Blind Mercy

by Violetta Rand

  “Forgive our lack of control,” Aaron apologized sarcastically. “I cannot resist this lady’s charms.”

  Rachelle ignored them, and instead, eyed two horses tethered a few feet away. She approached them slowly, then fumbled with the reins of the one she liked best. After she mounted, she stared at the shameless lovers. “The night is short, Aaron McNally.” She purposely left off his title. Such a man didn’t deserve distinction.

  “In a hurry to get away from here?” he asked.

  “You must know nothing pleases me more.”

  “Don’t forget this.” The maid handed Aaron the leather travel bag.

  “Thank you,” Rachelle said.

  “Don’t mention me to anyone,” Aaron instructed Frida as he climbed on his horse. “I’ll find you after I return.”

  “Secrets have a way of catching up with you,” Rachelle warned.

  “Oh?” The snake twisted in the saddle to look at her. His guilt betrayed itself. “I’m sure we’re capable of outrunning it.”

  Even though she despised her riding companion, Rachelle left Tyr’s steading with hope in her heart that she’d soon be reunited with her uncle.

  Chapter 14

  Truth

  Rachelle should have been content. But Aaron’s excessive laughter revealed his sin. He’d refused to answer any more questions and simply gawked at her as they rode. She’d learned early in life to trust her instincts and this escape wasn’t meant to benefit her. Apparently, when she overindulged in wine, that bit of wisdom fled her mind. There was no one to blame, but herself. After several hours, the scoundrel halted. Not only did she dislike looking at him, she could barely tolerate his endless chatter, constant complaints, and proximity.

  “Do you wish to know why a Scotsman calls Norway home?”

  Hopefully he didn’t expect an answer. The man didn’t know how to be silent. His sharp gaze didn’t leave her. “You’ll tell me regardless of what I say.”

  “True,” he said. “I feel obligated to enlighten you, so you fully understand why I’m doing this.”

  “Is there ever an acceptable reason for betraying your family? You can’t bully me into believing you.”

  In response, Aaron circled Rachelle twice.

  “Think you so little of me?”

  “I feel nothing for you, sir.”

  “Are all English lasses so bitter?” His expression hardened. “I’ve been deprived of the wealth and glory my grandfather promised me after my father died. He banished me from Inverness—accused me of stealing. My family is well-established; we’re prominent merchants with long-standing trade agreements with many notable Scandinavian families, including the Sigurdssons. I never wanted to come here. After spending the last five years groveling at my cousin’s table for what scraps he was willing to fling my way, I’ve decided to take advantage of what favorable circumstances I have.”

  “You’ll find no sympathy here.”

  He huffed, then turned his horse in the direction they’d been riding before. Rachelle eyed the dark landscape. Overhead, the Norwegian moon shed considerable light. One thing she admired about this wilderness was the nighttime sky. Never before had she seen so many stars blazing at once. Yet, she couldn’t fault Aaron for missing his homeland. The unprecedented beauty of the Scottish countryside was unmatched.

  Observing their direction, she suddenly discovered her guide’s lies and treachery. He was leading her away from the coast and deeper inland. For the love of God, she’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts she’d failed to take notice earlier.

  She stopped, considering escape. But where would she go? Trees surrounded her on all sides.

  “Do you need to rest?” Aaron dismounted. He walked to her side, then offered his hand.

  “No.” She didn’t want his guilty hands touching her. “I’m quite capable of dismounting on my own.”

  He combed his fingers through his thick hair. “I know why you stopped. You aren’t very observant,” he commented. His gaze traveled up and down her body.

  “I should never have trusted you.” What a contemptible liar he’d turned out to be.

  Aaron remained outwardly calm, but she knew what simmered underneath his cool exterior—anger and jealousy and hatred. What was her part in all of this?

  “Something troubling you, milady?”

  “That’s a ridiculous question,” she retorted. “You deceived me, like so many others.”

  “Are you denying you freely came to Norway? I sympathize more than you know. My cousin is a debaucher and thief.”

