and her father’s men were dead and nothing could alter the ugliness of that reality.
“You’ve given me hardly any time to recover from this atrocity. And now you expect me to parade around this ship with you and exchange niceties with the murdering heathens who attacked my home and stole me away as chattel? And beyond this . . .” Her body trembled. “. . . now you want me to ask questions?” His casualness enraged her. “You make little of what happened in Durham.”
Randvior gripped her by both shoulders and nodded.
His unspoken acceptance left her mind a jumbled mass of confusing thoughts and left her heart full of contradictory emotions.
Though one question did come to mind.
“Why me?”
Randvior had promised clarity. And she deserved the truth in measured doses. They walked to his cabin, very much in need of privacy to continue the conversation. He opened the door and they went inside. He sat down on a chair next to the narrow bed, folded his hands behind his neck, and stretched his long legs out.
“I’d never considered targeting your homeland. If I yearned for a lucrative raid, my ships would aim closer to Ireland. A week ago, I was in the Orkneys preparing to return home. Father Odin sent me an incredible vision—showed me his banquet table in Valhalla. A rare thing for a mortal to behold while he still lives.”
Noelle sat on the bed and for the moment appeared enthralled by his tale.
“His fierce maiden warriors, the azure-eyed Valkyries, who serve and choose the men who sit at his table, offered me wine from his chalice. No man can refuse this honor. I drank, but much to my dismay, I realized the table wasn’t decorated for celebration. It was prepared for a funeral feast. Not to honor warriors slain in battle, but those wretched souls condemned to Hel. I dropped the sacred cup and ran. Once I escaped, I mysteriously appeared on the lands surrounding my home. Funeral pyres burned in every direction, columns of black smoke rose above the earth, very near my own hall.” He dropped his hands from behind his neck and leaned forward.
“I hastened for miles through ice and snow to reach my steading. Before I crossed the border, disir , women who decide men’s fates, were waiting. I greatly mistrust these spirits and attempted to elude them. But they followed me and called out to me.
Why do you run from your destiny? There are two possible ends for you, and we have revealed both. You have drunk from Odin’s cup, an honor bestowed on few mortals. Yet you remain only half a man. Sail to Durham on the eventide and discover the troth the gods have chosen for you. If you reject this gift, your wyrd will be altered—given over to forces beyond Odin’s control.”
“Tell me what wyrdis ?” Her skepticism was evident.
“Fate.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the retelling of his tale, yet disbelief still remained on Noelle’s face. She resembled the wraith in his dream. Randvior studied her features more closely. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he moved to the bed and pulled her onto his lap as he sat down again.
She bristled. “So I am to believe that a warmongering prince succumbed to the demands of spirits he doesn’t trust, then sailed for distant shores? If my father’s army were present they would have overpowered you and sent you back to Norway in burning ships.”
He arched a brow, completely unprepared for how to deal with such an undisciplined, feminine tongue. A few unsavory methods crossed his mind, perhaps a gag and a firm throttling to her backside to start.
“I didn’t realize Norsemen relied on mystics to determine their futures.”
He nodded agreement and loosened his grip. “My people pay homage to countless deities, and seek the council of many when mapping out the course of their lives. Our stargazers are the most famous in the civilized world and have successfully predicted the futures of kings and military leaders—earning them many
“You’ve given me hardly any time to recover from this atrocity. And now you expect me to parade around this ship with you and exchange niceties with the murdering heathens who attacked my home and stole me away as chattel? And beyond this . . .” Her body trembled. “. . . now you want me to ask questions?” His casualness enraged her. “You make little of what happened in Durham.”
Randvior gripped her by both shoulders and nodded.
His unspoken acceptance left her mind a jumbled mass of confusing thoughts and left her heart full of contradictory emotions.
Though one question did come to mind.
“Why me?”
Randvior had promised clarity. And she deserved the truth in measured doses. They walked to his cabin, very much in need of privacy to continue the conversation. He opened the door and they went inside. He sat down on a chair next to the narrow bed, folded his hands behind his neck, and stretched his long legs out.
“I’d never considered targeting your homeland. If I yearned for a lucrative raid, my ships would aim closer to Ireland. A week ago, I was in the Orkneys preparing to return home. Father Odin sent me an incredible vision—showed me his banquet table in Valhalla. A rare thing for a mortal to behold while he still lives.”
Noelle sat on the bed and for the moment appeared enthralled by his tale.
“His fierce maiden warriors, the azure-eyed Valkyries, who serve and choose the men who sit at his table, offered me wine from his chalice. No man can refuse this honor. I drank, but much to my dismay, I realized the table wasn’t decorated for celebration. It was prepared for a funeral feast. Not to honor warriors slain in battle, but those wretched souls condemned to Hel. I dropped the sacred cup and ran. Once I escaped, I mysteriously appeared on the lands surrounding my home. Funeral pyres burned in every direction, columns of black smoke rose above the earth, very near my own hall.” He dropped his hands from behind his neck and leaned forward.
“I hastened for miles through ice and snow to reach my steading. Before I crossed the border, disir , women who decide men’s fates, were waiting. I greatly mistrust these spirits and attempted to elude them. But they followed me and called out to me.
Why do you run from your destiny? There are two possible ends for you, and we have revealed both. You have drunk from Odin’s cup, an honor bestowed on few mortals. Yet you remain only half a man. Sail to Durham on the eventide and discover the troth the gods have chosen for you. If you reject this gift, your wyrd will be altered—given over to forces beyond Odin’s control.”
“Tell me what wyrdis ?” Her skepticism was evident.
“Fate.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the retelling of his tale, yet disbelief still remained on Noelle’s face. She resembled the wraith in his dream. Randvior studied her features more closely. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he moved to the bed and pulled her onto his lap as he sat down again.
She bristled. “So I am to believe that a warmongering prince succumbed to the demands of spirits he doesn’t trust, then sailed for distant shores? If my father’s army were present they would have overpowered you and sent you back to Norway in burning ships.”
He arched a brow, completely unprepared for how to deal with such an undisciplined, feminine tongue. A few unsavory methods crossed his mind, perhaps a gag and a firm throttling to her backside to start.
“I didn’t realize Norsemen relied on mystics to determine their futures.”
He nodded agreement and loosened his grip. “My people pay homage to countless deities, and seek the council of many when mapping out the course of their lives. Our stargazers are the most famous in the civilized world and have successfully predicted the futures of kings and military leaders—earning them many
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