Tyra & Bjorn

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Historical Romance; Ancient World Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Viking Romance

Synopsis

They were born for swordplay, but fighting their feelings is a losing battle.



Tyra Vigosdottir, the shield maiden that any warrior with half a brain would fear, does not need to be coddled by any man—especially not the one who broke her heart. The only thing more irritating than an overprotective Norseman is how her mind won't stop picturing them together. When they must travel together once more to defend their tribe, Tyra and Bjorn find it's impossible to deny their feelings any longer. Danger awaits but so does passion.



Can Tyra trust the man who broke her heart? Can she set aside her grudge over a misunderstanding?



Bjorn Jansson has been in love with Tyra since he was seven. He never imagined she shared his feelings, but one grave misunderstanding born of jealousy and rejection ruins their chance for the next ten years. Both orphans, Bjorn and Tyra find the depth of their grief has molded them into the people they are now, and those two people have more in common than they realize. Missed opportunities abound until Bjorn and Tyra can no longer ignore what everyone around them has known for years.



Can Bjorn repair the damage done to their relationship? Or will he nurse a broken heart?



Contains mature themes.

Release date: December 11, 2020

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Print pages: 294

Sample

Prologue

 

10 Years Ago

Tyra Vigosdóttir extended her arm to Bjorn Jansson and jerked him from the ground where she had just knocked him onto his backside. She slid her foot under the hilt of his sword and kicked it until her hand wrapped around the handle. She handed it back to Bjorn with a smirk.

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to keep up. Today isn’t that day,” Tyra goaded.

They had been sparring once more, and the result was typical. Tyra knocked Bjorn onto his arse time and again, despite being a woman, two years younger, and only coming to the middle of his chest. They had been sparring since they were children, and at seventeen, Bjorn resented Tyra, who was only fifteen, still being able to best him. He was a renowned warrior in his own right, but somehow Tyra knew him better than he knew himself. She was always at least one, but usually three, moves ahead of him.

Before Bjorn could thank her, she spun on her heels and marched away, her honey-blonde braid swinging down her back. Bjorn grimaced as he recalled the loathing he had seen in her eyes as they fought. For the longest time, there had been a teasing glint as she bested him, but for the last three moons, there had been anger and disgust. He accepted that he deserved it, but it still stung.

He moved to the side of the training ring and stepped into the shadows as he took a long draw from his water skin. He watched as Tyra spoke to their friend Strian. Bjorn wanted to grimace at the sight of Strian and Tyra together, but he knew it was not Strian’s fault. Bjorn’s mind wandered to when his friendship with Tyra ended three moons ago. Bjorn remembered as though the events were happening before his eyes. The early spring weather was unseasonably warm and after training, Bjorn looked for Tyra as he usually did. He did not make a habit of talking to her or standing near her, but having been in love with her since he was seven, he was always drawn to her. When he was unable to find her but spotted his cousins Leif and Freya, he wondered where Tyra had disappeared to. She and Freya were best friends and rarely apart, so he made his way to his cousins as he looked around.

“You seem to be missing your other half,” he grinned at Freya.

“Tyra was hot and wanted time to soak, so she went to the fjord.”

“Alone?” Bjorn’s heart began to race. Tyra was a force to be reckoned with when she was armed, but she would be vulnerable while undressed and alone. “Why didn’t you go with her?”

“She said she wanted some time to herself,” Freya shrugged. “We aren’t one person. We do things alone.”

Bjorn grunted as he walked to the tree line, then ran until he spotted the fjord to his left. He slowed his pace, cautious not to make his presence known in case someone did lurk within the trees watching Tyra. He drew his sword as he approached the shore. He scanned the area, but could not hear nor see anyone else. His chest was tight with alternating pangs of fear and anger for Tyra’s foolishness. He sheathed his sword and waded into the water. He had seen Tyra’s blonde head at the surface as she soaked the rest of her body. She spun around, with a knife pointing at him, when she heard his splashes.

Tyra’s eyes opened wide as she took in Bjorn standing knee-deep in the water with a look of fury on his face. She had seen him angry countless times, his wrath usually directed at her for beating him, but this rage was far more intense than she had seen before.

Bjorn’s mind screamed that his chest and cock would detonate simultaneously as both throbbed. He had been with more than one woman, and he had seen different body types over the years, but he had seen nothing as beautiful as the water nymph who stood before him. She was exquisite, with long legs and slender hips. She had broad shoulders and muscles from years of training. Her breasts were not as large as those that usually drew him, but they would easily fill his hands. He forced his eyes from the thatch of dark hair that protected the place he most wanted to be at that moment.

“Bjorn?” Her hushed tones barely carried to him.

He did not respond except to continue walking toward her as he pulled his fur cloak from his shoulders. He stopped just inches before her and swung it around her shoulders before pulling her into his embrace.

“What were you thinking?” Tyra did not miss the real distress in his voice. “Why would you come here alone?”

“I wanted time to think.”

“About what? What could be so important that you would allow yourself to be vulnerable? You might have a knife, but what if there had been more than one man, and you’re already naked?” His voice hitched as he squeezed his eyes shut to banish the image forming in his mind. He was certain he might be ill if he allowed his imagination to envision her being assaulted.

“I needed to think about how I felt about someone.”

A crushing weight descend upon Bjorn’s shoulders as he scooped Tyra into his arms and walked to the shore.

“Who?” he grunted.

Tyra’s blue-hazel eyes gazed into Bjorn’s brown ones. They had looked each other in the eyes countless times; after all, they had known each other since Tyra’s birth. This time the electricity fired between them.

“You,” she mouthed, no sound coming out despite her effort. Bjorn lowered her to the ground as he brushed away the hair sticking to her neck. He lifted the soaking strands from beneath his cloak.

“Me? What were you thinking?” His voice came out barely more than a whisper as his breath brushed across Tyra’s nose and cheeks.

“That you would never hold me as you are now.” Tyra smiled but was unable to look at Bjorn, instead staring over his shoulder. She shocked herself that she just admitted that aloud. He had just seen her naked, and now she was confessing that she desired him. She had never been so exposed.

“Then we are opposites in yet another way. My mind can’t stop thinking of finding ways to stand as we are now.” He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheeks. “Tyra, you frightened me coming here alone. I can’t bear anything happening to you. Do you not realize how precious you are?”

Tyra had no answer for that question. She had not felt precious since her parents died. She swallowed several times as she tried to keep the lump in her throat from choking her.

“Oh, Tyra,” Bjorn murmured before his mouth descended to hers.

His kiss was soft as he did not want to scare her. He was not blind to the fact she kissed other boys before, having seen it more than once. He nearly tore each boy apart as he struggled to contain his jealousy. He also was aware she could feel the hard ridge within his leather pants. She opened her mouth and swiped the tip of her tongue against the corner of his lips.

