Hearts Aflamed - Vikings 2

by Johanna Lindsey

  He drew back the whip and put all his strength into the first blow. She tried to step aside, but it caught her on her bare arm and half her back. Satisfaction surged through him, hearing her gasp. He drew the whip back again. That was when she threw herself at him, knocking him to the floor.

  He lost his breath, taking her full weight upon him. But he kept a firm grip on the whip, thinking she would try to wrest it from him. That was his mistake. She went for and came away with his sword, and he was thrown half into shock, feeling the tip of it press into his throat.

  "Move even a little, milord, and I will skewer you to the floor." Her warning was all the more frightening for the quiet way she said it. "I might anyway, for what you have done." It was the last Eldred heard, for she slammed the hilt of his sword against his temple. Kristen quickly cut her bonds, careful to do so near the knot so she could use the rope on Eldred. This she did just as quickly, turning him over and tying his hands behind him. That had been his mistake: tying her hands in front of her, which still gave her some use of them. But his main mistake had been in thinking she would stand there and let him whip her. He wasn't dead. More's the pity, she thought. I should have killed him. She still gave it some thought as she sliced strips from the bedding to bind his feet too and gag his mouth. But in the end she couldn't bring herself to kill a helpless man.

  Now she waited for no more sounds to be heard out in the hall. Eldred regained consciousness, and she clobbered him again. She could have taken pleasure in doing that all night, but did not have all night. She left the tiny chamber as soon as all was quiet without.

  A single torch burned on the other side of the hall. The servants were all sleeping, their pallets lining the walls. Kristen walked straight to the entrance door without pause, her breath held, her heart pounding. No alarm was sounded. But there was a guard outside the door, one of those men who had captured them.

  The man was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. She was too accustomed to a lack of sentries at Wyndhurst. Eldred must have more to fear, or he expected trouble after what he had done.

  The man was even more surprised when he saw the sword she carried. He made to draw his own, but she had the advantage of having hers in hand already. She pierced him before he could defend himself.

  There was no time to waste now. She ran toward the storeroom and threw the door open. There was another guard inside, who woke and started to rise. She gave him a taste of the sword hilt, too, and he slumped back down.

  Royce was indeed chained to the wall, both hands stretched out a little above his head, supporting his full weight. His wound had bled more. The red stain ran in a path clear down one leg. His head was bent over on his shoulder. She could not even be sure he still lived. She found out, running to him, taking his head in her hands. She patted his cheek, harder, harder still until his eyes opened. Relief paralyzed her. "How?" It was his only question. It brought her back to her senses. She ran back to the guard, searching for the key to his shackles. Over her shoulder she said, "I wounded a man, mayhap even killed him. Will your Saxon law punish me for it?" Her fingers finally closed over the key and she hurried back to Royce. He was shaking his head at her. "Is that all you are worried about?" "I do not know how your law works," she replied tersely. "I only know that by your law I was wrong the last time I defended myself. Am I wrong this time, to try to leave this place any way I can?" He started to laugh, but choked it off when it hurt. "Nay, you have done more than I could have hoped for." "Good." She smiled at him, unlocking his wrist manacles. "Now let us be gone from here, milord." But Royce sagged to his knees when he was completely freed. Seeing how weak he was, Kristen quickly ripped off the hem of her gown. Dividing it in two, she stuffed it inside his tunic, front and back. They would have to ride hard, and he could not afford to lose any more blood. But she could not bandage him properly now, either. She could only pray that he could ride.

  It was slow going to the stable, with her having to support Royce. As heavy as he was, it was not easy even for her. And then she had to let go of him to take care of the guard in the stable. Royce was stretched out on the ground when she came back to him. She felt like crying then, but forced him back to consciousness, forced him back to his feet, and forced him to garner the last of his strength to mount his horse. "How do you propose—to get through the gate?" "Let me worry about it," she answered. Worried she was. She led his horse and her own, walking the distance across the quiet yard. The gate was high and wooden, with a long, heavy bar across it. There was a narrow platform above, off to the side, with a guard there, sitting with his back to the wall. He was asleep. Kristen carefully mounted the ladder to him and saw that he remained asleep, then hurried down and threw her weight into lifting off the heavy bar. It was indeed heavy. She could not manage to lower it gently to the ground, but had to drop it. The noise slammed through her.

