HE REALLY WAS AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN. FOR all that she loved him to the height and breadth of her being, there was simply no denying that. Rycca sipped the herbal tea Cymbra had brought her, good for an uncertain stomach, and tried for the hundredth time since returning to Hawkforte to think how best to approach her husband on the matter that absorbed them all.
Wolscroft remained free. Like it or not—and Dragon still simmered—Alfred could do nothing. He lacked the evidence to bring the Mercian lord to justice, and without it any attempt to punish him would only deepen the crisis.
So what to do?
Rycca knew perfectly well. The problem lay in convincing Dragon.
Every time she tried to bring up the subject, he cut her off, which made her suspect he already knew what was in her mind. That he did this by drawing her into his arms and dazzling her with his lovemaking was beside the point. Or at least it was after she recovered enough to think again.
"Some place with no bed," she murmured to herself, "no pile of straw, no mossy riverbank, no chair, bench, or table, no field or tree, no…"
She sighed and tried hard not to smile, without success. Loving Dragon and being loved by him put all the world, even Wolscroft, in a different perspective.
But it did not solve the problem.
That morning when she rose there was a certain crispness to the air, an early hint of the season's turning. She needed no one to tell her that within weeks the sea lanes to the northlands would begin to bear ice. They had to return home soon whether this was resolved or not.
And if it was not?
If it lingered on to the next year?
Then Dragon would have one more reason to seek to kill Wolscroft before the traitor could strike again.
Her smile deepening, Rycca touched her still-flat belly. Not a word of it had she breathed, not to anyone, but Krysta and Cymbra knew nonetheless. Yet did her dear sisters of spirit keep her secret as she bided her time, seeking the proper moment to tell her fierce husband.
The moment Wolscroft died, she thought, and wondered that she could contemplate so dispassionately the demise of her father. Yet never had he truly been a father to her. As a field sown with salt bears no crops, so did she bear no love for the man from whom she had never known aught but hatred.
Die he must and the sooner the better. But in the proper way, as the traitor Udell had died, causing men to rally rejoicing around their king.
It was very pleasant in Krysta's solar, the room scented with the fragrance of drying herbs and filled with sunlight. But the scene just a little beyond was not so gentle by far. With a sigh, Rycca contemplated the guards on the high walls around Hawkforte. Besides the Hawk's own men, the men of the Wolf and the Dragon kept watch as well. Night and day, hour to hour, never eased for a moment, three warlord husbands kept guard over their beloved wives. Out beyond the harbor, boats patrolled. In the hills beyond Hawkforte, sentries stood their posts. No one entered the town without being identified. No one came near the stronghold without being approved.
At this rate, they would never catch Wolscroft.
Cymbra understood that full well, as did Krysta. Rycca saw it in their eyes but understood they would not speak to her of it. The matter was for her to decide.
How to persuade him… ?
The raven landed on the windowsill nearby. It was the same bird who came every day. If Krysta was about, she lingered. Otherwise, she usually flew away quickly. Not now, though. Now she cocked her gleaming black head to one side and gazed at Rycca, who looked back for a moment before reaching for the dry husk of bread Cymbra had brought her. Crumbling it, she stretched her arm forward slowly so as not to alarm the bird and sprinkled the crumbs on the sill.
"Come and eat," she said softly.
The bird hesitated but then sidestepped forward and pecked at the bread. Rycca returned to her musings. When all the crumbs were gone, the raven began to preen her feathers. Rycca watched her idly, still thinking of how to make Dragon see reason.
"There you are," Krysta said as she came into the solar.
Rycca and the bird alike looked up.
"Oh, Rycca, how are you feeling?"
"Much better. Cymbra's cure worked wonders, as usual."
"Good… You know, I think she is downstairs now and would like to talk with you."
Glad of something to do, Rycca rose at once. She thought Krysta would come with her but the golden-haired woman merely smiled and leaned against the window.
Out in the corridor, Rycca thought she heard Krysta speak to someone. That was rather odd, for there was no one left in the solar. Perhaps it was just the wind whistling around the corners of the high tower.
