“Come on!” he mumbled, jerking her past the bath house and toward the stable. “Remember, girl. Not a sound!”
He didn’t have to remind her. Her stomach ached as though he had already gutted her, but nothing else hurt. She was numb from head to toe.
Where was Dægan? Where was anyone? Was this a tightfisted vagrant Dægan had warned her about or someone even more ruthless? She tripped again but it didn’t go without its punishment. He grabbed her throat, lifting her. “Walk, wench!”
Mara gasped and coughed, trying desperately to keep up with him. Finally, they entered the stable, only to run straight into an open stall door. Frustrated, he pushed her to the ground.
This was it. She would be raped and left for dead in the dark of night.
She knew it!
By the sheer brutality and the sound of his voice she knew there would be no mercy, nor would it matter for she already hated him; his voice, his hands, the stale perspiration from his restlessness as though he had been sweating the idea all day. She deemed him swift and cruel in his intercourse, one who would demand the most from her and haul her over the coals when she gave any less. No, she would not give less! In fact, she’d give him all she had. One mighty kick between his legs before he’d split hers.
But he never joined her on the ground. All she heard was a rustling, almost clumsily as he searched through the darkness, but it was not her he was looking for. Mara heard the clatter of small metal and links, and then the hollow sound of a pat to a horse’s back.
Dægan’s horse!
She should have known. He wasn’t going to have his way with her here. ‘Twould be foolish. He was cunning enough to steal her away into the night. But where would they go?
She prayed, she cried, she waited. The pain in her wrists finally emerged, as time seemed to linger like a bad dream. The rope was so tight she could feel it wearing her skin, stinging as it cut deeper with every twist of her hands.
His heavy footsteps stopped in front of her. She tensed, ready to send a foot to the air, but he stood his distance.
“Get up! Get up now!”
When she didn’t move quickly enough for his liking, he grabbed her ankle and dragged her out of the stall, twisting her leg around, to roll her to her stomach. “You like it down there?”
He came down hard on her, snatching a wad of her hair and pulling her to her knees. “Is this what you’re waiting for, lass?” His hands groped her from behind, shoving her gown up her back.
She tried to crawl forward, digging her fingertips in the grooves of the stone floor, but he only pulled harder at her hair, coaxing her with repulsive flattery.
“I can see what Dægan sees in you. You are a fiery little wench!”
He drew his hand around her throat and whispered against her ear. “It won’t hurt much, sweeting. Just hold still…”
“Who’s there?”
Mara froze at the sound of the familiar voice. It was Eirik! She tried to scream his name but the gag proved successful. The man shoved her to ground again and jumped to his feet. Mara thrashed to her back, seeing Eirik holding the lantern out in front of him and the hooded man coming closer. Tears burned her eyes, as she lay helpless to warn him.
“‘Tis not your concern! Leave before you get hurt!” he shouted, disguising his voice through a raspy tone.
“This is my stable! Who are you?” Eirik asked lifting the lantern higher.
“You want to die? I swear by the gods, I will slash your throat!”
Eirik ignored the threats and shone the light toward the ground where she rustled. “Mara?” he asked.
A fist walloped Eirik’s jaw, sending him staggering to his right. Fortunately Eirik’s size kept him from falling, but not from getting another, this one to the side of his head. He braced himself against the stall, setting the lantern safely to the ground and lunging at the man’s chest. The two plowed into the wall, breaking several shelves and tumbling amongst the clutter.
Mara scrambled awkwardly to her feet, keeping her distance from the flailing men. She crept to the security of a stall corner and watched the shadows clash, beating each other with anything that fell to their hands.
Both cursed and grunted with each hit, striking harder with the next. The commotion caused another familiar voice to enter.
Dægan.
Suddenly one of the men dropped to the ground and the other drove past, colliding with Dægan’s shoulder. Dægan gripped the man around the neck with his forearm, holding him in a choke hold. “Eirik? Eirik!”
“Over…here…” his voice called faintly from the floor.
