Blow

by Demelza Carlton

  Mahon was promised to Bedelia, Portia remembered. She hadn't realised it was a love match until now, but there was naught she could do about it. War parted too many. Grieve and Rhona, Bedelia and Mahon, her and Rudolf...

  "Is there any word from the Viken king?" she blurted out.

  Surely Rudolf would return if there was.

  "None, my lady. Or none that we have heard, anyway," Grieve said. "Mason has been absent much these last few months, though I hear he is still on Isla. Building somewhere suitable to keep a princess, or so he says. Any man with experience in working stone has been called to help with this edifice the man insists on building. He'd been bringing men from the other islands, too, which is why we have so much news to share now."

  "Any news of Rum Isle?" Portia ventured.

  Her men exchanged uneasy glances. There was news, but it was not good, Portia guessed.

  Yet Grieve grinned. "Lord Ronin's longhouse was burned to the ground with no survivors, 'tis said, and the Albans have left the isle entirely, for there is little left on the barren rock." When the others stared at him, he added, "My Rhona is a witch, gifted with fire. Nothing burns on that isle that is not under her power. A blaze that could destroy her father's turf longhouse has to be her doing. My lady lives."

  Portia wished she had his confidence about Rudolf. At least they had something to celebrate. "Fetch some wine, then. We shall toast the health and courage of Lady Rhona, Lord Lewis and all who still fight."

  Wine was brought and poured. Portia raised a cup with the rest, not having to feign her smile, for any good news was worth celebrating.

  "What good tidings have you heard that I have not?"

  Her men scrambled to their feet, wine spilling as they remembered to bow to Lord Angus.

  "We drink to the courage of Lords Ronin, Calum and Lewis, and their families," Portia said, her eyes daring him to object as she drained her cup.

  Angus sighed. "Leave us, please. But do not go far."

  Grieve did not hesitate. "Heber, Brian, Dermot – stand guard. The rest of you, archery practice."

  "What does the winner get this time?" Berrach asked.

  "The chance of victory against Lady Portia in a game of chess this evening." Grieve waited for Portia's nod before continuing, "And remember she can see you from the loft. Let's show her we can defend her even when she cannot practise with us!"

  Portia gritted her teeth in what she hoped was an encouraging smile as the men left. Sometimes they set up a target for her in the barracks hall, but it wasn't the same as testing the breeze to see if it would speed or hinder an arrow toward its target. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt rain on her face. Too long.

  "You know if Mason hears you, there will be trouble," Angus began. "It is not politic to wish a guest's enemies well, while he still dwells under your roof."

  "Turf him out, then, and tell him that he and his army are no longer welcome here," Portia challenged.

  He sighed again. "You know I cannot."

  That she did, though neither of them liked it.

  "Portia, I must leave you for a little while. King Donald has commanded me to provide men to fight the Normans on his southern border, and I must obey." Angus's eyes refused to meet hers.

  "Why, Father? What right has he to command you in anything? You are the High Lord of the Southern Isles!"

  "If I do not, Mason will take you to Alba."

  Portia began, "My men will not allow him to – "

  "Your men will be slaughtered. He has an army, Portia, while you have only ten good men. Men who will die to protect you, and Mason will still win. To preserve their lives and yours, I must go."

  Portia fought back the building tears. "But what will stop him from doing that if you are gone?"

  "He has sworn an oath that he will hold you safe on Isla until my return. I have seen the fortress he is building, and if any edifice can be considered impregnable, it is that place. Please, Portia. Give him no reason to go back on his word. I know you do not like him – nor do I – but if you cross him, it is not just your life at stake. You hold all of Isla in your hands, and it is time you protect her as your mother did. A day may come when a man will rise to claim the isles as their king, and it will be up to you to judge if he is worthy. While the Albans are here, the council cannot convene, but you can make a choice. Whatever happens, you must survive, for while you live, your claim lives with you."

  Tears streamed down Portia's face. She was helpless to stop them, or the tide of fate that washed over her with them. "What if I choose wrong?"

