Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 2 of 2

by Harper St. George

  She shook her head. Even knowing that he was right, she could not allow herself to believe it. ‘Wilfrid is still alive. No one, not even Jarl Eirik, will allow him to be removed from his position.’

  Scratching his jaw in frustration, Cedric said, ‘That might be true, but that was when the King still lived. What do you think will happen when Jarl Eirik comes to our door? What do you think will happen when he sees Wilfrid with his own eyes? We have been fortunate to have kept Wilfrid’s state quiet for the past year, but when Jarl Eirik sees for himself that he is little more than an invalid—’

  ‘He is not an invalid!’

  ‘Isn’t he? God knows that I love him more than my own family, but we cannot continue in this vein. Wilfrid cannot make sound decisions as he once could. You and I have been working on his behalf. If it were just us, then I would say that we could continue.’ He paused and the slight wobble in his voice had gone when he spoke again. ‘But it is not only about us. We have all Glannoventa to consider. The people—farmers, fisherman, even children, Annis. Think of them, if no one else. You have the responsibility to make certain that their futures are secure.’

  Flushed with anger, she rose. ‘Of course I am thinking of the children, and their parents, and the barren, and the very old, and even the criminals. All of them matter to me. Glannoventa has thrived in recent years. Our fields are fertile and our lakes are bountiful. No one is hungry.’

  ‘That is precisely why we must act now.’

  ‘Why? I am perfectly capable. Glannoventa is thriving because of me.’

  Cedric shook his head. ‘But it will not matter. You will not be allowed to rule alone. Jarl Eirik has made this clear. Whoever this new King is, he will almost certainly not agree to you ruling alone. Glannoventa is ripe and, while we have been left alone in the past, we will not be left alone now. One side will claim Glannoventa, which means that one side will claim you. Now is your chance. You will either have a husband forced upon you, or you can choose your husband now and pre-empt them.

  ‘Which will it be?’

  ‘That will not happen, Cedric.’ She shook her head emphatically, as if that would help make her words true. ‘We can make an arrangement with the Danes. If Jarl Eirik comes—’

  ‘When, child, not if. Jarl Eirik has likely already heard of King Ricsige’s death. Make no mistake. He may even now be on his way.’

  A shiver of unease ran through her, but she held her shoulders straight anyway. ‘When he comes, I will explain to him. He cannot deny success when it is right before his eyes.’

  Cedric struck the table with the flat of his hand, but he did not refute her.

  ‘I must go and see to the messenger’s care. Excuse me.’ Angry and hurt that Cedric would give her advice that would betray everything she had worked for during Wilfrid’s illness, she left the room.

  It was strange how the morning had started with such a feeling of well-being and peace, only to disintegrate in less than an hour. The King’s death was ominous, but it was not as dire as Cedric made it seem. Annis was certain that Jarl Eirik would be content to allow her to rule. The alternative was unthinkable.

  * * *

  To Rurik’s frustration, he had been largely ignored for the day. The accommodations were vastly improved from the cage, but with no access to Annis, he was making no progress towards his goal. At least he was left with the run of his chamber and someone brought him meals, but he was greeted with stony silence when he demanded to see Annis.

  He was perplexed to admit that he was a bit hurt by her absence. Their night together had seemed to have forged a connection, at least in his mind, but apparently not hers. He told himself that it was not the connection he missed, but the progress he had made in gaining her trust and co-operation, except even he did not believe the lie.

  She interested him in a way no one ever had. He had never met anyone with her particular mix of boldness and vulnerability and he was not one to hide himself away from things that he did not understand. Only, in this case, the person in question seemed to be hiding from him.

  Rurik rose to his feet when he heard the click of the door being unlocked. Even though it was early in the evening, his stomach grumbled in expectation of the evening meal, but he ignored it. He had already decided that he would refuse all food until Annis came to see him. It was either that or attack his guards and force his way out. While that option held its own allure, it would not tell him the names of the assassins he sought. Annis was strong, but her obvious guilt at keeping a prisoner was a weakness he planned to exploit. It was in his best interest to play the mild prisoner, for now.

  Instead of food, the woman herself stepped inside. She was wearing a violet frock made of the finest wool he had ever seen. Despite himself, he took in the pleasing way the fabric clung to the curves of her hips.

  ‘Wilfrid has requested your presence.’

  He met her gaze at that, but her eyes were hooded. Strange. There was something she was not saying. Experience had taught him that a direct question would not get him to the bottom of that mystery, so he simply nodded instead of asking why she had avoided him.

  ‘Good. Is he ill?’

  A flash of pain crossed her features before it was quickly extinguished. ‘Not ill, but tired.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ The question was out before he could stop it. ‘I only ask because I thought I would be given more access to him.’ He did not want to remind her of their deal, but he could not deny the flicker of annoyance that threatened to become a full-blown fire within him. Even a day wasted was too much.

  She opened her mouth to speak, gave a shake of her head and crossed her hands in front of her. He had noticed that she tended to do that when she felt uncertain. A wild need to go to her nearly made him move forward, but he held it in check.

  ‘King Ricsige has died.’

