A man so mighty, even the Albans fled from him. And all Portia had to protect her were ten good men. She shivered. "What does he do to the women he captures?"
"He's a Viken, so 'tis not hard to guess," Brian said. "Rapes 'em, takes the pretty ones to his ship to be whores back in Viken, and kills the rest."
"Brian!" Grieve roared. "Have you forgotten who you're speaking to?"
Brian shrugged his meaty shoulders. "Sorry if I offended, Lady Portia, but you did ask."
She had, though she wished she hadn't. Her people had allied with the Vikens to stop them from such things, but it was all for naught if this Big, Bad Wolf saw fit to ignore that and enslave them all instead.
"Set up my target for me. I wish to practise archery again, so that when I see this Wolf, I can shoot him," Portia said.
Cowal grinned and rose. "I shall do it, my lady. If you shoot the Wolf, I want to watch."
TWENTY-FIVE
Isla rose from the ocean, naked in the sun. Waiting for him. Rudolf's heart swelled within his chest.
No archers stood on the shore this time, and his three ships led a veritable flight of dragon boats from every inhabited island in the Southern Isles. They were filled with men from all the isles, too, not just those from Viken. Isla was ever the heart of the isles, and they would not be free of the Albans until they had been driven from Isla's shores.
Rudolf saluted the watch tower as they passed, wondering if they had sent a runner with word to wherever the remaining Alban army lurked. It mattered not. He and his men knew every landing spot on Isla, and they would not be driven off this time. They would land, and they would fight, until they won. Isla would be his.
The sand crunched beneath his boots, and Rudolf almost wept. Home. He was home. Movement in the watch tower above caught his eye, and he turned to squint at the cliffs. A flash of red or orange, maybe, on the heights? If he looked closely at the window just beneath the thick straw thatch, he could almost see it.
He grabbed Frey, whose eyes were better than his. "Look at the watch tower, and tell me what you see," Rudolf commanded.
Frey shaded his eyes. "I see...an archer. Maybe more than one. Would you like me to take some men to flush them out, sir?"
Portia. His mind flew to her, though he knew it could not be. Portia would not be atop some tower, waiting to shoot men coming ashore. She would be with her men, who would protect her.
Unless this eyrie was the best place to keep her safe. Two archers could hold the cliff path for a long time.
"Pick two, and follow me," Rudolf said, setting off up that very path. He huffed and puffed a little, for it was steeper than he remembered. He knew when he was within bowshot, for he'd manned the tower himself for Lord Angus. Only then did he tug his helm down over his head and take his shield off his back. The familiar weight on his arm reminded him of the borderlands – the last place he'd needed it. He'd fought no open battles since he left Viken. On Isla, though, that would change. Everyone said this was where the Alban leader lived, and where else would his army have retreated to?
Peering over his shield, Rudolf definitely saw something orange at the top of the tower. Orange, and moving. He took a deep breath, followed by another, but there was smoke in the air. Not fire, then.
Three strides up the path, he heard the whistle of an arrow. Up came his shield, but the missile fell short, slicing into the turf several yards ahead. He darted forward to retrieve it, then skipped back out of range before he dared to examine the arrow. An arrow from Isla, not Alba – he'd recognise the feathers in the fletching anywhere.
More arrows flew, bouncing off rocks and the path ahead.
"You'll not have Isla while I live and breathe, oathbreaker!" a female voice shrieked as a fist shook out of a window, high above.
Rudolf laughed.
"What would you have us do, sir?" Frey asked, bringing Alf and Erik up the path with him.
Rudolf blew out an exasperated breath and pointed at the tiny fist. "Fetch her down, and anyone hiding up there with her. Tell her if she doesn't come, I will bring the whole tower down around her."
Alf grinned. "Gladly, sir."
Rudolf held up his hands. "Without hurting her. She's to be brought to me, unharmed."
His men dashed inside. He waited, knowing they'd reached the top when shrieked curses cascaded down. He wasn't sure who was the whoreson or the walrus's...tail-warmer, but he filed the insults away for a later date. They would keep.
