Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 2 of 2

by Harper St. George

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rurik hurried to the hall where his brother awaited him, hardly daring to believe that he would find Sandulf there. A hundred thoughts ran around in his head, colliding with each other before settling on one. Something had to be wrong to bring Sandulf all this way. The last time he had seen his youngest brother had been after the massacre when he had boarded a ship bound for Constantinople. The harsh words Rurik had said to him rang in his ears. Part of him had thought he would never see Sandulf again and he could hardly believe that he had the chance to take them back.

  How had he even found Rurik here? Or had he somehow traced Wilfrid’s involvement?

  Two men guarded the door, reminiscent of the guards that had constantly lingered in the passages before his marriage. Rurik was only glad they hadn’t left Sandulf in the underground cell to await him. Giving them a brief nod, he opened the door to find a man standing near the hearth, warming himself at the fire. He recognised the set of Sandulf’s shoulders a moment before the boy turned his face to him. Only, it was not the face of the half-boy, half-man that Rurik remembered. Gone was any lingering softness of childhood to be replaced by the battle-chiselled features of a warrior.

  ‘Sandulf?’ he asked, still not believing, although the man’s eyes were the same. He still had the cleft in his chin, but his jaw seemed harder.

  Sandulf gave him a slow almost-grin, as if he had forgotten how to use the muscles required for the act. ‘Brother,’ he said in a voice more solemn than the one Rurik had known.

  Despite the fact that the last time they had seen each other had been just after the massacre and Rurik had spoken harsh words to him, his chest lightened with joy at the sight of him, at this small bit of home that had found him in this near-forgotten corner of the world.

  Walking over to him, they clasped arms and Rurik pulled him in until their shoulders touched. ‘Welcome, Brother,’ said Rurik, pounding his back. ‘I can hardly believe you are here.’

  Sandulf’s smile came a bit easier this time, though it was by no means warm, and his eyes were troubled when he pulled back. ‘I cannot believe you are here.’ In response to Rurik’s furrowed brow, he said, ‘I didn’t know you would be here when I came. It wasn’t until I heard your name mentioned in the village that I knew.’

  ‘You found out about Wilfrid, then? Is that what brought you here?’

  Sandulf nodded, leading him over to the table. He scouted the chamber with his eyes as if making certain they were alone.

  ‘No one is here. There are only my men outside the door,’ Rurik reassured him. ‘How was your journey?’

  ‘Long,’ said Sandulf as he settled himself and partook of the ale Rurik had poured for him. He grimaced near the end. ‘I miss the mead of home.’

  There were many things Rurik missed of home, too, but he was finding that with every day he spent here with Annis, he was coming to think of Mulcasterhas as his home. ‘There is much work here for me to do.’ He gave a wry smile.

  The quirk of his lips seemed to catch Sandulf’s attention and provoke a frown. ‘How have you come to be here?’

  A grumble of unease returned to his belly. He had only barely reconciled himself to the affection he felt for his enemy’s daughter-in-law. If the truth was known, his initial hatred of Wilfrid had begun to wear thin as well. But how would he explain that to Sandulf?

  He spent the next few moments telling his brother about his time in Éireann with Alarr. About King Feann and how he had learned the truth of his mother. Finally, he spoke of what he had learned of Wilfrid of Glannoventa and how it had brought him here.

  Now it was Sandulf’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Am I to understand that you married his daughter, Lady Annis?’

  ‘It happens that Wilfrid is very ill and he despises Danes.’ Another smile curved his lips and Sandulf noticed, the groove between his brows deepening.

  ‘I’ve never seen you smile so much. You’re smitten with her.’ Sandulf said it as an admonishment.

  Taking in a slow, steady breath, Rurik searched for a way to explain. It turned out there was no way other than the truth. ‘I have affection for my wife, yes. Wilfrid had not plotted the murders at home as I had thought. He hired assassins to go and only to target our father. I never knew this, but several years ago Sigurd came here to this area. There was a…disagreement and Wilfrid’s son was killed, apparently brutally.’

