Ice Maiden

by Debra Lee Brown

  George slipped Gunnlogi from his shoulder baldric.

  “Who are ye, and from whence d’ye come?” the man called down to them.

  Rika backed against George. Unconsciously, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

  “We…we hail from Fair Isle,” she called up to the man. “I am Ulrika, daughter of Fritha.”

  “Fritha, ye say?” The burly man squinted at her through the mist.

  “Ja. And this is—”

  George squeezed her, hard. “What, d’ye intend to introduce us all?” He stepped in front of her, brandishing Gunnlogi. “And who might ye be?” he called out to the man.

  He was a Scot, surely—clothed in the fashion of a Highlander, his speech thick with a comforting brogue. And yet…George tensed as two other similarly garbed men stepped out of the mist and flanked the stranger. One whispered something in his ear.

  Here it comes. Scots they may be, but these men were no friends. He cast cautionary glances to Ottar and Erik and Leif, who’d fanned out beside him and Rika. They nodded, weapons at the ready.

  Rika inched forward and clumsily drew her brother’s sword. Damn her! He scanned their surroundings for a suitable place to safeguard her. All hell was about to break loose. The last thing he needed was a headstrong woman on his ha—

  “I am MacInnes!” the stranger called down to them.

  What? George swapped wide-eyed looks with Rika.

  The stranger sheathed his weapon, and his companions did the same. “Come, Ulrika, daughter of Fritha—” he beckoned her scale the cliff “—ye are welcome here.”

  “You are Thomas MacInnes?” Rika stared at the craggy faced Scot. Up close, he looked older than first she’d thought him to be.

  “Aye, but most call me Tom.” He nodded at Grant and the others. “We saw your ship early this morn, off St. John’s point, and figured ye’d make for the bay.”

  “Ye sought us out then.” Grant stood between her and MacInnes, eyeing the stranger and his kinsmen, his weapon still in his hand. “Why?”

  MacInnes shrugged. “To find out who ye were and what ye were about. We get few visitors here. Most ships put in at Wick, or around the head to the west.”

  “Dunnet Head?” Rika held her breath.

  “Aye. D’ye know it?”

  She shook her head with far too much vigor. “Nay, I do not.”

  MacInnes cocked his head to see past Grant and looked her up and down. “Ye dinna look much like your dame. More like your sire, methinks.”

  Rika shivered, stunned—less from the cold than from MacInnes’s words. “You knew them?” When first she’d called her name out, she’d read the surprise in his face. It was as if he already knew her. “But…how?”

  “Och, we met years ago on Fair Isle, long before ye were born.”

  “You’ve been there?” Ottar ignored Grant’s look of caution, and sheathed his sword. “To Fair Isle?”

  “Aye, many times, but no since I was a young buck. There is a man there who was once like a brother to me. He was the law speaker.” He eyed the weapon in Grant’s hand, then arched a brow. “Lawmaker, we called him. Surely ye know him.”

  Rika nodded, her belly tightening. “He is my guardian.”

  “Aye, he spoke of ye often in the many letters I received from him over the years. How fares he?”

  “He is dead,” Grant said. “Lost at sea in a storm, two nights past.”

  Rika fought to keep her composure as the dark memory gripped her. She stepped out from behind the protection of Grant’s body in time to see the two Scots lock eyes.

  For a moment no one spoke. The wind rushed up and over the cliff, chilling her to the bone. She staved off a shiver. “May he go with God,” MacInnes whispered.

  “There were two others in our party,” Grant said, ignoring the sentiment. “Have ye seen them?”

  “Nay, we’ve not.” MacInnes glanced at his kinsmen, and they shrugged. “They’d be fools to slog off in this soup—” he nodded at the mist-shrouded moors behind him “—without a local guide.”

  “They…escaped,” Rika said, nearly biting her tongue. How much should they tell him? He was most certainly the friend of whom Lawmaker spoke. Still…

  MacInnes frowned.

  “One was responsible for Lawmaker’s death,” Grant said. At last, to her relief, he sheathed Gunnlogi. “They were our prisoners.”

