Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 (25 page)

Finally, she lifted her
head and looked along the deck toward Grimar’s still form.

“Is he…?”

“Ja,” Eirik choked out.
“He is dead. I killed him. I killed my kin.”

She took his face in
her icy hands. “You did the right thing, Eirik,” she said through quivering
lips. “Grimar was behind the attack on the village. He was giving me as payment
to Jarl Thorsten for killing his own people.”

The words barely
penetrated the numbness descending all around him
,
b
ut they smothered the lingering shame Eirik
felt at killing his kin.

“He told me something
else. He told me that my uncle killed my father,” Eirik said flatly, staring at
Laurel’s beautiful, worried face.

She inhaled sharply and
pulled him to her in a fierce embrace.

“My father was robbed
of a warrior’s death, robbed of Valhalla.” he went on, feeling the stirrings of
hot rage in his chest and throat once again.

“Nay,” Laurel whispered
against his neck. She took a breath but paused before going on. “I don’t know
what you believe about your gods, but my God sees all. He knows what is in
men’s hearts. He knows your father was a good and honorable man, and a warrior.
I believe he has found his proper resting place in the afterlife.”

Her words cut him to
the core. He dug his fingers into her hair, longing to drag her impossibly
closer, to never let her go. Suddenly he realized that he’d been so focused on
his own struggle over killing his cousin that he hadn’t even ensured Laurel’s
wellbeing.

“Are you all right?” he
asked, his voice filled with alarm. He pulled back slightly to look at her
face. “Did he hurt you?”

She swallowed and her
eyes filled with tears. “Nay, he didn’t hurt me. I will be all right. But
Eirik—”

He froze, desperate to
do anything for this woman, his love.

“I want to go home. To
Dalgaard.”

His heart squeezed
nigh-painfully at her words. “I love you,” he said, holding her gaze.

She blinked, surprise
flitting across her dark eyes. Then her eyes grew even fuller with tears until
they overflowed down her cheeks. “I love you, too.”

He took her mouth in a
raw, desperate kiss. He clung to her wet and shivering form, and she gripped
him with just as much intensity. He would never be whole again without her.

Finally, he pulled back
to let them both catch their breath.

“Forgive me,” he said,
turning serious once more. “But there is one thing I must do before we can
return home.”

“What is it?” she
asked.

The fog of numbness and
shock was finally starting to lift, and Eirik knew he needed to take care of
the mess Grimar had made.

“We must sail a little
farther. I have a message to deliver to Jarl Thorsten.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just a little
farther,” Eirik replied, shifting the tiller slightly in his hand.

Eirik had lashed the
two boats together, with her captor’s boat trailing behind the slightly larger
vessel in which Eirik and Grimar had arrived.

She had to swallow hard
as Grimar’s name came to mind, followed swiftly by the image seared into her
memory of his blood-filled, empty eye sockets staring lifelessly at nothing.
Eirik had dragged his body to the other boat and laid him down on the small
deck.

“There,” Eirik said,
pointing. “See that opening?”

Laurel followed Eirik’s
finger to an inlet off the open waters in which they sailed. It was wide at the
mouth but narrowed the deeper it went.

“Another fjord?” Laurel
asked.

“Ja. Jarl Thorsten’s
village lies farther in.” He turned so that they began sailing into the fjord.

“We aren’t…we aren’t
going to go see him, are we?” she asked, suddenly uneasy. The last thing she
wanted was to face this mysterious enemy with both of them exhausted and Eirik
wounded.

“Nei, but I have
something for him,” Eirik said darkly. He moved from the tiller to the mast and
lowered the sail. Their brisk clip suddenly changed to a slow drift.

Once the sail was down,
Eirik moved to the stern and hoisted himself over the gunwale and onto the
other boat with a grunt.

She watched as he
hobbled toward where he’d laid out Grimar’s body. When he dragged the body up
into his embrace, she gasped. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond.
Instead, he propped Grimar’s body against the boat’s mast and began lashing him
to it. By the time he was done. Grimar’s lifeless frame was securely tied to
the mast so that it looked like he stood upright. His dead, bloody sockets
stared out eerily.

Laurel had to put a
hand over her mouth and turn away from Grimar’s unseeing gaze. She heard the
sail of the smaller boat unfurling, then their boat shifted slightly as Eirik’s
weight rejoined hers.

As he unfastened the
ropes holding the two boats together, her mind began to piece together what he
intended.

