Free Wild Viking Princess by Anna Markland

receive from Gorm. Margit’s rage would be intolerable. Roar regretted ever agreeing, while in the throes of a drunken stupor, to help Gorm take the throne. His rule had benefited no one, least of all the men who had aided him. Gorm had listened to Margit’s treacherous flattery and believed it, but he was no leader of men.
    The raid on Reider’s hideout had been ill advised, but Gorm would not be dissuaded. Roar thought bitterly of the lifelong friends he had lost in the battle at Husembro, and Reider and most of his men had not been there in any case. The only thing Roar had to show for the foray, beside the wounds, was a handsome carved dagger, though it was too small for his hand.
    He and his companions came wearily to their feet in the Hall when Gorm swept in with Margit on his arm. He escorted her to a seat, climbed the step to the dais and sat on the throne. He sprawled in the elaborately carved chair for several minutes, chewing his fingernails, scowling at the assembly. Roar’s nervousness increased. The head wound burned, pain gnawed his leg.
    “Knutsen!” Gorm finally bellowed.
    Roar came forward and went down on one knee. “My lord Gorm.”
    Gorm leaned forward. “How many times must I remind you? It’s Prince Gorm.”
    Filled with disgust, coupled with an urge to snicker, Roar touched his hand to his heart. Did the fool not realize the crown he wore was too big for his head, in more ways than one? “A thousand pardons, my lord Prince.”
    Gorm squirmed, digging his stunted fingernails into the arms of the throne. “Explain your failure to deliver Reider Torfinnsen to me. You have returned with far fewer men than you took with you.”
    Roar itched to tell the arrogant nobody that Reider had not been at the encampment, that everyone had deemed it a fool’s errand, but he thought better of it. Gorm had no interest in anything he had to say. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
    Suddenly Gorm leapt to his feet, waving a dismissive hand at Roar. “Can no one track Reider Torfinnsen for me? Must I do everything myself? Get out of my sight.”
    Roar stood and backed away, breathing a sigh of relief. When he turned, Margit’s malevolent glare had his gut plummeting back to his feet. She would not let him off so lightly.
    Gorm strode out of the Hall, accompanied by several minions for whom Roar had no respect. Margit came to her feet and beckoned, raking her cold eyes over him, stripping him bare. She fluttered her eyelashes. “Attend me in my chamber, Roar.”
    She left, a round-shouldered female thrall following in her wake. He was sure the girl had been pregnant the last time he had seen her. But he couldn’t be concerned with that. He had his own worries. If Gorm caught him in Margit’s chamber, he was a dead man.
    ~~~
    Margit smirked. She had grown to womanhood in Heide, surrounded by burly warriors, full of their own bravado, afraid of nothing—except a woman who knew how to manipulate them. It amused her that Roar Knutsen, fearless giant, stood before her now, licking his lips, looking around nervously, shifting his weight. What would he do if she put a firm grip on his manhood?
    She took a step forward, her eyes locked on his groin. She glanced up at his face, pleased to see sweat beading on his forehead. She opened her mouth, intending to taunt him, but her gaze fell upon a dagger tucked into his belt. She reached for it. He closed his eyes and looked as though he might swoon. She yanked the dagger from his belt. “What is this?”
    His eyes flew open in alarm then settled on the dagger. He let out a sigh of relief. “A dagger,” he stammered.
    She touched the tip of the blade to the end of his nose, sniggering when he went cross-eyed. “I know it’s a dagger, fool. It’s a woman’s dagger. Why do you have it?”
    She ran her fingers over the intricate carving, recognizing the worth of the old weapon. She had never seen the like before, though the figure carved on the hilt was