  “I see.” MacInnes pulled the edges of his breacon tighter about him, and shivered. “Come on, we’ll catch our death out here. My house lies less than a furlong east. What say we continue our talk over a hogshead and a hot meal?” He turned and she started after him.

  Grant grabbed her arm. “What about the ship?”

  “We’ve a full load of cargo,” Erik said, nodding down to the beach. “Homespun, grain, and kegs of mead.”

  MacInnes’s brows shot up. “Mead, ye say?”

  She nodded.

  It was clear from Grant’s expression he was not pleased with Erik revealing so much. But what did it matter now? They were only five, and this MacInnes, friend or foe, surely had enough kinsmen at home to overtake them and the ship should he wish to.

  “We thought to trade the homespun and grain for horses,” she said, thinking that confidence might serve them well in this situation. “And the mead.”

  “I’ve not had a decent draught o’ the stuff since last I visited your fair island.”

  “Will you trade with us then?” Erik said. “For horses?”

  MacInnes looked at her, and she held her breath. “’Tis a bold proposition, lad. D’ye ken how rare a good mount is in these parts?”

  Grant had warned her of this, but she’d not listened.

  “I’d first hear more about why ye’ve come, and about these…prisoners.” MacInnes started east, and she followed, wrenching herself free from Grant. “Mayhap we could manage an agreeable trade, though I canna say as I’d be willing to part with my bonny steeds.” He shot a shrewd look back at her. “I’ll send some men for the cargo.”

  Rika exhaled. Though it was not the promise she’d hoped for, it was a start. She jogged ahead and caught him up. “And the ship—can you mind it for us for a time?”

  MacInnes’s brows shot up. “Mayhap.” He glanced back at Grant. “If ye tell me why ye travel with a Scot, and why he bears Lawmaker’s weapon.”

  She tripped, stunned by MacInnes’s canny recognition of Gunnlogi. Grant rushed up behind her and saved her from a fall. There seemed no sense in hiding the truth. MacInnes obviously knew Lawmaker well. “Grant is my…husband,” she said. “Lawmaker made him a gift of the sword.”

  MacInnes stopped short, and eyed Grant with new appreciation. For some unfathomable reason, Rika felt her chest swell with pride. MacInnes’s blue eyes flicked to the sword. “Such a gift is no made lightly,” he said. “I’d know more of ye, Grant.”

  “Aye,” Grant said, his expression stone. “And I’d know more of ye.”

  They trudged for nearly an hour across the wet, windswept moor, mist swirling about them. She could barely see a half-dozen paces ahead, but MacInnes seemed to know exactly where he was going.

  More of his kinsmen joined them along the way. Grant had been right about that. Earlier, he’d whispered to her that it seemed damned unlikely MacInnes would approach a strange ship with but two men as escort. Nearly a score accompanied them now, along what looked to be a footpath, running up over craggy ridges then down again.

  The wind burned her face and breached her garments. She wiggled her toes in Gunnar’s oversized boots and realized she couldn’t feel them anymore. When would they get there?

  MacInnes’s men looked at her strangely, whispering among themselves. A few made rude comments. Some of the words she didn’t understand, but she could well imagine their meaning. Absently she traced the line of her scar from ear to throat.

  “Ignore them,” Grant said, watching the strangers with eagle’s eyes. He’d strayed not two paces from her the whole long walk, and once
rested his broad hand on the small of her back as they trudged over some uneven ground.

  For years she’d relied on no man for protection. But today she found herself comforted by Grant’s presence, and more than a little thrilled by his cavalier and possessive behavior.

  Because MacInnes had been Lawmaker’s friend, she was tempted to give him her trust. But a dozen years had passed since the two had last seen each other, and Rika knew that much could change a man’s loyalties in that amount of time.

  Ottar and Erik and Leif took to the burly Scot immediately. She reminded herself they were young and out of their element, and looked for any anchorage on which to ground themselves.

  Grant was wary, and that wariness caused her to reserve a final judgment of the strangers.

  As if he’d read her mind, Grant took her arm and said, “If he offers more than a sway-backed nag for the whole of the cargo, he’s either a fool or he’s what he says he is—a friend.”

