Lord of Hawkfell Island (13 page)

“You worry overmuch. I feel so itchy to move, I think I'll scream if I have to hide here a moment longer. There are sand fleas here, Mirana.”

She and Mirana rose and stretched, then walked slowly forward, peering through the dense foliage onto the beach. There was no one to be seen, not in any direction. It was silent. Odom and Erm were probably back at their farmsteads, getting more men together. She'd been surprised that they could move so quickly with their wounds, but they were running from the beach the moment they'd seen Rorik and his men leap over the side of their longboat into the surf. Entti was right. They had to leave and they had to do it quickly. It made no difference that Rorik had left both warships unguarded.

“All right,” she said. “Quickly, Entti!” They bolted from the cover of the trees and ran as fast as they could toward the longboats.

“Hurry, Entti, fetch whatever there is from Rorik's warship, but move quickly!”

She herself was pushing with all her strength at the bow of Rorik's warship, grunting as it eased very slowly on the wet sand toward the water. She felt fear pounding through her, and strength she didn't know she had. She pushed harder, then harder still. A huge wave burst onto the sand and the warship finally slid forward toward the water.

Entti shouted that she'd found water skins, food bags and weapons. She was crowing, rubbing her hands together, smiling as Mirana had never seen her smile before. “Aye, perhaps I'll leave Hafter his sword. It has that fool's blood on it. Aye, here's a clean one I'll take!”

“Hurry, Entti!”

“Mirana, they're leagues from here. You give Rorik too much credit. He isn't a god, he's just a man, like all the other men. Stop your fretting.”

“No, Entti, you're quite wrong.”

At the sound of Rorik's voice, Mirana felt herself grow very still. She felt suddenly very cold. She'd known, by all the gods, she'd known how smart he was, how treacherous.

She slowly turned to face him. Hafter stood at his right, his eyes on Entti.

“I knew,” Mirana said, her voice dull, “I knew we wouldn't trick you.”

“Ah, I knew as well that you wouldn't dash off into the woods, not knowing where to go. You're not a fool. And there are those men you and Entti wounded. It was well done of you, but again, I knew you wouldn't leave because those men and their families just might be waiting for you. You did well, but you couldn't escape me, Mirana. You will never escape me.”

Slowly, Mirana drew the knife. There were still flecks of Odom's blood drying on it. “We're leaving, Rorik.
Entti! Come here and bring the food and water.”

Hafter looked at Mirana as if she were a fool. He grinned toward Entti and called out, “You don't have to obey her any longer, sweeting. Be a good girl and come to me. I will take care of you. I won't let her hurt you anymore. If she has promised you rewards to help her reach her brother, she is lying. Come, sweeting.”

Suddenly Entti looked perplexed, like a child who couldn't understand why her parents were arguing. She looked from Mirana back to Hafter. He stretched out his hand to her. “Come, Entti, I'll see that she doesn't hurt you ever again. You can believe me, trust me.”

“All right,” Entti whispered. Only Mirana saw the glimmer of Hafter's sword she'd slipped alongside her body, hidden in the folds of her gown. Hadn't Hafter heard her speaking? Was he so caught in his belief of her as a sweet halfwit that he couldn't grasp anything else?

Hafter was smiling at Entti and nodding, his expression gentle and reassuring, the look one would give to a slow child. But his stance was smug and confident. As for Rorik, he never looked away from Mirana's face. She saw him begin to frown and wondered if he were beginning to doubt Entti.

She held herself perfectly still, as if deep in thought, waiting tense and anxious.

Suddenly, Rorik heard a choking yell. He whipped about to see Hafter falling slowly to his knees in the sand. He was clutching his head and he stared up at Entti, who stood over him, the sword handle extended.

“Don't move, Hafter,” she said, this voice very different from the voice he knew. It was the voice he'd heard just before he and Rorik had come out to catch
them, but then he'd thought he was mistaken, he'd thought . . . He wanted to vomit, from the blow and from his own stupidity.

Rorik yelled, “By Thor's hammer, what is the meaning of this!” He took a step toward Hafter, then stopped in his tracks. He shook his head. “Never,” he said, looking from Entti to Mirana, “never again will I underestimate a woman. You are no simple female, are you, Entti? No sweet-faced child to warm a man's bed and smile at his jests. You aren't Mirana's hostage and you never were. By all the gods, I was a fool to disbelieve what my good sense was screaming at me. I was a fool to disregard the very words I heard you speaking to Mirana, no witless child's words they were.”

