Blind Mercy

by Violetta Rand

  A flash of movement forced Tyr to look over his shoulder. Aaron stood inside with a weapon drawn. Tyr swung around to face him.

  “My god.” His cousin froze. “How . . . when did you get here?”

  Tyr despised Aaron’s weakness. “Your treachery ends tonight,” he threatened, unwilling to take his eyes off Edwin for too long. “Throw down your sword.”

  “You’re outnumbered,” Edwin spoke coolly. “Relinquish your weapon, Jarl Sigurdsson, and I’ll let you go. This woman is my wife. There’s nothing you can do to oppose it. Celebrate with us.”

  The world melted away and the prince was the only thing Tyr could see. Lowering his weapon, he crashed into Edwin and Rachelle, knocking them both down. Tyr quickly separated Rachelle from the heap, pushing her safely away.

  Edwin tried to escape by crawling away on his knees. Tyr took hold of his ankles and snatched him back. “Wretched piece of shite, come here.” He rolled him onto his back, then straddled the bastard, sitting on his chest. Bloodlust driving him to murder, he wrapped his hands around Edwin’s throat.

  Rachelle struggled to catch her breath as she staggered to her feet next to Aaron. “Stop him,” she begged.

  “I won’t interfere.” He backed away slowly, clearly afraid. “But I’ll get help.”

  She watched his retreat in dismay as Tyr dragged Edwin closer to her by the throat. The prince’s face turned red, eyes bulging.

  “Stop, Tyr.” She gasped as her hands scaled the rigid muscles on his left arm. “Let him live.” Her light touch seemed to break his trance.

  Tyr nodded, then released the prince who immediately wilted to the floor.

  Rachelle threw her arms around Tyr. Sorrow and joy filled her heart. She’d bargained with God earlier—promised to abandon her pride and fears and marry Tyr if he came to her. God had answered her entreaties. Ty's presence made it impossible to ever dispute his purpose in her life again.

  She loved him. More than she ever thought possible.

  “Rachelle.” Casting a glance in the direction of the familiar voice, she went slack-jawed at the sight of Uncle Henry standing in the tent with open arms. Her heart melted. Her legs buckled, but Tyr steadied her.

  “Go to him,” he whispered, giving her a gentle push in her Uncle’s direction.

  She ran, then collapsed in her kinsman’s arms. Weeping and laughing hysterically, she latched on to him, afraid to ever let go. There was no time for words, men filed into the tent behind them. Some she recognized from amongst the prince’s regiment, others from Tyr’s great hall. Rachelle felt as vulnerable as she had the day Henry rescued her from York. She glanced quickly in Tyr’s direction, but he was now hunched over Edwin.

  Insults were exchanged between the two camps. It reminded her of the male posturing she’d witnessed on Tyr’s ship. Threats were threats and by the dark countenance her Viking wore, he was ready for action. Death she feared. She edged closer to her Uncle, who patted her hand reassuringly. “Trust him,” he whispered.

  That shocked her. Had Tyr and Henry reached an understanding? When she saw Onetooth inside, she relaxed. The captain would take control of the situation. Onetooth smiled grimly at her before he headed for his master. As the old warrior had done before, he leaned in and whispered something in Tyr’s ear. The jarl miraculously regained his composure and stood up. They spoke privately for several minutes.

  She went still. Her mind was trapped in a childhood memory—Henry whispering to her over and over again how she’d be all right. God would grant her a new life. Swallowing hard, she refused to give into her fears again.

  Instead, she was seized by hatred—for Aaron and Edwin—the guards—even Frida. All the deception and self-serving measures they’d taken to destroy her. Justice must be done. But death followed in Tyr’s wake whenever he took up his sword. She’d seen it—smelled the fear and blood of the men he killed at the lake. The dark mood emanating from the men gathered nearby didn’t help. They itched for violence. Challenges were issued from both sides.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, Tyr faced them. Edwin remained motionless on the ground.

