The Valiant Heart (Kathleen Kirkwood HEART series)

by Kathleen Kirkwood

  Infuriated, he lunged for the untethered mount and, with devil’s luck, trapped it by the dangling reins. Heaving himself into the saddle, he kicked to a gallop and drove after Brienne along the edge of the cliff.

  Katla, meanwhile, untied the one horse whose straps she had failed to cut, climbed astride, and struck back for the road by which they had come.

  Kalman marked her as he lumbered for the last steed. Aware of her handiwork, he grasped the saddle with a meaty fist, jerked it from the animal’s back, and hurled it to the ground. Fixing his dagger in his teeth with a growl, he slung himself onto the horse and rode bareback after Katla.

  Hooves exploded across the plateau. Hastein moved like a squall above the sea, outstripping the wind as he raged after Brienne. Kalman shattered the plain, whipping his horse to a lather, and crashed down upon Katla. As the distance between them diminished, he reached to his hip and freed the menace of chains.

  Rod in hand, he swung the deadly linkage over his head, high above the thunder of hooves. Closing alongside her, he leaned out and, with a snap of his wrist, snared Katla about the neck. Katla shrieked as the barbed ends sank into her flesh. Kalman tightened his hold, slipped the blade from his teeth, and thrust it between her ribs.

  Katla stiffened, eyes bulging disks of green. With a stout yank of rod and chain, Kalman toppled her from the horse and left her discarded in a mangled heap — so much refuse.

  Skirting the edge of the cliff, Brienne raced barely apace of Hastein. He pressed her ever toward the rim where rifts fissured the plain and slowed her escape. But the steed plunged ahead, full of heart, bounding over the chinks and ruptures.

  Hastein continued to crowd her, forcing Brienne to ride near the precipice. To her horror, the crevices began to widen. Many ran their course toward the lip of the plateau, carving deep hollows and gorges that opened over the sea.

  Intrepidly, her horse breached the first narrow cleft, then the second. But the next gaped like a yawning maw. The animal swerved, and Brienne fought to rein it tight and turn it full circle. Breathless, she strove to break away from the precipice but promptly found her path obstructed by Hastein.

  More adept with horseflesh than she, he blocked her passage with ease. Maneuvering the beast from side to side, he forced her retreat and trapped her against the edge of the cliff.

  “There is no escape, Brienne.” He fixed her with colorless eyes. Eyes of crystal and ice. “Come. I shall deal you no harm. Only pleasure. I have many plans for you.”

  “Like those you devise for Rurik?” she retorted boldly. But fear twined its tentacles about her heart.

  Hastein prodded his horse forward but stayed it when Brienne continued to back her own mount toward the edge of the promontory without heed.

  “What choice have you, my sweet-breasted dove? Look behind you. To the side of you. ‘Tis a sheer drop all round. Come now. I am more man than Rurik to see to your needs. I grow impatient. You cannot elude me. Our journey awaits.”

  Brienne halted the mount abruptly, discovering she stood on a projection of cliff that jutted armlike over the sea. The waters heaved below, swollen and contentious. Only a narrow sash of shoreline lay visible along the coast. But this, too, seemed about to be consumed as waves buffeted it and thieved its sands.

  Brienne marked her bearings. She was hemmed in on three sides by sky and sea. Ahead, Hastein barred her way with smug assurance, ready to seize her. Bitterly, she realized that she was trapped, bereft of hope or aid.

  Katla’s warnings and Hastein’s callous boasts returned full force to torment her. Echoing in mind’s hearing, each word inflicted fresh torture.

  Rurik is a dead man as long as Hastein holds you. He will risk himself. . . without caution or prudence. His passion for you is his weakness. Because of you . . . he’ll come willingly into my snare. He’s a dead man . . . a dead man . . . a dead man . . .

  Brienne’s heart twisted with anguish. A torrent of despair flooded her. For all the world, she wished she could enfold Rurik within the depths of her love and protect him. She tasted the salt of a tear. He must not die for her. The very thought was too fierce to bear.

  Brienne looked on Hastein, and terror for Rurik flamed stark and pure within her. She had been helpless to save Lyting from his treachery, but ‘twas yet in her power to alter Rurik’s fate. If there be destinies given and destinies to be met, then this day would she take up hers.

