Her Heart's Surrender

by Allison Merritt

  The wine warmed him temporarily, but he’d found the large hall too stifling. Within moments of returning outside, his nose and fingers grew stiff from the cold. The wind howled around Hilmir’s eaves and carried the scent of snow. Hella donned his wool cape over his armor and drew it around himself.

  Bjorn led a small horse pulling a cart into the courtyard. “Where are the women?”

  With the trouble weighing on him, he’d forgotten them. “Finding excuses to delay their departure, I expect. Ealasaid has repeatedly said she doesn’t wish to leave.”

  “You should fetch them.” Bjorn gave him a sideways look. “Ealasaid is your wife.”

  Hella frowned. He wanted no part of the room containing a woman—unpleasant on her best days—who’d recently given birth.

  Bjorn crossed his arms. “My wife had the good sense to stay home.”

  “She would be more use on a battlefield than you. One look at her fresh from sleep and Diarmaid’s men would run.”

  Bjorn sneered. “She’s not the prettiest Norsewoman to grace the lands, but she’s a fine cook. If she needed to, she’d command an army of warriors while stirring the stew pot and have them all fed up after battle.”

  They fell silent. How many men would return home after this struggle?

  Hella swallowed the knot in his throat.

  “I’ll get the women.” And seize one last chance to tell Ealasaid goodbye.

  He passed through the main hall full of sleeping men. The snores and grunts followed him through to the doorway of Skuld’s room. He rapped on the wood.

  The small, dark-haired woman who volunteered to attend Skuld beside Ealasaid appeared. She held a pink-faced newborn to her chest. “My king.”

  Drawn to the child, he couldn’t look into Idunna’s eyes. “Have you prepared everything for the trip?”

  “I have, but...neither the queen nor my lady is here.”

  “Forgive me, I must have misheard.” He met her gaze. “Bjorn is waiting with the cart. I assumed Ealasaid returned to you and Skuld.”

  Idunna’s face turned mottled. “Your grace, she did not return after she left to see you. Frú Skuld spoke of fighting alongside her husband, but I thought she’d be much too weak to leave. Her sword is missing. I believe she’s gone outside.”

  Some men fought on with mortal wounds until they dropped dead, but a woman wielding a sword after childbirth amid bloodthirsty warriors? Hella clenched his jaw. Where was his wife?

  “I’ve failed you. I thought it would be simple—helpful—to assist the queen and the lady of Freysteinn. Now they’re both gone, and they’ve left this poor, defenseless girl alone with no one but me.” Idunna hung her head.

  “Remain here while I send men to search for them. Someone will be posted outside this door. I’d better not hear one word of your attempt to leave until Ealasaid and Skuld are found.” He reentered the hall and roused the first five men he came to. He sent one to notify Njord then set out to find Ealasaid himself.

  Hiding from him would gain her nothing. The woman might think she would be useful here or perhaps she taken the notion Freysteinn was hers and its warriors her responsibility, but he would correct her.

  She would have an excuse, she always did, but this time he wouldn’t permit it to get past her lips before he delivered her to the cart. No amount of talking would save her from leaving Freysteinn. It shouldn’t be difficult to find two women in an empty village. Ealasaid was crafty but too rash to remain unseen for long.

  The silence cast over the houses and shops in the abandoned town bothered him. Many personal items were discarded in the villagers’ attempts to flee quickly. He expected to face unhappy owners as he searched the houses closest to Hilmir, but the village harbored no stragglers. Except for the occasional bird calls, silence reigned.

  He pulled his cloak together over his chest as small flecks of snow drifted from the sky. It seemed as though the day sprang from Loki’s loins, ready to defeat Hella with trickery, misfortune, and perhaps some bloodshed to usher in the evening.

  Standing in the doorway of an empty house, he’d never seemed more alone.

  * * * *

  The harsh tang of smoke rolled in on the wind from Diarmaid’s camp and dried Ealasaid’s throat. Her brothers were close, not more than a few miles away. If she could do anything to prevent their attack on Freysteinn, she intended to accomplish the task. They’d given Alfr to a family in need of help in their flight from the village, so she borrowed Hella’s gelding. In order to prevent anyone from hearing the horse’s hoof beats, she’d traveled the long way around Freysteinn. She’d waited while Bjorn finished readying the cart, but he hadn’t seemed to notice her in the stable. The second he left with the carthorse, she’d saddled Hella’s mount.

