Page 18 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

K enna swung up onto Sal, her favorite Highland pony, and turned her in a circle. “We’ll ride up to Partridge Point. You can see all of our land from there.”

“I would like that,” Haakon said, seating himself on Fen, the biggest and strongest horse the village had—his duties were usually confined to pulling the plow.

Kenna hoped Fen would behave himself.

But the moment she saw Haakon gather the reins and adjust himself in the saddle, it was clear he was an accomplished horseman and her worries were eased.

They rode out of the fort, Haakon throwing a wave to Ivar, who was keeping watch today.

“Your men seem to have settled here,” Kenna remarked, leading them toward a woodland track that climbed steeply.

“ Ja , they are content and learning the language.”

“Were they not content at Drangar?”

He twisted his mouth a little and shrugged. “I guess not, or they wouldn’t have left with me.”

“They have no family there?” She’d been curious about Gunner, Knud, Egil, and Ivar for several days—since she’d stopped fearing them, that was. They were all big—especially Gunner—and tattooed, grunty, and brash.

Haakon chuckled. “They did not have wives, if that is what you mean, though Gunner had one once. She died of fever.”

“I am sorry for Gunner.” Poor Gunner. What a tragedy for his heart.

“It was a hard time for him, and many others. Fever swept through our people. It took the weakest. Perhaps that’s why the gods send such diseases, so only the strongest survive.”

“I believe God is merciful. The fever is a wicked spell sent by the Devil.”

“The Devil?”

“Aye.” She took to the track and ducked beneath a branch. “His trickery and evil knows no bounds. He will stop at nothing to tempt and deceive and then claim your soul into hell for all of eternity.”

“He is someone you fear?”

“As should you, though he is not a someone . He comes in many guises.”

Haakon was quiet.

“I thought you were the Devil,” she said, throwing him a glance and tightening her cloak at her chin. “When I saw you on the beach that day.”

“You did?”

“Aye. I was frightened of you and what you might do.”

“I’m sorry to frighten you.” He frowned and moved a pliant fir branch out of his way. “Do I still frighten you?”

She considered him—big and broad, his dark fur heavy across his shoulders and his hair un-brushed and hanging long. There was a wildness about him. Feral. A fierce warrior lurked just beneath the surface. She felt sure he’d fought, maimed, killed, in his life, yet no, she wasn’t scared of him, not now. “You have only shown me your gentle side, Haakon. So no, I am not scared of you.”

“Good.” He smiled, something he did often in her presence. “I do not want you to be scared of me. I will never hurt you, only protect you.”

She nodded. “I’m trying to believe that.”

“You should,” he said earnestly. “And I will prove it not just with words, but with actions. This time next year, you will believe it to the core of your soul.”

She smiled. “Tell me more about Drangar. I know that the land is dark for many weeks. What is the land like?”

“It is poor land for farming. The cliffs rise from the fjords, straight up. There is no soil to plant, and where there is soil, around the port of Drangar, the land is frozen solid for much of the year. We only have one chance of crops before the frost comes again, and if rain or animals destroy our crops, then it is a hungry winter for everyone. People die when the harvest is poor.”

“And that is why you are interested in our crops?”

“You are so much farther south and you have sun all year round. The earth is cold but still provides. I am keen to see every season and learn your farming ways.”

“And you will be shown, Haakon. Noah has promised that. Already, he demonstrated Fen pulling the plow.”

“Great invention.” Haakon nodded. “It was worth almost drowning out at sea just to see that.”

She laughed. “I am glad it pleased you so.”

“I like it when you do that.”

“What?” The track leveled out and the trees began to thin. A squirrel scampered up a tree, a quick flash of red. “What do you like that I do?”

“Laugh. It’s a lovely sound and fills me with warmth even on as cold a day as this.”

Her cheeks heated, as they often did when he complimented her. “Haakon. Must you say such things?”

He chuckled.

“So why did your brother and sister leave Drangar?” She wanted to change the subject. “And what did your mother think about all of you leaving?”

He blew out a breath and looked around, the vista spreading before them. “My mother died many years ago.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“But I find it hard to believe Astrid and Orm could leave your father and brother. You, I understand, your brother had fought you for the crown, but them…?”

“Not really hard to understand.” Haakon shrugged and came alongside her now that they were off the narrow track. “Orm has never had a good relationship with my father.”

“Why not?”

“Many years ago, at the sacred Festival of Uppsala, when allegiance and fealty is shown to the gods in the form of sacrifices, Orm refused.”

“Refused? Refused what?”

“He was chosen to be one of nine young males to die, to go to the gods and dine with them. But Orm didn’t want to. He said he had things to do on Earth. My father was horribly shamed by him. Orm had broken the rules of the gods in order to live a life of parties and women here on Earth. All his life, my father strived to be noticed by the gods, to be in their favor, but Orm had gotten the family noticed for the wrong reasons, for disrespect and disloyalty.”