“You are sending
Grimar’s body as a warning to Jarl Thorsten?”

“Ja. Now he’ll know
that we’ve discovered Grimar’s treachery, as well as his own part in raiding
the village. The Jarl has lost his ally and gained a new enemy.”

As the last of the
ropes between the boats fell away, the smaller vessel caught the wind and
immediately darted past them.

“There will still be a
reckoning for the lives the Jarl’s men took in Dalgaard. But Thorsten won’t
soon forget such a message,” Eirik said grimly, his eyes following the boat as
it made its way deeper into the fjord.

Laurel’s thin shift
ruffled in the light breeze. She’d dried and warmed quickly in the fresh air
and warm sun. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the small boat
sail away.

Her hands brushed
against her chest and a terrible sinking feeling stole over her. “The brooch,”
she whispered.

“What?” Eirik began
raising their sail once more.

“The brooch you gave
me,” she went on, her eyes filling with tears. “I left the circle on the deck
of the other boat. I used the pin to stab that man. I think he dropped it
somewhere on the deck as well. ’Tis gone.”

“You mean this brooch?”
Eirik said, stepping to her side. He extended his hand and in his palm lay both
the circle and the pin. The pin was crusted in dried blood but still intact.

Her eyes went wide,
first on the brooch and then on his face. “How did you…”

“I saw them just now as
I was…dealing with the body,” Eirik replied. “I thought you might want them
back.”

She nodded vigorously
,
and he unfastened the little lance from its
circle. He rubbed the bloodied pin against his tunic as best he could, but his
clothes were so tattered and blood-soaked as well that the pin remained
reddish. He leaned forward and secured the brooch to her shift, right above her
heart.

“Let’s go home,” he
said, his voice thick with emotion.

She could only nod, her
own throat already choked with tears.

By the time they neared
the docks jutting out from Dalgaard, Laurel’s body had grown stiff from the
traumas of the day. Between her capture, her daring attack on her captor, all
the swimming, and helping Eirik sail the boat back to the village, she was nigh
shaking with exhaustion.

She could only imagine
how Eirik felt. He hobbled on his good leg, barely able to put any weight on
his wounded right thigh, and he’d completely given up the use of his left arm.
His left sleeve was covered in blood, and red marks showed around his throat as
well. She feared what collection of smaller cuts and bruises she would find once
they got to his cottage and removed his tunic.

As they approached the
village, Laurel made out two figures hurrying to the end of the dock. The pale
and sandy blond heads of Madrena and Alaric grew increasingly distinct.

“Where have you been?
Alaric and I went to check on you several hours ago, only to find your cottage
deserted,” Madrena set in as their small boat bumped against the dock. Her eyes
locked on the two of them and her eyes widened. “What has happened to you two?”

“Gather everyone in the
village square,” Eirik ordered. He tried to ease himself over the gunwale and
onto the dock, but he had to stop, cursing in pain. Alaric bolted to his side
and helped him onto the dock. He propped himself under Eirik’s good shoulder,
taking much of his weight.

Laurel would have
landed on the dock in a heap of wobbly limbs as well if Madrena hadn’t rushed
to her side and helped her. Taking in the fact that Laurel only wore a wrinkled
and salt-crusted shift, Madrena unfastened the lightweight cloak she wore and
spun it around Laurel’s shoulders.

With one arm steadying
her, Madrena brought her free hand to her mouth and whistled loudly. Those
seeing to their business around the village froze, and several heads began
popping
out
from doors and windows.

“Everyone to the
square!” Madrena barked, with Alaric echoing her order in his loud, deep voice.

“Take me to the
longhouse,” Eirik gritted through his obvious pain.

They staggered across
the square, which was quickly filling with curious villagers. They must
have been
quite the sight. A worried murmur rose
around them as they made their way toward the longhouse.

Inside, the longhouse
was just as dim as the first time Laurel had set foot in it.

“Jarl Gunvald!” Eirik
shouted, shattering the silence of the empty longhouse. “I challenge your
Jarlship!”

Both Madrena and Alaric
inhaled sharply and exchanged a wide-eye
d
glance. After a long moment, Gunvald’s white-gray head emerged from a door
leading to his private chambers. Even from this distance, Laurel could see his
pale eyes, so much like his son’s, go round in fear.

Without a word, Gunvald
stepped from his chambers and slowly made his way across the empty longhouse.

“May I choose the
weapon?” Gunvald asked quietly when he reached their little group.

