Page 4 of Merciful Seduction

Marteinn surfaced, coughed, then rubbed his eyes with both hands. His opponent staggered to his feet, dripping wet, and scowling. They circled slowly, sizing each other up. The Saami must weigh at least fifteen stone; not the largest man he’d ever fought, but stronger than most. However, the younger man possessed one weakness, something he intended to take full advantage of.

Predictability.

Marteinn chose a neutral stance, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to penetrate his adversary’s defense. The Saami rushed forward and Marteinn crouched, timing his next move perfectly. Careful not to attack his hips, he hugged the man’s thighs, using his hands to take out his knees from behind. He twisted his body to the right and the Saami crumpled. Then he straddled him, holding his head under water.

Sometimes, the best matches were the shortest. Of course the crowd appreciated a longer fight, but anger and desperation fueled his desire to bring this to an end. If Thor challenged him today, he’d give the god a good fight.

Flailing helplessly, the foreigner waved his hands in the air, but Marteinn only plunged his head deeper.

“Mercy,” the crowd called.

Marteinn refused to let go. Kara had shown him no mercy, why should he be any different?

“Mercy,” it came louder this time.

He didn’t recognize the dark forces gripping his heart, but all he could taste was blood.

Vengeance.

And after spending days obsessed with this match, the prize being the one thing he coveted above Kara, he refused to lose. There could be no doubt who the winner was.

“Captain!”

He glimpsed over his shoulder.

One of Jarl Erik’s escorts was wading close. “Erik commands you to release the Saami.”

Rules of conduct for the games existed, but had never been enforced. Not until fury bled from every pour in his body. Did he look like a madman?

He freed his opponent, but didn’t offer to help. The guard brushed past him, cursing his uncontrollable temper.

“If you expected mercy,” he barked. “Perhaps the weaving competition would have been a better event for you to watch.”

The guard struggled to lift the man’s limp body. Several people braved the water, offering help.

Marteinn didn’t care. He stalked to shore. Some men in the crowd praised him, most stepped aside to let him pass.

Fear.

That’s what he read in their eyes. Until today, he’d always contained his anger and remained patient.

But no longer.

After emerging from the water, he felt like a new man, ready to claim his future. He’d won and would have his freedom before the night ended.

Bathed and dressed in his finest tunic, Marteinn entered the great hall. The space was so packed with revelers, he was forced to shoulder his way through the crowd. He admired the familiar tapestries and furs, feeling a sense of satisfaction that he’d successfully defended Jarl Erik’s home all these years. The only home he’d ever known.

On the east-facing wall, small niches were carved into the stone—each hollow contained a miniature marble statue of the gods. He paused in front of the effigy of Odin, silently praying for guidance. A large hearth graced the north wall and two silver battle-axes crossed at the center hung above it. Eight trestle tables were arranged in the center of the room.

He’d rather avoid the feast, but his lord had commanded him to attend. And there was the matter of collecting his reward. Nothing could keep him from that moment. Not even Kara, who sat at the high table between her father and husband, wearing a revealing gown. He turned away, determined to ignore her. Other women propositioned him all the time, but how long would it take to find a woman who truly pleased him? One that could wash away all the pain?

He’d wager never.

“Captain Marteinn.” A man approached. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you join me for a celebratory toast?” He pointed to a table. “My son and daughter are also in attendance.”