Lord of Hawkfell Island (14 page)

Rorik dropped to his haunches beside her. “I would have told you had Entti not done it now. When my foot was on your neck and I was goading you, mocking you with my sarcasm, I knew I couldn't allow this to continue, this unending tug of strength between us. Aye, it was my decision to tell you, for I could determine no other way to gain some loyalty from you, to keep you with me of your own wish perhaps, to keep me from having to chain you to my bed. I cannot allow you to escape and return to him, to tell him of Hawkfell Island. He holds powerful sway with King Sitric in Dublin. Do you understand? I must find a way to get to him, some way to use you to help me get to him.”

He simply stopped talking and looked at her, studying her now pale face, her every expression. Finally, he said, “Do you believe me, Mirana?”

“Aye,” she said with no hesitation. “I believe you, but I don't believe this tale of hidden silver. Einar is many things but he isn't stupid. But, why then did he attack your family and your farmstead? Vikings don't raid and plunder and kill other Vikings, at least it is not the common practice. And he went to the Vestfold, and he would know it would enrage Harald Fairhair, the king. He couldn't be certain that he wouldn't be recognized. He even killed your slaves instead of capturing them. It makes no sense. Einar isn't wasteful. He wants more slaves, as would anyone with power and holdings. Why did he do it?”

“I don't know. Perhaps it amused him, all the pain and death gave him a sick pleasure. From what I know
of him, he would find enjoyment in causing all that suffering and death. Is the tale about the silver true? I don't know that either. But I do know that Einar is a vile man. I don't understand such a man or such a mind.”

Rorik paused a moment, looking at a rush torch light just beyond Mirana. His voice was low and deep and hoarse as he said, “He raped my wife, making a big show of it, having all his men and all my people who weren't yet dead stand in a wide circle and watch him do it. She fought him, mayhap even hurt him a bit, and so he had his men hold her arms and legs away from her body and watch her and him whilst he raped her. He laughed as she screamed. Then he gave her to all his men. And he laughed whilst they raped her. Then he killed her. Old Alna was one of those who saw him rape her and beat her, then stick his knife through her heart.

“Then he had my twins brought before him. They were babes, not yet two years old. He spitted them both on his sword.”

She felt bile rise in her throat and quickly swallowed. Entti looked from Rorik to Mirana. “How could a man be so very evil? Mirana, did you ever see such viciousness, such cruelty, in your brother?”

Slowly, very slowly, Mirana nodded. “I refused to recognize it as such. I looked away. I pretended all was well. Einar is like his father, Thorsson, a man who nearly beat his wife to death—our mother—before a slave killed him to protect her. Einar killed the slave, of course, to give a show of revenging his father's murder. He wanted what was his father's. He didn't care if his mother lived or died. When she married some months later, my father took her away from Clontarf. She must have known even then that Einar had grown
crookedly. I went to live with Einar when I was eleven years old, upon the death of both my parents. An Irish chieftain looted our holdings and killed them.” She spoke calmly, with acceptance. Life was many times violent. There was nothing to be done about it. The pain of her parents' death had dulled over the years. She could sometimes remember her mother's scent, a soft fragrant rose smell, and the sound of her voice when she was humming.

Rorik frowned at her, saying, “I'm sorry. It was a bitter thing for a child to see. Did Einar treat you well enough? He didn't abuse you, did he?”

“Nay. At first he simply ignored me, but when I showed interest in weapons and in the war games he and his men played, he allowed Gunleik to train me. I think it pleased his conceit to have a sister who could both fight and kill and cook and sew. I think Gunleik wanted me to learn all I could so I could protect myself. He is honorable. He knew all about Einar, but still, he looked away. I know from Gunleik what happened to Einar's father and what Einar felt about it.”

“Gunleik,” Rorik said. “He is the man who sent that knife into my shoulder.”

“Aye. He could have killed you but he is not like that. I regret that he was left at Clontarf to brave Einar's fury when he discovered you'd taken me.”

