Upon finding renewed perseverance, she stood. Only a hundred more yards to the cellar door.
A frigid wind cut through her cloak, chilling her to the core, and she ran the rest of the way. She peered around the corner. The north side of the castle was near the water, separated by a narrow strip of beach. The cursed vessels she’d spied from her windows were closer. Noelle touched her fingers to her heart and lips and pledged to forever hate the man who commanded those ships.
These ships had a different kind of grandeur about them. They called them dragonships because of the sleek design. Rumors claimed hideous effigies were carved into the bow and stern to ward off evil spirits. From where she stood, Noelle saw none. But that ruddy warrior in the hall could rebuff Satan himself—who needed carvings when mortal men looked like that?
Fear of those murderers using their superior numbers to overpower and torture members of the household haunted her as she crept forward.
If these were the same men who raided villages to the north, only a few months ago, all hope was lost. Those ghastly fiends pushed farther inland than ever before and burned everything in sight. They murdered dozens of monks and priests and stole holy relics. She tilted her head back to take in the full extent of the sail on the closest vessel. Begged Christ, she had been wrong the first time she saw it. The outline of the dragon glowed overhead like an ominous sign in the heavens. She lowered her gaze.
Sticky wet sand and snow clumped on the soles of her slippers as she paced anxiously. Believing them Vikings was one thing, confirming it another. And it had taken her too long to get there. Over an hour if her internal clock was working. No more useless deliberation. She had a specific goal.
As she made to take the last step in the direction of the cellar door, her legs tensed so tightly she feared she couldn’t move. My home. My family. My life.
Male voices sounded from somewhere close by. Or maybe they were deceptively carried on the wind. Every nerve ending in her body pulsed warning. The noise eventually faded, and Noelle eyed the door. Hand resting on the knob, she went inside.
It seemed the young master of Durham lacked any moral sense. Randvior felt anger coiling inside as he threw Brian a measured look. Threatening to slit a woman’s throat for disobedience is a coward’s way. Apparently his reputation is based on more than just rumors. Randvior felt nothing but contempt and wished he’d never offered terms. His mercy had been wasted on the likes of this spineless creature.
Although the woman was English, he didn’t wish to provoke Brian. Innocent blood benefited no one. He chose a less menacing stance. Not one Englishman challenged the heir as he tightened his grip on the dagger and pressed it against the woman’s silky throat.
“Let me go . . .” she said.
“Not a chance,” Brian answered.
“You may think this is what you want, but you’re not thinking straight.” Her pleas made no difference.
The blade stabbed, cutting off her words as she sank to the ground at his feet. Blood pooled around her slim body.
Gasps resounded through the crowd, and a low growl escaped Randvior. He nearly pulled his weapon, hungered to chop Brian down like a cluster of weeds. But his hands were tied—bound by a promise to spare the wretch’s skin.
And Randvior Sigurdsson had never broken an oath in his life.
Chapter 2
Flesh and Blood
Noelle had vague memories of playing games in the storage rooms as a child. But as the years passed, they served a higher purpose—a sanctuary away from her brother’s growing insanity. Brian’s black reputation drew battle lines across Durham. Some men respected him, but most feared him. Her father did nothing to intervene.
Sons deserved absolute freedom, not daughters.
She stepped off the landing, surprised to find dozens of torches in floor stands down the main hallway. Someone had already searched there. Maybe for her or her sire’s gold. Noelle picked her way along the corridor, relying on the walls to provide the support she needed to keep going. As she reached the end, she could hear men talking above stairs.
Such a long way up. One step, two, and three, she counted, then climbed. The closer she came to the top, the more heated the conversation grew. Heavy footsteps pounded on the other side of the door, making her fidgety—even tempted her to consider a full retreat. Apparently, the battle was over, but the fight had just begun.
She prayed her brother managed to hold off the aggressors. Or perhaps he was dead and they were fighting over plunder—indulging in what pleasures her home had left to offer. She didn’t care about Brian’s fate at the moment. What she did think about were the women and how these bastards might rape them. Her body tingled with nervous anticipation and she froze at the door. Cautiously, she cracked it open.
Brian’s distinct voice sounded above the others. She scowled, while straining to hear exactly what he was saying. My God! Noelle nearly fainted. Did he really just reveal the locations of her father’s gold and silver? Caches hidden strategically around the castle in hopes no one would find them. Pushing the door wide, she managed to sneak across the threshold unnoticed. She hid in a curtained alcove. From this vantage point, she had a clear view of the long table situated in the center of the room. Brian sat on a bench by himself facing her direction. Five men were seated opposite, clearly interrogating him. Any lingering doubt she had clung to, that might prove her original theory wrong, disappeared. Judging by their armor and long hair, she knew who these men were.
Noelle studied her brother’s appearance more carefully. Unscathed. Not a single mark on his body that she could see. Maybe he never had the chance to fight. But something didn’t feel right.