  ‘That is all well and good, but have you forgotten what happened at home? That was brutal murder.’

  ‘If there is one thing I understand, it’s the need for vengeance.’ It was all he had thought about since. Until Annis. ‘But Wilfrid is all but bedridden. Killing him will not avenge anyone.’ Hoping to turn the conversation, he asked, ‘What happened to you when you left us? Did you reach Constantinople?’

  Sandulf nodded. ‘It’s where I’ve been all this time. Do you remember that I fought the ones who killed Ingrid?’ Despite the fact that some time had passed, the wound was still raw for them both. A slash of pain crossed Sandulf’s face and Rurik nodded in encouragement.

  ‘I will never forget,’ said Rurik.

  ‘There were four of them. Two of them fled to Constantinople. I found them and killed them, but not before one of them told me where the others could be found.’

  ‘In Glannoventa,’ Rurik responded, wondering if they had been here all this time.

  Sandulf nodded. ‘Yes, one of them. The other seems lost, but I have hope I will learn his name.’

  ‘But there were only three of them. Wilfrid admitted to hiring the three assassins and he says that he did not make the trip to Maerr. I believe him, because his health is very poor and was poor even then.’

  Sandulf shook his head and his brows came together over his eyes, creating a deep groove, making him appear fierce. Rurik had never seen him look like that before.

  ‘I didn’t come here for Wilfrid,’ said Sandulf. ‘There were four there, Rurik. Two of them were fighting Father’s warriors. The third is the one who murdered Ingrid.’

  ‘And the fourth?’ Rurik asked.

  ‘She went with the man who attacked Ingrid. I tried to fight them off, but the man was vicious. I wasn’t able to stop him, but I marked the girl.’

  ‘The girl?’ Rurik echoed the words as blood roared in his head. There was a girl among the assassins Wilfrid had hired to kill their father. Why had he not known that before? Somewhere deep down, he knew where Sandulf was leading, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Shaking his head, he said, ‘No, you’re mistaken.’

  ‘Before I killed him, the assassin told me she could be found here.’

  Rurik shook his head. ‘But I was told one of them was called Wilfrid and that wasn’t true. The assassin lied to you.’ Each statement was a grasp at some plausible explanation. ‘You think it’s Annis.’

  Sandulf nodded, as if only just realising that he was dealing with an animal on the very edge of becoming wild. He raised his hands, palms extended outward. ‘It is possible.’

  His Annis. Rurik thought of her as she had been that morning, naked and panting, soft and yielding beneath him. His.

  ‘Annis is not the one you seek. She had no part of that.’ He closed his eyes, but his brother’s next words penetrated anyway.

  ‘The girl I remember from that day had auburn hair and pale skin. I marked her here with my blade. Two marks that cross.’ He stood and indicated his back above his hip.

  ‘No!’ The word roared out of Rurik as he came to his feet. He brought his hands to his forehead, his fingers grasping handfuls of his hair as if he could pull out the knowledge Sandulf had given him. As if there was some hope of going back to how things had been before.

  Is this what had been worrying her these past weeks? She had started to tell him something outside, but it hadn’t been the first time. On their wedding night she had mentioned something and he hadn
’t let her talk for fear of losing what he had only just found.

  He thought back further, back to the night she had confessed her family’s involvement with Sigurd and Maerr. She had mentioned having blood on her hands, but he had dismissed the remark as guilt from her desire for revenge and condoning the hiring of the assassins.

  Could the woman he was coming to love—no, the woman he was quite certain that he did love—participate in such a ruthless act? An image of Ingrid as she had been in death came to him before he could stop it, bloodied and disfigured, her face a mask of the obvious suffering she had felt before her death. Her unborn child… What person could do that to an innocent woman? No matter Sigurd’s guilt in his alleged crimes against Glannoventa, Ingrid had not deserved her fate.

