Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series) Page 12

  God has placed my future in my own hands. I must leave and find someone willing to take me home. If England is too far, I’ll seek refuge in the first Christian lands I come to—where the Church grants sanctuary to displaced daughters of Christ. Maybe in Scotland or Ireland.

  Head still swimming, she limped away from the table and went to the wardrobe. She dressed in the heaviest overdress she owned and wrapped her fur cloak tightly around her shoulders, securing it with two silver brooches. Her legs wobbled. Next, she flung herself in a chair, put on a pair of stockings, and laced on her warmest boots. She had no money to pay passage on a ship, but Randvior let her keep many of her jewels. She pocketed the most expensive pieces.

  She opened the door and peered into the hallway. Empty—it must be very late. Noelle stepped outside of her room and listened. Not a sound.

  Confident that she had chosen a perfect time to escape, she cautiously made her way downstairs. She stiffened as she came closer to the landing, but didn’t see anyone below.

  Stopping to catch her breath, Noelle rested her head against the wall, dizzied by blurred vision. Bile left a bitter taste in her mouth. She tried to shake it off, then proceeded to the landing, and managed to slip through the hall unnoticed. The back doors loomed as imposing as Saint Peter’s gates. Her passage to freedom lay ahead, and this time Lauga couldn’t keep her from using them.

  Once outside, she staggered to the bathhouse, feeling weaker by the second. Had she gotten drunk last night? She sought refuge behind the back wall, and once she was absolutely sure she was alone, she hobbled across the clearing. Light streamed outside from the occasional window of a tenant’s cabin, but she kept moving.

  As she neared the last row of houses, Noelle gazed ahead. The full moon illuminated the river. She remembered to travel westward, toward the ocean. If she were fortunate enough to find someone willing to help, she’d offer all the jewels as compensation. They were worth a fortune. Another wave of nausea—Noelle had to stop again.

  The ritual ended with Randvior’s whispered words. His tenants and servants had gathered at Odin’s altar to offer sacrifices and pray to speed Noelle’s recovery. Even Katherine attended.

  They returned to the great hall and Randvior gathered everyone around the hearth to share a drink. He warmed his weary bones and remembered how terrified he’d felt after Noelle collapsed. It had been the single most horrifying moment of his life. The nerve-racking silence in the room made him uncomfortable, so he scoured the hall with his eyes while Katherine climbed the stairs. He didn’t want Noelle left alone for too long. The spaewife went home after two long days of keeping vigil at her bedside. He was satisfied she was out of danger.

  “She’s gone!” Katherine screamed from above.

  Randvior was across the room in seconds.

  He ran upstairs and nearly tore the door from its hinges as he entered Noelle’s chamber. They searched every corner together. The maid rummaged through her mistress’ trunks, while Randvior checked his room and the hallway. He returned. Everything was in its proper place. On a hunch, he opened Noelle’s jewel box. Many of the pieces he let her keep were missing, including the pair of silver brooches shaped like turtledoves. He set the box down and checked the wardrobe. Her best cloak and fur boots were gone. She’d left voluntarily.

  He flew downstairs and organized two search parties from amongst the men. Randvior sent them north and east, and decided to ride west alone. If he knew anything about Noelle, she was headed where she felt the most comfortable. The girl came from generations of seafarers, as he did, and a mixture of salt water and blood coursed through her veins.

  Without a word, he saddled his horse and galloped away, despite the deep snow. She couldn’t get very far in her condition and it didn’t take long to pick up her trail. Tiny boot prints revealed where she intended to go. He thanked the gods and rode harder and faster. Poison had surely muddled her mind. And only an idiot would have left a woman in her condition alone. His heart skipped a beat. The more people, the greater the chance his gods would grant his request.

  What will she say? I’m a bastard for taking her from Durham, but a savior for rescuing her from her brother. Damned either way. He recalled the cryptic message from the spirit women in his dream. There are two possible ends for you . . . He tossed back his head, his heart felt so brittle it might crack.

  He came across two sets of footprints in the snow nearly two miles from the house. One headed north and the other westward, along the river. Identical sets. He chuckled. She must have gotten turned around. Something dark flashed in the near distance. A cloaked figure broke into a full run. Randvior dug his heels into the stallion’s ribs. As he closed in, he could tell Noelle was struggling to stay on her feet.

  “Stop!”

  “Why?” she shouted over her shoulder. “So you can ridicule me?”

  She tripped and fell face down in the snow. He swung down from the saddle, walked beside her, and offered his hand.

  She refused it.

  “Everyone is looking for you. We returned from prayers and you were gone. There are patrols to the north and east . . .”

  Noelle sat and wrapped her hands around her head. Losing his patience or temper wouldn’t accomplish a thing. Randvior didn’t know what to say. “Are you unwell?”

  Noelle gestured angrily. “Did I ask you to chase me down like a nursemaid?” She brushed snow off her cloak and bent her knees into her chest. “Make arrangements for me to go back to England. There’s nothing left between us, Randvior Sigurdsson. And I have no interest in being your concubine or any desire to spend another night under the same roof with your delightful mother.”

