To Win A Knight's Love, the Valkyrie

Prologue

Scotland, 1075

The shrill cries of the circling carrion birds alerted the riders to the fact something was horribly wrong. Reid reigned to a halt besides his master, Lord Alban, and felt his stomach heave at the sight. At eighteen, he’d seen his share of death as his master’s squire, but nothing like this. What he saw was so foul, so monstrous, it turned his stomach.

In a stand of ancient oaks bordering the grey bracken field were bodies, at least fifteen of them, women and their guards. Reid had to close his eyes for a moment, forcing his unruly stomach to behave. What kind of fiend had killed these women he wondered.

Lord Alban made a sound deep in his throat of disgust and pity. Easing himself from his saddle he dropped to the blood-soaked ground. Reins in one hand, he cautiously bent down to check the nearest body, an old woman who was still fair despite her age. He shook his head at the horror around them, and then looked up at Reid. “They’ve been here for two, perhaps three days. This is a foul and evil thing we have found.”

Reid slid to the muddy ground beside his master. “Who do you think they are?” The sight of the slain women sent a shiver run down his spine, feeling like icy fingers were touching him.

“I don’t know, but only a fiend could have done this.” Lord Alban replied, as he walked from one body to another, checking for signs of life. As they neared the tree line, they heard a low whimper. Following the sound, they found a girl of no more than seven. Her head was slumped forward, and she was tied to the trunk of an ancient oak tree. Her wrists had been bound together over her head, then a dirk driven through her tiny hands, anchoring them to the tree. At her feet lay a large grey wolf, mortally wounded by several arrows.

Alban sized up the beast. “It appears to be guarding her. Perhaps it is a pet.”

Reid looked on as his master confronted the wolf. “We are here to help her. Please let us pass.” At first the animal snarled, then sniffed the air seeming to detect their good intentions. It lifted its dying body slowly moving away, but continuing to watch them.

“Quickly she’s still be alive.” Alban hurried to her, pushing back a mass of red curls to gently lift her head. He grunted in surprise to find himself gazing into clear ice blue eyes, eyes open but not seeing. Reid held her while Lord Alban gently pulled the jeweled dirk from her hands, and then tossed it aside as if he’d been burned. The stupefied girl made not a sound as the men freed her. Using his knife, Alban cut away the ropes that bound the girl’s hands. Reid caught her, and then hurried away towards his mount. Alban looked towards the wolf to see if it would follow them, but it had died with the knowledge its duty was done.

Reid laid the girl upon a clump of bracken, trying to ignore the bruised and chafed wrists, and the blood running from her wounded hands. Reid looked up at his master, his eyes imploring.

“Just hold her Reid, I’ll tend her wounds.” The circulation had been cut off from her hands for so long it would be a miracle if she kept them. Now that the circulation was restored the wounds were bled freely and they had neither bandages nor medicine to tend them. Alban pulled the end of his linen shirt from his breeches and ripped two lengths off, using them to bandage her injured hands.

“Who do you think she is?” Reid looked from the girl’s blank eyes and ashen face to his master’s. This heinous act seemed to have shaken even his stony façade.

“We’ll get no answers from her, her mind’s gone, shock or pain or both, poor little thing. She must have seen what happened.” Alban brushed copper locks back from her face then looked down at her dress.

“By her gown, and those of the others, I’d say Norsk and rich.” He traced a braided design of gold brocade on the front of her gown. “Very rich to dress a child so. She must be some thane’s daughter.” He slid his hands under her, lifting her easily.

“Mount, I will give you the girl. There must be a village nearby. She needs more help than we can give.”

Reid did as his Lord instructed, then reached down to take the girl, holding her to his broad chest as if she was made of glass.

“It’s all right, you are safe now.” Reid whispered. “No one shall harm you.”

Perhaps it was the sound of his deep voice, but there was a flicker of life in her eyes. She looked at Reid for a moment, then closed her eyes rolling trustingly into Reid’s chest and went limp, causing him to look up in alarm.

