Surrender to the Viking. Joanna Fulford
my lord, for then I should suspect an ulterior motive.’
‘Oh, what motive?’
‘I should have to ask myself what would be expected in return.’
It was bold and blunt and provocative. No doubt that was quite intentional too and no doubt he should let it go, but the underlying challenge was becoming irresistible. ‘A gift should not come with strings attached.’
‘No, but they usually do in my experience.’
‘Is your experience so great, then?’
‘Great enough to make me wary of gifts—and givers.’
It was politely spoken but it was a rebuff all the same. She was quite impervious to compliments of any sort and, by extension, impervious to him. Nor, he suspected, was it a ploy to increase his interest. On the contrary he was fairly sure that she didn’t like him. He didn’t know whether to be amused or piqued.
Before he could think of a suitable reply her father cut in. ‘You must excuse my daughter, Jarl Finn. She has a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.’ He frowned at her. ‘That is why she is still unmarried at eighteen and is like to remain so.’
Finn winced inwardly at that, but the girl didn’t bat an eyelid. If anything he thought he saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. However, it was so fleeting he couldn’t be certain.
‘Yes, do excuse me, my lord. I’ll take my offending tongue elsewhere.’ She inclined her head respectfully. ‘Father.’
Jarl Ottar frowned. He was on the point of saying something more but evidently decided not to although his annoyance was apparent. Looking on, Finn was more intrigued than ever. Nothing here was what it seemed, he was sure of that. He was too experienced not to recognise a skilled performance when he saw one and the past ten minutes had been exactly that, but a performance to what end? His gaze followed Lara’s progress across the room: it was unhurried, almost studiedly so. His lips twitched. She must have anticipated that he would be watching her. Any moment now she would look back. Women invariably looked back, which meant that they were not as aloof as they pretended.
Lara did not look back and a short time later was in conversation with two servants. When they departed to carry out whatever instructions she had given, she left the hall by the rear door. Still she did not look back. Finn sighed, feeling mildly aggrieved.
Chapter Two
When she was away from the hall Lara relaxed a little. It was hours before she’d need to face the company again and then her role would be confined to ensuring the smooth service of food and drink. She would not be required to take part in the conversation. After the past ten minutes that was a relief. Jarl Finn might have a polished manner but he also had a high opinion of himself. She conceded that he was good at holding his own in an argument. At times she had half suspected that he was enjoying himself. That probably wasn’t the case; she took good care to ensure that men didn’t enjoy her company so it must be that he didn’t like to be bested.
As she turned the corner of the building she was rudely jolted out of thought by a small body cannoning into her legs. It bounced off and went sprawling.
‘What on earth—?’ She broke off, recognising the steward’s son. ‘Yngvi. I might have known.’
He sat up looking slightly dazed. Lara sighed and bent down to look at him.
‘Are you all right?’
He nodded. ‘I...I think so.’ As she helped him back on to his feet he regarded her apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, my lady. Drifa and I were playing tag.’
His younger brother nodded. ‘I was trying to catch him.’
‘I see.’
‘Did I hurt you, my lady?’ asked Yngvi.
‘No, you didn’t. You’ll be the one to get hurt if you race blindly around corners like that.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
Lara smiled. ‘Go on, get along with you.’
Needing no further urging they ran off. As she watched their receding figures she shook her head feeling fairly certain that her warning would go unheeded. At the age of six Yngvi was proving to be a natural risk-taker, and where he led Drifa would follow.
She reached the weaving shed without further interruption and resumed work on the length of blue cloth she had started a few days earlier. As she did so, her mind went back to the days when she and Alrik and Asa had played tag together; happy, carefree days, and all too short. Let Yngvi and Drifa play while they could; they’d grow up soon enough. When she was a child she’d longed to be grown up. Everything had seemed so straightforward then: she would marry and have children and keep her husband’s house. It was what all girls did. Back then it had never occurred to her to question the matter. Now she knew better. Marriage was a trap and a handsome face was no guarantee of a good heart.
For no reason Jarl Finn drifted into her mind and lingered there. Reluctantly she was forced to admit that he was an imposing figure, no easier to banish mentally than he was to brush off physically. However, putting aside the ridiculous conversation they’d had together, she had been interested in the things he’d discussed with her father. While she knew about King Halfdan’s victory at the Battle of Eid, it was the first time she’d met anyone who’d actually been present. She’d have liked to ask Finn about it. That would have been a conversation worth having. She’d have liked to ask him about the kidnapping and subsequent rescue of Lady Ragnhild too. It sounded exciting, full of action and danger. It was also the stuff of romance.
Lara caught herself there. Romance was a notion for silly young girls who didn’t know any better. Nevertheless, the king must have cared very much if he was prepared to go to such lengths to get his lady back. Clearly he wasn’t the kind of man who dealt in mealy-mouthed flattery and trumpery gifts. Ragnhild was fortunate. Such men were rare. Most were strutting, vainglorious fools with no thought in their head beyond the winning of fame. Some were cruel to boot. To them a woman was a chattel to be used and abused. Asa’s husband had been proof of that.
Her sister had been a pawn in a deeper political game, married to seal a pact with former enemies. By the sound of it Jarl Finn had enemies, powerful ones too. Hall burning was a brutal form of revenge so it was fortunate that he and his kin had been warned in time. She couldn’t wish such a fate on anyone, not even on a man as annoying as he was. Happily he wouldn’t be around for much longer: once he’d got the extra swords he needed he’d be on his way.
* * *
With that happy outcome in mind Lara found it much easier to fulfil the obligations of hospitality that evening, plying the guests with mead and ale. Given the arrival of guests with no notice she’d been forced to improvise with the meal. It wasn’t exactly a banquet but at least there was enough food to go around. As she had anticipated her father would feast his guests properly on the morrow as hospitality required.
‘I’ve organised a hunt,’ he said. ‘Some of the men will go out first thing. A roast boar wouldn’t go amiss. Maybe even some venison.’
‘Either would be good,’ she replied.
‘You see to the rest.’
‘Of course. I’ve already spoken to the servants about extra bread and ale.’
‘I’ll say one thing for you, girl, you know how to keep house and provide a good spread.’
Well, yes. It’s what I’ve been trained to do from childhood. With an effort Lara clamped down on sarcasm and smiled instead. ‘Thank you, Father.’
He regarded her suspiciously, suspecting irony, but her expression was innocent so he grunted and held out his cup. She refilled it.
‘You should be putting those skills to use in your husband’s hall,’ he went on. ‘That’s the role you were intended for.’
‘In