  Rachelle shook her head furiously. “Be silent. Why slander your kinsman when he’s not here to defend himself?”

  He took hold of her cloak. “You’re quick to defend him.”

  “You misunderstand me.” She smacked his hand away. “I’m only interested in one truth right now. Why you brought me here.”

  “You agreed to come,” he said. “Did Frida coerce you?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. Rubbing his chin, he stared at her for a long moment. “After all these hours of riding, what finally alerted you we were headed in the wrong direction?”

  What reason to lie? Her fate rested in his hands. “You spoke about Scotland.”

  His brow tilted with curiosity.

  “Your complaints brought back many fond memories, the ocean. We’re far away from it,” she said.

  “Aye.” He chuckled. “And we still have a few more hours to go. I’m afraid you’ll need to surrender your horse, Lady Rachelle. I no longer trust you to ride alone.”

  The thought of sharing a saddle with him nauseated her. Polite conversation had run its course. No longer his guest, she cursed herself for trusting Frida.

  With his jaw clenched in triumph, Aaron McNally resembled his arrogant cousin. Aaron had been quick to abuse her in their confrontation in the great hall. What would stop him from slitting her throat and leaving her to die? Ravens would pick her bones clean.

  Bloody hell . . .

  She glanced cautiously about, then returned her attention to him. He’d already mounted, held the reigns to her horse, and now patted the empty space in front of him on the saddle.

  “I won’t molest ye,” he spoke with an exaggerated Scots brogue. “My manly appetite is quite satisfied already.”

  Curse his indecency. Spending another minute with him would be akin to self-mutilation. If she could find her way back to Tyr’s house and explain, or better yet, slip into her room unnoticed, there’d be no harm done. She stole a last glimpse at Aaron, slid off her horse, and then bolted.

  “Christ’s blood!” he bellowed.

  She followed the hoof prints in the snow, running several yards, then careened left. Darting between two pines, jumping over rocks, avoiding uneven ground, she managed to stay on her feet. Nearly out of breath, she pushed herself to run faster and farther, until she found a tiny copse to hide in.

  Aaron McNally was a rogue who took advantage of women, clearly demonstrated by his immoral behavior with Frida—only recently turned out of Tyr’s bed. If only she’d listened to Onetooth that first night and stayed in her room, she wouldn’t be a victim of Aaron’s deceit. Compared to his cousin, Tyr looked the saint.

  Tension weakened her body while she waited silently. Where was that deceiver lurking?

  Twigs snapped.

  Barely recovered from her violent run, Rachelle sprinted away. Through the thinning canopy, she eyed the full moon. It wouldn’t help her navigate. Her gaze darted in every direction. Then she collided with a tree.

  Aaron heard a deafening thud. He launched from his saddle, then found Rachelle in a heap on the ground. He knelt beside her and wiped blood from her right temple with his sleeve.

  “Stupid lass,” he muttered.

  Confident there were no other injuries, he scooped her off the ground with a grunt. She’d pay the price for her foolishness after she woke up. The ache in her head would be punishment enough. He cupped her cheek, what a pity to waste suc
h an exquisite girl on Prince Edwin. But Aaron needed this newly found alliance and the wealth it promised. Five hundred gold pieces purchased her—a ridiculously generous bride price. And Edwin had promised to marry her. Not a bad arrangement for all parties involved. Imagine the daughter of a modest merchant marrying into the Hardrada family.

  After Aaron walked back to his horse, he shifted Rachelle to his left side, then rummaged in his saddle bag for a piece of rope. No more risks. If he didn’t bind her, the next time she ran off she might kill herself accidentally. With her hands secured, he cradled her in his arms again. He smiled at her enticing, slender form. No wonder Frida cursed her. His new lover’s bountiful arse alone seduced men—but there was something incredibly tempting about Rachelle. He considered bedding her now, but it wasn’t worth jeopardizing his arrangement. If the prince discovered his bride wasn’t a virgin, he’d demand reparation. A penalty Aaron couldn’t afford to pay.

