The Viking Chief's Bride

Chief Bjõrn’s lifeless and frozen body lay on the icy ground in a pool of congealed blood. His limbs were frozen stiff, covered in icicles from being out in the storm the whole night. His skin was deathly pale yet glistening as the ice on it sparkled under the last rays of the sun.

There was a missing head and a deep cut to his leg that had bled profusely, but it was clear to see that it was the dagger through his heart that had been the kill shot.

Surrounding the body of the mighty chief were the bodies of his kinsmen. All but two of his kinsmen.

Not far away lay the slain corpses of his two eldest sons, their bodies pierced by spears as if they were pincushions. They must have fought valiantly, even when they were so heavily outnumbered, because one could almost see the anger with which the swords had been driven through their lanky bodies.

The enemy hadn’t taken any chances with his own life if he had ensured that Björn’s sons, who would have been oathbound to kill their father’s killer, were put down as well.

Gunnar walked through the scene of the carnage. When his best friend and chief hadn’t returned from his trip, Gunnar had led a search party as soon as the weather had cleared. But it had taken them the whole day to find the little inlet where the chief and his men had been cornered by those who had sworn to avenge their father by killing the Chief.

The wind was picking up again, and the autumn chill was stinging his skin as Gunnar finished his walk-around of the gory clearing. “Load the dead to take to their families,” he ordered his servants as he returned to where Björn lay.

Kneeling next to his father’s headless body was Björn’s youngest son, Magnus. The one who was like a son to Gunnar, too. The one who spent so much time at Gunnar’s farm that he got left behind when Björn had ridden across the lavafields to organise matches for his older sons. Now, they knew that it was a trap.

After the tragedy unfolded where they stood, the twelve-year-old boy had become the only male left in his family. He was different to his brothers. He wasn't just strong and handsome like his father, but he was smart and intelligent, too. Like his mother. And that made him special to Gunnar.

The servants were moving slowly as they watched from the corners of their eyes, as finally, the last son reached over to remove the dagger from his father’s chest. His little hands were shaking, his body was wracked by sobs, yet his determination was unwavering. He was going to remove the dagger and become the one to avenge his father’s death.

Overcome by emotion at the gory end that awaited this boy if he touched that dagger, the boy who was more precious to the conniving Gunnar than his own three daughters, the boy who was integral to all of Gunnar's future plans, almost destroyed Gunnar's destiny for the sake of doing the honourable thing.

Moving faster than ever, Gunnur stepped in and quickly ordered. “Stop! Don’t touch it.”

The boy stopped. But his face crumpled in pain as Gunnar knelt next to him and let him break down completely to mourn his family. Let him mourn the great man who was killed by cowards and trickery.

The boy was not ready to take on the task yet. And Gunnar had put in too much time and effort into building a relationship with him to risk an early death for Magnus. But if it wasn’t going to be the boy, then who? Because whoever removed that dagger would be oath-bound to avenge the death of the mighty Chief Björn Nijalsson.

As the servants and others gathered to watch, Gunnar felt the weight of the responsibility that he had protected his ward from, even though his reasons were far from righteous. The weight of honour and the weight of a feud that went back generations was not something he cared to carry, but his future was on the line. He was about to tie his fate with that feud, but he knew it was the only thing to do. Because it was the smartest thing to do.

He slowly reached over and removed the dagger, in clear view of everyone around them.

Magnus was shocked as he gazed open-mouthed at Gunnar. “Why? He was just a neighbour to you.” Whispered the stunned boy.

Gunnar smiled despite the situation they were in. The boy was simple and shortsighted, unlike him. He'd fit in perfectly with his well-laid plans.

Gunnar placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and put on his sincerest expression. “I didn’t do it for him, Magnus. I did it for you. Because you, my child, are going to grow up to become a mightier chief than him. And together, we’ll be unstoppable. You shall see, Magnus. You and I will rule these lands one day.”