The Raven's Embrace

By Kerrie L Garden

How did a fierce Viking warrior’s soul end up trapped within a Saxon’s body? By a prophecy from the gods about the Raven’s Embrace.

Leofric has found his soul mate in Freya. So, when he weds her, he looks forward to the life they’ll have in the land of the Saxons. But, before he can make her his in every way, he is killed while attacking a Saxon stronghold.

His spirit wanders the battlefield until he is inexplicably drawn to a certain tree. And to the Saxon, who killed him. So, it is no surprise to him when his god, Woden, appears. And with his arrival, Leofric knows his life, or should he say, his death, is about to change for all time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kerrie L Garden
• Release date: Dec 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9780648005001

Book preview

Prologue

Reading Castle, Berkshire

November, 877 AD

Her screams had long since faded an hour past but they still echoed in his head. In silence, the slaves moved around the main hall, casting frightened glances toward him. He sat with his head in his hands, his ale untouched. He’d even been unaware of his faithful retainer’s approach until the Steward spoke.

My Lord, Cuthwin softly acknowledged the grieving man before him, it grows late. Shall I summon a slave to prepare the bodies?

Odun lifted his head and Cuthwin inadvertently took a step back at the naked agony etched on the Eorl’s face. Having been Steward at the Keep long before Odun’s birth, Cuthwin knew any gesture of comfort would be rejected. And so, he waited.

What did you say, Cuthwin?

The bodies, my Lord. They need to be prepared.

I killed her, didn’t I? Odun muttered. Not waiting, nor wanting, an answer, he put his head back into his hands, his huge frame trembling with the force of his grief.

No son, you didn’t. ‘It was the will of God, Cuthwin asserted.

At the declaration, Odun’s head shot up. His reddened eyes glared at his Steward, fury and grief blazing within them. God’s will, you say? he bellowed, pounding the table with his fists, causing the cup in front of him to bounce up and down, slopping ale everywhere. "Then to hell with God and may He be damned like I am!"

At the flagrant blasphemy, Cuthwin couldn’t quite stifle his gasp as Odun leapt to his feet. Sending a final furious glare at him, Odun stumbled blindly from the hall. A few minutes later, Cuthwin heard pounding hooves as the Eorl galloped out into the wintry night. Offering up a prayer for his Lord’s safety, he slowly made his way to one of the female slaves and gave her the order to prepare the Lord’s Lady and babe for burial.

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Chapter One

Exeter, Devonshire

December, 877 AD

What is it you seek of the Oracle?

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the chamber, Freya discovered a petite woman standing before a candlelit altar. Her arms were uplifted in supplication and as she turned around, they fell to her sides. Beside her, Thyra let out a strangled gasp. Freya frowned at her friend, shaking her head before nudging her into silence. So, this was the Vala, Woden’s Prophetess. The woman who could see the future. His Oracle. But this wasn’t the reason for Thyra’s exclamation.

It was the Vala,s face! Even though she had the body of a much younger woman, her face was wrinkled and lined like an old crone’s. And her hair! Like the rest of their race, it was fair in colour, except for a single, long lock of hair on either side of her face. These were streaked as black as a raven’s feathers. Shocked beyond words, the two women could only stare open-mouthed at her.

Amused by their reaction to her appearance, she just shrugged her shoulders and waved her hands at her face and hair. This is the price one pays to commune with the Gods. Now what is it you seek of the Oracle, my daughters?

We wish to know if we wed, or not, Thyra replied, throwing a sideways glance at Freya, before adding, at least I do anyway.

And what is it you wish to know then? the Prophetess asked Freya. But before she could answer, the Vala gasped and put a hand to her throat.

What is it? Freya murmured.

Nothing, my child. For a moment, I thought I saw... the Vala paused before shaking her head, "but it is of no consequence. Perhaps it was that trickster Loki playing his games."

Suddenly, the darkened chamber seemed menacing to Freya. She wished she hadn’t agreed to escort Thyra. But she couldn’t go back on her word. It was a matter of honour after all. The Prophetess led them to a small table in the corner of the room. As she slipped into her chair, Freya withdrew from inside her cloak, a small pouch filled with the customary amount of coin. She handed it to the Vala, who reverently placed it upon the candlelit altar.