Bjorn dove in, needing no further invitation. He cradled her head as he tightened his hold around her waist. She mewled as his tongue tangled with hers, and her hands ran over his chest to his shoulders before weaving into the hair at his nape. She pressed her body against his as his cloak slid open. Her breasts caught between them, the tight peaks that were her nipples puckered from the cold water and desire. His hand roamed up her ribs until he swept his fingers along the side, and at her moan, he pressed it between them. He groaned as his hand filled with her supple flesh. His cock continued to strain against his pants, but his conscience strained too.

“Tyra, we have to stop.” Bjorn pulled away.

“Why?” It was her turn to question him. “I’ve coveted this for so long. It’s unreal that I’m standing here with you.”

She dropped her head as her hair cloaked her face. 

“I never imagined you would ever want me,” she stated with honesty that tore at Bjorn.

“I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember.” Her honesty deserved the same from him.

“Then don’t stop. Bjorn, be my first.”

Bjorn wanted to yell that he would be her only, but he was not ready to make such pledges. He looked into Tyra’s eyes, earnestness filling them. It was not just the heat of passion, but a steady gaze. There was nothing he desired more in that moment than to introduce Tyra to making love, initiating her into the pleasures of the skin. He drew his cloak from her shoulders and laid it on the ground. Tyra lowered herself onto the fur as Bjorn undressed, careful to keep his sword unsheathed and within reach. He would not risk her safety. He kneeled between her legs as she reached for him. He rested on his forearm as his hand traveled to the juncture of her thighs. He nearly spilled when he discovered how ready she was to welcome him. His fingers moved as he watched her cheeks flush. As her body crested, he thrust into her. She clenched around him, her inner muscles along with her thighs and arms. He drew out the moment until they both were beyond the point of rational thought.

“Look at me, Tyra.”

“I want to, but it’s too much. I can’t keep my eyes open. Bjorn,” she moaned at the end.

Bjorn pulled himself loose at the last moment, bending his head to kiss Tyra once more. It was the most tender kiss he had ever shared. They spent another two hours on the beach as he introduced to her other ways in which they might share their attraction. When they accepted they should not remain away from the homestead any longer, Bjorn led her to the wall and watched as she went to her aunt and uncle’s longhouse.

Bjorn had not been this lighthearted since before his parents died when he was five. He was excited to see Tyra the next morning, but he spotted her standing at the door of Strian’s home. They were locked in a tight embrace. Bjorn’s world fractured around him as he blinked. He watched as they broke apart and spoke. He tried to resign himself to seeing the woman he loved with his best friend, but he could not.

They trained as usual that day, but he avoided Tyra while they were on the field. He saw her confusion, but he struggled to be near her. When two other shieldmaidens, Helga and Gunnhild, approached him, he welcomed their attention. He agreed to meet them that night, and he was aware Tyra witnessed him with the two women. He did not miss the hurt that flashed across her face as she turned her back on him. That night, Bjorn met both women and went through the motions, but his mind and heart would not move past Tyra.

When Tyra arrived at the sparring ring the second morning after what she was convinced had been a life-altering experience, she ran straight into Bjorn’s shoulder. He reached out and caught her, but she pushed her hands up as she broke away from him.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again, you man whore.”

Bjorn knew he had upset her, but he had not imagined she would push him away. “Pardon me. You wouldn’t want Strian to see you.”

“Why would he care?”

“I saw you with him yesterday. I guess now that you’re broken in, you are ready to move on.”

Bjorn was unprepared for the fist that plowed into his face, nor was he ready for the next one that came under his chin. He reached for his nose, opening his belly for the punch that landed there. As he bent low, Tyra grasped his shoulders and drove her knees into his cods.

“You arse. Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of our parents’ death. We were consoling one another.”

Bjorn’s look of shock was comical, but Tyra was so revolted by him that she found no humor in his realization.

“I hate you, Bjorn Jansson. Perhaps one day I will only mildly dislike you, but right now, I wish you were dead.”

Tyra ran away, and Bjorn tried to go after her, but the pain—physical and emotional—doubled him over.

 

Chapter 1

 

Present Day

Bjorn watched Tyra as she trained with Freya. He had been watching her like a hawk for the past several months. For years he had a sixth sense when it came to Tyra, always knowing where she was, but an enemy injuring her in a battle against Hakin Hakinsson made him even more vigilant. During that battle, she saved his life by moving between him and an axe-wielding giant who had already broken his arm. Tyra stabbed the man through the belly but took the axe to her chest before Bjorn had the chance to push her aside and sink his blade into the giant’s chest.

If Tyra had not protected him, Bjorn would be dead, rather than watching over her like a nursemaid. He would admit that she impressed him with her improvements in such a short time. It had been four moons since her injury, and she was nearly back to full strength. He watched her sweep her leg against Freya’s knees and flip his cousin over her shoulder. Freya rolled and came back to her feet as she swung her shield, pushing Tyra back several steps.

Both women locked swords as they bared their teeth at one another. Tyra brought her shield up between them as Freya hacked her sword into the side of Tyra’s shield where it lodged. Freya headbutted Tyra’s forehead. Both women threw down their swords and shields and launched themselves at one another as they rolled on the ground.

There was no way to keep up with who had the advantage as their positions changed. A smile emerged as he watched the two women go from baring their teeth and hissing at one another to smiling, then giggling, as they tangled together.

“It’s nice to hear my wife laugh. There were a few months when I thought she didn’t know how,” Erik Rangvaldson mused as he watched Freya pin Tyra to the dirt. 

Bjorn’s upper body lurched forward, but he forced himself not to take a step forward. He waited a heartbeat, then relaxed when Tyra’s knee pushed Freya from her.

“We also thought Freya had forgotten how to laugh. She may have fallen in love with you, but she certainly appeared not to like you,” Bjorn laughed as he turned to look at his cousin by marriage.

“History has a way of repeating itself, don’t you think?”

Bjorn’s laugh died as he glared at Erik. Erik and Bjorn had become friends, and Erik had easily joined Bjorn, Leif, and Strian’s tight-knit friendship. It was not because Erik married Freya. The bonds of friendship began before that when they fought against their common enemy, Hakin Hakinsson.

“I never would have told you about Tyra if you were going to remind me. I prayed you were too drunk to remember what I said.”

“Not nearly drunk enough, but you were definitely drunk enough to make your confessions. But don’t worry. They’re safe with me. I have said nothing even to Freya, though I’m sure she suspects the truth.”

During the week of Erik and Freya’s wedding celebration, they had all gotten more inebriated than usual. During a drinking binge, Bjorn confessed his feelings for Tyra to Erik as the men watched Freya and Tyra dancing together. Another man cut in to dance with Tyra, and Bjorn had been beside himself. Erik kept him from making a fool of himself by interrupting Tyra’s dance. 

