Undercurrent (23 page)

“
Think, Rikka.” Signy leaned toward him, the endearing name he’d not heard for so long flowing sweet and warm from her lips. “If you do this thing, you will be banished at best, and let us not even speak of the worst. Flee. And do not return.”

“
Innocence holds no fear of justice.” Ragnar thrust the branch he toyed with into the fire. “Why should Alarik remain on the run?”

Signy’s small fingers forced Alarik’s face toward hers. Having been so fueled, the hearth flared bright, highlighting the intense blue in her eyes. Or was it passion that lit them so? “You have no proof. You must run.”

“
What are you guys talking about?”

With Signy so close, he’d all but forgotten Cassie. He frowned at her as he freed the brooch from the pouch on his belt and held it out palm up. “I have proof.”

“
That’s mine,” Cassie said, as he expected, for ever had she claimed it as hers. He did not, however, anticipate the alarmed flash in Signy’s eyes.

“
That proves nothing!” She spat the words, spearing Cassie with a wrathful stare.

He tucked the brooch into his coin pouch and gathered Signy into his arms, comforting the fear that must wither her hope to speak so harshly. She molded against him, resting her head on his chest. The memory of just how well their bodies fit together renewed his desire.

“
Promise me, Rikka, that you will go far from here. Forget about Rogaland.” Her voice muffled against his tunic.

He pressed her tighter, nuzzling the top of her head. “With you at my side, woman, as well I might.”

She lifted her face and would surely have said more, but he covered her mouth with his own, tasting of her lips, her cheeks, her neck, and lower. Enough with the talking. This time he’d not be put off.

Ragnar averted his eyes as Alarik unbuckled his belt, stripped the shirt from his back, then lowered Signy to the ground. More than a cast-off tunic would soon litter the dirt. He reached for a big stick, and with a few strategic whaps, beat back the fire’s edges to lessen the light. Not that he hadn’t seen loveplay before, but with Cassie present, an acute embarrassment burned through him from cheeks to loins.

He threw down the stick and stood.

Cassie sprang up as well. The heightened color of her skin showed scarlet in the remaining firelight. “Where are you going?”

What to say? He needed to run because he wished it were him on the ground with her beneath? Lust rendered him weak kneed as she reached for his arm, and he retreated on shaky legs. Cassie’s eyes widened, and shame seared white-hot into his conscience. Would to God she hadn’t seen his desire.
Forgive me, Jesu, for my wicked yearnings. Unless and until you make her mine, I renounce such thoughts.

“
Ragnar?” At least her tone carried no hint of repulsion.

“
Mayhap I left something at the faering. Follow if you wish.” He wiped his sticky palm against his tunic, a futile effort to remove the pine sap left behind from the branch. Indeed, a trip to the river would serve him well in more ways than one.

He plunged into the dark wood, unconcerned about fashioning a torch. He could travel this route blind, for well did he know it.

Far off, a deep, guttural howl pierced the night, followed by a few lonely barks. Before the sound died, Cassie’s toe caught his heel, and he stumbled forward.

“
Sorry!”

Gaining his balance, he resumed his regular stride, then reached his unsticky hand toward her.

Cold fingers clasped his, though the touch of her flesh against his burned a fire up his arm. When the howl echoed again, a flinch tightened her hold momentarily. “Ragnar? About that, uh, wolf…you don’t think—”

“
Not to worry,” he said over his shoulder. “It is not as near as it seems. This late at night, it is most likely one lost from his pack.”

“
But—”

He turned, meeting her frightened gaze. “I am well armed, Cassie. Think you I would lead you into danger? Even so, I pledge my protection.”

Her fingers relaxed, though she inched closer. How different traversing the woods had been with the cool and reserved Signy, who’d trailed him aloof and silent. Her insistence for Alarik to flee carried much passion in comparison. And something about that rubbed him raw. Why encourage Alarik to run away? Did she place such little value on his honor? Mayhap her love and concern for him clouded her reason, for she’d even dismissed the brooch as evidence.