Rorik said nothing, but Mirana saw him rubbing his shoulder, doubtless an unconscious gesture. She wondered if the wound was completely healed.

“I wonder why this Gunleik told you so much.”

“He cares for me.” She added, “I believe he told me so that I would have some understanding when and if Einar turned on me.” Mirana paused, then looked up into his face. “I fear that Einar has probably killed him
because he allowed you to escape and to take me.”

“If he has killed him, he is a fool. Gunleik is an excellent warrior. That is more wasteful than I can comprehend.”

She sighed then, deeply. “I have not looked at Einar straightly. I know now that he would kill Gunleik for letting you escape. It wouldn't matter to him, no it wouldn't. He was only seventeen when he became master of Clontarf. He has become very strong over the years. Those who have known him since he was born would say that he has gained his mature years, for he is thirty-five years old, but he looks much younger, not much older than you, Rorik. He is very handsome. Gunleik has only forty years, yet he looks old enough to be Einar's father.”

Rorik looked away from her. There was rage in his eyes, clouding them. She knew that he must be picturing this handsome half-brother of hers raping and killing his wife.

“What will you do?” she asked finally. There was fear in her voice, but she couldn't help it. She despised herself for letting him hear it.

“I will decide soon what I will do.” He paused a moment, looking beyond Mirana to the weapons fastened to the wall of the longhouse. His grandfather's sword hung there, still gleaming, its silver bright, for Gurd's father had fashioned it and Gurd cared for it. He looked away, thinking now about Kron, a man who'd just come home today, the man who had been his eyes and ears for six months in the king's garrison in Dublin. What he'd told Rorik made him realize he had to act, at least he had to do something about Mirana, and quickly. He'd been very surprised to learn the nature of King Sitric's dealings with Einar, surprised and disgusted. Aye, he had to act soon. Should he tell
her? He nearly shook his head, but kept himself still. No, now wasn't the time.

He said, staring again at his grandfather's beautifully wrought sword, not looking at her, “I have told you the truth. I can do no more. Can I trust you now? Will you remain here with me?”

Mirana rose from the chair and stood beside him, lightly touching her fingertips to his forearm. It forced him to look at her. She said very matter-of-factly, “You kidnapped me. You treated me like you'd treat a frenzied dog. You showed me no mercy. You forced me to remain chained in your sleeping chamber. You whipped me. You set your foot upon my neck.”

He was silent. It was all true, except perhaps for his lack of mercy. He would have to ask her to be specific about that.

“However,” she continued after a moment, her voice clear and low, “had I been you, I would have done the same.”

This was unexpected. And to hear such words from a woman's mouth was beyond Rorik's experience. It sounded odd, but somehow, it sounded true and he realized it and accepted it as well, and knew he was pleased with his acceptance. He felt the strength of her in those words, felt the honesty of her. Fidelity from her would mean something very rare, something valuable, something, he realized, he wanted very much.

He said again, “Will you remain here? Can I trust you?”

I
T WAS MIRANA
'
S
turn to look away. She looked at Entti, who was still seated on the bench, mending the hem of the gown, seemingly paying no heed to them now. She was even humming to herself. It didn't matter. Mirana drew a deep breath, and said, looking at Rorik's left ear, “If I say that you can trust me, if I promise I won't try to escape you—”

“You mean try to escape me again.”

“Aye, again. Well, what will you do? Will I still be your slave? Your prisoner, your hostage?” Even as she spoke, he was shaking his head, but she couldn't prevent the questions, for they welled up in her. “Will I remain an outsider, to be despised and hated by all your men? Will you chain me to your bed? In the warship, will you set your foot on my neck? If I refuse to call you lord will you whip me and fling me to the ground?”

“Nay,” he said, and nothing more.

She waited, but he remained quiet.

“I do not understand you,” she said at last. “You say you won't hurt me again, but what will you do?”

“I would have you wed with me.”

