At approaching footsteps she lifted her head. A thud sounded just on the other side of the door. A moment later it swung open.
Thor ducked around it in such a loud rush that Aven flinched. He beckoned for her to come to him.
“What do you need?” she asked.
His gaze landed on the lantern and he hurried to lower the light.
“Please don’t.” Aven reached to turn it back up, but his hand caught her wrist.
Startled, she pulled free, but he only blocked her reach again. What was going on? He drew nearer. So close that her upheld hand pressed against his chest. She pushed at the firm, solid strength when he knelt, and her rising shriek was cut short when his hand pressed over her mouth.
Her heart jolted so quickly, pain lanced through her chest. This near, the tang of hard cider seeped from his skin. How much had he drank tonight?
Aven pushed at him as hard as she could, but he didn’t budge. After setting a gun across his lap, he lifted a finger to his lips for her silence. He smoothed that same hand against her shoulder, so tenderly her stomach dropped. His face moved nearer to hers, and he peered into her eyes as if willing her to understand his desire.
Dread thickened her throat. Aven grabbed at his hand, but he wouldn’t loosen it. How had she been so foolish to think that she could trust him? Fear taking over, she kicked him. As hard and as high in the thigh as she could manage.
He shoved her foot away, and the offended look he flashed her was just too much. Especially when his next breath blew out the lingering flame.
Darkness blanketed them and instinct had her scrambling back. Her head smacked against the barrel, shooting pain across her skull. Her skin flushed with fight, and she barely remembered the scissors as he dragged her up from the floor. Aven wrapped her hand around the metal tool that was small enough to hide in her palm.
When he pushed them both toward the door, she jerked away. His grip faltered over her mouth. She screamed, but his meaty hand clamped it back as though he’d expected as much. She bit his finger. He yelped.
With a growl, he braced her in front of him, gripping so tight she nearly heaved up her supper. He struggled to fetch his gun, wrestling everything out the door.
When he hefted her out into the night, she kicked her feet, hoping to unsteady him. It was enough when he stumbled, taking her with him. They hit the dirt hard, her back against the gun barrel. His crushing weight on top of her shot the breath from her lungs. A sob choked her of air.
The scissors still in hand, Aven gripped his thick arm as it slid back around her middle. With neither time nor leverage, she thrust the pointed end down as hard and fast as she could.
He jammed his mouth against her shoulder, muffling a howl so fierce, her skin prickled. Tears stung her eyes. He yanked her up and half carried, half dragged her away from the shed.
After a few steps he stumbled, nearly taking them both down again. A warm wetness of what could only be his blood pooled against her bodice. Ahead, the house loomed long and silent in the moonlight. Why was he taking her to the house?
In her side vision came an unnatural glow. One too low and golden to be the moon. It took only a glance to realize the glow was moving. Nay, marching. A steady, eerie bobbing as though from torches gripped by men. Aven’s eyes widened when the flickering light revealed masked men.
Thor rammed her against the door, trapping her with the sheer size of him as he struggled to grip the knob.
In the distance the row of tall, ghostly figures walked into the farmyard. Pointed white cloths cloaked their heads with small holes cut for eyes. Those flanking the sides wore only burlap sacks over their heads with rough-cut slits.
She would have screamed again if it weren’t for Thor clamping it back. He pressed her harder against the door as he struggled with the knob. Fingers slick with blood, he finally pounded the slab with his fist. It opened in a burst and they crashed to the kitchen floor. He pulled her away from the door and kicked it closed.
Blinking into the dim light of a single candle, Aven looked up into the stunned faces of Haakon and Jorgan. She scrambled away from Thor and dropped the scissors with a clatter. What was happening?
Ida rushed in and Thor lay back, chest heaving. Blood seeped through the sleeve of his shirt just above the elbow. Jorgan called for a lantern as he knelt beside his brother.
“Was he shot?” Jorgan’s voice was sharp as he ripped back the bloodied sleeve.
With a groan, Thor sat up and pointed at Aven. She’d never seen him this angry. He made a scissor motion with two fingers, then thrust that fist toward his bleeding arm.
