The Viking's Captive

by Julia Byrne

  ‘Nothing. What would be the point? When all’s said and done, they’re half-brothers. Rorik’s been getting Othar out of trouble since the whelp reached manhood. Before, if truth be told. He merely threw him to the ground and left.’

  He thought back, and grinned suddenly. ‘Gunhild started ranting at him, but Rorik just walked out in the middle of it. Can’t say I blame him. Nothing worse than a nagging woman.’

  ‘This is no laughing matter,’ Anna scolded.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to admit there’s been little to laugh at today, but if you’d seen Gunhild’s face when Rorik just turned and stalked off without a word—But never mind that. We have to discover how Ingerd came to fall in the water and drown.’

  ‘If she fell,’ Yvaine said.

  Thorolf frowned. ‘You’d better keep that suspicion to yourself, Yvaine. At least until Rorik and I get some answers.’

  ‘If he comes back.’

  ‘If, if, if. Of course he’ll be back. By the runes, woman, he’s just found out his mother was a slave and English to boot. Let him have some time to sort it out. Thor! I’m shocked myself. I never would have thought that Egil of all people—’

  ‘But that’s just it, Thorolf.’ Yvaine leaned forward, hands clasped in unconscious appeal. ‘Egil spoke to me about honour. He was absolutely clear on the subject. He would never have left Rorik in such a position. Ingerd knew more, I’m sure of it. And she was afraid of that knowledge,’ she added, remembering her encounter with the old slave. ‘She didn’t fall, she was pushed.’

  ‘In broad daylight? With people all over the place?’ Thorolf shook his head. ‘Besides, Gunhild and Othar are down there now, lamenting with the rest, but until the clamour started, they were here in the hall.’

  But Yvaine wasn’t listening. ‘Ingerd, herself, warned me,’ she murmured. ‘God forgive me, I thought she was raving, but ’twas fear. She didn’t even go to Gunhild with what she knew until the night after Egil died. She must have wondered all that day who to tell.’

  Anna nodded. ‘You’re right, lady. I thought Ingerd was acting strangely that day. Poor old woman. I suppose loyalty to her mistress had become a habit. As for Gunhild and Othar, I’ve known they were conspiring all along. Especially after the bathhouse.’

  Thorolf looked from one to the other. ‘Bathhouse?’

  He was ignored.

  ‘Aye. I don’t care how far-fetched it sounds. Gunhild or Othar killed Ingerd. Do you remember how she looked, Anna? She could hardly stand upright. I thought maybe you’d woken her too quickly, but what if…?’

  ‘What if she was given some draught,’ Anna suggested when she hesitated. ‘Enough to dull her mind and render her unsuspecting.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain why Othar tried to attack me in the bathhouse.’

  ‘They didn’t know about Rorik’s mother then. They had to get rid of Rorik another way, short of actual murder. I suppose even Gunhild quailed at the thought of the fuss that’d follow if Rorik died suspiciously, but if you’d been disgraced, if he’d divorced you in consequence and returned to his raiding—’

  ‘Aye.’ Yvaine shivered. ‘’Tis what Gunhild said in the hall. “You should have been killed long since in some raid.”’

  Thorolf grabbed Yvaine’s drinking horn, took a long swallow, and replaced it with the air of a man now equipped to deal with two females who were way ahead of him. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed away so long. Listen, you two. I’m going after Rorik. Until we get back, don’t go anywhere and don’t ask any questions.’

  ‘Very well, Thorolf, but—’ she put out a hand as Thorolf turned to leave ‘—Ingerd spoke of one Thorkill. Do you know him?’

  ‘Thorkill?’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no one here of that name, but ’tis a common enough one in Norway. What of him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Yvaine shook her head. ‘If only I’d listened more closely to Ingerd. Othar had been rough with her, and she must have wondered then if she was in danger because she knew too much. She said if ought befell her to seek out Thorkill. He knows the truth.’

  Thorolf frowned. ‘Rorik might know the man, but first I’ll have to find him, and Odin’s ravens know how far he’s gone. Yvaine, you’d best wait in your bedchamber until we return. You stay with her, Anna, at least until the other slaves are back. I don’t want you wandering around alone.’