A Norse sentry, with a broadsword in his left hand, stood at an angle six feet away. A second man of equally intimidating proportion paced nearby, keeping his eyes fixed on the table. Her father’s men were corralled in a corner, and the women were standing together along the east wall. Much to her delight, John was still alive. Faithful John, who had protected her and Margaret so gallantly, looked a bit frayed around the edges.
The room grew insufferably hot and she mopped her forehead with her sleeve. Did her brother just agree to give these pigs three women as bargaining chips for leniency? Her eyes zigzagged across the table. She considered the loose parchment, ink bottles, and quills. Bottles of wine, too, at least eight were open. Her father’s favorite vintage. She recognized the bluish-white labels attached to the necks. What would he offer next, a place for these animals to bed the women?
Brian shifted in his seat as his eyes casually perused the room. She shut the curtain, afraid he might discover her. Noelle blew out a frustrated breath. Slow torture seemed a better fate than witnessing his cowardice. Bargaining continued and her brother was on his way to securing his freedom. She peeked out again. One of the negotiators now demanded thirty able-bodied men as compensation for the fighters he had lost during the siege.
“No more than ten of your own perished,” Brian countered. He spoke without conviction.
“Aye,” the Viking confirmed. “One of my men’s lives is worth at least three of yours.”
Noelle’s agitation piqued. She pulled the material wider and stared beyond her brother, at John. Dry blood crusted his face and his left arm was in a sling. Other men were seriously injured, a few resting on pallets on the floor. Even some of the women were nursing wounds.
“This is indecent . . .” She spoke aloud.
Before she realized what was happening, a pair of hands reached inside and extracted her from the enclosure. She jerked violently and broke free. The struggle attracted the attention of the men sitting at the table. She had a few choice words for them; and as for her brother, he deserved the worst of it. Her first duty was to protect her family’s interests and, if she were given a choice in the matter, she would dispute any stipulations.
Brian walked toward her as the guard manhandled her into custody. “Where were you?” he demanded. “Several men searched the woods and beach—we found Margaret and her companions over an hour ago and brought them back.”
“I’ve been close enough to overhear everything you said.”
Noelle squealed when the guard lifted her off the ground from behind. She kicked, but it made no difference. The man hugged her closer and laughed. She wanted to rip his flesh from bone. Instead, she reached between his legs and grabbed a handful of his ballocks. Twisted so hard every muscle in his body stiffened. He hollered like a stuck pig and let go.
She landed on her knees, hands barely breaking the fall. As she looked up, guards closed in around her with their backs facing in.
“Murderers—thieves!” she screamed. Laughter rolled around her, and much to her annoyance, this all seemed nothing more than a form of entertainment for them.
She stood and paced like a caged animal, couldn’t see beyond the ring of bodies. But she knew where Brian waited and prayed for him to intervene on her behalf.
He didn’t.
“Where are my sisters?” She let her anger take hold.
“Margaret is upstairs,” he replied. “I told you all the women were accounted for, save you. Now quit this foolishness and act like a proper lady.”
What absurdity. We are prisoners in our own home and at the mercy of wicked interlopers, and he dares to command me to act like a lady?
“I despise you,” she hissed.
He chuckled.
She moved around the ring and shoved at the men with all her might. Immoveable bastards . . . “Get out of my way!” she demanded through clenched teeth, pounding a soldier’s back with her fists.
“Cease the dramatics or I’ll be forced to restrain you,” her brother threatened.
He would do it. But she didn’t feel like acting like a lady just now. For once, she actually wanted to be more like him and crack skulls. But if she dared strike one of these brutes in the head, the only thing that would break would be her own tiny bones.
“Let me through.”
Surprisingly, two guards stepped aside.
“Is this your idea of defending our home?” she asked, breathless.
“Look around you,” Brian said much too flippantly for comfort, spinning with his arms outstretched. “Are the walls standing? Are father’s men and servants alive? I made a conscious decision to protect our home and assets. Live with it.”
He clasped his hands behind his back.
Ah, the infamous stance he takes after he decides he’s made a brilliant point in an argument and considers the discussion closed. She resented the fact that she was going to be forced to spend more than a minute in his presence. Brian reminded her of a squawking gosling running unrestrained. Amused by this illustration, she laughed out loud. He frowned disapprovingly and raised his hand to silence her.
“You’d sacrifice thirty of our men to these heathens?” Noelle asked.
“Before you so rudely interrupted our negotiations, I decided to reject that particular demand.”
“Oh.” She nodded approval. It troubled her to see her people forced to sit in the same room with these savages, witnessing these demoralizing proceedings. “Where is Ophelia?”
Brian coughed, then motioned her away.
“Did I ask something so personal you refuse to answer me in public?” She stared suspiciously. And to think he’s actually admired in the northlands by some men.
“This is a delicate matter.” He gripped her right arm and dragged her further away from earshot. The Norse seemed unconcerned, but still kept watch.
He stopped near an east-facing window. Distressed over what he might say, Noelle blocked him out of her mind for a moment and prepared for the worst. She stared into the darkness outside. Thinly threaded moonlight reflected off the water.
