Authors: Tanya Anne Crosby
Viking's Prize (42 page)
“Nei,”
Alarik denied, frowning, refusing to believe that after all these years the
mutt had still not grown to tolerate him at least. He bent to scratch
Mischief’s ears and the dog snapped at him, barely missing his fingers. The
children giggled again. Alarik’s frown deepened. “Demon hound!” he groused, and
then his brows collided further when Bjorn sauntered in along with Brother
Vernay in tow, the two of them ensconced in another of their heated debates
over which god, or gods, were the true ones. Alarik suspected the argument would
be unending, for both men were resolute in their beliefs. Mischief saw them and
bounded after them, leaping up excitedly, first upon Bjorn, and then Vernay,
lapping them with relish. “Ungrateful beast,” Alarik muttered beneath his
breath.
Seeing
his forsaken expression, Elienor urged Dahlia from her lap and rose to embrace
him. “You are beloved!” she reminded him with a girlish giggle.
And
seeing their mother and father embracing, their daughters rushed forth, each
embracing one of his legs. “We do love you Papa!” they announced in unison, and
Alarik once again sent a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward that his
warriors were not present to view such a tender display. Never would they let
him forget it Sigurd particularly.
Alarik
and Bjorn shared a quick look, for Bjorn, too, was burdened with his share of
overly affectionate females, and then he released Elienor, bending to lift both
his daughters up into his arms. But as each kissed his cheeks with their soft
little lips, he wondered in awe how he had ever felt himself too manly for
this. What could be more male, he asked himself, arrogantly, then to be
surrounded by the females one loved?
“Papa?”
Alarik
peered down at his youngest daughter.
“Did
you know the first time you saw Mama that she was the one?” Her eyes were
bright with the prospect. “Did you?”
He
glanced briefly at the mother of his children, sharing a private look with her.
He stifled a chuckle. “And did you ask your mother that question?” he wondered
aloud, bouncing Dahlia.
“Yaaaaah!”
his daughters shouted simultaneously.
He
shook his head in an attempt to restore his hearing. “And what did she say?” He
again glanced at his wife, smiling softly as he awaited their reply.
“She
said aye!” Dahlia whispered enthusiastically in his ear.
“She
said she knew when first she saw you!” Kirsten added.
Alarik
cleared his throat, remembering the tale somewhat differently. Elienor
shrugged, smiling coyly. “Then, aye,” he relented, winking at Elienor, thinking
suddenly that mayhap It was the truth after all. He grinned roguishly. “From
the very first moment!” he told them, bending to restore his children to their
feet. They clung to his neck a moment, and he pried them loose, straightening
to look into his wife’s beautiful violet eyes—as beautiful now as they’d
been the day he’d first beheld her. His arms went out to seize her to him
before she could flee. “From the very first,” he said to her face, daring her
to dispute him.
Elienor’s
eyes twinkled with mirth. She laughed. “From the very first,” she acquiesced,
returning an impish smile.
Across
the
skali
Bjorn made a choking sound and looked to his own wife, but prudently said
nothing.
Alarik
ignored him, abruptly sweeping his wife up into his arms. She gave a little
shriek as he hauled her toward their chamber, their chamber, he thought with a
satisfied grin. With a little luck from Frey, he’d catch up to his younger
brother yet, he vowed. “You lie very well, my love,” he accused her, with a
roguish grin.
Elienor
merely smiled. “As do you, mine husband!” She wrapped her arms about his neck.
“What
say you tell me the tale?” he asked her huskily.
Elienor
giggled and nodded.
“But
she hasn’t told us the story yet, Uncle Alarik!” Gunnar protested, leaping up,
giving his anxiousness away.
Alarik
never heard the protest. He’d already shut the bedchamber door behind him.
“Odin’s
breath!” Gunnar exclaimed. “I didn’t get to hear the story! And Uncle Alarik’s already
heard it! How oft must he hear the story?” he whined, and the
skali
erupted
with peals of laughter, for no one had asked to hear the tale more than Gunnar
Long-Ears had!
Author’s Note
Olav
Trygvason of Norway did in fact die much as I’ve depicted here, though when he
dove into the water, he went in alone, for Alarik and Elienor, alas, live only
in my heart—and, I hope, in yours now as well. I’ve taken great pains to
stay true to my research in that I’ve drawn Olav as best I saw him, and I even
have gone so far as to include dialogue actually attributed to him by the
Heimskringla (The lives of the Norse Kings) by Snorre Sturlason, edited by
Erling Monsen, translated by A. H. Smith. But I have also taken incredible
literary license with the circumstances surrounding the elusive battle of
Svolde, as well as the battle itself. The truth remains, however, that Olav
Trygvason of Norway was a zealous man who, while he may or may not have held to
his faith,” did oppress his people to such a degree that they felt they had no
choice but to rise up against him. Some of those opposing him were Christian
themselves (such as Svein Forkbeard), who resented Olav’s ultimatums and iron
fist.
As for
the rumors that he survived die battle, perhaps he did, but he never again
returned to claim his throne or his lands. The remaining Scandinavian kings
divided his kingdom among themselves.
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About the Author
Tanya has
written seventeen novels, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists
including the
New
York Times
and
USA Today
. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor,
and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and
glowing critical reviews. She lives with her husband, two dogs and two moody
cats in North Michigan.
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