“She has but fainted. I see that your charm is effective even upon the youngest of maidens.” Alban swung into his saddle, easing his mount into a walk so that their pace would be no hardship on Reid’s small burden.

They rode over the grey and purple moor for hours, the sun rarely making its presence felt. Periodically, the girl would wake up to stare up at Reid with wide eyes, that seemed to change color like the summer sea from ice blue to deep blue, but never did she speak. Though his arms throbbed from maintaining the same position for hours, Reid didn’t move for fear of hurting her. He pulled the edge of his cape about them both. Though it was summer in the highlands, it was chilly in the near constant wind. He wondered how the girl had lasted for several days in this ill climate, sheltered only by her dying pet.

“Hold up, someone comes.” Lord Alban’s exclaimed, startling Reid.

Reid looked up to see a group of men riding towards them. As they neared, he could see they were led by two youths. One with hair as dark as midnight, the other blonde. Behind them ranged fifteen odd men, all large of size with faces like a long winter, dressed for battle. The riders slowed to a halt before them, as they slowed the blond youth leapt to the ground, even before his mount had stopped.

“Astrid, Astrid!” He shouted, running towards Reid. He slid to a halt beside Reid, and lifted his arms up for the girl. “My sister, give me my sister.” His Norman was thick and heavily accented, but Reid understood.

Reluctantly Reid surrendered his burden to the youth, who hugged the girl to him with well-muscled arms. As if triggered by hearing her name, the girl opened her eyes. The other riders circled Reid and Lord Alban, giving them wary, suspicious looks. The dark haired youth eased his grey mount closer to Reid.

“Where did you find her? There were others, my mother and aunts?” The dark haired youth’s voice broke, as if afraid to learn the answer, yet desperate to know, from his appearance, he was near Reid’s own age of eighteen summers.

“We found the girl staked to a tree, the women were dead, I’m sorry. They lie but a few leagues back, we feared too much for your sister’s life to bury the others.” Lord Alban replied.

The dark-haired youth nodded. “Thank you for helping our sister, we shall see to our kin.” Despite his brave words his eyes shone with tears. Besides him, the girl leaned closer to her burly brother, and motioned to something at her neck. The blonde youth seemed to understand her unspoken words. He reached down to pull out a gold medallion that had been hidden by her gown. He pulled the long chain over her head, and the girl nodded again. The blond youth turned to hold the medallion out to Reid.

“My sister would like you to take this to thank you. It is her lucky piece.” The youth said, the medallion swinging from his thick fingers.

Reid took the gold medallion, letting it rest against his palm. On one side of the medallion was the head of a wolf and on the other a raven.

“Thank you.” Reid said, slipping the medallion around his neck.

“Your name sir, so we may tell our father.” The dark haired youth asked.

“Lord Alban and this is my squire Reid Devreies.” Lord Alban replied.

The dark haired youth repeated the names as if committing them to memory.

“I am Eric MacClaine, and this is my brother Leif. Our father is Baron MacClaine, lord of Ceo Danach and Orin Firth. You shall always be welcome in our keep, and thank you again.” The dark haired youth turned to say something in Norsk to his companions, then the blond haired youth and two riders turned about, and putting heel to flank, pushed their mounts to a run, rapidly disappearing over the heather covered hill. Eric MacClaine gave Lord Alban and Reid another polite nod and then also put heel to horse and rode around them and quickly disappeared from site.

“Come Reid, let us head for home, my old bones are aching and I look forward to my warm bed and my soft little wife.” Alban gave Reid a smile. “The girl gave you a princely gift. What shall you do with it?”

Reid reached up to touch the medallion as it rested over his green jerkin. He thought about it for a moment. He was poor; the bastard son of a lord, all his father had given him was his horse and hauberk. The medallion and chain would buy new armor, but it was a fine medallion, finer than anything he owned.

“I shall keep it. I like the medallion and it was given in friendship. I hope the girl will be well.” Reid replied, absent mindedly stroking the medallion.