Tyra tolerated Bjorn after years passed and her anger cooled. They had antagonized one another since childhood, then there had been a period after their liaison where Tyra refused to look at him unless they were forced to spar. Bjorn bore several scars from Tyra’s resentment. These scars came from the nicks her sword and knife cut, along with the wounds her words caused. His guilt had diminished little over the years, and his regret was his constant companion. Now, they still antagonized one another, but the bite was not there in Tyra’s words or actions. 

The most recent way they got under one another’s skin was about Tyra’s recovery. The near-death experience convinced Bjorn that he owed her a life debt. Tyra refused to accept it, saying they were even since he carried her to safety and stayed with her while she was unconscious. Bjorn wanted Tyra to take more care with her return to fighting, and Tyra wanted Bjorn to leave her alone.

“I would rather no one discussed how I feel about Tyra. I certainly don’t want to talk about it. I said all I have to say.” Bjorn hoped Erik would take the hint, and when he looked at his friend, Erik nodded.

“I spoke to Strian this morning. He’s gone to the winter lodge for the next week.” Erik gave Bjorn a pointed look. Bjorn nodded before turning to watch Tyra again.

“The anniversary of their parents’ death is today.” Bjorn would never again forget that day. It was that day that changed everything. It was the day he lost the only woman he ever loved. He wanted to speak to Tyra, but this one day of the year seemed to be the most inappropriate for him to go near her.

Freya jogged over to them and threw her arms around Erik’s neck. Erik, in turn, lifted his wife off her feet and lowered his head for a kiss. The kiss was just like every other one the couple shared: far too long and far too intimate for public. Bjorn tried to look away, but he did not miss Tyra’s attempt to ignore the couple. Her gaze met Bjorn’s, and he watched the wall drop in place just as it did every time they were near one another. Tyra looked at Erik and Freya, then grimaced.

“Since you haven’t anything better to do, or no one better to do, let me knock you on your arse a few times.” Tyra jutted her chin up as she looked down her nose at Bjorn, an impressive feat since she still came to the middle of his chest.

Bjorn felt like a homeless dog gobbling up any scrap of attention she offered, even if her waspish tongue hurt him. Her biting words never ended, but he was aware he had done little over the years to improve her impression of him. He had lived up to the reputation she accused him of, but it was never for the reason anyone assumed. It was the loneliness that grew from his parents’ death that first drew him to his bed partners, then it was an attempt to forget Tyra. It never made him less lonely, and it never wiped Tyra from his mind.

Tyra led the way to the training ring, where they faced one another as Tyra assessed Bjorn. She took in the arm that the enemy broke the day her connection to Bjorn changed for a second time. She would never forget the giant snapping Bjorn’s arm like an oatcake, then drawing his sword back to cleave him in half. Tyra would remember forever the mind-numbing fear she experienced as she watched the only man she had ever loved stand next to death. She pushed her way in front of him and barely blocked the berserker’s axe from cutting her in two, but she was not able to stop the blade from sinking into her chest.

The wound was deep and broke several bones. Bjorn gained his footing and plunged his sword into their opponent’s chest seconds after Tyra drove hers into the man’s belly. Tyra slid into unconsciousness with Bjorn’s name on her lips. She woke once in his arms as he carried her back to their camp despite his broken arm. She remembered nothing for several weeks after that except hearing his voice.

Once she awoke, Tyra learned that Bjorn had been driven to the point of violence more than once when people suggested he leave her bedside. He claimed it was the blood oath he made to repay the debt he owed. She tried to discharge that debt because she loathed his controlling nature, but he would not relent.

As Tyra looked him over again, her strategy was already forming. Their swords engaged as they moved on the offensive at once. Bjorn attempted to use his size and strength to make her knees buckle, but she was more agile than Bjorn. Tyra swung at his shield as she danced away. She reset her stance, then lunged for him again. She lifted her sword to bring it down on Bjorn’s weaker arm, which held his shield. When he raised his shield high enough, she used her own shield to swipe across his belly, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled backwards as Tyra continued her onslaught.

Bjorn regained his footing and his breath. As Tyra prepared to swing again, Bjorn twisted sideways to come around her back. She had expected this move and stopped short before swinging. She twisted the other way and brought her shield down toward Bjorn’s head. He ducked, giving Tyra the opportunity to lean all her weight forward to push him forward and off his feet. Her momentum, along with Bjorn grabbing her wrist, caused her to follow him to the ground. Bjorn felt her falling and twisted to land beneath her, which meant she sprawled across him. Tyra looked down at the shock in Bjorn’s eyes as he lay there with one arm wrapped around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Tyra was unable break her gaze.

“I didn’t mean for you to fall.”

“That’s silly. We were fighting. You should have meant to do more than that.”

“That’s different. I didn’t want you to land facedown, not on your chest.” Tyra’s trance broke at the mention of her injury. “Don’t, Tyra. Don’t snark at me because I care.”

Bjorn was aware the words were exactly what he should not have said as soon as they left his mouth. Tyra scrambled to her feet and grabbed Bjorn’s hand. She tugged with all her strength and brought him to his feet. Then she spat at his feet.

“I don’t need or want your protection. I don’t need or want anything from you.”

As he had so many times before, Bjorn watched her storm away. He could have beaten his own head in with his shield. Unlike so many times before, he did not let Tyra race off, leaving him behind. He followed her as she wound her way through the homestead and out the back wall. He was certain he knew where she was going, and he had a moment of doubt as he followed her to the fjord. He watched her break into a run as she moved further away from their homes. She still carried her sword in her hand, and it relieved him to watch her scanning from side to side.

He, too, carried his sword as he followed her, checking over his shoulder several times. He wanted to yell at her for once more leaving herself vulnerable. All these years later, and she was still wandering off on her own, but now they had an enemy bent on destroying both their tribe and Erik’s. She ran to the water’s edge, but not where Bjorn expected. The place where she stopped was not somewhere she might wade in. Instead, she stopped by a rune of stones, a stone arch with bones laid out beneath it. There was the hilt of a knife Bjorn recognized as her father’s, and a comb beside the bones.

Bjorn considered for a moment leaving her to the solitude of her parents’ memorial, but when she dropped to her knees and sobbed, he refused to abandon her. He watched her shoulders shake as tears streamed down her cheeks. He wanted to wait until her tears abated before he made his presence known. He did not want to embarrass Tyra in addition to violating her privacy, and he did not want to add to her list of his transgressions. But as the minutes began to add up, he inched from behind the trees.

Tyra was aware Bjorn had followed her, but she needed to escape everyone else’s eyes before she collapsed into a puddle of tears. She wished he would leave her alone, so when she heard him approaching, she whipped around with her knife drawn. She came to her feet as she pointed the blade at him.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? Just for an hour? Gods. Why can’t you just stop?” She choked out.