  “Were he truly a friend, would that surprise you?”

  He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. But beware. Stay close by me when we reach his demesne.”

  She smiled inwardly, and trudged on.

  A short time later, through the thinning mist, she saw it. A great house of timber and stone surrounded by a low wall.

  “My home,” MacInnes said, looking back at her. They stopped outside the wall. “Wait here, whilst I confer with my wife.”

  Most of MacInnes’s men disappeared into a low building flanking the main house. Rika guessed it was a barracks of sorts or a stable. Six stayed with them, finding seats on the low wall. Grant continued to watch them.

  Moments after MacInnes entered the house, the door swung wide again and a woman, his wife, no doubt, strode into the courtyard to bid them welcome.

  “My dear,” the bright-eyed woman said, extending a long white hand to her. There was no hint of disapproval or even amusement in her expression as she surveyed Rika’s bedraggled garments and weapons. “Ye look wet to the skin. Aye, and ye’re surely exhausted.”

  Until this moment, Rika hadn’t allowed herself to recognize the magnitude of her fatigue, but the woman’s warm demeanor and sympathetic smile breached the last of her defenses. Rika took her hand. “I am, on both counts, if truth be told.”

  “Come inside, then,” the woman said. “A chamber is being prepared for ye and your husband.” She flashed her eyes at Grant, and beckoned him follow.

  Husband.

  Rika risked a backward glance at him. Grant arched a brow at her, then followed them inside.

  After an uncomfortable night sleeping on the floor of the tiny bedchamber he shared with Rika, George spent the day helping MacInnes’s men relieve the byrthing of its cargo.

  Rika seemed safe enough in the house with MacInnes’s wife. The couple had no children of their own, and the mistress fawned over her as one would a daughter.

  George suspected Rika was unused to such attention. He took pleasure in seeing her doted upon. ’Twas a small thing, but to Rika he knew it meant much.

  Late in the day, five mounts were brought from the stable for his inspection. He could not believe MacInnes’s generosity. The steeds were loaned, not given, but the gesture was still no small thing. It seemed they owed much to the Scot’s friendship with Lawmaker.

  George caught himself thinking of the elder more than once that day. He missed him. ’Twas as simple as that. But he knew he could not dwell on such thoughts. He had plans of his own to carry out.

  Now that Rika was safe and apparently among friends, George thought for the hundredth time about leaving. After supper, when all but a few had retired, he had a look at MacInnes’s charts.

  Wick was no more than a day’s hard ride from there—two, mayhap, given the inclement weather. ’Twould take him a minute at most to saddle a mount and be gone. ’Twas a fine, clear night. Why not?

  He rose and made a show of stretching sleepily. Ottar sat by the hearth fire with two of MacInnes’s men, swapping lies and fantastical tales. They paid him no mind as he slipped from the great hall into the corridor.

  A handful of short tapers lit the passageway. Instead of making for the chamber he shared with Rika, he turned toward the unguarded entry of the fortified house.

  “Grant.” MacInnes’s voice stopped him dead. He turned and saw their host leaning against a far doorway.

  “Come and share a pint with me. It’s no often I get the chance to mingle with men from the south.”

  What else could he do? A few minutes later George was settled by the fire in the kitchen, a cup of mead in his hand.

  “Your wife should be in bed,” MacInnes said.

  “What?” He shot to his feet. “Where is she?”

  “Sit down, man, she’s well.” He nodded toward a window draped in deerskin. “She’s outside is all—in my wife’s garden. ’Tis bitter out, though, and I fear she’ll catch her death.”

  He strode to the window, lifted the covering and peered into the night. Rika sat with her back to him on a crudely hewn bench amidst the frozen remains of last season’s vegetables. The moon cast a pale light upon her. She seemed well enough.

  George let the window cover drop and took his place by the fire. “She has a mind of her own.”

  MacInnes laughed. “Aye, I can see that.”

  George swilled his mead in silence while MacInnes openly studied him. With their host yet awake, ’twould be hours before he might make his escape. So be it. He was enjoying the warmth of the fire and the sweetness of his drink.

  “Ye are a laird, so the lads tell me.” MacInnes’s directness did not surprise him.

