Lord of Hawkfell Island (23 page)

“There,” he said, sat back again and looked at her as he would a platter of boar steaks. “I have missed seeing you. You please me.”

Entti stared up at this golden man who had helped sack and destroy her town, his skills and enthusiasm well suited for such an endeavor. He was staring down at her, not at her breasts or her belly, but into her face. He was silent, just looking down at her. Then he began to frown.

Finally, he said, “What is wrong with you?”

She said nothing, merely turned her face away.

“Entti!”

He grabbed her face between his palms and jerked her back. “Don't you look away from me, damn you!”

She closed her eyes.

“All right, if this how you wish things to be between us I care not.”

She heard him rise, heard the rustle of his clothing. She felt his body come down over hers, felt him hard against her, felt the hair of his chest rubbing against her skin, felt his hot breath on her cheek.

He moaned and moved over her. He kissed her ear, her jaw where he had struck her, her nose. “You're crying,” he said suddenly, rearing back. “No, don't
do that, Entti. You never cry. You are too mean to cry.”

“There is nothing else to do,” she whispered.

He cursed, then cursed again.

“I
HAVE BROUGHT
you some mutton broth and some warm bread with butter and honey.”

“Thank you, Utta,” Mirana said, took the wooden plate and laid it on her lap.

“Lord Rorik said you shouldn't yet have the mutton itself or the mushrooms or the cabbage. He said it was still too much for your belly. He said the broth was only for you and the rest of us weren't to touch it. He even told the men to keep away from the broth, but they were laughing and all were trying to tip some into their bowls, trying to annoy him.”

“And they succeeded?”

“They annoyed him, aye,” Utta said. “My father said Rorik has become too protective and that you, of all men or women, have little need of protection. I thought Lord Rorik would hit my father, but at the last moment he held back.”

Mirana smiled.

“I think he held back because I was there, right beside my father.”

“Aye, you're right.” She tasted the broth, but it wasn't to her liking—it tasted of a strange condiment she didn't recognize—and she ate only a few bites. A pity Rorik couldn't have tended to his own business
and left her to decide about what food she should and shouldn't eat.

“Who prepared the broth?”

“We were all working about the fire pit. All had a say in its preparation but Amma said we must add some brawly root.”

“Ah,” said Mirana, and ate all the bread, gently shoving the broth to the side of the tray.

When Rorik came into the chamber a few minutes later, she was full and sleepy.

He looked harassed.

“What has happened now?” she said, patting the bed beside her.

He eased down, not really heeding what he was doing, and said, “Hafter wishes to marry Entti. I don't understand any of this, Mirana. He says he tied her up just as I told him to, then she cried and he couldn't bear it, he said, and now he will marry her. He has freed her. He didn't force her, he said he wouldn't take her until they were man and wife. He has told her that if she wishes to unman him again, she must now consider closely, for he will be her husband and the man to give her babes. To unman him, he said he told her, would hurt her as much as it would him now. They will wed tomorrow.”

She stared at his strong throat, and kept her smile hidden. “What do you think about this now, Rorik?”

He shrugged. “He will have his way. I told him not to leave now to live on the mainland. I told him he must stay, that you would be very unhappy were he to take Entti away.”

“And you wouldn't miss Hafter, I suppose.”

“Oh aye, I would surely miss the great idiot. I don't understand him, but I would miss him sorely.”

“You have very nice legs, Rorik.”

He whipped around to stare at her. “Are you all right?”

“Aye, I was just looking at your legs. I like the golden hair. They're strong legs. They could walk for a very long time and not tire. Very beautiful. I want to touch you.”

He laughed then, softly at first, then he laughed louder, deep and full and free.

And then she said, “And your belly. It is covered with gold fur, all soft and thick, just like a goat's belly, and you are hard and lean, and mayhap your belly is more beautiful than your legs.”

