Page 47 of Her Viking Warrior (Forgotten Sons #2)

Chapter

Thirty

S unrise came, bringing more throbbing aches to her heart and her head. Bjorn had slipped away before she rose. She rubbed the indent where he’d slept. His warmth was already gone. Tears threatened to spill.

Had he left?

He wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye. Not after last night.

Questions bounced around her head, expanding her pain and sadness. Iduna had warned her that head injuries, even one such as hers, could be like harpies scraping inside her skull. Eventually, it will get better.

“At least I have that to look forward to,” she said, pushing off the bed.

Pain and stiffness wracked her body as she dressed herself. Even her hands hurt. Too wrenched to bother with a braid, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and tied a thong halfway down her unruly mane. She did this with an ear cocked to the hall.

All was still.

Did the thralls sneak away in the middle of the night?

Other questions lined up in her head. Would the people still accept her as hird ? Would her mother accept her with open arms? Would her sister?

She donned her blue mantle trimmed with fur.

This morning would be a test. Her father’s death was not her doing, His loss still numbed her.

She couldn’t fathom not hearing his boisterous voice each day.

Or seeing him at work, building his ship.

The famed ivory merchant had always been present.

Even if he’d ben single-minded over his daughter’s duty to the family and the settlement.

He was still her beloved father.

Wincing, she held her head. Shards of pain lanced her skull.

She touched the wound. A lump was there, sensitive to her probing fingers.

When she checked her hand, dried blood flaked on her fingers.

The head wound was the worst. But she lived.

Because Bjorn bravely dove into the water to save her.

She could afford her aches and pains. They were badges of honor and no worse than a bad day on the practice field.

Walking to the door, she’d never give up.

With Bodolf’s help, they would rebuild. He was the only leader left.

Peering into the feast hall, she witnessed a well-stripped room. Cavernous, charred in places. Magnus had claimed much. Bodies littered the ground, snoring.

Her message to Valgerd…

The Valerian root had worked.

Picking her way around the slumbering men, she escaped the hall into blinding sunshine.

Skies were a brilliant blue. Two ships listed in the harbor—her little dragon and Magnus’s sole longship.

With half the crescent dock in ruins, the pair of ships were moored on the south side.

The Forgotten Sons had gathered there already.

Setting oars in throles , unfurling the sail for a hasty exit.

Valgerd, Kell, and Iduna were passing leather pouches to the men, more than enough for the journey. If the boat sank a little deeper than usual, no casual visitor would think it odd.

The best treasure was hidden in the hold—the women who’d trusted her.

Bjorn was the other treasure. Sunshine haloed his blond head. His broad back was to the road as he helped Thorvald untie the sail.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged faster to the dock. She’d not breathed a word of love to him. His touch had healed her in the deepest places. She’d cried out in pleasure because of him. They’d shared words of trust, but not love.

The emotion simmered between them all night.

Lust was not the only thing they shared. Love was there—yet neither said a word of it.

Were they burned that badly from it?

Bjorn turned around as if his body was aware of her. He shaded his eyes and watched her.

Her heart pounded. She forced a walk in a manner befitting a woman of her status and age. Yet she stumbled when Bjorn’s ice-floe gaze raked her, head to toe. Air vibrated, crisp and clean. She was more alive and better.

This season with Bjorn had changed her.

“Bjorn,” she called to him.

“Ilsa.” His grin was bright as if he burst with pride at the sight of her.

The moment was here. He was leaving.

She clutched her mantle, ready to forsake all. If he’d have her, she’d climb into the boat and go with him. To Rouen. Or anywhere. He’d become…her life.

Valgerd touched her arm, worried. “Ilsa, say your good-byes. They must be on their way. I don’t know how long the Valerian will keep Magnus and his men asleep.”

Needing seasoning was their secret message.

Valgerd and Iduna worked a kind of magic with roots and herbs, their healing properties beyond her understanding.

The message was used more than once when Halfdan was at his belligerent worse.

The herb mixed with Frankish wine or hearty ale made him sleep like a babe. He’d never been the wiser.

“Are you sure you want us to leave?” asked Erik.

The surly Viking’s concern touched her.

Iduna answered with a sage nod. “We will be safe. Ilsa will negotiate with Magnus.” She huffed, “We all know what—or who—he really wants.”

“Magnus will marry Frida. If I must, I will beg my sister and remind her that we are family.” Ilsa wrung her hands, her gaze locking on Bjorn. “Last night, Magnus said, he is done with revenge.”

“He did say that,” Bjorn said as if she benefitted from the reassurance.

She swallowed delicately, tenderly lost. To have Bjorn here, only to lose him again.

“The Valerian…” She forced herself to stop her hand wringing. “I wanted to explain to you last night, but…” She actually felt a blush crawl up her cheeks.

“We were busy with other things.”

His rumble of a voice soothed her.

“Yes. Other things,” she said, a little breathless.

She wanted to steal more time with Bjorn. A morning breeze whispered through the harbor filled with the bones of half sunk ships. She dug her fingernails into her mantle. This couldn’t be the end. He was beautiful and strong, walking toward her.