  Rurik knew of the struggles Northumbria had faced to keep itself from falling entirely to the Danes and Norse, but he did not know precisely why this news seemed particularly disagreeable to her. To him it was inevitable that the Danes would install their own ruler who was not Saxon.

  ‘Did you know him well?’ he asked.

  ‘I had not met him.’

  ‘Did you—’

  ‘If you will come with me, I can take you to Wilfrid before we have our meal in the hall.’

  This was obviously a subject she did not want to speak with him about, so Rurik kept silent and gave her a nod of assent. ‘Lead the way, Lady Annis.’

  His tone was meant to provoke her and he was thrilled to get a slight roll of her eyes in response. She turned on her heel and headed out of the room, and his eyes had free rein to roam down the length of her strong and graceful back to the sway of her hips. In his abundant free time in the chamber, he had imagined that backside more than he wanted to admit.

  She glanced over her shoulder, catching him, and her cheeks pinkened, but she did not reprimand his wandering eyes. The knowledge settled deep within his chest and warmed him. Perhaps she had stayed away because she had felt their connection. It was the first time he had allowed his thoughts to go in that direction and the result was too pleasing for him to allow them to linger there. He could not forget that this connection between them was only temporary and only to serve a purpose.

  With that in mind, he forced himself to stop looking at her. Instead, he took in the wide corridor. More men were stationed here than last time. Aside from the two outside his door, there appeared to be two at either end of the corridor to block an escape attempt. There were also two at Wilfrid’s door. Rurik had no doubt there were others he could not see. He felt naked and exposed without his weapons, making him realise how much trust was implicit in this captor/captive relationship they had.

  She paused outside the old man’s door and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty and a suspicious shimmer. ‘Please do not tell hi
m who you are. I beg you.’

  He put his hand on the door to disguise that he had almost touched her to comfort her. ‘I will adhere to our agreement, but I do need answers.’

  She nodded, but then tilted her head to the side as she studied him more intently. ‘What do you think you will do with these answers once you have them?’

  ‘I will find the assassins and kill them,’ he answered, matter-of-factly.

  ‘And then what will you do?’

  He paused, not quite certain what she meant.

  His confusion must have shown on his face, because she elaborated. ‘If they are dead, your father will not be brought back to life, nor will the others.’

  ‘Ah, but my goal is not to bring them back. It is in part to punish those responsible.’

  Her brow creased. ‘And what is the other part?’

  ‘To help clear the way for my brother Brandt to take back what should be his.’

  ‘And what if you find these people you are killing have families?’

  ‘I assume that most people have families of some sort. It did not stop these men from bringing terror and death to my home and family.’

  She stared at him and he wasn’t certain how, but he got the distinct feeling that he had disappointed her. He did not like that feeling. It settled heavy on his shoulders and in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘The doors,’ she said to the guards and the doors to Wilfrid’s chamber were opened. ‘After you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rurik walked into Wilfrid’s chamber to find the man sitting at the same table as the first night with the wooden game board before him. He was not as lively as that night. He sat a bit slumped in his chair with a brow furrowed as he stared down at the pieces. Something had changed and Rurik would bet his life that it was more than the death of a king. Or perhaps it was what the King’s death meant.

  ‘Father, I have brought the Norseman as you requested,’ said Annis.

  So he was the Norseman again instead of Rurik. Interesting.

  Wilfrid looked up and his eyes brightened slightly at the sight of them both. Raising a hand, he beckoned them over. The knuckles on that hand were swollen and red, while the fingers on his unusable hand were bent in on themselves. His skin was ashen, the only colour in his face around his eyes.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said in his usual laborious speech.

  ‘Good evening.’ Rurik walked over and took the chair across from him. Annis followed, but she hung back, almost as if she were watching them rather than planning to participate in the conversation.

  They sat in silence for a moment, until Rurik reached forward and moved one of the figures. Wilfrid’s chuckle started deep in his chest and never managed to make its way out before subsiding. He swiped the figure from the board. It rankled to play so poorly, but Rurik reminded himself that he was doing this only for the man’s amusement which he hoped would eventually get him to discuss Maerr. Rurik moved again and this time Wilfrid did not react so happily. Slightly mollified, Rurik sat back in the chair only to look up to see the old man watching him.

  ‘I am sorry you lost your father.’ The words were a bit garbled, so Rurik did not quite believe what he heard. He glanced at Annis whose eyes were wide. She slowly walked forward, her hand shaking as she reached out to touch Wilfrid’s shoulder.

  ‘Did he say…?’ Rurik paused at her nod and turned his attention back to the older man. ‘You know who I am?’ His heart pounded behind his ribs.

  ‘I am as near to death as a man can be while still breathing, but I—’

  ‘Father—’ Annis began, but he raised his hand to stop her. She gestured to the guards who quickly left the room.

  ‘I must say this, Annis.’ He paused and took several breaths, as if the words had made him use up all his air. ‘I have not lost all of my reasoning.’ He paused again for another breath. ‘As soon as you said you were Norse and then mentioned Maerr…’ a pause for breath ‘…I knew that you were Sigurd’s son.’ Wilfrid stared at his eyes, not looking into them, but at them. It was almost as if he was seeing someone else there. ‘Your eyes are his eyes.’

