Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 by The Rover Defiant

was unthinkable. She was his talisman.

VICTORY
    Rollo stood with legs braced, fists on wide hips, about to address the hundreds upon hundreds of Viking, Frankish and Burgundian warriors who’d survived the bloody conflicts of the past few sennights.
    There wasn’t a man in the host who matched him in height or width.
    Bryk recalled a bleak day when the bedraggled people of Møre had gathered to hear their chieftain speak of famine, of loss, and of the inevitability of having to seek a new land. Then he’d been relegated to the outer fringes of the meeting. Today he and his nephew stood in the front ranks beside Sven Yngre.
    Not far behind them was Javune. Bryk hoped Cathryn would be pleased by the knowledge her brother was a courageous warrior.
    Bryk was proud other commanders had commented on the prowess of the three men. He’d felt responsible for Sven since the early days of stealing horses in the valley of the Seine when the lad had narrowly escaped drowning. And of course, Torstein was his brother’s son.
    “Rollo looks ten years younger than he did the day we left Norway,” his nephew said, apparently divining his thoughts.
    “Victory is sweet for a man who refuses to lose,” Bryk responded. “It’s taken many bloody weeks but we’ve successfully driven the Bretons from the valley of the Orne.”
    Vilhelm stood proudly at his father’s side.
    “The boy resembles his sire more and more,” Sven observed.
    Bryk shrugged. “He’s no longer a boy, any more than you are, and never forget he’ll be the Duke of the Norsemen some day. Rollo will make sure of it, and he isn’t getting any younger, despite appearances to the contrary.”
    “Men of the North.” Rollo’s voice boomed, seemingly without much effort. A hush fell over the gathering.
    “Still the same charm,” Bryk remarked, immediately regretting the sarcasm in his words. Would he ever cease blaming his former brother-by-marriage for his first wife’s death?
    “Vikings, today we celebrate a great victory. With our Frankish and Burgundian allies we have secured the valley of the Orne.” Rollo stretched his arms wide. “Look around. As far as the eye can see and beyond, the land is free of Bretons.”
    He looked directly at Duke Richard, seated on an elaborate carved chair beside him. “It is our territory, wrested from the enemy in fulfillment of our pledge as vassals of King Charles.”
    Richard raised an eyebrow, but remained seated as loud cheering broke out.
    Rollo’s stern gaze soon brought silence again. “Norsemen will protect this land in the name of King Charles.”
    Bryk turned around slowly, his eyes roving over a thousand and one faces. The Vikings still had battle lust in their eyes, spears, axes and swords in hand. Their allies’ forces were spent, many of them incapable of remaining on their feet, obviously exhausted. “The Burgundian realizes he has no choice but to acquiesce,” he told his protégés. “We’d slaughter them in minutes if they objected to our taking this land.”
    He inhaled deeply, a sense of peace washing over him. As they’d advanced, the flat land had become more undulating, the earth rich. “My Eden is close at hand,” he confided to Torstein. “I feel it in my bones.”

    A maelstrom of conflicting emotions swirled in Torstein’s heart. He’d admitted inwardly weeks ago that he loved his onkel Bryk like a father and cherished the morsels of praise bestowed upon him. The congratulations had increased as battle fervor had taken hold.
    He’d sensed Eden might be close. He’d seen it in his uncle’s eyes. He wanted to throw his arms around his neck and blurt out his joy. But this wasn’t the time or place for a first embrace, which he wanted to come from his uncle in any case.
    He loved Sven like a brother. In the field they were as one warrior, instinctively aware of what was in the mind of the other. But he was sure Sven didn’t know what was in his heart. Jealousy burned within him