“I do not challenge you
to a physical contest,” Eirik bit out, his eyes riveted on his uncle. “But
rather a challenge based on the laws of this land regarding the bonds of
kinship.”

If Laurel had thought
Gunvald’s eyes had been wide before, now they nearly bulged out of his head. He
swallowed thickly and glanced between the four of them, as if assessing his
ability to escape.

“The villagers gather
in the square as we speak,” Alaric said coolly. “We’d best join them.”

Eirik nodded for
Gunvald to go ahead of them. Reluctantly, the Jarl stepped around them and
toward the door leading to the square. Throngs of villagers now lined the
square, waiting expectantly to learn what was afoot.

As the Jarl emerged
from the longhouse and shuffled into the middle of the square, the crowds fell
into a hushed silence. Eirik shrugged off Alaric’s help and stepped forward.

“Jarl Gunvald, brother
of Jarl Arud the Steady, father of Grimar the Raven, and my uncle,” Eirik said
in a loud, clear voice. “I challenge you for the Jarlship.”

A ripple of surprise
went through those gathered.

“On what grounds do you
challenge the Jarl, Eirik, son of Arud?” someone from the crowd shouted.

Eirik leveled Gunvald
with a hate-filled stare. “On the grounds that he murdered my father.”

A shocked cry from the
collected villagers exploded in the air. Even Laurel gasped at hearing Eirik so
publicly and baldly accuse his uncle. Yet she knew he spoke the truth, and
anyone who looked at him now could see that his eyes burned with conviction.

Laurel felt Madrena
stiffen in outrage next to her. Alaric actually bared his teeth in fury. In the
Northlands, violence was the way of life, but acting without honor—especially
toward one’s kin—was the worst sin.

Gunvald’s eyes flew
around the crowd wildly, searching for any ally. Finally, he faced Eirik.

“Who told you something
so despicable?” he asked, trying to draw himself up.

“Your son, my cousin,
confessed it to me,” Eirik said. His words drew another gasp of shock from
those gathered.

Gunvald’s lips turned
white as he clenched his teeth. “And where is my son now?”

Eirik’s mouth curved
down in disdain. “I cannot speak to where his spirit resides, for I doubt any
of the gods would take him in,” he said flatly. “But his lifeless body is
sailing into Jarl Thorsten’s harbor as we speak.”

Pandemonium erupted.
Villagers shouted in confusion and outrage. Gunvald bared his teeth and took
several steps toward Eirik. Alaric and Madrena instantly jumped in front of
him
, each drawing the seaxes at their belts.

Eirik held up his fist.
“Silence!” he bellowed over the noise of the crowd. Slowly, the villagers
lowered their voices from shouts to murmurs.

He suddenly turned his
intense eyes on Laurel. “I will let this woman explain why Grimar, my cousin,
is dead and in the hands of our enemy.”

“But she’s an
utlending!” someone yelled.

“She’s a thrall! She
cannot speak here!”

“She warned the village
of Jarl Thorsten’s attack!” Madrena shouted over the crowd. “If it weren’t for
this utlending thrall, we’d all have died in our beds!”

The crowd fell into a
stunned silence at Madrena’s words. Several nodded in agreement. Then Laurel
felt the weight of all their eyes shift to her. She started to shrink back, but
Madrena nudged her forward into the open space in the middle of the square.

“What Eirik says is
true,” she began in their language. “Grimar is dead, at Eirik’s hand.”

The murmur of
discontent once again swelled, but she went on in her loudest voice. “I was
kidnapped in the early hours of this day by one of Jarl Thorsten’s men. He told
me that he knew Grimar well, for Grimar was in league with the Jarl. He
arranged for the Jarl’s men to attack the village.”

Gasps of astonishment
filled the otherwise taut silence. After a long moment, Gunvald found his
voice.

“Grimar would never do
such a thing. He longed to be Jarl of Dalgaard. He would never endanger the
village or its people.”

“The attack was meant
for a specific purpose,” Laurel said for all to hear. “Grimar wanted Eirik
dead.”

“Nei!” Gunvald shouted.
His pale eyes flar
ed
with rage as he glared at
Laurel.

“Then why did he draw
his seax on me and try to kill me?” Eirik said, his voice icy cold. “He knew
Laurel’s abductor and asked him to help finish me off.”

“Where is this man who
is supposedly in league with my son?” Gunvald asked, appealing to the crowd.
But the villagers remained silent.