  Angus's eyes were hard. "If you marry the wrong man, then your dagger must correct your mistake."

  Portia swallowed. "You wish me to take my own life?"

  "Heavens, no! Did I not just tell you that you must survive? Portia, if you take a husband who is not worthy of you or Isla, then you must bury the dagger in his breast, before he can do any more harm. That is why you must choose wisely, when the time comes." He bowed his head. "Even if I am not here, I trust you will make the right choice."

  If she knew the answer to that, would she not have made a choice already? No such man existed, except her own father, and he still lived. For now. "Father..."

  "You are the heart of Isla, my lady. Your father is right. When the time comes, you must have courage." Grieve stepped into the barracks. He bowed to Father. "Until then, I will protect her with my life, my lord."

  Angus inclined his head. "I would expect no less of you. Your father would be proud, son. I hope you have the chance to tell him one day." He wrapped his arms around Portia and kissed the top of her head. "Farewell, Portia, and you keep that heart safe, you hear me?"

  All too soon, the Lord of Isla was gone, and Portia fell to her knees, weeping as she had never done before.

  "My lady," Grieve said hoarsely.

  She wanted to throw her arms around someone, anyone, just so she wouldn't feel alone. But there was no one left here who could fill that emptiness inside. Rudolf, her father, even her sisters...all gone.

  "Leave me," she choked out.

  And then she was truly alone, with an unceasing downpour of tears mirrored by the sympathetic sky above. For Isla's heart was broken, and the pieces might never be whole again.

  NINETEEN

  "We agreed on this. I told you war was coming."

  Reidar didn't say anything, but he glared plenty.

  "There's no excuse now," Rudolf continued. "Let me return home, with the men you promised. You have your heir. Two, even. And a queen who will no doubt give you more if you ask her."

  It was the mention of Queen Sativa that did it. "You have a perverse obsession with my queen!" Reidar snapped.

  "Send me away, then, as far from her as you can." Rudolf had told him many times he didn't care for Reidar's wife, but since that one flippant comment the day he met her, Reidar wouldn't believe him. Jealous fool.

  "That's what she says, too."

  This was new.

  "Sativa says we must not concede territory we might need to divide among our sons. Even the islands at the edge of the world."

  "She's quite astute, your queen. Did she tell you how many men to send with me, too?" Rudolf fought not to sound mocking, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

  "A large raiding party. Three ships."

  Rudolf's eyebrows rose. He'd hoped for one. Three was...unexpected bounty. "Thank you."

  "But you may only take volunteers. I won't order any man to die so far from home."

  "You don't seem all that concerned about me dying," Rudolf said.

  "I'm not ordering you anywhere. If you weren't such a stubborn bastard, I'd order you back to the borderlands, but you want to be a hero, to save these islands." Reidar eyed him. "If you can't, I order you to sail right back here so I can tell you I told you so."

  "I will not fail," Rudolf said coldly. "I've fought more giants than I can count, protecting your borders. Albans will seem like mere children in comparison."

  Re
idar grinned. "If the Albans are so soft and tiny, there would be no need for you to go back, then, would there? The Southern Islanders would have defeated them already."

  That was what worried Rudolf most. They should have. Unless the Albans had tried some trickery that the Islanders hadn't seen until it was too late. Surely Angus or Lewis...

  "You did not see them. Like men who have been at sea too long, their arms and legs like sticks. Driven away from their own land. They weren't fighting men, Reidar. These were Vikens who'd settled on Isla to farm it. Fishermen, farmers, wives, children. Slaughtered, and their village burned to the ground. Those who made it to the boats and arrived here may as well have been ghosts." Rudolf shook his head, but the images would not leave him. "A foreign king has laid claim to our land, and killed our people. I will not endure it on our northern borders, and I will fight it in the southern reaches, too!"

  "Like Sativa when we found her." Reidar bowed his head.

  Only now did Rudolf realise why the king had refused to see the refugees, though he had not refused them anything else. Sativa had been captured by pirates on her way to marry Reidar, and Rudolf had seen her the day she arrived in Viken. With her torn, bloodied clothes barely covering her emaciated body, Sativa could have been one of the refugees on that fishing boat.

