdress and realized its importance. The Norse believed it honored the goddess Freya and brought luck to the bridal bed. The heather and flowers symbolized the harvest and fertility. She pinned it in place.

Dressed, she cracked the door and looked outside. Dozens of celebratory pyres were lit. A ring of fire surrounded her groom and the priest. Most of the snow inside the circle had melted and she could see withered vegetation underfoot as she stepped within the fiery sphere.

As usual, Randvior appeared unearthly, too handsome in his black tunic. The gold sword was sheathed at his hip. His flaxen hair hung loose at his shoulders and his beard had been neatly trimmed for the special occasion. Thank God, she wasn’t marrying an Irish lord today!