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THE CHIEFTAIN'S BRIDE
By
Kate Hill
© copyright by Kate Hill, April 2005
Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright April 2005
ISBN 1-58608-525-5
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Northumbria, 1063
"But I don't want to marry another." Marion took her husband's cold hand and touched her lips to the back of it in an uncharacteristic display of affection. Theirs had not been a love match, but she had developed feelings for the aging warrior during their five-year marriage.
She'd just turned eighteen when the King had awarded Raynor the village of Ravenhill on the eastern boarder of Northumbria. In return, Raynor had kept the coast safe from raiders and Norse marauders who still haunted the neighboring Scottish shores. His defense of the very land he had once preyed upon had been a source of many arguments between Marion and Raynor.
"The King has already agreed that you and Ravenhill will belong to my cousin Wyborn. He will keep our village safe and prosperous. He will not abuse you."
"I'm not worried about myself." She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. Wyborn, the last of the Norse conquerors, held property in Scotland and his homeland. Marion had no desire to wed him. "I'm not ignorant of the stories about your cousin. He's a monster. He's--"
"If Wyborn is not given this land, he'll come and take it. Only his devotion to me stopped him from raiding these shores long ago. At least this way, none of what we've worked for will be destroyed. You and our people will be protected."
Marion turned for a moment to stir the mixture of herbs in the black pot hanging over the fire. The strong scent permeated the room, but over the past few days, the herbs had eased Raynor's troubled breathing. The pungent odor clung to Marion's clothes and hair in spite of how she scrubbed herself daily.
"But I could rule. I still have your warriors to serve as a defense, and I know how to keep our land prospering. You know that I've provided you with advice that has saved, even earned, you gold."
Raynor smiled, his withered hand clutching hers weakly. He had been more like a father to her than a husband. When they'd met, he had never spoken of it, but she knew by his avoidance of the marriage bed that he had lost his ability to enjoy women long ago. She had respected him enough to ignore the condition, not that she any desire to consummate their marriage in the first place. Wyborn would be another matter. Though his cousin had been little more than a boy when they'd last met, stories of Wyborn's prowess filled Raynor with pride and hope.
"Wyborn is a fine man and Marion a good woman. No longer the willful child I wed, she will perform her duties toward him." Marion didn't respond, as she knew from the blank look in his eyes and the softness of his murmurings that he was no longer conscious of her. Still, his next words struck a chord of fear inside her. "I pray that Wyborn will appreciate the woman he has been promised as well as the land he has been given."
The old warrior's voice faded and his breathing ceased.
"Raynor?" Marion whispered, tears streaking her face as she lowered her forehead to her husband's still chest. "Oh, God, Raynor, what sort of a curse have you brought upon us?"
"My lady?"
Marion wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and glanced up at the tall, slim boy with a reddish beard. In spite of his rugged appearance that made him appear like an experienced man, his blue eyes belied his youth.
"Stig, he's dead, and for us this is only the beginning."
"Raynor and the King sent word of his illness to Wyborn months ago. I'm sure he'll be arriving any day to take what has been promised him."
"Raynor may have been willing to surrender our land to his boar of a cousin, but I'm not so eager to see our home ruined. Wyborn will take what's his. The King wills it. We have no way of stopping it, but should Wyborn not be as worthy as Raynor believed, we will stop him."
"He's a skilled warrior and a sharp-witted man. What we've been planning is risky, my lady."
"One way or the other, I will be prepared for him. Already I'm as accurate with throwing a dagger as you are, and our training with the bow and arrow is coming along quickly."
Stig closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer. "If anyone knew what I've been teaching you, they'd lock us both away for madness."
"I'd rather be a madwoman than the wife of an ogre."
Marion stood and touched Stig's forearm. The youth's eyes snapped open and he gazed at her. Since the moment they met, Stig had been her most faithful friend. She knew he wanted a deeper relationship with her, but he was too considerate to press the issue. Still, he had never been able to deny her anything she asked for, though he'd tried when she'd come to him months ago with the insane idea of learning a warrior's ways. Stig finally relented and coached her on how to throw daggers and fire a bow and arrow, all the while complaining that if Raynor ever discovered what he was teaching his soft, gentle wife, he would have his head chopped off.
"We have to inform the others and prepare for the funeral," Marion said, casting one last, sad look at Raynor before following Stig out of the chamber.
* * * *
Draped in a somber black tunic, Marion stood beside Stig and stared at Raynor's grave. Around them, servants, villagers, and warriors assembled to pay their respects to their fallen leader. Marion sensed genuine sorrow from all of them, for in spite of his brusque nature, Raynor had been a good, fair man. Only in the eyes of one person did she notice a brilliance borne of greed. Bodin had been Raynor's strongest swordsman and a favored warrior. Still, the man had always been the first to rebel against Raynor's orders. Though he inevitably bowed to the older man because Raynor was so revered by his other warriors that any slight to him was grounds for battle. Now Raynor was dead and there was no one to stop Bodin from freely admitting what he wanted.
