by Julia Byrne
But Rorik was a powerful swimmer. Thorolf prayed his friend would reach Yvaine before she tired.
The shock of cold water closing over her head jolted Yvaine back to full awareness. That was something to be grateful for, she thought grimly as she kicked towards the surface. Nothing happened; her legs were tangled in her skirts. She reached down to pull them free of the heavy wool and sank deeper. Panic clawed at her throat. She fought it back, struggling to rid herself of her heavy brooches. Her chest was burning, she couldn’t see…
Ah. The second brooch opened, her top garment floated free. Her head broke the surface seconds later and she gulped in air, letting the waves take her as she turned this way and that, searching frantically for Rorik’s ship. Before she could locate it she was swept down into a deep trough.
She couldn’t even see the land from here, she realised, panic raking fresh claws across her throat. Waves were all around her, surrounding her, huge swells carrying her across the bay, not directly into shore. She might stay afloat if she got rid of her outer shift, but swimming against such a heavy sea was impossible. Already the effort of keeping her head above water was sapping her strength. Her light skin shoes felt like logs tied to her ankles; her shift tangled about her legs, hampering her movements and threatening to drag her under again. She struggled with the wet ties at her throat, almost sobbing when the sodden knots defeated her.
Suddenly Sea Dragon loomed ahead. She opened her mouth to cry out, swallowed salt water instead as a wave slapped her in the face. The ship was lost to sight as she slid down the other side of the rolling swell.
Then, out of nowhere, a strong arm gripped her from behind.
‘’Tis all right, my darling girl. My brave love. I’ve got you.’
‘Rorik…’ She choked on another mouthful of water, tried to turn her head.
‘Hush. Be still. We’re almost there.’
And they were. The ship was beside them, a solid haven of safety. Hands reached over the side to pull her from the clinging embrace of the sea. A moment later Rorik hauled himself on board, water streaming from his powerful body.
He took her from Thorolf, pulled her into his arms and held her as if defying the very Gods themselves to wrench her from his embrace.
‘I didn’t think I’d be in time,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You didn’t come up and I thought—’ He broke off, shuddered.
‘I’m all right,’ she whispered. And burying her face in his shoulder, she burst into tears.
The storm didn’t last long; a few seconds only to let all the tightly stoppered fear burst forth, to give in to relief at seeing him again, at being safe in his arms. Rorik held her, saying nothing until she gulped, sniffed and fell silent.
Then he tipped her face up to his, his eyes going the colour of ice as they narrowed on her jaw. ‘Did Othar try to knock you senseless before he threw you into the sea?’
‘No.’ She covered his hand with hers when he lifted it to cradle her cheek. The numbness was wearing off, a painful throbbing was taking its place. ‘This was earlier. He ran mad…lost all reason. Oh, Rorik, you don’t know. I think Othar has killed Gunhild.’
‘Aye.’ He drew her closer, as though he would shield her from the knowledge. ‘We found her on one of the islands in the fjord. Strangled.’
‘Strangled!’ She gazed up at him in horror. ‘God have mercy.’
‘Don’t waste your pity,’ said Thorolf behind her. ‘The woman cold-bloodedly used Ingerd, then had her killed, and had no compunction about sending her hired assassin after you and Rorik.’
‘I know, but to plot like that for Othar only to have him turn against her—’ She shivered, then realised she’d been shivering all along.
‘Hel!’ Seeing it at the same time, Rorik turned his head.
‘Get the sail down,’ he yelled to his men. ‘We’re going in under oars. Any of you look this way for the next few minutes, you’ll be going in without your heads.’
He bent, picked her up and carried her to the stem. ‘Here, sweetheart, get out of those wet clothes. You can wear my tunic.’
‘There’s a mantle here somewhere,’ Thorolf offered as Rorik set her down near the steering oar. He turned away to rummage behind a pile of axes. ‘You were wearing it when we left.’
‘Aye.’ Drawing his dagger, Rorik sliced through the ties at the neck of her two remaining garments and stripped them down her body. He tossed his shirt and tunic over her head and yanked them into place.