“Your friends will be safe,” he said.

“My blood oath.”

His eyes gleamed with affection, the corners crinkling from his wide smile. A strand of hair fluttered on her cheek. He brushed it back with heart-wrenching gentleness.

“The Sons will see justice done for these brave women,” he said.

She clutched the fur under her chin and tamped down the storm inside her.

Did she have the right to ask more of him? To ask one more time, Please stay .

Hadn’t she taken enough from him?

“You could look just a little miserable,” she said for his ears alone. Her gaze flickered to the ship, then back to him. “I am grateful for your help but…you’re leaving me.”

The last words slipped out, forlorn.

Bjorn kissed her forehead. “I’m not leaving you,” he whispered.

“What?”

He was walking backward, daylight glinting on his penannular pin. “I’m not leaving you,” he said, louder this time.

She stilled but inside her body felt like a scramble. “Wh—what do you mean?”

“He’s leaving us.” Erik offered this, his hair rumpled and dark circles shading his grumpy eyes.

“You’re leaving the Sons,” she gasped. “To stay here?”

In her disbelief, she checked the faces of the other men.

Thorfinn and Thorvald sat on benches with oars balanced in their laps.

Thorvald was about as cheery as Erik, but Thorfinn was bleak.

His eyes red-rimmed as if he might’ve shed a tear or two at Bjorn’s decision.

Gunnar hunched over the oar on his lap, twisting an elk bone ring on his thumb.

His mouth was a miserable slash on his handsome face.

Bjorn passed the last bucket on the dock to Erik. “I’m staying here.”

“To be jarl?”

“To be with you.”

Sunlight poured over him. This was love. A profound connection, knitting them together. She could only stare at him, dumbfounded and so, so deliriously happy. She launched into his arms.

Bjorn was staying with her.

A flock of birds flew across the fjord, their cries excellent music. This augured better times to come. Bjorn held her steady and put some daylight between them. Looking her in the eyes, he was serious.

“I am Vellefold’s hersir. Part of me will always be a Forgotten Son, an alliance you will need.

” His gaze went to the feast hall. “It will serve as a reminder for Magnus to leave peacefully with Frida and his other spoils of war.” He hooked a finger under her chin.

“And you, my love, will tell him this, as Vellefold’s new jarl. ”

“If Magnus tries anything, lady, tell him Longsword will take revenge.” Erik imparted this news. “The flax farmer will know, he is no match for a force such as that.”

She was light-headed. The ground unsteady. Bjorn kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. He was reverent, brushing stray wisps off her face.

“Who better than you to listen to the people’s woes?” Ice-floe eyes lit with wisdom. “You who set thralls free and see the world with fairness and justice. I will be the man to see your will done.”

“I cannot believe this.” Her voice was light and whispery.

“You opened my eyes to the pain and suffering of others. If you outlaw enslavement in Vellefold, it will be done.”

“By your might.”

“And your word,” he said. “For you are the best and wisest woman I know.”

He was holding her. This all felt too good to be true. She searched his face, anxious.

“You would be satisfied with that?”

“If I am with you, what more do I need?”

Water rippled in the harbor, loud enough to slap the side of her vessel. Ropes were tossed onto the damaged dock. Bjorn turned, his arm wrapped around her. Four men stood up. The Forgotten Sons stared mutely as her byrding vessel slipped away.

Skin around Bjorn’s eyes tightened with grief. It was bittersweet, this wordless farewell. They’d saved Bjorn’s life. Years ago, they’d taken a rejected boy and made him one of their own. As a band of brothers, they’d stared at death and laughed.

Today, the Forgotten Sons were losing a brother.

Her skin tingled with emotions she couldn’t understand. The men stared back, their loss costing them much. The vessel skimmed lightly through the fjord, going farther and farther away.

As one, the men raised their fists in the air.

They roared, “Bjorn! Bjorn! Bjorn!”

His name echoed off the cliffs. The sound was loss and honor, men grieving their brother.

Bjorn answered, his fist beating the air. He tipped back his head and unleashed a wolfish howl. The cry would be heard through the ages. A rare bond of men.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. On the ship, light touched hobnails encircling snarling wolves carved in leather. The metal ring shined on four chests like a gift from above. The hallowed Sons, never to be forgotten.

She set a hand on Bjorn’s chest, but no carved leather was there. The lump expanded in her throat. The last bucket…his vest was on the ship.

Bjorn had shed his past. For her.

She would give him a lifetime of happiness, love, and honor in return.

Standing together, they watched the vessel float away until a bend in the fjord stole the Forgotten Sons from view. The others had long ago left the dock. Only she and Bjorn remained, holding each other. This parting was sweet and sorrowful.

She reached higher on Bjorn’s chest and found his heart. It beat solid and true. He was staring, hard-faced and silent at Black Fjord. Wetness shined in his eyes. The wolfish Forgotten Son was no more. A protective bear had taken his place. A mighty warrior, the bear of Vellefold.

He had wandered the earth and finally come home—to stay forever with his one true love.