Page 25 of Her Viking Warrior (Forgotten Sons #2)

Chapter

Thirteen

B jorn turned away, his back proud. He walked to a neat pile of weapons, his chainmail clinking a mild tune. His helmet was his sole armor.

Sniffling, she swiped a hand across her eyes.

Her childhood friend was giving her a chance to collect herself.

Watching his retreat, it was possible the warrior needed a moment to himself.

Wiping her eyes once more, she’d let him have it.

Across the shieling, the other Forgotten Sons wore no armor save their famed leather vests.

Jarl Egil’s men covered themselves in chainmail.

When they walked through Vellefold, the heavy chink noises they made was a source of pride.

Bjorn was slipping on his shield. The sword his father had given him was nowhere in sight.

“What happened to your sword?” she asked.

Scooping his axe off the ground, he faced her.

“I melted it.”

She was aghast. To own a sword was an honor. Not all warriors owned them. Everyone knew there was magic in Viking swords…and Bjorn simply melted his?

His grin went sideways. “That look on your face, such horror. I don’t regret what I did. A blacksmith took the sword and—” he toed his war hammer sitting in the grass “—he made this.”

Peace-maker . His weapon of choice. Bjorn took the circumstances thrust on him and made his own path. Revenge wasn’t part of it. Upon arriving in Vellefold, he could’ve wreaked all manner of havoc, fair payment for the damage done to him. Instead, he organized the settlements defenses.

No. He did more than that. He’d given Vellefold’s people hope.

Bjorn was in a position of power, yet he grabbed none. What does he want?

“Come. Try to kill me.”

She blinked fast. “What did you say?”

Bjorn had put several paces between them. Crouching low, he was a Viking ready to give lessons in war.

“You heard me. Come at me with all your might.” His teeth gleamed. “Or, if you prefer, I can charge at you first.”

“No!” She gathered her wits, looked to Erik training fledgling men, and nudged her chin in his direction. “I thought I’d join them. Aren’t you busy?”

The shake of Bjorn’s head verged on menacing.

“Not too busy for you. I’ll teach you about combat. We’ll be here every day, you and I, until I’m satisfied with your progress.”

A private tutor for the art of war. Her feet shifted in crisp grass.

“You want to lead in battle? It starts here—” Bjorn slapped axe to shield “—with me,”

Her joints were reluctant. Knees bending, she met his stance. All around her the people of Vellefold did the same with an opponent. Sweet mothers turned fierce. Grandmothers and grandsons, brothers and sisters practiced for the fight of their lives. This was survival.

She sucked in a quick breath. She could do this.

Swinging her axe high, she ran at him. Blood pounding, hair flying, her feet punching the ground until… crack ! Shield rammed shield. A force knocked the air out of her lungs. She bounced backward and hit the ground, ass first.

Blinking fast, she tried to recover. Her head buzzed and her body rang. It was akin to the time the smithy was banging dents out of the jarl’s silver ceremonial bowls—except the hammering was inside her.

And Bjorn? He hadn’t budged.

Thorvald roared with laughter atop the knoll. He and two of her father’s fighting men had paused their labor to watch.

“Go for the leg’s first…” Thorvald illustrated this with his hand slashing at his thigh. “Bring a man to his knees. Then, go for the kill.”

Bjorn ambled over to her and offered his hand. She stubbornly refused it. Blowing hair out of her face, she jammed the axe head into the ground and pushed herself up with a vexed “Thank you” to Thorvald.

Undaunted, Bjorn jogged back fifteen paces, calling to the hill, “I’ll wager my next turn at the night watch, she can’t take me down.”

“Today? Or ever?” Thorvald asked.

Bjorn’s grin was cocky.

“Let’s go easy on her and start with today.”

“I’ll take that wager.” Thorvald crossed ham-thick arms over his chest. The jarl’s thralls were gathering around him. Those men ducked sheepishly, hiding chortles behind dirt-smeared hands.

Wonderful! Now she had spectators. Glaring at Bjorn, she wiped her forehead and bent her knees for the attack.

“Wagering against me? I thought you were supposed to teach me the art of war?”

“I am.”

She gripped and regripped her axe. “I will take you down.”

“I’d like to see you do that, lady. ” His voice was honey-smooth.

Bjorn was toying with her. She snorted, pushing up on the balls of her feet, eyeing him over the rim of her shield.

This was maddening. Invigorating. Bjorn positioned his shield and beckoned her with an axe.

Gulping air, she charged at him. Her feet flew over the grass.

Wind sped past her ears. She raised her axe three paces from him.

At two paces, a cry ripped from her throat.

One pace…

She swung with all her might, slicing air.

Bjorn sidestepped her a split second before she struck.

Her footfalls banged the earth until she slowed down. Her body jarred, her mind reeling, a frustrated growl burst from her.

This should be easier. It’s bodies smashing into bodies.

Lungs billowing, she spun around. Bjorn was already waiting.

“Temper your focus,” he said. “Pick a spot and go after it. You’re aiming wildly and hitting nothing.”

“How can you know that?” she shot back.

“It’s obvious,” he laughed. “You’re a woman.”

On the knoll, male snorts and hoots of laughter sounded.

Chest heaving, she seethed. A fire banked hard and fast inside.

The warrior goaded her. His eyes glinted with challenge, the master testing the learner.

She tried to temper herself. There was purpose to Bjorn’s words.

She’d hear worse on the battlefield—swarms of boastful men who’d show no mercy.