Cassie released his hand as black forest gave way to a narrow strip of beach. A three-quarter moon hung low in the sky, sprinkling shavings of light atop the river. The faering moored snug where they’d left it.

He continued to the water’s edge as Cassie sat on the rocky ledge that defined waterway from woodland. Squatting, he thrust his hands into the icy tributary and scrubbed them against the gravel to scratch off the sappy residue. The cold shock dulled into numbness as he worked. Satisfied, he flicked the water from his hands and wiped them on his tunic. A bit of ash soap would have worked better, though as he rubbed his palms together, they didn’t stick quite so much. Good enough. Crossing back toward Cassie, he took care lifting each foot lest he kick a spray of rock.

Her eyes tracked his advance. “Aren’t you going to get what you needed?”

Oft times if he concentrated hard, he could manage to decipher her uncommon manner of speech. Not this time. “What are you saying?”

“
From the boat. Aren’t you going to get what you needed from the boat? You said—”

“
Ahh.” Understanding lapped as clearly as the current against the faering’s hull. He nodded and stopped in front of her. “I said mayhap I left something here, not that I had for certain.”

“
But you didn’t even look.”

He grinned down at her. “No need.”

“
No need?” A slow smile spread across her face. “You didn’t need to come here, did you? You wanted to ditch Alarik and Signy as much as I did.”

Again, comprehension skittered beyond his grasp. “Ditch?”

“
Umm, escape. Run away. I can’t believe the way they just…uh…and in front of us, even. Hey, who is this Signy and why does she want Alarik to run away?”

Casting a glance at the moon, he calculated the night’s remaining slumber before answering. Ja, time enough for the tale, and well should she know what threat they faced. He settled at her side. “Signy is Alarik’s betrothed. Their vows were to be exchanged at last summer’s solstice.”

Cassie’s mouth dropped. “Betrothed? I had no idea. But…what happened? To stop their wedding, I mean.”

“
Days before, Alarik, his brother Einar, and I celebrated the upcoming happy event. Long into the night, nay, ’til near dawn’s break we reveled, though my own ale was watered until harmless. When we departed the Great Hall, Einar clouted Alarik, but ’twas all in fun. Alarik stumbled. I sickened. And all went black. Neither Alarik nor I can remember.” He sighed. Even in the retelling, no new insight materialized.

“
What about Einar? Does Alarik’s brother remember what happened?”

“
Einar is dead, slain with Alarik’s blade.”

Cassie drew a sharp breath. “Did Alarik—”

“
Nay!” She twitched at his outburst, and he softened his voice. “Alarik is many things, but he is not a murderer.”

She nibbled her lower lip before answering. “Yeah, I guess not. From what little I know of him, I don’t think he is either. You sure you don’t remember any more?”

From beyond, the wolf’s low pitch lent an ethereal backdrop to his memories. It harmonized hauntingly with a tone he’d heard before. To be sure, a small thing, but he’d forgotten that wolf’s cry the morn of Einar’s death. Cassie scooted closer to his side, her warmth distracting.

“
Fret not, Cassie.” He paused to once again read the moon’s height from the horizon. “Night’s lantern sets soon. With the darkness, wolves cease their cry and won’t begin again until next twilight.”

Tension slacked in her shoulder touching his, but he straightened alert as the truth of his statement collided with his memory. Why had a wolf called the morn of the murder?

TWENTY-TWO

Fabulous. She’d hooked up with a suspected killer. Cassie shrank into the thick cloak, pulling it tighter. Not that it helped. Darkness, the wolf’s howl, and Ragnar’s story of murder instilled an iciness that reached inside its woolen comfort. A shiver ran the length of her. True, Alarik wore a rough exterior, albeit a handsome one, but underneath, kindness softened him. Could he be capable of doing such a thing?

The memory she’d tried to forget answered. To this day, if she allowed herself to, she could smell the sweat of that man in Jorvik’s alley, feel his dead weight pressing atop her before he went slack beneath Alarik’s knife. Cold fear combined with the night air, chilling her further. Her nose started running, and sniffling accomplished nothing. She swiped it with the back of her hand.

