The Viking’s Princess Bride (Brothers of Thunder #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Princess Maithgemm of the kingdom of Strath Clut looked out over the cold, storm-tossed firth towards the lands that should belong to her son and shivered.

Here, on the edge of her brother’s kingdom, everything about her life was colder and less comfortable than it had ever been before.

Now she was simply Gemma—not Maithgemm—and certainly not a princess but she was grateful the Norsemen had agreed to let her stay, due only to her being the king’s sister and her friendship with the jarl’s wife, Lady Aoife, a fellow Briton.

This time last year she’d been living in the fort at Ir Ysgyn with servants to keep the fires burning, cook her food and bring her anything she desired.

She sighed. Life here was not so bad, though.

Her status meant her existence was easier and more pleasant than it was for most, and she was well aware it could be worse.

She and her son, Caelin, could be dead. Instead, they were essentially hiding in the Norse settlement and she was currently walking with Lady Aoife along the shore.

“Mama, look!” Caelin shouted, then screamed with delight as he swung out over the water on a rope dangling from a tree branch.

Gemma tensed, ready to run and pluck him out of the water if he let go.

He didn’t, and she laughed and clapped when he landed safely back on the shore beside his two friends, Elisedd and Einar.

The two boys were foster brothers — one a Briton and the son of Aoife’s maid, the other the jarl’s oldest son by his first wife.

Their foster father was Arne Olafsson, one of four men known as the Brothers of Thunder.

The others included Kirkjaster’s jarl, Tormod, Arne’s brother, Bjorn, who had helped to rescue Gemma last year from the former royal residence at Alt Clut, and Arne and Bjorn’s younger brother, Ulf.

“Mama! Did you see me?”

“I did,” Gemma said, still clapping.

“Make sure you keep Caelin safe, Einar,” Aoife reminded her stepson.

“Of course,” Einar replied. “But he can do this.”

“I can, Mama! I can do this.” And with that he swung out again. It was strange to hear him speaking Norse all the time, but it had to be done. No one must know they were here until her son’s safety was assured. Besides, Caelin didn’t seem to mind.

Elisedd grabbed the rope from Caelin and took a turn while Gemma and Aoife watched.

Elisedd swung much further out and Caelin watched him, envy visible on his face.

He would try to go as far as the older boy the next time.

Much as she wanted to wrap him in her arms and stop him from doing anything dangerous, he needed to learn what his limitations were for himself.

Elisedd landed and passed the rope to Einar, who showed Caelin how to grip the rope higher and push harder with his legs when he started so he would go further.

Caelin was safe with them. The older boys wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

Gemma had often heard Arne instructing the boys about their responsibility to the settlement and all its inhabitants.

Sometimes she wondered if he did it knowing she was close enough to hear.

And wondered if he included her in that responsibility.

Of all the inhabitants of Kirkjaster, he was the one who trusted her the least. She had often noticed him watching her, and on the few occasions when she had ventured further into the woods or close to the shore, she had soon sensed he was close.

Once, he had confronted her as she gathered shells on the beach.

She had stopped to stare across the firth, much as she was doing now, and had been lost in her thoughts when suddenly she had noticed he was beside her.

“Are you looking for something?” he had asked.

She’d jumped, her heart racing. “Sh… Shells.”

“Why?”

“Caelin… Caelin wanted to play with them.” She had sounded flustered and unsure.

Everything about him made her nervous. Not least his appearance.

Many of the warriors were scarred, but Arne’s scars covered all his visible skin.

His face was scarred so badly he had no beard — something she had learnt was considered a sign of disgrace by the Norse.

Not that anyone was likely to consider him a disgrace for any other reason.

He was one of the fiercest warriors in the settlement, and many believed the Brothers of Thunder were invincible when they went into battle together.

“Is that all?” he had said.

She had frowned. What else would she have been looking for on the beach?

She had followed his gaze to the nearby watchtower.

The guards must have told him where she was.

It was hardly surprising they were observing her, but she hadn’t expected it to make her feel wretched.

Arne didn’t trust her, that was clear. Why then did she find herself so drawn to him?

“It is nice to see Caelin happy. He has settled into Kirkjaster well,” Lady Aoife said, jolting her from her thoughts of Arne. The jarl’s wife placed a hand on Gemma’s arm as they strolled on past the bathhouse.

“It is,” said Gemma, covering Aoife’s hand with her own.

She glanced at her friend. Aoife had begged Gemma to come outside with her.

Staring at the walls of their rooms and sewing, as they had been forced to do for much of the long winter, had grown tedious, and both had been relieved to go outside.

Aoife’s mouth was tight now, however, and her face pale.

They had got colder on their short walk than Gemma had expected, despite their warm cloaks.

The wind was bitter, and they were walking slowly because of Aoife’s advanced stage of pregnancy. “Is something wrong?”

Aoife shook her head. “It’s nothing. Perhaps I should rest. Ragna says these pains are normal and can happen for several weeks before the baby comes.

I cannot wait for this to be over. I’m so tired all the time, and it will be nice to see my feet again, not to mention being able to stand up and sit down without working out the easiest way to do it first.” She ran her hand over her stomach and smiled at Gemma.

“And perhaps Tormod will stop hovering over me so much. Honestly, every time I turn around, he is watching me.”