  “By my will there will be no blood spilled here today.” Tyr beat his chest once with his fist. “Do not mistake this for weakness. A man can die bravely or as a coward. The testimony I hear will determine the fates of many.”

  Rachelle’s gaze darted around the tent. Aaron’s pale face stood out amongst the warriors; he’d be severely punished for his role.

  Tyr stepped in front of her and offered a tight-lipped smile. “How did you get here?”

  It didn’t matter greatly. Surely he already knew.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Tyr said. “Your words won’t be used against you, they are meant to condemn the guilty.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Speak, child.” Uncle Henry urged.

  Ashamed, she dragged her gaze slowly upward. How could she refuse the two men who meant the most to her? “Frida told me a mutual friend would help me escape. Aaron McNally promised me a way home.” She cast Aaron a solemn look. “He lied, and instead delivered me to Prince Edwin.”

  Tyr’s perfectly muscled body tightened. Anger flashed in his eyes. If she had a chance to set things right between them she’d do it.

  “That only explains part of it,” Tyr said. “Why did you run away from me?”

  She’d agonized over her uncle for weeks and hoped Tyr would show more sympathy. Everything she’d done was out of loyalty for her family. “I was afraid.”

  “You talk too much of fear.” His nostrils flared.

  She’d be wiser this time and listen.

  “Fear lies, Rachelle. It plays tricks on your mind—makes you do things you later regret. I believe you,” he said. “Now you must trust me. There’s a reason why I brought you here.” His expression was so possessive, she gasped.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good,” he said. “Sir Fiennes.” Tyr looked beyond her.

  Uncle Henry came forward.

  “I understand you have personal matters to discuss with the priest who performed the marriage ceremony between your niece and Edwin.”

  “Very personal,” he confirmed. “My late king signed a death warrant for this brigand years ago, after he was excommunicated by the Church. The man eluded capture and traveled village to village collecting alms and charging innocent people with crimes. He imprisoned women and children.”

  Tyr commanded his men with a mere gesture. In seconds, the cleric was escorted inside and forced to kneel at Henry’s feet.

  “My gift to you,” Tyr said with a steely tone of satisfaction.

  Much to her surprise, Uncle Henry took Rachelle by the elbow. “Is this the man that frightened you as a child?”

  She didn’t want to look, but did. The priest’s eyes were downcast.

  “Aye,” she said.

  Henry’s teeth clenched. He backhanded the rogue cleric so hard he toppled. Rachelle stared, speechless.

  “You’ve broken God’s laws,” Henry ground out. “Defied our king . . . stolen years of happiness from my niece she can never reclaim. I curse your soul.” He spit in the priest’s face.

  “You haven’t the power to condemn me,” the holy man laughed, wiping his cheek with his dirty sleeve.

  “I do.” Tyr interjected. “These are Odin’s sacred lands. And if I have anything to say about it, you’ll die a coward’s death. Take him outside,” Tyr commanded. “Now . . .” He pointed at two of Edwin’s men. “Fetch your lord.”

  Edwin's men propped him up and dragged him to the center of the tent. His head rolled forward. He moaned as his eyes fluttered open.

  “You don’t deserve to share the lineage of the man who sired you,” Tyr said.

  Edwin’s bloodless lips curled upward.

  “Out of reverence for your late father and my regard for his legitimate heirs, my dealings with you end here. My men will escort you to Oslo where you will be expected to give full account o
f your treason to your brother.”

  “And my wife?”

  Tyr’s laughter was darkly intimidating. Rachelle deplored Edwin’s stubborn stupidity. How could he still call her his wife? Tyr grabbed a fistful of his tunic, lifting him off the ground.

  “I’ll drop you where you stand if you ever mention her again.”

  Eyes wide with fear, Edwin nodded.

  “You made the right choice.” Tyr let go and Edwin dropped. “Get him out of here before I change my mind. Find the guards who manhandled Rachelle—keep them with the others outside until I am done here.”