He stopped laughing and stared at her. There was something deep and brilliant in his eyes, something that drew her and made her want when she'd never wanted before, and she was smiling at him, reaching out her hand to him. She wanted to touch him, and she wanted him to touch her and kiss her, and aye, perhaps even the other, perhaps she even wanted that now, for there was a warmth in her, deep and curling and so very intense that she wondered how one could feel like that and not burst with the need of it. He was taut, leaning toward her now. His beautiful eyes were alight with her, with the thought of her with him, and she recognized it. Then she said, “Aye, Rorik, and your mouth, mayhap that is the most beautiful part of you, but it will take me many years to decide. You have a bewitching mouth.” And he was smiling again, that beautiful mouth of his turned up at the corners, his lips slightly parted, then laughing and shaking his head at her. She wanted to bring more laughter like that into his life, she thought, then her stomach cramped viciously, and she scrambled from the bed and vomited up the little broth she'd drunk and the bread.

“By the gods, no!”

Mirana moaned, clutched her belly, and fell onto her side on the pounded earth.

 

She was ill for only two hours, for she'd eaten little of the broth, but she was white and pale and sweating profusely, lying on her side, her legs drawn up, waiting, dreading the next cramp. There was no laughter in her now, no joy, just the fear of more of the awful pain.

Finally, she slept. Rorik stood over her, shaking his head. He'd been a fool. He covered her with a woolen blanket, smoothed the damp hair off her forehead.

Hafter stood in the doorway. “Will she live?”

“Aye. I fear it is Sira.”

“I believe so too, but I am sorry for it. I have known her since she was a child, as have you. But I do not understand her now.”

“I am not certain that I do either. She must have poisoned Mirana. Poor Asta died because she liked the taste of the food and thus she ate most of Mirana's. But why would Sira do it again? It is you who turned away from her. Mirana was not involved.”

There was a shout, then a scream.

Both men ran from the sleeping chamber into the main hall. Sira had wrapped Entti's long hair about her fist and had dragged her down to her knees, pulling her toward the fire pit. She had a knife in her right hand.

“By Thor, this is madness!” Rorik slammed through the men and women and children who were crowding close, uncertain what to do. Kerzog was barking wildly, his strong teeth tugging at Sira's skirt. Sira reached down and struck the dog with the handle of the knife. Kerzog fell sideways,
whimpering for a moment, but then he was up again, his teeth sunk into Sira's gown, pulling, slowing her.

“Nay, Rorik, I will stop it. Entti is my woman.”

Hafter grabbed Sira's forearm and shook it. Then he bent back her wrist, but still Sira was screaming at Entti, twisting and jerking on her hair, “You damnable whore! You slut—you are her friend and between you there is no man for me, no man that I want. I'll kill you and then I'll kill that other miserable bitch!”

Hafter calmly drew back his fist and cuffed her solidly in the side of her head. The knife fell to the earthen floor, Sira fell forward onto her knees, then fell to her side. Entti went down with her, her hair still wrapped about Sira's hand.

Hafter said to Entti, “Lie still and be quiet, or you'll just hurt yourself more.”

He carefully unwrapped her hair from around Sira's hand, then massaged her scalp. He helped her to her feet and stepped aside, keeping her in the crook of his arm.

Tora leaned down and looked at her niece. “Harald,” she called to her husband. “Take her out of here. Let her sleep outside the longhouse. Let her think about her lack of control. Let her think about her punishment, for surely there will be retribution to match her crime.”

“I believe,” Harald said, “that I will keep one of the men with her.” When Harald lifted Sira and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her away, Tora said, “I am sorry. Entti, you seem a reasonable girl. I would be pleased were you to forgive her.” She shook her head. “It is difficult. First Rorik and then you, Hafter . . . it is her disappointment. Harald and I have raised her gently, for her parents had died suddenly, and left her alone, and we wanted her to feel happy with us. We had no daughter, and thus we tried to make her into
ours, but we gave her no boundaries. Mayhap we have given her too much, not reined in her temper, not tried to dampen her vanity. I suppose she came to believe that anything she desired would be hers. It is my fault, not hers.”

Entti thought that was nonsense, but she held her peace. She was still rubbing her scalp. Her eyes were stinging from the pain of it. Sira had caught her off guard and she felt like a fool for letting the woman get the better of her. She looked up to see the pain on Tora's face. She sighed and said, “I forgive her,” and thought she would surely kill the damned bitch the moment she got the chance. First Mirana and now her. Why was Tora commiserating with Rorik and Hafter as if they had been Sira's victims? It was she and Mirana who had suffered, not the damned men.

