Page 51 of Kept By the Viking (Forgotten Sons #1)

There was no common ground.

She pinched another wrinkle in her skirt. “I promised he would have a reward. It was the bargain we struck.” She laughed, low and harsh. “I told him to ransom me.”

“The rider you sent gave us that message when he informed us you were in Rouen.” Her father sat up taller, checking the forest.

Did he see something lurking there too? He tracked the tree line, continuing their conversation.

“These days the scales of power favor the Franks,” he said. “The matter of payment would be my choice,”

“My ransom.”

He shrugged. “Call it what you like. We made sure worthy gifts were in tow, but I sensed more than the usual offering might be required,” he said dryly.

“Because…Vikings.”

“An unpredictable lot.” They shared understanding smiles. “I added a chest of newly minted gold coins. Thousands of them, the shine of which would turn a humble man greedy.”

Greed and lust were powerful forces. Kingdom destroyers, Savta had once said. Words of caution for the wise. She lifted her face to the skies, a breeze on her cheeks. Hadn’t she tempted Rurik with the very same puzzle?

A tear slid down her cheek. Her loss was too raw.

“I’m glad I brought them. I saw the way your Viking took care of you when you were shot by that arrow. It gave me an idea to test him.” Her father’s face was a half-shadow. “I had to know.”

“Rurik didn’t pass.” The words were bitter on her tongue.

Lines of disappointment flared from the corners her father’s mouth. “He didn’t say much. Just looked at the chest of gold and left the hall.”

Still, her heart rallied to Rurik’s defense.

“He is a good man, Father. When he was a boy in Birka, he had almost nothing,” she said fervently. “Rurik has had to fight for everything he has. I don’t begrudge him the land.” Her voice pitched higher. “I even helped him get it.”

She briefly shared the story of stolen beer and outraged monks.

“I don’t doubt his affection for you. But...” her father’s words trailed off.

“But he didn’t choose me.”

Summer insects flitted here and there in the Frankish vessel, drawn to the torches.

Where they sat flames painted her father’s profile orange.

He was tired. Worn out and not from the late hour.

Her father and Savta had always said wealth was a fortress, but even the best of fortresses could be breached.

Riches had made their family a target. Now, it drove an ever-widening wedge between her and Rurik.

Her father stood up. “Rurik asked me to give this to you once you were safely home. It won’t hurt if I hand it over now. He said something about a second law.”

Intrigued, she sat taller, recalling A life saved deserves an equal reward . The second law of the Forgotten Sons.

Her father set the burden in her palm. “Your Viking said you’d understand.”

Cloth unfurled, and two aged amber pieces rolled into her lap.

She clamped a hand over her mouth. His mother’s treasured amber, ancient stones passed down from his mother’s mother, meant to be in Rurik’s safe keeping. Now they were hers.

Her breath came in shallow draughts. Rurik gave her his heart. Again.

In his quiet, take first, ask later warrior’s way, he kept showing his love for her.

She balled the amber in her hand and clutched it to her chest. A horrible sob was building.

“I’ve made a horrible mistake.” Her voice shook. “Take me back!” She shot up from her seat, frantic. “Father, we must go back!”

“Safir—”

Whistling sliced the air. Flames arced through black skies, flying at their boat. She screamed and grabbed her father.

“Hide!” she yelled.

They ducked behind barrels. Her palms damp, she jammed the cloth-wrapped amber into her pocket.

Two oarsmen screamed as flaming arrows sunk into their arms. Three dived for cover at the front of the ship.

Another was hit in the neck, his gurgling cry lost when he fell into the river with a heavy splash.

Bertrand crouched behind the barrel. “My lord, what should we do?”

Grappling hooks sailed through the air and landed on the deck. Unseen men, hidden amongst the trees, pulled on the ropes. The hooks scraped the deck until they bit into the ship’s rail.

Her father opened a trap door to the hold. “Our bows and arrows! They’re below deck. Get them now!” To Safira, “Go. Stay with your mother.”