“So do I, she must be strong to have survived, or God has another fate for her to have let her live. Perhaps you will meet her again.” Alban stretched in the saddle, as he tried to ease his aching back.

“When she is grown I rather fancy she will be a pretty wench. Come Reid, time to go home.” Alban gave his mount a hard kick and put the gelding to a quick trot.

Reid did likewise, as he pondered his master’s words. Aye perhaps she would, but he doubted he’d ever meet her again.

Chapter One

Inverie, Scotland, April 1085

Astrid tossed and twisted in her sleep as she drifted deeper into her turbulent dreams. Dreams that were not true dreams, but visions of dark things to come. A man fair of face and hair moved within her dreams. Men armed for battle swarmed like ants from dragon ships up a rocky beach to clash with others. In her fevered dream the sea and beach turned red with blood and the sky black with smoke.

“Astrid, Astrid, wake up.” Strong hands shook her awake as she struggled from her dreams to look up at her brother in the dim light. “It was only a nightmare.”

She clung to Alarick’s arm as a crack of thunder rang through the room. Outside a white hot bolt of lightning tore apart the black sky and filtered past the shutters momentarily lighting the stone room. When the light faded, Astrid released her twin brother, settling back into her pillows and shivering. Alarick sat on the edge of the bed, catching his twin’s hand between both of his as he gave it a squeeze.

“Tell me, where did your visions take you this night? What did you see?” Alarick inquired.

Astrid pushed her hair back from her face and listened to the echo of thunder as it rolled off the mountains and down the glens. The storm held no fear for her. She and Alarick had been born in such a storm.

“I saw that man again, tall and fair. I saw men swarming like ants into battle.” She shivered, shaking off the last of the dream. “I saw the sea turn blood red and the sky black.” She pushed herself up wrapping her arms about herself, as she tried to warm herself.

“Your vision eye has always been greater than mine, your abilities stronger. I have always envied your gift.”

“Do not. Sometimes it is more of a curse than a blessing, and I still can’t use it well. Often it is as fleeting as the sun on a winter day.” She hugged her brother, enjoying his comforting warmth. “You have your own gifts. I wish you could stay with me, I fear the dreams may return.”

Alarick nodded. He wished it too. He could feel Astrid’s pains and joys as deeply as his own. Different only in sex, they were much alike, both with brilliant red hair and blue eyes that changed color like the changing colors of the sea. They had been both born with the sight, as their mother and mother’s mother had before them. In addition, they had other gifts that grew in strength as their young bodies and minds grew. At just sixteen, they were already respected, not just as children of the Thane, but as healers and seers.

“I have dreams of my own, but they are more strange than fearful. Go back to sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” Alarick said, lying across the foot of the bed.

Astrid smiled. Often as children they would sleep like this, neither caring that people thought their closeness was strange or unseemly. They were bonded together by more than blood, by a force stronger than simple love. Their mother and aunts had said their souls were linked from before their birth, she believed it. She relaxed, feeling safe, warm, and loved.

Outside the tall granite keep, the lightening bounced from mountain top to mountain top, and the thunder rolled across the land sounding as if the great Thor himself was wielding his mighty hammer on the anvil of heaven. Around the keep in the stone huts the villagers huddled deeper in their straw beds, afraid not of the storm itself, but the portent of disaster they believed it brought.

* * * *

King William’s Court, England, 1085

Reid awoke from a dream as elusive and haunting as the scent of roses on a summer breeze. With a groan of disgust, he rose from his bed and crossed the room on large bare feet. He stood naked before the open window looking out at the moon-shadowed land. The dream and his inability to remember it bothered him. Lately his dreams had grown more troubling, robbing him of sleep. Yet never could he remember them fully. He could just remember pieces, a woman with sea blue eyes and long flowing hair. He would get no more sleep tonight. Laughter floated up to him on the wind and he frowned, who could be up this late?