  Onetooth advised Tyr not to drink alone. Ignoring his captain’s wise council, Tyr secluded himself in his bedchamber. Everything had caught up with him. He’d suffered too much over the last few weeks. Emotionally depleted, the lasting effect Rachelle had on him drove him madder with each passing day. Sweetness filled the air wherever she went, leaving a hollow spot in his heart. War and death couldn’t defeat him—her rejection had.

  He held the cure to all misery in his left hand. Mead. He uncorked the wineskin, then swallowed deeply.

  The more he thought about her, the more he believed she hid her deepest feelings. Sadness lingered behind that woman’s eyes. Hadn’t death darkened his life, too? She wasn’t the only person to lose everything. Hundreds of people he loved and admired had suffered similar fates. War, pestilence, and disease were rampant across Europe. Love was not something to take lightly. Or deny. He'd made his intentions clear. Was she too blind to see, or too numb to feel?

  The pain and confusion he felt over her quick affection for that bastard prince . . . He took another swig, stomped across the bedchamber, then slammed the skin down on a table. Tomorrow he’d set her straight, reveal everything. Including why he returned to the beach.

  “Love, goddamn it!”

  Every nightmare she’d suffered over the last few weeks came to life the moment Rachelle woke up in Aaron’s arms. Where were they? A throbbing headache sparked her memory. She’d been running wildly and lost her footing. The rogue must have felt her move. He glimpsed down at her. She couldn’t fight with her hands tied. She tried to convince herself her fear was unjustified.

  “Head hurt?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He laughed. “Judging by the size of that goose egg on the side of your head, I’d say you’re fibbing. The tree you assaulted is in much better shape than you.”

  “I don’t find it humorous, at all.” Her body stiffened. “You bring nothing but misery to those around you.”

  Aaron smiled. “Maybe . . . But tonight I’ll remedy that if I can.”

  She cocked her head to the side. What was he talking about now? “Where are we going?”

  “We’re attending a reunion, milady.”

  Only one other man in Norway wanted her as much as Tyr Sigurdsson. “Edwin?” she croaked.

  “Aye. How perceptive ye are.” He slowed the horse.

  How had this man gained influence with Prince Edwin? Aaron possessed no redeeming qualities. Even an opportunist like Edwin must surely recognize a transgressor when he met one. She sighed. Of course there could be a competition between the two to see who was better at sinning. She trusted neither man.

  “I wonder who the true beneficiary of this arrangement is.”

  “Both of us.”

  Rachelle tried to wiggle out of her bonds. He didn’t try to stop her. Why did Prince Edwin want to see her again? The Norse liked English slaves. “I’m shocked you’d sell a Christian into servitude.” She expected the worst from him.

  “We all fall short of the glory of God.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Marriage can hardly be considered slavery.”

  Panic gripped her heart. Marriage? Oh my God. “Maybe not for a man,” she countered tartly.

  “You’re to be wed to a prince. I hardly think you’ll be expected to work your fingers to the bone, unless you view bedding your husband as an unpleasant task.” He grinned lecherously. “Some women never learn to enjoy bedsport.” He caressed her cheek. “Somehow, I think you will.”

  She jerked away. “Don’t do this, I beg you.”

  “Milady,” he replied. “Men conduct this sort or business every day. Without a proper guardian, someone needed to act on your behalf. It’s a fine match. You’ve done your duty. Rose above your unfortunate circumstances and secured a man most women would trip over their skirts to get to. Prince Edwin may be a bastard in the Biblical sense, but he’s rich and comes from a reputable family. Celebrate your good fortune. I could have shipped you to a place where women are expected to perform the marital act without the benefit of nuptials and protection. There’s a thousand brothels in the western provinces waiting for beautiful virgins like you to be auctioned into slavery.”

  Her hands burned to slap him. He’d done this with the intent to harm her. From the moment she’d stepped foot on Tyr’s ship, this man had seethed with contempt. She swallowed thickly. “Why?”

  His startling gaze pierced her. “I hate Tyr. And everything about you reminds me of the home I dearly miss. I don’t need a constant reminder of things I cannot have.”