  “Rurik,” she whispered as she envisioned him once more and embraced him in her heart. “Now and for all time, my love . . . .” Tears spilled over her cheeks.

  Her eyes drew to Hastein once more, and a fresh fury overtook her, unrivaled by anything she’d known before.

  “Curse you, Hastein!” she blazed. “If there be hells in which to burn, may you roast an eternity in their bowels!”

  Hastein had watched the play of emotions and frustration on her face. Now he laughed with confidence. She was his.

  “May the Lord God Almighty curse you till the end of your days!” she reviled. “May you find no rest till Rurik sheathes his blade in your black heart!”

  Hastein’s smile wavered, the words settling ill. Then the smile seeped back. The chit’s only recourse was to relent, yet, cornered, she ranted like a lioness, fierce and bare-clawed. This one would not bore him for many years hence.

  Brienne’s horse stepped restlessly on the narrow width of land, drawing upon the tension that charged the air. She tightened the reins as a tempest of emotions gathered about her. Brienne’s dark hair rose on the breeze, and her eyes flashed with a violet storm.

  “Rurik will avenge me, Hastein! He will hunt you with a bloodlust. There is no rock beneath which you can slither. No crack in which you can hide. He will have you, Hastein. Upon his sword, will he have you. My soul thirsts for the justice of that day!”

  Face grim with resolve, Brienne lashed her steed and bolted straight toward Hastein. His smile spread as he watched her approach. His throat began to vibrate with a grating, self-assured laughter.

  But just before she converged on him, Brienne wheeled the horse unexpectedly and rammed her heels into its flanks. Whipping and lashing it all the harder, she charged full tilt toward the brink of the cliff.

  Rocks scattered in her flight and plummeted over the edge. The peninsula itself appeared to quake at her passage. On she roared without restraint and won her goal.

  As the horse’s hooves lifted from the ground, Brienne cried out upon the wind, “Rurik, I will wait for you . . . .” The horse and rider arched high and wide against the sky. “I wait for you . . . until the end of time.”

  Hastein leaped from his mount as Brienne and her horse plunged from the airy heights and into the icy sea below. Running breakneck toward the precipice, he threw himself down at its rim and scudded to a halt on knee, thigh, and hip.

  The waters swashed wide and heavy where they swallowed their prey, then rushed to cover their greed.

  The blood fled Hastein’s face. He scrabbled back from the edge of cliff, stunned by Brienne’s sacrifice. Her ominous words clung to him as his mind raced with disordered thoughts. Sighting Kalman, he leaped to his feet.

  “To Fécamp! To Fécamp!” he shouted.

  Regaining his horse, he threw himself up and gouged in his heels. There was yet time to reach the Faroes. In his lair, he would cast his plans anew and await Rurik. Then would they have their day and see it to an end.

  Chapter 22

  The chill wind whipped at Rurik’s face as he drove his steed unsparingly toward the cliffs of Étretat. The tracks he shadowed were fresh, laid within the hour.

  “There! Ahead!” Ketil shouted, wide of his left and slightly behind him. Together they closed on a snarl of blue mantle and glimpse of red hair.

  Ketil bound to the earth first, dropping his reins, and quickened toward the shape. Rurik dismounted more slowly. Dark presentiments climbed through him. Katla.

  Lyting had not mentioned that she rode with Hastein. Yet it surprised him little, d
irt clinging to dirt.

  He had followed Hastein’s trail of blood and found both a horse and man dead upon the road. A short distance later, the prints revealed the passage of four horses, not two. He could well imagine at what price Hastein made their purchase. But he had not guessed who rode the extra mount.

  Rurik came to stand over Katla, wondering if she had outplayed herself with Hastein and how she had earned his wrath. The thought gnashed at him. Was it that she’d tried to harm Brienne?

  Ketil shifted Katla from her side. Her head rolled back, exposing the torn flesh of her throat. Then to Rurik’s and Ketil’s amazement, her chest heaved and she coughed — a thick, gurgling sound. Ketil raised her slightly. This brought on a fit of coughing and a spill of blood from her mouth.

  “Easy, Ketil.” Rurik lowered to one knee while he bridled his emotions. By the gods, she best not die before she could give him some answers!

