Free Heart of a Viking by Samantha Holt

his strength to cling on and remain quiet. Stars jarred through his skull briefly, and he had the faintest vision of a goddess watching over him. It gave him enough determination to remain clinging to the man until his body began to sag beneath him. He loosened his grip and eased the guard down to the ground. He was not dead but he’d awaken with a pounding head just like the other men. Thorarin retrieved his axe and put it away.
    All he had to do was retrieve the coin, now unguarded but tucked between several sleeping men. He used his skills as a hunter to stalk stealthily to the chest and take the heavy container into his hold. He hefted it up and moved backward, away from the encampment.
    Once he’d slipped into the shadows, he released a long breath. He wouldn’t count his job as done until the coin was stowed in his farmhouse.
    He rested briefly as the sun came up and pondered their reaction when they discovered the taxes were gone as he eyed the dawn’s rays over the crest of a mountain. The tip burned amber and he recalled the gem around Keita’s neck, reflecting off her pale skin. Once he would have said there was no sight more beautiful than that of his homeland in the morning light.
    Now he was not so sure.
    He drank from a skin and chewed the dried meat he’d brought in his satchel before hefting the chest into his hold and continuing on. Tonight, he would join Ragni at the evening meal and likely observe his reaction when the news of the theft reached him.
    Thorarin started down the slope of the hill toward the river line. Two more hours of following it and he’d be back at the settlement. Water crested and bubbled over the rocks before it deepened and widened, curling around the mountain like a snake.
    A brisk wind had cleared away the clouds, leaving the day cold but fresh. Blue skies turned the water a deeper shade of turquoise that reminded him of the beautiful glass beads his mother had sometimes worn.
    Then he considered the beauty of his homeland and that of the Picts. What did Keita think of the land of the Norse or did she see only horror here? The strangest desire to show her all that it had to offer struck him. A princess like Keita deserved much—a life more than servitude to be sure. Not that he could offer her anything. After his revenge was complete, however...
    Thorarin scuffed a hand over his beard and shifted the weight of the chest to ease the ache in his shoulder. After his revenge, he knew not what he would do. He could seize power, take the place of the járl . It would be simple after he had turned everyone against Ragni. They would naturally look to him.
    But did he even want that? There was satisfaction to be had in replacing Ragni, of course. However, the political intrigue, the stresses and strains of power and the constant battles weighed heavily on his heart. He’d fought for a long time to become the man he was. The idea of continuing that fight made his bones ache more than ever. Perhaps he would travel to new land. Settle elsewhere.
    Alone?
    Shaking his head, he thrust aside the thoughts and spied the thatch of his farmstead in the distance. The isolation of it meant there would be no chance of him being caught unless anyone had decided to call on him for his carpentry skills. As yet, none had approached him. Ragni might trust him but the villagers had more sense.
    Maybe somewhere deep down they knew him to be the banished boy, the murderer. The járl ’s arrogance blinded him to such things. It likely would not even have occurred to him that the boy he accused of the crime might be bold enough to return.
    He slipped into the hut and placed the chest on the floor. While he’d been working to secure the roof and walls, he’d also created a secret compartment in the building. In one corner, he’d crafted a hole big enough to hide the coin. He drew open the planks that created the false section of wall and slid the chest in before covering it up.
    Scrubbing his hands across