  With nothing but the light of the enemy campfire to guide her, she’d made peace with her decision. If she could spare the lives of almost five hundred men, every lash of wind and jarring step the horse took would be worth her effort. On a beast as fleet as Hella’s horse, it would take no time to reach Diarmaid—if his guard allowed her into camp. They’d see her vikingr clothing as enemy colors. She hoped Hella hadn’t sent out any warriors to watch Diarmaid’s people. If she encountered them, they might accuse her of running away to join her brothers.

  The ice in the wind made it difficult to breathe, but bent low over the horse’s back, her thoughts seemed clearer. Her husband’s people claimed the gods decided their destiny—as she tore across the countryside, her destiny seemed certain. This day, she would save the people who had imprisoned her. All of the terrible things she’d witnessed during her captivity led up to this point. She hadn’t been able to save her own family or prevent her father’s clan from being destroyed, but she might be able to spare Hella’s.

  She’d once believed she was aos si, special, different. The hard years she’d served under Ingvar readied her for this, taught her bravery and determination. Trial prepared her for the greatest sacrifice she could offer—her own life in exchange for her son and Hella’s. Beneath her skirt, she’d tied the dagger around the outside of her calf. If her brothers wouldn’t listen to reason and pleading, she would force them to pay attention at knife point.

  Each of the horse’s strides carried her closer to her long-lost family. Would they believe her when she claimed to be their youngest sister? Did either of them have any idea where their other sisters were? Her heart bumped painfully as she recalled the last night she’d seen them.

  Don’t let them kill me before I’m able to explain my purpose here.

  As the sun rose, the waving flags took shape against the pinkish-purple sky. A backdrop the color of dried blood bore the golden image of a bull with its head lowered in a charge. Her father had flown a similar one when his important clan members came calling. She couldn’t guess whether the Kentigern would approve of Diarmaid’s declaration to destroy the vikingr clans. The Kentigern had been a fair man who never attacked his enemies without purpose. Never for revenge unless he knew his warriors would get something out of it—slaves or gold or goods. It didn’t seem as though Diarmaid wanted anything except spilled blood.

  She slowed the horse from a canter to a trot as they drew nearer. Tiny snowflakes fluttered around her despite the rising sun. The fire crackled and popped when a man added more wood to it. Warriors gathered at the fireside. Swords and axes flashed bright, reflecting the reddish light. Thousands of them, stretching far into the darkness. Her stomach churned. She’d never witnessed a gathering like this. Hella’s men stood no chance against such an army.

  How would she ever find Diarmaid or Eoghann?

  Ealasaid touched Hella’s gold ring on her finger, cold on her stiff hand. For her husband, she would walk through fire if necessary to save him. For Birgir, she would allow her enemies to torture her. For the people Hella ruled, she would give up her new, comfortable life and grovel even if it meant certain death. She was queen and it was her duty to stop her brothers, the creators of so much fear and worry
. They couldn’t do anything to her now that hadn’t been done before.

  She straightened her head covering and her back. A vikingr queen wouldn’t ride into Diarmaid’s camp like a waif begging for scraps. She deserved an audience with the men who thought to reclaim this land. Thank the gods for such a fine horse and the beautiful stitching on her gown. They would show her status among her people. No thrall would be dressed so well.

  She urged the horse forward at a slow pace. Soon someone would spot her, and she didn’t want to appear as a threat. The horse snorted and approached the camp. Before they were within a hundred yards, a thick black arrow shot past her head.

  “Halt!” An unfamiliar voice came from a line of men with bows drawn at the ready.

  The horse pranced as she tugged the reins. “I mean no harm.”

  “Bring her in,” the one who’d fired nodded at another man.

  The second lowered his bow and hurried forward. His face remained mostly hidden behind the noseguard and narrow slits in his helmet. Only a man of means, or who served one, could afford such heavy armor and face protection. Several others wore the expensive headgear. It seemed Ironfist outfitted his men with the best armor.

