Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 by The Rover Defiant Page A

glimpse of Torstein.
    “It’s ironic,” her father shouted over the din of the crowd, “Vikings will sail once more down the Seine to the Eure, this time as the allies of Charles the Senseless.
    “They’ll be welcomed at Chartres, sight of our defeat at the hands of the Franks. Then they’ll embark on the overland trek to meet the rest of the army holding the Bretons at bay.”
    She gripped his arm, dread surging into her throat. Some terrible fate might befall Torstein on this journey. “This time they’ll march with Robert of Neustria and Richard of Burgundy, instead of against them,” she said in an effort to allay her fears.
    Her father patted her hand. “How I wish I was going with them,” he lamented. “I’d love to set foot in Chartres. We lost a lot of good men in that battle.”
    What were Torstein’s memories of Chartres? It was where he’d led the slaves’ revolt against the Franks, saved Cathryn’s life and won his freedom.
    Her father chuckled. “And I have to admit I miss those handsome brothers of yours, holding the line in the west against the Bretons.”
    Sonja had never considered Frits and Kennet handsome, and fervently hoped containing the Bretons didn’t depend solely on them. They enjoyed combat, but weren’t known as heroic warriors.
    “There’s Sven,” her father declared, pointing to one of the longboats. “I suppose it would be appropriate for you to wave.”
    She saw him then, standing proudly, legs braced, hands on hips, in the belly of Bryk Kriger’s boat, the Alexandria. He searched the crowd, no doubt looking for her. Torstein would be in Bryk’s boat too, she was sure. She scanned the warriors standing beside Sven. Her heart bled when she set eyes on Torstein. He was seated near Sven’s feet, manning an oar, his beloved face a mask of resentment.
    She longed to rush to his side and tell him she didn’t care if he was an oarsman. She understood, and one day—
    His narrowed eyes roved over the excited crowd. Did he feel her presence? Her father had given her permission to wave. Only Torstein would know her salutation was for him. But how would he ever catch sight of her amid this bustling throng? “I can’t see properly,” she wailed in frustration.
    Her father grasped her hand and pushed his way through the crowd. “Make way,” he shouted, typically oblivious to the annoyed glares of several he shoved. He pulled her to the front at the edge of the dock. Her legs trembled when he hoisted her onto a wooden stanchion. She held onto his shoulder for balance with one hand and clung to the neighboring piling with the other.
    She recognized the moment Torstein saw her. He smiled. She waved, not expecting him to wave back. To her consternation, it was Sven who returned her gesture.
    “Pity,” her father said. “He’d have been a good choice in different circumstances.”
    She dragged her eyes away from Torstein who had glanced up at Sven. “What do you mean?”
    Her father pointed. “Here comes the man we’ve set our sights on for you.”
    She looked up the ramp. Duke Rollo and his son Vilhelm were making their way amid the cheering crowd. Poppa followed close behind, acknowledging the hurrahs of the people.
    “How does Sonja, future Duchess of the Normans sound to your ears, my dear daughter? Rollo is seeking a bride alliance for his son. He would of course prefer a Frankish woman but I’m sure we can—”
    A snake coiled around Sonja’s innards as he prattled on. She let go of the man who had sired her but who didn’t know her at all, and wrapped both arms around the piling, digging her fingernails into the rough wood. She swayed as her eyes fell on the dark water lapping at the side of the dock. If she jumped now, the torment would be over. She would drown quickly beneath the crowded hulls.
    But she wouldn’t see Torstein again. She looked back to his ship. He was staring at her. She raised a fist in the air, determined not to lower her aching arm until