“You know that ever since Hakin Hakinsson started attacking us for Rangvald and Ivar’s homesteads, it’s not safe for anyone to leave alone. He’s no neighbor to us, and he would love nothing more than to capture one of us. We could assume he bled to death, but Freya severing his arm is no guarantee.” Bjorn did not, could not, hide the frustration from his voice.

“Just because he’s been the bane of our lives no matter how often we fight him doesn’t mean you can’t give me some privacy!” Tyra screamed as tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

Bjorn sheathed his sword and edged toward her. His heart broke as he watched the woman he not only loved, but admired for her physical and mental strength, fall apart before his eyes. She had not cried despite the excruciating pain from her chest wound, but now she stood there looking lost and hurt. When he was within arm’s length, he pushed her wrist done, and she did not resist. He pulled the knife from her hand and dropped it to the ground, pulling her into his arms, and she dissolved. She drew her arms in as she grasped the shirt he wore. He tucked her head against his chest as he rubbed her back and ran his hand over her hair. He said nothing. He had no words, and he was sure nothing would make it better. It had been eleven years since she lost her parents, but Bjorn recognized that the pain was as fresh as if it had just happened.

They stood together for what seemed like forever to Tyra, but she could not bring herself to pull away. She spent every day in torment, in conflict between her love for Bjorn and her dislike of him. As they stood together, she allowed her love to win out, and she absorbed the comfort he offered. She clung to him as though he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth and keeping her from floating away. She breathed in his pine and musk scent, his muscles flexing as he stroked her back and hair. She listened to his steady heartbeat, which calmed her. She turned so she could press her forehead against his chest. She noticed his semi-aroused rod. A sliver of her mind relished knowing he was still attracted to her. A louder part screamed he was attracted to anything he could slip his cock into, but mostly she was relieved that he just held her. 

When Tyra lifted her head from his chest at last, Bjorn pressed the same feather-soft kiss to her forehead that he had been scattering on the crown of her head. He said nothing, and she appreciated it. She struggled with what to say, but she knew she should say something.

“This day doesn’t get any easier no matter how many years pass. I’ll never forget returning home from that first raid to find my mother and Strian’s mother dead. Our people go raiding in Scotland to come home and find our neighbors killed our mothers and Lena lost her last babe. Our people go to avenge the ones we lost, and Strian and I both lose our fathers. It’s so damn unfair.”

“I know. Strian goes to the lodge.” Bjorn looked out at the water. “When my day comes, I take out a fishing boat and don’t return for two days. I take enough ale to keep me warm, but not enough to end up drowned.”

Tyra’s hands released his shirt and pressed flat against his chest.

“I forget that you understand what this is like. You never speak of them, so I admit I forget. I realize not talking about them doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“It doesn’t. I don’t have a shrine to them, but I sail out to where my father used to take me when he taught me to fish and sail. It’s the same spot where Uncle Ivar and I towed their pyres before sending them to Valhalla. That is my memorial.”

“I never found out that’s what you did. I’ve seen you come back drunk, but I always assumed you were doing something else.”

Bjorn froze as he looked down at her. “You assumed I went to screw on the anniversary of my parents’ death? You assumed I dishonored my parents’ memory by thinking only of my own pleasure?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I figured you did something more like Strian.”

“I doubt that. I think you can only believe the worst in me. Sorry to disappoint you once again.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth. You are who you are, and I know that. I really did think you were in the woods or at the cliffs to be alone.”

Bjorn did not miss the distress in her voice as she tried to convince him she was telling the truth. He did not intend to make the day worse and upset her more.

“I’m sorry. I’m more sensitive about my parents’ death than anyone realizes. It’s been so long I have a hard time remembering them, but twenty years falls away very fast whenever that day rolls around.” Bjorn took a deep breath, and Tyra felt his chest expand. Her fingers clenched his shirt again as she held on. “I’ve lived a good life and been well taken care of. Uncle Ivar and Aunt Lena have treated me as though I’m their own child, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not. It doesn’t change how much I miss having what Leif and Freya have.”

“I know,” Tyra whispered. 

She looked up at Bjorn, and her heart lurched when she saw the tenderness in his gaze. Her eyes shifted down to his lips as she remembered the kisses they shared all those years ago only feet from where they stood now. When she looked up, she was certain that he was thinking the same thing, because his eyes darted to the beach.

“Tyra,” he murmured as his lips grazed her temple. She tilted her head back further and parted her lips. Bjorn took the invitation and poured his love into his kiss. It was languid and gentle as they reacquainted themselves. Bjorn pressed his tongue forward and groaned as she sucked lightly. Their kiss continued until Bjorn tasted the salt of her tears mixed with the sweetness of her breath. He pulled back and saw the tears that soaked his lips. His thumb brushed them away, but she grasped his wrist, stepping back.

“Why couldn’t you be the man I need?”

Tyra took several more steps back before running back toward the homestead. This time Bjorn let her go. He watched her as she became a speck in the distance. His heart had a vice cinching and shrinking it; he was fairly certain it had shriveled up and left nothing behind. He had wanted nothing more than to be the man Tyra needed. The last two years had seen him grow more and more hermit-like as he could no longer stand taking a woman to bed who was not Tyra. His dry spell caused rumors and was even a source of taunting from Tyra, but he would not admit to anyone—other than Erik when he was drunk—why he no longer bedded women like he once did.

After his afternoon with Tyra and the disaster that followed, he spent years trying to replace her or at least distract himself. But three years ago, Tyra became the companion of Knud, one of their fellow warriors. While she never moved into the man’s home, she slept there most nights. Their arrangement lasted almost two years, and it was during that time Bjorn gave up. He found he did not want to replace her or forget her. He did not want anyone else. It was on rare occasions, mostly feasts, when he would allow himself to drink to the point where he could use the dark to imagine any woman was Tyra. He had too many demons he wanted to keep hidden to continue living as he had.

 

Chapter Two

 

Tyra wiped the tears from her face and took several deep breaths before she opened the door to the jarl’s longhouse. She heard the women’s voices coming from the living quarters, so she turned to the door where she recognized Freya, her mother Lena, and Erik’s mother Lorna all laughing. She knocked and entered when a familiar voice summoned her. Freya stood, her brow creased, and came to Tyra. She pulled her best friend into a tight embrace.

“You’re sadder than when you left, and I saw you were upset after sparring with Bjorn,” Freya whispered.

“I am.”

Freya cupped her friend’s face and looked at her, but she was unsure of what had upset Tyra. It was more than just grief. When Tyra’s face began to crumple, Freya pulled her into another tight embrace. Tyra welcomed the solace Freya offered after the emotionally charged training with Bjorn, the overwhelming need to escape, and the conflicted exchange with Bjorn near the fjord. When she was prepared to face the others, she looked up and nodded at Freya.

They walked back to the women and only then did she notice that Sigrid, Freya’s sister-in-law and Lorna’s niece, was also with them. She sat with her hands on her rounded belly, watching Tyra. Sigrid offered her a smile and a slight nod, and Tyra was aware Sigrid had had a vision of her. Sigrid’s gift of sight had saved their lives more than once, but those visions that involved their private lives were disconcerting.

