Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 (18 page)

Elisead swallowed hard, but it did little to alleviate the unease nigh choking her.

Though she knew she was not in danger from the dozen warriors staring her down, they were still a frightful sight, each one of them fierce and unyielding in his own right.

And how would they react to the story of how her father and his men had killed and burned their fellow Northlanders, leaving their charred bones as a warning to others?

Elisead gave herself a little shake. There was no time to be overwhelmed by her fears.

“Seven years ago, Northmen sailed into the bay and up the river to the fortress. There was only one longship, but it teemed with warriors. They poured from their ship and onto our shores so quickly that…”

Alaric’s warm hand came around her protectively. He remained silent, but she drew strength from his arm holding her to his side.

“The fortress’s gates were open, for it was a beautiful summer day and the villagers moved freely in and out. We had no warning. The gates had to be closed to save the fortress and all those within, but…but many villagers were trapped outside.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to push away the memories of their screams.

“Many innocents were slaughtered. The Northmen took them as easy prey. They ransacked the village, killing all those in their path then hunting for valuables. But we are a simple people. We hold no great wealth or treasures, other than the land itself. The Northmen weren’t satisfied with the loot they managed to plunder from the huts. They burned them, then turned their insatiable appetites on the fortress.”

She could feel Alaric tense next to her, but still he did not interrupt.

“They laid siege to the fortress all day, but the walls and gates held true. Nevertheless, my father knew that they could not simply wait for the Northmen to give up—he saw the hunger in their eyes for the spoils within the fortress. When at last the Northmen moved away from the walls for the night, my father and his men hatched a plan. The Northmen made their camp beyond the village. Soon we could see a bonfire from the walls, and the sounds of their merriment over their day’s kills reached our ears.”

Alaric frowned, but Elisead knew it wasn’t directed at her.

“My father ordered the gate opened only wide enough for one man at a time to slip out,” she went on. “It was dangerous, for if the Northmen had noticed their movement, they could have set upon the men outside the fortress’s walls and perhaps even forced the gates open. But they were lost in their revelry. At last, my father’s entire force of warriors was outside the gates. It was a terrible moment when we closed the gates and lowered the grille behind them, for they were trapped outside the safety of the walls with the Northmen.”

Several of the men before her shifted. A few crossed burly arms over their chests. They seemed to all know what would happen next.

“My father and his men set upon the raucous Northmen. They managed to catch them by surprise.”

“Like Domnall’s men caught us by surprise last night?” the giant called Olaf said, raising a bushy red brow at her. “You Picts seem to have a penchant for sneak attacks.”

“Silence, Olaf!” Alaric snapped, causing Elisead to jump in fright.

Alaric pinned the ruddy giant with narrowed eyes even as he soothed Elisead with a hand on her back. “We are not the same as those other Northmen,” he said to his men, though the words sank into Elisead’s swirling mind as well. “They acted with dishonor by killing women, children, and unarmed men. The gods saw that, and their foolish celebration as well.”

Elisead’s thoughts flew back to the first time she’d laid eyes on him. She had feared for her life in that moment. And now she was to wed this man. She wouldn’t have believed it a fortnight ago, but these Northmen were good and honorable—they were naught like the invaders seven years ago.

A few rumbles of agreement with Alaric’s admonishment rose from the men towering over Elisead. Alaric went on, his voice calmer now. “What would you have the Picts do? Roll over and expose their bellies to their invaders? These Picts are our allies now, our neighbors. And one day soon they will be our family.”

His penetrating gaze shot to her for the briefest moment before returning to pin Olaf once more.

“Very well,” the man said. His mouth turned down in a frown behind his red beard, but he nodded his head in deference to Alaric. “I spoke out of turn. I simply grow weary of waiting. I am tired of all the underhandedness. It is our people’s way to
act
.”

“Ja, I wish to act too,” Alaric said grimly. “But we cannot take action until we determine who has burned our field and attempts to thwart our settling here.”

The men’s voices were even louder in their support of their leader this time. When they quieted, Alaric tilted his head toward Elisead, urging her to continue.

“As you say, Olaf,” Elisead said with a nod to the giant. “My father and his men attacked under cover of night and in secret. They outnumbered the Northmen nigh two to one, but that only shows how greatly they feared the Northmen who fought so unmercifully. My father’s men managed to overpower them, though not without great cost. We who remained in the fortress watched from the walls. The battle wasn’t over and victory secured until the first rays of morning sun touched us. The light revealed a field of blood and bodies.”

Elisead swallowed, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat.