The enemy would work like a wolf pack, selecting the weak, taking them down first. They’d smell her inexperience. She had to be precise. In for the kill.

Teeth to teeth with your enemy , Bjorn had said in Rouen.

Despite herself, she had to ask, “How would you have me think? Like a man?”

There was no mistaking the sneer in her voice. Bjorn was the nobler one.

“I would have you think like a warrior.”

Anger pumped her blood and wrecked her senses. When she inhaled, cool air nipped her throat. She craved water, but she’d not stop this soon for a drink. One corner of her mind acknowledged the truth of Bjorn’s lesson; the rest of her couldn’t.

Facing him, she hefted her shield and met his stance.

“You know what I’d aim for? Your mouth.”

His teeth were beastly white within his beard. “You were always quick to anger when you didn’t master a skill right away.” Head shaking, he added, “Master your emotions, or they will cost you.”

That was the problem in fighting a childhood friend. He knew her weaknesses.

But she knew his.

“Are you going to keep talking? Or start fighting? You always crowed too much for my taste.”

Thorvald and the men hooted from the knoll.

Her taunt might’ve been a mistake.

Bjorn’s eyes flashed. “Your wish is my command.”

A chill ran down her spine.

This time he advanced on her, a slow circling prowl. Feral-eyed. Predatory. His size was suddenly more massive, expanding with each step. Her heart knocked fast. Something told her Bjorn held back his true warrior-self.

If this was practice, how brutal was he in battle?

She half-stepped sideways, a flat metal taste coating her tongue.

“Good. Don’t show fear,” Bjorn said, but she couldn’t hear the rest of his instruction for the blood thundering in her ears.

A man had circled her like this last harvest season.

Her throat parched now as it had then. She was cold and afraid.

Icy sweat trickled between braids webbing off her temples.

Limbs quaking, she would not give in to weakness.

This was Bjorn teaching her to fight. She blinked fast. He rushed her.

Hulking Viking male. Growling. Eating up the ground between them.

The same as another man did last Mabon season.

Fear spiked her pulse. She screeched in terror and swung blindly. Numbness pricked her scalp. Her axe was in hand. It sliced low and met hard wood with a force that pitched her back. But the weapon flew out of her sweat-slick grip.

Stunned, she searched the grass.

Hesitation was her first mistake. Letting a man have sway over her mind was the second.

With a swipe of his foot, Bjorn tripped her. She was quick. Crying out in anger, she reached to claw his face. Instinct ruled her. She missed his cheek and hooked his vest at the neck. She tumbled, taking Bjorn with her.

“ Oooooofff! ” Air blasted from her lungs. Her head knocked the ground and her shield-gripping arm slapped the earth.

Seconds passed. She was blinking at stars spangling her vision. She tried to move but couldn’t.

Bjorn had landed on her, his heaviness pinning her.

The warrior’s helmet had rolled into a patch of dirt.

Catching her breath, she looked up at blue eyes flecked with white.

Surprise reflected there. Blond hair skimmed Bjorn’s cheeks, and his mouth was inches from hers.

He braced a hand on the ground to ease his weight off her chest, yet their legs were tangled intimately.

“Smart move. You took me down.” His breath warmed her cheek. “I thought it take days of practice before that happened…if ever.”

Mocking replies piled up in her brain yet all she could manage was, “It was an accident.”

The tip of Bjorn’s thumb caressed her ear, sending a sweet shiver across her skin.

“Your survival instinct saved you. Now we need to hone it.”

She was flushed and furious. “I know about survival. Better than you’ll ever understand, living free as you have.”

He jerked back. “What’s this?”

Did he think she would be grateful?

She’d lost again. A cornered animal, she bared her teeth. Bite, kick, fight for her life, she was ready. Fear. Anger. Strength. They fueled her. Panting hard, she’d win. By all the gods, she’d find a way to win.

Bjorn searched her face. The taunts he gave were meant to bring out the fighter in her. A training game for him. For her, games had ended long ago. She was still flat on her back with a man on top of her.

The last time that had happened…

She turned her head, seeing hundreds of feet belonging to her people. They skirmished in grass. None were giving up. Faint mist swirled through the meadow, the warlike disir testing her, testing Vellefold.

“Get off me.”

Bjorn rolled away. Her bitter tone had a sting.

She rolled aside, hair in her face, grass on her lips.

Scrambling up, she swiped her sleeve across her mouth.

Her ear still tingled. His touches had to stop.

They left her fog-brained. Bjorn would leave again, this time of his own will.

The hallowed Forgotten Son was a weapon to set Vellefold on a new course. Nothing else.

Palms down, she dragged sweaty fingers over her trousers.

Snatching her axe off the ground, she was ready.

Bruises were forming on her body. At least these came by her will.

Fighting was gritty business. She had a nasty scar to prove it, but Bjorn would never see the jagged line stretching the length of her inner thigh.

Thorvald laughed above them. “Looks like I won. You take my next watch.”

Bjorn picked up his blue shield, a mute nod his answer. A gouge ran through a yellow wolf on his shield. The mark of her axe. At least, Bjorn would think twice before lobbing his Because you’re a woman jabs.

She adjusted her shield. “I’m ready.”

The man she’d once called friend stared at her, a storm on his brow. Wet grass stuck to her backside, but she didn’t brush it off. More headlong—and ass first—falls would come. She was in this fight.

Her warrior teacher’s mouth slashed a grim line. That didn’t bother her. The shadow in his eyes did.