She knew Sira had tried to poison Mirana. All knew it had to be she. What would Rorik do? After all, Asta had died and so much laughter and jesting had passed with her. After all, Rorik was lord of Hawkfell Island. He had to do something.

He did. The following morning, Rorik ordered Sira stripped to her waist, tied to a pole, and whipped, first by Harald, since she was his responsibility, then by Rorik and finally by Hafter. Entti wanted very much to wield the whip herself, but only men were allowed to do it. Mirana, still pale and weak, stayed in her bed, Utta with her.

“You will be safe now,” Rorik said when he came into the sleeping chamber after it was done. “Sira will not soon forget the pain of her punishment. It should slow her anger in the future, make her pause before she loses her control.”

No, Mirana thought, it might slow her outwardly, but her anger and hatred would fester. She said, “You
are certain she tried to poison me, Rorik?”

He stared at her. “Who else would it be? Forget not that she tried to kill you before you were poisoned, and then Entti last night. Aye, she had to be the one to put the poison in your food. She has learned a lesson. She will obey my father and mother now. She will do as she's told and keep silent.”

“I spoke to the women. None were certain, but Utta told me that Sira didn't come near the broth.”

“Utta is a child. She cannot be certain. Don't forget that Asta died. I told Gurd that he could whip Sira as well, for she has no silver to pay him
Danegeld
for Asta's life and he refused to accept payment from my father. He also refused to whip Sira. He said that I would provide the punishment. He said he didn't want to look at her. He didn't stay to watch. He grieves for Asta. It pained me to see his sorrow.”

He paced the room several times, frowning ferociously. “Sira continued to swear she hadn't poisoned you, either time. Even as I brought the whip down on her back, she screamed that she hadn't done it. Had I not seen her attack on you and then on Entti last night, I might have believed her.”

“I am sorry for all of it, Rorik,” Mirana said. She'd brought him such misery, she thought, suddenly exhausted, too exhausted to think more, to reason out what she should do. She had never been so weak in her life. Even rising from the bed to relieve herself made her legs tremble and sweat break out on her forehead. She closed her eyes. She was asleep within minutes, a deep sleep without dreams.

Rorik sat on the bed beside her. He just looked at her for a very long time. He remembered what she'd said before she'd fallen ill again the previous night. She'd made him laugh and she'd much enjoyed doing it. She
enjoyed his laughter as much as she enjoyed his rages. She'd also made him hard as a stone. And what she'd said to him—did she really believe him beautiful? His legs and his belly? Did she really want to touch him?

Life, he thought, still staring down at his wife, perhaps life could be just curious enough to bring trust and love to an unlikely man and woman. He prayed that it was so.

He also thought she would appreciate kindness and gentleness from him again, if just for a day or two.

 

The next day Hafter and Entti were wed. Gurd had sent all of Asta's clothes to Entti.

Sira lay on her stomach in the longhouse, her back coated with the white cream that leached out much of the pain from the lashes.

Rorik eased Mirana onto a blanket in the shade, her back against the longhouse wall. He brought her food and joined her, giving her a goblet of Rhenish wine. Kerzog lay at her feet, his head on her ankles. The dog's belly was stretched taut with all the food he'd eaten. He snored.

Rorik frowned down at his dog. “The brute wanted to stay with Entti, but Hafter told him to wait his turn for her affection. Thus he comes here and you feed him until he falls into a glutton's swoon. Damned hound.”

“He is fond of Entti,” Mirana said and patted the dog's neck.

“You are too pale. Drink this and smile at me and tell me that you believe my arms are beautiful, mayhap even more beautiful than my legs and my belly.”

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, for she was staring at the food, and he saw her fear.

He picked up a piece of mutton and took a bite. He chewed it slowly, then nodded. He closed his eyes a
moment and waited. Then he opened his eyes, smiled, and held the mutton toward her. Kerzog raised his head, sniffed, looked at the mutton, then barked. Rorik gave him a piece, just shaking his head as he did so. The dog, as was his wont, grabbed the mutton from Rorik's fingers, coming within a whisper of his flesh. He snarled and worried the mutton as Rorik made a show of trying to hold it from him.