North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  That audience with William would be the climax of all of their plans. She had given up trying to convince Simon that the Duke would have a reserve ready if she refused Dunholm. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Eric. It was a very real possibility. She had discussed it in her letters to Aelfreic. They had agreed that it was likely the Duke would offer her another man from his own knights - or perhaps even allow her to choose from among them—but it wouldn’t be much of a choice.

  Marry someone loyal to William and bring the island under his control, or refuse and the island would be taken by force. Force wouldn’t be the Duke’s first choice - the island would be more profitable if it was a willing vassal - but it was a real possibility. Her thoughts were pulled back to the present by Galen’s arrival and the sheaf of papers and figures he wished to review. The work occupied her attention for more than an hour, then she spent almost another entire hour reassuring the Steward that Eric and his men were well worth the amount of grain and meat they consumed. She authorized him to begin planning for the next season, if he felt it would be wise to have a larger store on hand now that the garrison was full.

  They finished and it was nearly time for the evening meal. Ulrich was standing at the door, still at attention when Galen left, but the two Norse soldiers had relaxed by the brazier some time ago. They were clearly bored with the meeting and ready to go back to training.

  “Go,” she told them in Norse, “I will be in my chambers until Vandalsson fetches me for supper. There is no need for you to wait here.” She smiled, but they looked uncomfortable and anxious.

  “Vandalsson ordered them to stay at your side until he returned,” Ulrich said, by way of explaining their behavior.

  “I see. Well, he didn’t know I would be staying in one place. Ulrich will stand guard at this door and the other is barred from the inside. I will be quite safe.” It took a bit more to convince Ulrich and the Norse that she did not need more than one guard while she was in her bedchamber, but the two men finally left. “I am just going to change, then I’ll be back to read a bit before dinner,” she told Ulrich. At his nod, she closed the door between the sitting room and the study.

  She hummed to herself as she washed her hands at the bowl and pitcher provided in that room. She had smears of ink on her fingers from Galen’s papers and pie filling crusting her sleeve where it had brushed against Cook’s table. Her thoughts turned to Eric again, and she wondered how long he would take to resolve his ‘other matters’. She smiled to herself, and then shook thoughts of the Viking away. She shouldn’t encourage him, or herself, to grow more intimate. There was no telling what the future would dictate for them, and if she allowed her heart to become involved she would only be setting herself up for more grief. .

  Julia stepped into the bedchamber, still silently admonishing herself for daydreaming about Eric again. Lost in thought, she crossed the room to a chest filled with her clothes. She pulled out two over tunics, one a deep purple and the other a grey so dark it was almost black. Her lavender under tunic would go with either, but Eric usually wore black or grey. She put away the purple cloth and tossed the grey onto her bed. Sighing loudly at her inability to ignore him, even when she was selecting her clothes, she unbuttoned the soiled overtunic and dropped it onto the floor.

  “I have waited too long to have you alone like this.”

  Julia would have shrieked but for the hand that slipped over her mouth. She cursed her own stupidity. She had been too busy worrying about her clothes to pay attention to what was around her. Eric had warned her to be vigilant, even if she was always guarded. Not only had she overlooked a threat hiding in her room, she had sent two-thirds of her guard away as well. Vandalsson would not be pleased.

  Dunholm’s hand slid around her waist, finding her hipbone through the fabric of her under tunic and pulling her roughly against him. She already had one hand gripping the wrist at her face, her other pushed at his lower arm, trying to loosen his grip. From the corner of her eye she could see her belt and dirk lying on the floor where she had dropped them. Foolish.

  The knight jerked her closer, and she felt sick as his lust pressed against her lower back. “We have so much to discuss, Julia,” he whispered in her ear. She hated the sound of her name coming from him. “You have been avoiding me, and that isn’t very nice.” His hand rubbed over her belly, and Julia couldn’t help herself. She knew it would not end well for her, but she kicked back sharply, connecting with his shin. Her hands and elbows flew wildly, and when he cursed and tightened his hand across her mouth, she bit him.