“I can understand why he didn’t want to die to appease gods he has never seen.” She fought down a bitter taste of disbelief and disgust at this ritual. “Did you feel that he had shamed you also?”

“No, nor did Astrid. An unwilling sacrifice is a bad omen for everyone. He would reach the gods’ realm with sagas of misery and corruption.” He shrugged and drew his horse to a halt at the edge of a steep drop. “And maybe I’m selfish, but I didn’t want my youngest brother to not be in my life. He is an…an acquired taste, but there is love in his heart.”

“Underneath the madness.” Kenna also came to a halt and she stared out at the forest and the sea beyond. In the distance, small islands seemed to hover on the horizon.

“Madness.” Haakon shook his head. “He is not mad—he simply sees the world differently than others do. And he is amused easily. Humor comes fast and is occasionally inappropriate, but I’d rather that than constant misery, for that is how Ravn is. Always bad-tempered about something, striving for the next thing to claim, even when he has plenty of everything already.”

“I am glad my brother is not like that.”

“Hamish is a good man.” Haakon nodded and delved into his cloak. “And he is a good son and brother, I have seen that.”

“He is. I love him very much.”

“As you should.”

An eagle soared about them. Its wings grew still as it caught the air, the feathered tips like spread fingers.

“I have a gift for you,” Haakon said, passing her a wooden cross.

“You have?” She leaned from the saddle to take it. It had been carved intricately and was a replica of the larger one on the wall of their bedchamber. “It is lovely.” The wood had been polished smooth and she ran her finger over the curved ends, following the grooved pattern.

“I know you like this symbol,” he said.

“It is the cross that our savior, Jesus Christ, died upon.”

“He died on it? You said he was nailed to it.”

“Aye, crucified. He died up there for our sins.”

“A sacrifice?”

She paused and bit on her bottom lip, thinking of Orm’s unwillingness to sacrifice himself for the Norse gods. “Aye, I suppose it is like that.”

“I understand now,” Haakon said, nodding at the vista. “What is that? Out there?”

“That is Orc. It is an island with a small population. Occasionally, we trade with them and the smaller isles farther north.” She slipped the small cross into her pocket, feeling unexpectedly pleased with the thoughtful little gift, just as she had with the boar fang necklace he’d given her.

“Your boats are small for such a journey in these seas,” Haakon said.

“That is why we only trade occasionally with them.” She shrugged and pushed away the worry that she and her mother had gone through the last time her father and Hamish had taken to the seas. They’d been gone for three weeks, much longer than anticipated.

“And to the west?” Haakon asked.

“You would walk for three days before another settlement. And it is only small. It is over a week’s walk to a larger one.”

“So all this land I can see belongs to Tillicoulty?”

“Until King Athol shows up demanding rent, then aye, it does.”

He frowned, his eyebrows pulling low. “A man who passes through once a year has no claim. He is little more than a wanderer.”

There was something in Haakon’s determined tone that stirred hope within Kenna. Her new husband was not a man to be messed with, and King Athol, even though he had yet to show his face in Tillicoulty this year, had clearly messed with Haakon already.

“I agree,” she said, studying the way his eyes flashed. “He shouldn’t have a claim.”

“I am glad we see it the same.” He leaned forward in the saddle, stretching out his back. “Because we are as one. King and queen. If we fall, we fall together, but when we rise, we will rise together and take our people with us.”

“You really believe these are your people now?”

“With all of my heart.” He pressed his fist to his chest. “This is my home now and they are good people, worth fighting for…worth dying for.”

Her heart did a strange flip. He spoke the truth. She could see the passion in his eyes, hear it in his voice.

Were they better off now that the Vikings had arrived? Had their biggest fear for so long proven to be their salvation?

Perhaps that was the case. Perhaps they should have prayed for them sooner.

A squally gust caught her hair, whipping it over her face. It was quickly followed by a bluster of tiny snowflakes.

Haakon looked up. “We have been so busy looking out to sea, we didn’t notice the black clouds coming from the mountains in the east.”

“We should head back.” Kenna turned her horse and ducked her face from the biting wind. “The weather has been kind this morn, but it could turn any moment.”

Haakon followed her onto the track, his horse shaking its head and snorting as though eager to get back and munch hay in the barn.

*

An hour later, they were riding under the watchtower and into the village.

“Shall I take your horse?” Bryce asked, appearing from behind a chicken coop. “It is nearly dark.” The wind was trying to rip his cloak from his shoulders. Flicking and flapping it as if in a foul temper.

Kenna slipped from the saddle, landing softly on the hard ground. Lass was slinking around her legs in an instant. “Thanks, Bryce,” she said over a clap of thunder.

He nodded and took the reins, head ducked against the driving snow.