Dægan released the hooded figure and charged toward Eirik. “Brother!” he shouted clutching Eirik’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
Though struggling with the rope around her wrists, Mara was able to make limited use of her fingers and bring the lantern to the spot where Eirik lay. It broke the peril of the darkness and revealed Eirik’s horrifying injury. He was gasping under the pain of a knife in his gut and blood had already soaked his clothes. His trembling hands freed the dagger from its fleshy sheath and dropped it to the stone floor at her knees.
“Eirik! Who did this to you?” Dægan demanded, looking over the rest of his brother. “Who, Eirik?”
“I…know not,” Eirik tried to say. “He had…Mara…on the ground…”
Instantly, Dægan shot Mara a look of gravity, his worst fears coming true as he finally took notice of the gag in her mouth and her wrists bound like an animal. He reached up with a trembling hand and touched her face. His eyes beheld more guilt and regret than she had ever recalled seeing on one man. She wanted to take hold of him, comfort him…
“I tried to…” Eirik struggled, cutting short her pity for Dægan.
“Sh...Brother,” Dægan said, deflecting his attention from Mara. “You are going to be fine.”
He lied, and Mara knew it. It was evident the large amount of blood in such a quick amount of time meant a vessel had been direly severed. The realization sickened her knowing that nothing could save Eirik now.
Dægan pushed his palm firmly against the deep wound, holding a steady pressure, but the blood oozed between his fingers, seeping around his hand. “Nay, Eirik…stay with me. Look at me, Brother. Look at me.”
Mara touched the side of Eirik’s face with her bound wrists. He smiled kindly at her, stealing another short breath. “Are you…all right…m’lady?”
She nodded as that was all the gag allowed her, trying not to show the dreadfulness of his wound.
Eirik tried to speak again, but choked on the blood that now filled his throat.
“No, Eirik. Come on. You can do it… Do not leave me. Do not leave me, Eirik!” Dægan lifted his brother’s head to his lap, helping to draw the blood away from his mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Eirik. Tell me who did this! Tell me now… I must know, Brother!”
Dægan now looked at Mara again, searching her for the man’s identity, but she could only give an ignorant shoulder shrug.
“Eirik!” Dægan shouted, pushing his palm harder against the seeping blood. “No, Eirik! No!”
Dægan leaned closer to his brother’s face, feeling the feeble breath on his cheek. “That’s it, Eirik,” he encouraged softly. “Tell me. Tell me who did this.”
But as Mara watched Dægan coddle his brother, Eirik’s hand briefly reached for Dægan’s forearm and then dropped lifelessly to the ground.
“No!” Dægan yelled, clutching his brother in his arms. “No! No! No!” Dægan shook with sadness, crying loudly in Eirik’s neck. He rocked his brother’s body and cursed, shouting at the top of his lungs. “No!”
Mara sat still, watching Dægan plead and bawl like a child. She closed her eyes, squeezing out a hapless stream of tears, for the sound of his harrowing wail haunted her, the sight nearly broke her heart.
****
Dægan quieted for a moment, and looked at Mara in disbelief, his mind in turmoil, his body in shock. He slid from his brother
’s corpse and reached for the wall of the stable, pulling himself to his feet. On unsteady legs, he lurched toward the door.
“Dægan, where are you going?” Mara tried to mumble through the gag.
Dægan dragged his feet, calling Eirik’s name from behind his teeth. He had retired from weeping and was now groaning in anger for all to hear. “I will find you! I will hunt you down, you coward!”
Mara tried to stop him, calling his name above his deep-seated shrieking, but he stormed out the door and ran through the density of the night.
He found strength with each step, running faster and faster, feeling the night air burn in his chest with every massive gulp of breath. He searched the harbor frantically for a fleeing hooded man, regretting he had released the bastard in the stable. He also rued the fact that too much time had passed, essentially blessing the man with freedom.
Suddenly, a figure slipped around one of the boats on the shore, disappearing into the shadows. Dægan darted straight to the dock, unsheathing his dagger. He crept between boats, one to another, trailing the steps of his prey who had dashed away into the shadows.