Yvaine hugged the warm garments to her as Rorik rolled the sleeves up past her hands. She had to smile wryly at the picture she made, but Rorik’s expression remained carved from stone. He took his mantle from Thorolf, wrapped it around her waist and fastened it with the pin to make a rough skirt.
‘You’ll have to hold it up to walk,’ he said. ‘But ’tis better than nought.’
‘Aye. Rorik, what—?’
‘You haven’t slept,’ he interrupted, and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone.
She studied him, seeing the shadows beneath his eyes, the way the skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones, the rigid line of his jaw. ‘Nor have you.’
‘No. There were enough nightmares chasing me without leaving that door wide open. The same nightmare that chased you, I expect.’ He lowered his hand, gently touched her aching jaw. ‘Was this all?’ he asked very low.
‘Aye. I’m all right, Rorik. Just…’ Her lower lip quivered. She blinked hard against another onrush of tears. Tears of relief this time as she realised she’d probably escaped being alone with Othar by mere minutes. ‘Just tired.’
‘Aye. You’ll be able to rest soon, sweetheart.’ His voice was impossibly tender as he urged her to sit down on the deck. No sea-chests this time, she thought vaguely. There was nothing on board but men and weapons.
‘Othar won’t come near you again,’ he vowed as he stood and began to untie the lashing on the steering-oar. He called out an order to his men and the ship began to move forward again.
The abrupt change from bobbing about on the waves to purpose and power had Yvaine’s tears drying in a second. ‘Where are we going?’ As if she didn’t know.
‘After Othar.’
‘But…to take him back to Norway?’
‘No.’
The single word had her scrambling to her feet, her heart in her throat. ‘Rorik, no. You mean to kill him, don’t you?’
He didn’t even glance at her. ‘Othar brought about his own death the minute he took you.’
‘But the hand he dies by will be yours. Please. Don’t do it.’
That brought his head around. ‘You care what happens to Othar?’
‘No.’ Her lashes quivered at the glittering intensity in his eyes, but she held his gaze. ‘I care what it will do to you. He’s your brother. And he’s not…sane. Besides, he didn’t intend to kill me. He threw me overboard to give himself time to get away from you.’
‘If he did,’ Thorolf put in, ‘he’s not going far.’ He’d been standing nearby, ostensibly studying the shore, but able to hear every word. Now he glanced over his shoulder. ‘We might have more to deal with than Othar, Rorik.’
Rorik continued to watch her for several unnerving seconds, then narrowed his eyes at the beach. ‘Looks like Othar has run into soldiers of some sort.’
‘Aye. Just what we need. To land in the middle of a battle that’s none of our business.’
Yvaine peered towards the beach; it seemed to be swarming with men. She had to suppress a craven desire to suggest that they simply turn around and sail away. She’d had enough of violence and fear and uncertainty.
‘Have someone take that red shield down,’ Rorik ordered. ‘Put up a white one.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked.
‘A white shield means we want to talk, to treat. If they’re Danish they’ll know that.’
‘And if they’re English?’
‘We hope they’ll know that.’
‘Dear God. Rorik, Othar isn’t wo
rth—’ She stopped as a fluttering movement far above them caught her eye. Those were tents on top of the hill, she realised, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. Several of them. And flying from the largest…
She stared in disbelief for several seconds before excited recognition dawned. ‘The standard of Wessex,’ she cried, turning and gripping Rorik’s arm. ‘Rorik, look. ’Tis the standard of Wessex. ’Tis Edward.’
The ship slid gently into the sandy shallows as the words left her lips.
‘What do you think?’ asked Thorolf, low-voiced, when they were immediately surrounded by soldiers.
‘I think Edward is going to ask questions first.’ Rorik took Yvaine’s hand and led her towards the side. ‘Tell the men to stay on board. If anyone reaches for a weapon, he’ll answer to me.’
‘As if we have a choice.’ Thorolf eyed the small army surrounding them and tried a smile. No one smiled back.
