Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

‘He’s my twin. We have three half-brothers we’re close to as well, but with Rurik it’s different.’ He reached for his soup with a frown. ‘Was different.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He married last winter. Now he lives in Glannoventa and thinks the sun rises and sets in his wife’s eyes.’

‘Is that so bad?’

‘No. He and Annis are perfect for each other and they deserve to be happy after everything they’ve been through. It’s just hard not to be...’

‘Jealous?’

‘No!’ he answered too quickly and then pulled a face. ‘Maybe a little. Rurik was the one person I could always talk to about anything. He was the only one who understood what it was like to not really belong either. Our father recognised us as his sons, but we were still bastards. Neither of our parents particularly wanted us. Now Rurik’s found a place where he can belong—someone else to belong with, too. I suppose a part of me is jealous.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not proud of the fact.’

‘At least you know he’s safe and happy. When you love someone, that’s the most important thing, surely?’

‘I suppose so.’ He looked up from his soup, studying her so intently for a moment that she found herself dipping her head to avoid his gaze.

‘So you moved into your father’s hall when you were eight and that was the end of cooking?’ She hastened to change the subject.

‘Yes. Jarls’ sons don’t become cooks.’ He sounded matter of fact about it. ‘Or skalds for that matter. So I learned to become a warrior instead. A good one.’ He glanced down at his arm. ‘Most of the time anyway. This was a mistake. I was foolish and let emotion get the better of me. It won’t happen again.’

‘Maybe you just shouldn’t fight again.’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘I didn’t save your life so you could go and get yourself killed afterwards—or kill someone else, for that matter.’

‘I don’t want to kill anyone, believe me, but I still need answers.’

‘Then maybe you should think of another way to get them.’

They lapsed into silence while they ate, the skies gradually darkening around them until finally Danr leaned back, rolled his shoulders and sighed.

‘Do you know what we need? A game.’

‘What?’ She finished her last spoonful of soup. ‘What kind of game?’

‘Tafl?’ He gestured in the direction of the cave. ‘Do you have a board stored away somewhere?’

‘No. Who would I play with?’

‘Good point. All right, then, we’ll improvise.’ He reached down and picked up some twigs. ‘Knuckle bones. Or knuckle sticks in this case.’

He threw the twigs up into the air, watching as they fell and then catching as many as he could on the back of his hand.

‘Four.’ He made a disparaging face. ‘I haven’t played in a while. It works better with bones.’

‘I used to play it like this.’ She found a smooth, grey stone, tossing it up and then picking up as many twigs as she could from the ground before catching the stone again. ‘Nine.’ She threw him a look of triumph.

‘All right.’ He did the same thing. ‘Ha! Nine as well. We’re even.’

‘Not until I’ve had another turn.’

‘Then let’s make this interesting, shall we? Ten turns each. The winner gets a prize.’

‘What kind of a prize?’ She folded her arms suspiciously.

‘That depends. If I win, you have to tell me something about yourself.’

‘I said you could only stay if you didn’t ask me questions.’

‘But this is a game. It’s different. And if you win, you get something you want. The only condition is that you have to use your left hand, too. That’s only fair.’