“He is not watching you now,” Gemma pointed out.

“No,” Aoife said, gesturing behind them. “He has sent Arne in his place.”

Gemma looked around and, sure enough, there he was.

Arne Olafsson. She smiled at Aoife and tried not to dwell on her suspicion that Arne was not there to watch Aoife.

He was there to watch her. “At least you have a husband who cares. Not everyone is so lucky. And you will be even more tired when the baby arrives, believe me.”

Aoife smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry. I know he is just worried.”

Gemma waited, expecting her to say something more, and looked back at her when she did not. “Aoife?”

“I’m worried. About everything. So much can go wrong.”

Gemma squeezed Aoife’s hand. “You must simply hope and pray. You have been well so far. Try not to worry.”

“But… I feel huge.”

Gemma bit her lip and said nothing. She agreed with Aoife.

The babe did indeed seem large. Aoife’s maid, Rhiannon, and Tormod’s aunt, Ragna, were concerned as well.

Both women had been through difficult births themselves.

“I’m sure all will be well.” No matter what she thought, worrying Aoife further at this stage would not help. There were few guarantees in life.

“It’s just…” Aoife paused and looked at Gemma.

“I remember, early on, I had a vision of me nursing the child. Now, I’ve seen nothing for months, not even whether it is a boy or girl.

One day I am sure it is one, the next the other and…

and it scares me.” Aoife looked down at the ground as they continued to wander back towards the hall. Her shoulders slumped.

Gemma opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She had no idea what it was like to live with Aoife’s gift of seeing visions.

“Perhaps your gift doesn’t work when you are pregnant?”

“It did at first.” Aoife’s voice was as close to whining as Gemma had ever heard it. She put her arm around Aoife’s shoulders and smiled at her.

“Then it is probably your pregnancy interfering with the visions. Remember, this is how the rest of us live all the time. Never knowing what the future holds, whether we will live or die.”

Aoife turned her head sharply to look at her. Then she put a hand on her arm. “And for once I have no answers for you either,” Aoife said, shaking her head. “I am sorry. I feel so—” She gasped and clutched at Gemma’s arm, then relaxed.

“What is it?”

“Another pain. It’s gone now.”

“We should go inside,” Gemma said.

They had almost reached the doors of the hall when they heard shouts behind them. People were running from all directions towards the shore. And as they turned to look out across the choppy waters of the firth, something was being tossed on the waves.

“Is that a coracle?” Aoife asked.

“I think so,” Gemma said. “Fishermen most likely. The waves are fierce. They should not have been so far from shore in this weather.”

“Do you think they are from Ir Ysgyn?”

Gemma nodded. “Perhaps.” Officially, they still were her son’s lands, although her brother had placed a steward, Lord Fergus, in charge of them.

Fergus was the second steward after Rhun’s initial choice, Lord Marcant, had murdered Aoife’s father, then subsequently escaped justice.

“Or Ardd Gowan.” Marcant’s former lands bordered Caelin’s but were closer to the mouth of the firth.

Gemma stared at the coracle, wondering if she would know any of those on board. Were they fishermen? Or were they here for another, more sinister reason? Either to spy or to search for her and her son?

Fear assailed her, and she looked at all those running towards the shore, relieved when she saw no sign of Caelin, Elisedd, or Einar. Nor were they still at the rope swing. She relaxed a little, knowing they must have hidden as soon as the strangers were spotted.

Aoife moaned, and Gemma glanced at her, concerned.

Her friend gasped and looked at her with wide eyes.

“Is the baby coming?”

“I hope not,” whispered Aoife.

Gemma pushed open the hall doors and ushered Aoife inside. “Come and rest by the fire.”

“I would rather lie down. Can you fetch Ragna?” Aoife’s face was lined with pain, and Gemma guided her to her room.

Tormod’s aunt was the force behind the day-to-day running of the settlement.

And while she did her best not to usurp Aoife’s authority, Ragna remained a significant presence—a situation everyone, not least Aoife, seemed content with.

Aoife grimaced, then reached for Gemma and held her hand.

“If anything should… go wrong, tell Tormod I love him, that in the end I was happy.” Aoife stared at their joined hands and didn’t look up even when Gemma squeezed them.

“And if the child survives and not me, always tell them how much I wanted them, how much I loved them before I even met them.” Only then did Aoife look up at her.

There were tears pooling in her eyes. “Why can’t I see what will happen? ”

“Shh,” Gemma said, leaning over and kissing her on the head. “Everything will be fine. Don’t worry. Tormod will not allow anything to happen to you. It will not be long now.”

“I am so afraid and feel so helpless. I can’t stop what is going to happen, can’t do anything to change the outcome.” Aoife pulled her hands out of Gemma’s grasp and wiped at her face. “I’m sorry, I just seem to be like this all the time.”

“All women feel the same,” Gemma assured her, even as she prayed everything would be all right. “Let me find Ragna.”

Aoife closed her eyes and nodded. Then winced.

“I will not be long.” Gemma hurried back into the hall, but it was empty.

Everyone must be out on the beach to either watch or assist with the rescue.

She wanted to hide to protect herself and Caelin, as she always did when strangers arrived in Kirkjaster.

Only her concern for Aoife pushed her into venturing out to find Ragna.