  Rurik did not realise that tears blurred his vision until one of the warriors guarding the door had opened it, calling to him. He must have tried to get Rurik’s attention several times, having been summoned by Rurik’s cry of denial, because he came into the chamber reaching for the sword at his waist.

  ‘Stay!’ Rurik stopped his progress with the one word.

  Sandulf would not lie to him about this. The description was too clear for the unknown assassin to be anyone but Annis, from her hair to the scar on her back. The very scar Rurik had noticed, wondering how she had come by such a thing. He had asked her once and she had responded that it was an accident, but he’d been too lost in his lust and affection for her to demand an answer.

  He could not imagine the woman he knew participating in a brutal murder, not after what she had been forced to endure with Grim and her unborn child. But the evidence seemed overwhelming. Had she lied to him all these days? There was only one way to find out.

  Blinking to clear his eyes, he said, ‘Bring Annis to me.’

  * * *

  Annis stared down at Wilfrid’s dear face. With his wrinkled hand in hers, she had finally managed to calm him into a deep sleep. He had not slept the night before and as a result he’d been disorientated most of the day. Wulfwyn, the healer, who was usually so calm could not keep the concern from her face.

  ‘He is not long for this world, I fear.’ Never one to mince words or make things appear better than they were, the healer had looked kindly on them both one last time before taking her leave.

  Annis had stayed by his side long after his fitful breathing had lengthened and settled as he’d found his rest. Whether he had known her, Annis could not say, but her presence seemed to soothe him. Cedric had approached her this morning with the news of Wilfrid’s fitful night. The two were closer than brothers and he hadn’t been able to hide the sorrow from his face. Even he knew that Wilfrid’s end was coming. Only a handful of years separated the two, but Wilfrid appeared decades older.

  Annis had tried to comfort Cedric, but there was nothing she could say to take away his pain. In the end she feared that she had made things even worse. Instead of waiting for a better time, her thoughts had gone to Rurik and the terrible thing she was hiding from him. With Wilfrid near death, she had suggested that now was the time to tell Rurik everything. Jarl Eirik was gone and it appeared that their marriage would stand, but Cedric had not wanted to hear of it. He wanted to wait even longer, until after Wilfrid’s death when Glannoventa’s fate had been settled.

  She had argued. ‘It is only fair that Rurik know while Wilfrid is alive to answer his questions.’

  Cedric waved away her concern. ‘What questions could he have? You were there.’ The words came out between his teeth, almost like an accusation. ‘You can answer his questions.’

  ‘True, but what if he has questions about the earlier confrontation between Wilfrid and Sigurd? What if there is something he must know?’

  ‘What would he need to know?’

  ‘I don’t know. There could be anything.’ She had shrugged, aware that she was making this worse for Cedric, but unable to stop herself from arguing on Rurik’s behalf. ‘The point is that this has been kept from him for too long. He must be told the truth.’

  Cedric had come to stand over her then. ‘And you are certain that when you tell him the truth, he will stay? He won’t leave you, or worse…?’

  Her stomach tumbling over herself, she had asked, ‘Worse?’

  ‘He came here for vengeance.’ His tone had gentled, but it did not soften the harsh words. ‘What is to stop him from taking his vengeance out on you? He could drag you back to Maerr and turn you over to the King or even his family.’

  The flicker of unease those words brought had been in her belly ever since. She was certain now that Rurik would not physically harm her. It wasn’t in his nature. But would he take his vengeance out on her in some other way? Would he hate her, or would he give her a chance to explain her part? Would he believe her and accept it when she told him that she had made a horrible mistake? She wanted to believe that the man who held her so tenderly every night would understand and accept her, but she couldn’t be certain.

  She had almost told him several times since Jarl Eirik’s departure, most recently when he had seen her arguing with Cedric earlier that day. Perhaps it was time to stop wondering about his reaction and let him know the truth. Whatever he decided, she would have to be strong enough to accept. She could not keep lying to the man she loved.