The words, completely unplanned, lay heavy between them. Rorik sucked in his breath, but no more words
came out. By the gods, he'd said it, asked her to be his wife—surely he'd known he would have to take another wife again before he was too old to beget sons and daughters. Nay, but with her that wasn't all there was to it. He wanted a family again—the warmth, the giving, the joy and the pain. He wanted all of it. It had been so damned long, too long. He hadn't realized until the words had come out of his mouth how very much alone he'd been, how inward he'd grown, how empty he felt. But to take to wife this woman who'd come to him in such a way? This woman he'd stolen? This woman whose half-brother was his sworn enemy?

Well, he'd said it, and he knew himself well enough to realize that somewhere deep inside him, perhaps very deep, buried under layer upon layer of cold logic, he must, for some important reason, want her for his wife. He wanted her for himself. It was a mystery. He waited. He refused to think about the Danish king in Dublin, that jowly vein-handed old King Sitric, and what he wanted and what he was prepared to pay Einar to gain.

Mirana didn't move either. She knew he would say no more. To wed with him . . . He'd shown no caring for her, not really. He'd not even shown lust for her, for when he'd caressed her breasts, it had been his man's punishment, not for any pleasure either of them would get out of it, not to appease his man's appetites. She didn't understand him, but she knew that he was a man she could trust. Looked at from that attitude, it was really quite simple. There was nothing for her back at Clontarf, save Einar, and the thought of being with him again curdled her belly.

Rorik Haraldsson was a man to trust, a man to depend on. She also admitted to herself that he was a handsome animal, lean and strong and powerful. He
wasn't stupid, and he was brave. And he was smarter than other men, despite what Entti had said. He didn't ever count the cost to himself. He was a man she could admire. His bad habits, his likes and dislikes, weren't yet all that clear to her. If she married him she would learn them soon enough, as he would hers.

Still, to wed a man she'd only known as her enemy. Was there nothing left to her in Ireland? Was her home irrevocably gone from her? She felt tears building, felt the knot in her throat. She willed the tears away and swallowed the knot.

Rorik understood her confusion, her wariness. He also saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't touch her, didn't try to comfort her. She was a woman who despised weakness in herself. He wouldn't shame her by calling attention to what she would see as a fault in herself. She didn't know him, not really, and Hawkfell Island wasn't her home. She was a stranger here, and in her mind, how then could she belong?

He wanted to keep quiet, he didn't want her fear to bring her to acceptance of him, or her seeming lack of choices, but he realized suddenly that he wanted her very much to agree to wed him, he wanted to take no chances. He supposed that he didn't mind not being certain why she agreed, only that she would agree.

Thus, he said, “My man, Kron, just returned from Dublin. He was my eyes and ears at the court there. I knew that the king had dealings with your half-brother, but I didn't understand the nature of them. I wanted very much to know.”

Rorik drew a deep breath. “Kron told me that King Sitric has negotiated with Einar to buy you, to make you his wife. If you return to Clontarf, you will be given over to the king and Einar will gain even more silver and slaves and power, and you will be abused by an
old man.” She would still be a queen, but Rorik knew that such a thing would not sway her. Strange, but he knew it to be true.

She stared up at him, surprised and horrified, yet it wasn't so unlike Einar to betray her or anyone else for that matter. But to sell his own half-sister to King Sitric, to that paunchy old man she'd met only once some six months before? He'd smelled of sickness and of age, and any pity she might have had for him vanished when he'd looked at her as would a hungry man at a honey-sweetened almond. He was old enough to be her grandfather; he was old enough to have been dead for many years. She'd borne his fulsome flattery, his old man's touches on her cheek and on her arm, though she'd hated it. She'd remained polite to him, she'd remained respectful, she'd kept her eyes down whenever possible so he couldn't see the distaste she felt for him.

