by Bobbi Smith
“I know you prefer death, Viking, but know this: death is not to be yours—just yet. Our lord will be pleased to have a captive,” Henry sneered. “Now, since you’re so eager to stand—get up! You can walk to the tower.” He stepped back and motioned with the sword for him to rise.
Brage got slowly to his feet. His right arm seemed almost useless and his head was pounding. He looked around at the carnage and saw Neils and Seger lying dead nearby, along with many more of his faithful warriors.
Rage greater than anything he had ever felt before erupted within him. He was more certain than ever that they had been betrayed! A traitor had caused their deaths. The knowledge that there could be such a man among his own people pained him more than any blade ever could.
Brage noted with empty satisfaction that the Saxon dead greatly outnumbered the Viking. He saw no sign of Ulf or Kristoffer among the bodies, and offered silent thanks to the gods for that much. Knowing they were alive gave him a faint hope that they might return with a greater force and raid again.
“What is your name, Viking?”
Brage decided to pretend that he did not know the language, and so remained silent.
Frustrated by his captive’s arrogance, Henry shoved him hard. “Talk or not, it matters little to me. Get moving. Lord Alfrick will want to see you. He will find a way to make you speak.”
Brage began the trek toward the tower. Each step was agonizing. Blood oozed from the wound that went deep in his shoulder. He tried to use his right hand, but it felt leaden. His head ached beyond description. His captor dogged his every step, taunting him and forcing him along when he would have slowed his pace.
They were nearing the drawbridge that permitted entry to the tower when they met some of Lord Alfrick’s guards. Sir Edmund was with them.
“What have you here?” Edmund asked, eyeing the captive with open interest.
“I found this one alive, Sir Edmund,” the guard called Henry informed him.
“You can leave him with me. I will take care of him for my father.”
“I would like to, but I cannot. Your father has decreed that he would deal with any survivors personally.”
Sir Edmund’s eyes were cold as he looked at Brage. “Pity.”
Brage stood before Edmund as straight and proud as he could. He met his enemy’s hate-filled regard with equal contempt, refusing to show him any fear. He could tell by looking at him that he was like others he had known—men who took pleasure in inflicting pain on those in their power. When faced down by someone of equal strength, such men usually proved to be weak and cowardly, but when they were in complete control, they were vicious.
This Viking looked very arrogant, and Edmund would have preferred to see the man dead by his own hand. But maybe his father was right. The captive might know something about future raids. If he did, Edmund would certainly enjoy being the one to convince him to part with the information.
“Move on.” Henry shoved Brage forward once more, deliberately prodding him near his wounded shoulder.
Brage bit back a groan as he made his way across the drawbridge and into the tower. He had planned to be entering the Great Hall with his men in triumph at this hour. Instead, he was entering the hall as a prisoner and many of those who had trusted in his leadership were dead.
Ignoring the excruciating agony of his wounds, Brage concentrated on trying to figure out who had betrayed him. He hoped the anger of thinking about the traitor would help sustain him. He made a silent vow that somehow, some way, he would escape this place and avenge his dead warriors.
In this he would not fail.
Four
The Great Hall was crowded with men. In spite of the loss of life among their ranks, their mood was joyous. They had successfully defended the stronghold against the fierce Black Hawk and his warriors. Food and drink were flowing freely as each man loudly recounted tales of his own heroic deeds during the battle.
Henry noticed that Lord Alfrick was seated at the high table in the front of the room with Sir Thomas. He forced his prisoner on before him as he made his way through the crowd.
Sir Thomas had seen them enter the hall, and he spoke to Lord Alfrick, directing his attention to the captive. “My lord.”
Lord Alfrick glanced up to watch one of his soldiers bringing a prisoner to stand before him. Even injured as he was, this tall, powerfully built Norseman in his blood-soaked tunic impressed him as a warrior to be reckoned with. Dried blood matted the prisoner’s hair and stained his face and beard, making him appear even more savage. Lord Alfrick’s lips thinned as he contemplated the punishment he would order for this man.
“What have we here?” he demanded in a booming voice.
All those in the hall turned to watch the display.
“A Viking who has survived, my lord. He was left for dead on the battlefield. I have brought him to you as you ordered.”
“He certainly looks more dead than alive,” Lord Alfrick observed. “I think perhaps he would prefer to be dead than standing here before me.”
Brage was reeling from loss of blood, but he steeled himself, struggling to maintain a show of strength before his enemy He would never grovel.
“What is your name, Viking?”
“He has not said a word since I found him,” Henry put in quickly. “It is possible he does not understand our language, my lord.”
“That, or he’s deaf and dumb.” Sir Edmund laughed cruelly as he approached. He had come to see what his father would do with the Viking.
Brage’s jaw tensed at Sir Edmund’s words. He ignored the jeers of those surrounding him as he concentrated on Lord Alfrick, the man he had planned to defeat that day. He thought of the runes’ prediction and cursed the old woman for her lies. True, she had told him that false words would be spoken, but she had also told him of a great prize he would claim. There was no prize here. Only misery and eventually a tortured death.
“My name is Brage,” he finally answered tersely.