Taking the empty seat, Woden’s Oracle then laid her hands, palms facing upward upon the rune-covered table. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath then slowly exhaled it. Without warning, a chill draft swirled around the chamber. In protest, the candles on the altar fluttered wildly, sending ominous shadows darting across the walls This night I feel the presence of the Gods all around us. It’s so strong, the Vala intoned. I’ve never felt suchlike before.

She reached for the charm pouch at her waist and, untying it, placed it upon the table. From its depths, she withdrew a large rectangular piece of white linen. Opening her eyes, and with seeming deference, she smoothed the pale cloth out across the table. Picking up the pouch again, she began to mutter some sort of incantation, all the while shaking it.

Both women could only watch in rapt fascination as the Vala, ceasing her chant, spilled the contents of the pouch onto the cloth. Revealed to their spellbound gazes were small, smooth, pale-coloured stones also etched with runes. Most fell face down. All except six. These lay pointing upwards like pale spectral faces. It was then Freya noticed a strange mist beginning to furl around their legs. As it rose higher and higher, enveloping them in its eerie embrace, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She tamped down a momentary spark of fear, resisting the urge to flee.

Without warning, a voice, unmistakably male, thundered around the chamber. I speak to you, daughter of Guthrum. Heed me well!

Alarmed, Freya peered through the thick mist to where the Vala sat. Her eyes were now wide open and staring straight ahead. At the unnerving sight, Freya tried to rise from the table. Only to discover she’d been enthralled in the unyielding grip of some otherworldly, invisible force. Terrified now, she could only sit and listen in shock as the voice continued its fearful litany.

"Two souls merge in the Raven’s embrace,

One is granted a state of grace;

The other must befriend his foe,

A peace once again the land will know;

For true love is the ultimate prize,

You must seek it in your enemy’s eyes."

The chamber returned once again to stillness and the strange mist of a few moments ago, now vanished without a trace. Without warning, as though a mighty force had hit her, the breath left the Prophetesses’ body in a giant whoosh, toppling her backwards onto the floor in a crumpled heap. Both women leapt to their feet, freed at last from the power that had held them in its merciless grasp. They fled the chamber without a backward glance.

Upon reaching their chamber, they quickly opened the door, ran inside, and slammed and bolted it. Thyra sank against the closed door, her palm over her racing heart. Surely that was the work of the Gods, Freya?

I don’t know! And I don’t care! Freya all but shouted at her best friend. At once contrite, she patted the space next to her on the bed, pretending a nonchalance she was far from feeling. I’m sorry, Thyra. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Do you think the Vala’s all right? We really shouldn’t have left her like that.

Thyra flopped down onto the bed beside Freya. Well, my heart is still pounding. The only thing on my mind was going as fast as my legs could carry me. And seeing you were ahead of me, you had the same urge too.

Freya shot her friend an annoyed look. Why did Thyra notice, of all things, that part of the encounter?

Besides, I saw one of the Vala’s priestesses walking towards the chamber as we fled, Thyra pointed out, unaware of Freya’s scowl, If anything were amiss, we would’ve heard by now.

I suppose you’re right, Freya agreed, sighing aloud, but we really shouldn’t have left her like that.

Standing up, she walked to the small window and pulled aside the fur covering only to stare, unseeing, into the darkness. For the first time, she couldn’t explain away what had taken place in the Prophetesses’ chamber. Not one give to fanciful notions, she’d left the realm of soothsayers and prophecies for Thyra to pursue and only accompanied her this night with reluctance. Woden’s bones! She had just witnessed the work of the Gods. There was no other possibility. Now what was she supposed to do? And why her? Why not Thyra who hungered for such a prophecy?

She turned away from the window and put on her cloak, prepared to seek out some answers from the Vala. And to make sure she’d survived, unscathed, from their encounter with a God. Freya unbolted the door and opened it, only to discover her father, Guthrum standing at the portal. She stood aside to let him in and, as he came through the doorway, he had to stoop. And with his appearance, all thoughts of the prophetess and prophecy fled.