  Her complaints were justified. And much to his relief, her mental condition hadn’t deteriorated; her tongue remained as razor-sharp as always. He couldn’t fault her last grievance. Randvior didn’t want to spend another night under the same roof with his mother, either. “Be reasonable.”

  “I am,” she snapped. “I hate you, do you hear me? I despise you for bringing me here. And you raped me! Dashed my dreams and destroyed everything I hold sacred!”

  Could she choose more negative words? But rape . . . This was an outrageous accusation. His temper flared. He reached, gripped the front of her cloak, and lifted. “And what lucky bastard would have claimed you if I hadn’t?” He was frozen in the spot before her.

  “Let me go,” she protested and tried to wiggle free. He let her go and she landed on her arse.

  “Ignorant marauder . . . pirate . . . murderer . . . beast . . . godless heathen . . . barbaric, inferior man . . . rapist!”

  This was about adding insult to injury. Damned if she was going to get away with calling him those cursed names. He lunged and held her shoulders between his hands. He wanted to squeeze every filthy thought from her mind.

  Then he caught himself. What was he doing? Randvior heaved a sigh as he let her go.

  She landed a solid kick on his shin and sprinted away. But Randvior recovered and tackled her. They tumbled, rolling twice before they came to a complete stop, Noelle pinned underneath. She slapped at his face, but he caught her hands midair and pinned her arms to her sides.

  “I’m not a rapist!” he denied vehemently.

  “Of all the revolting things I called you, why does the thought of being a rapist trouble you the most?”

  “I’ve never forced a woman to bed.”

  “No, only allowed your men to do it. Is there really a difference?”

  “I did not rape you.”

  She quit struggling and he let go of her arms, but still straddled her.

  “If not rape, what do you call it when a man barges into a room where a girl is praying for her life and you claim her maidenhead without the courtesy of a kind word or promise of love?”

  “Seduction,” he said, panting. “Not rape
. A man conquers and takes what he wants—it’s an inherent right.”

  “Inherent?” she cried. “Decency and honesty, kindness and moderation are inherent. Stealing what belongs to another is simply criminal!”

  “Ah.” He tipped his head up and gazed at the stars.

  Noelle swallowed hard and swatted his arms. “Get off me.”

  “Not until you understand the difference between men and women.”

  “It’s cold and I’m soaked to the bone,” she complained.

  “You should have thought about that before you abandoned me.”

  She made a low noise of contempt. “How can I abandon you if I never claimed any allegiance to you in the first place? As you confessed, it’s only natural for a man to take. Well, for a woman in my position, it’s only natural to escape.”

  He was quiet for a long time, suspended between two philosophies: of right and of wrong. She had spoken wisely. Not all men pillaged. In fact, most didn’t. Generations of Sigurdsson’s had, and he’d be damned if a Saxon wench was going to stop him.

  “What are my rights?” she asked.

  If she were a man, he’d beat some sense into her thick skull. “As far as the law is concerned, you have none.” Her undisciplined tongue always caused trouble. He looked at her as she flailed. “Do you want help getting up?”

  She hesitated, refusing to look at him, then reluctantly, nodded. Randvior staggered to his feet and extended his hand. She batted it away and stood on her own. A twinge of guilt pinched him. They were both frozen and miserable; he wanted to touch her, offer what little warmth his body had left to give. But would she receive it?

  “Leave me alone,” she said, as if knowing his question.

  “Never,” he said with a defensive note in his voice.

  “I wish . . .”

  “What?”

  “. . . that I had killed you the first night you fell asleep in the same bed with me.”

  He reached inside his boot and pulled out a knife. “Take it and strike quickly, every wicked thing that comes out of that mouth feels as deadly as a blade piercing my heart.”

  She was silent again and cast her eyes downward. Tears streamed down her face. “I want to go home,” she said.

  He framed her face between his hands, his passion unfurled like a flag. “You are home.”

  She did not respond. He felt his chest tighten at the sight of the pain in her face. “Anything that hurts you, hurts me. I killed for you,” he confessed. “I murdered my own man to protect you. And the gods may punish me for it, but I’d kill a thousand more if I knew it proved to you how much I want you. Please,” he croaked.

  Randvior picked her up.

  “I want nothing more than to keep you here with me forever,” he said.

  Chapter 11

  Promises

  Once Randvior placed her on the saddle in front of him, the heavens opened and a bitter wind blew across the field. Noelle snuggled into her fur collar, still suffering from the effects of poison. Something still didn’t feel right inside; her ears were ringing and she felt heavy-legged, almost clumsy. But the Viking offered no explanation and she really didn’t want to talk, unless it was absolutely necessary. He commented on how impressed he was that she had covered so much distance and how he had underestimated her tenacity and strength. She was tougher than most women; she was glad of the acknowledgement, but frowned. She didn’t want his compliments.

  “Why did you run away?” he asked.