“Laurel killed him,”
Eirik replied.

Madrena turned her
clear eyes on Laurel, a look of admiration in them.

Gunvald snorted. “You
expect us to believe that this little girl killed one of Jarl Thorsten’s men?
And that Grimar, who loved this village and wanted nothing more than to lead
it, was working with our enemy to organize an attack? And for what? To kill
you, nephew?”

“Ja,” Eirik said
evenly. “For I would never make such claims lightly, and I would never harm my
kin. Yet as Grimar raised his blade against me, he confessed that he was only
doing as h
is
father had done to steal the
Jarlship.” Eirik’s eyes flashed a challenge as he pinned Gunvald with his
stare. “Do you accuse me of lying?”

The villagers went
still as they watched Gunvald. Something seemed to shift in the air at that
moment. Eirik was unquestionably beloved and trusted by all in the village—it
was plainly written in the expressions Laurel saw as she looked around.

Gunvald scanned the
faces of those gathered, once more looking for an ally. But his son was dead
and his secret had been revealed. Gunvald turned his pale eyes on Eirik for a
long moment, assessing him.

“I killed my brother,
Arud the Steady,” Gunvald said quietly. “I beg for mercy.”

The entire crowd seemed
to exhale all at once. Eirik’s eyes hardened on his uncle. Laurel’s stomach
twisted. Would Eirik grant mercy to Gunvald after all he’d done? She knew it
wasn’t her place, and she was an outsider, but she silently prayed for honor
and justice to guide Eirik’s actions, whatever he chose to do.

“How did you do it?”
Eirik bit out through clenched teeth.

Gunvald swallowed hard
before speaking again. “As you know, he died while we were raiding to the east.
But we got separated from the main battle. His back was to me, so I…I struck.”

“Why?” Eirik whispered.
“Why would you kill your own brother?”

“I considered myself
his advisor of sorts,” Gunvald replied, holding Eirik’s stare. It was as if the
crowd had fallen away and they spoke only to each other. “But as Jarl, he had
all the power. I was always in his shadow.”

A look of horror
crossed Gunvald’s face. “Yet I have learned that even with Arud dead, his
shadow still hangs over me. The memory of his rule is more beloved than mine.”
He turned his frightened gaze on the villagers. “Even in death, you love him
more than you love me!”

The crowd began to
rumble in disdain. Some villagers spat toward where Gunvald stood alone in the
middle of the square. Others called for him to face the gods for his dishonor.

Eirik held up a hand
and the crow
d
instantly fell silent. Some
invisible shift in power had taken place right before Laurel’s eyes, for the
entire village now followed Eirik’s lead.

“And so you raised
Grimar on such poison,” Eirik said, his eyes riveted on his uncle. “You wanted
him to follow your Jarlship with his own, even if it meant killing kin.”

“Nei!” Gunvald said.
“Please, you must believe me! Ja, I wanted Grimar to be Jarl, but I forbade him
from touching you. But the boy was too wild, too uncontrollable. He…he got away
from me.” Gunvald dropped his white-gray head into his hands, as if fully
realizing for the first time that his son was dead.

After a long moment, he
lifted his head. His pale eyes were red-rimmed. “I didn’t know that he was in
league with Jarl Thorsten, or that he planned to kill you. I warned him what
would happen if he harmed you—that suspicion and comparisons would shadow his
rule forever, as it has mine.”

He struggled for a
moment before going on, his voice barely above a whisper. “You are so like your
father, Eirik. Whenever I see you
,
I fear that
Arud has come back from the dead to haunt me.”

Eirik didn’t speak, but
he
continued to look hard at his uncle.

Gunvald fell to his
knees. “I beg of you, nephew, you must believe me and have mercy on me. I only
wished to distract you from the Jarlship, not hurt you. That is why I ordered
the utlending thrall girl to be sold at the slave market in Jutland by summer’s
end. I didn’t want you to have a reason to stay in Dalgaard. You must believe
me—that was the extent of my involvement in this.”

Laurel inhaled sharply.
Jutland. The man who’d kidnapped her had said something about selling her in
Jutland as well. But what did Gunvald mean when he said he’d
ordered
her
to be sold at the slave market?

Eirik’s head snapped to
her, his bright eyes going wide. Her mind spun. Had that been the plan all
along? Had that been Gunvald’s initial decision the first day she’d arrived in
Dalgaard?

