Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 (24 page)

Though Grimar couldn’t
be sure, he’d stake gold on the fact that the
skute
would be faster than
whatever craft Thorsten’s man had used. For one, the henchman only had himself
to sail his boat, while Grimar and Eirik could both maneuver the
skute
.
Besides, the
skute
was the lightest, fastest type of ship in all the
Northlands, even with one of its sailors hobbled by injuries.

Eirik was only half
paying attention to the rigging in his hands, his eyes continually scanning the
fjord waters. Grimar smiled inwardly. This was going to be too easy. Even
still, he’d decided to wait to kill Eirik until they reached Thorsten’s
henchman. He’d underestimated his cousin once already. Two arrows hadn’t put
him down, and he couldn’t risk Eirik surviving yet again.

He’d wait until the
Jarl’s man could help him dispose of Eirik. Then they’d sail on to Jarl
Thorsten’s holding and Grimar would present the thrall girl as payment himself.
Depending on the Jarl’s mood, he might even request a portion of her worth in
return, considering how much more valuable she was than the debt he owed.

“I see something!”
Eirik shouted over his shoulder. He pointed toward a fleck of red against the
sea. It could be none other than the henchman’s boat.

The two of them fell
into motion tying the sail and repositioning the tiller. As the distance
between the two ships closed, they worked fluidly side by side. For the
briefest of moments, Grimar felt a wistful longing to share more times like
these with his cousin.

Grimar inhaled the
salty air deeply. “This is how it should be, isn’t it, cousin? The two of us
out on the sea, ready to kill, to recapture the treasure that is rightfully
ours?”

Eirik rounded on him,
his face dark with fury. “You relish the fact that Laurel has likely been taken
by some spineless attacker? She is not some toy to be passed around, nor is she
yours at all. I
love
her.”

Grimar’s innards
twisted in revulsion, but he managed to keep his face placid—barely. His cousin
had truly grown weak. He should be ashamed to call himself a Viking. The last
traces of consideration for his kin vanished. Eirik had to die—just as his
father had.

They were almost on top
of the little boat now. Grimar could make out the broad back and shoulders of
Jarl Thorsten’s man. He returned his gaze to his cousin once more and gave him
a little smile.

Bringing his fingers to
his lips
,
he whistled loudly, the sound
cutting through the air. The Jarl’s henchman spun around and stood, taking in
the sight of their
skute
only a stone’s throw away from his boat.

“What are you doing?”
Eirik bellowed. “We had the element of surprise.”

“Oh, cousin,” Grimar
said with a grin. “You’re so like your father. So noble. So trusting.”

Grimar nodded toward
the henchman. “When we are alongside you, jump onto my boat and help me deal
with him,” he shouted. The hulking man nodded his comprehension.

“Like your father, you
will die a pathetic death at the hands of your own kin,” Grimar went on,
turning back to Eirik.

Eirik bared his teeth
in a snarl of rage and reached for his hip, but he wore no seax, so rushed had
been their departure.

“And like Arud the
Steady, you’ll die weaponless,” Grimar grinned. “Never to reach Valhalla, and
never to see Dalgaard again.”

Grimar drew his seax.
The blade flashed in the sun as it descended toward Eirik’s heart.

Just as her captor’s
hand closed on one of her breasts, a loud whistle cut through the air. He
jerked his hand away and stood so that he towered over her. He looked down on
her for a moment with a leer before turning to the other boat, which was nearly
on top of them.

Her breath left her in
a whoosh. Her relief at her captor’s distraction swelled through her even as
her heart crumpled. She’d pinned her hopes on keeping the presence of the other
boat from him, praying that it was someone—anyone—willing to help and who would
catch her captor off-guard.

But then a familiar
voice floated to her ears. If she’d been breathless a moment ago, now her lungs
and heart froze in her chest completely.

Grimar.

Through ringing ears,
she vaguely comprehended that Grimar was ordering her captor to board the newly
arrived boat and help him deal with something. Nay, not something—
someone
.

She glanced up from her
cowering position in the prow. Her captor’s back was still to her as he waited
for the boat to draw nearer. He’d all but forgotten her, discarding her as a
nonthreat.

Slowly, she eased her
aching hands from behind her back. The shredded bindings fell away, but her
hands were stiff and slightly discolored. She squeezed them into fists and
released them over and over until she could trust that she would be able to use
them.

She glanced around the
small boat, but there was naught she could use against her captor. Her cloak
shifted around her shoulders and the brooch brushed her chest.

Before the idea was
fully formed, she unfastened the little lance holding the gold circle to the
inside of her cloak. She caught the circle as it slipped from the material and
placed it silently on the wooden boards below her.

Just as silently, she
stood and stepped closer to her captor’s back, the long pin clenched in one
aching hand. Around his hulking frame, she caught sight of the other boat. It
was nearly alongside them now. Her captor put one foot on the gunwale, preparing
to launch himself onto Grimar’s vessel.

