MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (44 page)

The Dane was dead, and Conar stepped around him. Melisande stood still, stunned, staring at the man.

“We must move,” Conar told her.

She started for the steps.

“Nay, not these. Take the corridor there.”

Melisande paused. Her gaze met Conar"s and his hand gripped hers again.

She had scarcely seen the near black opening to a further hallway.

But now he led her along it. At first she could see nothing. Then, barefooted, she tripped upon something on the ground. She staggered, for the object had pierced her flesh. She reached down, trying not to step upon it again.

She lifted a bone. A human bone.

A shriek rose in her.

“Shh!” Conar swiftly silenced her, taking the offending femur from her hands and tossing it aside.

“What is this place?” she cried.

“A Roman burial chamber. Come, let"s go. It lets out far closer to the woods.”

She inhaled. She stepped carefully again, yet a gasp left her lips, for the floor here was littered with bones.

As were the walls, she realized.

Row after row of bodies lay in perfect symmetry to her left. Some nothing more than bone, some still clothed in ancient costume, some in shrouds, and some left to rot with no gentle gauze to cover the ravages of death …

“Oh, my God!” she whispered. “You"ve brought me through a city of death!”

“Milady, I am trying to rescue you!” he reminded her, sweeping her off the floor as she gasped at another sharp fragment in her way. His eyes touched her.

“You are not supposed to complain about the method.” She was still terrified, yet his words made her smile. “Your pardon, milord. I will take care that should I be abducted in the future, I will do so with shoes.”

“And clothing!” he reminded her curtly.

“You had just left me,” she said softly.

They were far from safe as yet, Melisande knew. But as those eyes touched her, she felt a furious trembling begin again within her. She felt amazingly secure at this moment, protected, warm, safe.

Incredibly happy.

He had come for her.

The strength of his arms was around her. The heat of him filled her.

Why had she ever sailed away?

Because he had ridden off to war.

But she had been wrong. No matter how great her passion for home, she had been wrong. She wanted to tell him so, but he moved too swiftly, it was not the time, or the place.

Yet would they ever have the time, or the place?

He fell silent, his long strides carrying them quickly through the hallway of corpses. She lay against the cool metal of his mail, her eyes closed.

Then he set her down again, pulling on her arm so that she followed him.

She saw there was another set of white stone steps just ahead of them, steps that led back up to the moonlit night.

“Up the steps, quickly,” he commanded, and she scrambled up, nearly slipping on their lichen-covered slickness.

Then they were out in the moonlight. Her breath caught.

The Danes were everywhere. Clumped in groups by rocks and boulders, resting on the remnants of ancient stone walls.

Fires burned.

Melisande closed her eyes for a moment against the things the fall of night could not hide.

Vikings could be so coldly, brutally cruel. They sometimes played with their captives before killing them.

They sometimes killed them very slowly, binding them to trees, cutting out their entrails, and letting them die thus. They were known to cook their meals in the stomachs of their slain enemies.

There were bodies tied to trees. Sagging bodies. The scent of blood was rich on the air.

And they were alone amidst all of this. If they were captured again, Geoffrey would only take her back.

He would kill Conar in the most hideous way possible.

Her knees grew weak. His hand was upon her elbow again. “Nay! Don"t fail me now!”

She shook her head. “Walk. See the rise of wall there? Let"s keep to the rear of it. And hurry along. It must seem that I am escorting you as I have been commanded.”

She nodded and began to walk. They covered some fair distance. She realized that Conar was trying to reach a place where the Roman wall had ended, where the forest still claimed the land.

They had traveled some distance before Conar was suddenly tapped on the shoulder. He paused, turning back swiftly. Three men stood behind them.

“Where are you taking the woman?”

“He has sent for her.”

“He has sent for her? You are going the wrong way.” Conar started to shrug. Then one of them laughed. “Ah, it"s not like the lovely countess has no knowledge of a man, eh? There"s nothing to be saved for his fine Frankish pleasure!”