  Katla labored to breathe. Her eyes drew open. They fastened on Rurik, glazed with pain, the pupils dilated so that her eyes were no longer green but wholly black. Her lips lifted in a dim smile. She strove to raise her hand and touch Rurik’s cheek but could not manage it. Her hand fell against his, then her lids squeezed shut with pain.

  “She’s been knifed in the side,” Ketil told Rurik.” ‘Twould seem the steel missed her heart but pierced her lung. From the sound of her breathing, she’ll not linger long.”

  Rurik realized the truth of that statement as he removed Katla’s hand and placed it over her waist. The fingers were cool, bluish beneath the nails. Her face lay colorless within the blaze of hair, marble against fire.

  “Katla.” Rurik spoke in a strong voice, hoping she could hear him. “What passed here?”

  “For . . . you,” she murmured vaguely, trying to reach out to him again.

  A rush of apprehension and distrust surged through Rurik. “Brienne. Has Hastein taken Brienne north?”

  Katla’s brow furrowed, then smoothed.

  “You . . . truly . . . love her?”

  “Thor’s teeth, Katla! Where is my wife?”

  “Dead.”

  The word jolted Rurik physically and he pulled back.

  “What do you mean?” he lashed out fierce-hearted.

  But Katla’s eyes had begun to dim, her senses leaving.

  “Katla!” he roared, and gripped her by the arms. “Where is Brienne?”

  Katla stirred. “Cliff . . . drove horse . . . over cliff.”

  “Nei! You lie!” His anger engulfed him that Katla would do so even at death’s door.

  “You . . . save . . . you.”

  Rurik did not know if she spoke now of Brienne or herself. Her words became increasingly difficult to follow. Her eyes stared as though sightless.

  “Hastein . . . Faroes . . . trap — “ Pain seized her. Brienne . . . bait.”

  “What of Brienne?” he demanded. Her utterances crushed like a millstone upon his heart.

  “Escaped.” Katla labored for breath. “Hastein trapped . . . against sea. . . . Knew . . . you dead man . . . while he held her. . . . Drove horse . . . over cliff. . . . to save you. Dead.”

  “Nei!” Rurik ground out harshly. He would not have it so!

  He blocked his mind to Katla’s tale as though a simple denial would alter events. Brienne could not have sacrificed herself for him. He would not allow it. He would break the cast of fate, if he must, and reshape it to his own will. But he need not. Katla lied. Ever she lied. Certainly she spoke falsehoods this time as well.

  Rurik started to question Katla once more, but another fit of coughing seized her, bringing more blood. Her eyes rolled back as her breath left her.

  “All . . . for you . . .” Her words floated on a whisper.

  Rurik released Katla as she sank into death, then watched Ketil ease her lifeless body to the earth and close her eyes.

  Abruptly, Rurik rose as the dread words centered in him. He fell back a pace and clenched his hands. Pivoting, he broke toward the cliff, spanning the distance with rapid strides. He fast discovered the trail of two horses and heeled after them along the precipice to a jutting tongue of rock.

  A scuffle of tracks lay across the access. Hastein! Rurik boiled. Hastein had entrapped Brienne here. He rushed on and marked where Brienne’s horse had churned the thin soil as it turned. Heart thudding and thighs burning, he ran alongside the prints to the very end of the peninsula. They disappeared at the ledge, into the very air.

  Rurik dropped to both knees. The sullen sea stretched before him, vast and empty. Of horse or rider, there was evidence of none. Nor within its icy hold or upon the lone strip of sand at a near distance below. The sea had consumed the offering without a trace.

  Overcome, Rurik’s head and shoulders sagged forward. Brienne. Gone. Ripped from his life. He had been so close to her rescue. Yet he had failed her. He envisioned Brienne, all courage and beauty, driving her horse into the sea. For him. ‘Twas unendurable.

  For a time, Rurik remained unmoving, still as the barren cliffs. Then he began to shake as anguish forged with anger, grief with hate. A violent shock of emotions erupted from the pit of his being and exploded full force.

  Heart bursting and full of fury, Rurik thrust himself to his feet, clenching the neck of his tunic. He rent the fabric from his chest as he unleashed a full-throated cry, a cry that tore from the pit of his soul to rise up and rage against the heavens. Again, he cried out, and again . His bellows convulsed across the sea to traverse the horizon, filled with bitterness and wrath and infinite pain.

  Rurik swung from the cliff’s edge, eyes fever bright, his veins living currents of fire.