Freya couldn’t restrain her smile. Even if she lived to be one hundred winters, she’d never get used to her father’s massive height. Almost seven feet, Guthrum was taller than most, so getting through these Saxon doorways was the bane of his existence. Especially now, considering his ferocious scowl.

But even with the ever-present glower, at forty-two winters, Guthrum was still a very attractive man. Straight, blond hair, which showed no signs of grey yet, framed a very handsome and clean-shaven face. His lack of a beard was a legacy from her mother. Even though it was customary for a warrior to grow a beard, Norda couldn’t abide them. So, in deference to her, he shaved his off. And even though she’d been dead these past ten winters, he still couldn’t bring himself to grow one.

But despite the lack of a beard, her father was a widower much sought after, with a well-muscled body and broad shoulders that put to shame warriors’ half his age. Though, at times, he emanated an aura of unrestrained violence, which made many fearful of him.

Father and daughter stared at one another in silence, until Guthrum’s green-eyed gaze swung to Thyra. I’d like to speak to Freya in private. Perhaps you’d like to join your father and brother at the feast? Guthrum ordered, jerking his head towards the door.

Without a word, Thyra grabbed her cloak from off the peg behind the door and all but ran from the room.

Father. For shame, Freya admonished, trying to hide her smile. You know how terrifying you look when you scowl like that. No wonder Thyra fled.

What scowl? I gave her my best smile, he replied, wiggling his eyebrows in feigned innocence.

She couldn’t contain her mirth and broke into laughter. What am I going to do with you? When she planted a kiss upon his cheek, her usually remote father surprised her by enfolding her in his arms. After a few moments, he pulled away and looked down into her upturned face.

You wish to speak with me, Father? Freya prompted.

Guthrum sighed again and she started to fret. It was unusual for her father to be so reticent in speaking his mind. He was like his father, Ragnar Lodobroch, in that respect. Say what you think and to Hel with the consequences, which, unfortunately, for her dear grandfather, had led to his untimely death. Father, you’re worrying me. You do know you can tell me anything.

Sweetling, I didn’t mean to upset you, Guthrum hastened to reassure her, it’s nothing unseemly. Just something that would please me greatly. But, alas, I know not your feelings on the matter.

Freya was relieved, but at the same time extremely curious. She wished her usually verbose father would just spit it out. The impulse to snort with impatience rose within her but she forced the urge down. It would only anger her father, who thought it unseemly behaviour for a lady. She waited for him to continue, her eyes demurely downcast so he wouldn’t see her mounting exasperation.

As if speaking to himself, Guthrum pondered, How can I say this? I suppose I should get right to the heart of the matter. Or as your mother used to say ‘the meat on the bone’, he sighed once more then asked, "You’ve known Leofric for a long time now, ja?

At the mention of Leofric, her father’s personal bodyguard, Freya’s head snapped up. Had the rogue got into strife again? She smiled in remembrance at the mischief she and Leofric had been involved in over the winters. Or rather, the times when she, with her impulsiveness, had led Leofric into trouble with her father.

Like the time when she was but ten winters. When other girls her age were learning how to run a smooth household, Freya longed to wield a sword and shield like a true Shieldmaiden. But it was almost unheard of in their village for a female to learn swordplay. Yet, somehow, she’d talked Leofric into teaching her the art. He diligently taught her in secret and she was only thankful she’d mastered it when her father caught them. Guthrum had been so furious he’d gone to Hedeby for three days, fearing he’d do something he’d regret to the leader of his Hearthhorde if he stayed.

Then there was the time Leofric had taught her how to sit astride a horse like a man, also forbidden to females. She’d been so proficient at it, he’d dubbed her his little Valkyrie, a name he still used on occasion. Those carefree days were now past and Freya had begun to see him in a new light. He was still her big brother, but now he invoked strange feelings in her. If he gave her so much as a smile, Freya would feel hot all over and strangely out of breath.