  Rudolf had spoken to them all – every man, woman and child. In between slurps of stew from the king's own table, they'd told him what they knew of the situation on the Southern Isles.

  The Albans had conquered them. How, they did not know. It seemed the lords had come to some sort of agreement with them almost overnight. Even Angus, though Rudolf did not want to believe it. Angus could not have known about the attack on their village, they'd said, for he was off fighting some foreign war on Alban soil.

  "And Lady Portia?" he'd asked, not wanting to know the answer.

  Vanished, he was told. No one had seen her since the Albans arrived. She'd last been seen at her father's longhouse, with the young lordlings who were never far from her. They were still at the longhouse – they hadn't gone to war with Angus, which was strange. They did archery training in the mornings, for all to see, Alban army or no. But there was no woman among them.

  "Portia is still there on Isla. I know it," Rudolf said, more to himself than his king. "If it were Sativa, would you rest before you had rescued her?"

  "I sent our ships out to find her. East, west, north, south...I searched everywhere. And if she had not come to me, I would be searching still," Reidar said. He seemed to see Rudolf clearly for the first time. "Will three ships be enough?"

  "I do not know, and I will not until we get there. Some said the Albans had conquered all of the islands, while others said some still held out. Myroy, Rum...I would have thought Isla, too, and if there is still fighting there, that is where I will go first. If the Islanders know I am there to help, that I come in your name, surely they will join with me to drive out the invaders." Rudolf could not allow himself to believe otherwise. Angus and Lewis were honourable men. They would not have sent him to Viken to beg for help from Harald and now Reidar if they'd meant to ally themselves with Alba.

  "I still owe you a barrel of ale I promised you from my wedding," Reidar mused. "I'll send it for your wedding instead. Do you love the girl, Rudolf?"

  Rudolf didn't hesitate. "Yes. I've thought of nothing else since I left. Every other woman I've seen only makes me think of her. Even the queen."

  Reidar seemed to have forgotten his earlier jealousy. "Do they look so alike?"

  Rudolf laughed. "Your queen is like a statue made of gold and ivory, a goddess our ancestors might have worshipped in the old faith. Portia...is a mighty blaze wrapped in lambs' wool. All that passion and power, trapped in a person as soft as goose down. If she were a man, she would be a warrior so mighty even I would fear her. But she is a woman, and all I want to do is stoke that blaze, feed it and protect it until she's willing to engulf me with that roaring passion."

  Reidar looked faintly nauseated. "What you dream about in your bed at night is not the sort of thing you tell your king."

  Rudolf shrugged. "You asked, my king." He rose. "May I go and recruit some volunteers? I have three ships to fill, and the sooner it is done, the sooner I can be back in my bed, dreaming about the girl I plan to marry."

  "Away with you, then!" Reidar sounded stern, but his smile betrayed him. "And don't sail off the edge of the world with those ships, either. I want them back!" he called after Rudolf.

  Rudolf made a rude hand gesture and kept going. Not even Reidar would stop him now.

  TWENTY

  When Isla rose out of the mist, Rudolf let out a warcry from the bow of the Sea Wolf. His men took it up, echoed by those on the Sea Dragon and the Sea Lion. The sound had one purpose: to strike fear into the hearts of Viken's enemies. His enemies.

  They veered around the cliffs, headed for Portnahaven, the harbour nearest Lord Angus's seat. Nearest Portia, Rudolf promised himself.

  He waved at the watch tower on the headland, but no one waved back. He could feel the eyes on him, though. Angus was not fool enough to leave that tower empty.

  The pale, rocky sand stretched out on either side, offering him a true Isla embrace to welcome him home.

  This was home.

  A strange glow appeared in the fog. A glow that spread along the beach like a trail of witchlights in the mist. But witchlights were white.

  "Fire arrows!" Rudolf bellowed, but the warning came too late.