Yvaine looked from the phalanx of unmoving warriors to Rorik’s face and felt excitement metamorphose into dread. He had that implacable air of resolve about him again, as though nothing and no one was going to swerve him from his course. ‘Rorik, I’ll speak to Edward first. He’ll—’
‘No.’ He released her hand, vaulted down to the sand, then turned and lifted her over the side.
As he did so, a soldier came striding along the beach towards them, sword in hand. He was tall, brown-haired, and dressed in a businesslike leather tunic and woollen chausses. A leather helm covered his head, but left his bearded face bare. Alert blue eyes swept over the ship, lingered on the white shield, then came to rest on Yvaine.
After another quick glance at Rorik’s face, she grabbed up her makeshift skirts, darted past him, and raced down the beach to throw herself into her cousin’s arms. ‘Edward! Don’t kill anyone. Please.’
‘Yvaine?’ Edward removed the arms she’d flung around his neck to prevent any murderous impulse and held her back a few inches. ‘By the Rood, it is you. We thought you lost. Your priest at Selsey sent word that you’d been taken by Norsemen, and—But the why and the how can wait,’ he amended, his keen eyes studying her face. ‘The bastard who tried to kill you won’t bother anyone again. Whoever these fellows may be, I owe them my thanks for your life.’
‘Indeed you do,’ she affirmed, nodding rapidly. Then stopped. ‘You saw what happened?’
‘Enough to have men waiting when those savages landed. Their leader came charging up the beach, offering me the Lady Yvaine of Einervik or some such nonsense. He was raving; a madman, but when he said your name I knew he was the one who’d taken you. I despatched him.’
‘Oh.’ She drew back, her gaze falling on Edward’s bloodied sword. ‘You killed Othar.’ Explanations whirled in her brain. Before she could pick out the least dangerous one, she felt Edward’s hands tense around her arms. She looked up. His gaze was fixed on a point beyond her. Surprise flickered, then his face went very still.
‘Greetings, Edward.’
Yvaine felt her own face go blank. A strange humming filled her ears. She had to force herself to move, to step out of the king’s hold and turn so she could see Rorik.
His gaze held her cousin’s, but beneath the cool glitter in his eyes a spark of amusement showed.
‘Rorik,’ Edward said, equally coolly. ‘You’ve caused me quite a deal of trouble over the past few years. Cost me nigh on a company of soldiers. I suppose I’ll have to forget that now.’
‘You know why.’
‘Aye.’ Edward cocked a sardonic brow. ‘Is it over, or is my life about to be forfeit for Sitric?’
‘’Tis over,’ Rorik said curtly. Then added, ‘You were never at risk.’
‘My relief knows no bounds.’
Yvaine shook her head. She was getting dizzy again from watching one hard face then the other, but one thing was perfectly clear.
‘You know each other.’
Both men turned to look at her.
As if they’d just remembered she was there, she thought, anger spearing through the discomfort of her wet hair and still-damp flesh.
But Edward’s eyes widened as he got his first good look at her. ‘Blood of the saints! This is no place for you, Yvaine. Look at you. ’Tis a wonder you’re still on your feet, and—’
‘Oh?’ Yvaine plunked her hands on her hips. ‘Why would you think so, cousin? I’ve only been kidnapped, thrown into the sea, rescued by a man who doesn’t listen to a word I say, and now I discover that the two of you know each other well enough to share some stupid notion of male humour that escapes those of us with more than half a wit. Why would I be anything less than perfectly well?’
Rorik’s lips twitched. ‘She’s perfectly well.’
‘So I see,’ Edward retorted. ‘Obviously the child I sent to Selsey has grown a full complement of female fangs.’
‘Indeed she has,’ Yvaine agreed, holding his gaze with grim meaning. ‘And because you sent that child to Selsey, Edward, you owe me now.’
‘Enough, little cat.’ Rorik took a step forward, closed his hand around her arm. ‘Your cousin isn’t used to your methods of negotiation. He and I will sort this out.’
‘But—’ Aware that the king’s brows were climbing towards his helm, Yvaine searched frantically for an explanation that wouldn’t put a noose around Rorik’s neck.
