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“If that is what it takes.” Her father stood to his full height, which was intimidating even to other tall Norsemen. He was a majestic figure with his clean, flowing white hair and still sturdy body.
Ormsson, on the other hand, was of the same age, but his dissolute lifestyle showed on his lined face and unkempt body. There was naught of Sidroc in him that she could see, thank the gods.
Just then a hersir walked up to Rafn and whispered something in his ear. With a smile, Rafn stood next to his king and father-by-marriage. “ ’Twould seem there are more visitors coming to Stoneheim.” With a dramatic pause for effect, he said. “A longship was spotted at the curve of the fjord that leads into the North Sea. ’Tis Sidroc Guntersson.”
“Well, I guess this disagreement will be settled, after all,” her father said, gloating at his adversaries.
Drifa was filled with joy that Sidroc had finally come, but then Rafn, his expression dire, leaned closer to her and said, for her ears only, “He has two women with him.”
Chapter Twenty-six
There’s nothing like a good fight to raise a man’s sap ...
Finally, finally, finally Sidroc arrived at Stoneheim. Much longer and he would have pulled out every hair in his head, and his nose and ear hairs, too.
“Never, never, never travel with women,” he advised Finn, who stood beside him, gloomy as usual.
“I have given up women,” Finn said dolefully.
Under any other circumstances Sidroc would have fallen over with laughter, but he had been listening to Finn’s moaning and mooning over Isobel for too long. “You need a tun of good Stoneheim ale and a woman or two to restore your spirits,” he said. “Look. Over there. Is that Drifa and, oh my gods! That little girl. Her braids are reddish brown, just like my hair, and did she—yea, she did—she stuck out her tongue at the little boyling scooting behind her.” For some reason, that impish act struck him as admirable.
The closer they got, the better he could see. The little one even had his gray-green eyes. Not much of Astrid’s blonde fairness or frail frame that he could see in her.
He raised his eyes to Drifa, and noted immediately that tears were overflowing and running down her cheeks. Was she that happy to see him? He admitted to being happy himself, and certain parts of his deprived body were happier than others.
Ianthe and Isobel came up to stand beside him at the railing. Finn immediately shuffled away, like a whipped puppy. He’d been rebuffed too many times.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Isobel said.
Huh? There was nothing of beauty that he could see in the hodgepodge castle up on the hill. Thanks to Drifa’s builder sister, Breanne, additions had been put on to the building over the years in a manner to make the whole appear lopsided. Of course there were Drifa’s flowers to add their charm, if flowers on a Viking fortress could be called charming.
“I did not think I would like it here in the North, but this is nice,” Ianthe continued.
“You will enjoy my home near Winchester even more,” Isobel assured her. “I cannot wait to show it to you, and Jorvik as well, of course.”
They had learned that Isobel was the daughter of an English earl, stolen when she was scarce thirteen. Sold in the slave marts of Hedeby, she’d lived in the Arab lands for more than ten years. How she would be accepted among her class was unclear, but ’twas not promising, in Sidroc’s opinion. A woman was judged harshly in such circumstances. Women forced into sex slavery were deemed harlots. The best that they could hope for was a nunnery.
In any case, once they’d disembarked here at Stoneheim, after a rest of a day or two, Finn would be taking the women to Britain on the other longship.
What Sidroc would be doing remained to be seen.
He glanced landward again and recoiled at what he saw. Walking, nay, swaggering down the hill from the keep, were his father and two brothers.
A blood-boiling, nigh-berserk rage overtook him, and the longboat had scarce butted against the plank wharf when he jumped off and stalked toward his family, if they could be called that. Luckily Drifa had gone off with Runa. He did not want his daughter to witness what was to come.
“What in bloody hell are you doing here?” he demanded of his father.
“Greetings to you, too, my son. Taking care of family business, which you have neglected to do,” his father replied, casting him a scornful scrutiny.
“You stay away from my daughter, old man. You failed in killing her once. Do not think I will allow you near her again.”
His father waved a hand dismissively. “You misunderstood me when the girl was born. You always did overreact to the least little thing.” He looked to Svein and Bjorn on either side of him for affirmation. Both of the halfbrains nodded.
“I am here to demand payment from King Thorvald for my suffering,” his father said. “After all, the girl is my granddaughter, and they stole her from me.”
Sidroc let out a hoot of humorless laughter. “Go home, Ormsson,” he said finally, refusing to show the respect of the name Father.
“You don’t give me orders, whelp. I brought you into the world. I can send you out of it.”