Whilst Freya stared inwardly at some long-forgotten memory, Guthrum watched her closely. The silly, bemused look on her face gave him the first stirrings of hope that Freya reciprocated some of Leofric’s feelings for her. He cleared his throat, bringing her back to the present.

Ja, I’ve known Leofric for a very long time, haven’t I father? she murmured, her lips forming a soft smile.

Well, Leofric came to me some hours past and pointed out you are way past the age to wed, having seen twenty winters. At Freya’s indignant look, Guthrum held up his hand. He meant no offence Freya. Leofric also knows about the promise I made to your mother before she died. That you be allowed to choose your husband. He gave her a hard look before adding, It seems you’re in no hurry to choose, methinks.

Does this mean you’re going to choose for me, Father? Freya blurted out, alarmed by the turn in the conversation.

Nay – nay, of course not. A promise is a promise. The choice is still yours to make. Although, someone did make an offer to wed you earlier this day.

Father, I’m confused. What has this to do with Leofric?

Freya began pacing up and down the chamber. As most girls were wedded by the time they reached fourteen winters, Freya was considered an old maid amongst her friends. She now felt trapped and it was her own fault. Being the Jarl’s only child had bought many offers and suitors over the winters. However, Freya had seen first-hand with her parents’ marriage what it was like to love and be loved. Theirs had truly been a love match and she yearned for such a marriage herself. And as Leofric had so rudely pointed out, she wasn’t getting any younger. Suddenly, she stopped pacing and squeezed her eyes shut. In a somewhat strangled voice she asked, Who offered for my hand?

Guthrum tried not to laugh at his daughter’s odd behaviour. It was though she awaited sentence from the Thing for some crime she’d committed. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he answered her with just one word, Leofric.

Freya’s eyes snapped open the same time as her mouth and Guthrum snickered, enjoying her shock. You seem surprised Freya. Surely you knew Leofric has feelings for you.

Unable to form a single word, Freya could only stare open-mouthed at her father. For Guthrum, the opportunity to bait her just a little was too irresistible. Obviously, this is displeasing to you. I will tell Leofric his suit was not accepted, he said over his shoulder as he moved towards the door.

Suddenly, Freya was between him and the door. He didn’t know she could move so fast. Thunderstruck, it was his turn to stare at her speechless. Oblivious of her father’s astonished look, Freya started pacing again, seeming to consider Leofric’s offer.

Now let’s not be too hasty, Father. I need to think on this for a few moments. As Leofric pointed out, I’m way past the proper marriageable age. She gave an exaggerated sigh before adding, I suppose if he wants to take an old woman to wife, who am I not to accept his offer.

It took all Guthrum’s willpower not to roar with laughter. If only Freya could see her face. She looked just like a cat who’d been offered cream, contradicting the comments she’d just made. I shall send Leofric to you, so you can give him the bad news. Let’s hope he doesn’t lose his appetite for the feast.

At his own jest, Guthrum burst out laughing. Seeing Freya’s incensed look, he thought it prudent to beat a hasty retreat. And as he closed the door, he heard a loud thwack on the other side as some unknown projectile hit it. He chortled even more as he took the stairs two at a time, looking forward to telling Leofric Freya’s decision.

A few moments later, Leofric stood outside Freya’s chamber wondering how he should deal with her. Guthrum’s amusement and his cryptic request he attend Freya hadn’t alleviated his fears at all. If anything, his fears of rejection increased. And it seemed his unique gift of seeing things before they happened had abandoned him too. So here he was outside her door, scared as a greenhorn youth. How should he treat her? He could no longer treat her like a little sister. For with his marriage proposal, their relationship entered new territory. Did she still see him as her big brother? Or was there more to her feelings?

Leofric shook his head at his wayward thoughts. The only way to find out was to ask the lady herself. He plastered a smile on his face and rapped on the door. His arm hadn’t even fallen to his side when the door flew open. With wide eyes and a soft smile playing on her lips, Freya just stood there, staring up at him. May I enter Freya? he smiled down at her and, in those few moments, decided the best course of action was to treat her as he’d always done. Or have you something in there you don’t want your father to know about, my little Valkyrie? he asked as his gaze swept the chamber.