Dægan was close, so close he could feel the satisfaction climbing up his spine. He remained calm and observant.
Again the figure moved, this time climbing the gangplank of someone’s cargo vessel and jumping into the deep hull.
Dægan smiled at the man’s stupidity and followed quietly aboard. He crouched on the floor, seeing the emptiness of the boat from the light of the moon. But he waited. He held his breath and listened, felt the rhythm of the rocking tide. All was as it should be…except that the empty boat leaned too far to the right.
Dægan spun on his heals just in time to trip the man who charged him. He let the figure stand and then threw a punch into the dark hole of the hood, assuredly making contact with the man’s hidden face.
The man tried to run again, but Dægan turned him around throwing him against the side of the boat. It rocked and Dægan staggered, regaining his footing quickly, while the man fumbled with the sway of the boat. Dægan grabbed the man’s cloak and whirled him over the side, jumping in the water after him. The two men faltered and struggled with the water at their knees, throwing punches when they could. Most of those that landed were to Dægan’s favor, but every now again, a surprise fist would slip past his guard and jar his world anew.
Dægan had reached the end of his rope and whatever slim mercy he may have had for the man, soon departed as another strike fell to his face, cutting his eye. Dægan felt the sting of the open gash and dove for the man’s legs, knocking him on his back. He pounced on his chest and clutched the skinny throat amid the hood, holding him below the water. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip as the man splashed around. He could hear the man calling under the depths of the water, begging for his life, but he refused to let go, to let the man breath the air he so desperately fought for, choked for, thrashed for. Until slowly…indefinitely…the splashing stopped.
Dægan exhaled the breath that had hunkered down in his lungs, his hands trembling beneath the water. He fell from his haunches, collapsing in the wake of the river’s tide. Every muscle, every part of his body fell paralyzed to the misery of his revenge. It wasn’t at all as satisfying as he hoped, for his agony persevered in spite of it all.
Dægan dragged the lifeless body to shore and hesitated to reveal the identity of his brother’s murderer because the body was lighter than he anticipated, like that of a small man…or an older lad.
He clenched his jaw tightly, feeling the heat of his anger turn to a cold liquid fear as he dreaded the worst. With a jerk of his hand, Dægan flipped the hood from the body. The familiar face shocked him, jolting him to a level of consciousness too ghastly to be true.
It was Rutland.
****
Dægan entered the door of his longhouse, dripping wet and exhausted. His face was pale and his breathing slow and shallow. His shoulders hung in heavy bereavement, and every ranting suspicion he assumed Mara would’ve had by now about his hunt to the death would be tragically accurate. At least, when he didn’t find her in the stable and had to go searching for her in his longhouse, it had given him a few more moments to ruminate over what he had done, over what had happened to his brother, and how he had deserted Mara to seek his vengeance. But it was not enough. No amount of time could’ve helped lessen the enormous sorrow in his heart.
Dægan lifted his eyes to hers, melting inherently when he realized he had left her still bound and gagged like a petty thrall. He hung his head as he neared her and dropped to his knees in silent shame.
He couldn’t even speak, much less beg for forgiveness, for his words were lost, lying somewhere between the waking river he had just crawled from, and the cool stone pavers of Eirik’s stable floor. As much as he wanted to proffer an apology, all he had left to give her was a sharpened dagger’s edge between her wrists, and a quick hand to untie her gag.
Knowing that the dirty cloth shoved in her mouth had probably absorbed every ounce of spit, Dægan rose to retrieve a rummer of water. It was in that instant he noticed his table askew, the ewer and wash basin toppled on the floor, and one chair turned over, coming to understand how the evening had unfolded behind his back. What was worse was finding out it had all begun in his own longhouse.
“He was in here?” Dægan asked, his voice fracturing under the weight of realization.
Mara simply nodded her head.
A deep sound emitted from Dægan, much like a dog’s growl as he proceeded past the mess and grabbed the ewer from the floor, shaking it before handing it to Mara. “If you need more, I will send for it.”