Cymbra was in the hall. She looked happy to see Rycca but a little surprised, too. Lion was playing at her feet. Rycca sat down beside them, watching the child with pleasure. Never before had she given much heed to children but now they seemed to be everywhere and ever fascinating.
On impulse, she asked suddenly, "What is it like to have a baby?"
Cymbra smiled. "Glorious, messy, thrilling, almost beyond belief."
"No, I mean afterward, when they're… here in the world, depending on you."
"Terrifying and wonderful."
Rycca nodded. The little boy was playing with an assortment of carved wooden animals. There was his namesake, the lion, as well as horses, bears, and several fish and birds…
Birds.
Really, there was such a thing as being so preoccupied as not to see what was before her.
"You know," Rycca said softly, "Krysta never did really explain what makes the friends of her calling so unusual."
Cymbra laughed. Her son heard her, looked up, and bestowed upon her a smile of such radiance as to make both women forget all else for a precious moment.
Krysta came down a short while later. She looked glad to see them together. Taking a seat, she said, "Thorgold has told Raven that everything is in place."
Cymbra nodded briskly. She put her hand over
Rycca's and said, "Should Wolscroft come now, he will be caught."
Her father…
She spared one last moment of yearning for what could never be, then nodded.
"NO! BY ALL THE GODS, YOU MUST BE MAD!" Rycca looked up at the infuriated Viking glaring down at her from his great height and schooled herself to calm. Tempting though it was to give back as good as she was getting, it would avail her nothing. Besides, he was merely concerned about her and that was rather sweet.
"It is the only solution," she said reasonably.
"Solution? It is a formula for disaster! You have been through too much. It has addled your wits if you think for one moment that I will ever agree—"
"My father may be able to pose as a rational man, but in fact he is not. He is ever driven by emotion, one in particular: rage. He will be determined to finish this and will seize any chance to do so." She turned to Hawk, who stood nearby, Krysta beside him. "You have a lodge near here. I have already stayed there."
"No!" Dragon said before anyone else could reply. They were all of them, Wolf and Cymbra included, in the great hall of Hawkforte. Rycca had chosen that as the best place and this as the best time to confront her husband. Yet her heart thundered as she contemplated what she was trying to get him to do.
"There is no other way," she insisted.
"Nothing else but to use you as bait? Madness!"
"Don't make me say it."
"Say what?" Wolf asked. He was leaning against a pillar, Cymbra close by, observing his brother with the air of a man torn between sympathy and amusement.
Gritting his teeth, Dragon said, "That I used her as such to lure out Magnus. It almost got her killed."
"Me? What about
you
?" Rycca demanded, momentarily forgetting her purpose. That night of terror still lived too vividly in her memory. "It almost got
you
killed. You're the one who had to fight him, naked, unarmed, and him having your Moorish sword."
Hawk and Wolf exchanged a look. "
That's
how Magnus died?" Wolf asked. He grinned. "Pretty damn good, brother."
The women looked to the ceiling and sighed in exasperation.
It was left to Hawk to break the deadlock. "I hate to say this, but Rycca has a point. Unless Wolscroft is lured out, this can't be resolved."
"So you would use
my wife
—" Dragon challenged.
"Fully protected," Hawk hastened to add, "surrounded by all our might. There is only one road and the forest on both sides is very thick. We could hide a hundred men within a few feet of that road and no one could detect them."
Dragon was silent for a moment. He gave every appearance of waging a battle within himself. Finally, he said, "A hundred men isn't enough."
Rycca's heart leaped, for she recognized that as just the tiniest concession to the plan they were discussing.
"Don't forget Krysta's friends," she said quickly. "They will help too."
Her husband scowled. "What friends?"
"It's a little complicated," Hawk replied. "Let's just say my wife has friends in high places… and low ones. Wolscroft won't be able to belch without our knowing it."
"I still don't like it…"
Rycca took her husband's hand in hers. She looked up into his eyes. Gently, with all the confidence and courage she could muster, she said, "We will never be free until this is over."
UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS, NOT A HUNDRED men but three times that number slipped away from Hawkforte. Saxon and Norse alike, led by the Wolf and the Hawk, they took up position along the road that passed the lodge. By dawn they had so blended into the surrounding forest that as day came, the birds, deer, rabbits, foxes, and all the other denizens of the wood behaved just as they always did, with no awareness of the deadly presence come among them.
Not long after, Dragon and Rycca rode out of Hawkforte. They made no secret of their departure or where they were bound. A spy would have had to be deaf and blind to miss what they were about.
Before midday, they were at the lodge. Together, they unsaddled Sleipnir and Grani and got them settled. That done, Dragon stood for a few minutes looking out toward the road. He saw nothing, which satisfied him. Taking Rycca's arm, he led her into the lodge.
It was as she remembered, a haven of comfort and serenity. With a glad sigh, she kicked off her shoes and sat down on the side of the bed. Smiling, she patted the mattress beside her.
Her husband scowled. It seemed to have become his habit. "We aren't here to relax."
"Wolscroft may not even be in the area. It could take days for this to be settled."
"He's here," Dragon said with certainty. "He will know what happened at Winchester, and he will be looking for a way to stop us before we can threaten him further."
Privately, Rycca believed the same but she saw no reason to stress it. Nothing would happen until dark. Of that she was confident. Which meant…
"We have hours to fill. Any ideas?"
When he realized her meaning, he looked startled. With a laugh, she scrambled off the bed and went to him.
"Oh, Dragon, for heaven's sake, do you really want to mope around here all day? I certainly don't. I still haven't gotten over being afraid Magnus was going to kill you, and I simply don't want to think about death anymore. I want to celebrate life."
"There are three hundred men out there—"
"Which is why we're in here." She raised herself on tiptoe, bit the lobe of his ear, and whispered, "I promise not to yell too loudly."
A shudder ran through him. Even as his big hands stroked her back, he said, "Warriors don't mope."
"No, of course they don't. It was a poor choice of words. But you'll be pacing back and forth, looking out the windows, or you'll go get that whetstone I noticed in the stable and sharpen your sword endlessly, or you'll be staring off into space with that dangerous look you get when you're contemplating mayhem. You'll be totally oblivious to me and—"
He laughed despite himself and drew her closer. "Enough! Heaven forbid I behave so churlishly."
"Speaking of heaven…"
With the covers kicked back, the bed was smooth and cool. They undressed each other slowly, relishing the wonder of discovery that still came to them fresh and pure as their very first time.
"Remember?" Rycca murmured as she trailed her lips along his broad, powerfully muscled shoulder and down the solid wall of his chest. "I was so nervous…"
"Really? Fooled me… Ahh…"
"I'd never seen anything so beautiful as you."
"Not… beautiful… you are…"
"I can't believe how strong you are. Why am I never afraid with you?"
"Know I'd die 'fore hurting you? Sweetheart…"
"Ohhh! Dragon… please…"
His hands and lips moved over her, sweetly tormenting. She clutched his shoulders, her hips rising, and welcomed him deep within her. Still he tantalized her, making her writhe and laughing when she squeezed him hard with her powerful inner muscles. But the laughter turned quickly to a moan of delight.
She looked up into his perfectly formed face, more handsome than any man had a right to be, and into his tawny eyes that were the windows of a soul more beautiful than any physical form. A piercing sense of blessedness filled her that she should be so fortunate as to love and be loved by such a man.
Her cresting cry was caught by him, his mouth hard against hers, the spur to his own completion that went on and on, seemingly without end.
YET THE WORLD DID RETURN, FOR ALL THAT, even if it seemed to shimmer around the edges. Dragon lay back on the bed, Rycca tucked close beside him, and waited for the thundering of his heart to ease. So determined had he been on vigilance that he could scarcely believe how utterly removed from all thought of danger he had allowed himself to become.
But perhaps "allowed" was the wrong notion altogether. His feelings for Rycca were constant, permitting no variation for circumstance.
She was asleep, which was good. The longer she slept, the faster all this would be over for her. And over it would be, if he had to hunt down Wolscroft, wring the truth from him by whatever means necessary, and drag him in front of Alfred himself. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that.