Echoes of the Runes

Book 0: Runes

by Christina Courtenay

Genres: Viking Romance; General Fiction

Synopsis

The pacy, evocative and romantic new dual-time novel from Christina Courtenay is perfect for fans of Barbara Erskine, Diana Gabaldon and Vikings.

Their love was forbidden. But echoed in eternity.

When Mia inherits her beloved grandmother's summer cottage, Birch Thorpe, in Sweden, she faces a dilemma. Her fiance Charles urges her to sell and buy a swanky London home, but Mia cannot let it go easily. The request to carry out an archaeological dig for more Viking artefacts like the gold ring Mia's grandmother also left her, offers her a reprieve from a decision - and from Charles.

Whilst Mia becomes absorbed in the dig's discoveries, she finds herself drawn to archaeologist Haakon Berger. Like her, he can sense the past inhabitants whose lives are becoming more vivid every day. Trying to resist the growing attraction between them, Mia and Haakon begin to piece together the story of a Welsh noblewoman, Ceri, and the mysterious Viking, known as the 'White Hawk', who stole her away from her people in 869 AD.

As the present begins to echo the past, and enemies threaten Birch Thorpe's inhabitants, they will all have to fight to protect what has become most precious to each of them...

(P)2020 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: March 5, 2020

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

Chapter One



Sweden, February 2000

One single Viking ring, displayed against a background of blue velvet, shouldn’t even have merited a second glance from Mia Maddox. She handled such items on a daily basis as part of her job. And yet, at the sight of this one, she stopped and gasped out loud, barely registering the impressive two-kilo neck torque in the next glass case.

No, it can’t be.

The basement of the Historical Museum in Stockholm definitely deserved its name – The Gold Room – as it contained unimaginable amounts of treasure trove. The ring she was staring at, by no means even the largest or finest in the collection, was nothing special. Merely a stylised snake, a common motif for the period in the same type of design as many other items here. It was hand-made and should have been unique, but Mia knew for a fact that it wasn’t – because she was wearing an identical ring on her right index finger.

She felt light-headed for a moment, and imagined she heard a susurration echoing around the vault, as if the little serpent itself had just slithered round the perimeter and hissed, its soft scales brushing the stone floor. The fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up, and she shivered.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she murmured.

Frowning slightly, she looked from one ring to the other, holding up her hand to compare every detail. There was no difference, as far as she could see, other than the size – hers was definitely smaller, in circumference at least. Still, they could have been cast from the same mould, so alike were they. Another shiver went through her.

It was uncanny.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and realised someone had been watching her, but whoever it was had ducked out of sight. Probably another tourist, wondering why she was talking to herself. Self-consciously, she stuffed her hand in her pocket while still staring at the exhibits. She blinked several times, as if that would change things, but the rings remained the same. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said that their little snake faces had looked pleased to see one another, but that thought was just too bizarre for words. Shaking her head, she tore herself away and headed for the exit. She would have to make enquiries at the information desk to solve this mystery.

The Gold Room was underneath the museum, in a specially excavated vault. Shallow stairs, dark and dimly lit, led back up to the entrance hall. The walls here were painted with Viking motifs in rusty red and ochre, and several enormous rune stones guarded the top and bottom of the staircase. Mia had studied them with interest earlier, but now she was lost in thought and hardly spared her surroundings a glance. As she reached the halfway landing, a man appeared out of nowhere and blocked her way, making her jump.

‘Excuse me, but could you come with me for a moment, please?’ he said in Swedish, staring straight at her, his blue eyes intense under a deep frown.

Mia came to an abrupt halt. ‘Sorry? Are you talking to me?’ She understood him perfectly, being half Swedish herself, but didn’t know why he’d be addressing her. She glanced around, but she was the only person on the stairs at that moment and his gaze was firmly fixed on her.

‘Yes, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. It concerns your ring.’ He glanced at the golden serpent that encircled her finger and she fancied she could feel its coils gripping her more firmly, defiantly hanging on for dear life, as if this man posed a threat to it. But that was just ridiculous. What the hell was the matter with her? She wasn’t normally this fanciful.