At the familiar nickname, Freya snapped out of her reverie and moved aside to let him pass. Though not as tall as Guthrum, Leofric also had to stoop as he came through the doorway. Behind him, Freya shut the door and leaned against it with her hands behind her back. For the first time in a very long time, she was at a loss for words.

Many women had tried to entice Leofric into the marital bed. But thus far, none had succeeded. And yet, he wanted her. Intuitively, she knew his proposal had nothing to do with her being the Jarl’s daughter. And everything to do with her. At this knowledge, she felt a strange but pleasant sensation course through her. In silence, she continued to study the man in front of her.

Leofric was renowned as one of the strongest and most feared of all her fathers’ warriors. Not to mention one of the bravest. The fact he was exceedingly pleasing to look upon hadn’t escaped her notice either. At thirty winters, he was a warrior in every sense with a massive chest and large, muscular arms and legs.

Even now, Freya watched the play of corded muscles ripple underneath his tunic as he moved about her chamber. Ja, he was much coveted with that body and face. A face framed by long, wavy, shoulder-length fair hair. She raised her eyes to his and was struck anew at how blue they were. When Leofric looked at you with those piercing eyes, it was if he could see into your very soul. But at this moment, she only glimpsed amusement and something else she couldn’t define in their depths.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at me in that way, Freya, he drawled, leaning unperturbed against a wall with his arms and legs crossed.

At his observation, Freya felt heat dust her cheeks Oh? And what way would that be? she couldn’t resist asking?

Hmmm. Like a woman usually looks at me, he paused, tilting his head to one side as though deep in thought before adding, with desire. Heartened by her close perusal of him, Leofric watched as Freya blushed at his answer and couldn’t hold back his grin.

At his audacity, Freya turned towards the door and patted her chin with her forefinger as though she were also deep in thought. Your big head just might fit through the doorway on your way out, she retorted.

Leofric threw back his head and hooted with laughter. That’s what he loved most about her. He didn’t intimidate her in the slightest. Other women tried to flatter him but not his Freya. With her tart tongue, she bought him back to earth with a thud. Loki’s Balls! At times, she could flay the skin off a goat with said tongue. But he’d have her no other way. And have her he would. I assume your father spoke with you earlier, he broached what had sent him with such haste to her chamber. Once more he watched in fascination as Freya’s cheeks reddened.

Thor’s Hammer! The rogue was enjoying her discomfort too much. So, you think I’m past marriageable age, Leofric Gunnarsson? I may have seen twenty winters but that doesn’t mean I’m an old maid.

Standing there with her hands on her hips, indignation oozing from every pore, Leofric vowed he’d never seen a more breathtaking sight. At that moment, the last thing she reminded him of was an old maid. In her vexation, full, creamy white breasts threatened to spill out over the top of the sleeveless green velvet gown she’d donned for the feast. The gown moulded itself to her slim body, revealing a narrow waist and curvaceous hips that tapered down to long, elegant legs. To the Saxons, Freya was considered tall for a woman. But within their own people she was of average height, her head just reaching his shoulder. Yet, nothing else could be called average about her. Not with that cloud of silvery hair billowing around her head like a silken halo and falling well past her luscious, curvy hips.

And those beguiling eyes of hers, the colour of newborn grass. It was the first thing you noticed about Freya for the shade was unusual amongst the Danir. But it was more in the way they slanted upwards, like those of a wild cat he’d once seen in Miklagaard. Unbidden came the thought of how they would look in the throes of passion and Leofric felt himself harden. Frigga’s Tits! He was acting exactly like a greenhorn youth. If he didn’t control himself, he’d throw her down on her own bed and take her, consequences be damned. He belatedly realised Freya had some inkling as to his unruly thoughts because she now watched him with wariness. Her next question confirmed his suspicion.

Who’s looking at whom with desire now?

Leofric had the grace to look abashed and she didn’t try to conceal her grin at his obvious chagrin. He shoved himself away from the wall and came to stand in front of her. As I was saying, your father spoke to you of my offer.

Hmmm. Now let me see. We spoke of many things. Was there a conversation about an offer? Freya mused, tapping her chin again.