She faced him. “All I want to know is where Ophelia is. Whatever else you decide is your own business. Is she in her room or in the kitchen with the servants?”
Peace could never be achieved between them. No matter what he did or how he accomplished it, Brian always looked out for himself first. Some men were honored in their lifetimes for observing laws of chivalry. Others were revered for displaying talent as diplomats or distinguishing themselves on the battlefield. In any of these ways, a man gains the respect of his peerage. Not Brian. He displayed no such talent, but his cunning was of an evil sort. Like the serpent’s in Eden.
His gaze traveled up her body and rested on her face. “Ophelia . . .” His body language suggested the worst. He didn’t need to finish his calculated lies, she shrieked.
She slammed her hands against her sides as long-suppressed emotions came rushing back. He had played her false from the moment she had arrived. Avoiding truth to keep her pacified.
“An accident,” he finished, disregarding her outburst. “She suffered injuries in the fight this morning.”
Empty words—not an ounce of compassion laced his voice. Under any other circumstances, she would have flung herself on the floor and wept. Instead, she felt numb all over. Noelle chewed on her bottom lip and imagined what it would feel like to beat him to a bloody pulp.
“Who murdered her?”
He stared through her, oblivious to her presence.
Roiling emotions cramped inside her gut. “Who killed Ophelia?” Noelle threaded her fingers through Brian’s in an effort to regain his attention.
He turned, fingered a strand of her hair, and sniffed it. “So pretty . . .” he mumbled.
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you. We were attacked in the middle of the night and I was caught with my breeches down like a mindless boy. Half the guards were drunk, and the others barely put up a fight. So I accepted the terms these bloody bastards offered—a way out. Instead of dying, we were spared.” His poor excuses did nothing to aid his cause.
Although he hadn’t exactly answered her question, he seemed to be getting closer to a legitimate response. Perhaps if she manipulated him just enough, tweaked his delicate ego in just the right way, she might get the answer she needed.
“If father fails to acknowledge your success, tell him he’s a fool for overlooking everything you’ve done to preserve us.”
He shook his head. “I failed plain and simple, Noelle. Sometimes a man’s honor is stripped away forever if he exercises poor judgment in such matters.”
“Ophelia is dead.” This reality had hardly started to sink in as she feigned a smile. “The rest of us are alive because of you.”
“Ophelia?” His voice grew markedly agitated, most likely brought on by the mention of their sister’s name. “You’re so obsessed with one set of circumstances you fail to see the depth of our troubles. The dead are already dead, I can’t change that. As tragic as it is, father is only concerned about one of us.”
Bleeding a rock was easier than getting answers out of him.
“His only heir is alive and well,” she said matter-of-factly, biting back tears that pained her eyes.
He rewarded her last observation by gawking at her as if she were the village idiot. “You really are the most stupid girl.” He clutched her hand, applied pressure between the base of her thumb and ring finger until it hurt.
“You have no idea why our father is really in Ireland do you? Sweet, naïve, Noelle, always walks around with her head in the clouds. When is the last time you actually admired yourself in the looking glass? I’d wager a bit of gold and say never. Ophelia and Margaret are lovely, but you are the rare gem. A diamond in the rough as father likes to say. You’re in desperate need of a firm hand and a punishing ride in the sack to break your spirit, but a splendid girl by any man’s standards.”
Noelle’s jaw dropped.
�
�I was counting on your bride price father was going to collect from your future husband in Ireland to finance a larger army next year. And now you’ve ruined my chances by flaunting yourself before the Norse chieftain like a whore.” He jerked her toward the wall and flattened her left cheek against the stone. “You disobeyed my orders. Instead of staying in the woods with, Margaret, you pursued your own interests. I believe you wanted to attract his attention, to find a way out of here.”
“Who? I have no idea what you’re talking about. And why on God’s green earth would father go to such extraordinary measures to find a husband for me when he has two elder daughters to forge alliances with?”
The freezing stone numbed her face. Instead of answering her question, Brian twisted her arm and bent her wrist back until she let out a yelp.
“Deceptive little bitch.”
He let go, and she faced him. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot.
He grabbed a handful of hair and snapped her so close she could smell ale on his breath. “No matter where you go, I’ll hunt you down.” He bashed the back of her head against the window frame. “I’ll hunt you down and kill you!”
Cringing from his brutal words, Noelle finally burst. Through the blur of tears, she saw a warrior of tremendous proportion storm across the hall. He seized Brian’s arm and pried his fingers loose from her hair. She heard a loud snap as he curled Brian’s arm behind his back. Her brother stumbled and hollered, then dropped to his knees.
“Say it,” the colossal warrior demanded, visibly applying more pressure to his hand.
Brain tried to wrestle him down, but the stranger was larger and stronger—controlled him with little effort.
Although she detested her brother, her first instinct was to protect her own flesh and blood. Yet, it seemed a fitting punishment. Let Brian suffer the same mortification she felt whenever he embarrassed her, which happened too often.
Blind Allegiance (Viking Romance) (The Blind Series) Page 2