‘M-my ring?’ Unconsciously she made a fist to conceal it, but that was futile, as he’d obviously seen it already. And once seen, it wasn’t easily forgotten. The reptile had a head at either end of its body, which was curious to say the least. Beautifully shaped, it was covered in tiny decorations consisting of lines and swirls all along its back. Whenever she moved her hand, the pure gold glinted. Eighteen carat? Maybe even twenty-four. For a brief moment now she thought the snake’s eyes glittered with . . . what? Excitement? Anger?

She shook her head again. The snake was an inanimate object; it had no expression whatsoever.

‘That’s right, your ring,’ the man said, bringing her back from her strange thoughts. Mia noticed that his accent was Norwegian and wondered what he was doing in Sweden’s capital. More to the point, what authority did he have here, challenging her like this?

‘And who are you?’ she asked. She knew she sounded curt, perhaps even rude, but he had disconcerted her with his sudden appearance.

He pointed to an identity card that hung round his neck. ‘Haakon Berger, one of the archaeologists based here.’

‘Oh, right.’ How stupid not to have noticed the ID, which was right in front of her nose. He must think her a complete idiot. ‘Well, I . . .’ Panic assailed her, as if she had been caught doing something illegal, but she quashed it. This was ridiculous. She had a right to visit the museum just like anyone else, and the fact that her ring happened to look exactly like one of the exhibits she’d just seen was mere coincidence. Wasn’t it?

She’d been going in search of some answers herself. Perhaps this man could provide them. ‘OK, fine,’ she conceded. ‘Lead on then, but I don’t have much time, so you’ll have to make it quick.’

He nodded and began to mount the remaining steps up to ground-floor level, taking them two at a time. Mia followed at a slower pace, belatedly registering his appearance properly. About her own age – late twenties, early thirties – tall and athletic-looking, with a shock of white-blond hair that stood up as if gelled in place, he could have been an advertisement for pure Viking genes. She had noted that his blue eyes were set in a sharply angled face with a very straight nose and high cheekbones, and with that uncompromising mouth he resembled nothing so much as a Norse god bent on vengeance. She shivered yet again. His anger had seemed directed at her. Why would that be?

The reception area was quiet when they reached it. Two guards stood next to the information desk, talking in hushed voices. Berger nodded to them, as if he knew them well, but didn’t pause. He strode across the hall, Mia trailing behind. The huge space was lofty and modern, with enormous windows overlooking a courtyard quadrangle. In front of her was the obligatory gift shop, and in one corner was a door leading to an exhibition about Vikings, which she had wanted to visit. She resented the fact that because of this man there might not be enough time for that now.

‘This way,’ Berger said, and entered a door marked Private set in the far wall. Inside was another staircase, this one much steeper, and they climbed it in silence. As before, he was much faster than her and had to wait at the top, holding open a door that led into a corridor. Mia could hear the hum of voices from somewhere nearby, but there was no time to listen as the archaeologist ushered her into one of the first rooms on the right. It was nothing more than an untidy alcove really, with bits of paper strewn everywhere and old artefacts in boxes and bubble wrap. She wondered how he could work in such a mess.

He removed some items from a chair. ‘Please, sit down.’

Mia did as she was asked, then waited as he took the room’s only other chair, behind a cluttered desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her thoughtfully.

‘May I ask your name? And do you have any ID with you?’

‘Myfanwy Maddox, but I’m usually known as Mia.’ Her name was none of his business, but she had no reason to conceal it either. She took out her wallet and handed him her English driver’s licence. He gave it a cursory glance before passing it back.

‘You’re not Swedish, then?’ He looked surprised, but she was used to this, since most people took her for a native.

‘Half. I’m British, but I have a Swedish mother. I’m visiting her at the moment.’ That wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.

‘I see. I take it you come here a lot?’

‘Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’ Mia frowned at him, but he ignored this and ploughed on.

‘Miss Maddox, are you aware that any ancient finds have to be reported to the relevant authorities here in Sweden?’ His Norwegian accent was more pronounced now, and she wondered briefly why he was working here in Stockholm instead of in his home country.