“Ah, so he does know our tongue.” Lord Alfrick was thoughtful as he considered what a gift this captive was to him. One of the Black Hawk’s men was now in his power. There were many questions he wanted to ask him. He studied the dark-haired Viking intently for a moment. “Tell me, how is it that you came to sail with the Black Hawk? You look no Norseman to me with your dark hair. Were you a slave? Where did you come from?”
“Make no mistake. I am a Viking.”
“It seems we have a proud one here, my lord. What shall we do with him?”
All eyes turned to the bloodied captive. Hatred for all things Viking ran hot among the Saxons. Though they had driven the invaders back into the sea, the desire to spill more Norse blood hung heavy in the air.
“Kill him, Father,” Sir Edmund urged as he stepped forward. “He is wounded and of little use to us. Slay him and be done with it.” He drew his sword, ready to end the prisoner’s life before all who looked on.
“You are very eager to kill, my son,” Lord Alfrick remarked. “What glory is there in slaying a half-dead man?”
“Many of my men lost their lives today, Father, yet this heathen lives. Is there glory in allowing him to live?”
“Have forbearance, my son. He surely must know something about the raiding plans that might help us.” Lord Alfrick turned his attention back to Brage. “Tell us, Viking, we have the Black Hawk’s shield and his sword. Was that person killed in the battle today?”
Brage looked at Lord Alfrick and answered coldly, “The Black Hawk was felled.”
Again a roar of approval and excitement swept the hall as the crowd took his answer to mean that the Black Hawk had died.
“Good, good,” Lord Alfrick said with great satisfaction. “In celebration of this good news, I might let you live for a while. What better trophy could I have to display to those who come to our tower than one of the Black Hawk’s own men!”
Edmund was furious over his father’s decision to let the captive live, but he could not contradict
him. “Father, this man should be cowering before you, begging for his life! Not standing here so arrogantly, showing no remorse for the terror he has wrought upon us. Beg, Viking! On your knees before Lord Alfrick!”
Brage was weak, but he refused to debase himself. “I kneel to no Saxon.”
At the Viking’s insolence, Edmund backhanded him full force.
Brage had already unsteady on his feet, and the power of the blow sent him to one knee. He shook his head to clear it as he struggled to stand again, determined to reveal no weakness to his enemies.
Edmund moved quickly to grab the staggering Brage and hold his blade to his throat. “Shall I rid our land of this vermin, Father? Shall I kill him here and now?”
The men crowded in closer, watching avidly. Lord Alfrick looked at the sea of faces turned to him, each man waiting for his decision on the prisoner’s fate. He stared at the Norseman and saw the infuriating glint of defiance in the Viking’s gaze. He was just about to make his pronouncement of death for the captive when Lady Dynna’s voice rang out in horror from the entrance to the hall.
“No!”
A stunned hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned to the woman who had dared to interrupt.
Dynna stood frozen in the entry, her gaze fixed on the terrible scene before her. She had heard all that had been said, and from across the hall, she recognized the Viking. There could be no mistaking his identity, even as bloodied and injured as he was. It was the Black Hawk. The leader of the Vikings. She had almost blurted out his name, but had stopped herself in time. She knew what Edmund would do to him if he learned his true identity, and she would not be responsible for a man’s death—even if he was a Viking.
Brage heard the woman’s voice and thought it somehow sounded familiar. He lifted his gaze and surprise ran through him. It was the woman Ulf had captured before the raid! She no longer wore the clothing of a peasant, but was dressed in the fine garments of royalty. She knew his identity, and he wondered if she would betray him.
“Lady Dynna,” Sir Edmund was saying in a tightly controlled voice as he kept his stranglehold on the invader, “surely you don’t want to interfere in matters that do not concern you.”
Brage heard him call her Lady Dynna, and his gaze narrowed suspiciously as he studied her across the room. It gave him no pleasure to discover that he had been right about her. She was no ordinary peasant woman. She was a lady—beautiful, elegant and . . . deadly.
He waited tensely, pain wracking him, for her to announce his true identity and seal his fate.
“I have just come from hours of nursing the wounded and dying in the village. There has been enough death in the land this day.” Her words were spoken with quiet dignity as she moved forward to Lord Alfrick. Dropping down on her knees before him, she beseeched him for clemency. “My lord, you have the power to restore peace and bring healing to our land. Let there be no more killing.”
Dynna’s words were heartfelt as she pleaded for the Viking’s life, though she did not fully understand why his fate mattered to her. She realized that Lord Alfrick and Sir Edmund were unaware of the identity of their captive. If he was calling himself Brage, then she would keep his secret.
“What care you for this Viking?” Edmund asked. “He is one of those responsible for the carnage wrought on us this day. There can be no denying his sword cut a path of death and destruction through our people. Why should I not slay him?”
Dynna slowly rose and turned to Edmund. She could feel both his gaze and Brage’s upon her, yet she did not waver in her determination to save this man. “Because I pray you are a better man than he is, Sir Edmund.”
He bristled. “Revenge is not a bad thing. Does not our God call for an eye for an eye?”
“Does not our Holy Book also instruct us to turn the other cheek?”