  The bloodlust was upon him.

  »«

  Hastein shifted impatiently in his saddle as he watched Kalman readying his ship on the beach below. He looked back over the sea, then stared at the jagged rocks that footed the sheer drop of cliff. Anxious to be away, he turned the horse from the ridge to join Kalman.

  Hastein halted at the sudden sight of Rurik mounted before him, hard-eyed and bare-chested, sword gleaming in his hand. Hastein’s lips slid into a smile. Eyes aglow, he drew the long blade at his hip.

  “At last. To the death.”

  “To the death,” Rurik rejoined.

  Both kicked their mounts and drove them forward, meeting with a bright clash of steel. The horses reeled, then turned. Earth and air shuddered with the shock of sword and drum of hooves. Blade sang upon blade, sparking and clanging above a swirl of dust.

  Rurik’s rage and Hastein’s contempt arced back and forth. Beast pushed against beast. Neck to neck, they drove their steeds along the cliff. The ledge crumbled as hooves pounded its rim. Just when it seemed the shelf would give way, the two seething warriors locked steel and clattered back down the ridge.

  Their broadswords continued to hammer and hew without pause. Rurik gave Hastein no quarter, raining down blow after blow till he smashed Hastein’s blade from his hand. In a heartbeat, Hastein released his battle-ax from his belt and sliced it through the air.

  Rurik canted, but the flaring edge skimmed his chest, leaving a slash of red. He flinched not at all, the bite scarcely felt. Hastein whirled the ax again, but Rurik smote it clean through, sundering the wood handle and sending the axhead spinning out over the cliff.

  With a half growl, half laugh, Hastein snatched the dagger from his belt and lunged from his saddle, taking Rurik from his stirrups. Both hit the ground with a jolt and rolled apart. Rurik’s sword slipped from his hold.

  Hastein sprang to his feet in advance of Rurik and hard-booted him in the jaw and neck. But as Rurik slammed onto his back, he twined his feet in Hastein’s legs and yanked him to the dirt. Flinging himself upward, he vaulted atop Hastein. Together they rolled over several times till they tossed beneath the restless horses.

  Hastein flailed the sharp-honed knife, but Rurik seized his wrist and stayed its point. The animals skittered at the upheaval, narrowly missing Rurik’s head but one catching Hastein in the th
igh with a hoof. He grunted in pain. Again the men rolled, breaking apart as they came free of the horses.

  Instantly, they regained their feet. Hastein swept the steel before him, scoring the space. Rurik closed in, stalking Hastein around in a circle, hands spread wide, his dagger still sheathed at his waist.

  Hastein laughed with panting breaths, baring his teeth with his smile. The expanse between them diminished. Hastein leaped forward. But instantly, Rurik snared Hastein’s arm, then dropped and rose to seize him where groin met thigh. Heaving Hastein up and over his head, Rurik hurled him through the air.

  Hastein collided with the earth, scudding for several feet. A groan burst from his lips, and he let go his hold on the knife. As Rurik came at him, he twisted to retrieve it, only to find Rurik’s sword lying near to hand. Hastein strained for the hilt and grabbed hold of it. Swinging it upward, he aimed to lay open Rurik’s midsection. But Rurik foresaw the move. He kicked out strong and solid, contacting with hand and hilt, and sent the blade soaring toward the edge of the cliff.

  Gripped in the white heat of anger, Rurik dragged Hastein to his feet and shattered his jaw with a powerful blow. Hastein lurched and fell to his knees. But again, Rurik wrenched him upright and plowed his fist into his cheekbone and struck him across his nose.

  Hastein plunged to the ground. Dragging himself up on knees and palms, he spit blood and teeth. Rurik closed in again.

  Quickly, Hastein coiled himself into a half crouch and locked hands. As Rurik bent for him, Hastein burst straight up, smashing Rurik’s chin heavenward, then slogged him in the throat.

  Rurik reeled backward and dropped to one knee. His vision blurred momentarily, and he beheld two images of Hastein moving for the sword. Rurik shoved himself to his feet and bounded after him. He lunged for Hastein and together they thudded to the ground.

  Struggling over the blade, they captured it between them. Over and over they rolled till they hovered at the cliff’s edge. Rocks spewed over the ledge and bit into their backs. Still, they wrestled for the steel.