There had been the other old man with him, his advisor, Hormuze, an old man with a long gray beard and brilliant dark eyes that seemed to regard the world with deep cynicism, and a belly as paunchy as that of the old king, who never left his side. Did he have a part in this? By the gods, she would never have dreamed that the king could want her for his wife. Why her? She was not a princess of significant holdings, not a daughter of a great household to woo and hopefully gain in an alliance. It made no sense to her.

“I would protect you,” Rorik said, once again speaking when he wanted to keep his mouth shut, but the words just kept rolling out of him. “You would be my wife and safe from both Einar's plotting and the king's lust.” He was pleading his case—though he sounded only calm and reasonable—like a lovesick swain, which was ridiculous, but still he didn't like seeing himself in
the role of supplicant to a damned woman. He shut his mouth. He'd said enough, more than enough.

She looked up at Rorik, recognized the tension in him, and wondered at it. She also recognized a basic truth deep inside herself. What Einar had done hadn't really pushed her toward wedding with Rorik. No, she'd already decided.

Rorik was indeed a handsome man. She'd seen him naked and found him interesting, more than interesting, truth be told, fascinating. His body was intriguing, so very different from hers, all bronzed and lightly furred with golden hair, his body lean, his strength exciting as it was deadly, aye, those differences were dazzling, they made her eager to know more, to learn things she'd never really considered significant before. He was dangerous and that made her want to test those boundaries as well, for she imagined that it was all tied up in his warrior's essence. He was dangerous and he was vital and she wanted to learn about him, all of him. She smiled at him and watched his eyes widen just a bit. Surely he couldn't know what she'd been thinking.

“I have never before seen you smile,” he said as he continued to stare at her. “It makes you look different, softer perhaps. I would also hear you laugh.”

“Mayhap you will smile for me soon. Mayhap even laugh for me as well.”

He gave her a wary look.

She said now, the smile gone from her face, “You, Lord Rorik, I have tested mightily. The gods know I have pushed you and tormented you and made you want to strangle me. Despite all this, if you wish it, I will wed you, my lord, and I will be constant as the North Star. I will never allow another to harm you as long as I have breath in my body.”

Rorik smiled and Mirana found it the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen in her life.

Suddenly, Entti laughed, slapping her hands on her knees, laughing until her eyes teared.

Both Rorik and Mirana stared at her. She laughed louder. The gown slid off her lap to the ground. “Ah,” she said, gasping for breath, “it is too much. The two of you are like proud yet noble warriors, uncertain that you aren't still enemies, circling each other. You call for marriage and you strut out all your warrior attributes, admire each attribute in the other, then prattle on about your honor. There is no talk of affection, of caring, only all these manly virtues each of you seek in the other. By all the gods, it is a wondrous amusement, this courting dance you two have performed.” She began laughing again, now hugging her sides.

Hafter heard her, frowned, and roared to his feet, striding toward them. “Has she insulted you, Rorik? Shall I punish her? Where is the rope? I shall tie her to me again and drag her about. But it's that woman's fault—she taught Entti bad things, made her smart and loud, then made her hate us and we don't deserve it, she—”

Entti looked up at him through her laughter-teared eyes. “Ah, another big warrior, intent on his own prowess, his lordly rights. Go away, Hafter, you annoy me. Your tongue flays itself with its own stupidity. But first, wish your lord Rorik and Mirana happiness. She will be the lady of Hawkfell Island and your mistress.”

Hafter stared at Entti, then looked blankly at Rorik.

“You would wed this girl who would have killed you more times than I can count? She who would slit your throat even when you bed her, Rorik? By the gods, she will bite your tongue when you try to kiss her!
sHE WILL SEND HER KNEE INTO YOUR MANHOOD AND BRING you low. Aye, she'll unman you and laugh and enjoy herself whilst she does it. Entti was simple but now she isn't. You, Rorik, you were of full wit and thoughtful brain, but now you're quite mad. It is all her fault—this woman with her sin-black hair and her green eyes that hold secrets—she has this mystery about her that makes men and women behave differently, makes them do things they shouldn't do.

