Lord of Hawkfell Island (21 page)

“No!”

“We will bury her this afternoon.”

But Mirana was beyond understanding him now. She was shaking her head back and forth, crying, jagged, ugly sounds from deep in her throat. “No,” she said over and over, not wanting to believe it, not willing to accept it. Asta, dead, and just yesterday she had been laughing and teasing Old Alna about the blue gown, bragging about Gurd being hard in her bed, and Mirana had thought he didn't deserve any kind words from Asta. Just last night she had stayed close to Mirana, showing Rorik's family that she felt loyalty to Mirana, that she wouldn't scorn her. Her laughter was so bright, her smile so natural.

Now she was dead. Just like that. Mirana couldn't allow it to be true. It was too much. She turned away from him onto her side, clutching her arms around her, becoming a ball, rocking back and forth. “No . . . no . . . she gave me her gown, Rorik. She said it was very nice on me with my black hair. She said my skin was whiter than her goat's milk. She always treated me well, even when you first brought me here, and last night, she smiled at me and stayed near me to show your family I wasn't a vile person like Einar. Not dead . . . not Asta. Please no, tell me it is a mistake.”

Rorik rose. He stood there staring down at her. He felt his own pain at their loss. Asta, so much a part of his life. Gurd was blank and silent. The women were preparing Asta for burial, quickly, quickly, for the dead mustn't be allowed to remain overlong around the living, for their ghosts would return as powerful monsters and destroy them.

At least Mirana had survived. But why were only the two women struck down?

Old Alna and Tora had tried to discover which dish the two of them had eaten that others hadn't. It made no sense.

It scared him to death.

 

Mirana stood beside Rorik as all the people clustered about the cliff overlooking the small inlet. They had buried Asta quickly, carrying her away from the longhouse feet first so her spirit couldn't find its way back. They buried her in a deep moss-lined grave, quickly covering her body with the rich black earth, quickly retreating once it was done.

Away from her now, safe from the threat of her ghost, they showed their grief openly, the women crying softly, the men standing behind the women, stiff and straight, their eyes fastened on the distant horizon.

Aslak stood over Gurd the blacksmith, his hand on his shoulder. Gurd seemed beyond all of them, unwilling to believe his wife was dead. He'd said nothing. Now he fell to his knees, not crying, no, never crying, showing nothing but a blank face to all as he prayed to the gods to lead his Asta over the mortal's bridge to Heaven.

Mirana felt Rorik's hand firmly under her elbow. She was weaving on her feet, so weak that every moment was a challenge to keep standing upright. But she'd
had to come. She owed it to Asta, to honor her, to grieve for her.

Before the last prayers to the gods for Asta's safe journey, Rorik led her back to the longhouse.

R
ORIK SAID NOTHING
as he carried her back into the sleeping chamber. He eased her gently back into the bed, pulling the wool blanket to her chin. He sat down beside her.

“You were going to escape me again,” he said without preamble. “Entti with you.”

“No.”

“Don't lie to me. Merrik told me, and my mother did as well. Sira claimed you promised to leave, but she said no one could believe a slut and a liar like you.”

“No.”

He sighed, turning away from her, clasping his hands between his knees. She looked at his profile, its pure clean lines, the strong jaw, the curling golden hair that lay long on his neck. He was a magnificent man, young and powerful with strength, forceful, bursting with life and good health, but it wouldn't always be so. He would age and his strength would lessen, but he would remain what he was, a man to admire and respect, perhaps a man to trust. Something deep and mysterious swelled deep within her, something she didn't understand, but something she knew was there and knew she wanted to be there. It was Rorik, her husband. But she also
knew there was no hope for them, not ever. And he was hurting. He was being gnawed apart from within and without. But he was still her husband, at least for today, perhaps even for tomorrow. But after that? She shook her head, silent and still.

“I would that you not lie to me.”

And because he was Rorik and her husband, she said clearly, “Very well. It matters little now that you know. Aye, I promised them I would leave. I don't wish to die, Rorik. It is best. I won't return to my brother—”

“Your half-brother.”

She smiled at his vehemence. “My half-brother. No, I will go somewhere else.”

He looked at her now, his expression austere, his blue eyes as cold as the winter sea. He said, his voice remote, “You will go nowhere. I don't want you to go. You are my wife and you belong to me. You will remain my wife until I wish it otherwise. You will do as I tell you.”

“And if I tell you I no longer wish you to be my husband?”

“It would matter not. It isn't true in any case. I wouldn't accept any words from you to sever our ties so do not waste your meager strength saying them.”