“My father ordered the bodies moved to the mouth of the river, where the Northmen had entered and set their sights on the fortress. His warriors were so exhausted, and many injured, from the long battle that we in the fortress—mostly women, children, and the elderly—were tasked with…with dragging the bodies downriver.”

The men’s eyes widened on her, and Alaric’s fingers sank reflexively into her back.

“I was only twelve summers old at the time, but every last shred of strength was needed. I did as I was ordered.” She shuddered. No amount of time would ever erase the memory of the stench of death, the weight of the corpse she had struggled to drag behind her, or the blood that wouldn’t seem to come out from under her fingernails for a sennight afterward.

“We left the bodies along the sandy bend in the river, as you saw. We…burned them.”

This time, she did choke on her words. The memory of the smell of burning flesh made her want to gag even seven years later.

“We knew we were condemning them to Hell, but my father gave the order. His leg had been severely wounded and he’d lost a great deal of blood. I am not sure if the battle lust still gripped him, but we did as he commanded.” A sob tore from her throat, which she barely managed to muffle behind her hand.

Alaric’s brows drew together. “You fear that in burning them they have been sent to your netherworld of suffering?”

“Aye,” she said, blinking up at him. “We didn’t bury them. Even though they were pagans, we still should have behaved like Christians. Instead we burned them just to be sure they would suffer for all eternity.” It still frightened her that her people had resorted to such savagery. She held no sympathy for the Northmen who’d so mercilessly murdered innocent villagers, but it was God’s place to judge them, not her people’s.

His face softened slightly. “Elisead, in the Northlands, we burn our dead to free their spirits for the afterlife. You did not desecrate them, at least not according to the Northland ways.”

“But…” She shook her head in confusion. “But we are Christians. We should not have behaved like pagans.”

“Whichever gods, yours or mine, were watching the events of that night, they know where warriors who fight dishonorably go for the rest of eternity,” he said softly. “Do not rebuke yourself so harshly for your father’s actions. The Northmen were sent to the gods in their way. And only the gods can decide their fate now.”

She nodded, feeling a breath of relief for the first time when it came to those dark memories.

“And you were the one to etch those Northland runes into the rock near where the bodies were burned,” Alaric prompted.

“Aye,” Elisead said, giving herself another little shake to keep going. “Una was staying with us in the fortress. She’d already begun to teach me her ways.”

“But how did you know to use those two runes?” Tarr said, his dark blue eyes pinning Elisead.

“We found Feitr,” Elisead replied. “He had been wounded in the battle, but had survived—barely. He must have crawled from the battlefield into the woods, but he didn’t get far. He was found by one of my father’s men as we were gathering bodies. He was…so young. Only a few years older than I, and I was just a child.”

Grim realization flitted across Alaric’s features. “He was likely on his first raid. How did you get him to explain the runes?”

“Pointing and hand signals, mostly. He was dragged before the burning pile of his fellow warriors and made to watch them roast. After many demands, which I’m sure he barely understood, he eventually drew the two symbols in the sand. My father ordered me to leave a marking on the rocks nearby, one that would last forever. It was meant to be a warning, a way to ward off other Northmen from threatening our lands and people.”

She looked up at Alaric, feeling her lower lip tremble. “Please, you must understand. My father’s concern has always been for his people. Please know that he is not an evil man, though some of his actions have brought suffering and destruction to others.”

“Ja, I understand, Elisead,” Alaric said softly. Even still, a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“My father took Feitr as a slave. Though he wanted us all to know how dangerous Northmen were, he thought it would reassure us to see one kept at the fortress as a slave. It was supposed to remind us of our victory, that we had conquered the Northmen in the end. But we all feared that one day, more would arrive.”

Her voice dropped off and she dared a glance up at the warriors before her. Yet to her surprise, they were all listening impassively. None glared at her now. Mayhap they were simply content to know of the dark history that had overshadowed their efforts to settle here. At least now they knew what they faced when dealing with her father and her people.

“But you said Domnall never knew of all this?” Alaric asked, drawing her attention once more. She glanced at the charcoal rune markings etched onto the rock before her.

“Nay. Word eventually reached Torridon that my father had beaten back a band of Northmen, but Domnall would have never seen the runes or learned of their significance.”

“Then who did?” Tarr interjected.

She bit her lip. “There are too many. My father. Most of his men who fought that night. And Feitr, or course.”

Alaric’s hand tightened around her back. “
Feitr
.”

“Where are you going?”

Elisead struggled to keep up with Alaric’s long stride. He ought to have slowed for her, but the rage pounding in his veins was too strong.

“Back to the fortress.”