  Anna flushed, surprised out of her usual composure. ‘Very well, Thorolf,’ she said, quite meekly for her.

  He grinned and patted her cheek. ‘Sorry if I sounded as though Rorik’s mother being English was shameful,’ he apologised. He turned to Yvaine. ‘I doubt Rorik would’ve thought twice about it once he got to know you, but there’s no denying that the way Sitric died has haunted him for years. He admired his cousin a great deal. I didn’t know Sitric well myself, but he always seemed larger than life when Rorik and I were boys. One of those big, roaring men capable of every heroic deed in the sagas.’

  He shook his head, murmured, ‘What a mess,’ and strode from the hall.

  ‘I suppose that was meant to be reassuring,’ Yvaine muttered as she and Anna shut themselves in her bedchamber. ‘But the fact is, I’m married to a man whose heroic cousin was killed in some apparently shameful manner by a cousin of mine. Alfred was heroic, too, let me tell you. He wouldn’t order a man’s death lightly.’

  ‘I’m more concerned about Gunhild,’ Anna said. ‘It may be foolish, lady, but I can’t help remembering that witch’s warning. Especially the part about death surrounding you.’

  Yvaine gave a little shiver, but rallied. ‘What did Katyja really say, Anna? She saw a journey. Well, how else would we get here?’

  ‘And the two ships?’

  ‘Hmm. Mayhap Edward came after me, then turned back, not knowing which way to follow. As for the bit about death, anyone could tell that Egil was dying.’

  She fully expected Anna to point out that Egil’s wasn’t the only death in recent hours, but the girl merely shook her head. ‘I’ll be glad when Rorik and Thorolf return,’ was all she said.

  Yvaine nodded. She, too, would feel safer when Rorik returned, and yet the thought of facing him again filled her with dread. If he turned that remote, utterly expressionless gaze on her again, she thought she would shrivel inside. And yet, like someone with an aching wound who knows a touch will cause pain but is unable to resist gently probing, she knew she had to find out the truth of why he’d taken her, why he’d married her.

  Hope could not be so easily abandoned, she’d discovered. Not where she loved. Even if it meant exposing its fragile petals to the icy blast of Rorik’s indifference.

  Rorik stood in the shadow of a grove of pines, leaning against a solid trunk, his gaze on the western mountain range, glowing palely golden as the setting sun struck the distant peaks. A stream bubbled past his feet, tumbling cheerfully over its rocky bed, before plummeting down the mountainside to the fjord far below.

  This had been the place where he’d dreamed boyhood dreams, of heroic battles and voyages to far-off lands. The place where he’d found surcease from the spite of a bitter and jealous woman. It was a place of wild beauty, a place he’d made his own, but it was still just a place. He could walk away from it and not look back. It hadn’t become part of him in one brief night of sweet desire; it didn’t hold his heart in the palm of one small hand.

  He closed his eyes briefly and let his head fall back against the tree behind him. Then straightened, whirling about, instinct bringing him to battle-readiness before he heard the sound of footsteps over the rushing water.

  ‘A bit risky, being up here alone,’ Thorolf observed by way of greeting. ‘I could have been anyone.’

  Rorik relaxed out of the fighting stance he’d assumed. ‘Only you and I know of this place.’

  ‘Aye, but the climb seemed a lot easier when we were boys.’

  When Rorik made no response to this, Thorolf decided shock tactics were called for. ‘Ingerd’s dead,’ he announced.

  Rorik rai
sed a brow. ‘Well, she’s old, and after the day we’ve had—’

  ‘It wasn’t old age. She drowned in the fjord. Yvaine thinks it was deliberate.’

  Pain slashed through him at the sound of her name. The same savage blow that had struck with brutal intensity in the hall when he’d realised, finally, what he stood to lose. The knowledge had been shattering, almost paralysing him, until he’d managed to cage it, to conceal the terrifying awareness of his own vulnerability behind a wall of cool indifference. He’d done it then, he thought, turning away. He could do it now.

  ‘Why would she think that?’

  ‘She believes there’s more to the story Egil told Ingerd before he died.’

  A short laugh tore from his throat, the sound so harsh a flock of birds exploded from the branches above them, shrieking in alarm.