“Being wed to a Viking,” another agreed. “She"ll be craving more than his poor sword!”

“We take her out, share her, return her,” the third said, “and no one is the wiser!” He bellowed out a laugh. “And if anyone is the wiser, then damn them, for he does not pay us enough to keep us from such a tempting morsel.”

“Share her …” Conar murmured. Melisande"s eyes widened on him, but he wasn"t even glancing her way. “The clump of trees yonder, behind our lines.

Let"s take her there.”

Melisande opened her mouth to protest. Conar"s hand slammed down upon it, and the other men quickly formed a guard around him, hiding the fact that he now dragged her along. She struggled against his hand, for she couldn"t breathe. He lifted her off the ground, and her toes dangled just above it.

They passed by the rocks where the Danes lay and drank and kept a casual guard. They passed the end of the broken wall and entered the trees.

“Here!” Someone commanded.

“Deeper!” Conar said. “We cannot afford for others to hear her screams.”

“Aye!” came a simultaneous cry.

And so they moved deeper into the woods, into darkness. They came at last to a cove with pine carpeting. They could still see the fires, but they were some distance away.

“Here!” the biggest of the men demanded again. Like Conar, he was clad in mail. His helmet was winged, with no nose guard. He was heavyset, and not as well muscled as many of his fellows. The man behind him was shorter, but square, stout, and heavy-muscled. The third was slimmer, well built.

“Aye … here …”

Her eyes widened with alarm again as he brought her forward, dropped her instantly, and unsheathed his sword, swinging on the others.

“What—” began the heavyset one.

“Friends, she is mine!” Conar said quietly.

“By all the fires of a bloody Christian hell!” the heavy one exclaimed. “By the rood, man, she is ours!”

He, too, drew his sword, lunging forward quickly. Conar waved a hand to Melisande, and she leapt behind a tree trunk, her heart in her throat as she waited.

“Take her then!” Conar commanded.

The first man fell to his goading and rushed forward. There was no real clash of swords. He lunged wildly for Conar"s throat, and Conar instantly parried the blow, then drove his blade homeward at the man"s nape. He fell with a loud whooshing sound.

It had all happened so fast. His two companions instantly drew weapons, the one a mace, the other a sword, and began to circle Conar. Conar crouched low, watching them both. They rushed him. He parried the mace, but the sword slashed across his chest. He grunted with the force of it, yet his mail kept the blade from piercing his flesh. He staggered back and shoved his foot against the chest of the first man to come for him again. The man fell back, stumbled.

The other waved his mace in the air and brought it crashing down. Conar moved with seconds to spare. The heavy steel ball of the weapon crashed into a tree trunk when it might have cleaved his skull.

He swung around swiftly, catching the sword wielder in the side. The man screamed, staggering backward. Conar inched for him, trying to retrieve his weapon. He drew it back, but the last man slammed his weight against his shoulders just then, and the weapon flew.

Melisande cried out in horror, watching as the man swung again and again, as Conar leapt and ducked, watching him, fighting for his life.

The sword!

She left the tree trunk and dived for the silver weapon shimmering beneath the moonlight.

The man had left Conar, he was fast approaching her. She leapt to her feet, waving it before her.

“Melisande! Give it to me!”

The mace swung toward her blade. The strength of it was shattering. Conar was circling around. She tossed the weapon to him swiftly. The Dane lunged.

Conar stepped before her, shoving her back again. The mace swung. Conar ducked. He swung his sword. The blow was good. He caught this opponent in the throat as well. Blood spilled out as the man sank to his knees.

But Conar sank down, too. He fell back, flat upon the ground. His eyes closed.

Melisande leapt beside him, tapping his cheek beneath the steel of his visor.

“Conar!” she cried with alarm, her heart seeming to shatter. How had he been hurt? When the blow? She hadn"t seen it. Did he bleed, did he lay dying?

“Conar!” she cried out again, touching his throat, seeking the beat of his life.

