Page 48 of To Tame a Viking Warlord

"There was nothing to tell. Her father has pressed that match since before I sailed. I refused it every time."

"And the child?"

"Not mine." He turned to face her. "I swear it on my father's sword, Samira. On anything you want. I have never coupled with that woman."

She looked into his face for a long moment. She believed him. But still she felt a slight ache in her chest. She was a stranger in a foreign land with customs that were different. There was so much to learn of the people and region, so many adjustments. What if his people did not accept her? What about the pendant?

She was frowning so much with worry, until she felt gentle lips kiss her brow and she was enveloped in strong arms.

"Love, do nae worry so. No matter what happens, we will face it together. Now, come, let me show you the home I built for you."

***

Chapter 19

Hrafnaklett – Ravens Crag

A cart was waiting at the top of the beach. Torstein's steward, Grim, stood at the pony's head with his cap in his hands, and he gave a short bow as they approached.

"The jarl's man rode ahead to tell us you'd landed," Grim said. "Thora has had the fires going since noon."

Torstein clasped his arm. "Good man."

He lifted Samira up onto the seat as though she weighed nothing, then swung up beside her and took the reins himself. Grim and two of the crew loaded her chests into the back. The rest of their belongings would follow in the morning.

The road wound south out of Kirkwall toward the shore of Scapa Flow. The light was going. The water had turned to pewter and the low hills had gone blue with evening. Samira pulled the sealskin cloak tighter about her shoulders and leaned into Torstein's side against the wind.

"You are quiet," she said in Arabic.

"I am always quiet on this road," he answered in Norn. "When the hall grows too loud I come this way, and it settles me."

"It is beautiful. Cold. But beautiful."

"You will grow used to the cold." He covered her hand with his. "Or you will not, and I will simply keep you warm. Either suits me."

She smiled at that, and for a while neither of them said anything. The cart rattled over the ruts. Behind them, Kolbein and Estrid and the whole crowd on the shore fell away into the dusk, and Torstein felt the tightness in his chest ease with every turn of the wheels. Once the road home had been an escape. Now he was bringing someone home with him, and the thought of it sat warm behind his ribs the whole way up the cliff.

Then the homestead rose before them.

Hrafnaklett. Raven's Crag. It stood atop the cliff above Scapa Flow with the whole of the sky behind it, the main house long and solid against the wind, smoke curling from the roof. Around it the outbuildings were scattered down the slope, the byre and the smithy and the storehouses, and further out the lamps of the tenant homes glowed in the dark.

Torstein drew the pony to a halt and let her look.

"This is yours?" Samira asked.

"This is ours."

***

THE WHOLE HOUSEHOLD had turned out in the yard to meet them.

Torstein handed her down from the cart and kept her hand in his. He did not let go of it once as he walked her along the line of faces.

"Grim you have met. He keeps the estate when I am at sea. This is his wife, Thora, who keeps the kitchens and everyone in them." A broad red-cheeked woman bobbed her head and looked Samira over with frank curiosity. "Their sons tend the herds. Those are my tenants' families, and those men there work the forge and the boats."

He named them all, briefly, and Samira greeted each one. She managed a few words of Norn to Thora, and the woman's face split into a delighted smile.

"This is Samira," Torstein told them, loud enough for all to hear. "My wife. She is mistress of Hrafnaklett now, and you will treat her as such."