  Rachelle marveled at his authority. How did he know? Did the trees have eyes and ears? His ability to mete out justice astounded her. No one would escape his fury tonight. Tyr Sigurdsson was not a man to overlook betrayal.

  Now, only Aaron remained. The space quickly cleared; only Uncle Henry and Onetooth were permitted to stay.

  Tyr faced his cousin. “I’ve overlooked your misdeeds for years,” he began. “Countless freedoms have been yours. Nothing satisfied your wicked nature. I’ve shared my home, accepted your faith without question, and loved you as a brother. And how do you repay my generosity?”

  Aaron gave no reply.

  “You coveted my wealth and women. Spread lies about me, challenged my authority, and insulted me. All these things I could forgive, and did.” Tyr’s gaze settled on Rachelle. “But once you kidnapped the woman I love, you destroyed any hope of reconciliation with me. Odin will judge your soul henceforth. For your betrayal, you will receive twenty lashes and leave my home.”

  “I’ll be crippled,” Aaron declared.

  “Do you prefer dead?” Onetooth countered, taking hold of his arm.

  Rachelle covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more. She couldn’t get past the woman I love part. It rolled off his tongue so easily, as if he’d said it many times before.

  She watched nervously as Onetooth and Henry escorted Aaron outside, leaving her alone with Tyr.

  They glanced at each other.

  She couldn’t move a muscle for fear of betraying her feelings. “I’ve had no time with my Uncle. There’s so much to say to him, how can I think of anything else?”

  Tyr bent down and whispered, “I want no more delays.” His arms claimed her. “Henry knows how important our reunion is,” he said. “I promise, once we’ve finished, I’ll take you to him.”

  Her head rested against his hard chest. She clung to him, feeling safe and warm. This magnificent warrior wanted her . . . a broken orphan . . . a Christian.

  “Are you all right?”

  His warm breath made her stomach flutter. “I think so.”

  “Shall I answer your question now?”

  She gazed up at him in wonder. “What question?”

  “The one that has troubled you all this time. Why I brought you here. I’ll say it only once.” He cupped her cheek. “You touched my heart, sweetling. Even when you were surrounded by violence and death, you demonstrated great courage. You never begged or groveled. Nor did you try to escape. You showed mercy to a man who could have killed you. You remained at my side while I honored my brother. I knew from that moment.” He tilted her chin, then brushed a tantalizing kiss across her lips. “I love you.”

  She laid her hand across his chest, felt his strong and steady heartbeat. Joy heated her insides. Could happiness finally be hers?

  “I want you,” he said hoarsely. “And I’ll spend forever proving it.” Tyr dropped to his knees. “Your Uncle has given his blessing. Marry me, merciful angel.”

  Unable to complete a rational thought, she squeaked out a pathetic yes.

  He climbed to his feet, his expression severe. She wished she had been taught how to control her emotions and body. She felt the blood drain from her face. All she could think about was the last time he’d touched her. Those searing kisses—those gloriously large hands tickling and teasing. That enormous bulge between his legs. What would he do with that?

  “Are you still afraid of me?”

  “Should I be?” Her voice cracked. Yes, she thought, I fear everything about you. I fear most what you make me feel.

  Their foreheads touched. “Damn you, woman. Do you know what you do to me when you look at me like that?”

  If he only knew what he did to her. His heated gaze elevated her to places she couldn’t reach on her own; above the moon and stars, quite possibly beyond the heavens.

  He swept her off her feet, then carried her to the largest cot. He laid her down reverently, and then ran a strong hand over her stomach. Feather-light fingertips tickled her ribs and pinched the tips of her breasts. He moved slowly. His expression changed with every pleasure-filled moan she uttered. Why had she waited so long to welcome his affection? As her hands slid up his arms, finding the opening of his shirt, his body trembled.

