Undercurrent (32 page)

“
I love you, Ragnar.” Her fingertips traced the side of his face that hadn’t been touched in years. Her caress, more than physical, freed a part of him locked in chains since the horrible day his father slashed his hope for love.

He could bear no more.

A moan escaped him as he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. With one hand he cupped the back of her head, downy hair soft against his calloused skin, and lowered his mouth to hers. When their lips met, he tasted the willingness in her response. Fire burned along every vein. He deepened the kiss, and she leaned in, returning his passion.

Pulling away took all the strength he owned.

She gazed at him, breathing hard, eyes bright, and her trance of love intoxicated as nothing he’d ever experienced.

He cleared his throat, for surely his voice would fail otherwise. “I gave my heart to you, Cassie, the first day I saw you. If you will have me, I will make you mine.”

Her smile reached her eyes and radiance warmer than a summer day lent her cheeks a rosy tone. “I would have no other besides you.”

She brushed back his hair that fell forward from habit and lifted her face to his. This time when her mouth touched his, hungry and searching, his desire quaked uncontrollable.

He pushed her down, laying her back against the smooth pine slab. His mouth strayed from her lips, traveling the skin of her neck. Breathing in her scent, the smell of the air after a spring storm, earthy and fresh, he shook with fear that the fire raging within him would not be stopped. Her hands burned a trail from the back of his neck, down his back, and he shuddered.

“
Ragnar.”

He froze, as did Cassie.

The deep voice came from behind, at the byre’s door. Like jumping into a frozen mountain stream, the realization of what he’d almost done, what he wanted to do, catapulted him to his feet, breathless.

“
Ragnar,” the voice came again. “Magnus have bad feeling.”

Torolf raised his forearm. Warriors on horseback pulled up reins and foot soldiers ceased their march. Though he’d scanned their advance with his predator’s sense, he’d not seen or heard anything unusual. In the early morning light, squirrels darted from tree to ground, claws scratching along trunks and rustling leaves as they collected acorns against winter’s famine. Oak branches, barren of leaf, rattled like dead men’s bones when the chill breeze rushed through the wood. Nothing out of place, except for a hounding intuition baying like a dog at a kill.

Keeping his arm lifted, Torolf opened his palm, signaling the war band to remain, then touched a finger to his lips to indicate they should wait in silence. Pointing at Wolfgar, he nodded his head and wheeled his mount to canter farther into the wood. Wolfgar followed without question.

At the ridgeline of a ravine, he shortened the reins and slid off, tying the horse to a fallen trunk. Wolfgar mimicked every action.

Torolf pointed to his eyes, then stretched out his arm, directing his second-in-command to walk the ridge as Torolf kept him within sight. Wolfgar dipped his head once and silently stalked to the top of the ravine.

Slipping down the embankment, Torolf took great care to make as little noise as possible, especially when ascending the other side. Across and a good fifty paces ahead, Wolfgar continued his path. He stood out like a weevil in a spoonful of flour.

Which is exactly what Torolf paid keen attention to as he padded along, stealth in his every step. He avoided twigs and drifts of dried leaves, resettling his weight from heel to toe as he walked.

A good measure on, he stopped. The trunk of a wide oak on his side of the ravine cast an odd shadow, as if a man-sized growth were attached to its base. A slow grin pulled his lips up tight, anticipation increasing his breaths. Ahh, yes, a good kill would whet his appetite for more blood—Ragnar’s.

He advanced in silence and unsheathed a foot-length blade from his side, saving his sword for battle. As he suspected, the man beside the tree fixed his eyes on Wolfgar, allowing Torolf to get so close he could smell the oily stench of the fool’s unwashed hair. Striking now would be a quick victory.

Yet he waited, savoring the thrill.

At last, when the man must have lost sight of Wolfgar, he turned slightly—enough to realize he did not stand alone.

The man spun. His eyes widened when they met Torolf’s. The scent of fear carried in his sweat as he reached for his sword. Too late.