  “Aye.”

  “What takes ye so far afield? Fair Isle is a strange destination for a lone Scot.”

  George met the man’s gaze, and wondered how much Ottar and the others had told him. MacInnes was no fool. George weighed how much of the truth he’d be obliged to impart. “I…I am newly wed.”

  “That much is evident.”

  George arched a brow at him.

  “There is a sweet tension yet between ye.” MacInnes nodded toward the garden where Rika sat. “And a newness that canna be hid.”

  The man’s perception unnerved him and he knew it showed on his face.

  MacInnes smiled. “Enjoy it, son.” He drained his cup and set it on the raised hearth, then drew himself up, as if he were about to say something of import. “So ye go to claim her dowry.”

  George stiffened.

  “When women get together, they talk.” MacInnes shot him a wry glance.

  George shrugged, trying to remain casual. “Aye, that’s our plan.”

  “And a fine one it is. There’s just one thing about it that doesna make sense.” MacInnes willed George to his gaze. “Why now? In the dead o’ winter? Why no wait till spring?”

  He couldn’t think of a good answer for MacInnes’s question, so he said nothing.

  “Och, no matter. ’Tis none of my concern. I was just curious, is all.” MacInnes swept a flagon off the kitchen’s massive wooden table and refilled George’s cup. “I know him, ye know—Rika’s father.”

  “Rollo? Aye, ye said as much yesterday.”

  “He’s a strange one, and none too friendly.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  MacInnes rubbed a hand over his short, thick whiskers. “His place is no far from here. Mey Loch—to the southwest, barely a half day’s ride.”

  George stared into the fire, sipping his mead, trying to quell his curiosity. He could not. Finally he said, “Tell me about him. About Rollo.” He looked at MacInnes. “What kind of man abandons his own children?”

  MacInnes’s brows shot up at George’s question. “Why, a man who thinks they’re no his.”

  George’s mouth gaped. He started to speak, but MacInnes cut him off.

  “Ye didna know?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Ye mean to tell me Rika and her brother are…” So Lawmaker was her father, after all.
/>   “Och, nay.” MacInnes waved a hand in dismissal. “They’re Rollo’s spawn all right. He just would ne’er believe it.”

  Now George was truly confused.

  “Lawmaker didna tell ye? Hmph. That’s just like him. What about your bride? Did she no share the tale?”

  He shook his head. “If indeed she knows of what ye speak, it seems not to sway her mind. She holds naught but contempt for her sire.”

  MacInnes looked at him for a long moment. Finally he said, “I know not for what reason Lawmaker would withhold the truth from her, but I will tell it to ye now for methinks ye can make use of the information in your dealings with Rollo—and with Rika.”

  “I would be most grateful to ye.” George slid forward on his stool, elbows braced on thighs, surprised by the magnitude of his interest. He told himself ’twas just idle curiosity. For what did it matter how much he knew or did not know? After this night he’d ne’er see Rika again.

  MacInnes blew his nose into a rag, and began. “Lawmaker and Fritha were in love.”

  MacInnes’s simple declaration startled him, though when he thought about it he was not entirely surprised. “Rika’s mother was Lawmaker’s lover?”

  “Nay, I didna say that. They were in love, but ne’er lovers. There’s a difference.”

  “Oh, aye. Go on.”

  “Rollo knew it, but he thought that once he wed her, he could sway her affection away from Lawmaker and toward him.”

  George nodded, understanding. “But he could not.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what happened?”

  MacInnes shrugged. “Rollo took his vengeance the only way he could—he treated Fritha badly. And when Rika and her brother were born, he swore the bairns werena his.”

  “And he treated them ill as well,” George said.

  MacInnes nodded.

  “Why did Fritha no leave him? It seems a common enough custom among their folk.”

  “I canna say. But after Gunnar and Rika were born, Rollo grew more violent. Lawmaker feared for their safety. He knew Fritha and the bairns would fare better were he gone. So Lawmaker came here, to Gellis Bay, to live with me and mine. When we got word that Fritha had died, Lawmaker returned to Fair Isle. By then, Rollo had gone.”