But then her eyes fell
on the other person in the boat beside Grimar. It was Eirik. Before she had
time to scream a warning, Grimar unsheathed the seax at his belt and raised it
over Eirik.

Eirik twisted out of
the way just in time to avoid the blade sinking into his chest. But the seax
nevertheless glanced across his left arm, just below his already wounded
shoulder. He roared in pain and rage.

“Help me with him!”
Grimar shouted to her captor as he raised the seax once again.

Without thinking,
Laurel drew back her hand and drove the brooch’s pin as hard as she could into
the side of her captor’s neck.

The man twitched at the
impact and reached a hand to his neck in confusion. As he withdrew the little
golden lance, a fountain of blood erupted from his neck. He bellowed and
rounded on her. One hand clutched wildly at the gash in his neck while he
brought his other hand back and swung at Laurel.

He leveled her with a
powerful blow to her head. The force of it sent her flying. Her legs rammed
into the boat’s side and she went tumbling over the gunwale and into the water.

The cold water was like
a second blow. She hadn’t had time to take a breath before flying overboard,
and now she struggled and flailed toward the surface. The old panic surged
through her at being stranded and helpless in the vast waters beyond the fjord.
She clawed and fought against the water’s icy fingers, which drew her down even
as her lungs screamed for air.

Somewhere deep in her
mind, she heard Eirik’s voice, calm and reassuring.

If you fight the water,
it will fight you.

She brought her clawing
fingers together to form an oar-like shape, as Eirik had taught her. Kicking
with both her legs and stroking with her arms, she drove herself toward the
surface. As she broke into the air and took a huge breath, she kept her legs
kicking and her arms and hands slicing through the water like paddles.

She looked up and saw
the two boats several feet away. They were now touching, but her captor still
remained on his original vessel. Blood was everywhere. The hand clutching his
neck was almost invisible beneath the waterfall of blood pouring from his
wound. He stumbled and tried to right himself but only tripped on his own feet.
His knees caught the gunwale, and he went tumbl
ing
overboard into the water next to her.

She stroked and kicked
frantically away from where he went splashing into the water, but a moment
later his head emerged mere feet away from her. He sputtered and thrashed as he
tried to keep his head above water, but he seemed to be losing control of his
limbs as the blood continued to spurt from his neck and into the water.

He gurgled something
incomprehensible and reached for her even as his head dipped below the surface.
His arms grazed her and she screamed in terror. She threw herself out of his
grasp as he continued to sink.

But just when she
thought she was safe, a yank on her cloak dragged her underwater. Her captor
clutched the bottom of her cloak even as he drifted deeper. She surged up with
all her might, but she would never be able to pull both her weight and his up
to reach the surface again.

Her hands, aching and
stiff from the bindings and the icy water, fumbled with the cloak’s ties at her
neck. The water drew even colder as she continued to be dragged down. With her
last remaining strength, she pulled as hard as she could on the ties. As they
popped, she instantly felt the weight of her captor vanish. She floated,
suspended deep in the cold water.

She pushed her arms up
and drew them to her sides as she kicked her burning legs. She let the water
buoy her even as she paddled toward the surface. Dark spots swam before her
closed eyes. The last of her breath escaped in bubbles past her face.

Suddenly she erupted
through the water’s surface and into the life-saving air. She inhaled hard as
if it were the first breath she’d ever taken.

“Laurel!” Eirik’s
desperate cry came from Grimar’s boat. God be praised, he was still alive!

“Eirik!” she sputtered
between gulps of precious air.

“Hang on!”

She still couldn’t see
him, but she had to trust that he would survive and pull her to safety. Both
boats’ sides rose too high out of the water for her to climb up them herself.
He would make it, she told herself over and over again as she kept her head
above water. He would make it.

Just then a scream of
pain tore the air. Her own terrified cry joined it. “Eirik!”

Blood dripped down his
left arm from Grimar’s first stab. If Eirik hadn’t thrown himself sideways at
the last moment, he’d have Grimar’s seax buried deep in his chest now. Eirik
backed away from Grimar’s blade, but all too soon his heels bumped into the
small boat’s prow. He was cornered.

“Help me with him!”
Grimar shouted to the man in the other boat.

Eirik’s eyes jerked to
the large warrior, but a flicker of movement behind the man drew his attention.
Before he could shout a warning to Laurel, she stabbed the giant in the neck. A
second later, he heard her scream and splash into the water.

He turned his attention
back to Grimar, begging the gods to aid Laurel while he was locked in combat
with his cousin.

Grimar’s eyes darted
from Eirik to his henchman, who was stumbling wildly and bleeding profusely.
The giant warrior tumbled overboard, giving Eirik the briefest moment of
distraction he needed.

He lunged at Grimar,
planting his good shoulder into his chest. At the impact, the seax clattered to
the boat’s deck. The two of them landed in a heap, with Grimar’s body absorbing
most of the impact. Eirik pinned him with his weight, fumbling to secure his arms.