He’d ordered Olaf, Tarr, and the others to clear the camp of the bodies and carnage from last night. But he had more pressing matters to see to.

“Alaric!” Elisead dragged him to a halt by his arm. “If you truly wish to be my partner in life, you’ll explain yourself. Why do you believe Feitr was the one to destroy the field? And how will we tell my father that we plan to wed?”

Alaric cursed himself under his breath. Of course Elisead was right. He longed to burst into the fortress, extract Feitr’s reasons for the many attempts to thwart his negotiations, and demand that Maelcon bless his union with Elisead.

But he wasn’t charging into battle. He had to think like a leader, not just a warrior. And he had to think like a man worthy of being Elisead’s partner.

He dragged a hand through his hair and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Forgive me,” he said, softening his voice. He brushed a lock of hair, which shone like copper in the late afternoon sun, back from her worried features.

Their breathless lovemaking just a few hours ago felt distant now. So much was still tangled in knots. But he sent up a prayer to Odin that by tonight, all would be sorted and settled.

“Your father needs to know that someone within the fortress—likely Feitr—has been working against us.”

Her brows drew together. “Feitr is harmless. He has never once rebelled against my father—or anyone.” But a shadow crossed her face as she spoke.

“What is it? Tell me what troubles you.”

“It is just…when he found me the other day and brought me back to camp…”

Alaric’s jaw ached as he clenched it. The memory of Feitr’s hand wrapped around Elisead’s arm still burned in his mind.

“He fired a rock at me,” she said. “He claimed he was only trying to get my attention, but I nearly fell from my perch in a tree.”

Something clicked into place in Alaric’s mind.

“And someone threw a rock at the donkey’s hindquarters to spook it—someone who knew the donkey’s harness had been cut cleanly to make it snap.”

Elisead’s eyes widened. “Threw…or used his slingshot. So you
did
believe it was foul play that led to the cart accident.”

“Ja. I am sorry to have kept it from you, but I feared frightening you. It already seemed like far too much that you had been traded in a hostage negotiation and were forced to live in a Northman’s camp. But I suspected from the first that someone wasn’t pleased with the fact that we were negotiating with your father. Your wellbeing was the only thread holding our negotiations together.”

“But why would Feitr want to destroy your talks with my father? What does he stand to gain?” she asked, staring up at him with confusion clouding her amber eyes.

“I know not,” he said. “Which is why I am all too eager to get back to the fortress. Others may be in danger—including my sister. And it is all the more reason why I’ll vow to marry you before your father. We must band together if we are to survive this nefarious schemer.”

She took hold of his hand and nodded for him to continue on through the woods toward the fortress. Pride swelled within his chest. She trusted him to protect her. And he would—with his last breath.

The gates were open as they approached the fortress. Madrena and Rúnin stood in the yard. Madrena charged toward them as they crossed through the gates, with Rúnin striding more calmly behind her.

“Where are the others?” she snapped, worry drawing her brows together.

“They are at the camp,” Alaric said quickly. “We met them there.”

“And where have you two been?” Suddenly Madrena’s pale gray eyes were sharp on them. Realization flitted across her features, to be replaced with a frown.

“We needed to discuss something…important,” Alaric replied. But his sister knew him just as well as he knew her.

“Alaric, tell me you haven’t thrown away all our hard work this past fortnight,” Madrena said. “Tell me you haven’t—”

“We are to be married,” he interjected.

At Madrena’s wide-eyed stare, he went on. “I have already broached the subject with Maelcon. Both Elisead and I want this. And it will only aid our mission.”

Madrena shook her head, clearly confused. “We can discuss that later. What of the smoke we saw coming from the forest? And why are the others still in the camp?”

“They are disposing of the bodies from last night’s skirmish. But the smoke wasn’t coming from the camp. It was the barley fields.”

Rúnin cursed, his already dark features clouding over.

“I need to speak to Maelcon. You should both join us,” Alaric said over his shoulder as he guided Elisead past Rúnin and Madrena toward the great hall. “Mayhap then we will all have our answers.”

They found Maelcon pacing the length of the great hall. The hall was empty. Maelcon’s men and the residents of the fortress were likely giving their chieftain a wide berth, for it was obvious from the moment Alaric stepped foot in the hall that Maelcon was furious.

The older man’s graying head snapped up as Alaric and the others approached. Relief briefly crossed his furrowed features at the sight of Elisead, but it was quickly replaced with hot hatred directed at Alaric.

Before Maelcon could unleash his rage at him, though, Alaric held up a hand.

“We need to speak.”