His eyes flew open, shattering brilliant blue upon her. “Winded, tired. It took you long enough to go for that sword!”

“Oh!” she cried out. “You"re all right—”

He sat up.

“Aye, for the moment.”

“How dare you scare me so!”

“Lady, I but fell for a moment! Those fellows were heavy, not to mention that I just carried you down the length of that full corridor!”

“My feet are grievously torn!”

“Aye.”

“You offered to share me with the three!”

“How else escape them, Melisande? Have you ever known me to share something so thoroughly mine as a wife?”

Of course not. She had just been so riddled with fear.

“Nay, you do not share such things!” she agreed softly.

“Alas, the sword could have been gotten a shade sooner!”

“You told me to get behind the tree.”

“You"ve decided to obey me now?” he queried.

“Nay, I just—oh!” she cried out, flushing, but he smiled, then his smiled faded, and he pressed a finger to her lips. “I have brought us too far to the east now. We must make our way back through the woods. Quickly. Before our trail of dead men is discovered, and Geoffrey realizes that you are gone.” He came to his feet and reached for her hand.

She took it quickly, yet pulled back a moment. She felt a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. “Conar, I know we haven"t time, but there"s something I must tell you. We—we"re going to have a child. I realize that makes it worse that I donned mail and led the men, but I was desperate, you were not here, you have so much across the sea. Yet this is all that I have, my father taught me a great responsibility to the people—”

“Melisande—”

“Mergwin told me that it is going to be a boy,” she finished, eyes downcast.

“I know.”

Her eyes flew open. There was so much hidden against her when his helmet covered so much but eyes and mouth!

“Mergwin told you?”

“Brenna.”

“Oh …”

“Melisande, she told me just tonight. Because she knew how angry I was, and she was worried that I might hurt you, or be too rough with you. She demanded I be gentle.”

“Oh …”

He caught her arm. “Come. I would live to be a father.” They started through the soft pine trail again. “She is expecting her own child,” he said.

Melisande froze, causing him to misstep. He pulled back, staring into her eyes.

Brenna had told her that she and Conar had not been lovers.

Brenna had also told her that she would always be there for Conar. To serve him as he might wish. In any way. Brenna rode with him, fought with him.

Melisande had left him. Brenna had stayed.

And so much time lay between them now, no matter how tempestuous their meeting.

He had come for her tonight. Risked death and terrible odds, torture, things he knew all too well.

She lowered her lashes quickly, fighting tears.

Conar suddenly lifted her chin. “What is it? Ah!” He shook his head, a smile curving his lip. “The child she carries is Swen"s. They plan to wed soon.” Melisande bowed her head, determined he would not see her swift smile, nor realize just how deeply her emotions had been running.

His hand was upon her arm again. “Come, hurry.” She hurried. She followed him blindly, trying not to wince as her feet fell upon sharp twigs and stones.

“Almost there!” he whispered.

Where? Where was there?

What help was there for them?

Suddenly they burst out into a clearing.

Conar stopped so abruptly that she slammed against his back. Stunned, she braced herself against him and looked around. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart leapt to meet it there.

Geoffrey stood before them, surrounded by bearded, bearskin-covered berserkers. At least ten men, equipped with swords, maces, battle-axes.

Geoffrey smiled slowly.

“I think that the odds are mine at last, Viking,” Geoffrey said softly.

“Are they?” Conar inquired in turn.

“Indeed. You shouldn"t have come for her.”

“You stole my wife. I had to come.”

“She should have been mine. This is not your country, or your place.”

“As your father murdered hers, she was never very fond of you!”

“She will be. I will see to it. When you are dead and gone, Conar—which will be shortly, though I do intend it to take time—she will be glad enough of me! You will simply be out of the way.”

She found herself slipping around Conar"s side, choking with her fear and fury. “Never!” she cried. “Never, you daft fool! Do you think that you can slay the years that have passed between us, do you think that you can slay love?”