Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 by The Rover Defiant Read Free Book Online Page A

you agree, Sonja?”
    Having no inkling what her father was referring to, she took the offensive. “Do you speak Norse, Lord Arnulf?”
    Olga, seated next to the hearty fire roaring in the hearth, gasped. Sweat glistened on her mother’s brow. Sonja supposed her father had arranged for the fire to impress their guest since the weather certainly didn’t warrant it.
    Arnulf, who must be at least twice her age, looked down the longest nose she’d ever seen. “No. Your Duke Rollo has decreed Vikings learn my language. There is no necessity for me to study Norse.”
    Seated in her father’s favorite upholstered chair, he crossed his legs and brushed invisible lint from his hose. Then he smiled indulgently at her father as if his daughter had asked the stupidest question in the world.
    Karl Ragnarsen gripped the back of his wife’s chair, looking perplexed.
    As he should, Sonja thought. The man had revealed his disdain for Viking culture. Cathryn’s brother had addressed her in perfect Norse. His voice, though filled with anger, had echoed in her head for hours. Unable to hold her tongue, she declared, “I met a Frank the other day who spoke my language perfectly.”
    A snorting noise came from the corner of the chamber where Puella stood with another thrall, ready to serve when called upon. She was sure the sound had come from the slave, despite the innocent expression on the girl’s face when Sonja glared at her.
    She still hadn’t dealt with the insubordination at the Archbishop’s house. It had been the root cause of the missteps, but Sonja’s own inability to make her wits function in the young man’s presence had contributed greatly. How to punish the slave for her witlessness? Puella still sported the black eye from being struck accidentally with the hoe.
    An image of a reed-thin, bald baby with a nose like a long twig appeared unbidden behind her eyes. Bile rose in her throat as she backed away towards the door. Her mother scowled at her, but she was afraid she might utter something unforgiveable if she stayed in the odious man’s presence. “Forgive me. I am unwell.”
    She bolted from the chamber before anyone forbade it. She hastened to her room and flung herself on the bed, feverishly plotting ways to see Cathryn’s brother again. If only she hadn’t shown her worst side to him.
    She stilled, suddenly aware someone else was in her chamber. Puella tiptoed into her line of sight. “This is your fault, girl,” she menaced. “If you hadn’t had the gall to rise above your station—”
    They stared at each other. Puella swayed, a curious expression on her face as if she wanted to tell Sonja something. At length she seemed to summon up her courage. “The man I spoke to isn’t a Frank. He’s a Norseman.”
    This made sense in light of the language, but Sonja shook her head vehemently. “No. You’re wrong.”
    Puella persisted. “He is a free man now, but only because Bryk Kriger freed him. I saw no harm in speaking with him. When he left Norway he was a thrall. His name is Torstein.”
    Anger boiled in her belly. Frits and Kennet had spoken of this Torstein, the thrall who had led the revolt against the Franks at Chartres and who had aided in the rescue of Poppa and Cathryn. It wasn’t possible—
    “He is Bryk Kriger’s nephew, a child born of his brother’s thrall. His father drowned in the tidal wave.”
    Sonja had heard of people being turned to stone in myth. Now she knew it was possible. Her hopes splintered into a thousand shards.
    The gods had cast a hecks on her, drawing her to a nithing with whom there was no future. No other explanation existed for the longing in her breast for a man she’d met only twice and barely spoken to. Simply looking at him had kindled a flame in her body, as well as in her heart, rousing feelings and sensations she’d never known.
    But he was a thrall. Though he was free now, her father and brothers would never allow—
    The numbing reality was worse. She