  “You threatened that defenseless boy.” She huddled deeper into his warmth. “My brother displayed the same rage throughout my lifetime, and all I could see were the faces of the countless victims of his violence. I cannot live that way, ever again. I never wish to be the reason a man loses his life.”

  He swore and slapped his thigh. “If that’s the way you feel, why risk running straight back into Brian’s reach?”

  “I have a sister who needs me.”

  “And a worthless father who did nothing to protect you.”

  “Aye,” Noelle conceded. “But Margaret deserves a chance to be happy.”

  The elements of this relationship were impossible to understand. One minute she couldn’t stand being near him, the next, she wanted to curl up in his arms.

  “There are rules we must respect, and if broken, consequences must follow, punishment I must deliver. I cannot change just because you find it unpalatable. If I bend the rules for one man, another will expect the same leniency when his turn comes. Our women are cherished above all things. No man need point out her beauty in public—the scald deserved to die.”

  The air around them had thickened with disagreement. Randvior tried to diffuse the situation.

  “No matter how devoted my men are, or how many oaths of allegiance they keep, they are only flesh and blood. Do you know how many men gazed at you covetously the night of the feast? Even Brandon acted differently when you were around. By Odin, woman, you could force a priest to question his abstinence.” His mouth tightened. “I admit I’m not an easy man to live with. And I own a black heart where you’re concerned, my sweet.” He sighed, slid forward, and tightened his hold on her. “I’ll kill to keep what’s mine.”

  “I didn’t ask you to bring me here. And you do not own me.”

  It never failed. Noelle insisted on reminding him how miserable she was at every opportunity.

  “I know.” He bit back the anger that itched to come out.

  Time passed quickly in the saddle and they reached the stables without attaining reconciliation. Goddamn it, he needed more time to convince her to stay. To make her want to stay of her own free will. Anything less and he’d consider it a failure.

  A groom took the reins and Randvior jumped down. He lifted Noelle from the saddle and steered her toward the bathhouse. This conversation was far from over.

  Ignoring her protests, Randvior opened the door and shoved her inside. Enough was enough—how could he administer justice and manage his lands if he was constantly preoccupied with the fear of her running away? All the unnecessary arguments were starting to chip away at his willpower, making him consider things he’d sooner forget. He felt foolish sometimes. Maybe even a bit undeserving and awkward.

  No woman had ever infuriated him this much.

  Randvior knew what she wanted: words, promises he intended to keep, and lovemaking she’d never forget.

  The warmth seemed to have a positive effect on her. She relaxed and color quickly returned to her cheeks. He walked across the room, gathered an armful of wood, and built a roaring fire in the largest pit. He peeked over his shoulder and caught her staring at his backside. He chuckled, more than pleased he still possessed the physical charms to catch her eye. And only an hour ago she had declared how much she hated him.

  If she loathed him as much as she claimed, why did those liquid eyes penetrate his skin? Noelle could no more live without him than he could survive breathing fire and brimstone.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He touched her cheek and she stiffened. He ignored her reaction and rested his hands on her shoulders. Pride comes before the fall . . . Words taken directly from her holy book—worthy ones, he thought. He slowly unclasped the silver turtledove brooches and removed her cloak. He didn’t understand why she fought the urge. Randvior slipped behind her and massaged her shoulders. He drew his hands together near the base of her spine and blew softly into her ear. His fingers floated over the curves of her bottom, gently plying and kneading. What she needed was a distraction.

  He gathered the hem of her gown and pulled it over her head. Next, he untied the shoulder ribbons on her chemise and watched as the thin veil of material pooled at her feet. “Kick off your boots.”

  She did.

  His hands left
her body only long enough to remove his own clothing and then he was on her again. Her hair hung down her back like a honey-streaked robe and he buried his face in those fragrant tresses, breathing in the intoxicating scent of spring. Her body drove him crazy. Her breasts shimmered with sweat. Odin, give me strength to offer comfort and nothing more . . . He wrapped his arms around her. Crushed against him, she still tried to squirm free. His laugh vibrated through their bodies.

  The thrill of the chase exhilarated him more than anything. His cock stood at attention, but they would not make love this night. “Look at me.”

  Slowly, she turned her eyes toward him.

  “What will it take to convince you my intentions are honorable?”

  She withered in his hands. What had he done now? “Elsk meg pokker heller.” He kissed her and carried her to the spring. Her head drooped against his chest as he waded into the water and he was suddenly reminded. The poison . . . He banished his temper and hugged her closer.

  “Stay with me, little one. Baptize me with your sweet love.”

  A week later, after Noelle had fully recovered, Katherine prepared her for a very important feast.

  “Many distinguished guests will be in attendance tonight, including lords from nearby steadings, who have gathered to hear and offer oaths of allegiance to the jarl,” the maid reported, while combing out her hair.

  Noelle noticed a slight tremor in her own body at the mention of Randvior. She missed his company in a carnal sort of way. How did men perfect their lovemaking skills? She frowned as the only logical answer dawned.