Jorgan’s jaw fell as he swiveled on his knee toward her. “You stabbed him?”
“He grabbed me!”
Jorgan looked to the bear of a man who was still glowering.
Haakon snorted, slid a gun from the table, and left the kitchen. The sight of those masked men still swimming before her eyes, Aven sank back against the cupboard and pushed the hair from her face. Thor sliced a hand through the air, then shoved the tips of his forefingers together. Last, he aimed one at her. He looked up at Ida so earnestly, his desperation seared right into Aven.
“I’ll tell her, Thor. I’ll tell her.” The gray-haired woman knelt beside him and wrapped his arm in a long strip of cloth. She knotted it tightly, and he winced. Thor rose, picked up the gun, and with one last glare at the fallen scissors, walked into the other room.
Turning to Aven, Ida spoke kindly but firmly. “He said he’d never hurt you.” She took Aven’s hand, holding it tight. “There’s some things you need to know about Thor’s ways. Now ain’t the time, but rest in ease that he done meant you no harm. He meant only to help you along.”
Grief tightened her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Ida lifted a sharp look to Jorgan. “And ya’d all do well to take better care to not be so dad-blasted stubborn and hushin’ up so much about this’n that. The poor girl’s scared to death. Don’t know nothin’ of Thor’s ways ’cause she ain’t been told.” Ida smeared a hand back over her forehead in frustration. “Come mornin’ this must be set to rights.”
Jorgan accepted his chastisement with clear regret.
Ida squeezed Aven’s hand, then her focus shifted to the blood on Aven’s skin and dress front. “You hurt? Or be that Thor’s?”
“His.” The admission pained her. “I’ve only a few bruises of my own doing.” She trembled as Jorgan helped her to her feet.
Pulse still racing, she followed him into the next room where two women stood together. Their skin was like coffee with a trace of cream, and they each wore patterned scarves tied around their hair, capping it snug. Remembering Jorgan’s declaration that Ida’s family lived near, Aven realized the older of the two women had to be her sister. Cora was it? The other must have been her daughter. A young man was there as well. A little girl peeked out from behind him, so small she couldn’t have been but six. Her twisted black braids were tied with a scrap of yellow cloth, and Cora worried a finger around and around and around one of the loose ends.
Jorgan motioned them all to sit, leading Aven near to do the same. “Stay low.”
She wouldn’t have argued even if she wanted to. Settling against the wall, she pulled her knees up. Two small candles burned at opposite ends of the room, keeping the space dim. Back throbbing, Aven arched it gently. Pain shot through her hip, and she stifled a gasp. ’Twould be best not to try and move.
A tall span of windows ran the length of the great room, making up the front of the house. Gun strapped over his shoulder, Haakon climbed onto the desk there. Reaching overhead, he gripped a squared beam and kicked his feet up to clamp on. He clamored over the side of the beam until he was kneeling atop it.
Gun balanced in one hand, he stood and stepped gingerly toward the upper windows. He crouched against the ledge there and lifted the sash on the nearest pane of glass. “They’re burnin’ the wood crib.” The glow of flames lit his profile, and he spoke without em
otion. As if the destruction bore no surprise to him.
Jorgan paced with equal composure. Thor stared out the windows without moving. Aven tried to wrap understanding around their lack of fear. Was this cruelty to be expected? Or did the brothers truly feel no threat? Perhaps neither. Perhaps they were simply trying to maintain calm within the room.
Thor moved across the stretch of windows, profile stern in the glow from the other side where a half circle of torchlight was being formed in the yard. He looked Aven’s way, but when Jorgan motioned for his attention, Thor switched his gun from one hand to the other, then aimed it at the glass.
Haakon wedged himself into the corner, rifle poised. “Incoming!” he shouted, his voice higher than usual. The other men crouched as a flame arced through the night sky, falling toward the upper windows. Haakon ducked low, covering his head with his arm. Glass shattered.
A rock bound with burning cloth clattered to the floor and Jorgan rushed to stomp out the flame.