“Tyra, come sit with me,” Lorna spoke softly.

Tyra had grown to admire and respect Lorna not only as the frú—the jarl’s wife—of her tribe and as Erik’s mother, but also as a warrior in her own right. Lorna had lived in the Trondelag for thirty years, but her coloring and accent gave away her Highland homeland. Now, Lorna made space for Tyra. She slid her arm around the younger woman, who in turn leaned into the embrace in a way she only ever did with Lena. There were other motherly women in their village, but none made her feel like Lena, and now Lorna, did.

“Lass, I think it’s time you and Freya listened to the story of how I came to wed Rangvald. Sigrid knows it since she is my niece, and Lena was there for much of that piece of history. It’s a long tale, the start of our saga, so bear with me.”

Freya and Tyra both perked up at the mention of a story they had heard hints of for months, but the telling of the tale had never happened. Even Freya, Lorna’s daughter-in-law, had not heard it.

“You both know that Rangvald Thorsson, the mighty warrior,” she grinned, “and I met when his tribe, led by his older brother, raided my clan, the Mackays. To understand how things came to pass, you should know who I was before I met Rangvald. I was only six-and-ten at the time, and the daughter of the laird. I only had brothers and I was the youngest of the laird’s five children, so I followed them everywhere. When I was a child, my brothers laughed when I wanted a wooden sword to be like them, but my father allowed my second oldest brother to give me his when he moved on to a real sword. I carried my wooden sword everywhere with me and watched each training session my brothers had. I would copy their moves and then practice in my chamber. My parents humored me for years, but my mother insisted I learn how to be a proper chatelaine for our keep and our clan. When I was not in the keep, I was either watching my brothers in the lists or on my horse with my bow and arrow.

“By the time I was ten summers, I was a far better archer than any of my brothers. The winter of my eleventh year was when my first brother was killed. He was on a raiding party, and he never returned home. His loss devastated my parents, and I was filled with guilt being a girl rather than a boy. I felt like a waste after my parents lost their oldest son, so I pushed myself harder and trained more. My parents never made me feel that way. It was all in my mind. At three-and-ten summers, my second brother, who was the youngest of the four, died when he fell from his horse. That left my middle two brothers and me.

“I begged Aiden and Andrew to train me. It took a week of hounding them until I threatened to have some of the other older boys teach me, but I warned them it would have to be away from the keep. They both knew better than to let their three-and-ten-year-old sister go anywhere away from the keep with a group of boys. They agreed, and I joined them in the lists the next morning. They teased the three of us when I showed up in a pair of trews and a leine I’d made for myself earlier that year. The laughing ended when I launched a dirk at the boot of one of the oldest boys. It landed at the tip of the leather and trapped it to the ground. I was fortunate the boots were slightly big, or it would have landed in a toe. I challenged my brothers in front of their friends and the older warriors.

“I embarrassed both brothers, but they decided they would humor me. Neither expected I would be able to hold a sword, let alone wield one. No one was aware the blacksmith’s son was sweet on me and made me a sword for my saint’s day the year prior. I had given up the wooden sword and trained with a double-handed broadsword designed for my size. As I began to move through the sparring, my brothers discovered I was far stronger than I looked.

“Since I had grown up watching them train, taking note of each of their strengths and weaknesses, they realized they would have to fight in earnest if I wasn’t going to show them up. I fought one, then the other, both ending in a draw. Then I challenged them to fight me at the same time. I was far too confident for my own good back then, but I was confident that I had skill. I held my own against them, and some of the other boys decided it would be fun to humiliate me. They claimed my brothers were being easy on me.

“By the end of the first day, I’d broken one arm and two noses. It wasn’t my intention, but I was backed into a corner more than once. After that, some of the older warriors spoke to me and asked how I learned so much. I was honest and told them of the years I spent watching and training. They allowed me to come back day after day, and they made sure the younger warriors treated me with respect, just as any other warrior would be. My third brother, Andrew, died one sennight before the raid that brought Rangvald and his men. A fever sickened him and took him in his sleep. 

“Rangvald’s raiding party arrived just before the sun rose. They swept in like a Highland storm. There was no time to even sound the warning bells. I dressed and grabbed my sword before running to my parents’ chamber. My father was already coming toward me, and I remember saying ‘I love ye, Da,’ and he answered, ‘I love ye more, lass.’ Those were the last words we said to one another. I moved on to find my mother to take her to the chapel.

“There was no doubt Norsemen would not respect the sanctity of the kirk, but there was a place to hide beneath the floor under the altar. The floor was made of stone, and the moveable one fit so snuggly, it was impossible tell it moved unless they already knew. We used the secret passages to enter the bailey, and I covered my mother with my targe as we ran to the chapel. We were to the door, when a giant of a man stepped in front of me.

“I had never seen such a large man, and all my brothers and my father stood close to six and a half feet. He roared at me then laughed. He tried to push me over as he reached for my mother. I brought my sword down on his arm to sever his hand. He was faster than I expected, even with the injury. He drove his fist into my stomach and grabbed my mother. He slit her throat before I had the chance do anything. I sliced through the arm I had already injured and took his hand from him. I tried to run my sword through him, but a searing pain across my shoulder nearly brought me to my knees. Someone shot me with an arrow. The pain seemed to galvanize me, just as it had the beast in front of me. I swung my sword and aimed the hilt at the man’s head. I landed it against his temple, and he tumbled to the ground. I swung around and prepared to launch my knife at whoever held the bow.

“I will never forget that moment. The most handsome man I ever laid eyes on stood before me. He was just as large as the man I’d just fought, but he was so different. He seemed calmer and less angry than the other warriors. He looked as though he didn’t belong with them because he wasn’t just plowing through victim after victim. He was methodically picking off my clansmen, but there was a grace to him I’d never seen in another man.

“I snapped the arrow from my shoulder as he turned back toward me and raised his bow. I had already drawn my dirk when he prepared to fire again. He lowered his bow when he saw me, but I threw my knife. He shifted to his left and caught the dirk by the handle. I had never seen any man do that other than my father who taught me how to do the same thing. He stalked toward me, and I was sure he would snap my neck, but he pushed me behind him as he looked past where I was standing. I turned back and found the giant was on his feet again. It boggled my mind how the man I’d severed a hand from and hit in the head was back on his feet, once more ready to kill me. I remember every word of every conversation as though it were happening all over again.

“‘Mine,’ was all the man who now shielded me said. The warrior I’d fought laughed and tried to reach for me with his remaining hand. ‘I don’t think so, little brother. I lead this raid, and I shall claim whatever thrall I want.’ I understood enough of the Norsemen’s language to follow along as they discussed making me a slave. I began to back up when movement caught my eye.