‘Yes, of course I am. As a matter of fact, I—’

He didn’t allow her to finish. ‘When you dig up an ancient artefact, you have to take it to the nearest museum or council, where someone will tell you whether you have found anything of interest or not. If you have, they will add the item to the register of antiquities, and then possibly they’ll make an appointment to view the site where it was found. In certain cases, you may be allowed to keep your find, but mostly you’ll be recompensed and the item placed in a museum.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that, but—’

He interrupted once more. ‘Under no circumstances are you allowed to keep the item for yourself if it’s valuable. That is a crime.’ He emphasised the last word while he glanced at her ring, and Mia followed his gaze, again suppressing the urge to hide the snake.

‘Is that what you’re accusing me of, Mr Berger?’ she demanded, tired of being harangued. ‘You think I’ve dug up this ring and kept it without telling anyone?’

He nodded. ‘Judging by the length of time you stood in front of the display case downstairs, it can’t have escaped your notice that there is a ring exactly like it in the museum’s collection. As far as I’m aware, no permission has been granted to any jewellery company to make replicas of it, although I know a few of the others have been copied. That must mean that yours is as old as the one kept here. May I see it, please?’

He held out an imperious hand and Mia felt obliged to remove the gold snake and pass it across to him. It was an almost physical wrench. That ring was her last link to her beloved grandmother, who had died only a week ago. She couldn’t bear to part with it now, and she could have sworn the serpent was just as unwilling to leave her, since it took her a moment to wriggle it off her finger.

He received it reverently, turning it this way and that so the gold glimmered in the light from the small window. After a while, he hunted in his desk drawers until he came up with a magnifying glass, then studied the ring some more. At length, he looked up again and regarded her with a solemn expression.

‘Viking. Ninth century, probably the middle to later part. An exact replica of the one downstairs, or as near as makes no difference. I happened to be looking at it only the other day. Now, I should very much like to know where you found it. Wherever it was, I’m afraid you can’t keep it. It belongs to the state.’

Mia took a deep breath to contain the anger swirling inside her. How dare he treat her like a thief? She was nothing of the sort, and she knew as much about the subject as he did. Staring him straight in the eyes, she prepared herself for a fight.

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. And I can prove it.’

Chapter Two



‘What do you mean, you can prove it? I’m an expert on Viking artefacts and you can’t fool me into believing that ring is a fake. I can tell the difference, you know. It’s my job.’

Haakon Berger glared at the woman, whose clear grey eyes were shooting sparks of anger at him, like sunlight glinting off ice. She looked seriously offended, her long, curly dark hair bouncing as she tossed her head, but he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He knew that ring was over a thousand years old and it belonged in a museum. End of story.

She raised her chin. ‘I’m not going to try and bamboozle you in any way. I know as well as you do that it’s not a fake. As a matter of fact, I work at the British Museum in London, in the department that specialises in exactly this era. It’s part of my job to be able to identify Viking artefacts too.’

He felt his frown deepen. ‘Is that how you came by it then, as part of an English collection?’ Although if that was the case, she still shouldn’t be walking around wearing it, let alone taking it to Sweden illegally.

Mia shook her head. ‘No, my Swedish grandmother gave it to me a few days ago, just before she passed away, in fact. It’s been in her family for donkey’s years, a family heirloom I suppose you could call it.’

‘So someone in your family found it? Then it’s still treasure trove, even if it was years ago.’ He sent her a look of triumph, but she held his gaze with her own, not backing down.

‘I doubt it. You see, there’s no proof that it was found anywhere. It’s mentioned in a will dated sixteen hundred and something, so it could have been handed down through the generations long before that. It might not have been buried in the earth at all, and you can’t prove that it was.’

Haakon gave her another hard stare, wishing he could see through her and into her brain in order to check whether she was lying or not. It sounded plausible, but he had to make sure. ‘And you can show me that will?’ he asked curtly.

‘Yes, when the lawyers finish sorting out my grandmother’s effects. She told me I was to inherit most of her possessions, so I assume it will be with her papers. No doubt that will take a while, though.’

He took a moment to digest this information, then relaxed his expression a little. If she had proof that the ring was an heirloom, there was nothing he could do. But damn, he’d love to acquire it for the museum. Having a pair – a his and hers, if he wasn’t mistaken, judging by their sizes – was extremely rare, if not unheard of. Not to mention exciting. He looked at Mia Maddox again. ‘Do you know where your grandmother’s family came from? Was there a farm or other property in particular?’