“Hold your fire,” Jorgan snapped, ducking low again. “That means you, Haakon.” He pointed up to his brother.
“I’m not gonna shoot.” But after Haakon shook glittering shards from his shirt, he raised his gun as though he wanted to.
A pane above his right shoulder looked patched, and now she understood why the rug was charred in spots. This had happened before.
“They mean only to frighten,” Jorgan said.
The hand beside Aven’s felt soaked in perspiration, and she squeezed it. The young woman gave her a sad look even as she whispered comfort to the child in her lap. The small girl’s crying muffled against her sister’s blouse.
Somewhere upstairs, another window shattered.
“Check for fire,” Haakon called down.
Jorgan hit Thor’s shoulder, and with fingers raised, waggled them like dancing flames. Nodding, Thor started for the stairs. His hand brushed the top of Aven’s head as he rushed by as if to make sure she was still down. Blood had seeped through the rag binding his upper arm.
A few moments later, stomping shook the ceiling overhead. When he returned, he set aside a charred stone. Wind whistled through the broken window. Beside it Haakon scanned the room in such a way that indicated something wasn’t right. Suddenly he hollered out.
“On the left!”
A shatter came from the kitchen door, followed by three men striding in—each mountainous in height with pointed hoods and white robes. Their faces were covered as though they were figures from the underworld, but behind the narrow holes cut for eyes were the glittering traces of real men.
Fear gripped her, but the brothers stoically faced their company. Thor took a step forward, rifle still in his grip. The disguised men peered around at the room, looked up to Haakon, then down to the huddle of women. The dog crouched down, whimpering.
One man aimed a solitary finger toward Ida’s nephew—making it known that he was seen. The dark-skinned lad set his jaw, not flinching.
The forefront of the ghostly figures pulled a fold of paper from within his robe. His hands were gloved, and those giant, angled fingers moved slowly as he opened what he bore. The dusty hem of his robe swayed over patched boots. A trickle of smoke stung the air.
His hooded face lowered to read. “We hereby charge you with enabling those who have been granted undue liberties by great price.” The man spoke in a deep, slow voice that disguised his identity, distorting even the drawl of his accent. “Those who were taught hard labor but are now prone to idleness and insubordination.”
The stark fabric over his mouth trembled as he spoke. “If you were to turn an honest heart to the cautions of we—a noble assembly—you would find realities to awaken your sympathies of higher attitudes. He who fails to do so remains at risk of having the breath beat out of him and his soul set free from the wretchedness of its cage.”
Though he knew not a word that was spoken, Thor paced but feet away from the leader, gaze pegged to the hooded face that inclined to each of his brothers in turn. Bold as brass, Thor was, but when his eyes met Jorgan’s, vulnerability lifted the center of his brow.
“We—who are but humble regulators—must appease the call to protect property and preserve law and sanctity. For those who observe this, it would be wise to salute the powers and the superiority that is to be deemed with reverence. A notice to be heeded afore the blood is spilled and dried.” The man folded the paper as slowly as he’d opened it and slid it away.
It was silent for several moments, then Haakon called down, “Write that all by yourself, did you?”
Jorgan shot him a warning look.
Suddenly one of the cloaked men shifted toward Aven, angling his hooded face to peer down at her. The white cloth hiding his identity fluttered in the breeze from the open door, stirring the lifeless slits for eyes. Head tipping, he adjusted his stance as if trying to see her better. The man drew nearer, and suddenly Haakon was shouting down.
“Take so much as a step closer, Peter Sorrel, and I’ll blow your boots off.”
The looming figure looked up to where Haakon was still crouched against the wall in the nook of the ceiling.
The beam creaked when Haakon shifted to set his aim. “Or do you think we don’t know you’re the only clod with feet that big in twenty miles?”
The man chuckled darkly and looked back to Aven for such a long while that her blood chilled. Kneeling, he drew himself closer to them, casting his attention upon the little girl who was sobbing now. He reached into his robe, then lifted a gloved hand, seeming about to give her something. Ida pulled the child closer. If looks could kill, she would have put him six feet under.