Slowly, the shrieking descended. The men let out cries of pain as the valiant lady fought back, and Rudolf almost regretted not allowing them to defend themselves. It was their own fault for not going into battle with full armour, he decided, feeling a smile lift his lips as the lady's boots came into view. Boots, and the most enormous belly he'd ever seen.
It took both Alf and Erik to hold her arms while Frey brought up the rear, keeping her upright so as not to damage the baby she carried.
Rudolf couldn't seem to close his mouth. Portia, heavily pregnant? To who?
"If you've torn my dress, you whoresons, I'll see you sew it back together yourselves!" she threatened. Her blazing eyes turned to Rudolf, who was glad his helm protected him from her wrath. "And you! A misbegotten wolf who has broken every oath the Vikens have sworn to us! Conquering your allies – your friends! You are no friend of mine, you...you...dog!" She even tried to spit at him, but Angus's daughters were too well-bred to manage such a feat.
Not Portia. He should have known from her poor aim. Arlie couldn't shoot a target a yard in front of her. Portia would have pinned the toes of his boots to the path before turning him into a pincushion.
Rudolf swallowed back his disappointment. Arlie would know where Portia was. Though not Portia herself, her sister was the next best thing. "Take her to Rhona," he said.
Not all of his men could be trusted around a pretty woman, even a pregnant one, but they kept a goodly distance from Rhona, and rightly so. She'd burned a few boots before they'd learned.
Erik and Alf left with the girl, but Frey remained.
"Was there anyone else?" Rudolf asked.
Frey shook his head. "Just her, and this." He held up the bow and quiver. A half-full quiver and a man's bow. What Arlie had been thinking, climbing to the top of the tower in such a state to shoot a bow she hadn't the strength to use, he did not know. But he could ask her that, too.
"Once the men have landed, find somewhere to make camp. Send out scouts, and have them report to me before sundown. Based on their information, we move out in the morning," Rudolf said.
"Yes, sir."
He supervised camp construction, breaking up more than a dozen fights that erupted before the men were settled. They might all oppose the same enemy, but they were an independent lot with grievances going back generations that none of them would forget. The men of Vatersay could not abide to be beside the men of Langroy, and the men of Eriska and Grimsay brawled if they so much as spoke to one another. Add those to the general complaints that one man had a better campsite than another, be it bog or rock or soft grass, and the men from Islay would defend their island with fists or weapons, if need be.
When evening fell, he was more exhausted than he'd believed possible. His shoulder ached from intercepting a punch meant for one of the Myroy men, delivered by an Eriskan with fists like hams. But as enticing scents started to waft from well-established cookfires, he knew his day was not over yet. He liberated a small pot of stew, three bowls and some bread, and headed for Rhona's tent. Where he would have to interrogate the prisoner.
Rhona met him outside, as if she knew he was coming. Magic, most like, but it still unnerved him. He'd seen the things she could do and he had to admit she terrified him just as much as she did his men, but he hoped he hid it better.
"I hope you know what you're doing," she greeted him. Rhona jerked her head at the tent. "My business is magic, not midwifery. If she births the babe in there, you'll be the one catching it, not me."
Arlie was
in labour, and Rudolf would have to deliver the babe? He couldn't hide his horror. "I'll send someone for a midwife directly," he said, turning to find someone, anyone, he could ask.
Rhona laughed. "She doesn't need one yet. Some months to go, I understand." She eyed the food in his arms. "Did you bring any wine? Ah, no matter. I heard the Eriskans brought plenty. I shall go and find some, for maybe that will loosen the lady's tongue. She had little to say to me that is not about the babe in her belly." She set off, and the men parted to allow her to pass.
Whoever her betrothed was, he was a lucky man. She paid the other men no heed, unless they became impertinent. Then the smell of burning leather boots would waft across the camp and a healer would be summoned to put salve on the burns.
Rudolf cleared his throat as he poked his hand through the tent flaps. "Are you in a fit state for visitors, my lady?"