She didn't begin to understand him. “Listen to me, Rorik, you hate me, you must. At the very least you don't want me here to remind you of what my brother did to your wife and your children and your people. My presence only brings you pain and the memory of your guilt because you weren't there to save them. Understand, Einar wouldn't have attacked your farmstead had you and your men been there. He is no fool and he is smart. He is not a coward, at least I never before thought so. Why he did what he did I don't know. But
what he did remains and cannot be changed. Your family has made you see that I am not the wife you should have. They believe this strongly. They won't allow me to remain, Rorik.”

He rose from the bed and began pacing the length of the small chamber.

She said again, “I do not blame them for their hatred of me. I do believe they should leave go of the past and allow the wounds to heal, for their unending bitterness shows on their faces and can be heard in their voices. It is deep within them. It makes them miserable. I don't wish them to destroy you with the past. It isn't fair of them to do so.”

He turned then, back to her, and said, his voice harsh and low, “I won't lie to you. I listened to them. I was beginning to agree with them. They are my family. They love me. They loved Inga and the babes.”

“I know,” she said.

“Then you were so ill. I truly do not know what I would have done. Not kill you, Mirana, never that, though I can't expect you to believe me now. Nay, I realized that I had been a fool, that you had helped me to ease the past away, to put it where it belonged—in the past—where it would forever remain, not forgotten, nay, never forgotten, but distanced, the pain of it softened and mercifully blurred now. But then they came and it was as if the wound were slashed open again, raw inside me, and the past was the present, here with me now, full-blown and as filled with horror as it is in my nightdreams.

“My parents and brothers have kept it alive amongst themselves, and nurtured it and allowed it to feed on itself, and they wanted me to bow at the altar of their grief and hatred as well, aye, you're right about that.
And you were here, as wicked as the Christians' devil, ready for their fury and their hate. Your presence, who you are, helped their hatred grow and burst free once again. They now had a target, not just vague images that flowed through the mind. Your half-brother is still a man without a face to them, but now, through you, they could grasp their pain and see to its depths.

“There was Sira. She'd come to wed me, with my parents' blessing. I am not a fool. I knew it, and knew also that I would never have wed her. She is like a sister to me. How could I wed a sister? I watched her here, watching you. I watched her change, grow twisted and jealous when she looked at you, when she realized that you were my wife and who you were.

“I have never wanted her, Mirana, never given her any sign that I wanted to wed her. Her feelings are deep and violent. I see that now. I have decided that I will give her to Hafter to wed, if my parents agree. He has many times told me he believes her beautiful beyond all women, that he would want her were it possible. He can have her. Then he can take her from Hawkfell Island to the mainland. He has land there and family, near to Edingthorpe. He won't be here to rape Entti and Sira won't be here to torment you.”

He fell silent now. Mirana had never felt so uncertain in her life; never had she felt more reluctant to accept words that would sway her. She was too afraid to be swayed. There was too much here, far too much. Always before in her life, everything had seemed so very clear to her, which path to take neatly marked. She'd believed that there'd been no grayness, no shimmering lies or half-truths to make her question herself or those around her. Ah, but she'd learned that her life had been filled with naught but lies, but she'd ignored them, turned away from them, refused to see
them. She'd accepted her life at Clontarf with Einar as what life must be since her parents were dead. She hadn't recognized him for what he was, hadn't recognized what she was to him—naught but a pawn to be used to gain him more power, naught but a plaything for his amusement. Her mouth felt very dry. She swallowed. Rorik said nothing more, just waited, patiently. Finally, she said, “You are an honorable man, Rorik Haraldsson. Even so, I was very afraid. I thought you would kill me yesterday in the bathing hut.”

“I know. I am sorry for it. My mind—I was maddened. I realized I could be as crazed as a
berserker,
but I wouldn't have killed you, Mirana, never would I have killed you.

“I had forgotten the passion of my brother, Merrik. His loyalty runs as deep as do his hatreds. He is a formidable enemy and a friend to value and hold close. I fear my parents kept his hatred festering, and because of his youth, it was easily done.” He stopped then and paced the small chamber. He waited silently, patiently, as he had before.

She sifted through his words, afraid to find other meanings in them, meanings that would bring clearness, even hope. There was naught but a bitter truth, a truth that would always remain a truth no matter what she wanted or thought or wanted to believe. She had to face up to it, make him face up to it as well. By Thor, it hurt to say it, but she did, her voice low and clear, “I am relieved that you have no wish to kill me. But Rorik, your honor shouldn't dictate the woman you should have as your wife. Or your pity. Or guilt. And I know you felt both guilt and pity for me once you learned what Einar had planned to do with me. And that is why you wed me. To protect me, to save me from that wretched old king.

