Free Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 01 by The Rover Bold

drunken chieftain fend for himself. He wanted to scoop her up and rain kisses on her worried face.
    Fortunately, Poppa emerged from the gathering mist with two thralls. One was Bryk’s personal slave, Torstein, the other a burly Irishman belonging to Poppa. Padraig took Hrolf’s weight and staggered away with him. Bryk puzzled about the curious smile the Frankish concubine sent his way as she left. Perhaps it amused her he was burdened with three foreign women.
    Cath-ryn came to him without hesitation and collapsed in his arms, teeth chattering. He put his arms around her, willing his heat into her body, relishing the feel of her against him.
    “You’re safe,” she murmured, eyes bright with tears.
    “ Ja . Safe. Hus ,” he replied, cocking his head in the direction of the town.
    Ekaterina tapped him on the shoulder. “Where is this house?”
    He turned, coming close to laughing out loud at the sight of the elderly nun and Kaia huddled in his cloak. He brushed away a tear from Cath-ryn’s cheek then let go of her, picked up Ekaterina and climbed out of the boat. “ Kom !”
    Both young women followed without hesitation, clinging together as they dogged his heels through the empty streets of the town.
    Without being told, Torstein shouldered the heavy sea chest and fell in behind.

THE TRIPTYCH
    The house Bryk had commandeered was a one-room hovel not far from the cathedral. Judging by the remnants of food and dirty wooden plates scattered here and there on the packed earth floor, Cathryn guessed the inhabitants had left in a hurry.
    Bryk indicated to his servant where he wanted the chest. After putting it down with a thud in one corner, the young man quickly brushed aside the ashes inside a circle of stones in the centre of the dwelling. He wiped his hands on his tunic, then built a fire with kindling and wood piled nearby.
    Bryk took what looked like the materials needed to strike a flame out of his pouch and threw them to his servant. “Fire,” he said with a smile, rubbing Cathryn’s upper arms. “Soon warm.”
    She wished she spoke enough of his language to tell him she needed only his touch to drive away the chill.
    The cramped space filled with smoke as the servant blew on the spark, trying in vain to get a flame going. He looked at Bryk nervously. Kaia’s hacking cough returned.
    Cathryn hunkered down near the grate, ready to assist with the blowing. “Perhaps if I—”
    Bryk grasped her arm and pulled her away. “Torstein do alone.”
    His gruff manner alarmed her. She thought to protest but caught Ekaterina’s glance. “It’s Torstein’s responsibility,” the elderly nun explained. “You mustn’t interfere.”
    The expression on the youth’s sooty face when the fire sprang to life reminded Cathryn keenly of the relief she’d often felt after satisfying Mater Bruna’s demands.
    Bryk unclenched his jaw and spat out a command to Torstein, who left the cottage quickly.
    “Where is he going?” she asked.
    Bryk lifted his fingers to his mouth. “Food.”
    Cathryn wondered how a young man who probably didn’t speak the Frankish language hoped to find sustenance for them in a ransacked town. There would be food at the abbey, but she didn’t want to be the one to lead the Vikings there. She shivered. They’d make their way up the hill in time.
    There was no furniture, so they sat on the cold floor around the fire. She leaned on Bryk when he put his arm around her shoulders. As long as she was with him she was safe. She gazed across at Kaia. Her friend was too pale and still shivering despite the shaggy cloak in which she was cocooned.
    It didn’t seem long before Torstein returned. From the ensuing conversation she surmised he’d procured the large ham, the cheese wheel and the flagon of ale from Hrolf. Bryk seemed pleased by the news. The chieftain must hold him in high regard if he sent food. He took out his dagger and sliced off pieces of meat, handing them each a portion. Torstein broke