At the feast following Raynor's funeral, the battle-scarred, red-headed warrior would no longer curb his tongue or disguise his desires.
* * * *
"Raynor is dead, which leaves us without leadership." Bodin stood in the smoky hall that smelled of burned meat and strong wine. The people seated at long wooden tables drank from carved mugs and gobbled from trays laden with meat, bread, and fruit. They paused in their eating to glance at him.
"Wyborn is coming," said Stefan, a warrior seated at Marion's left side. "The King is recognizing him."
"Should we give everything we've worked for to Wyborn? What does Wyborn know of our life here? What does Wyborn care?"
Questioning murmurs echoed through the hall. Marion and Stig exchanged nervous glances.
"For years we have defended this coastline against the likes of Wyborn," Bodin sneered the warrior's name. "There is no reason we should surrender to him."
"Wyborn has never been driven from land he intends to conquer," Stig said. "If we fight him, we could destroy ourselves and incite the King's wrath."
"No. If we drive Wyborn off, the King will bestow leadership on one of us. Nothing will change."
"And to whom will this leadership go?" Marion asked in a soft yet unwavering voice.
"I was Raynor's second in command. That is known. And since I'm the one who has voiced this plan, it's safe to say that I will lead us into battle. After we've won, I will go to the King with our demands."
"No. I do not agree to this. Raynor was my husband. Until Wyborn arrives, this land is my responsibility. I will not allow us to go into battle."
The room fell silent as Bodin and Marion glared at one another across the table.
"I respect your wishes, my lady, but I think everyone here will agree that living under Wyborn's rule will not benefit us. I've seen his work firsthand. I've seen fields run red with blood, heard the cries of women and children, and seen men slaughtered by his sword. I was born and raised in among Danes. There is little that shocks me, my lady, but Wyborn has the strength and temper of the god Thor and a heart of ice. If Wyborn comes here, life as we know it will end. One way or another, people will die, so I say we die fighting!"
Warriors stood and raised their cups, shouting with the thrill of oncoming battle. It had been a long time since they'd met a true challenge, and Bodin's words reached the love of glory in their hearts.
Only Stig and a handful of other warriors remained seated and silent with Marion.
That night as she retired to her chamber, Marion's head pounded with anguish. It was bad enough that she might have to deal with Wyborn, now Bodin threatened her as well. From the moment she had met the tall, red-headed warrior, she had disliked him. She hated the way he had confronted Raynor, then feigned loyalty. She hated how he leered at her when no one else was looking, and she hated the contempt with which he treated anyone of lower rank than himself. She would rather see their village destroyed by Wyborn than be at the mercy of Bodin.
"You should invite me in now, because soon we'll be sharing this chamber," Bodin said from behind Marion, causing her to jump. He placed one of his heavy hands on her back and she moved away in disgust.
"Don't ever touch me. You might have everyone else fooled, Bodin, but I know what you really are."
"Then you know how much I've always wanted you, Marion." His savage tone and look were at odds with his complimentary words. When he grasped her shoulders, her hand slipped into the folds of her skirt, her fingertips touching the smooth handle of the dagger she'd hidden there.
Though her heart pounded, she lifted her chin and met his gaze with confidence. "Are you certain you want to attempt this without ensuring your position?"
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You're assuming that if you fight Wyborn, you'll win. But what if you don't?"
"I will."
"Say by the slim chance you lose, difficult to imagine for such a powerful man as yourself." She wondered if he was intelligent enough to note the sarcasm in her voice. "Nevertheless, it is a possibility. If what you say about Wyborn is true, he might be a upset to think that you defiled his promised bride."
"He won't care. You'll be just another slut to him. Women aren't something to hold grudges over."
"Let's hope that Wyborn feels the same. He might want to be the first to sample his goods, so to speak." She saw hesitation in Bodin's eyes and pressed her advantage. "Why take such a risk? If you drive Wyborn off, then most likely I'll belong to you. I'll go to you willingly." Marion clutched the dagger tighter. Only after I geld you.
"Be glad I'm in a kind mood tonight, my lady." Bodin lifted a tendril of Marion's brown hair and bent to kiss her mouth. She turned her face away so that his wet lips brushed her ear. "Raynor was old, so I know you've never had a real man. Prepare yourself for our wedding night."
* * * *
To Marion, the next few days passed like the evil prelude to a nightmare. While Bodin convinced most of Raynor's warriors to prepare for battle with Wyborn, the four who remained loyal to Marion made their own plans with her. Her allies were Stig, Stefan, an older man called Erik who had once sailed with Wyborn's father, and Erik's son Olav. Each night after dark, the five of them met in Raynor's old chamber. Stefan and Olav pretended to listen to Bodin and carried any information they learned to Marion and the others. On the third night, which was to be their last secret meeting, Marion sat at the round wooden table by the window. Stig, Olav, and Stefan gathered around her and Erik stood behind her like an enormous gray bear.
