Read Online Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 01 by The Rover Bold - Free Book Online Page B

thought of taking out the priestly vestments and spreading them over the elderly nun, but the chest was locked, and La Russe might consider it a sacrilege.
    She was happy to be free of the white habit the other women still wore. How Ekaterina managed to keep hers spotless was a mystery.
    The sun had set hours before, long after the Vikings had gone ashore to plunder the main part of the town, including the cathedral. At first , shouts and screams had drifted to their ears, but now everything had fallen quiet, the only sound the lapping of the black water against the boats. Smoke from earlier fires hung in the still air.
    They hadn’t eaten since Bryk had brought bread and cheese after the raid on Saint-Clément.
    But Cathryn’s greater hunger was to see Bryk return safely. She searched her heart for the reason he had become important to her in only a few days. To never see him again would be a worse torment than anything Saint Catherine had ever suffered.
    It was a blasphemous thought.
    Hearing footsteps, she peered nervously into the darkness. Poppa emerged from the gloom, accompanied by several women all chattering happily. She climbed into the Seahorse . “They have taken the town,” she said softly.
    Cathryn supposed she should stand to greet the chieftain’s wife, but she was too cold, her limbs stiff. She looked towards the cathedral. “I don’t understand.”
    “Listen.”
    Off in the distance, she thought she heard—
    Ekaterina’s eyes blinked open. “ Zinging ,” she said with her usual smile.
    Poppa laughed. “Prepare yourselves. They will return for us shortly.”
    Cathryn felt like a n old woman as she and Kaia came to their feet then pulled Ekaterina up from the deck. They clung together trying to keep their balance in the rocking boat, sharing the cloak. Poppa seemed to have no such difficulty. She climbed out gracefully, rejoined her companions and disappeared into the darkness.
    The sound of male voices raised in song became louder. Soon men were on board, many of them reeling from drink, all with smoke-smudged faces, some bloodied. They set about stuffing objects into their chests. The boat rocked alarmingly as en masse they climbed over the rail, the chests on their shoulders, headed in the direction of the women’s boats.
    A lump refused to dislodge itself from Cathryn’s throat. Bryk and Hrolf had not returned.
    ~~~
    “You were right, my friend,” Hrolf rasped between hiccups, leaning heavily against Bryk.
    He tightened his grip on his chieftain’s waist, keeping him upright lest he fall face first in the muck as they staggered towards the Seahorse.
    When they’d left Møre he was a social outcast; now he was Hrolf’s friend . His advice had been true. “There is no need for slaughter. Dispatch only those who offer armed resistance. We will need people alive to work the land when it is ours,” he’d told his leader.
    And Hrolf had listened.
    Now they controlled the town, though they’d encountered scant numbers of terrified peasants, monks and priests, but no Frankish soldiers, and no-one of importance. He had a suspicion many had sought refuge in Cath-ryn’s convent, but he kept this notion to himself. Once people came to see they had little to fear from the rule of Vikings, they would emerge and return to the town.
    He’d taken no plunder. Land was what he wanted, and his chest was already over full. He’d have to throw out some of his rootstocks to make room and he had no intention of doing that.
    Nor had he imbibed any of the freely flowing wine and ale, not wanting Cath-ryn to think him a drunken barbarian. She’d been in his thoughts throughout the attack. Rouen was where she lived. He understood why she had scant knowledge of the place, but how did his involvement in the sacking of her town affect her, and why by all the gods did it matter to him?
    He’d anticipated seeing her again, but his elation when he set eyes on her in the darkness had him tempted to let his