‘No, but she said the land her summer cottage is built on had been in the family for a long time. That’s on the southern shore of Lake Mälaren.’

‘Really? The other ring was found near that lake. I wonder if they were originally a pair, or whether a goldsmith in that area just happened to make two that he sold to different buyers?’ For some reason he was sure they were a pair, but he didn’t want to tell her that, as it was just a gut instinct.

‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.’

And what were the odds of both of them turning up in the twenty-first century? Pretty slim, actually, but it had happened.

Haakon studied the ring through the magnifying glass again. ‘There’s an inscription on yours. Runes. It looks like it could be E and R, and the last letter might be an I, but it’s not clear. The other ring, if I remember correctly, has A and U written on the inside, and possibly an R at the end.’

Mia shrugged. ‘So no similarities. That doesn’t tell you anything.’

‘Still, I’d like to examine the two together. Would you consider leaving your ring here for a day or two?’ The thought of reuniting them made his heart rate kick up a notch, but Mia shook her head.

‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t let it out of my sight. I swore to Gran that I would keep it safe. If you want to examine it, you’ll have to do so with me in the room, and right now, I simply don’t have time. The funeral is tomorrow, and after that I have to return to London, to my job.’

Frustration coursed through him, but he didn’t protest. ‘Could you at least give me your contact details, then perhaps we could arrange for you to come in at some future date? And if at all possible, I’d like to have a look at that property you mentioned. There might be clues in the terrain as to whether it could have been a Viking settlement or burial ground. If that ring really was handed down through the generations, it’s plausible that your family stayed in the same area. And if it was found – albeit centuries ago – it could have been there.’

‘I suppose.’ He pushed a pen and a notepad towards her, and she scribbled something before fishing a business card out of her purse. She tore off the piece of paper and handed it to him together with the card. ‘Here. I’m at work most days, so it’s easier if you contact me there. And this is where the cottage is. You can drive out and have a look if you want. Just go in through the gate; it’s not locked. Obviously you can’t get into the house itself, but then there wouldn’t be anything of interest there anyway.’

He glanced at what she’d written, and at her card, which appeared to be genuine. Mia Maddox, Conservator, Department of Prehistory & Europe, British Museum. That made her a colleague, and therefore, hopefully, more trustworthy. ‘Thank you, I might do that.’ Correction – I will definitely do that, and soon. He looked up, feeling slightly awkward now. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded a bit harsh earlier. I just get so frustrated with all these amateur archaeologists out there with their metal detectors. They have no idea what damage they’re doing, making our job impossible when they dig things up without recording anything. Context, you know?’

Mia nodded. ‘I know, it’s the same in England, or so my colleagues tell me. I don’t do much fieldwork myself. I promise you I’m not one of them, though. I’m on your side.’

He smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ And he was starting to believe that, at least.

She smiled back, relaxing at last, and Haakon felt a shiver of awareness slither through him. Those sparkling grey eyes, that tiny tip-tilted nose with its sprinkling of freckles, not to mention the glorious hair . . . she was lovely, and the sight of her affected him on an almost visceral level, something he’d never experienced before. He stood up abruptly, uncomfortable yet at the same time wanting her to stay a bit longer, but she got to her feet as well and grabbed her bag.

‘Goodbye, Mr Berger,’ she said firmly, and left the room before he could think of any way of continuing the conversation.

But it didn’t matter, because he was sure they would meet again.

For now, he was going to have another look at the ring downstairs.

Birch Thorpe, or Björketorp in Swedish, was what the Swedes called a summer cottage – a small house by a lake, specifically built for living in only during the brief Nordic summer months.

As Mia stood at the back of her grandmother’s house the following day, leaning her forehead against the cold glass panes of the nearest window, she breathed in the musty smell of neglect. Although Granny Elin had in fact lived here all year round, no one had been in the cottage for some time now, not since Elin had been taken ill. She’d been in hospital for over two months, which meant her home was in desperate need of cleaning and airing out. Sadly, that would have to wait, since Mia had to return to England that afternoon, and the Lord only knew when she’d be able to come back and see to everything.