  She looked about, expecting to see a legion of armed men running toward them. Her heart nearly stopped when she did see one man, a serf, step out from the stable. He yawned and went back inside. There was another, in the doorway of another building. He just stood there watching them.

  Relief soared as she realized they were not going to sound any alarm. They were apathetic, uncaring, and not willing to stir themselves for their lord. It was fortuitous for her and Royce that Lord Eldred had such loyalty in his household. Kristen nearly laughed at the thought as she pushed the gate open and then grabbed up the reins of Royce's horse before she leaped onto her own. They rode swiftly through what remained of the night.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Kristen was exhausted and beside herself with worry. Royce was using the last of his strength just to stay on his horse. She had stopped once to pad his shoulder again, but he had lost so much blood, too much. He slumped over his horse now, barely conscious. Not even sight of the walls of Wyndhurst could abate her worry. Dawn streaked the sky and they had been seen approaching. The gate was being opened; men were rushing out. Another group on horseback had spotted them and came from the woods. Soon Royce could rest and be tended properly. Yet the nagging fear would not let go that it might not do any good, that she had helped him so inadequately that he was going to die anyway. She cried out when he fell from his horse. She leaped from her own mount and ran to him, lifting his head from the ground. His eyes were open, but he seemed dazed.

  "Must have—fallen asleep." Oh, God, he did not even know what he was saying. Her heart cried, seeing him this weak and helpless. She was not aware that tears streamed from her eyes. "Be quiet, Royce. Be still. They will be here in a moment to help you." His eyes found her face. "Will you at last admit you want me, Kristen?" God's teeth! How could he think of that now, when his life's blood was draining out of him? "Kristen?" "Aye, I want you. I swear I do." "Have you come to love me—a little?" She did not hesitate. "Aye, that too." One hand rose to slip behind her neck and pull her face down to his. His lips were warm and dry on hers, gentle, but only at first. Out of her misery came the realization that there was too much strength in the hand holding her, too much passion in this kiss. She pulled back, her eyes narrowing as she saw him grin at her. "You are not dying!" "Did you think I was?" "Oh, unfair!" She nearly hit him, especially when he began to chuckle. Instead she got up and stalked away. It had taken more than a paltry wound to weaken Royce. He stayed to his bed no more than four days. In a week he was about his full duties again. And after two weeks, his wound gave him only an occasional twinge.

  He had dealt with Eldred not as he wanted, but as Alfred's current policies dictated. He had simply informed the King of Eldred's perfidy. It was nearing the end of summer when he learned that Eldred had panicked, fearing retribution, and flown north, seeking refuge with the Danes. His body had been sent home to his father.

  When Royce told Kristen this, she had simply shrugged, remarking that such a petty lordling was like to come to a bad end. She brought very little emotion to bear on the matter.

  She had been angry with Royce, the more so wh
en she realized he had deliberately refrained from helping in their escape. In no uncertain terms she told him what she thought of his deception, yet he could not be sorry i he had taken that opportunity to test her. She could have left him at any point on their journey home. Instead she led him to safety. That meant more to him than he could say.

  And Kristen did not stay angry. She was gentle and teasing with him while he regained his strength, keeping him from fretting over his weakened state. She almost made him wish for more wounds that she could fuss over. It was the exact opposite of what he would have felt if Darrelle had nursed him.

  It was with the waning of summer that Kristen grew melancholy, and no matter how often Royce asked her, she would not admit anything was wrong. He took her swimming often, he took her riding, and she would smile for him, laugh with him. But he would still see sadness in her eyes when she was not aware he watched her.