“I must fetch your father from Malverne. He will make you see reason. If you lust for her, tie her down to protect yourself, and plow her belly until you tire of her. But do not wed her, Rorik, she will surely do you in.”

Entti rose swiftly and leapt at Hafter. She sent her fist into his belly, shouting in his face, “You fool! You are less full-witted than the stoats rutting in the garden! Kerzog has more wit than have you! Have you no heart, no feelings? Did you not listen to Lord Rorik?”

Hafter was again distracted by this new Entti. “Shut your mouth, woman! You are the stupid one. Nay, not stupid, you aren't that, are you? The woman saw to that. You are simply unaware of the woman's hatred for Rorik, for all of us—except she seems to like you and the other women overmuch—which I still don't understand.”

“Hafter,” Rorik said quietly. “That is enough. I do not need your defense. Enough.”

“Nay, it is all passing strange, and you, Rorik, you will awaken on the morrow and wonder what demons possessed you and then you will—”

“Hafter, it is done.”

Hafter stared at his friend, a man who was closer to him than his own brothers, a man he'd known all his life. “Rorik, you do not jest?”

Rorik shook his head. He smiled. “Nay, jests are far from my mind. Mirana has accepted me. We will wed on the morrow. We will have a feast and all will be well. You must trust me. If she is willing to, why then, for you, it should be nothing more difficult than breathing. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

“But her half-brother slaughtered Inga and your children and many of our people!”

“Aye, but she didn't. Why should she shoulder any of the blame? She accepts what Einar is now. She gives her loyalty to me.”

But Hafter couldn't accept it. Loyalty from a woman? It sounded preposterous. The woman had been nothing but a thorn, nay, more a bramble or an entire forest of thorns and brambles. He said, “Kron told all of us about the king and how he wants to have the woman as his wife. She could be a queen, Rorik! Why would she want to wed with a simple man like you when she could be a queen and have everything a woman could ever want?

“It makes no sense. So what if King Sitric is old and repellent and will give her no pleasure in her bed? He is still the king and he has power and wealth. You must think about her motives, Rorik. I do not trust her any more than I trust this new Entti the woman created.

“You are being noble, Rorik. You do this only to protect her, don't you? It is nonsense. She needs no protection. Send her back, use her as a lure to get Einar, or is that what is really in your mind? Tell me true, for I must know.”

“Hafter, were you to plead my case for me to Mirana, I should have her trying to kill me rather than accepting to wed me. You will be quiet. I have told you the truth. I want this woman. She will be my wife and the mistress of Hawkfell Island. She will be loyal to
me, to you, to all of us. I trust her, as you must also. She isn't deceitful, she is honest. She doesn't want to be a queen.”

“Ha! You aren't stupid, Rorik, at least you weren't before we had the misfortune to voyage to Clontarf. You captured her and everything has changed. It is beyond too much to understand.” He closed his mouth then, only to open it once more, saw Entti frowning at him, and closed it again. He looked at Mirana, who'd said not a word. He really looked at her now, and he saw a young woman who was passing pretty, quite lovely really, small and fine-boned, her flesh as white as newly fallen Vestfold snow, her hair thick and black as a midnight revel. Her eyes were a green color that looked like dark moss, beautiful eyes that were soft and mysterious, aye, there were secrets in those eyes of hers, with the thick black lashes that added to their mystery, and he wondered how he would feel if she looked back at him with warmth and caring in those eyes, and with desire. And she was brave and smart. Ah, but still . . . it wasn't right. It wasn't smart. But there was naught he could do about it. He prayed that Rorik knew well what he was doing. He himself didn't really believe Rorik was doing this to protect her or to somehow use her to capture Einar. Rorik wasn't that kind of man. On the other hand, Hafter had been wrong about a number of things of late. He'd humiliated himself in his wrongness and his head still hurt from it. Only the gods knew what was in the woman's mind and in Lord Rorik's mind.