Finally he rose, dropped a tangle of small spools onto the floor beside the child, and stepped away, then ducked into the night. The other two followed. On their way out, one knocked several photos from the wall, sending them to shatter to the ground. A moment later there was a mighty crash as the table was flipped over along with everything upon it.
When silence settled, no one moved.
Finally, Thor stepped across crackling glass and closed the door. He stood at the window for several moments as if to gauge the severity of the fire. Thor watched it without alarm, his calm affirming that the danger wasn’t spreading.
“They’re headin’ off.” Haakon clicked the hammer of his gun free. He slung the strap over his shoulder before lowering himself back to the desk where he landed with a thud on its top.
The little girl was quieting, her cries nearly hiccups now. “They’s the ones who hurt Al. They’s the ones.”
“Shh . . .” Soft as moonlight, Ida rocked her. “They ain’t gonna hurt him no more. No more.” Ida tried to reach for a nearby blanket but couldn’t.
Desperate to help, Aven rose, but even as she did, Jorgan bid them all to stay as close and out of sight as possible until morning. “We’ve time enough to deal with the mess come sunrise.”
Sunrise. She ached for it.
Ida’s sister fetched blankets from a cupboard, and Aven helped her make a pallet on the floor. Soon, Ida had the child nestled down, stroking that small head of ebony hair. Aven learned that the little one’s name was Georgie. Her older sister introduced herself as Tess. Their brother, Al, sat on the floor watching the windows.
When each of them was settled, several blankets lay unclaimed. Aven looked around for Thor. She fetched a wool plaid to offer him, but he was nowhere in sight.
Haakon strode over to where the child slumbered and touched the tip of her nose, then smoothed her shoulder. An affection that might as well have run blood deep. He checked Tess next and Aven as well, giving the pretty-faced lass a gentle squeeze of the arm and to Aven, the brush of his fingertips just below her jaw. “You got a nasty scuff there.”
“Aye. And elsewhere.”
He smiled as if having witnessed her and Thor’s tussle. She was glad he hadn’t. She looked into Haakon’s blue eyes, but all she could think of was the shattering in Thor’s own. The way he’d made those motions—his plea fo
r her to know she was safe with him. Throat as parched as the hour she’d walked here, Aven struggled to swallow.
Haakon went back to the windows and spoke in murmurs with Jorgan.
Beyond that, the chiming of the grandfather clock signaled the late hour. Bruises now staking their claim, Aven ached with every shift on the floorboards, but never had a place to sleep felt so safe. Never with Benn, and certainly not in the workhouse sleeping quarters. The manor where she had lived as a girl with her mother was a blur of memories—like dried leaves crumbled under time. Each precious, but more brittle with every year passed.
Now she was here, and for these people, this place, she was grateful.
Al grabbed a squat, flat pillow from the sofa and lay on the floor. His gun rested beside him, and though he kept a keen angle to that kitchen door, he seemed at peace.
Her own eyelids heavy, Aven closed them. In the stillness she listened to the gentle whistle of the wind. The comforting sound of footsteps as the Norgaard men bedded down. Barely noticing the quietest of the lot settle in beside her as she drifted off to sleep.
SIX
Always would Aven remember the hour she’d learned of Benn’s death. She’d been out for the evening buying fish, only to return to their flat and a door that wouldn’t open. It took the help of the landlord and his bag of tools before they were able to whittle away the lock, and when they did, Aven stepped into a world that was never the same.
A hot rush slamming her chest, she jolted awake.
Morning was dawning as threads of golden light. Beside her, chest to the floor, Thor lay with no pillow. He had a leg bent up and an arm draped against his face as if to block the day. By the way that broad back was slowly rising and lowering, he was well asleep. Had he truly just passed the night beside her? His nearness confirmed it, but if she was to stay on this farm, she’d do well to look upon these men as brothers. She let her gaze skim back to the nearest one.
Sons of Blackbird Mountain Page 5