The lake was visible to the left and right of a small peninsula that jutted out straight in front of her. It pointed like a finger towards an uninhabited island not too far from the shore, which was partly covered in fir trees and pine, with rocky outcrops next to the water. On this bleak day in February, the view was monochrome and dull, a stark contrast to the glorious riot of colours she was used to seeing every summer when she visited. There had been snow on the ground until recently, but it was thawing at the moment and lay in dirty, slushy piles in the garden and the field beyond. There was still some ice on the lake, but only hugging the shoreline; further out, the water was open, and angry waves lapped at the edges of the frozen parts.

Birch Thorpe was situated to the west of Stockholm, on the southern shore of Lake Mälaren, which wasn’t strictly speaking a lake at all. Rather, it was an inlet of the Baltic Sea, stretching narrow tentacles deep into the countryside. In Viking times it had contained saltwater, but at some point after the twelfth century, the land around it rose until water began to flow out to sea instead of in, washing away the salt and transforming Mälaren into a freshwater area. It formed a huge natural network of channels and waterways connecting inland Sweden with the coastal regions and all-important trade routes.

In the old days, Mia knew, rich Swedes would have fled the large cities for their country properties during the hotter months of the year. Sometime in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the middle classes had begun to copy this exodus, although on a smaller scale. Thus, tiny wooden houses, usually without running water or any other amenities, began to crop up around the numerous Swedish lakes, and the traditional summer cottage was born.

With literally a hundred thousand lakes dotted all over the country, there was no shortage of land to be had for this purpose, but when Elin’s family had followed suit, they apparently already owned the land needed.

‘Mum, didn’t Gran say her family had farmed in this area for generations?’

Her mother, Gunilla, was sitting in an antique rocking chair to her left, restlessly swinging it back and forth. ‘What? How should I know? You were the one always listening to her stories, not me. Although come to think of it, I do remember visiting some cousins at a nearby farm a couple of times when I was little. I think they sold up in the late seventies, though.’

Interesting. Gran had never mentioned them, and Mia hadn’t bothered to verify anything as fact, but she was now determined to check the records at the earliest opportunity. If nothing else, she wanted to prove to Berger that she hadn’t been lying.

The house itself was a two-storey timbered building with a large glassed-in veranda at the back – a sort of early version of a conservatory – facing the lake. The ground floor was divided into two halves: a large kitchen to the left and a sitting room to the right, with a steep staircase rising in between them. The second floor contained two bedrooms with dormer windows and sloping ceilings, built under the eaves of the roof to utilise every inch of space, and a tiny bathroom in the middle.

Mia sighed and, still staring straight ahead, tackled the elephant in the room. ‘She should have given the house to you. I live too far away to spend enough time here. Do you want me to sign over the deeds?’

‘Heavens, no! Far be it from me to take something she obviously didn’t want me to have.’

Mia heard the hurt in her mother’s voice. ‘Mamma . . .’ she began, using the Swedish version of the word on purpose because she knew that Gunilla liked it and she hoped it might placate her.

‘No. I know you think I’m being childish, but your grandmother made it clear to me that you were to have Birch Thorpe. I had to sign a document renouncing my claim on the estate in your favour, since children automatically inherit half in this country. I don’t deserve it, because she considered me a bad mother. And daughter, for that matter.’

‘That’s not true. She was always there for you.’

That wasn’t strictly the truth either, although Mia kept that thought to herself. Gunilla had gone through a rough patch in her late twenties, becoming an alcoholic and having to give up custody of Mia to her then husband. And although Elin had done her best to help by having Mia to stay every summer, the old lady hadn’t been very patient with her daughter. In Elin’s opinion, Gunilla lacked willpower and ought simply to have pulled herself together. She never saw that her daughter first needed to eliminate the deep unhappiness that had caused her to turn to drink in the first place.

‘No, she wasn’t. She just paid for things and waited for me to sort myself out.’

‘Well maybe that was what you needed,’ Mia dared to suggest. ‘If she had cosseted you, would you have made the effort to stop drinking and make a new life for yourself?’

