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

Chapter Two

Clare grew tired from the many tears she shed during the past hour. She lay on the bed exhausted from her weeping and agonizing thoughts, and only when she began to think of her townspeople and father did she chastise herself. They would not want her to so carelessly shed tears for something that was not her fault, but in the hands of Fate. For it was Fate that was to be faulted, despite the fact that it was something that Fate could not help.

Clare was so deep into her thoughts that she did not notice that the door had opened, and she was oblivious to the person who had walked in. The person sat down next to her and put a hand on her arm, making her jolt back into reality.

Looking up, she saw the face of not a man, but of a plague that diseased her with hate. She saw malice in his worried eyes, and she saw the screams of her father as he helplessly fought to his death.

She saw Roald, and she loathed him for altering Fate into its own faults.

Roald was at fault.

"You were crying," he observed, the crease in his brow furrowing to suggest that he cared in a sense.

"I was," Clare stated, confirming any doubt he may have had.

Roald remained quiet for a long time and Clare wondered if he had begun to regret his actions.

"This is no longer your home, Clare," he said a bit too sternly, and she knew now that he did not regret his past actions, "Your home will be with me."

She turned away from him then as he said, "You will trust my reasons in time."

"And what reasons, sir, do you have for killing everything and everyone I have ever known?" She mocked his tone of voice.

"Because," Roald said, ignoring her sarcasm, "you will know a better life very soon."

Clare's head snapped in his direction and she gave him a sarcastic look as she said, "With your pagan beliefs? I think not."

Roald frowned the slightest bit at her response, "Our religion does not pleasure a woman with pain, for we do not agree with your Christian sins. Lust and greed are two things we take lightheartedly. If I may say so myself, Clare, that you have already sinned the most deadly of sins."

Clare's mouth had fallen slightly agape at his words, and she tried to recall what sin she had committed. Roald answered for her, "Your pride. You so openly admitted it yourself."

She was at loss for words and unable to understand how a savage Viking could be so easily educated on Christianity. The most terrifying aspect was that Roald was right. She had committed the greatest sin of all.

"Fear not, Clare," he pressed, "I would not have you swallow your pride for the world. It would be as if I were to smother a child of breath, and it is only necessary that any person breathes, just as it is a necessity for you to be strong-willed as my wife."

Clare did not take his words for granted. She would fast, in high hopes that her sins would be forgiven. So it was no surprise when Roald later left, but returned with a plate of bread and meat. It was as if he was testing her.

Clare did not even glance at the food, even though her stomach had emitted a deepening growl.

"Eat," Roald pushed, only to have her retort with a more clever response.

"How can I eat when I saw not long ago the death of my own townspeople?" Roald knew that she was shrewd, and was merely using his past actions as an excuse to defy him.

"Eat," he ushered again, taking a seat next to her on the bed, "Or I will make you."

Clare challenged him. She glared and then strongly said, "Am I such a child that you speak of? For holding my religion against me is like holding my breath. You are suffocating in your ways. Please," she pleaded, "Just leave me be."

Roald watched her for a long time after that. She was so astute in her ways that every word coming from her mouth only made Roald all the much more fascinated with her. He was attracted to her ingenious comments, her soft curves, endearing dimples that showed every time she merely smiled, and her sea green eyes that reminded him of home.

Clare was a captivating tempest, in and out, and all Roald wanted to do was watch her as she stormed through time. It was now, that Roald realized that he never wanted to leave her side, no matter the circumstances.

"I cannot," he answered her question, the phrase having an underlying meaning that she could not detect.

"Why not?" She questioned once more.

"Because you are to be my wife," He said simply, cupping her cheek with his hand. She pulled away suddenly, with tense exasperation but held her tongue. Clare did not speak for a long time because she knew that Roald would only come back with a response of his own, since they were both so stubborn and set in their ways.

"If you are not going to eat here," He replied after a long moment of silence, "then maybe you would change your mind to feast with my warriors and I? After all, they have every intention of meeting my future wife."

Clare held her head up, "I will not be a trophy for them to gaze upon."

"Well," he said, mocking rejection, "If you are to decline my offer so adamantly, then I will just have to bring you to them."

Horrified eyes met his unsmiling ones, and before Clare could spare another thought on an obstinate reply, Roald had picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, as if she were a sack of flour.

"Put me down," She said, her tone flat. When he reacted by carrying her from the room, she demanded it much louder, "Sir, put me down this instant!"

He grunted, adjusting her weight on his shoulder. Clare had been so focused by him carrying her that she did not realize the moment they had gone down the stairs, and entered a dining hall full of food and men.

Men laughing loudly like roaring beasts took her from her current quagmire, and she was forced to look up. The moment her eyes met the savages who had slain her town so mercilessly, Roald dropped her into a chair next to the end of the table. He calmly took a seat at the head of the table, and motioned her way, "My promising wife."

This put the men into a fit of laughter, all dozens of them.

"Promising, indeed!" said a burly man with hair as white as a winter's snow. His shoulders were muscular, his biceps bulging as he managed to gather everyone's laughter once more, "Tell me," said the same man to Clare, "how does such a young girl as you manage to stand up to the greatest Viking of all? Surely he did not carry you all the way down here because you do not defy him."

She gawked at this man. How could she not stand up to the Viking who very well destroyed her life?

"He is not that great if you are familiar with his adamant nature, controlling ways, and selfish actions." She retorted, holding her head high to show no fear of them. The men laughed again.

Then, Roald defended himself in a humorous tone of voice, "I dare say I am a great leader." He laughed loudly, his voice reverberating above all others.

Clare's head snapped in his direction as she said under a low, cynical chuckle, "Then take me to your king, so that I might convince him otherwise."

"Clare," Roald pressed with firm lips, "I am the king."