  Placing a kiss on the back of Wilfrid’s hand, she laid it gently on his chest and let herself out of his chamber. To her surprise, one of the warriors stood there. ‘Good afternoon, Ealdred. Have you seen my husband? I would have a word with him.’

  He appeared hesitant, his mouth opening and closing before he finally said, ‘He has sent me to bring you to him.’

  She paused at the odd phrasing. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘The hall, my lady.’ He stepped back to let her pass, but then he fell into step behind her and she had the oddest sensation that he was escorting her like a guard would a prisoner.

  Glancing back at him, she asked, ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘I…’ He hesitated again, his gaze darting to the closed doorway that led to the hall. ‘I could not say, my lady.’

  A shiver of unease ran down her spine. Something had happened while she sat with Wilfrid and it seemed as if everyone knew it but her. The other warrior guarding the door would not meet her gaze.

  ‘Let me in.’ Her voice came out a whisper.

  The door opened and she stepped inside, fixing a smile on her face to greet her husband. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside. Rurik was standing near the hearth, his face ragged and filled with a pain she had never seen there. At his side stood a man who appeared vaguely familiar. From his hair to his clothing, she immediately judged him to be Norse.

  He knew her, too. He stared at her with a look of recognition tinged with loathing. It wasn’t until she stepped closer, the doors closing behind her, that she remembered. He was the Norseman from the longhouse in Maerr. The one who had tried to fight Lugh when he attacked and killed the pregnant woman. The one who had fought her and marked her.

  A quick glance at Rurik confirmed that he knew everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A cold heat travelled down her spine and prickled over her skin. In an instant, she knew how things would go. Rurik would never understand. How could he? Her decision to keep her presence in Maerr from him was unforgivable. Nevertheless, the sudden pain that settled deep in her heart at the thought of losing him meant that she had to try to talk to him.

  The look the younger Norseman gave her was so full of loathing that it was very nearly palpable where it touched her. Rurik’s was hardly any better. A pressure held her chest tight.

  ‘Rurik, please allow me to explain.’

  ‘Yes, explain to me how all this time you have not told me about going to Maerr.’ His voice was bitter and cold like she had never heard it. Even in the cell below, there had been a heat present as he had used his wo
rds to spar with her.

  The frigidness caught her breath, as if she had jumped into a mountain lake soon after the spring thaw. ‘I wanted to tell you, but—’ She broke off. She would not use Cedric as an excuse. It was true that he had told her not to mention it, but it had been her decision to heed his warning. ‘In the beginning, I was afraid that you might harm me.’

  That only made his brow crease with contempt, so she raised her hands. ‘Only in the beginning. I know now that you would never harm me… Not physically. I wanted to tell you on our wedding night, but you bid me to be silent.’ When he jerked his head away, she was afraid he would think she was blaming him. She dropped her hands and clasped them together in front of her to keep from reaching for him. He would not welcome her touch now, maybe not ever again. The sense of loss welling inside her would soon become unbearable.

  ‘Perhaps I should have forced the issue. But then Jarl Eirik came and there was so much to overcome that the timing didn’t seem to be right. Glannoventa needed you and I could not risk you leaving. Please believe that I planned to tell you…’ Her voice trailed off as she realised how pitiful her excuses sounded. To him there was no reason that would justify her continued silence. Not one that he would accept. Her silence on the matter had wounded him deeply. She could see that now.

  He did not look at her when he spoke next. His furious gaze stared into the fire. ‘You plotted to kill my family, Annis.’

  Her palms itched to touch him and soothe his hurt. She wanted to curl her fingers in his hair and stroke down his back the way she knew he liked. ‘It is true that I wanted revenge for Grim’s death.’ And that she had been in deep mourning for both him and her son. ‘But I only wanted Sigurd to pay for his crimes. I never wanted anyone else to get hurt.’

  It seemed foolishly innocent now that she could have believed there would be no danger to anyone but Sigurd. In hindsight she could see that her grief had not allowed her to think rationally, but even that was no excuse. She had picked her path and she had no choice but to accept the consequences.