‘You’ll have to let me catch up first,’ Edward said tartly before she could speak. ‘I presume by your tone, cousin, you had some complaint about your husband.’
‘You must have known she would,’ Rorik said far too softly.
His words alone, never mind the menace in his voice, were enough to have the king glaring. ‘Am I a soothsayer? ’Twas arranged through intermediaries as these things are. By the saints, my father had just died. I was up to my ears in council meetings and…’ He trailed off as he registered the icy glitter in Rorik’s eyes. ‘And I didn’t know the man,’ he finished, frowning.
Rorik’s voice went even softer, even more dangerous. ‘Then let me enlighten you.’
But Edward’s eyes were narrowing as realisation dawned. ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘You had time to exchange life sagas while you fished Yvaine out of the sea? Perhaps I was over-hasty in despatching the scum who tried to kill her.’
Rorik shrugged. ‘If you hadn’t done it, I would have.’
‘Oh, no, Rorik…’
He glanced down at her, but not in answer. His fingers tightened briefly about her arm, then he pushed her gently in Edward’s direction and released her; a move that threatened to break her heart.
‘Yvaine shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘Are there women in your camp who can care for her while we talk?’
Edward’s gaze shifted. ‘Of course! What am I thinking of? Wulf—’ He clicked his fingers to summon one of his men. ‘Take the Lady Yvaine up to the camp. That wench whose bed you’ve been warming is about the same size. Make sure she looks after my cousin well.’
‘But—’
‘Go up to the camp, Yvaine.’ Rorik’s quiet command cut her off. ‘Nothing’s going to happen that you need witness.’
What about the things she wasn’t going to witness?
‘Aye.’ Edward agreed. ‘This is no place for you. We’ll be along in a moment. After I despatch the rest of those pirates.’
She’d forgotten all about Othar’s men. With a shocked exclamation she glanced past Edward. Several yards away Othar’s crew had been lined up and forced to their knees, their hands bound behind their backs. They were still alive, staring sullenly before them, but—
She didn’t see anything else. Rorik seized her arm and whipped her around to face him before she fully realised the bundle of clothes at the end of the line had been Othar. ‘I see you heed your cousin as little as you heed me,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I didn’t fish you out of the sea to have you catch a fever. Go! Or I’ll carry you up to the camp myself.’
At least that would get him out of Edward’s reach. But exhausted, all too aware such
a reprieve would be temporary, she capitulated. ‘All right, I’ll go, but only if you swear not to kill anyone.’
‘I have no intention of killing anyone.’
For some reason that made her feel more afraid than ever. She turned her head. ‘Edward?’
The king’s gaze was shifting back and forth between her and Rorik. ‘Is this the debt you mentioned, Yvaine? I am to kill no one involved in your disappearance?’ He glanced again at Rorik, speculation in his eyes. ‘Very well. I grant your boon.’
‘’Twas Othar who intended to harm me,’ she said, as though in explanation. ‘The others didn’t know who…who I was…’
She stumbled over that, let it go. Edward could make of it what he would. He was no fool; he knew there was more to the story, but at least she didn’t have to worry about her husband and her cousin killing each other.
That left one other thing. The insidious fear that, now she was safe and back in England, Rorik might sail away without seeing her or speaking to her again.
She looked up at him, striving for a courteous tone that no one would question, while her eyes sent a very different message. ‘I would like to thank you properly, my lord, for your care of me, for saving my life.’ She might as well bludgeon Edward over the head with that as often as possible. ‘Perhaps later…’
His mouth twitched; amusement sprang into his eyes. She suddenly realised how absurd she must look, chin held at a dignified lady of the manor angle while her hair dripped down her back and she clutched his mantle to her to avoid tripping over it.
But as her lashes quivered, as anxiety and doubt clouded her eyes, his expression gentled and the cold hand fisted around her heart eased its grip. He took her free hand, lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said in a voice meant only for her ears. ‘I’ll find you. Wherever you are.’
Several hours later she was beginning to doubt that statement. Rorik hadn’t found her and she had been summoned before the king.