Haakon ignored Bryce and carried on riding.

“I have to speak to my mother,” Kenna called to Haakon’s stiff back as she ruffled Lass’s ears and gripped her fur closer to her chest.

Haakon didn’t answer. And she knew why. Whenever Bryce was around, it was as though her husband had nettle rash; he was prickly and irritable.

But Haakon suddenly pulled his horse to a halt. “Who are you?” he called to his right.

Kenna narrowed her eyes against the weather. A stooped figure was huddled against the wind and rain beside the pigpen wall, hood pulled up and a gnarly cane in his hand. She didn’t recognize him, either.

Quickly, she walked forward. There was a stranger in their midst. Her hackles rose, her suspicion alive.

“I said, who are you? ” Haakon shouted above a particularly violent gust. “Answer me.”

The stranger turned. He was a weathered, old man with a tangled, gray beard and a patch over one eye. “Forgive me.” He held up a shaky hand. “I am but a wanderer and I find myself wandering here on this pitiful night.”

“And what name do you go by, wanderer?” Kenna asked.

“McFadden of Goul,” he said, tightening his hood so that only his visible eye peered out.

“ Your Grace ,” Haakon snapped. “You are addressing the Queen of Tillicoulty. You will show her respect.”

“I beg your forgiveness.” He ducked his head low as though bowing. “Your Grace.”

Kenna tipped her chin and set down her shoulders. It felt odd to do it. She’d been an ordinary woman such a short time ago, yet now she was queen and addressed as such.

“And I am king. King Haakon. You are trespassing on my land.”

“I just wish for some stale bread and ale.” He dipped lower, seeming to be trying to make himself smaller and even more pathetic. “The man on the watchtower gave me permission to ask.”

“Of course you can and—” Kenna started.

“And what do we get in return?” Haakon demanded, holding his horse still. Fen was restless to get to shelter and hoofed the ground. “What can you offer a king when you clearly have nothing?”

“Ah, great king, I can give you what I see here.” He tapped his eye patch. “Since the raven took my eye, I have a gift for seeing into the future. I can spot a sea of trouble, a meadow of hay, a pack of wolves lying in wait. I will tell you what you must prepare for, what you need not fear, and whom here you can truly trust. That is a gift, indeed, is it not?”

“A raven took your eye.” Haakon peered more closely at the man, his hair whipping about his face. “That is what happened to Odin.”

The wanderer said nothing and held still under Haakon’s curious gaze.

“Well, come on, then.” Haakon gestured to the Great House. “Come with me. But you must tell me everything you see. I want to know it all.” He turned his horse again and kicked it on.

The old man scuttled along behind him, his cane splashing in the puddles.

“Mother,” Kenna said, ducking into the home she’d lived all of her life until the last few weeks. “Guess what?”

“Kenna. I am glad you are back. There is a storm coming.”

“It has already arrived.” Kenna pulled off her wet fur and hung it on a hook. “The wind is trying to shake the branches from the trees. But guess what? A one-eyed wanderer has also blown in. He is a seer and is with Haakon right now.”

“Another wanderer. May God have mercy on their souls. Here, warm by the fire.” Her mother stirred a pot of broth. “And eat something. You are quite pale.”

“I am well. I just want to know what the wanderer will say.” Kenna rubbed her palms before the flames. They’d become chilled and stiff from holding the reins. “’Haps I should—”

“Child, sit, and warm up. Where is your husband and this wanderer?”

“They have gone to the Great House.”

“He must eat some of this. Your husband, the king, must keep up his strength to protect our village.”

“There is food there, at the Great House.”

“Has Astrid cooked?”

“I told you, we have not seen her for days.”

“That is a worry.” Her mother ladled broth into an earthenware bowl. “And strange, because Hamish has also been gone for several days.”

“He has?”

“Aye.” She shrugged. “But he said he was going trapping in the mountains and it is not unknown for him to sleep outdoors.”

“Not in the winter.” Kenna frowned and looked at Hamish’s cot in the corner. It was strewn with furs and an old pair of boots sat beside it. A wooden cross hung on the wall.

“He can look after himself. I am not worried.”

Kenna couldn’t help but be worried. She was also worried about Astrid, who didn’t know this land. Much as Haakon was frustrated with his sister, Kenna knew he loved her.

“I am worried about you.” Kenna’s mother sat opposite her on a small bench and cupped her own bowl of broth.

“Why? I am here and safe.”

“You are so pale. Are you with child already?”

“What!” Kenna nearly choked on her broth. “No, it has been hardly any time since we were married and—”

“It has been known to happen quickly and…and maybe Bryce…did you ever?”

“No!” Kenna’s mouth hung open and her eyes widened.

“Well, I did wonder.” She studied Kenna thoughtfully. “He looks at you as if—”

“No, of course not. Never. Not with Bryce.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible, and it would be a sin. We were not married and…and actually, it’s impossible for me to be pregnant by anyone, for I am still a virgin.”

