The Viking's Secret Heir - Chapter one

Norway, 800 AD

 

‘I was not his wife. But I carry his child,’ Kendra declared with as much pride as she could muster.

Jarl Sigurd had returned from his yearly raid on England with treasure and slaves. But Heimdall was not feasting tonight—he had not returned and never would. She had never loved Heimdall. Why would she? He had captured her five years ago and made her his thrall.

But in a strange way, she’d been lucky. Heimdall had never demanded much from her, and he often went trading or hunting, leaving her alone for most of the year. But Kendra was a practical woman, determined to receive something for his loss—no matter how little. Taking a deep breath, she forged onwards, her hand straying to the swell of her belly, reminding the Jarl and herself about the needs of the child within her womb.

‘I ask for Heimdall’s wergild, he died while serving you and has no other family. It is only fair I receive it.’ She glanced meaningfully at the piles of gold and silver treasure. She didn’t need much, just enough to see her through winter.

Jarl Sigurd refused to meet her accusing eyes, and instead sipped from his horn as if bored. ‘Wergild is only paid to widows and heirs. You were his thrall.’ Sigurd smiled as if amused by a sudden thought. ‘You should be grateful he died whilst raiding. If he had died here, you might have joined him on the funeral pyre.’

Kendra tried to hide the shiver that ran down her spine; it was the cold caress of death, and she knew how close she might still come to embracing it. But what choice did she have? The babe needed her.

‘Heimdall freed me before he left.’ The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but she tried her best to hide it. ‘He would have married me too, but he wanted to go raiding first—to provide for the child.’

‘Is that so?’ Jarl Sigurd snorted with disbelief. ‘I am surprised the old man had any steel left.’

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Everyone sneered at her, all but one: the Jarl’s son. Magnus, handsome and brave. Women blushed and fell like feathers at his feet. But not Kendra. He was more dangerous to her than any serpent or wolf.

However, he did not seem himself since returning. His bronze skin looked sallow, and his tall frame seemed a little slumped in his seat. His blue eyes were a little unfocused as he watched her—she had presumed it was from the feasting ale, but now she wondered if it was from illness instead. His hair flowed around his broad shoulders in golden waves, but his braids seemed messier than normal, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

Kendra forced herself to look away. She needed to focus on the future and forget the past.

Jarl Sigurd leaned forward in his seat with a hard glare that made her stomach twist painfully on the lies she had dared to utter. ‘I do not believe you, Kendra. Heimdall’s property is now mine, and that includes you!’

The hand of his wife, Frigg, moved to rest on his forearm, a silent plea for calm.

Sigurd’s voice gentled ever so slightly as he added, ‘Come down from the mountain, and you will have protection within my home—as one of my wife’s women.’

Misery gripped her by the throat, but to her surprise, an unlikely hero came to her aide. The slow husky drawl of Magnus filled the room. ‘Heimdall did free her.’ All eyes snapped to the Jarl’s son, who sipped his ale with an indifferent shrug, his shoulders slumping forward as if he were struggling to stay awake. ‘He told me on the ship. Give her what she wants.’

Jarl Sigurd glared at his son, as if he knew this web of deceit was no stronger than a spider’s. ‘No wergild. You can have his cabin and your freedom. But you shall have nothing else from me…widow of Heimdall.’

It was not what she had hoped for, but it was better than nothing. As Kendra turned to leave the golden hall, her eyes met Magnus’s for a moment. If he had known the truth, he would never have helped her. It was strange that of all people, it had been the man she had deceived the most who had come to save her—the real father of her child.