  She didn’t have a good enough angle to sink her teeth in, but it was enough to make him curse and pull his hand away. Don’t scream, don’t scream, she reminded herself. If the sound carried far enough for Ulrich to hear, it could reach other ears as well. Ulrich would kill the knight if he came in, and if Dunholm’s men carried word of it to William…

  She strained away, still clawing at the arm securing her hips and stomping her feet to try to connect with his toes. “Shrew,” he swore softly. They continued to struggle in near silence, neither willing to risk someone else witnessing them. Dunholm recognized after a few moments that Julia would not cry out, and used both hands and superior size and strength to his advantage. He pinned her hands together and kicked her feet out from under her. They fell to the floor in a tangle, with his weight pinning her to the ground. Her head knocked painfully against the stone floor, the rug doing little to soften the blow.

  Blackness ate at the corners of her vision and she was too stunned to react when he took hold of the neck of her tunic and ripped. The linen tore along the seam down to her waist. The sound was loud in a room silent save for their labored breathing. He’ll take me now. I can’t stop him, but I will not marry him. Dunholm cursed when he saw that he had not managed to rip her chemise as well, but then he smiled. The thin white fabric did little to conceal what was beneath it.

  “Your struggles are a testament to how well you have protected your virtue.” He kissed her roughly. In her semi-conscious state, still reeling from the blow to the head, she did not resist. Don’t cry out. He probed her mouth and laughed lightly, “After I have your maidenhead there won’t be any need for this pretense.” He secured her wrists with one hand and pressed them to the floor over her head. With his free hand, he began loosening the ties of his leggings. “You’ll marry me once you have nothing to offer another man and I’ll ride you like a dog on a bitch. Once you’re pregnant, you can-”

  Whatever he would have said next was lost to a roar and a crack that brought Julia back to herself. Her vision cleared and she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position. Eric was staring at her, and she felt a shiver that had nothing to do with her fear of Dunholm. His eyes were dark and hot. His mouth was set in a snarl that warned everyone who saw it that he would not stop to listen to pleas or accept surrender. Dunholm picked himself up from where he lay against the overturned brazier. His mouth and nose were streaming blood onto his tunic. The sound drew Eric’s attention. Dunholm could not scramble back fast enough. He reached for his sword, but before he could draw, a massive fist closed around his forearm. With a twist and a shove, Dunholm cried out and was forced to his knees, his arm hung in a sickening manner - loose at the elbow. Dunholm pulled a dagger from his belt with his good hand.

  Ulrich appeared in the doorway, his sword already drawn. He took one look at Julia and stepped forward to help Eric. Vandalsson did not need any assistance. He wrapped one hand around Dunholm’s neck and the other around his wrist. He walked forward, squeezing as he moved. When the knight’s back hit the wall, his grip tightened enough to force Dunholm to drop his knife. Voices could be heard moving towards them, attracted by the commotion. Julia’s eyes darted from Eric to Ulrich. They can’t see this. If Dunholm is killed...how will I make this look like an accident?

  “Ulrich,” she said. Her voice was stronger than she felt and it drew his attention. “Keep everyone away,” she commanded. He understood her inte
ntion, closing the door behind him as he left to intercept would-be witnesses. Julia held her tunic together with one hand and got up carefully, her head still spinning. “Eric, stop.” A growl rumbled in his chest and he slammed Dunholm again. There was a cracking sound and Dunholm’s eyes widened in pain. He did not cry out; it would have been impossible without any breath.

  “Eric,” she said again, louder. She finally got close enough to touch his shoulder. “Eric,” she said softly. He turned his head fractionally, but did not look at her. “You have to stop. You can’t kill him.” In response, Eric snarled and let go of Dunholm’s hand to reach for his axe. The knight used the opportunity to grab at his throat, trying to get air. Julia stepped closer, pressing herself into the berserk Viking’s back and squeezing his arm gently. “I am fine. He didn’t really hurt me. I am fine Eric.” She repeated the words several times until Eric relaxed his grip enough so that Dunholm could take a breath. “His death will cause more trouble than he is worth. Please, Eric, just make him go.”