  He cut her labors in the hall down to half. When that did not make her happy, he doubled them. That did not work, either. He even gave her her own clothes to wear, but she refused to put them on, in fact seemed more depressed after seeing the dark-green velvet gown. Royce didn't know what else to do. But the day Kristen asked him again when he would marry, he was afraid he had the answer to what was wrong. She still wanted to leave him. That was why she was miserable. She was counting the days till he wed and she was released from her word. But he was not going to let her go, so there was only one other thing to do.

  He would have been amazed had he known what really bothered Kristen. It was the time, summer's end, when she and Selig and the others would have returned home from the market towns—if that was where they had gone. The whole summer long, her parents would have worried about her, but it would have been with the certainty that she would return. Only now, at summer's end, the real anxiety would begin, with the daily waiting for the ship. And with each day the ship did not come, the anxiety would increase. How could she find happiness here, knowing what her parents must be going through now?

  She had managed to speak to Selig again. She had begged him to leave, to find his way home somehow, so at least their parents would know she was safe. He refused, not only because he could not leave her, but because he was sure Garrick would tear him apart if he came home without her.

  Royce tried hard to cheer her. She loved him more for that. But she could not tell him what was wrong, for the only thing he could do for her would be to let her go, and she had a deep fear that he would even do that. She was damned either way. It would destroy her to leave Royce now, yet she ached with wanting her parents to know she was all right. And she couldn't stop thinking about them.

  For the first time that whole summer, Royce left Wyndhurst. He was gone for two days. No one knew where he went, but when he came back, he informed Darrelle that he had arranged her marriage. And she burst into tears because he would not tell her who her husband was to be, promising only that she would approve his choice.

  Kristen for once could not blame Darrelle for crying. She knew she would not have stood for such secretive-ness about so important a matter. Yet all Royce would do was insist Darrelle needed the time to get used to the idea of being wed, before she learned to whom. That night in bed, she told Royce plainly, "Tis unfair, you know, to keep your cousin in such suspense." He chuckled, disagreeing. "You do not know Darrelle. At this moment, she will be making a list with her maid of all the men she knows and wondering which one will be her husband. Instead of worrying about leaving here, she will become excited in wondering where she will be leaving to." "You do not think she fears your choice?" "I told her she would approve him, and she knows she can trust in that. She is simply impatient. Will you be impatient, too, when I tell you I have a surprise for you as well?" Kristen raised a brow. "A surprise you do not intend to tell me about, either?" He only grinned in answer. "I can be patient, I suppose, if you tell me when you will tell me about it."

  "All in good time." Kristen went to sleep that night in a much lighter mood than she had felt for some time. If Royce had done anything with his secrets, he had managed to distract her from her woes.

  Chapter Forty-two

  It was a nasty sting, sharp enough to wake Royce from his slumber. His hand came up to swipe the offending insect away from his neck. Fingers encountered cold metal instead, and the sharp point of the dagger pressed more firmly into the side of his neck, warning his hand away.

  He was not dreaming. He could feel Kristen snuggled close to his left side, one hand resting slack against his chest. And on his right the sting of pain was too real. He could not see his assailant in the dark, but the man had managed to come stealthily into his chamber to threaten his life. And since no one of Wyndhurst would do so, he came to the most likely conclusion: The Vikings had escaped. And if they could get to his chamber, were all dead below?

  Kristen had sworn there would be no slaughter, that they would simply leave if they could. Had they merely come for her, then? He was not going to let them take her with them. They would have to kill him first. And he realized that would not be so difficult, as the situation stood. "Can you understand what I say?" The muscles in his chest tightened. The husky whisper was indeed clear to him. No Viking tongue, but a Celtic one. Gaelan? Nay, the voice was not deep enough. The Vikings had not escaped, then, but just as bad, the Celts were raiding again. And they dared come I into his hall this time. "Answer, Saxon!" Still a whisper, but angry now. "Aye, I understand you." "Good." The pressure of the dagger slackened and then the blade was lying across his neck, where it would only take the slightest jerk to sever his jugular. He could not move yet. He had to lie there and accept what came next. Anger rose from such impotence.

