A Heart of Fire (8 page)

Valdrik
hurried to the door with giant strides, praying they would not be spotted. He
looked out, relieved to find no one there. As he left, he closed the door
behind them, to not draw alarm should someone happen by. No doubt she would be
missed, but he would rather that be much later.

Valdrik
hurried through the shadows, the woman on his shoulder twisting and straining
against him, her elbows coming sharply into his back as she tried to squirm
free. As he ran, her kicking legs threw him off-kilter a time or two, but once
they were away and at the edge of the wood, he set her to her feet. Valdrik
roughly turned her around, thankful to not have to carry her anymore.

"You
shall walk from here, do you understand?" he asked, giving her a shake.
"You shall do exactly as I tell you or I swear I will slit your throat and
leave you to die. I could easily tell your father I did not find you at
all." As he looked down on her, his annoyance abated with each labored
breath. Of course, he would never do such a thing, but it would not do him any
good to let her know that.

Confusion
washed over her at the mention of her father, and he watched as her frightened
eyes glided to the longhouse in the distance before coming back to him.

Valdrik
bent his head and laughed quietly near her ear. "Oh, do you have a
surprise in store,
shieldmaiden
."
The last word was a deep, harsh whisper containing only the slightest hint of
scorn.

He
took her by the arm then, dragging her along into the thick woods surrounding
her village and to his horse where he tossed her up on the animal's back and
mounted behind her, circling her in his arms like a vise, like a serpent
squeezing its prey.

As
he held her there, victory surged through his veins.

Soon,
he would have all he wished for.

Chapter Six

When
the surly barbarian had dragged her into the wood where a huge gray beast of a
horse stood waiting, Finna balked at the impending situation. Stark alertness
ran through her cold, chilling her veins. The man turned her in his hands and
tossed her up onto the horse's back with an ease that startled her, so much so that
it rendered her more shocked than the moment before. She struggled to catch
herself, looping her bound hands against the pommel as he mounted behind her,
almost dislodging her from the saddle.

He
caught her entirely off guard again as he closed his arms around her and pulled
her into him, her back to his massive, hard chest. Her backside came flush with
his loins in a shocking way. Finna swallowed against the material in her mouth.
The taste was awful, and she dared not think where the cloth had come from, and
at the same time, doubted very much he had cared.

The
beast of a man was so close to her she could smell him, the spiciness of his
skin, the leather of his vest. All man. And obviously one more daring than any
other she had ever chanced upon.

Her
barbarian captor sent his equally beastlike animal into a trot though the
trees, jolting her forward to press against his arms. Finna turned and caught
the man in the corner of her eye. He watched behind them warily as they rode
off into the dense forest.

As he should,
she thought.
Her father's men would notice her absence. Surely Grahund had seen her being
stolen away!

The
lumbering horse crashed through the forest loudly enough to give her hope that
someone might hear, but after a while, when no one came, even her captor seemed
to give up the notion and relaxed. He no longer watched their back. Instead he
looked ahead expectantly, moving branches from scratching her face as they
carried on into a denser area.

Finna
panicked, looking back now and then, hoping and praying she would see someone
come after them. No one did, however, and soon the blanket of leaves on the
forest floor silenced their movements and the darkness cloaked them completely,
leaving her no hope at all. Her shoulders fell, not in defeat, but in weary
exhaustion. What did this addled man want of her? To kill her?

And
what had he meant about her father?

Finna
lingered on, and for several long moments more she was lost in frightful
imaginings of what the barbarian had meant.

"I
am called Valdrik Haraldson," he said at last.

His
voice deeply resonated throughout her, and Finna turned to him, slanting her
eyes at him over her shoulder as she waited for the man to continue.

He
regarded her with stern exasperation for a moment. "If you will promise me
you will not scream, I will remove the gag from your mouth so we might speak of
why I have come for you. Will you comply?" he asked, leaning around her.

Finna
sat stiffly against his nearness, his mouth hovering beside her ear and his
arms on either side of her guiding the horse. At last, she nodded.
"Aye," she murmured against the gag, though the sound came out
garbled and unintelligible.

The
warmth of his arms left her sides, and she bit back a yelp as he began to work
the knot free at the back of her head, pulling her hair in the process. When
the whoreson had tied the knot, he had tied her hair into a tangle as well. A
few moments later, he pulled the material free, and she spat the wad he had
shoved into her mouth and gulped in the fresh night air.

Finna
brought her bound hands up to rub away the fresh blood trickling from her lip.
She winced at the sting, but she did not allow her discomfort to distract her.

"Why
have you done this, Viking?" she asked, her voice rough and dry. "I
am a freewoman. You cannot steal me from my home." She laughed derisively
then. "Don’t you realize what they shall do to you when they find me
missing?"

Valdrik
snorted. "Freewoman or not, you call me Viking. Do you not think this is
what I am accustomed to doing then? Stealing people?" They ambled along
for a moment. "I do not think you will believe me, but your true sire has
sent me to collect you after you tried to kill him in battle just two days
past."

Finna
scoffed. "You jest. My father is asleep in his hall. Now, where do you
truly take me?"

"Nay,
I tell you the truth, woman. I take you to Jarl Hadarr
Leiknir, your father."

She scoffed. "You are addled. He is not my
father. He is my
uncle
." She
spat uncle as though it were the most loathsome word to leave her tongue.

"Nay. You should hear the truth from him, and
that is all I will say as to that. Aldar is not the man you think he is. He is
evil, Finna."

She shook her head slowly, incredulously.