Arlie's voice was just as he'd remembered it. "If you're looking for the witch woman, she's gone for dinner. If you're her lover, I suggest you find somewhere else to spend the night. I will not share a tiny tent with some rutting fool she will forget as soon as her true husband returns."
Rudolf stepped inside. "I'm not Lady Rhona's lover, I promise you, Arlie. I came to talk to you."
Arlie's eyes lit up. "Rudolf!" She tried to rise, but instead she just seemed to rock back and forth. "Damn this belly, I feel like a whale. You must come here and give me a kiss!" She held out her arms.
Rudolf kissed her cheek and sat beside her. "I brought dinner. It's not roast pork from your father's kitchens, but it's the best we have."
She took the offered food and ate with the appetite of a woman starving. Rudolf wordlessly handed her his portion as well, and began to worry there would be none left for Rhona.
"Maybe later," Arlie said, setting Rudolf's bowl down. "I am so hungry all the time, and yet if I eat too much, this baby of mine is like to kick a hole right through me. Very defensive of his territory, he is."
"Who is his father?" Rudolf asked. If some Alban had taken liberties with Lord Angus's daughter, he'd kill the man himself.
"Widald the whale hunter," Arlie said, her fond smile telling the tale of her love for her Islander husband. "He spotted a likely bull in the water yesterday, and left with promises to bring me back a whalebone cradle. How could I refuse such a man?"
"But why were you in the watch tower? And why was no one with you?" Rudolf pressed.
Arlie shrugged. "It is the best place to watch for whales, and for whale hunters coming home. The girls from the village come to visit every day, bringing food and word of what is happening. None have visited today, but when I saw this army sailing in, I sat at the window with Widald's old bow to defend my home, as any good Islander wife would when raiders come. The things this Wolf Prince has done..." She shook her head and muttered something about walruses under her breath. "What are you doing with this man and his rabble, Rudolf?"
Rudolf didn't know what to say. Telling her he was the leader of what she called rabble didn't seem like the best idea. Evidently she hadn't recognised him as the man she'd shot at, now he'd taken his armour off. Finally, he said, "They may seem disorganised, but they are united in a common purpose. Viken men and men of the Southern Isles fighting the Albans together, as our longstanding alliance says we will do."
She pursed her lips. "Not just fighting the Albans. I've heard the stories, even here. I bet Portia has, too. Whole villages burned, and everyone killed. How could you, Rudolf?" Tears sprang to her eyes. "Women. Children! How could you kill children?"
"I've never killed a child!" Rudolf protested, but he had hazy memories of Opplander boys wielding axes they could scarcely lift. Boys old enough to be at war, who were trying to kill him, however clumsily. He'd been the same age when he first went into battle, and he hadn't shied away from anyone who tried to kill him. As for women...like Vikens, Opplander women fought as fiercely as their men. He had several scars from wounds inflicted by women warriors. "This army has only fought Albans. Well, mostly Albans," he amended, thinking of the brawl he'd broken up only an hour before when a Viken had mistaken a Myroy man's drinking cup for his own. "They are good men, Arlie, I swear to you. They are here not to conquer Isla, but to free it."
"And this Wolf Prince? What sort of man is he?" she challenged. "Why do you follow him, Rudolf?"
She truly did not know he and the Wolf were one and the same, and Rudolf did not want to be the one to enlighten her. If he did, then he would have to tell her the truth – he hadn't come to free Isla, but to free Portia. What manner of man went to war over one woman? It sounded like madness, even to him. Madness that a whole army followed.
"I do not know," he muttered, rising to his feet. Before she could say another word, he'd left the tent to walk the camp perimeter with only his own dark thoughts for company.
TWENTY-SIX
When day dawned, Rudolf was resolute. He'd managed a second interview with Arlie, where she'd told him the last she'd heard, Portia was still in her father's house. No one had seen her for months, but her personal guard were there, and her men did not hide, so where they were, she would be, too.