“Go away, Lord Rorik,” Mirana said, her voice cold as the night wind. “Go away. Hafter will be all right. Evidently Entti has some liking for him and thus didn't kill him. Go away. I have no wish to hurt you and now it is the two of us against you. We will win, Rorik. Entti knows weapons as well as I do. Aye, she is vicious with that sword and she won't hesitate to stick it through your belly. Do not forget the feel of my knife in your throat. I will do it again, only this time, your blood will spurt out onto the sand. Go away.”

She didn't believe what she'd said for a single instant, but there was no hesitation, no uncertainty in her voice.

Rorik looked undecided. Had he believed her? She had sounded vicious, very sure of herself. Was it possible he was frightened of her? She had never seen this expression before and was instantly wary. No, she wouldn't fall into his trap again. She would sooner trust Odom the bull. She took a step back from him, keeping the knife pointed out in front of her, aimed at his chest.

He sighed, then said, his hands splayed in front of him, “You plan to push both warships into the sea. What will I do? I have no wish to be stranded here. Those warships are valuable. They cost me much silver.”

“I am sorry, but you would follow us, and I cannot take the chance.”

“What if I swear to let you go,” he said very quietly, his eyes never leaving her face.

She stared at him, not knowing what was in his mind, but this man who sounded as if he were pleading, as if he were trying to bargain with her, she didn't recognize. The Rorik she knew never bargained. He commanded, he ordered. He never gave an inch, never faltered or acted the supplicant. Something wasn't right and she felt her belly knot and twist. She took another step away from him.

She shouted over her shoulder, “Entti, come here. Leave Hafter. You've downed him. Don't worry about him now, he will survive the pain to his head.”

Entti, after one final look at Hafter, turned away to do Mirana's bidding. Suddenly Hafter jerked upward and tackled her, slamming her facedown onto the sand, coming down hard on her back. He twisted the sword from her hand and flung it beyond her reach. She struggled wildly with him but it did no good. He was large and he was heavy and he simply lay flat on her, forcing her face into the wet sand.

As Mirana cried out, turning to run to help Entti, Rorik was on her, grabbing and twisting her wrist until he felt the bones twisting, ready to break beneath his strength. Still, she didn't release the knife, if anything her fingers tightened around the ivory handle. He hardened his grip. He stared down at her face, saw her eyes nearly black with pain and determination.

“You cannot win now, Mirana, for I am the stronger. Surely you will realize that. I can tighten my hold and break every bone in your hand. Drop the knife, damn you. Drop it now.”

S
HE COULD ONLY
shake her head, biting her tongue to keep from screaming. He suddenly jerked her arm upward, changing his grip, two fingers pressing on the inside of her wrist. Her fingers went instantly numb and the knife dropped to the wet sand, making not a sound.

She kicked him, but he was fast, and her knee struck his thigh, which was pain enough. A soft keening noise was coming from deep in her throat. There was a sheen of blankness in her eyes, the vivid green dull and glazed. She fought him mindlessly now, and he knew he had to put a stop to it. Rorik knew she was out of control.

He struck her jaw hard and clean. She sighed softly and sagged against him.

He yelled over his shoulder, “Have you gotten Entti conquered, Hafter?”

“Aye, but she has broken my head, and all because I wanted to care for her. I just wanted to save her from Mirana's folly. I will never understand a woman, Rorik.”

“At least she didn't stick the other end of the sword through your flesh. Be grateful for that.”

“Aye, I am. She must know I've a hard head. Ah, her perfidy still shocks me.” Rorik thought Hafter would
burst into tears. “All I wanted to do was care for her.”

Entti tried again to rear up, to break away from him, but Hafter was strong and big. He pressed her back, even as she screamed at him over her shoulder, “Care for me! You stupid bastard, you're naught but a selfish cruel animal! You bray like a mindless lout. You believe yourself so kind, so tender with a simpleminded slave. Aye, and why not? I never said you nay! If I had, you would have clouted me and raped me or just killed me! I should have killed you, more fool I. Aye, dead you would look as fetching as you believe yourself to be.”

“I do not believe you,” Hafter said slowly, still unwilling to accept this woman who was so different from the one he'd taken to his bed. She'd been such a simple woman and he'd given her so many smiles, all of them gentle, all of them filled with kindness, and he'd patted her as she'd passed him in genuine liking so many times, on her shoulder, on her bottom, aye, he'd even taken her hand and gently squeezed it. But the truth of it was that she was a shrew and a termagant, just like the other one whom Rorik was holding unconscious against him.

“Hafter,” Rorik called, “come now and get off her and tie her securely. Think before you act whenever you deal with either of them. After you tie Entti tightly, call the other men. They are but twenty yards inland.”

“You told them to remain close by,” Hafter said slowly. He shook his head, saying low, “I am a great fool. I have seen nothing clearly, understood nothing.”

