Page 45 of Her Viking Warrior (Forgotten Sons #2)

Magnus took a seat on a plain wooden chair. “I’ve come to discuss how this will end.” He waved a hand for Bjorn to join him. “Please. Sit.”

“Your terms,” Ilsa said. If it were possible, he’d say she was paler than she was moments ago.

“Yes, lady. With your father and the jarl dead, the two of you have the highest status.” To Bjorn, “If you are taking the jarldom, you will rule over a poor one.” Tendons twitched on the farmer’s jaw. “I am taking what is in the hall and all of the women thralls who fought today.”

“No!” Ilsa jumped up.

Elswith cried out and clapped a fearful hand over her mouth.

“I can and I will,” Magnus said forcefully. He eyed Elswith. “Some will fetch a high price in Jorvik. Others, I may keep.” As if he thought it a gift, he added, “You can keep the male thralls.”

“Oh, lady…” Elswith’s eyes were huge.

“ Shhhhh …” Ilsa reached for Elswith and comforted her.

They clasped hands, and the young maid huddled against Ilsa like a trembling rabbit.

“Listen carefully.” Ilsa soothed the young woman, stroking her hair. “I will plead on your behalf, but first, I have an important task for you.”

“Yes, lady.”

Ilsa held Elswith’s hands between hers. “Go to Valgerd and bring herbs for the meat. The goose is not to my liking. Tell her Magnus and his men have been gracious—” she stole a glance at Magnus as if he was an important guest and not the conqueror of Vellefold “—and we cannot send them away with bad food in their bellies.” To Magnus, “You don’t mind, do you? ”

Magnus waved the young woman off. “Go.”

Elswith exited quietly and shut the door behind her. Arms folded, Magnus sat back in his seat.

“I found silver ingots in the hall,” he announced. “I will take those as well.”

Bjorn kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want the silver. He wanted his brothers-in-arms to go safely home. He’d give all the riches in the world to see it happen.

“And my men?’ he asked.

“You have my word they will go free, but they must leave on the morning tide. My men have already loaded your belongings, including your weapons, onto Ilsa’s vessel.”

Her inhale was sharp. “Don’t they need time to recover from their battle wounds?”

“The Forgotten Sons are sound, lady,” Magnus said dryly. “They have no serious wounds.”

“You had to have your revenge.” Her voice shook. “And now you give away my ship?

“Because of you, two of mine are gone. Sunk to the bottom of Vellefold’s harbor.” The farmer snorted softly. “Negotiate your ship’s return with the Forgotten Sons.” He rolled a massive shoulder. “What you do, does not matter to me.”

She fumed. Magnus could’ve been boastful and overbearing, but he was tempered. Generations of women must’ve nurtured him as a boy. There was a way about him that was appealing. Bjorn sized him up as one who’d lived a satisfied life far from bustling ports.

“I have much respect for you, lady,” Magnus said. “You spoke on behalf of my people to get a fair tollr to sell our flax. For that, I am grateful. Because of you, I am swayed to give mercy.”

“This isn’t about selling flax. This is about the slight with my sister.”

Magnus barked a hard laugh. “My brother is dead because of it. Odell was not satisfied to turn me away when I asked to marry your sister. He sent men to beat me near unto death.” The farmer seethed as he eyed Bjorn. “Instead, they ambushed my brother. They couldn’t tell us apart in the dark.”

“This was about revenge.”

“Revenge, a woman...” Magnus was sullen. “Does it matter?”

Bjorn eased back in his chair. “Love won and love lost. A story as old as Ask and Embla.”

Magnus drained a horn of ale that had been sitting in a silver holder on the table. With the rich silver work, it had been Egil’s favorite drinking horn for feasts and weddings. A fine show of wealth. Now it was a spoil of war for the young farmer.

“Frida wanted to marry me, but a lowly flax farmer wasn’t good enough.” Magnus set the horn in silver with force. To Bjorn, “Ilsa spoke to Odell for that as well.”

“Odell was a fool not to see your worth,” he said.

The ivory hunter was twice the fool to barter his older daughter to a violent wretch.

“I sold enough flax in Jorvik to start a new life. I was ready to leave. The first raid was meant to be the only raid.” Wearied, Magnus huffed softly. “My brother was not satisfied with that. He wanted to destroy all of Vellefold.”

“If your thirst for vengeance was over, why come back a third time?” Ilsa cried.

He speared her with accusing eyes. “Because my brother died from wounds he got at the second raid.” Magnus was heavy- hearted. “He lingered all summer…until he died during Mabon feast.”

“The time of unfinished business,” Bjorn said.

Were the gods satisfied? Revenge was costly. Even the gods must be tired of it

“My business with Vellefold is done.” Magnus rose from his chair and addressed Bjorn. “Is it true? You don’t want the jarl’s seat?”

“I don’t.”

“Then, the magic of Vellefold is gone.”

“Every ambitious Viking will seek to claim it,” Bjorn said. “It will invite destruction.”

Magnus headed to the door, uncaring. “A fitting end.”

Ilsa snorted softly and looked away. She was hugging herself, an amber flame etching light on her profile. Bjorn shifted in his seat. Longing filled him. To console her. To promise her, a new life in Rouen could be hers. But her heart was here.

Vikings would come—the worst of them—to fight over the bones of what remained. The innocent would be trampled. His huntress was worried about little Turid, Valgerd and Kell, and others. People who would not leave.

The flax farmer shut the door behind him. He couldn’t be bothered to keep the once-great settlement. No one would.