countless to mention.’ She lifted her chin and adopted her no-nonsense voice. ‘I wish you good day, Hrolf Eymundsson. My family needs me to make this right.’
‘You care for your family more than your life.’
Sayrid shrugged. ‘You’ll find another bride, particularly as I’ve arranged for a feast after the Assembly to celebrate the marriage. I can suggest a name or two—women who are not spoken for and whose kinsmen are honest. I wouldn’t want you to make the same mistake twice. Feuds ruin families.’
His piercing blue gaze locked on her mouth. ‘I make my own choices. Without interference.’
Her stomach flipped over. Nearly kissing him the other night had been a mistake. She should have gone for another approach like stamping on his foot. ‘I had only meant to be helpful.’
‘I look forward to speaking more after the Storting...if you intend on being helpful.’
Sayrid frowned. What sort of game was he playing? Men didn’t flirt with her. Perhaps he did really want introductions. Her heart panged slightly.
She made a breezy gesture. ‘We’ve no quarrel, you and I.’
His hand descended onto her shoulder. The touch seared through her wool tunic, making her insides do a giddy loop. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She moved away from him and sought to dampen down the bubbly feeling. This warrior was the same as the rest of them, worse even. Her father’s long-ago words about how she had little to recommend herself even to a desperate man echoed in her brain. ‘May you find the bride you truly desire, Sea-Rider. I wish you a long life and prosperity.’
‘And you, Shield Maiden.’
* * *
The large hall teemed with people. After so many years being in the East, Hrolf was pleased to be amongst his own people again. He’d done the right thing to come here and strengthen his alliance with Jaarl Kettil. This was the sort of place where a man could put down roots and where his daughter could be brought up safely.
‘Where did you get to?’ Bragi, Hrolf’s best friend and helmsman, asked in an undertone. ‘Jaarl Kettil remarked on your absence. I thought we were here so you can identify the man who stole your bride as Ingvar the Bloodaxe requested. We want this resolved.’
Hrolf made a temple with his fingers. Sayrid was correct. Unfortunately. He’d forgotten his father’s story about Bloodaxe and his failure to provide promised weapons on the battlefield until Sayrid mentioned the light wool sacks. And Bloodaxe’s daughter was very obviously pregnant. There was much more to this than he’d first considered. What was really going on? ‘I’m making sure that I understand the truth before I decide which cause to support. A man’s life is at stake.’
‘Who is that?’ Bragi asked as Sayrid marched to the front. Her cloak swung slightly, revealing a few curves, if one bothered to look. ‘Can anyone introduce me? Pray to the gods she is single.’
Hrolf frowned. Bragi would barely come up to Sayrid’s shoulder.
‘Sayrid Avildottar, shield maiden and in charge of the largest estate in the area after mine.’ Kettil spoke before Hrolf had a chance to answer.
‘Then she is single.’
‘Her father declared that she will marry no man unless he first defeats her in combat.’ The jaarl smiled slightly. ‘It suits my purpose to have her sword under my command, but she grows bold and makes demands. She wants to lead a felag to Byzantium. Imagine.’
‘Thor’s beard, she is tall,’ Bragi answered and added a slightly crude remark about the shape of her legs.
Hrolf fought against the urge to pummel his friend to the ground. It made no sense why he should feel protective of Sayrid. He barely knew the woman. For him, women were objects of beauty to be enjoyed while on shore. His uncle had taught him that lesson after his father’s death. The way to prosperity was never to allow a woman to interfere with the important business of making a fortune.
‘Only a brave or extremely foolish man makes remarks like that in her hearing.’ Kettil moved his finger in a slitting motion across his throat. ‘She takes offence easily. Her first voyage saw her defend her honour more than once.’
Bragi blanched. ‘I will remember that.’
‘Have many tried to win her hand?’ Hrolf asked. ‘Or was it only old men and beardless boys who tried?’
‘What, and face the ignominy of losing to a woman?’ Kettil shook his head. ‘If all my warriors were like her, I would be king of Svear and Götaland, instead of a jaarl in a backwater.’
‘There is good...but I’m exceptional.’ Hrolf permitted his lips to turn up. Sayrid the Proud was about to learn an important lesson.
* * *
The flock of butterflies that had settled in Sayrid’s stomach had turned into a herd of rampaging reindeer now that the Storting had started. Ingvar the Bloodaxe and his wife certainly looked the part of distraught parents. She risked a glance at where Hrolf Eymundsson sat with an impassive face.
‘Regin Avilson stole my daughter from me,’ Bloodaxe began with a distinct whine in his voice. ‘He took her from my farm without my permission. He had no right to set foot on my property. He should be declared an outlaw and my daughter returned. Hrolf Eymundsson was there. He will confirm that Regin Avilson forced my daughter to leave against her will.’
‘Objection!’ Sayrid cried. ‘Regin Avilson never set foot on Ingvar Flokison the Bloodaxe’s property. How could he have stolen her?’
‘If he didn’t, who did?’ Bloodaxe asked. ‘Who else set my daughter free from a locked barn?’
‘Why was your daughter locked up?’
‘I asked the question first! Who released my daughter from my barn? Who undid the lock?’
‘I did,’ Sayrid answered in a firm voice and stepped out in the centre of the room. All eyes turned towards her. She stood taller with her shoulders back, never allowing her gaze to falter. ‘I wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumour that Ingvar Flokison had decided against honouring our agreement of last spring. Going towards the farmhouse, I heard a cry for help. I unbarred the door. Blodvin Ingvardottar then ran out of the barn and down to the river. What happened after that, I couldn’t say, but she found her way to my farm and my brother, demanding sanctuary!’
‘Did anyone see you?’ the jaarl asked, giving her a hard stare. ‘Can anyone verify this?’
‘Hrolf Eymundsson did. We spoke briefly.’ Sayrid focused her gaze on Hrolf. ‘He can confirm my story. And once Blodvin was safe, I sent word to you. I’ve not attempted to hide anyone or anything.’
‘Time to hear from the independent witness,’ the jaarl declared. ‘What happened on that night, Hrolf Eymundsson? Give your impartial account.’
There was a sudden intake of breath and everyone turned towards Hrolf. His dark blue velvet cloak shimmered with self-importance. The torchlight caught the gold of his arm rings. Everything about him proclaimed that here was a man who was accustomed to power. Sayrid