  The first flaming missile took Sture in the chest, toppling him overboard. Yrian let out an impressive string of expletives, and his men started rowing the Sea Lion away from Isla instead of toward it.

  A volley of arrows peppered the Sea Dragon's sail, scorching the wool that was fortunately too wet to burn.

  Frey ordered the Sea Wolf to retreat, for Rudolf was too shocked to say anything. The men of Isla knew his warcry. They'd fought beside him often enough in the past. Had they all forgotten him? He hadn't been away that long.

  When he'd managed to recollect his wits, Rudolf ordered his men to sail to two other landing spots on the island, but the fog had lifted by the time they reached Macherie, revealing the row of archers waiting for them to come into range. The third landing place was at Kildalton, where the Viken refugees had come from.

  Where a thriving town had once stood, now there was nothing but scorched ground, surrounding the stone church and cross that the invaders hadn't been able to burn.

  But behind the blackness was a sea of tents. An army camped here, and a shout from their man on watch soon had them lining up archers, ready to shoot Rudolf and his men.

  Despair descended on Rudolf as it never had before. To be so close to Portia, and not even be able to land on Isla? Fate was a cruel bitch.

  "My prince, what about Myroy?" Frey asked. "There were no archers there when we passed."

  The man was right. Lord Lewis ruled Myroy, or he had, and he had been a friend to Rudolf for the little time he'd known him. He might have news about Portia, and what awaited them on the other islands.

  "Set a course for Myroy Isle," Rudolf said.

  He'd return to Isla, and next time, he wouldn't leave until the whole island was his, Rudolf swore.

  TWENTY-ONE

  While his men stayed offshore, Rudolf rowed a fishing boat he'd borrowed into Uig. Lord Lewis had waxed lyrical about the mead in the Uig tavern, and it seemed like the most logical place to ask for information on Myroy Isle.

  No archers arrived to greet him. He'd changed from Viken furs to Isla wool, so no one gave him a second glance as he strode up the beach into the town. The tavern was right where Lewis had said it would be, though nowhere near as full. Only something terrible could keep men from drinking. And Rudolf was here to learn what.

  He ordered a jug of mead, and paid with coin he hadn't used since he'd left Isla. For a moment, he wished Lewis was here to share the drink like he'd promised he one day would. One day would come, when the war was over,
Rudolf swore.

  "Is it always so quiet here?" Rudolf asked the tavern keeper.

  The man jerked his chin at the jug. "Once you've tasted that, you'll be singing soon enough."

  Rudolf hastened to pour himself a drink and compliment the man on it, though Rudolf never tasted a drop. "I mean, I heard word in port that something terrible had happened in the Southern Isles. Some said there was war."

  "When there's war, things get burned and men die. Do you see any dying men here?" The tavern keeper peered into Rudolf's face. "I didn't catch your name."

  "Rudolf," he offered, pouring a second cup of mead. "Lately come from – "

  "Wulf, you're finally here! I thought you'd never come, and I'd die waiting!" an elderly voice cackled, as a heavy hand with the weight of the world behind it thumped down on Rudolf's shoulder. "Get my friend Wulf another jug, for he's promised me a battle!" The smell of strong spirits engulfed Rudolf as the oldtimer gave his cheek a sloppy kiss.

  The man kept up a monologue that sounded more nonsense than words, never letting go of Rudolf, until he had the second jug of mead in his hand. His grip turned to steel as his words became clear. "Come, Wulf, I have your oath!" Surprisingly strong fingers dug into Rudolf's shoulder as he was all but dragged outside by the oldtimer.

  "This way, Wulf!"

  Back to the beach, then along the shore until the fishing boats retreated behind a tumble of rocks. Still the oldtimer led him on.

  "Did you bring your chess set, Wulf?" Blue eyes seemed to see into his soul.

  How did this oldtimer know? "I did," Rudolf admitted, extracting the board from the bag of belongings he'd brought along. A couple of spare tunics, and his chess set.

  The oldtimer's hands set up the pieces with an easy familiarity Rudolf recognised.

  "Now, shall we play, boy?" the man demanded.