  “You will take me to Diarmaid or Eoghann Kentigern. I carry an important message for them.” She barely hid the quiver in her voice but tried to project her words with force.

  “We’ll see how important this message is.” He grabbed the reins from her and the horse followed.

  “I am Queen Ealasaid Kentigerndottir, lost princess of Suibhne, wife of the Norse king, Hella Ingvasson, mother of Prince Birgir Hellason. I demand to be taken before my brothers for conversation.” She spoke loudly, hoping everyone nearby could hear.

  “She’s a vikingr whore,” someone shouted. “I say we kill her and send her head to Hella the Hound. Then we dine on Dane horse tonight. Look at the beast, fat as a slaughtering hog.”

  A cheer went up among the men. Sweat beaded on Ealasaid’s chest and back. She couldn’t hold back this many men with a knife. They’d kill her in the space of a few heartbeats.

  “Wait.”

  The crowd parted for a man wearing a dark, heavy pelt over his shoulders stepped through. A stitched golden bull’s head glittered on his jerkin. The jeweled hilt of his sword stood out against his dark cloak. Dark blond hair touched his shoulders and framed his face. He bore the same blue eyes as her father. Eoghann, no longer a boy, had grown into a tall, handsome man wearing chainmail. His eyes widened as she pulled off her head covering so he could see her face and hair.

  “Eoghann.” Ealasaid slid off the horse’s back and stumbled toward him. She longed to put her arms around him but feared the men would see it as a threat. “I thought you were dead.”

  “It’s you.” Eoghann reached out then brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I thought you were lost at Suibhne.”

  A shadow fell across them. She tore her gaze away from Eoghann, and her heart broke when she met Diarmaid’s eyes. Eye. Hella’s sword had taken the left one. Nothing remained besides a terrible patch of scar tissue. Livid purple flesh stretched above and beneath his eye socket, which bore the signs of having been sewn shut. The space was sunken and his eyelid saggy.

  “Diarmaid,” she whispered. She closed the distance between them, but hesitated to touch him. They weren’t sharing a joyful reunion.

  “Is the scar worse or better than the rumors say?” His mouth stretched into a sneer. “Does it shock you, little sister?”

  But for his missing eye, he and Eoghann resembled one another. The disfigurement and lack of welcome on Diarmaid’s face set them apart.

  “It takes more than a scar to shock me, brother.” She straightened her spine again, although she couldn’t hide her shivering. “I would say I’m pleased to see you both, but the circumstances are unfortunate.”

  “You’re freezing, Ealasaid. Let’s talk nearer to the fire.” Eoghann unclasped the pin at his throat and removed his pelt. “That’s a poor example of a cloak you’re wearing. Don’t they dress queens warmly in Freysteinn?”

  “I came in a rush.” She hesitated to take his cloak.

  “Go on. It’s too cold to argue over it.” He swung it around her shoulders and refastened the clasp.

  It warmed her immediately. She silently cursed herself for not bringing a better outer garment.

  “Sholto, look after my sister’s—forgive me, the queen’s—horse.” Diarmaid waved his hand at the animal.

  The gelding shied and danced, but the man with the reins held tight.

  “They won’t eat him?” she whispered.

  “Don’t fret about the horse. Better worry about yourself first,” Diarmaid said.

  Eoghann scowled as Diarmaid turned away and walked through the narrow corridor of people.

  Her unease didn’t lessen as Eoghann took her elbow and stalked after their older brother. They led her to a small structure held up by a crude wooden frame with animal skins stretched over it. Inside, a fire warmed the space. Blankets and rugs for sitting were cast around it.

  Diarmaid dropped onto one and folded his legs. “Why are you here?”

  “To negotiate peace.” She lowered herself to a folded blanket and held her wind-chapped hands out to the fire.

  “I see. So it’s not to help avenge your family or take back Suibhne.” Diarmaid tossed a small stick into the fire and stared into the flames. “Did you propose to your husband we might reconsider killing him if he sent you to beg for his life?”

  Eoghann crouched beside her with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His brow furrowed as he frowned.