“Stop condemning yourself,” Rorik said. “All of us believed Entti to be different. I told the others to remain close by because I didn't want them to get lost or come across any family or friends of the men brought low by these two docile females.”

He swung Mirana up into his arms. She didn't weigh much, this woman who had too much fight in her, this damned woman who wouldn't give up, even when she knew she couldn't win, even when she knew he could kill her.

He didn't want to kill her. He felt profound relief that he'd found her unharmed. If there was any abuse to be done, he wanted to be the one to do it.

“You killed her, you bastard!”

Rorik merely smiled at this new Entti with her narrowed, vicious eyes and a voice to pierce a man's eardrums, and said, “Nay, her jaw is as hard as her head. I didn't break it. I simply don't wish to have to fight her more for a while. Hafter, tie those ropes more securely or she might do you in again. Get it into your brain that she isn't simple, she isn't willing or soft or meek.”

Rorik looked down at the woman in his arms. Her head lolled back, her white throat was bare. She looked defenseless. She looked very female, very soft, but by all the gods, he should know her better by now. The only thing soft about her was her white flesh. He needed her if he was ever going to gain revenge on her damned half-brother. But how to keep her from killing everyone on his island? He didn't want to have to be on his guard all the time. But how to avoid keeping her tied to his bed? He hated doing it, hated seeing the raw flesh of her wrists when he changed from one wrist to the other. But he knew as well that the women would find a way to unchain her just as soon as he was gone from the farmstead, damn them for their loyalty to her, his enemy.

He considered several alternatives as they rowed back toward Hawkfell Island, Mirana on the planking, hands and ankles bound, his left foot resting on her neck.

It was but moments later when she said, her voice vicious and low, “Get your foot off my neck.”

He heard her easily over the slapping of the waves against the side of the longboat, over the smooth motion of the oars dipping into the water and rhythmically drawing hard, over the talk of the men, over the whipping wind and the cawing of gulls overhead, for her voice was mean and hard and furious, and it pleased him very much and, too, he'd been waiting for her to speak, even looking forward to it. He'd won and he knew that she knew it. Aye, it made him feel quite good. He left his foot on her neck. This time, he placed his foot so she couldn't manage to bite him again.

He leaned down and said quietly, right into her ear, “If I do, do you swear not to try to jump overboard again? That or try to push me over the side?”

“I wasn't trying to jump. Do you think me witless? I don't want to die—”

“Ah, so you were trying to shove me out of the warship. I should have known. I wouldn't have bound you if you hadn't tried violence again. But you forced me to tie you up. You forced me to fling you at my feet. Well, at my foot, really, since my other foot is on your neck. You do look uncomfortable. Actually, you're looking very miserable. There's water in the bottom now. Soon it will come over the planking and splash in your face. That will be true misery, won't it? Saltwater in your mouth? Well, do you swear to lie still if I remove my foot, if I untie you? No more violence?”

She nodded. He saw she didn't want to, but his foot must be quite heavy on her neck and her wrists and ankles must be growing numb. Also, there was the water in the bottom of the warship and he knew that probably decided her, for soon it would reach her face. Aye, he'd won.

He lifted his foot. For a moment she didn't move. He wondered if she was able to move. Just before he would have helped her, she shook herself and sat up. She stared at him, holding her bound hands toward him. He untied her hands and ankles. She rubbed the back of her neck, then her wrists, then massaged her ankles. “I will pay you back for that,” she said, not looking at him.

Rorik merely smiled, not at all disappointed. He looked over at Entti. Hafter had tied a rope about her waist and the other end was about his waist. Perhaps that's what he should do with Mirana. She looked calm now. No, defeated was the word. Her shoulders were slumped and she merely sat there, staring at nothing in particular, her eyes dull and indifferent, methodically rubbing her wrists. Rorik discovered that didn't please him. She was utterly withdrawn. He frowned.

 

It was raining hard when they returned to Hawkfell Island. All were soaked to the skin by the time they reached the dock. Mirana said nothing as she trudged beside Entti back up the trail to the longhouse. It continued to rain, heavy thick rain, hard and cold, a rain that the high winds gusted about, making it impossible to go out of the longhouse. Everyone was inside, even the pets and two goats. Smoke filled the longhouse, turning the air blue, making it difficult to breathe. Ah, but the food was delicious, the mead sweet and warm. The women were quiet, the children played and chattered and argued. Kerzog barked madly when one of the children threw a leather ball, then raced after it. The huge mongrel never tired of the game, spinning the ball over and over with his nose. There was the long constant sound of the loom and spinning wheel. One of the goats was chewing on a rope. All was normal.