Torolf smiled. He thrust his blade into the base of the man’s ribs, then ripped downward with a mighty pull the length of his torso. ’Twas hardly a challenge, but a good exercise nonetheless.

The man’s mouth opened wide, a gurgling mix of fluids wheezing on his last breath. He fell backward, lifeless eyes staring up at the tree limbs.

Unloosing a cloth sack tucked into his tunic, Torolf knelt near the corpse and cocked his head. Stupid man. The most obvious enemy was never the most dangerous.

He whistled short and sharp to alert Wolfgar, then plunged his hand into the man’s mangled body. Removing a good portion of entrails, he tucked them into the bag, then pulled tight the drawstring. He rose and searched the opposite side of the ridge. Wolfgar stood directly across, and Torolf nodded for him to return.

But his own work was not yet finished. Ears alert, he tracked the trail the dead man had taken. From snapped stick to kicked soil, he followed until at last he spotted a tethered horse. The animal stamped and snorted at his approach.

Before untying the beast, he secured the bloodied bag to the saddle. The horse shied and strained, neighing all the while. Loosing the tether, he slapped the animal’s flank, and the horse bolted in the direction of Rogaland. So much for their worthless scout.

And so much for their early warning. He’d be at their gates by the time the horror of his little gift could fully set in.

THIRTY-ONE

Cassie dodged elbows and hooves, snaking through the group of assembled men. Those who would mount horses tightened cinches or checked bridles. Others sharpened axe heads or adjusted pack straps. Boasts of past battles or the number of Torolf’s men they expected to slay mingled with jests and bawdy comments about the women they’d have when they returned.

If they returned.

She ducked away from that thought as nimbly as she scooted around a large warrior in front of her. As she searched from one group of men to the next, the early afternoon took on a surreal blur. Time had stopped when Ragnar held her in the barn, but now took on a sickeningly breakneck pace. She’d give anything to reverse the hours and freeze-frame the moment he’d pledged his heart. Even now the same stunning thrill quivered through her at the memory. If she could just find him in this smelly lot of men, she’d give him his own quiver to remember.

She shoved past two soldiers arguing over their valor and spotted Magnus at the edge of the throng, Kier next to him. The grief she still harbored for Alarik scraped raw and fresh in her heart every time she saw him. Her chest tightened as she drew near. “Kier?”

“
Ja?” He turned deep brown eyes to her, the same tilt to his chin as Alarik’s when he used to query her.

“
I just want to say, uh…” What did she want to say? That she hoped he’d live so she wouldn’t lose the memory of Alarik’s face? Right. That would go over well. She gulped, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut in the first place. “Be careful, ja?”

His stern look lightened. “Ja. Anna will have much to say if I do not return whole and sound.”

True. Anna would be crushed to lose this man, just as she would feel if Ragnar—no. She wouldn’t even consider it. Folding her arms, she squeezed herself tight. The fear she’d tried all morning to ignore lifted its ugly head and sank its sharp teeth into her. “Could you, I mean would you watch after Ragnar?”

She inhaled a whiff of sausage and cider as Magnus stepped close and patted his big hand atop her head. “Magnus watch Ragnar. Magnus keep close watch for Cass-ee.”

Smiling up at him, she ducked away. His pats nearly jackhammered her into the ground. “Thanks, Magnus.”

“
Think you I cannot protect myself, woman?”

Strong arms encased her from behind, hugging her close. Her heart leapt to her throat at the feel of Ragnar’s body pressed against her. She squirmed around to face him. Instant heat set her on fire as his gaze burned into hers. “Uh, umm…” She swallowed. Who could think with his warm breath brushing her forehead or his solid muscles flexed beneath her hands?

He grinned and looked over the top of her head. “I have rendered her speechless. This victory is mine. Let us be off to the next, ja?”

All within hearing chuckled, and it surprised her that she didn’t care. Consumed with worry for Ragnar’s safety, she rested her head against his leather breastplate.