  "State your demands!" he hissed. "Easy, Saxon," the whisper warned. "I come for answers while they still fight amongst themselves. I am not so quick to judge until I know all the facts." Royce frowned into the dark. He could make no sense out of what had just been said. He could hear no fighting. In fact, he heard nothing but their own breathing. The hall was as quiet as it should be in the middle of the night. All either still slept, or were dead. "Who—" The blade drew blood, silencing him. Kristen stirred at his side. He tried to relax the arm she lay on. He did not want her waking to this. "I will ask the questions, Saxon. You will answer truthfully if you value your life." This made less and less sense. What knowledge could he have that would interest a Celt? And who was fighting amongst themselves?

  Royce said quietly, "I will tell you whatever you want, if you let the woman go." "Let her go?" It was said in surprise, but he was not prepared for what the Celt said next. " 'Tis my daughter you sleep with. Has your Saxon church given you this right?" Royce closed his eyes. He had not heard right. He couldn't have. Kristen's father was no Celt. Impatiently the voice continued: "'Tis no question that requires thought, Saxon. Either you have the right from your church, or you do not." "I do not." "Then has my daughter given you the right?" Royce felt like laughing suddenly, this was so unbelievable. "I think you have made a mistake. Tis no Celtic wench I sleep with."

  The blade pressed again against his neck. "I have not much time to learn the truth, so do not waste it with evasions. Kristen is my daughter, and I make no mistake in who you are." The whisper was gone. She spoke in a clear, husky voice—a woman. Royce said incredulously, "You are her mother?" "God save me, who the devil did you think I was?" "Not a woman!" he growled. Kristen could not sleep through that. "Royce, what—" "Be still, love, or this blade I hold to his neck is going to slip deeper." "Mother! Oh, God, it is really you? How—" "Kristen, be still!" Royce added his warning as she sat up, shaking the bed, and more blood trickled down his neck. "What blade?" Kristen asked, and then cried in alarm: "Oh, nay, Mother, do not hurt him!" "Do not?" Brenna removed the dagger, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Do not hurt him, after all Ohthere has told us he has done to you? He whipped you!" "That was a mistake," Kristen said, pushing Royce back down as he started to sit up. "Did Thorolf not tell you so?" Brenna paused. "Mayhap he
would have, but your uncle Hugh gave him one of his fists when he started to speak in the Saxon's behalf. I think he still sleeps." "Uncle Hugh is here too?" Royce caught Kristen's arms and sat up despite her effort to keep him down. "You lied to me," he said coldly. "You said you could not understand Gaelan, and yet you speak to your mother in the same Celtic tongue." "Of course I do. We both learned it from her. Gaelan is my brother." "Selig?" "Aye." "Then you lied about his death!" "Nay! I thought he was dead. It took him a long while to recover from his wound and find me. But I could not tell you who he was. You would have put him in chains with the others if you knew he was a Viking."

  His hold on her relaxed as he remembered her strange behavior the day Gaelan—or, rather, Selig—showed up. He brought one hand to her cheek, the fingers gentle there as he leaned close to brush his lips against hers. "I am sorry," he said simply. "How sweet," Brenna sneered. "If you two are done fighting and making up, there is still a serious matter to be faced. Your father wants your Saxon's blood, Kris-ten." "Nay!" "Tis not as simple as that," Brenna said sternly. "I was only able to slip away and come in here because they argue among themselves—Garrick, Hugh, and your brother—not about whether to kill him but about who will have the pleasure of it." "Not Selig," Kristen insisted. "He knows how I feel." "Mayhap. But once he heard of the whipping—" "That again!" Kristen cried impatiently. "Twas naught—two minor lashes. 'Twas ordered done when he thought I was a lad and he was after the truth. He stopped it as soon as he saw I was a woman." "Then you should have explained that to Selig, instead of letting him hear about it from Ohthere—who, I am sure, understood naught of it but what he saw." "/ never blamed Royce for it. How can they? Thorolf knows. Oh, curse Uncle Hugh for being so quick-tempered and striking him down." "They are all angry, love. Did you think it would be otherwise when we come here and find you enslaved and forced to share the bed of your captor?"