Entti sat beside Mirana, both of them altering gowns Old Alna had given them. The men gave them both wide berth. The women did as well, but not because they were angry but because they were wary of the men if they came too close. Still, Erna had brought them food balanced on her left arm, the withered stub of her right arm up to steady the platter if it slipped.

“Raki told me what happened,” she said very quietly. “I am proud of both of you. You tried.” And then she was gone, saying nothing more, leaving Mirana and Entti to stare at each other.

Mirana supposed that Rorik and the men had made it clear the women were to keep away from them. Mirana caught Amma's eye once and saw her wink. She then looked at Entti and smiled widely. So the women knew now that all Entti had done had been naught but an act. Soon, surely, once the rains had stopped and the men were out of the longhouse, the women would come to her again. She wanted to make amends to Asta and Old Alna for tying them up. They hadn't seemed angry with either her or Entti, more accepting than anything else, for Mirana had been bound to try to escape, hadn't she? As for Entti, Mirana thought the women believed her very smart.

“I should have killed him,” Entti said now as she looked over at Hafter, who was drinking a wooden cup of mead, laughing at something Askhold was saying. She speared her needle viciously into the wool.

“Even if you had,” Mirana said, not looking up, “we couldn't have disarmed Rorik. He's too smart and he's very strong.”

“He isn't all that smart,” Entti said. “Certainly no smarter than Hafter, who is a witless fool. 'Tis just you who believe Rorik to be close to perfect, and that only because he continues to prevail over you. But it's true,
if I had killed Hafter then your Rorik probably would have killed me. He would have had no other choice.”

At that, Mirana looked up. “Surely you don't believe that I see Rorik as smart only because he beats me? The sun beat too brightly on your head, Entti.”

“It rained constantly, Mirana.”

“No matter. Now, what do you mean he would have no other choice? He doesn't need choice. He doesn't need any sort of excuse. He would kill you because he would enjoy it, he would savor his revenge for the killing of his friend. Most men are like that. They bring misery because it pleases them to do so.”

Entti shook her head. “Nay, Rorik isn't like that. Before you came, I heard talk about what had happened in the Vestfold. Everyone always spoke freely in front of me because they believed me simple.”

Mirana sat forward, her eyes on Entti's face. “Please tell me,” she said. “Rorik has said naught about it.”

Entti stabbed the needle into the material and laid it on her lap. “Your half-brother came to Rorik's farmstead when Rorik and many of his men were trading in Birka. They killed everyone they could find, including slaves, old men and women and children, the reason being, so I heard, that your half-brother had been told that Rorik was hiding much silver. But I don't know if this was true. It didn't matter. Some, like Old Alna, were hiding in the forest beyond the barley fields, and thus were alive, when Rorik returned home only hours after the slaughter, to tell him what had happened. They murdered Rorik's small twin son and daughter and raped and killed his wife.

“Shortly after that, Rorik moved here to Hawkfell Island, all his people with him, those who had survived the slaughter, that is. Even some of his father's people came as well. They rebuilt the longhouse, planted the
crops, and strengthened the island's defenses. Then Rorik began his search. It took him nearly two years to find Einar. He heard of him quite by chance through a traveling scald, who sang of his heroic deeds at King Sitric's side against the treacherous Irish chieftains.”

“I don't believe that,” Mirana said slowly. “It is beyond vicious. If Einar had heard about hidden silver, then he would have known who Rorik Haraldsson was, but he didn't know his name, not until Rorik told me at Clontarf and I told Gunleik. And since Rorik wasn't there, why would Einar kill everyone so cruelly? Nay, it makes no sense, surely Einar wouldn't—” Her voice dropped away. She felt his presence before she raised her head to look at him. Rorik was standing directly in front of her and he was pale as death, his hands fisted at his sides.

“It is all true,” he said, and she hated the roiling pain she heard in his voice even though she guessed he was trying to sound calm and emotionless. Ah, but the pain and his fury sounded through, at least to her ears. “I would impale your half-brother through his miserable guts on a dull-tipped stake and let him squeal like a pig. I would let him die slowly, and I would feel joy at his every scream.”

She was shaken. She just stared up at him. He hadn't lied. Not for a moment did she believe that he lied. Perhaps Old Alna had exaggerated. No, she didn't believe that either. She closed her eyes against the knowledge. She'd seen Einar in his rages, though he was careful to hide most of them, both from her, and from his most powerful men and allies. He laughed even as he wielded a whip. The louder a victim screamed, the more he delighted in it. He was ungoverned; he lost control. He was frightening. She allowed herself to remember all of it now, to see him now with clear eyes.

She stared up at Rorik. She felt the tension in him. Then, finally, when the silence grew too painful for her, she said, “What would you have me do? He is still my half-brother.”