He retrieved his shirt and breeches from the floor and dressed, then shrugged into his tunic as he slipped out his chamber door. Reid made his way to the great hall, where many of the king’s men were gathered about the low burning fire, ale mugs in their hands. Reid’s half brother Brent looked up, smiling upon seeing him, and motioned for him to join the assembled group of knights.

Reid pulled a high backed wood chair from the side of the hall and sat down beside his half-brother Brent. Brent pressed a mug of ale into his hands, then leaning sideways whispered into his ear. “Smile Reid, appear interested. Lord Chaning is telling us about some of the King’s guests for the upcoming tourney and council.” Brent eased back in his hide-covered chair and propped his feet up on the trestle table before him.

“Go on Chaning, tell us all about these Scot-Viking guests.” He said before taking a sip of his ale.

“I heard they are a rough unwashed lot.” One knight called out bringing a round of laughter.

“I heard they are hairy beasts who fight like mad men.” Another called out bringing more laughter.

“Not exactly my lords, but they are a hairy lot. Half Viking half wild Scot, they are as at home on the sea as on the land.” Lord Chaning said, pushing dark auburn locks from his face, which was flushed from ale and the heat of the fire. “Their lord is a huge bear of a man with hair like fire. He is much to be reckoned with despite his odd appearance. The other lords fear and respect him for he holds vast lands, and is tied by blood to two Kings. If William can gain his support we would have a powerful ally.”

“What is his name, this red-haired Lord?” Reid called out before taking a sip of ale. In his mind’s eye he pictured a thick-necked, bulky man with long fiery hair. Red hair was rare among his people, and said by the superstitious to belong to witches.

“He is called Eric MacClaine, Lord of Orin Firth and Ceo Danach, but most just call him Eric the Red.” Lord Chaning took another long swig of ale, and buoyed by its support continued with his role of story teller. “He brings his whole family with him, three sons and a daughter.” Another smile twitched the corners of Chaning’s lips. “Now there is a tempting little morsel. She is just sixteen, and has a bewitching smile and far too much spirit. The man who can tame her and take her for his wife will be lucky indeed.”

“Is this little Viking wench so fair of face?” Another man called out.

“She is not as fair as our Norman girls for she is short and compact of body, with hair the color of fire, but what her face and figure lack is made up for by her wealth.”

“She is richly dowered then?” Brent asked, swinging his feet to the floor.

“That is an understatement. Her people believe in the old ways in which land passes from mother to daughter. It’s said her mother was a Scottish princess and brought vast tracts of land to her marriage, and gold. Some man shall become vastly rich.”

“For twenty-five hides of land, I’d marry a pig,” One of the younger knights shouted bringing gales of laughter from the assembled men.

“Aye, but she is no pig. Though I saw her briefly she is far from a pig. She is more like a wild cat, all curly hair and eyes the color of a winter sea, both blue and green at the same time.” Chaning said. Reid put down his mug of ale and for some unknown reason bristled at the description, they discussed a lady like she was a common whore.

“She sounds like quite a terror.” One of the group laughed loudly, and Reid turned to glare at the man, seeing he was well in his cups. “Do tell us this vision of loveliness’ name.”

“Astrid, she is called Astrid. I mean to be the first in line to try for her hand, for the amount of gold she has I don’t mind a bit of wildness.” Chaning replied with a grin. “Besides, it might be fun taming her.”

The name rang in Reid’s mind, it was familiar to him. It was neither a Norman nor Saxon name, yet he knew it somehow. The men’s less than courtly remarks about the young woman irritated him subtly like sand in one’s jerkin. Unable to stand it any longer, he rose, tankard in hand, to storm out of the hall like a blonde tempest. Several minutes of aimless walking found him in the castle garden. The full moon cast bright silver shadows, making the gravel path easy to see.

Draining the tankard he threw it away, listening to it crash in the rose bushes nearby. The air was cool, but not cold, and the full moon cast flat silver shadows over the garden making it seem unreal. He walked along the moon-lit gravel paths searching for answers to his dreams. The center pond drew him, and he stopped to stare at the inky water.