“You have taken care of me whilst I was ill and I thank you for it. You went beyond what one would expect of you. But it is your family to whom you owe your loyalty, not me. I am a stranger here, an outsider, and they are right, Rorik, I am of Einar's blood. You could never be certain that I was free of all taint. You could never trust me as you do Merrik or your parents.”

He walked to the bed and stared down at her. Her hair was lank and dull. His mother had fashioned it in a loose braid that fell over her shoulder. She had said naught as she'd treated Mirana as matter-of-factly as she would have one of her own. She was strong, his mother was, sometimes too strong, too forceful, but in this instance he didn't understand her. He looked at Mirana, at the tendrils of black hair curled about her pale face. Her green eyes, so mysterious usually, were as dull as her hair and that bothered him though he knew now that she would regain her strength and her health.

He said again, his voice as cold as the Oslofjord, “You won't leave. You won't decide what it is I must want or not want. You will cease telling me what I must feel, both toward you and toward my family. You will not leave, Mirana. You will obey me now and always.”

She said nothing, merely looked at him, then away, to her fingers that were fretting with the wool blanket.

He'd spoken honestly to her, yet he hadn't, for there was too much here, too much that was beyond him as yet, and beyond her as well. She would do as he told her. For a while, at least.

“You don't trust me,” he said, and that surprised her, for surely she trusted him more than he did her. “Nay, don't shake your head. I don't know you well, but trust
I understand. I understand the feel of it in another, the smell of it, the expression of it in another's eyes.

“You will rest until you have your strength back. You will not leave. I will hear no more about it from you. I am protecting Entti, so you will not throw her up to me again. You will not have her as an excuse to escape. Her honor is now safe, as is Hafter's manhood.”

He left her then. The rest of the afternoon passed very slowly. Far too slowly.

 

She slept and ate for the next two days. Rorik spent less time with her, as if knowing she needed to be with her own thoughts. But she wanted him to come into the sleeping chamber. Just to see him, to watch his mouth as he spoke, to feel his hands on her when he lifted her on the pillow. At night, he was close, his breathing deep and even, beside her throughout the night. But during the day he stayed away now.

His mother, Tora, was a different matter.

The following morning, it was Tora who brought her porridge, topped with rich honey.

“Will your belly like this?”

Mirana was salivating. The smell of the porridge and the honey filled the small chamber. She was pushing herself up on the bed, her eyes on that bowl. “Oh, aye,” she said, then saw the look on Tora's face. She stilled, now uncertain. Tora said, her voice impatient and cold, “There was no one else to bring you food. If you want it, take it.”

“Thank you.”

Still the woman didn't leave. She sat on the end of the box bed, silent, watching Mirana eat the porridge. Mirana took the last bite, sighed deeply, and leaned back against the pillow, closing her eyes. “It was delicious.”

“The child, Utta, made it for you. She said you liked the way she seasoned the porridge.”

Mirana nodded. She said nothing, merely waited. Would Tora ask her to leave again?

“Sira has decided she will take Hafter. He is a good man. He will treat her well. He also looks a bit like Rorik and I suspect that is another reason she will have him.”

“I see,” Mirana said.

“They will wed soon. Sira will leave with him to the mainland.”

Mirana was silent.

“I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.”

“Rorik will bathe with you on the morrow. I told him I would see to it, but he insists. He says only he knows how hot you like the bathing water and how cold you like the rinsing water.”

She couldn't hold back the words. “But I thought you wanted Sira to wed Rorik.”

“Rorik said he had no wish to wed her. That he would never wed her. It is done.”

Tora left then, no more words between them.

 

The next day Rorik did indeed take her to the bathing hut. She was still very weak. Indeed his gentleness made her feel even more helpless, something she hated. He washed every bit of her, his large hands slick with soap, gliding over her back, her buttocks. He even had her balance herself with her hands on his shoulders whilst he washed her feet. He was matter-of-fact, saying nothing even as he held her against him with one hand, his other hand going between her thighs to bathe her there. She wished by the end of it that he would yell at her so she could yell back at him. Instead, he merely
rinsed her off, doused her with a bucket of icy water, then wrapped her up warmly and carried her back to the sleeping chamber.

He combed her hair then left her.

He returned within five minutes, striding like a warrior into battle, frowning ferociously. Anger burned bright in his eyes. His jaw was working. Muscles corded in his throat. He looked ready to kill. Mirana brightened.

“It must be your doing,” he said.

“And just what is my doing?” Ah, her voice rose, vibrating in the still room. It felt good. His kindness was irritating. She was bored with her own company and tired of his continued goodwill. Now, this was something to bite into. No longer was she a helpless child.