  And as though their sudden flight snapped the brittle tension binding him, he whirled and struck the tree with his clenched fist. ‘Hel! What more does she need to hear? Betrayed by my own father. What better revenge for her?’

  ‘I don’t believe that any more than I believe you married her for revenge,’ Thorolf said. ‘But if you’re not ready to listen to reason, I’ll wait. Not too long, I hope. It gets damned cold up here at night.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to stay.’ Rorik sent his friend a narrow-eyed glare as Thorolf made himself comfortable on a patch of grass. ‘Can’t you take a hint?’

  ‘No. Besides, compared to the mayhem going on at Einervik, ’tis nice and peaceful up here. I may stay the night, after all.’

  ‘Mayhem? What mayhem? And what the Hel were you thinking of, leaving Yvaine alone down there? I thought I asked you to keep an eye on things until I got back.’

  He started down the path, moving so quickly that by the time Thorolf realised his friend’s intent and leapt up, he had several yards to cover before he could speak again.

  ‘Yvaine’s safe for the moment. I told her to stay in her chamber. Besides, she wouldn’t thank me for trying to take your place as her protector. ’Tis you she married, Rorik.’

  ‘I didn’t give her much choice.’ Not then, not later. ‘But I’m going to.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I’m taking Yvaine back to England, to her cousin.’

  Thorolf stared at him. ‘To ransom her? Won’t they think she’s been…uh…?’

  ‘No, not for ransom. As for the other…’ Rorik halted his swift descent down the mountainside and fixed Thorolf with a grim look. ‘I’ll meet that when I come to it.’

  ‘Hmm. You might have to postpone the trip. Know anyone named Thorkill?’

  ‘What in the three worlds has Thorkill got to do with any of this?’

  ‘He exists then? Who is he?’

  ‘An old man who used to go a-viking with my—with Egil. I haven’t seen him for years. He lives in a shieling in the mountains.’

  Thorolf gaped at him in horror. ‘All year round?’

  Reluctant amusement flared briefly. ‘Anyone would think you’d never spent a night in the open during winter, not to mention being half-drowned at sea. The man likes his privacy. A pity we aren’t all so fortunate.’

  Thorolf ignored this broad hint. ‘Well, Ingerd told Yvaine that if anything happened to her, Thorkill knows the truth.’

  ‘What truth?’

  ‘How the Hel do I know? But I know one thing, Rorik. Egil was no fool. Runes! He didn’t even want Othar born, so he wouldn’t want him inheriting more than his younger son’s portion. Find this Thorkill, hear what he has to say.’

  Rorik gestured impatiently. ‘Nothing he says will alter the fact that my mother was English and a slave.’ He was silent a moment, then added, ‘It explains one or two things, though.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Why my father hardly blinked at my marriage to Yvaine, for one. Ill or not, he would’ve ranted and raved despite knowing he’d never change my mind. I thought ’twas because he wanted me home and thought she’d keep me here.’

  ‘He did,’ agreed Thorolf, pouncing on this point. ‘What’s more—’

  ‘It also explains why I’ve never wanted to stay. Why I’m always drawn back…’

  ‘To England?’ Thorolf frowned. ‘I thought ’twas because of Sitric.’

  ‘No. And now there’s another reason to go.’

  ‘Well, I don’t intend to stay here watching power go to Othar’s head, and I’d have trouble keeping my eye on that pert little maid of Yvaine’s from here, so count me in.’

  For the first time that day, Rorik felt a genuine smile touch his mouth. ‘Thanks, my friend.’

  ‘No need for thanks, nor for thinking that the men won’t follow you, Rorik. Who cares if you’re half-English? ’Tis the Danes who are at war with Edward now, not us. As for your mother being a slave, who’s to say Egil wouldn’t have married her if she’d lived? Perhaps this Thorkill might know if he had such a plan in mind. I think you should see him, if only to find out what else Ingerd knew, and was prevented from telling.’

  Rorik’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think she was murdered?’

  ‘She could have slipped fetching water, I suppose, but Yvaine says something’s not right. She and Anna seem to have it all worked out between them, but they lost me when they started babbling about the bathhouse.’

  Rorik bit off a curse and started walking again, fast. ‘Damn it, I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘Forgotten what?’

  ‘Othar threatened Yvaine in the bathhouse. I thought it no more than drunken impulse. ’Twas why I banished him. But Yvaine swore she’d been locked in after Gunhild showed her the place. In which case…’

  ‘In which case they might have planned it to discredit her.’ Thorolf gave a silent whistle. ‘So that’s what Anna meant. Perhaps you’d better take Yvaine with you when you visit Thorkill.’

  ‘I don’t intend to waste my time chasing proof of a tale I already believe. I’ve got a crew to collect and the ship to prepare.’

  ‘I can do that while you and Yvaine hunt out Thorkill. The trip will do you both good.’ Thorolf sent a quick glance at Rorik, then studied the sky with innocent assessment. ‘Weather’s fine. It’ll give you a chance to convince Yvaine you didn’t marry her for revenge.’

  For a moment he thought he might have gone too far with that remark. Rorik sent him a look that could have pierced mail at a hundred paces.

  ‘There’s a faster way down this mountain, my friend, if you’d prefer to take it.’

  ‘Uh, no thanks, Rorik.’ Thorolf smiled winningly. ‘I’d rather be alive at the end of the trip.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  The rest of the trek was accomplished in silence.

  A like silence greeted them when they reached the house. No surprise there, it was late; the sun which never quite sank below the horizon during the fleeting northern summer, now lay shrouded in the grey mists of night.

  Murmuring something about food, Thorolf entered the hall, but Rorik strode directly to his bedchamber. He didn’t feel like encountering any of his family, and food was the last thing on his mind.

  He hesitated at the door, realising he didn’t know quite what to expect. After what Yvaine had learned in the hall, and his harsh dismissal of her, he could be faced with anything from tears to stony silence. Not that it mattered. He’d made his decision.

  Grasping the latch, he lifted it and pushed the door open.

  She was sitting bolt upright on the side of the bed, her hands clenched in her lap. Despite the late hour, she was fully dressed, even her hair was still covered. She watched him with the wary eyes of a wild creature, waiting to see what he would do.

  He pushed the door shut behind him and forced the words out, before he couldn’t say them at all. ‘I’m taking you back to England.’

  Her eyelids flickered, her only reaction.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, flayed by her silence ‘I’d think you’d be pleased. You were trying to reach your cousin the day I—’

  ‘Please
d? To return shamed so your revenge will be complete?’

  Her voice was low, but he heard the tremor in it, saw the pallor on her cheeks. He couldn’t do it. Not even for the time he’d sworn to keep his distance from her could he let her think he’d used her like that. Oh, aye, he’d told himself revenge had tangled with the other reasons he’d taken her, because that was easier than looking too closely at something he hadn’t understood. But he was long past lying to himself. And he could never lie to her.

  ‘Yvaine, I’d never use a woman for revenge. Please believe that.’

  She continued to watch him, her eyes dark, fathomless. ‘You asked about my family on the ship. You recognised the royal standard flying over Selsey.’

  ‘Aye, but that had nothing to do with revenge. You didn’t cause Sitric’s death. Besides, once you’d recovered and I knew—’

  He stopped dead and turned away, leaving her prey to a myriad tormenting questions. What did you know? she asked silently. That you wanted me? Do you want me still?

  ‘Then why take me to England?’ she whispered.

  He moved abruptly, as though about to pace before remembering he couldn’t stride freely in the tiny room. She saw his jaw lock tight. ‘I’m not about to repeat my father’s mistakes.’

  She flinched as if he’d struck her, every word piercing her heart. ‘Of course. You’d rather your children be more Norse than English. I understand completely.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Rorik snarled, wheeling to face her. Then he went still, a strange expression in his eyes. ‘You could be with child. You’ll tell me if ’tis so, won’t you, Yvaine?’

  It was more command than request, but Yvaine nodded, knowing she’d never use that circumstance to hold him.

  But there’d been something in his voice, in the sudden stillness of his body. Something…hopeful?

  No, she thought as he glanced away again and started unbuckling his belt. Hope was too strong a word. He’d sounded more cautious, as if too wary to hope. Did that mean he wanted a child? Their child? But in that case, why return her to Edward?