But Grimar evaded him
and fisted one of his hands, driving it into Eirik’s wounded shoulder. Eirik
bellowed in pain and was forced to roll off to the side.

Grimar scrambled past
where he lay prone and clawed his way toward the seax. Weapon in hand once more,
Grimar spun and began stalking toward Eirik.

Through the haze of
pain blurring his thoughts, Eirik remembered the Hnefatafl game he used to play
with his father and that he now played with Alaric. He’d been outnumbered, but
Laurel had leveled the odds, giving him a chance. He was outarmed, with naught
to use against Grimar’s seax other than his own two hands. But he was not
outmaneuvered.

He dragged himself to
his feet and scrambled the few steps to the thick wooden mast in the middle of
the boat. He positioned himself so that the mast stood between him and Grimar.
Grimar smiled faintly as he bore down on him. When he was within striking
distance, Grimar thrust the seax at his good shoulder, knowing he couldn’t
defend himself with his wounded left arm.

But Eirik ducked around
the mast just in time to evade the stab. Grimar quickly thrust again, this time
on the other side. Eirik was ready for him. He grabbed Grimar’s wrist with both
hands and spun around so that he had Grimar’s arm pinned against the mast. With
one quick shove, Eirik heard the snap and Grimar’s anguished scream, letting
him know he’d broken the arm.

The seax fell to the
deck once more, but this time, as Grimar scrambled back
,
holding his broken arm, Eirik leaned down and retrieved the weapon. Grimar’s
eyes widened as Eirik pointed the blade toward him. With a flick of the wrist,
Eirik tossed the seax into the water.

“You’re an even greater
fool than I thought,” Grimar breathed, still clutching his arm.

“Nei,” Eirik panted. “I
am a man of honor. And no matter what happen
s
to me in this lifetime, the gods see everything.”

Grimar’s pale eyes
flickered with something close to fear, but it was quickly replaced with
bloodlust. He bellowed a war cry and lunged at Eirik, slamming into him. Grimar
drove Eirik all the way into the boat’s high siding. Eirik’s back rammed into
the gunwale and the breath was forced from his lungs. Grimar clamped a hand
over Eirik’s neck, squeezing as hard as he could.

The strength in
Grimar’s grip wrenched Eirik’s head and neck backward over the water. His back
arched over the gunwale, sending shooting pain through his whole body.

Just then Eirik heard a
splash and desperate gasps on the other side of the boat.

“Laurel!” he rasped,
using some of the precious air he had left.

She called to him
frantically. “Hang on!” he wheezed, using the last of his air.

He’d been trying to pry
Grimar’s hand away with his own, to no avail. In that moment, he released his
hold on Grimar and jammed both of his thumbs in Grimar’s cold, pale eyes.
Grimar screamed in agony as blood swelled around Eirik’s thumbs.

Grimar’s grip loosened
as he fell backward. But Eirik held fast to his head, his thumbs still
burrowing into Grimar’s eye sockets. When Grimar was fully laid out on the
deck, Eirik released him and took hold of his neck. Grimar gurgled and thrashed
against Eirik’s hold, but Eirik’s weight was too much. He tried once more to
strike Eirik’s wounds, but his flailing limbs couldn’t find purchase.

Eirik leaned into his
hold on Grimar’s neck with his weight and all his remaining strength. His
cousin thrashed with the force of a dying man desperate for air, yet Eirik’s
grip was unrelenting. He poured his rage into the hands that squeezed Grimar’s
neck—rage for his father’s death, for Laurel’s kidnapping, and for Grimar’s
treachery and attempt to kill him.

His vision narrowed
until all he could see were Grimar’s bloody, unseeing eye sockets. He could
hear naught but the increasingly faint gurgles coming from his cousin’s mouth.
And he felt naught other than pure, white-hot rage as he took his cousin’s life
slowly and sent him to his reckoning with the gods.

Grimar had long ago
gone still, yet Eirik could not release his hold on his neck. Dimly
,
in the back of his mind
,
he registered splashing noises.

Laurel.

His grip finally eased.
It was over. Grimar, his cousin, his childhood companion, his would-be murder
er
, was dead.

He stood on shaking
legs and turned from the body. As his eyes refocused and he shifted his gaze to
the water, his heart lurched.

Laurel was struggling
to keep her head above water, yet she treaded bravely. As she caught sight of
him, she cried out wordlessly. He unwound a length of rope from the rigging and
tossed it to her. She clung desperately to it as he hauled her in toward the
boat with his one good arm. When she was to the boat’s side, it took both of
their remaining strength to get her over the gunwale.

She tumbled over the
gunwale and onto the deck, completely exhausted. He fell to her side and
dragged her into his arms. She was shivering uncontrollably.

They didn’t speak for a
long moment, both too spent to do more than cling to each other. Her body was
so cold and small pressed against him. He pulled her closer, giving her his
warmth.