  Vandalsson’s hand paused on the handle of his weapon. A shuddering breath ripped through him and in the blink of an eye his fist arched forward and connected with Dunholm’s jaw. He grabbed the unconscious knight by his collar and clasped his free hand around Julia’s fingers. He dragged the body to the rear entrance, towing the Lady along behind him. When he stopped to lift the bar across the door, Dunholm’s head fell to the floor with a crack. Still not speaking, he opened the door quietly, and - finding the corridor empty - tossed the knight out to lie near the foot of the stairs.

  He re-barred the door and stalked back through the rooms to do the same to the other entrance. When they were finally alone and secure, he pulled Julia to his chest. Their embrace was silent while Eric struggled to tame his rage.

  He knew killing the knight would cause problems. He knew it would likely bring William and his army to the island. He didn’t think he cared. He had spent the afternoon tending to business: checking on the men, assigning duties, tasking someone to bring his chests from the village. He stopped in the bathhouse, but didn’t linger long. He wanted to see her, needed to see her. He stopped to speak with Ulrich just to test the feeling. If he hadn’t stopped, if he had just gone in as soon as he arrived at the keep, he might have - but he hadn’t. He spoke with Ulrich and walked through the study, pausing at the closed door to the sitting room. Eric knew she was probably changing for dinner and was about to turn back when the smallest sound caught his attention: voices. He pushed through that door, frowning, and stopped before the entrance to her bedchamber, fist poised to knock. A muffled thump had him opening the door. What he saw made him lose all reason.

  Julia lay on the floor near the bed, her skirts pushed up to reveal her stockings. One shoe was missing. Her tunic was torn, the purple material gaping open to reveal her thin chemise. He couldn’t see her face because Dunholm was leaning into her ear. The knight had her hands pinned over her head and had forced her legs apart with his own. His free hand was concealed by his tunic, fumbling with his pants.

  There wasn’t time for any thought. A sound of pure, animal rage overtook him and he was on the knight. He grabbed Dunholm by the back of his tunic and lashed out with one boot. It connected with his nose and cheek, spraying blood and drawing out a cry of pain and surprise from the English. Vandalsson didn’t stop - he couldn’t stop. Dunholm went for his sword and Eric grabbed his wrist. He twisted and forced his hand down towards his elbow. It popped, dislocating the joint, but still he did not stop. His fingers wrapped around the knight’s throat and he slammed his opponent into the stone wall. The dagger was a minor annoyance, Eric could have crushed the bones in the man’s wrist. He focused on cutting off his air. He had touched her, again. Eric had not been on the island the first time, but now, having seen Dunholm’s hands on her, he knew there was no going back. He snarled and squeezed harder. Only one thought penetrated the bloodlust that swirled around him. The man tried to take what Eric had sworn to protect, so he would die.

  Her voice was soft behind him, calling his name. He squeezed harder and the knight’s eyes bulged. Her hand lay on his arm, and she whispered that he must not. No! Something deep in him was almost angry with her for suggesting it. He needed to spill blood, to end the worthless life that threatened her. To erase any trace, any future chance, that it would happen again. Die. He reached for his weapon, but felt the slight weight of her against his back. Her softness pressed into him and her words began to penetrate his rage.

  “I am fine, Eric. I am alright.” He didn’t draw his weapon, but he did his best to shove his fist through the knight’s jaw. He gripped Julia with one hand, unwilling to let her out of touching distance, while he threw the bloody heap at the base of the stairs. It was obvious that his injuries weren’t sustained from a fall, but the flimsy excuse would either be accepted or Vandalsson would ignore Julia’s wishes and rip the bastard apart.