“I looked toward the battlements in time to witness my brother fall from it with an arrow through his chest. I no longer noticed the two men squaring off over me. I ran through the battle to get to my brother just as my father arrived at his side. My father was more aware of what was going on around us than I was. He thrust his targe over me and received a back full of arrows for it.

“Before I figured out what to do next, a large arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me back into the chapel. I looked up to find it was the man who had shot me but also defended me. He pointed to himself and said, ‘Rangvald. You?’ in broken Gaelic. I looked at him as if he sprouted a second head but remembered the Norse our priest taught my brothers and me. ‘I’m Lorna. You shot me, and you saved me.’ It surprised him that I spoke Norse, but he put me down and told me to hide.

“None of the other Norsemen had raided the chapel yet. I ran to the altar and slid the stone aside, dropping into the hole below. I slid the stone over it, then someone stood on it. Moments later, the hoard of men entered, knocking over and breaking everything. Voices floated to me, but I didn’t understand everything. I was positive it was Rangvald who stood above me, and he never moved even when other feet came near him. He issued orders to collect everything of value, but he never left my hiding spot unprotected.

“It felt like I was down there for a lifetime as I remembered seeing my parents and brother killed. I wanted to hate them all, but I marveled at how one of them chose to protect me. It petrified me that he had claimed me. I was determined to end my life before leaving my keep and clan as a slave. When the noise ended, he moved the stone and lifted me out.

“I looked around, but they had stripped the chapel of everything, even the altar linens. Rangvald watched me as I stepped toward another stone that had a cross etched into it. He didn’t stop me as I prayed, asking God to forgive me for taking my own life. I realize now that Rangvald didn’t guess what I was doing, but he understood when I drew my dirk and pointed it to my chest. To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast, except for perhaps when the wolves attacked Erik.

“He threw himself at me, knocking me down, and sending the blade skidding across the floor. ‘No, Lorna. No. You can’t kill yourself, not after I’ve saved you three times.’ When he said that, and I realized he had saved me thrice, I only nodded. He rolled off me and helped me to my feet and even handed my dirk back to me. I looked at it then him. ‘I will not leave here a slave. If you make me, I will be dead before we reach your boats.’

“Rangvald made me an offer that changed my life in a way not even the raid did. Had my family lived, my father would have arranged a marriage for me. He would have set a price for my hand and then let lairds bid on me either for themselves or their sons. He loved me, but he was responsible for the clan. Alliances protected us from one another, even if they weren’t able to protect us from the Norsemen.

“Rang promised me I would be a free woman. I would be no one’s thrall, and he would allow me to come and go as I pleased. I impressed him with my Norse because I followed what he was saying. I was honest and told him it frightened me to go, but he was kind when he reminded me I had no one left. All my family was now gone, and the Norsemen had wiped out most of my clan. He was as gentle with me as possible as I considered everything he said. He was right; I had no real reason to stay. It would be more dangerous to stay than to go. ‘What do you expect of me?’ I was afraid of his answer. I expected him to say I would become his concubine or servant, but instead he said, ‘I expect you to live.’”

“He watched over me the entire voyage back to Stjordal, making sure none of the men tried to molest me. He somehow convinced his brother Harold not to kill me for amputating his hand, and he threatened to geld him in his sleep if he claimed me as a thrall. I should have known then that Rang was not cruel like his brother, but he was also not a man to underestimate. When we arrived at their homestead, Rang was true to his word. He ensured I was a free woman. But that was all that he did.

“He turned me over to his mother, who detested me from the beginning, and carried on with his life. He was polite when he noticed me and kind when others taunted me. He stood up for me more than once, but otherwise, he left me alone. I watched him with more women than I can stomach remembering. I hadn’t any false hopes that he would find me as beautiful as I found him handsome, but it hurt to be abandoned.

“I knew no one there, and I had left at his suggestion. I had no one at home in Scotland, and no one in my new home. As a free woman, I was permitted to come and go as I wanted and allowed to carry weapons. After I had been there for three months, I was lost, unwanted, and useless. I’d seen the other women train, and I envied them their freedom, their purpose, and the respect they received. I decided I had had enough of being ignored by Rang and everyone else. I was in the training yard the next morning before anyone else. I was warming up when men and women began to show up.

“They laughed at me as I swung my sword in wide arches. I hadn’t done much with it for almost three months. It was the longest I had gone without training since I was a young child. Rang and Harold arrived, wondering who was being taunted. Harold laughed when he realized it was me, but Rangvald was ready to intervene when I launched my knife at his foot. I pinned the tip of his boot to the ground, just like I had done to the boy when I was a child. He looked up at me in shock then narrowed his eyes, fury beginning to turn his face red. ‘Ungrateful,’ he snarled in Gaelic. ‘Scared?’ I taunted back. He pulled the dirk from the ground and sent it hurtling toward my heart.

“Unlike he had in the bailey of my home, I did not step aside. I reached out, grabbed the hilt before it reached me, spun it around and charged at him. My targe was on my back, so he was unprepared for me to roll it forward and use it to ram his chest; he had expected either my sword or my knife. He staggered backwards but caught himself, but I was already moving through thrusts and slices that I had been doing since I was ten. One of his men tried to step forward, but he received the hilt of my sword to his nose.

“Rangvald ordered them all back. We circled one another as I spewed all my pent-up grief and anger at him. ‘You brought me here. Convinced me it would be a better life. What do you do the moment our feet touch the ground? Abandon me to a woman who despises me. Abandon me just like every other person in my life.’ I didn’t even realize what I was saying as the words came out a mixture of Gaelic and Norse. I stunned the crowd, with both my aggressive but skilled fighting and my knowledge of their language. I only used Norse words for the ones I was sure he wouldn’t understand in Gaelic.

“Rang understood me better than I realized. He allowed me to vent my spleen. I said horrid things to him, things to this day I wish I could take back. I called him weak, a man whore, a coward, anything that came to mind that even touched on the truth. He was neither weak nor a coward, though I did think him a man whore. I said them because he was not fighting me like he should have.

“Our sparring ended when we disarmed one another and held each other in headlock. He had the chance to snap my neck, but I grabbed his groin. After that day, they welcomed me in the training yard. Rang sparred with me and only gave me partners he trusted. He watched for weeks before he was comfortable sparring with someone else while I partnered elsewhere. I appreciated his acceptance and the way he made others accept me, but I would leave the training field alone, just as I had arrived, when everyone else came and went with friends or lovers. 

“He found me one day near the fjord. I was sitting looking out at the cliffs and water. I had been crying, but my tears had dried. He took a look at me and understood. He sat down beside me, picked me up, and plopped me into his lap. He didn’t say anything. He looked out at the water just as I had. I stared at him, then turned back to the water. He wrapped his arm around me, and I leaned back.