It was strange to think of Portia as having multiple men, like she kept a harem of sorts. What did one call a stable of men? A barracks, or a company, perhaps – for they were a military unit, sworn to protect her, and not her lovers.
It took the men half the day to break camp, to Rudolf's bewilderment. If they did not move faster, it would take them three days to reach Angus's house, when it was less than a day's ride. But determination drove him – determination to free Portia and her lands from the enemy, and he needed the army at his back to ensure he did, this time.
Their slow progress gave him time to send out plenty of scouts, and mull thoughtfully on their reports. None of his men had seen a single Alban. In fact, they'd seen few men at all, though the villages on Isla were far from deserted. Women and children eyed the army warily as they passed, some unsheathing daggers they tried to hold in the folds of their skirts, ready to defend what was theirs.
His men knew better than to attack a village without an express command from Rudolf. These were their own people, not their enemies. He made sure to pay for any livestock they took, and the sight of coins loosened tongues that hadn't been free to speak for some time.
The Alban camp had been around Angus's house, though there were rumours of a second to the north, where Mason, the Alban commander, had a castle, or so it was said. Everyone seemed to know someone who had worked on the edifice, but none had seen it, or knew where it was. Somewhere hard to reach, they all agreed, before telling him it was on a clifftop, an island, or in the middle of a lake.
Rudolf found himself imagining an underwater castle, where basking sharks sat on thrones while mermaids serenaded them. Or would it be the other way around? He'd heard tales of a mermaid who married a king, and she now presided over his court, her long gowns hiding her tail and scales from all those who might know her for what she was.
"Sir, the men from Vatersay and Longroy are fighting again. It seems the only land left for them to pitch camp is a bog barely big enough for one of their groups, let alone both, and with no distance between them."
Rudolf swore. They were like brawling children. A pity he could not spank them all. "Send for Lady Rhona," he instructed. "Ask her to dry out the bog. Once she is done, I am sure there will be room for everyone. They will be bedfellows in the bog, or they may sail home."
Yrian grinned. "Yes, sir."
He liked the young witch, Rudolf was certain of it. He didn't seem to fear her as much as the rest, though he kept a healthy distance from her, too. If Rhona's betrothed died before she could marry the man, Rudolf had no doubt Yrian would offer himself in the man's stead.
Rudolf crested the rise and his breath caught in his throat. He knew they'd set up camp on the same site the Albans had deserted, but the sight of Angus's longhouse sent a wave of longing through his body that he wished would carry him to the doo
r and happier times.
His scouts said the place was deserted, but Rudolf knew better. Even if Angus and the Albans had left, someone remained. The house and outbuildings had a watchfulness to them that Rudolf had learned not to ignore.
He wore a breastplate, but not his helm, and he carried his bow and his quiver on his back. His sword bumped against his side with each step, but he would not need his shield today. Not for this.
The cookfire in the kitchen had burned down to coals, but there was no mistaking the fact that it had been used to prepare a meal today. A basket of apples lay on the table, their leaves not yet withered, as though they'd been picked only hours before. Someone was here. Someone who cooked, and took care to harvest the orchard.
A shrill scream that sounded like a distressed horse came from outside.
Rudolf picked up an apple and went outside to investigate.
The mare, a skittish beast that lifted her tail, threw back her ears and eyed him with menace before letting out a squeal, trotted away from him to rub herself against the fence. She stared him a while longer, as though daring him to try and ride her so that she might buck him off, before heading to the feeding trough to finish off her oats.
The second scream didn't come from her – it came from the stables. Rudolf hurried to help.
The stables were as empty as the kitchen, except for the screaming horse, doing his best to kick down the door of his stall.
"Hector!" Rudolf lifted the bar to let the stallion out, then held out the apple. Would his horse still recognise him after all this time?
Hector ignored the apple and stepped on Rudolf's foot as he shoved past him to leave the stable.
Rudolf followed him, not willing to lose the beast.
Hector took off at a gallop, soaring over the fence, before landing in the mare's field. He moved purposefully toward her feeding trough.
Blow Page 9