Mara gladly took the pitcher and drank the small amount of water from its concaved bottom, relieving only the dryness. But in spite of her avid thirst, she didn’t ask for more.
Instead, she watched Dægan pace. What shame and guilt he had, quickly disappeared as his anger climbed like a rampant weed. Although his jaw was clamped tightly shut, she could almost hear the long-winded conversation he was having with himself as he stumbled through his thoughts, replaying the night over and over in his mind, each step heavier than the previous.
“You knew the man, did you not?” Mara asked perceptively.
Dægan eyes flashed in rage. “Aye, I knew him! He was a chieftain’s son, orphaned after his family was killed by Harold. I took him in out of respect for his father and of love for mine! I fathered him—Eirik fathered him! And he does this! Why? Why would he do this to me?”
Dægan grabbed the chair that was still upright, as if its unturned position at the table were blatantly taunting him, and he threw it wildly across the room. But given that the walls of his longhouse were made of sod and rushes, the chair just fell in one solid piece. He spun on his heels and collapsed across the length of the table, pounding it with his fist as he muttered abrasive curses from beneath his other arm. The tirade in his harsh native tongue only lasted a few moments more before it drifted into a susurrous drone. From there, his legs gave out and he slid like a limp rag to the floor. He may not have had any control of his emotions, but he surely heard Mara’s careful footsteps.
“Stay where you are,” Dægan murmured.
Mara opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in brashly.
“I want not your sympathy or your kindness. I am undeserving of either as my brother’s wife has just become widowed.”
“‘Twas not you who widowed her, Dægan.”
He smeared both hands down his face and looked up blankly to the hand-hewed timbers above him. “But I still have to tell her.” He took a deep breath and slumped forward against his knees. “How, Mara? How do I tell her?”
A shaky whisper of a voice barely broke in from the back door. “I already know,” Lillemor said, grasping one of the wooden columns as she entered. She was morbidly struck with awe, her face sallow and still plummeting. There was no denying she had seen her husband, lying in his own pool of blood, and despite the long walk from the stable to Dæga
n’s longhouse, that memory clung as close to her as her own pallid skin.
Dægan jolted to his feet just in time to catch her as she buckled to her knees.
“Who did this, Dægan? Who? Who would want to hurt my Eirik?”
Dægan pulled Lillemor close, feeling for the first time the frailty of the hardy Northern woman in his arms. In telling her the truth, he knew it would break her down to almost nothing, and he wished like hell he could put forth a different name to the crime.
It took another pitiful plea from Lillemor before Dægan could release the lad’s name in a lowly whisper. “‘Twas Rutland who did this.”
Lillemor seemed to have stopped breathing all together until the name sunk deep like a hefty boulder in water. Her tears had found a breaking point and streamed from her eyes down her cheeks, each racing to beat the first.
“You are wrong!” Lillemor said in a rickety voice. “You must be wrong! Rutland would not do this!”
Dægan held her tighter, knowing this was only the beginning of her emotions, and what plunging grief she was feeling now, would soon lift to madness and in time, back down to a lonely rock bottom.
“I wish I were wrong, Lillemor.”
“But why? Why would he do this?”
“I know not that answer,” Dægan said sadly. “I suspect that greed can turn the best of men into murderers.”
“Greed for what?” Lillemor asked frankly. “Eirik had not anything worth killing for!”
Dægan lowered his head and Lillemor became suddenly privy to his reluctance. She looked at Mara with cold grey eyes. “’Twas you, wasn’t it?”
Mara froze.
“’Twas you Rutland wanted,” Lillemor said in piecemeal, “and Eirik tried to stop him. Is this how it came to pass, Dægan? Is this what my husband died for?”
Dægan touched her face. “It should have been me, I know.”
Lillemor smacked his hand away. “But ‘tis not you!”
Her hateful remark shocked Dægan so much that he knew not how to comfort her anymore and he dropped what little embrace lingered around her.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 12