“Laurel, I’ll explain
everything—later,” Eirik said, his tone firm but his blue eyes pleading.

“Cut out his innards!”
someone from the crowd shouted.

“Feed him to the dogs!”

Eirik’s attention was
tugged back to Gunvald as the villagers began hurling insults and threats at
their former Jarl. She saw Eirik’s face pinch slightly at the task before him.
He was now the village’s leader—it was up to him to dole out the punishment to
his uncle.

“I declare myself Jarl
of Dalgaard!” Eirik shouted over the crowd. “Does anyone challenge me?”

Those gathered
immediately fell silent. The air was still and laden with anticipation. Even
Gunvald seemed to be holding his breath where he knelt in the middle of the
square.

“I have made a decision
about the fate of my uncle,” he began in a level tone, though Laurel detected
the tightness in his voice.

Murmurs rippled through
the crowd once more, calling for Gunvald’s death in a dozen ways.

“Gunvald will
be…banished.”

A collective gasp rose
from the villagers. “What does that mean?” Laurel whispered urgently to
Madrena. But before Madrena could reply, Eirik turned to her. He spoke loud
enough for everyone to hear.

“It means that Gunvald
will forevermore live outside the protections of the law and community. It
means that he is unfeedable, unferriably, and unfit for all help and shelter.
It is worse than death, for he cannot ask the gods to take pity on him. He is
the living dead now.”

“Ja, he is not one of
us!” someone shouted.

“His dishonor will
follow him for the rest of his life!”

“Begone! You are dead
to us!”

Gunvald looked
desperately around him, rising slowly to his feet. Laurel couldn’t tell if he
was in any way relieved not to be put to death, for his face was transfixed
with fear. Several villagers closed in around him and began shoving him toward
the docks. He tried to call something to Eirik, his voice pleading, but the
words were swallowed up by the swelling crowd.

Laurel’s feet felt
rooted in place, yet her eyes followed the strange procession to the docks. One
of the villagers gave Gunvald a swift push into one of the small boats Laurel
had seen used for fishing within the fjord.

“Never return!” the
villagers were shouting as they shoved Gunvald’s little boat into the fjord.
With fumbling hands, Gunvald unfurled the small sail in the middle of the boat.
The wind was with him, for he began moving swiftly toward the mouth of the
fjord. The villagers’ disdainful cries followed the little vessel until it was
merely a speck on the horizon.

At long last, the
villagers began trudging back to the square where Eirik, Madrena, Alaric, and
Laurel stood silently.

Alaric moved to Eirik’s
side and wordlessly clasped forearms with him. A look passed between the two
men. Alaric’s green eyes shone with admiration as Eirik gave him a little nod
that they both seemed to understand.

Then Madrena stepped
next to Eirik and turned to those gathered. “Long rule Jarl Eirik, son of Arud
the Steady!”

The villagers roared
their approval. Someone shouted “Jarl Eirik the Steady!” and the crowd soon
took up the chant. Laurel watched Eirik in awe. His bright blue eyes were
dimmed somewhat with moisture as the villagers repeated his given name with his
father’s earned name.

Finally he held up a
hand and the crowd grew quiet.

“My first ruling as
your Jarl was to banish my uncle. My second is that I declare this woman free.”

Laurel suddenly felt
the weight of not only Eirik’s eyes on her, but the penetrating gaze of the
villagers. She winced at the silence that followed Eirik’s proclamation, but
slowly, those gathered began to nod. Then someone in the back started to cheer,
and the rest took up the sound, making their approval known.

Eirik strode to her
side. “We will feast tonight to honor Laurel, and to acknowledge the changing
of the Jarlship.” At that, the crowd gave one more cheer and began to dis
per
se to ready themselves for the celebration.

Eirik exhaled and
slumped over. He’d been so rigid, so commanding, that Laurel had almost
forgotten that he was still recovering from the two arrow wounds, as well as
the injuries Grimar had inflicted.

Alaric rushed to his
side and propped him up under his good shoulder again.

“To my cottage,” Eirik
said, his voice strained with pain. “We can at least have a few hours’ rest
before the celebration this evening.”

As they walked along
the faint path toward Eirik’s hut, Eirik and Laurel explained all that had
transpired to Madrena and Alaric. When Eirik told of Laurel’s bravery in
attacking her captor, Madrena pounded Laurel on the back so hard that the air
was knocked from her lungs. Yet when they reached the cottage, a somber mood
fell over the group.