  “No. I know better. You’re angry, bitter because of what happened. You’ve killed because of it. Killed men and women—children and little babies—because they were Norse allies. This isn’t sensible. Slaying Hella’s people won’t bring back our family.” She knotted her fingers together in her lap. The weight of her dagger pressed on her leg, but it wasn’t the time to draw a weapon. “It won’t restore your vision.”

  “But it will restore my lands. It will restore the fear people feel when they hear the Kentigern name. It will bring me some satisfaction to know I killed the man who took my eye. I won’t be happy, not until he’s dead and I have his eye in return.” Diarmaid slammed his palm against his leg. “I’m sorry for the grief you’ll suffer if you love him, but nothing will change my mind. Hella must die for the sins his father committed, for mutilating my face, and for destroying the old and sacred grounds of Suibhne.”

  She shivered, glad for the big cloak. “You have a nephew named Birgir. He’s six winters old. If you burn Freysteinn and march on Solstad, you might kill him. He has Kentigern blood too. Would you destroy him for the sake of reaching Hella?”

  “If the little bastard tries to stand in my way, yes, he’ll meet the same fate as his father.” Malice sparkled in Diarmaid’s eye. “You gave yourself over to them willingly enough, didn’t you?”

  “They kept me as a thrall for a time. Hella restored the nobility of the Kentigern name before he married me.” The wedding seemed long ago. She missed him already, and her hopes for changing Diarmaid’s mind shriveled. “He’s sorry for what happened to our father, to our settlement, and he doesn’t wish to fight about it. The Norsemen are here to farm and trade, not wage wars over deaths that occurred when we were all little older than children.”

  “He was man enough to take my eye,” Diarmaid snapped. He grinned in a feral manner. “Now I have his wife, the precious vikingr queen, and I wonder what he’ll do to get you back.”

  Eoghann shook his head. “She’s not our prisoner, Diarmaid. She’s our sister whether she’s married to a Dane or a mad dog.”

  “They’re the same thing, aren’t they?” Diarmaid licked his lips. “You’re short-sighted, little brother. We outnumber them. We have the opportunity to root them out of their hiding places and wipe them from our country. Our rightful homelands. We’ll use Ealasaid to bring Hella Ingvasson to his knees.”

  She
didn’t fear pain, only Hella’s well-being if something happened to her. “Please, brother, reconsider.” Her voice cracked.

  “You lost the right to call me brother when you gave yourself to the vikingr. Be still, or I’ll have your tongue.” Diarmaid’s fingers played across his sword hilt.

  She shivered and clenched her teeth.

  “I refuse to be part of this madness.” Eoghann rose. “I’m returning Ealasaid to her husband. We’ll fight them, if it’s what you want. We can drive them from here and Solstad, from the entirety of the north, but we won’t do it with our sister as a prisoner. She’s still our blood.”

  “You’re a weakling, Eoghann. I find it hard to believe we share the same lineage. Ealasaid has more courage than you for coming here to find us. I don’t plan to hurt her, you fool.”

  “Stop fighting,” she said. Bickering between her brothers wouldn’t bring her any closer to her goal. “If I can’t convince you not to kill Hella and his men for the sake of goodness, then I wish to offer myself in his place. You may kill me, but you must leave Freysteinn, Solstad, and all the occupants of both places and the surrounding farms in peace.”

  “Them...for you?” Diarmaid cocked his head. “Have you lost your mind, woman?”

  “Absurd. If Diarmaid killed you, Hella would come after us. The feud will continue forever until either he’s dead or we are.” Eoghann paced beside the fire. “A noble gesture, but again, you’re our kin and no good would come of us killing you. It would not win us Suibhne.”

  Her stomach clenched. The shelter interior and her brothers’ faces swam in her vision.

  Diarmaid rose and straightened his jerkin. The threads making up the golden bull in the material shined in the firelight. “Ingvar made a mistake leaving Suibhne without proof his enemy’s family were dead or unable to fight. He should have made certain the Kentigern’s sons were hacked up and burned if he didn’t want retaliation on his kin. I have someone I want you to see, Ealasaid.” He ducked out of the doorway.