“
What’s this?” He caressed one hand from the top of her head and down her back, then lifted her face to his. A frown turned down the edges of his mouth.

Loosening his hold, he grabbed her hand and pulled her aside, away from listening ears. He grasped her other hand as well, intertwining their fingers. “Cassie, do not fret so. Bring your cares to Jesu. I rise or fall by his hand alone, not Torolf’s.”

Choking back tears, she squeezed his fingers, imprinting the feel while drawing from his strength. He did not need to be worrying about her when he should focus on defeating Torolf. She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “I will spend all my time begging Jesu for your safety, and if you return—”

He shook free of her grasp and pressed a finger to her lips. “When I return, woman. On that day we wed. Have Grunnhild help you with preparations and see that you are well rested, for I will not wait a night longer than necessary to claim you as my own.”

His touch trailed slowly from her mouth, down her neck and shoulder, and traveled the length of her arm. A shiver rippled through her. He lowered his head, his beard brushing soft against her cheek an instant before their lips met. She leaned against him, hardly able to stand, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy.

“
The men are ready, Jarl Ragnar.”

He pulled from her, taking his warmth and safety with him. Bryn stood at attention, though not dressed for battle. Ragnar stepped toward him. “I charge you with the protection of the village in my absence, but even more, I leave Cassie in your care. See that my bride is untouched until my return. Defend her with your life or such will be my wrath. Understood?”

The side of Bryn’s mouth twitched. “Ja. It will be as you say.”

Ragnar tipped his head, then stalked past her, never giving a second glance. He swung up into his saddle at the head of the warriors and raised high one fist. “Sigr Rogalandrs!”

“
Sigr!” The men’s war cry reverberated between crowd and buildings.

Cassie’s breath stuck in her throat. This couldn’t be happening. How could she lose a man the same day she’d declared her love for him? Her eyes stung with unshed tears. No. She would not let this happen. Her feet took off, but Bryn yanked her back.

“
Nay.” Bryn grasped her upper arm, gentle yet firm. “A jarl’s woman must show herself brave.”

She sucked in a jerky breath. The departing men took on a hazy blur as they paraded out the village gates.

The remaining foot warriors fell in line. Bryn released her and nodded once as if reading her mind. She ran, tagging at a close enough distance to choke on the kicked-up dust. A coughing fit gripped her, but she kept following, past the longhouses to the town’s defense wall.

The last warriors marched beyond the gates. Two of the men left behind pulled the big door shut and maneuvered a massive beam into place across it. The resounding thud rocked her world. For the first time in four months, she stood without Alarik or Ragnar at her side.

A spasm tightened her stomach, making her want to throw-up.

She spun around. Bryn stood arms crossed and feet planted beside her. Everything within her cried out the unfairness of being left with him. “May I go up and watch until they’re gone?”

He studied her a moment, then led her to the ladder of the lookout platform. She hiked her skirt only to mid-shin and climbed. Half-way up, the fabric faltered her step, and she inched it up just a bit more. Funny. In her time, she’d never have given thought to something as irrelevant as modest dress length.

At the top, she looked for a spot to stand. Although the platform was large enough for four or five men, only one stood guard, or more like sat on guard. The big man was missing a leg. Not that it made him any less frightening or potentially deadly. A row of throwing axes leaned against the outer wall, handles up, within his reach. Several quivers of arrows and an enormous bow stood propped along the railing behind him. A pile of long handled spears lay at his foot. Not once did he glance her way.

Though she could hear Bryn conversing with the gate guards below, and trusted he’d come if she called, she still edged over to the corner farthest from the scary lookout man.

Ragnar and those mounted had already crossed through terraced, empty fields and over pastureland browned from autumn’s frost. Beyond, they entered a great forest. Foot soldiers fanned behind, their stomping feet pounding across the barren croplands. The woods swallowed the last of the warriors, and even then Cassie stared, as if watching might bring Ragnar back sooner.