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

whenever his comrade mentioned Sonja.
    The last of the Bretons had fled more than a day ago, but a storm still raged in his veins, an urge to pursue the enemy to the shores of the Cotentin and then drive them into the sea.
    He licked his fingertips absentmindedly, remembering the wet heat of Sonja’s most intimate place and how passionately she had responded to his touch. He prayed to Saint Catherine to whisper in his beloved’s ear. “Tell her not to worry about Sven,” he murmured under his breath.

INTERVIEW WITH POPPA
    Poppa perched on the edge of the biggest upholstered chair Sonja had ever seen, clutching the carved arms as if she might leap up and breathe fire on the trio standing before her. Sonja squirmed under Poppa’s hostile scrutiny, longing to blurt out her reluctance to marry the woman’s son. If she had the courage she’d raise her head and glare at her mother and father. They’d arranged this audience at Rollo’s home, despite her protestations she was in love with someone else.
    They naturally thought she meant Sven.
    Her father must have mentioned the missing amulet to her mother and the two had harangued her until she lied she had given it to Sven.
    Unfortunately, they’d passed the lie on to Sven’s mother, who’d then repeated it gleefully to anyone she met.
    Ingeborg gloated over Sonja’s discomfort, though there was no way she could know the real reason for it.
    In the early days after the army’s departure, her sister quickly lost interest in taking Ida to Cathryn’s, citing the need to stay with her other children. Sonja recognized this for the untruth it was. Ingeborg’s brood spent more time with servants and thralls than with their mother.
    Cathryn tried valiantly to conceal her incompatibility with Ingeborg, but gradually offered excuses not to visit.
    These circumstances played into Sonja’s hands. She gladly volunteered to take Ida to play with Magnus. Her daily conversations with the optimistic Cathryn were the one thing keeping her wits intact and she looked forward to the time spent with her niece and Magnus.
    “This proposed arrangement does not sit well with you,” Poppa said, jolting her from her reverie. It was a statement not a question.
    Sonja kept her eyes fixed on her feet and said nothing in reply. She’d grown up in a neighboring settlement, but Åndalsnes was close enough to Møre for frequent congress between the two communities. She’d never developed a liking for the haughty Frankish woman who was in reality a captive of the chieftain of Møre, but who behaved like a queen. Perhaps her mother’s derision had colored her judgement—the same mother who now groveled before Poppa.
    “She is promised to another,” her father offered, “but—”
    Poppa silenced him with a glare. “Surely you realize Vilhelm cannot marry a Viking woman?”
    Her father frowned. “But—”
    Poppa rolled her eyes. “It is of the utmost importance my son marry a woman from a noble Frankish family. We must build alliances, not perpetuate old ways.”
    Sonja did not know Vilhelm, had only seen him in passing, but suddenly pitied him. He would probably have no say when it came to marriage.
    Poppa waved them away with a dismissive gesture. “Go, child. Wed the man you want to marry.”
    Once they left Rollo’s house, Olga’s vitriolic opinion of the concubine erupted like lava from a volcano. Her father’s face was set in stone. Sonja hurried to keep up with them as they made their way back home. She tucked Poppa’s words close to her heart, hoping the terrifying woman had unwittingly uttered a prophecy.

    The more Cathryn learned of Sonja, the stronger her conviction the girl was destined for Torstein, but she feared what her husband would say when he discovered she’d aided them.
    “You Vikings are generous,” she told Sonja one day. “You’re hardworking and courageous, but you don’t adapt easily to change.”
    Sonja bounced Magnus on her hip. “The mighty Romans