“Still a virgin?” Her mother set her food aside.

“Aye.”

Her mother touched her fingers to her lips, tapping them thoughtfully. “But…But you are a married woman. You have a husband in your bed.”

“Aye, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It should mean everything .”

“Have you seen him, Mother? Have you seen my husband?” Kenna gestured to the door. “The size of him. He is a brute, a Norse brute who claimed me for his own with no care what I thought about the whole thing.”

“It doesn’t sound like there has been any claiming.” Her mother shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Kenna frowned. “Do you need to understand?”

“I’d like to. I am your mother, after all.”

“He… He…” Kenna sighed and stared at the dancing flames of the fire in front of her. “He didn’t want to force himself on me. Said he’d wait until I said I was ready. And even if I never am, he’ll stay at my side as a devoted husband.”

Her mother was wide-eyed. “Well, I never.” She crossed herself. “God does work in mysterious ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“He turned up here and we all thought he was a murdering monster and now this… Now you tell me this…”

“‘This’?”

“Aye. His conversion to Christianity has clearly given him morals, respect, and consideration. How utterly blessed we are.”

Kenna supposed he had been considerate, patient too. Respect? Aye, she couldn’t deny he did seem to respect her, as a woman, a queen, and his wife.

“But it is not right, Kenna. A woman must lie with her husband. It is God’s will.”

“Even if she doesn’t want to?”

Her mother tipped her head. “Why don’t you want to? From what I see, he treats you well.”

“Because… Because I…” She glanced at the door, as though seeing over the wintery ground, past the pigpens, the hay store, and the stone well to where he was talking with the wanderer in their warm home.

She imagined him eating bread and drinking ale, all big and brooding, his hair tousled and his cheeks nipped red by the wind. She breathed deep and was reminded of his masculine smell mixed with the sweet chestnut soap he’d made. And his blue eyes, the way they looked at her. As though he were trying to read her every thought, every dream, every memory. It filled her with warmth.

“He is a good man, Kenna,” her mother said quietly.

Kenna cleared her throat. “He still believes in his gods, you know.”

“Of course he does.” Her mother picked up her food again and stirred it with a spoon. “And it could be they are real.”

“What? How can you possibly think that?”

“’Haps God Almighty, our worshipful creator, knew that the Norsemen would need more controlling than the rest of his flock. Maybe He created this Odin and Thor they speak of to keep your husband and his friends from bringing the end of the world.”

“God created other gods?” Kenna was aghast at the idea.

“Lesser gods, not as important as angels or even saints, and confined to the north. But powerful enough to control the monsters who rape and pillage our land.”

“You just said Haakon wasn’t a monster…didn’t you?”

“He is redeemed. And he is your husband.” She nodded at Kenna’s food. “I suggest you finish that and go to him. Do your duty as a wife.”

“But I—”

“Lie with him, Kenna. It is time.”

Kenna gritted her teeth, though she couldn’t deny the flush of warmth that went from her core to her breasts and then settled between her legs.

“A man needs to find satisfaction, and a man such as yours more often than others,” her mother went on. “And the way he looks at you, daughter of mine, the way his eyes follow you around the room, the way he smiles if you smile, anticipates your next drink or meal, and…”

“Gives me gifts?” She held the cross up. The one he’d given her earlier.

Her mother nodded approvingly. “Aye, and gives you gifts, I suspect he’ll be a man who will make sure you also have satisfaction in bed.”

“If I survive him bedding me, I will be satisfied enough.”

“My dearest child.” Her mother pressed her palm on Kenna’s knee. “I have told you little about coupling—it is God’s will that it’s the domain of the married woman, not the maiden—but I hope you find pleasure with your husband.”

“‘Pleasure’?”

“Aye, it makes the burden of carrying a child for nine months much more bearable if there has been pleasure when planting the seed.”

“Mother.” She set her empty bowl aside. “I have never once presumed the act to be pleasurable. It is something to be endured.”

Her mother reached for another log and set it in the flames. “If that is what you truly believe, then go and endure. Put it off no longer.”

Kenna stood and swallowed, her throat tight. An image of Haakon’s naked body flashed into her mind. Huge and broad, his skin stretched tightly over solid muscle and his pierced cock…long and dark and impossibly big. The image brought with it a fluttery feeling that landed in her stomach and spread tingles to her pussy and hardened her nipples.

“All the women before you have survived this,” her mother said quietly. “You will too.”

“Aye, but they didn’t marry a Viking.” Kenna grabbed her fur, slung it over her shoulders, and clasped it tightly beneath her chin.

She stalked into the wild weather, her mind spinning and her body hot with anticipation yet cold with dread.

It was time to be a wife. To be King Haakon’s wife.