"If Wyborn comes, it won't matter to him if we're with Bodin or not. He'll see nearly every man in this settlement charging his party with swords and there will be a bloodbath," Olav said.
"If he's anything like his father was, there won't be a settlement left, should Bodin be stupid enough to attack." Erik added.
"Then one of us must meet him before he arrives and tell him what Bodin is planning." Stefan's gaze swept his companions. "And pray that he listens before he kills."
"He'll listen," Marion said. "He has to. Raynor said he could be a fair man. He trusted him, and for now, so must we. So who will go?"
The men looked at one another, but Erik was the first to speak. "I knew his father. He'll recognize me."
"I'll go with you, Father."
Erik shook his head. "No, Olav. The three of you must stay close by Marion and see that she's protected."
Stig glanced at Marion and smiled slightly, affectionately. "No matter what happens, you will be safe, my lady."
"My concern isn't for myself, but for all of you and our common folk. We haven't seen battle since Raynor lead us. I've watched too many people suffer and die. I don't want that to happen to us again."
She gazed at each of her friends before they left the room in silence. Once she was alone, Marion sank to her knees before the wooden crucifix hanging on her wall, the one her parents had given her shortly before they'd been killed during a raid in Scotland years ago. She prayed for peace and the strength to fight if she was forced to.
* * * *
Wyborn the Indomitable stood on the bow of his ship and squinted toward the misty shoreline. He hadn't been to Northumbria since he was a boy on a raid with his father. It had been his first true fight, the first time he'd sliced flesh with his blade, the first time he'd felt his blood run hot and free from a serious wound. Wyborn had been a tall, strong youth who appeared older than his twelve years. Both he and his father had eagerly awaited the battle. What a disappointment it had been when Wyborn's chest had been sliced halfway through the fight. He scarcely made it back to the ship and had been ill with a fever for weeks. His broad chest still bore the faintest scar. Compared to the many thicker, jagged scars he bore, it was scarcely worth noticing, yet it was the one he remembered most clearly.
He'd learned quickly about the brutality of life. The years had molded the naive child who charged into his first battle seeking glory into a man who defined glory to his people. Years of training with heavy weapons, riding, and sailing had provided Wyborn with a body as hard and defined as an arctic glacier. In spite of his physical attributes, Wyborn was intelligent enough to know that brute strength might make a warrior, but not a leader. He strove for complete power of mind and body. In silence, he had listened to masters of strategy and absorbed all they told him. He observed his friends and his enemies. Nothing escaped his shrewd eyes, and he was not above admitting his own ignorance to learn from someone more knowledgeable and experienced. His closest companions often teased him for being too silent and serious, yet they never pushed him very far. In spite of his lenience for those he liked or admired, everyone knew of his ruthlessness when he was provoked.
"So what do you think this bride of yours will be like?" Kell, Wyborn's closest friend, shoved his straggly auburn hair from his face and looked at his leader. "Short and scrawny like her male counterparts?"
Wyborn's gaze didn't move from the shoreline. "We'll find out when we see her."
"I can't believe you're going to settle here. Do you know how bored you'll be? You'll have to send for Hallye for diversion."
At the mention of the woman from his village who had been chasing him since childhood, Wyborn's annoyed gaze shifted to Kell. "If you ever bring that woman here, I'll cut your sword arm off at the shoulder. Mark me."
"After you get a look at this other woman, you might be wishing for Hallye."
"Hey, what's he doing?" A warrior several feet from Kell pointed to a small, one-man boat approaching their fleet. The man on board was tall and thickly built. His gray hair hung in a wild tail over his broad shoulders.
Several archers raised their weapons, but Wyborn held up his hand for them to hold their fire.
"Wyborn!" called the man on the ship. "I must talk with you. It's me, Erik."
Wyborn's solemn lips curved upward in the slightest smile as he recognized the gravely voice and scarred face of his father's oldest friend.
"Get him," Wyborn ordered Kell.
Within moments, Wyborn and Erik stood in relative privacy. The wind blew froth from the churning waves onto their faces while Erik described the violent welcome awaiting Wyborn's army. When the older man finished, he stared intently at the warrior chief, awaiting his reaction.
Finally Wyborn said, "I appreciate your loyalty, but I'm not a fool. I was expecting rebellion. My men are prepared to take the shore in full armor with weapons ready. I have another troop coming by land from the opposite side. We've gauged everything so that both parties will arrive at the same time. Your settlement will be surrounded. If Bodin has as much brains as he has nerve, he'll surrender."
"What about the ones who've followed him? Not all of them are bad men."
"They need leadership. Believe me, they'll have it."
Erik watched Wyborn carefully. "I didn't only come here out of respect for you, but also for the Lady Marion."
"What of her?"
"She's a good woman. She's intelligent and strong. She deserves to be treated well."
Wyborn nodded. Though he didn't need anyone telling him how to care for his new bride, he sensed that Erik had respect and affection for the woman. For the rough, old warrior to speak so highly of her said much about her character. For the first time he felt the kindling of genuine interest in meeting the Lady Marion.
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