Sir Edmund scowled. He was a firm believer that women should be seen and not heard. Lady Dynna’s opinion should have absolutely no influence here, and he wondered why his father had not silenced her.
“Think you, my lady, that the wives and children of the men slain today would be as forgiving? He is no Christian, but a heathen, a pagan animal, who kills and loots for his very existence. Even knowing this, you would plead for his life?” Edmund tightened his grip on Brage.
Dynna looked over at Brage, and for the first time their gazes met. Edmund’s blade was at his throat. He was facing death. Yet she saw no fear in his regard, only a proud defiance. She turned away from him as she answered, “After what I witnessed on the battlefield today and what I saw just now while helping in the village, I would willingly plead for any man’s life.”
Dynna spoke her true feelings, for she was haunted still by the memories of the carnage she had witnessed. Her healing abilities had not been able to save their lives, but she could stop this death.
Edmund believed that no female had the right to publicly voice an opinion contrary to a man’s, and his disapproval of her outspokenness showed in his expression. He promised himself that once they were wed, she would change much in her manner. Obviously, Warren had been far too soft on her. It was time she learned her place and was taught to stay in it.
“Dynna is right,” Lord Alfrick pronounced slowly, thoughtfully. “The battle is over and we have won. In our victory, we shall be generous. Let there be no more bloodshed.”
Dynna bowed her head and said a silent prayer of thanks. “I celebrate your wisdom, my lord.”
Edmund thrust Brage from him as he struggled to mask his fury at being so thwarted. “As you wish, Father.” He stalked off to join some of the other men in their drinking.
“And what of his wounds, my lord? Shall I tend them?” Dynna asked, seeing how badly the Viking was injured.
“No, Dynna. Spare his life though I have, I care not about his suffering. Sir Thomas, chain our captive with the dogs,” Lord Alfrick directed. “Perhaps in time he will prove of some worth to us. Until then, let him live as a Viking should—in chains.”
Sir Thomas quickly moved to obey his command. He prodded Brage toward the corner where the hounds lay amidst dirty rushes and rotting food scraps.
“Lady Dynna, sit beside me and share this repast while you speak to me of the villagers,” Lord Alfrick said.
“I would be pleased to, my lord.” Dynna smiled gently. As she settled in beside him, her gaze remained on the captive as Sir Thomas led him across the room. She could not help but notice how proudly he carried himself in spite of his weakened condition.
“How fare my people?” Lord Alfrick asked.
“Many were killed, and many more were seriously injured” she said. Tears burned in her eyes, yet she managed to control them. “I helped where I could, but there were some . . . Her voice became choked as she thought of some of the horrors she had seen.
Lord Alfrick patted her hand. Seeing the pain in her expression, he spoke kindly. “War is not for innocents like you. But lest you forget, we were the defenders today, not the attackers. Had we not fought today, our lives would have been forfeit. The Vikings are ruthless.”
Dynna ached to tell him that Edmund was as ruthless as any Viking they had seen today, but she wisely did not. “After today, I am no innocent to the brutal ways of men. Death has ravaged our land, and I fear more have yet to die. I must go back to the village in a little while to see if there is any more I can do for the wounded.”
Dynna’s eyes were upon Sir Thomas as he shackled the Black Hawk. She could almost feel the bite of the chains on her own flesh. Even across the width of the Great Hall, she could see that Brage’s features were grim, and by the rigid way he was holding himself, she could tell he was in great pain. She found his courage impressive, and she had to fight the urge to go to him and treat his wounds. With an effort, she forced her attention back to what Lord Alfrick was saying.
“It is good that you use your gift of healing to help our people.”
“If I can somehow ease their suffering, I must.”
“You will make
a fine wife for Edmund” Lord Alfrick told her. He lowered his voice as he spoke, “It is hoped that despite your momentary attempt to flee, you have come to understand that your future is here, as Edmund’s wife.”
“I understand that, my lord.” Dynna answered politely, trying to avoid any discussion of her misadventure.
“I trust that you have learned your lesson and will not put yourself at risk in such a way again. Should you leave my protection, I fear for you. It pleases me to know that you are safely ensconced here at the tower where no harm can come to you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You will be happy with my youngest son.” Lord Alfrick was more than satisfied with the way things had turned out. The Black Hawk was dead. The Vikings no longer threatened his land, and now, Dynna would marry Edmund. Things were going very well, indeed.
“As you say, my lord,” she said, lowering her eyes to hide her true feelings.
Her answer was quiet and submissive, and he smiled, pleased that she was finally behaving the way a lady should.
As Dynna returned his smile, she pretended a contentment that she was far from feeling. The whole day had been nothing but turmoil for her. When Edmund brought her back to the tower, she had taken only enough time to change clothes before going out to help the people. As Edmund vowed he would, he had sent one of his men to follow her about her duties. She had found his presence maddening, but realized it was the price she had to pay for having dared to try to escape.
Listening to Lord Alfrick now, Dynna supposed it could have been worse. The priest could have already arrived at the tower and Lord Alfrick could have insisted she marry Edmund immediately. As it was, she had at least a fortnight until the holy man returned and sealed her future for her.