Beside her, Ragnar’s boots crunched into the gravel. “We will return.”

Against the last of the moon’s light, he stood broad-shouldered and solid. His presence thawed some of her anxiety…but not all. A desire to know his opinion, unbiased by Alarik’s listening ears, kept her from rising. “Ragnar, what do you think will happen?”

“
They will be sleeping close to what fire is left by now.”

“
No, that’s not what I mean. What do you think will happen to Alarik at the assembly?”

With the sinking of the moon, the stars’ meager light did little to illuminate his face even when he looked heavenward. “I know not, Cassie, but the God I serve is sovereign. Whatever the future holds, He has already ordained.”

His tone carried unwavering conviction, as if he and God were on a first-name basis. Who knew? Maybe he was. But why did that make her own heart suddenly ache? “You sound so sure. I wish…I wish my faith were like that.”

“
You have but to ask.”

She glanced up. Did he mock her? Religion was way more complicated than that. Daily Bible reading. Church attendance. Volunteering or the ultimate missionary service in some malaria-infested jungle. That’s what people of great faith did.

But there stood Ragnar—without Bible or church, yet possessing a belief deeper and more concrete than any she’d ever seen. Former pastors and ministers all seemed as mere puddles compared to this ocean in front of her.

The ache blossomed into a large lump. She swallowed then stood. Maybe at eye level she could better judge whether he joked or not. “Is that how it worked for you? I mean, you just…asked?”

“
There is more to my story—”

“
I knew it.” So even he had to admit the whole God thing required something other than asking.

“
Nay, Cassie, let me finish. There is more to my story that would credit Jesu than merely my weak act of request. Truly, there is naught better I would like than to sit by your side until daybreak, but we must be off by then. I will tell you all as we journey back to camp.” He stepped past her, climbed the embankment, and offered his hand.

Well, at least it would distract her from thinking about what Alarik and Signy might still be doing or what lurked in the black woods. She sighed but clasped his strong hand.

He pulled her up before beginning. “Three summers ago, I sailed on a trading venture with my father and other villagers. Many leagues we traveled, stopping at different ports for varied cargo. ’Twas in the land of the Celts at Eire we took on two thralls. One of them, Abbán, changed my life.”

Ragnar’s voice carried low and clear as they entered the thick pines, easing her fear of the oppressive darkness. “My father, ever a hard man and all the worse as a master, worked them nigh unto death, as was his custom. He had no need of them once back in Rogaland, so he took his money’s worth in sweat and blood before returning home. Most thralls hated him for it, but never once did I see that fury shine from Abbán’s eyes. Nay, not once.”

Cassie’s toe hit a tree root, faltering her step, but Ragnar’s grasp righted her before he continued. “Abbán served with nary a complaint, though nothing but starvation filled his empty belly, and his back often bore the sting of my father’s lash. ’Twould have lessened the punishment had he shown some measure of defiance or rebellion. My father brooked no weakness in a man lest he felt compelled to drive it from him.”

From what she knew of Ragnar, she couldn’t square his gentle personality with that of his father’s. The man sounded like a total jerk, though Ragnar probably didn’t need her to impart that nugget of wisdom. She kept her mouth shut and hiked on.

“
Through it all, Abbán offered naught but compassion toward any of us. Daily, I heard him petition his God for mercy on us, and, God bless him, mercy for my father—even after my father humiliated him, using Abbán for his basest desires when no woman was available.”

Nausea twisted Cassie’s stomach, and anger rose with the acid up her throat. How could someone as admirable as Ragnar have such a horrible father?

Ragnar paused but didn’t look back. Instead, he glanced skyward. “Aye, Jesu, have mercy on us all.”

He squeezed her hand and moved on. “Of a sudden, I took a fever. ’Twas feared I carried the pox. My father left me under Abbán’s care on one of the many isles to which we sailed. If we died, at least none of the other men would sicken. For days on end, Abbán cared for me as might a mother, all the while teaching me the true grace offered by his God. I heard his words, but they meant nothing…until I saw them lived out.