“We sat like that for a few hours. Neither of us spoke. Finally, the sun began to set, and the temperature fell. When I shivered, he wrapped his cloak around me. He was the first one to say anything. ‘I know it’s been six moons to the day since you arrived here. You’re unhappy, and that isn’t what I wanted for you. Do you want me to take you back?’ I looked at him, and it was like my chest was caving in. I had fallen in love with him, but he never looked at me the way I watched him look at other women. I was convinced he never would. I was an outsider. But then, I would be too if I returned home.

“A cousin of mine would be laird now, having come from our outlying land. ‘There’s nothing to go back to. I have no more a home there than I do here. I don’t belong in either place.’ Rang was silent for a long moment before he began to speak. ‘Before I met you, I fought and whored, just as you’ve accused me. I had little reason to do more. I am not my father’s eldest son. I don’t get along with Harold very well, so I avoid him.

“‘When I met you, something changed. I caught you attacking Harold when he blocked your escape with your mother. I witnessed the damage you did, and I was obligated to defend him as his brother, so I shot the arrow at you. But he taunted you as he killed your mother. He taunted you to torment you, and something inside of me screamed that this was wrong. You had been valiant and brave, but we outnumbered you. If it hadn’t been Harold, it would have been someone else.

“‘When you ran to your brother’s side without care for your own safety, I realized that you would sacrifice yourself repeatedly for your people, for the ones you care about. Then I watched your father do the same, and I understood where you got it from. Thinking you might die where so many other bodies laid was unbearable, along with imagining any man raping your or making you his bed slave. That’s why I hid you.

“‘When we arrived here, I wanted you to see I’d told you the truth about being a free woman. I gave you space because I didn’t want you to ever wonder if I meant to trick you or force you to pay for your freedom. I also didn’t want anyone to ever accuse you of being my whore. You needed to grieve, but I know now you haven’t done that, have you?’

“I shook my head as I listened to him, unsure of why he was saying all of this. ‘Lorna, you’ve seen what I wanted everyone else to see. You’ve seen the Rangvald that people expect, but I’m not what you assume. When we arrived, I tried to go back to my old life. I tried to pick up where I left off, drinking and wenching. I know you saw that, but it lost all appeal each time I caught sight of you and how lonely you looked. Lorna, I haven’t been with another woman since within a moon of your arrival. I’ve paid more than one woman to keep quiet about me sending them away.’

“I remember shaking my head, so confused. ‘I don’t want any of them. I don’t want any woman who isn’t you. But I never wanted anyone to speak ill of you, saying you are my bed slave or concubine. I didn’t want them to claim you bewitched me if I tried to woo you soon after we arrived. I wanted to give you time to adjust. I did all the things I was sure people expected me to do when all I ever wanted were moments like this.’ And he kissed me.”

Lorna paused for the first time in her story to wipe tears from her eyes and to swallow several times.

“Rang admitted he was in love with me, just as I was in love with him. We coupled there for the first time, looking out to where the fjord met the sea. I had never felt more special and cared for than in those moments. He walked me back to the homestead afterwards, and I returned to the small hut I lived in to prepare for the evening meal. When I arrived at his parents’ longhouse, I found him seated with a woman in his lap. He was laughing with her and had his hand on her hip. His mother stepped next to me and informed me that the woman was Rangvald’s companion now.

“They had been bedding each other for months, and she told me I should never have come. I was one more mouth to feed and should live like the thrall they intended me to be. I didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, and I said nothing until she walked away. When I looked over, I realized Rangvald was watching me. I had never in my life or since then held such hatred as I did for him in that moment. I felt abandoned all over again, and I despised myself for being a fool, for trusting him.

“I left the longhouse and ran to my hut. I gathered the few meager belongings I had brought with me and the few things I’d gained since I arrived. I knew my way to Lena and Ivar’s homestead from conversations I’d overheard many times as the marriage between Rang’s sister Inga and Ivar was being planned. I slipped out of my hut without being seen since it was dark. I’d seen the hidden gate in the wall, and it was easy to leave the homestead unnoticed. There were risks to stealing a horse, but I did it anyway. My life was forfeit already.

“It took me four days to ride to Ivar and Lena’s. I’d never met either of them before, so everyone was a stranger there. I was more willing to risk becoming a thrall than stay there to watch Rang paw at some other woman when I’d confessed I loved him.”

Lena reached out a hand and grasped Lorna’s. Lena continued the story as tears began to fall down Lorna’s cheeks.

“We weren’t sure what to make of the Scots woman who rode into our homestead asking for a place to live and work. Ivar and I realized immediately who she was. There weren’t any other Highlanders living near us, and certainly not any women who would arrive with a sword and shield. We brought her inside and listened to her tell her story of the raid, of being brought back to Rangvald’s tribe, of living there, and then telling us she was no longer able to stay. She was evasive about the reason, but Ivar and I both were certain it had to do with Rangvald.

“Ivar even asked as much, but Lorna evaded the question without lying. It was a fortnight before Rangvald rode into the homestead. Ivar’s tribe did not get along well with Rangvald’s then, especially since the arrangement for Ivar’s wedding to Rangvald’s sister was not progressing. Ivar refused to marry anyone other than me. I’d already been his companion for four years. The state Rangvald was in shocked me. He was supposed to be representing his father and brother as he continued to negotiate the marriage agreement, but he was so drunk he nearly fell from his horse. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and his men said he often talked to himself in Gaelic.

“Once we heard that, we needed no further explanation. Ivar dragged Rangvald to the bathhouse to clean and sober him up. I searched for Lorna, but the moment she realized why, she bolted. She had spotted Rangvald at the jarl’s table when she walked in. I will never forget how Rangvald must have sensed her, because it was impossible for him to have seen or heard her. His head whipped around, their eyes met, and Lorna pushed through the crowd to get free of the longhouse. Rangvald was on his feet and over the table before anyone recognized who he was chasing.”

Lena stopped there and squeezed her friend’s hand. Lorna smiled as she wiped her cheeks again.

“He caught me as I ran to the stables. I was ready to leave, even though this time I had no idea where I would go. I didn’t waste time saddling the horse but was mounting bareback when two hands gripped me around the waist and pulled me down. I hissed and spat like a trapped wildcat. I’m not sure what I said, but I’m sure I told him I hated him several times. I told him he was a liar, an oath breaker, and a coward. I told him he had no honor.

“He was well within his rights to kill me on the spot for those things, you know that, but instead he pinned me against his chest and let me sob until my legs no longer held me up. He carried me to an empty stall and seated us in the hay. He waited until I stopped crying then spoke softly, but I heard the pain in his voice. ‘I’m sorry you walked in when you did, and I found out what my mother told you. But she didn’t tell you the truth. I would never allow anyone to make you a thrall, and no one has any right to tell you, you deserve to be one.’ I tried to scramble away from him.