  Danr looked like Sigurd, while Rurik’s features tended to favour their mother. However, their eyes were the same and those were Sigurd’s eyes. Rurik had not thought to anticipate that part of him would be recognised.

  ‘When you hate as much as I hated your father, you remember things.’ His gaze looked off across the room as if he were remembering things about Sigurd. ‘I have not seen him since Grim…in many years, but I remember.’

  Rurik had already begun to suspect that Wilfrid had been too ill to travel to Maerr, but he needed to ask anyway. ‘Did you not go to Maerr and see him one last time?’

  Wilfrid gave a jerky shake of his head. ‘I would have gone had I been able.’

  The world spun around him. Rurik closed his eyes to quiet the spin. All this way and not only was Wilfrid an infirm old man whose death would provide no sense of justice, but he had not even been in Maerr. He told himself it was enough that he could be led to the assassins, but the victory felt hollow. The door of the chamber opened and Rurik did not have to look to know that Cedric had walked in. The air changed with the man’s furious vigour. A quick glance confirmed the suspicion, though Cedric kept away, only standing inside the door.

  ‘I believe you,’ said Rurik.

  Wilfrid took in another shallow breath. ‘You came for revenge.’

  ‘For justice.’

  Wilfrid smiled, but it looked more like a sneer as only one side of his mouth twisted upwards. ‘What is justice?’

  ‘A chance to right the wrong.’

  ‘What of our wrong? Annis told you of Grim?’

  Annis was looking at Rurik again, only this time her eyes seemed to glow with her pain. ‘She told me,’ he answered, unable to look away from her. ‘I am sorry for Grim.’ He said it for Annis, not for Wilfrid or Cedric. He was sorry for the pain he saw in her eyes every time she thought of her late husband. For the days she had spent caring for Grim in his pain. For the babe she had lost.

  Her eyes glistened, but she did not look away from him. The sight of her so vulnerable made his throat ache. He wanted to hold her in his arms and give her pleasure to take the pain away.

  ‘You are sorry, yet you bring vengeance to our door.’ This was from Cedric and effectively broke the spell Annis had cast over him with her eyes.

  Rurik stood to face the man. ‘I have brought only myself seeking the truth.’

  ‘You came to kill Wilfrid.’

  He could not lie. ‘Obviously, that will accomplish very little.’ No one would say it, but he would be surprised if the man lived out the winter.

  ‘Then how will your justice be served?’ asked Cedric.

  ‘There were assassins. I can find them.’ Not only did he want to punish them, but he needed to find out what they knew. Others had participated in the attack and he was almost certain that someone was responsible for bringing them all together. Rurik needed to find out who it was. For himself, his family and especially for Brandt.

  Cedric’s heavy gaze levelled on him before moving to Wilfrid and then settling on Annis. ‘I am told that you are the son of a princess as well as that of a king,’ he said to Rurik.

  So Annis had told him. Rurik did not know whether to feel glad she had spoken of him or to feel betrayed. He decided to feel nothing and see where Cedric would lead. ‘I am.’

  ‘That means you can bring the warriors of Maerr as well as those of an Irish king down upon our heads were we to let you go.’

  ‘My father’s warriors were killed in the massacre. Those that are left serve a new king now.’ There were rumours that the sons of Sigurd had conspired to kill their own father, along with rumours that they had plotted with their father against Harald Finehair himself. The fact that they were conflicting rumours did
not seem to matter—the remaining warriors had still fled and now the brothers were scattered. King Harald would not be inclined to believe him. ‘Besides, my own uncle conspired to kill Sigurd. Any proof I could bring would be suspect.’

  Unless he could bring Annis. In the space of a heartbeat, his gaze flicked to her, taking in the smooth skin of her cheek and her soft, lovely mouth as she stared at Cedric. The base appeal of taking her was one he could not deny. He despised how his father had taken Saorla, but only now did he understand the allure. Annis called to something fierce and wild inside him. The idea of having her to himself was nearly irresistible. It was only the memory of his mother’s pain that made him push the idea aside. For now.

  ‘Then that only leaves your Irish uncle.’ The way Cedric said that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end in warning.

  ‘King Feann will see Glannoventa punished if I am killed.’ The heat of Annis’s body warmed his back as she came close, but he could not look away from Cedric to see if she was there in support or opposition to him. He supposed if he felt a knife slip between his ribs soon, he would have his answer.

  ‘Cedric,’ she said in warning.

  ‘We should have killed him the first night you brought him here. I will remedy that now.’ Cedric moved forward, pulling a dagger.

  Rurik tensed, prepared to defend himself with his bare hands if necessary. Hot oil from one of the lamps scattered about the room could hurt Cedric enough to slow him down. He made to move towards one, but Annis stepped in front of him. Her back was to his chest as she faced Cedric.

  ‘He will not be hurt. I won’t stand for it.’

  A swell of tenderness came over him, completely at odds with the fury of the fight burning in his veins. She stepped back so that her body touched his, a human shield. His arms ached to hold her, but he would not allow her to stay between him and the dagger, not when he didn’t know if Cedric could be trusted with her.