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

Chapter Six

Roald shrugged carelessly, "I do not know, is it?" The challenge was still clear as day in his tone, raging Clare into wanting to prove him wrong all the more. She was not a lightweight, and she would prove to him that much.

Clare turned around, a spark in her eyes that those could only recognize as determination, "You!" She shouted at Torsten, "Give me your cup."

Torsten looked down at his mug and frowned briefly, but then handed it to her. He, like everyone else, was curious to see how much the potential Jarl's wife could consume before becoming faint, or even dizzy. And just like she had done before, she downed the drink.

The men yelled loudly for her to continue, and even a few women did but she could not decipher if it was because they were truly encouraging her or because they wanted to see her fail. Clare walked from person to person, downing their mead, and before she knew it, music had begun to play again.

The Vikings drank with her, still cheering and some dancing. Clare had drunk at least a dozen cups of different sizes, before she had begun to lose herself. The beats to the music increased, the notes pulsing in the room. She did not hesitate to walk to the center of the crowd and sway her hips from side to side. Roald, now amused, watched from his chair.

Her arms found their way to the ceiling, her sandals managed to lose her now bare feet, and her hair had become tussled in an attractive way. Clare's hips moved from side to side, swaying with the music. The crowd of Vikings had even backed away from her, giving her more space to move her feet so that she could spin slowly.

This red-haired beauty entranced them, but the most entranced of all was Roald. Lust fueled his blood, and his eyes scrutinized her every move. He felt his pants tighten, but he did not move towards her as she continued to dance.

Only when Clare had approached Nafarr, grabbing his arm and pulling him to her, did Roald stand from his chair. She had begun to dance with his brother, but Nafarr quickly noticed his approaching figure and pushed Clare away. Disappointment etched her brow, making her look all the more drunk.

As soon as the expression fitted her face, Roald wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her around to face him. Clare, who was now in a drunken stupor, began to sway her hips against his hard body. Roald had to contain himself from doing anything he may regret in the future, but that did not prevent him from enjoying the moment. Then, he slowly felt her slip away into a daze, her movements becoming slower, and her eyes weary.

Clare collapsed against him, exhausted. He easily scooped her into his arms and carried her away from the Viking people, down the hallway, and into his bedroom to where he lay her down on the furs of his bed. Roald bent down and pressed his lips lightly against her own; "You have not proven me wrong, my sweet Clare. You have only proven me right. Everything you have ever done has proven me right, and will continue to do so until you see it, too."

Then, he lied down next to her and let her fall asleep against him.

vvv

Sometime that early morning, Clare awoke with a severe headache. She instantly put a hand to her pounding head and sat up to find Roald still asleep next to her. She smiled wryly at the man, before a thought had occurred to her. Her head snapped to the windows to where darkness flooded the morning sky, but clouds were appearing bright amidst the horizon.

She had warned him of her own secrets, and running away was one of them. Clare spent no time at all, despite the dizziness that overwhelmed her and the nausea in her stomach, to get out of bed. She hastily but quietly crossed the floor, to the door. Sparing one last look in Roald's direction, she smiled at his still sleeping form, with the furs draped halfway across his torso, and then she slipped through the doorway.

The great halls were foggy from smoke of dying fires, and they were overall a giant mess. Spilled cups and shattered plates were scattered about, as well as the few men who remained passed out on the benches. She was careful to step around them.

The entire building seemed darker than usual, as did outside of the building. The darkness only made her stomach churn all the more, and as soon as she had stepped foot outside, she let herself empty the contents of the night before. Vomiting was not something that she enjoyed, nor was getting drunk, and she would always envy the Vikings for not being such a lightweight as she. She was foolish to try to prove them wrong, and regretted only realizing it now.

Clare stumbled through the sleeping town, her head still pounding and her body seeming to move on its own. She had just rounded a corner when she saw Torsten come from the area. Quickly diverting his gaze, Clare jumped back and breathlessly pressed her back against the wall of the building that she hid behind.

Torsten took a deep breath of morning air, stretching before he went back inside an unfamiliar building. Clare darted across that way, dodging any pair of eyes that may have heard her quickened pace.

She was smart to find the stables within town, next to a blacksmith's workshop, and because she grew up in a rural town, she knew how to saddle a horse. She chose a brown horse that seemed to have the strength and stamina to go far. Then, she pulled herself atop of it and gave a jerk of the reins.

The horse went galloping past the buildings. As she neared the far end of town, entering tall grasses and bordering woods, only then did she hear a person yell out, "She is getting away! The Jarl's wife, she is getting away!"

Being the strong woman she was, Clare did not turn back. It was her bravery that fueled her, and the determination to free herself of Roald's tight grasp. She did not fear his reaction, and she was uncaring if he tried to come after her, for she was witty and clever. Clare would not only outrun Roald, the Jarl of many Vikings, but she would outsmart him, too.

And so, the challenge began.