“I didn’t care what his mother had said. That was the least of what caused my pain. He pulled me back into his lap. ‘Wait,’ he ordered, and his voice had an edge I didn’t recognize, at least not directed to me. ‘I told you I knew what my mother said and that it wasn’t true. That woman isn’t and never was my companion. She’s my younger cousin from the neighboring homestead. You may not have seen how young she is, but she’s barely four-and-ten. My brother gave her too much ale, and she sat on my lap to keep from falling over or having any of the men grab her.’

“I listened to what he said, and part of me wanted to accept him, but he had admitted to me already that he had been with other women since he met me. I had no claim on him before, and I didn’t have any claim to him then, but it didn’t mean I wanted to picture of him bedding someone else. I refused to speak. Rang asked me if I believed him, and I wouldn’t say anything. He asked if I would come home with him, I didn’t answer. He finally gave up and led me back to the longhouse. He handed me over to Lena and refused to stay in the longhouse if it made me uncomfortable.

“I wanted to tell him to stay, but I was still hurt and angry. I wanted him to suffer, so I said nothing. He slept in the stables with little to keep him warm. I watched him the next morning, a twinge of guilt plucking at my conscience, but it evaporated when I noticed two women walk by. He smiled in a way that I was convinced no man who was in love would smile at another woman.

“Once again, he spotted me, but it was too late. I locked myself into the chamber Lena gave me and refused to speak to him. Rang spent the entire day outside my door, knocking and calling my name. I discovered he spent the night in the hall because I grew hungry and tripped over him when I opened the door. Rang followed me back into my chamber and nearly got my sword through his gut. He admitted he had bedded each of those women on previous trips and felt obligated to be polite, since he was still supposed to be arranging his sister’s marriage.

“He remained a week to conclude business, but he spent more time trying to prove himself to me. He made sure I trained, he made sure I had food when I refused to leave my chamber, and he made sure I had clothing since I’d brought so little and refused Lena’s offers. As he made me more comfortable and made it easier for me to stay there, there was no way to avoid witnessing how he was changing.

“I was told about the state he was in when he rode in, but I noticed other things. He was losing weight, he rarely smiled at anyone other than me, and he didn’t speak much. I realized these changes were because of me. He worried about what I would think if he smiled or spoke to the wrong woman. I was overwhelmed with guilt for causing his pain, and he shared the same guilt.”

Lorna let go of Lena’s hand and raised Tyra’s chin. She gave Tyra such a kindly and understanding smile that Tyra found herself crying yet again. She had listened to Lorna’s story and understood why she was being told this tale.

“I think you understand. I think you see the similarities in our fears and our pain, but I hope you see the similarities in our flawed men. I am certain, without a doubt, that Rangvald has always been faithful to me. After we married, we only spent nights apart when he raided, and I was pregnant with Erik. I wasn’t able to raid with him then, but I fought alongside him when I wasn’t pregnant.

“The times when I wasn’t there, Rang refused to sleep anywhere without his younger brother Sven nearby. He insisted that no one leave him alone at night, so there was no way for anyone to ever claim he had been unfaithful to me and so no woman ‘molested’ him, as he called it. Harold died not long after I returned from Ivar and Lena’s, and we’re all familiar with the disaster that was Ivar’s trial marriage to Inga.

“Rangvald became jarl soon after that and pledged that if he ever broke his oath to me, then he would no longer be a man who should lead. Tyra, this was a long story, but it is one that causes me both great sadness and great happiness to tell. There was so much pain between Rang and me, but I am so much better for the love we share. Thank you for listening to me.”

Lorna hugged Tyra, and Tyra breathed in the other woman’s lily-of-the-valley scent. It reminded her of her mother, and her tension slid away from her. Freya moved closer to Tyra and laid her hand on Tyra’s arm. 

“Tyra, there isn’t anyone here who doesn’t recognize how you and Bjorn are destined for one another. You have to decide. Are you going to keep punishing him and yourself, or are you going to have more faith in the two of you? One path leads you to the life you’ve been dreaming of since you were a girl, while the other will leave you both growing old alone. He’s not going to choose anyone else. You tried, and it nearly broke you. Tyra,” Freya looked at the other women in the room and bit her lip. She wanted to divulge a secret she was not supposed to know. Neither Erik nor Bjorn were aware that she had overhead Bjorn’s drunk confession.

When Tyra began dancing with one of the young men, Freya wove her way through the crowd and was going to sneak up on her new husband to surprise him with an offer to escape the crowd. Instead, she heard a truth she had suspected for years. She tilted her head toward the back of the chamber, and Tyra followed her. Freya dropped her voice to a whisper.

“I’m not supposed to know this, but I overhead Erik and Bjorn talking during the week of our wedding feast. Tyra, Bjorn hasn’t been with any other women in two years. He’s had a few drunken interludes during feasts when he’s seen you with other men, but he doesn’t want anyone else.”

Tyra was in utter disbelief. None of what Freya said made sense to her. She had seen Bjorn around other women and seen him flirt, but she had also heard rumors that he was not as popular as he once was. She never considered it was by his choice. She had assumed he had worked his way through the women, and they denounced him as a cad and did not want him back.

“Tyra?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you going to do?”

Tyra looked at Freya then the other women who chatted together. “I don’t know. Does that change anything? He assumed the worst of me, and then became the worst he could be.”

“Tyra, you know you aren’t being fair. You were Knud’s companion for two years. Bjorn may have been with many women, but you practically lived with a man. We all assumed you would marry Knud. Bjorn’s never made that kind of commitment to another woman. I know you didn’t love Knud, but you were with him for two years. Bjorn endured that, endured the rumors that you would wed another man, endured seeing the two of you together over and over, endured it and pretty much swore off all other women. When will you stop punishing him?”

“When I can trust him.”

Freya’s head jerked back. “Are you worried he would leave you for someone else?”

“Surprisingly, no. I think he knows I would geld him for that.” Tyra looked at Freya, then over at the other three women. “You don’t know what is to be without family. We’ve always been like sisters, but we aren’t. You always came home to parents and a brother who adore you. Now you have a husband who dotes on you, and you get along with his family. I don’t have that. I live with an aunt and uncle who secretly complain that I am a burden. They never wanted to take me in, but Ivar wouldn’t let them do otherwise. Even though I rarely eat there and am away more often than I am home, I am still unwanted. Freya, Knud and I barely touched each other for those two years. He overheard my aunt and uncle one night when he walked me home. It upset him so much, he wanted to challenge my uncle. I begged that he not to do so because they are the only family I have left. He offered on the spot to have me live with him, whether or not I wanted to bed him. We were more roommates than lovers. That’s why I couldn’t marry him. He fell in love with Una, and I had to explain to her the situation. I returned to my aunt and uncle to allow Knud space to court and marry Una.”

“Then things have not been as they appear for either of you.”

Tyra pressed her lips into a flat link and squeezed her eyes shut as she nodded.