What was wrong with him? Why did his dreams rob him of sleep? Why was he haunted by fleeting images of a woman he had never met? The path crackled behind him and he spun to see Brent.

“What eats you Reid? It’s not like you to be so irritable.” Brent queried.

“I don’t know, these past few months my dreams have been haunted with images. Which upon waking I can’t remember, except the foggy image of a girl.” He mumbled a curse. “Inside, their talk angered me beyond reason. They talked about the Viking girl like she was a whore. A girl I have never met, yet their words infuriated me. And her name, it rings in my head like a bell. I fear I am going mad or am bewitched.”

Brent dropped to one of the stone benches near the pond. He was half brother to Reid, yet they were as different as night and day. Reid was like a bright summer day, sky blue eyes and spun gold hair. Brent was midnight, with hair of ebony silk and dark eyes like bottomless pools.

While Brent was calm and level headed, Reid was as hot headed and hot tempered as a stallion. Always one to speak or act first without thinking of the consequences. Despite their differences Brent loved Reid when many thought he should not. Reid was the son of his father’s mistress. When Brent had learned of his half brother, he’d demanded his father not only recognize Reid as his son, but bring him home. Their father reluctantly had done as Brent asked, and Reid and Brent had become the best of friends and as close as full-blooded brothers.

“No, I don’t think you are mad or bewitched,” Brent shook his head. “Perhaps you have heard the girl’s name before.” He watched as Reid frowned and dropped to sit next to him. When Reid didn’t reply, Brent rested his hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Well no matter then.” Brent reached out to lift Reid’s medallion, holding it out so it caught the moon light. “Your medallion, did you not tell me you were given this by a girl? Do you remember her name?”

Reid dropped his head to his hands, resting his chin in his right palm. “It was so long ago, I scarce remember.”

“Well think, think hard. Perhaps the answer to your dreams is in your memory.” Brent said, listening to the night wind rustle the trees.

“I can’t remember, t’was ten years ago. All I remember was the girl’s face, curly red hair and bright blue eyes like ice.” Reid shook his head.

“They say the Viking girl has red hair and blue eyes, perhaps she is the one in your dreams. Perhaps the child and the girl are one and the same?” Brent looked over trying to catch Reid’s eyes.

“You speak foolishness. Why would I dream of a girl I met once?” Reid’s denial sounded hollow even as he said it. The gentle night wind rustled the rose bushes and caressed them both with invisible soothing fingers, bringing the scent of roses.

“I am being foolish. I rave at you like a mad man. Forgive me. The lateness and my lack of sleep make me irritable.” Reid slapped his right thigh hard.

Brent reached over to touch Reid’s medallion again. “Perhaps this is why you dream of a girl. Perhaps you are bewitched. They say the highlands are wild, full of witches, and that the old ways still linger there.”

Reid’s look of annoyed disbelief stopped Brent’s musings.

“Perhaps tis boredom that curses your dreams after all.” Brent sighed. “I hear you have a new lady, that she is as beautiful as a rose, tell me her name.” Brent asked trying to change the subject.

“Helen Torbay, and yes she is beautiful.” Reid replied with a smile.

Brent inhaled sharply. “Is she not betrothed to one of the Viking lords? Is their marriage not meant to cement the alliance, it can’t be the same woman?”

“Tis the same woman. She came to me and asked for my protection against her brother. I’ll not let her go easily.” Reid replied hotly.

“Damn it Reid.” Reid was a fool when it came to women, especially beautiful women. “Be reasonable, she belongs to another man.”

Reid rose angrily, again annoyed with Brent and wishing to end the conversation. “Only the King will take her from me.” Reid turned and strode away. He paused in the door to the palace garden, fingering the medallion as was his habit when he was troubled. Brent was wrong, he had to be wrong. The woman in his dreams couldn’t possibly be the girl he’d help save, and she certainly couldn’t be the mysterious lady Astrid. He was over tired, that was all, and bored. Battle would clear his mind. He was a warrior, that was all he knew, all he understood, not dreams or magic.