‘Of course I would, and a lot faster too,’ Gunilla replied, sounding irritated, but Mia didn’t believe her. Still, it was all water under the bridge now. Gunilla had a new husband and two young sons to keep her on the straight and narrow. She seemed happy with her life, most of the time. Except when she met up with Mia and the old feelings of guilt were stirred up. It was silly, because Mia didn’t bear any grudges.

She sighed again, not wanting to get into an argument. ‘Well, it’s madness, giving me this. I told Gran that. How am I supposed to find the time to come over here and keep an eye on the place? I’ve got my work to do in England, and Charles won’t want to spend every holiday here. Although he has nothing against Sweden as such, he loves travelling to different places.’

She tried to imagine her English fiancé spending his summers here, the way she herself had always done, and failed. He’d been here once, but it wasn’t a successful visit. The shabby decor and somewhat primitive conditions, along with the whole living-in-tune-with-nature thing that Gran had going on, made him seem like a fish out of water. Charles was a city boy, a Londoner born and bred, and asking him to do something like put a worm on a hook to go fishing stumped him. For Mia’s sake he’d tried to fit in, but she could tell he was supremely uncomfortable the whole time, and she’d visited on her own from then on.

For some reason she suddenly pictured Haakon Berger here. No doubt he’d be in his element – worms wouldn’t faze him, and as an archaeologist he’d be used to roughing it. She remembered his face as he’d smiled at her yesterday, taking her by surprise. It had totally transformed his features, so much so that she’d nearly gasped. With the stern expression gone, she’d seen a dangerously attractive man, but not one she ought to have noticed. She had a fiancé, and besides, Berger wasn’t her type. Men with looks like his were usually only too aware of their charm, and insufferable as a result. She’d fallen for that before and it hadn’t ended well.

Best not to go back and see him, she decided. He’d probably forgotten all about her ring by now anyway. Or if he hadn’t, she’d send him copies of the old wills once she received them. No need for any further contact between them at all.

‘You could rent it out, you know?’ Gunilla’s words broke into her thoughts. ‘Lots of Germans come over in the summer. I bet they’d pay huge sums to stay in a cottage like this. Or you could employ someone to look after it. She left you enough money to do that.’

‘I don’t think that’s what she meant me to use it for.’ Mia felt the hopelessness of it all settle like a heavy weight in her stomach. Gran had wanted her to continue to spend her summers in Sweden, but she wasn’t a child any more and it just wasn’t possible. She had a life in England. I’m more English than Swedish, aren’t I?

She stared at the island again. So many happy memories of summer picnics, rowing out there with Gran and sitting on a blanket eating cake while listening to the old lady’s stories.

‘This place is special,’ Elin had told her. ‘Magical. It’s belonged to our family for hundreds of years and it must stay that way. My father made me promise, and one day it will be up to you to keep it safe.’

‘Safe from what?’

‘Intruders.’ Gran had looked serious. ‘There are people who want to build on islands like this, but it should remain unspoilt.’ She’d swept an arm around. ‘Can you imagine ruining this beautiful setting by cutting down the trees? It would be sacrilege.’

Mia didn’t know what that word meant at the time, but she got the message. The island had to be protected. And she’d sworn to Gran that she would do her best, but how was she supposed to keep that promise now?

‘So what are you going to do?’ Gunilla asked, as if sensing Mia’s turmoil.

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Could you possibly keep an eye on it for me until the spring at least? Maybe get a cleaning lady in every now and then – I’ll pay, of course. I really don’t want to rush into anything.’

‘OK, fine, but you’d better make your mind up quickly. I don’t have time to traipse out here every week. The place reminds me too much of my mother.’

Mia regarded her sadly. The hurt ran deep, she could see that. The rift between her mother and grandmother had never been healed, and it made her unhappy to think that it never would be now.

Gran was gone, and all that was left was Birch Thorpe. How could she possibly sell it? And yet how could she keep it?

Chapter Three



Haakon pushed open the rickety gate and closed it carefully behind him. It looked as though it could do with some new hinges; at least one of them was hanging off just one screw. The fence around the property also needed attention, some of it leaning at a precarious angle. N. . .