She was frozen. More grappling hooks sailed through the air. Two caught the ship’s rail, and the ship listed hard. She toppled sideways, her wounded arm whacking the side rail. Nursing her arm, she scrambled to get up.

A thud and the vessel lurched. Her mother’s scream sounded from below.

A voice yelled, “We hit a rock!”

The world spun fast. A blur of men bellowing. Shrieks of pain and terror carried. Torches wobbled in their hold. The boat jerked through water as an unknown enemy reeled them in like a fish.

“Do the Bretons attack?” Bertrand crawled out of the hold with bows and arrows.

“Can’t tell.” This from an Alzaud man brave enough to peek above the rail. Two men flanked him, their knives sawing the grappling hooks’ ropes.

Voices carried from the bank. Calls for men to pull—in Norse.

The Breton Queen’s husband had been the cruel Viking, Rognvald. Were these his men who now served her? Safira cradled her throbbing arm and scurried to her father’s side. He was busy passing out bows and arrows.

“I can’t see what I’m supposed to shoot at,” one man cried.

“Look for the whites of their eyes,” was her father’s shouted answer.

New arrows with grappling hooks soared above. The frightening hooks landed with a metallic thunk , their pointed tips like fangs gouging the ship.

The ship lurched hard.

Barrels and chests rolled to and fro. Her body skidded across the deck.

She scrabbled to the rail and curled knees to chest. Her mother’s cries of terror mixed with the whoosh of arrows raining down.

Heavy barrels crashed into a smaller cask, inches from her feet.

The cask’s coopered wood burst, and hundreds of Frankish gold pieces spilled.

Newly minted coins, their shine undeniable.

Despite the attack, she scooped a handful of gold. Shock rippled through her. Had Rurik returned the gold?

“Father. Look!”

He nocked an arrow in a bow. “Safira...”

His rushed voice trailed off as he aimed and shot at the dark shore.

Her mother’s head peeked up from the hold, tears streaming down her face.

Safira clutched the coins to her chest, ducking. “Rurik gave back the reward,” she cried.

Bertrand was beside her. “The blacksmith delivered that cask.” He crouched low as more arrows rained over their heads. “He told me it was iron ingots... I—I didn’t check.”

An arrow lodged in one man’s shoulder, his shrieks of pain rising as he tried to yank it out.

A horrible scraping sound came underneath.

“We’ve hit another rock,” her father yelled. “Men, your swords!”

Safira dropped the coins. The shore was close. Two torches wobbled from their moorings on the rail. One fell into the Seine. The other toppled and spun across the deck.

“The ship is on fire!” her mother yelped, only her head showing from the hold. Her eyes were saucer-big with horror.

Alzaud men grabbed their swords. Five of them held blades high. Her father’s men took half steps, advancing on an unseen enemy. Forms slipped between the trees. More than she could count.

Her father helped her mother climb out of the hold. “We have to get off the ship.”

As Safira gathered her skirts to jump, she glimpsed firelight on iron circles moving between the trees—the hobnails on the Forgotten Sons’ leather vests. All else was shapeless and black.

They had to be stalking the enemy.

“Father,” she hissed. “Rurik has come to save us.”

“Or to kill us,” her mother wailed while she crouched on hands and knees.

“Look at the coins beside you,” Safira shot back.

Her dazed mother took in the broken cask and gold coins poured out from it.

Safira grabbed the rail, her voice rising from the ship. “Do not harm the warriors with iron hobnails encircling their chests. Look for the wolf head...they are here to help.”

She couldn’t know if her father’s men would listen to her or if they even heard her. Flames crackled higher on the ship. A barrel of pitch burst into flames. The Alzaud men leaped off the vessel and met the enemy in knee-high water. Swords clashed on all sides of the ship.

Her father took up a heavy piece of wood and wielded like a club. “Get your mother to safe ground.” And he jumped into the water.

Safira faced the forest. Rurik was here. She would find him, but hands clawed her foot. She looked down. The whites of her mother’s eyes were enormous.

“What are you doing?” Her mother sobbed.

“I’m going to fight.” Safira reached for her mother, water splashing the ship. “If you want to live, come with me.”