A Viking's Catch (Book One of the Sogn Series)

Chapter Three

Clare became dazed as he began to kiss lower down her neck, and she questioned if he was really showing such raw affection towards her. When he trailed back up her neck and hovered his lips over her own, she knew then that this was real, and that he was about to kiss her. Unpleased with the circumstances, and not wanting to kiss him, she used his moment of weakness to push him away from her. Clare easily rolled out from beneath him, and scooted a few feet away, uncaring of the sand that stuck to her wet garments.

Roald seemed to be in as much of a daze as she had been, but the expression quickly changed to an angry one. He stood then and walked towards her, unflinching as he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her up.

"You will not defy me so," he said lowly.

"And you," she argued, "will not kiss me."

This time, he was the one to grunt, but was more careful not to loosen his hold on her. He practically dragged her back to the house to which they had stayed, and pulled her back into the dining quarters.

A man laughed loudly and said upon their arrival, "I see you have gotten the girl wet." The insinuation was not humorous to Clare, and she glared at him. Then, the burly man whom she had come to recognize held his hand out for her to shake. Even though she did not, he said, "They call me Torsten, and unlike these other bastards," he shouted at Roald's men, "I have come to genuinely like our new Jarl's wife."

Clare glared at Torsten, "I am no ruler of yours."

Torsten flashed a toothy grin at her, "Not yet."

Before she could argue, Roald pulled her away and back to the seat she had been sitting at before. He pushed her down into it, and then returned to his seat, uncaring of their wet clothes.

Clare said nothing for a long time, as she observed the rowdy group of men. Upon their dirtied appearances, she vaguely made out two women before them. They were clad in britches and boots, rather than dresses and nice shoes. She stared at them for a long time, until they caught her doing so.

They were not ladylike at all, as one of them slammed her mug of ale down on the table, and said with a thick accent, "Do not be alarmed, girl. We may be women but we are strong fighters. Do not let anyone convince you otherwise."

It was as if they could read her thoughts, as the other one said, "We are not like your women. We fight, like any man, and could easily kill you."

"Enough!" Roald yelled out above them, "You will not threaten my future wife."

The woman who spoke first laughed loudly, "Then at least let us introduce ourselves?"

He nodded for them to do so, and the first woman with long blonde hair said, "They call me Amma and this here," she motioned towards the woman with brown hair and bronze skin, "is Isibel."

"You have introduced yourselves," Roald pressed, "Now speak no more to her."

"But, Jarl, she has yet to introduce herself." Amma said eagerly.

Roald glared hardly at her, "You know who she is. I will not have Clare involved in your harsh ways. Now, leave her be."

Amma and Isibel chuckled lowly and spoke to one another in hushed tones, but Roald ignored them. Clare watched him take a large gulp of ale, and when he put it down he looked at her once more and gestured to the food, "Eat. I will not have you starve."

Clare wanted to fast, but she had a feeling that he would not allow her to do so, and then he would make her actions seem foolish to his men. Her stern gaze unfaltering from his, she reached out and put a roll of harvested bread onto her plate. She tore it, glaring at him, as she put a piece of it into her mouth.

Roald gave her a look of approval, but watched her as she ate the whole thing. Then, he motioned for her to put more on her plate. She did, but not in a happy manor.

The man next to her had introduced himself as Nafarr, and he was no bigger in size than Torsten. Nafarr was friendly enough to talk to her, distracting her attention away from Roald for only so long before he pulled her away from him and demanded that she speak with him instead.

"I am tired." Clare said blatantly to Roald. He frowned at that and she pushed, "It is late, and much has happened to me in the past several hours. Surely, you will let me go to bed?"

"Yes," Roald said a bit more sympathetically. She wondered if he felt guilty, but the thought quickly faded when he stood from his chair and pulled her from hers.

He was gentler with her this time, and guided her by the arm back up the stairs. Nafarr gave her a farewell before they left the room. Roald gave him a warning look, which made him look away from Clare.

"You can at least let me make friends if I am to live with your people," she had said on the way up the stairs.

Roald shook his head, "Not with him."

"And why not?" she replied back, a bit too curiously.

"Because," he explained, "Nafarr is my brother. I will not have him making an acquaintance with you until I have spoken to him."

When they entered the room, Clare asked, "Why is that?"

"Nafarr takes too kindly to women," Roald said gravely, "and I will not allow him to take my woman."

Clare raised both eyebrows and sarcastically replied, "Well, you are not possessive over me at all."

His eyes met hers once more, seeming darker than they actually were, "I will not allow others to take what is mine."

Clare stood up straight, yanking her arm from his grasp, "I am no one's but my own."

A wide smirk touched his lips, "You are much too naïve for your own good. You will learn soon enough, that we belong to each other."

Confused by his words, she was about to say something else, but he left before she could. He shut the door between them, leaving her frustrated. Only much later, did Isibel bring her a clean nightgown to sleep in. Clare did not see Roald again that night, but it did not keep her from thinking over his last words.