  His confession took her by surprise. “I thought you despised Scotland.”

  “I’ve only implied it to keep my enemies confused.”

  What kind of man denies his own heart? A man without a home was likely the most wretched creature on earth. Beholden to no one, he’d do as he pleased. “Why do you stay?”

  “There’s opportunity for me here.”

  “You’ve already claimed that once before . . . not if you hate the land . . . despise the people. You’ll eventually fall prey to your own folly. And Tyr will notice I’m gone.”

  “I suspect he’ll do more than that,” he added. “He might start a bloody war.”

  “Is there anything I can do to convince you to let me go?”

  “Everything has a price.” He rubbed his chin introspectively. “Two thousand gold pieces buys your freedom and a horse.”

  “You know I cannot pay.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s not my problem.”

  Further pleading would accomplish nothing, but make her look like a desperate fool. He’d never let her go. All hope vanished. She might not have the brute strength to overcome Aaron, but the prince would have to hold a knife to her throat if he expected her to speak vows.

  Chapter 15

  Unlikely Allies

  Tyr hesitantly cracked one eye open. There was nothing he hated more than being forced from deep sleep. Onetooth towered over him, shaking his bearded face reprovingly.

  “Although you swallowed copious amounts of spirits last night, it may interest you to know that one of your ships has returned from England.”

  Both eyes snapped open. Blinding pain thundered between his ears. He’d stupidly attempted to drown his passion for Rachelle. Few outlets for his frustration existed—women, blood sport, or spirits. He’d chosen the last because he could suffer the consequences alone.

  “Bring food,” Tyr groaned.

  “Food? You deserve a swift kick in the arse first.” Onetooth swiped the furs off him. “While you were getting pissed, Rachelle disappeared.”

  His brows knitted in disbelief. Tyr remembered allowing the guards posted outside her bedchamber to join him for drinks. He’d kept a watch on the stairs. And the girl promised never to leave her room unattended again. However, some of the night’s events remained fuzzy.

  “She’s gone to the clearing for prayer.”

  “No, I looked.”

  “The bathhouse.”

  “Nay.” Onetooth shot him a furi
ous glance.

  “A walk—”

  “Stop guessing and get dressed.”

  If he were any other man . . . Tyr swung his booted feet over the side of the bed, while holding his throbbing head between his hands. The room started to spin. He stood unsteadily at first, then tromped to the bed stand to wash his face and rinse the sour taste from his mouth.

  “You look the devil,” Onetooth observed.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  The captain handed him a clean shirt.

  “Which vessel?”

  “The Raven.”

  The first ship he’d dispatched. Good. Hopefully his men returned with information about Sir Henry Fiennes. Things had changed though, he’d never let Rachelle go. Instead, he’d pay generous restitution for her disappearance and triple the usual sum for a bride price.

  “Where are my men?” Tyr asked.

  “Assembled in the great hall.”

  Judging by the look on the old man’s face, there was more to tell. “Speak.”

  “Rachelle’s Uncle and her maid, Mercia, have come for her.”

  Tyr nearly choked. “Here?”

  “No,” Onetooth bit out. “In another lord’s great hall.”

  Tyr nodded, stupefied. He’d deal with his captain’s sarcasm later. Obviously, the man was worried; he’d grown quite fond of Rachelle.

  “I share your concern.” Tyr donned the clean shirt. He combed his beard and hair, then eyed the door. “I’ll never give her up.”

  Onetooth’s face tightened. “We’ll find her.”

  Tyr immediately noticed Rachelle’s uncle as he entered the great hall. The man was dressed in a finely embroidered military tunic and wool cloak. His grey beard and peppered hair was slicked back. Rachelle had described him as large, but from what Tyr saw, the man must have lost a considerable amount of weight. The dark-haired girl at his side was nearly as striking as Rachelle. Tyr’s shipmen were seated at the high table and only a few servants were about serving food and drink. Guards were posted at the doors. Excellent, his reliable captain had cleared the room of any unnecessary visitors.