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

his longboat had sailed out of sight down the winding Seine.
    Torstein nodded, took up his oar and answered the call of the coxswain as Kriger embraced his wife and son, shoved the Alexandria away from the dock and leapt aboard.
    “Take care of your nephew,” she murmured, trusting Njord, god of the wind, to carry her words to Bryk’s ears.
    Standing close by, Cathryn Kriger turned to look at her. Her friend was crying. Their eyes met. Sonja’s heart broke and she burst into tears.
    “There, there,” her father muttered in a rare display of tenderness. “Don’t worry. Your future is promising. Remember, the brightest star shines in the darkest sky.” He frowned. “Where is your amulet, by the way?”

    Years ago, Bryk had turned his back on roving the seas, relieved to be free of the mayhem and the violence. There was, however, one thing he’d missed—the excitement that surged through a Norseman’s veins when his longboat pushed away from the dock.
    Now he was proud to have his own vessel, named for the birthplace of his wife’s patron saint.
    He had a handpicked, loyal crew, though he regretted being forced to assign his nephew to the oars. He hoped Torstein would come to understand why it was necessary. Many in the Viking community had objected to a former slave being allowed to fight in the army.
    He enjoyed the trust of his Duke and was confident of a victory in this final push against the Bretons. The fight was a just one. Norsemen would soon control the valley of the River Orne. They had come to Francia for land, and land they would have.
    Life was good and held the promise of more. Yet, if it were possible, he would gladly leap off the Alexandria into the embrace of his wife standing on the dock, Magnus in her arms, her lovely face wet with tears. He had to turn away, distraught at the prospect of never seeing his son again.
    Odin, watch over him if I fall in battle.
    Cathryn was probably still waving, but would understand why he didn’t return her salute. Vikings, especially commanders, set their sights on the prow and never looked back.
    He glanced at Torstein who was staring at the shore with a strange smile on his face. He shaded his eyes and gave in to the temptation of looking back to the dock for one last glimpse of his family. Many people were waving, but he noticed a woman atop a piling not far from Cathryn. She stood out because she had her fist in the air. In the crush it was difficult to make out who she was. Sonja Karlsdatter! Surely Torstein’s smile wasn’t for her?
    As the Alexandria glided into the middle of the Seine, he noticed Sven Yngre waving to someone on the dock. Probably his mother. “Eyes to the river,” he shouted impatiently to the crew.
    Sven complied as Torstein gripped his oar, braced his legs, and pulled.

    As his body fell into the familiar rhythm of rowing, Torstein accepted his uncle’s explanation as to why it was expected he man an oar. As Bryk pointed out, he too had been a lowly oarsman when they’d first left Norway. “Look at me now,” he’d crowed with a wink and a grin.
    Perhaps the words hadn’t been intended to give Torstein hope things might change for him too, but he chose to cling to the belief that one day he would prove he was worthy of Sonja.
    It was disconcerting Sven hadn’t been selected to row, and who was it he’d waved to on the dock?
    The first hour of the voyage passed quickly and he was surprised when his uncle called a rest. The military training had honed his body. Rowing now was easier than it had been on the voyage from Norway.
    Sven came down the boat ladling water into the tin cups of the rowers. “Hey, my friend,” Torstein said with a wink after his first long gulp of the blessedly cold water. “Who were you waving goodbye to?”
    Sven grinned, then took a swig from the ladle. “My betrothed.”
    “Sly devil,” Torstein replied. “When did you become betrothed?”
    “Last night,” his friend responded.
    “Who’s