Leofric couldn’t help it. He grinned. The little Valkyrie taunted him. Well two could play this game. Before she could react, he trapped her within the circle of his arms and planted a kiss on her pert mouth. However, the moment his lips met her soft, yielding ones, he knew he’d made a colossal mistake. Far from being the chaste kiss he’d intended, all his pent-up passion of the past several months spilled over into it. And coupled with the fact Freya was kissing him back with the same fervour only served to further fuel his lust. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Leofric knew he had to break the kiss or Freya would be bedded without the bond of marriage. Although it wasn’t unheard of, he wanted Freya’s first time to be memorable and not a quick tumble to satiate his uncontrollable lust.

With reluctance, he pulled away and held her at arm’s length, trying to calm his choppy breathing. But when he looked down into her face, she presented such a tempting picture he very nearly succumbed to kissing her again. Her eyes were glazed over with passion and her lips, swollen from his kiss. My apologies, Freya. I didn’t mean to kiss you like that. My intention was a friendly kiss, one meant to fluster you, that’s all.

Are you’re saying you don’t want to kiss me like that? Freya was now glaring at him.

Nay. Ja. I mean... Leofric ground to a halt when he saw her impish smile. He grinned at her. You’re not sorry I kissed you, are you? Perchance my humble proposal is pleasing to you, Sweetling?

Well, it depends?

Depends on what?

"On whether you pay the Mundr or kidnap me."

It was the Danir custom upon gaining a woman’s consent, the warrior could either buy her from the head of her family for a price or abduct her one night. Leofric could see Freya hoped he’d choose the former and buy her from Guthrum. Also, by paying the Mundr, the woman knew how much her husband respected her. Crossing his arms over his massive chest, he tapped his finger against his chin, in much the same way as she’d done. Hmmm. Which shall it be? Both have merits. Hmmm. What to do? What to do?

Freya couldn’t restrain herself and punched him in the arm. The brute didn’t even feel it.

Did you just try and punch me? Leofric asked, stunned.

Ja.

Why?

You know very well. Methinks I shall take myself off to the feast instead of staying here with a braying ass.

A braying ass? Trying to conceal his mirth, Leofric once again trapped her within his arms, Of course, I’ll pay the Mundr. It’s the honourable thing to do. After all, you’re an extraordinary woman, Freya, he whispered in her ear.

At his words, she threw her arms around his neck and gazed up at him with joy. Oh Leofric! You won’t be sorry. I promise I’ll be a good wife.

Throwing back his head, he roared with laughter so much it brought tears to his eyes. When he could at last speak without falling back into chuckles, he gasped, You’ll be anything but a good wife, Freya. But I’d have you no other way, Dearling.

At his choked remark, Freya scowled up at him and poked her tongue out, an extremely unladylike thing to do. But that was his Freya. Still chuckling, he released her. I think we should join the Feast. Your father only trusts me so far with his only daughter.

Freya nodded then sighed, all signs of humour gone. "But you ride out on the morrow to Chippenham. You won’t even be back for the burning of the Yule log."

At her crestfallen look, Leofric couldn’t resist running a finger down her cheek. I know, Sweetling, but it’s the way of warriors, alas. But we best hurry or I’ll miss the favourite part of the feast.

Dare I ask what it is? Freya knew Leofric was trying to cheer her up by changing the subject and she smiled at him.

The eating part, of course, he answered as if she’d asked a daft question.

A braying ass is right. They like eating too, she said as she went to the door.

Leofric reached around her and opened the door, sweeping out his arm. After you, my Lady.

As she moved passed him, she grinned up at him, all thoughts of the prophecy long gone. She was going to be Leofric’s wife! And she couldn’t wait to tell her father and Thyra the good news. Freya almost ran down the hallway, aware Leofric trailed behind her.

Mesmerised by the swaying hips in front of him, he mused, Leofric Gunnarsson you’re a very lucky man, indeed.

***

The next morning, wrapped in a fur-lined woollen cloak to keep out the biting cold, Freya lifted her face to the rising sun. It seemed even the weather cooperated