Though he may have used her given name before—she
could not remember—the sound of his familiarity with the use of her given name
now startled her. It was apparent he was not just some barbarian stealing her
away with a crude purpose, but that he had indeed been sent by someone for her.
"You do not know him," she said.

"Aye, I do know the man. Three winters ago he
attacked my home and left nothing behind beside charred ruins. My family was
slain, everything taken. He is a man without remorse or conscience. Like the
lowest scavenger of the forest, Aldar takes without need and feasts upon
whatever it is he has conquered."

Her mind whirled with his high-handed opinion of her
father, her people. "We are
Vikings
,
Valdrik Haraldson. What conscience do you have when you raid? Raiding, is that
why you were not home to protect the family you lost?" Her bitter words
stung even her ears. It was unlike her to be cruel in such a way, but he had
coaxed every ill feeling she possessed from her. Finna stiffened her back. She
owed him no mercy after what he had done.

His hard body tensed against hers, every muscle
bunched and strained. Truly, she could feel his heartbeat quicken, thudding
against her back. Finna shuddered. His nearness seemed all too overpowering of
a sudden. Never had she been this close to a man, nor did she wish to continue
to be.

He leaned around her, grasping her chin and speaking
into her ear. "I was hunting to
feed
my family," he said harshly as his grip tightened. "When I raid I
only kill men with swords in their hands, not women and children and the old
and sick. When I returned, I found my father, the Jarl, dead. His bones
scattered by beasts within his hall. My mother and sisters raped and
slaughtered." He paused, lowering his voice and reined in his horse, the
leather straps bunched in his other fist. Valdrik turned her face to his. Their
stares locked, and his cold blue eyes chilled her to her toes.

Yet there was something else.

His powerful presence filled her, ignited her, surged
through her. His touch burned her. Finna sucked in a small breath.

"My youngest sister was only thirteen," he
said.

The raw emotion and rasp in his voice stilled her
protest, dissolved the words on her tongue. Finna could feel the pain he
carried with him.

"I tell you this," he said. "When I see
the man you claim is your father, I will run my sword through him—only
after
I have taken my vengeance
tenfold." His stare lingered on hers a moment more before he nudged the
horse forward and released his grip on her chin.

Finna remained silent a moment, shaken. She did not
even turn away. This man was clearly not right in the head. Her father would
never do such terrible things. She searched her memory, trying to remember such
a brutal raid three winters ago, but could not. Surely, the men would have
boasted of such things if they'd done them. If what this man said did happen,
she was not with her father's men, for she had not raided until the year past.

Suddenly, the destrier came to a halt, and Finna
stiffened once more at the man behind her as their bodies connected. She
scanned the trees for movement around them.

"Why have we stopped?" she asked.

"
Shh,
"
he whispered in her ear and then made a call that sounded much like her owl,
Fang.

Fang!
Finna perked at the thought of her pet, dread filling
her. He would be distraught without her. Her jaw clenched, and her nose
twitched with a snarl.

She saw them then, a group of three men in the
distance. The man behind her nudged their mount onward toward the group. Finna
swallowed, calculating her chances of survival if she stayed with them or if
she ran. It was not lost on her what a group of four warriors could do to a
woman.

She should have done this sooner, but his insane talk
had distracted her. Finna cursed herself as she swung her elbow up, catching
Valdrik in the eye and at the same time, she swung her legs over the horse's
large head and slid effortlessly down its side. As she lunged forward out of
Valdrik's reach, she was thankful she had not dressed for bed.

Smoothly, Finna pulled Valdrik's sword from the sheath
at the horse's flank, preparing herself for a fight as she swung around. With a
sharp curse, Valdrik stopped the destrier and threw his leg over the head of
his monstrous beast, coming swiftly from the saddle to face her.
Danger emanated
from every rigid inch of his stance as he shifted his weight, preparing himself
to grab her the first chance he got.

"Are you addled, woman?" he asked low, his
voice rough. He was furious with her now.

Finna held her ground, circling him, staying well away
from the destrier, as she knew the damage their powerful legs could inflict.
Warriors trained their warhorses to kill, and she did not intend to die in such
a fashion. For the moment, she rather feared the animal's owner more.

She angled his weapon at him, tilting her chin
proudly. "Nay. I would be addled if I stayed atop that beast with you a
moment longer."

"What do you plan to do?" he asked, crossing
his arms over his chest. "Face four men?" He looked all too certain,
too confident.

His humor rankled her.

Finna gingerly pulled her lower lip between her teeth
as she watched them. The other men had all dismounted and approached warily
now, hands on their swords. "I've faced more," she said, her eyes
darting back to her captor.

Valdrik scoffed. "You faced me only two days ago,
and what happened?" His eyes flickered to her hands, small on the hilt of
his sword. "I would wager my broadsword is much heavier than the one you
are used to wielding."

Finna considered this. He was right. When Aldar had begun
training her as a shieldmaiden, he'd had a lighter sword fashioned for her.
Already she struggled to hold this man's weapon aloft, her wrist paining her
with each passing second. Even if she swung at him, she would surely not
inflict a serious enough wound to fell him. She glared at her captor
murderously, and he had the audacity to laugh.

Finna snarled.

Swiftly, she drove the sword into the ground and
brought her bound wrists down across the front of the blade, freeing herself
from the bonds. Her feet dug into the earth as the rope fell away, and she
turned to run, knowing her escape would be short-lived.

This Viking deserved nothing less than hell. She would
give him all the trouble she could.