  The doors were barred and secured, Ulrich was dealing with the rest of the English. He held Julia in his arms and tried to contain the uncontrolled brute that was snarling to be free. It was all he could do not to clutch her too tightly. They deserved to die, every Englishman who had come to this island as a traitor to their king and colluded with Dunholm to force a Lady into marriage and steal the island and its wealth for William. Let the Duke come, he thought furiously. In that hour, Eric would have stood on the beach - as Snorri had stood at Stamford - in a red haze. He would have slaughtered the Norman army if it dared to set foot in his home.

  His home. He tightened his embrace and Julia let out a small sound that he ignored. She had accepted him here. She had made the island his home, and he would defend it to his own death. He let out a shaky breath. Eric wanted to live there, to stay there, to convince her to take his hand and make her Hall his own. He could not follow Snorri’s example. As much as he savored the prospect during the heat of the moment, he knew he could not defeat the entire Norman army. Not forever. Still, the island was hers to run, and his to defend. He would control himself, but she could not disobey him again. She had left the guard he instructed her to stay with at all times, and she had nearly been - he pushed away the dark possibilities. He took another deep breath and let it out.

  Julia was uncomfortably warm, pressed as she was into Eric’s tunic. His arms tightened and she discovered a few sore spots she hadn’t noticed before. She was beginning to find it difficult to breathe, when suddenly he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed. Rough palms skidded lightly over her arms, checking for injuries. When he found a tender spot or a mark on her skin, he would pause to examine it further. If she winced or sucked in her breath, he growled softly. He was gentle with her head wound, probing lightly. His fingertips came away smeared with blood. He wiped it on his leg and continued, trailing his hands down her neck and across her collarbone. She didn’t speak, although a blush formed on her cheeks when he nudged aside the hand that was holding her tunic together.

  She couldn’t meet his eyes, but his mouth tightened. The pressure of his fingers made her realize that Dunholm must have scratched her when he tore her gown. He continued without comment. She followed his progress with equal parts embarrassment, uneasiness, and a growing impulse to replace the memory of Dunholm with Eric. His hands stopped on her legs just above the knee, withdrawing slowly before he stood. The bed reacted to the loss of his weight. He was back in moments, carrying a cloth damp with the cool water from her basin. He soothed her scratches and aches, wiped the blood gently from the back of her head. When he finished, he kissed her- the barest brushing of lips that melted the sensation Dunholm had left there. He braced one arm on either side of her and forced her to meet his eyes.

  “Julia,” he said evenly. His voice sounded gravelly, and Julia was lost in the dark honey of his eyes. He had protected her with all of the fury in his people’s legends, yet he was so tender.

  “Yes?”

  “When I give a command, I expect it to be followed.” As if cold water had been poured ov
er her head, Julia’s sense of peace and the distance she had put from the attack were broken.

  “Pardon?” she said icily. He didn’t acknowledge her tone.

  “The guard was for your safety. I told you to stay with them. I do not want to instruct the men to ignore your commands, but I will if I must.”

  “You will? You will instruct my men to disobey me?” Outrage built swiftly. She knew she was overreacting, but she couldn’t stop her voice from rising in volume and pitch. “Do not forget this is my island, Vandalsson. These are my men, hired with my coin and my land. I-”

  “You were nearly raped and could have been seriously injured or killed,” he interrupted.

  “I know! It was me he touched, not you! I know what happened!” she shouted. They both sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, their faces mere inches apart. Julia was suddenly exhausted. She felt drained, bruised, and defeated. The razor edge of fear that she had ignored during the attack resurfaced. Dunholm would not stop. He was more desperate, more determined, than she had believed to risk sneaking into her rooms and hiding there. To attempt what he did with the doors unbarred and Ulrich waiting outside was beyond bold, it was reckless bordering on lunacy. She shivered and closed her eyes.

  “It will not happen again,” he said.

  “I need to change,” she said, instead of responding. Dunholm would try again because he couldn’t afford not to, and Julia wasn’t sure if she would be able to fight off another attack. If he was successful, the next time, she thought. And another wave of cold fear snaked down her spine.