  She palmed his chest—loving the feel of flesh and springy hair. His lean, muscular body awed her. She couldn’t tear herself away if she wanted to. He purred under her shy ministration, encouraging her to reach deeper inside his tunic. With both hands, she fondled his hot skin, exploring the muscles that seized under her touch. She hadn’t thought herself capable of fully enjoying sensual pleasures. There’d always been mental obstacles in her way, her heart closed off from the rest of the world.

  His deep voice vibrated in her ear. “I want to thrust inside you. Make you mine.”

  She stared at him, silent.

  “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Rachelle?”

  She knew what she wanted him to do, but dared not verbalize it. “No.” She still played the innocent.

  “I think you do.” He hiked her skirts up, then nudged her legs apart with his hand. “I want to taste your sweetness, now.”

  How could she do this with her Uncle only a few yards away? Oh no . . . she shouldn’t . . . she couldn’t.

  Before further protest was made, he buried his face between her thighs. His beard scraped against her sensitive flesh. He stroked her stomach rhythmically, until she moaned with uncontrollable pleasure. She writhed and tossed her head, bit her lip to keep from screaming. A tongue and fingers shouldn’t be in the same place at the same time. Oh, sweet heaven.

  She grabbed fistfuls of his long hair to steady herself as hot sensations ripped through her body. He licked and sucked the sensitive nub between her legs so hard she convulsed. His hands moved skillfully—faster and faster. Rachelle welcomed the invasion, riding his hand.

  “Peak for me, Rachelle.” He flicked his tongue along the rim of her core, rotating his fingers inside her.

  Her hips jerked as pressure slowly built inside her belly. The vibration from his satisfied laughter felt so good. He sucked harder until she finally surrendered. The tiny pulses gradually subsided, leaving her in a mindless heap. She stared at the roof of the tent, blindly reaching for him as he back away from her. Tyr had captured every sensation of her sex with his lips. Surely that didn’t satisfy his needs. She knew it didn’t—he’d waited so long for her. Further proof this Viking god adored her.

  “Are you all right?” He sat down gently beside her.

  She turned her head toward him. “Aye.”

  “I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you.” He kissed her lips. “That’s only the beginning,” he warned with a grin. “We’ll explore together.”

  She nodded.

  “Meet me outside when you’re ready.” He stood, then picked up his weapon belt. While securing it around his waist, he walked to the table on the other side of the tent and washed his face and hands. Then he poured a glass of wine, took a long sip, gargled, and spit on the ground. “I love your scent and taste, but it’s only for my pleasure.” He smiled, leaving her to collect her wits.

  Executions and weddings weren’t supposed to happen on the same day. But there was no avoiding it. The renegade priest and guards who abused Rachelle were hung. After Onetooth rewarded the vainglorious Edwin with several lashes, he quickly repudiated the validity of h
is marriage to Rachelle. With nothing else preventing the ceremony, Tyr nearly refused to let another moment pass without exchanging wedding vows. But first, he offered his betrothed a gift. Onetooth and Uncle Henry smiled at Rachelle.

  “What is it?” she asked excitedly.

  “You have the patience of a child,” Tyr teased.

  “Look at their faces.” Rachelle pointed at her Uncle and Onetooth. “They look as guilty as you.”

  “You’re sadly mistaken,” Henry said. “I’m smiling because I’m happy, nothing more.”

  “Cover your eyes,” Tyr commanded.

  She did. Tyr watched impatiently as Mercia emerged from one of the tents. She walked to Rachelle’s side, waiting quietly.

  “Open,” Tyr said.

  Laughter turned to sobs as Rachelle stared unbelieving at her best friend. She flung her arms around Mercia. The joy the two women shared made his heart swell. He swore as long as there was breath in his body he’d endeavor to maintain that magnitude of happiness with his young bride.

  Not long after the ceremony, Bera and Mercia prepared Rachelle for her bridal bed. They combed out her long hair. Dressed in a lacy chemise and soft slippers, they wrapped her in a fur, then escorted her to the tent where Tyr waited.

  Pausing at the entrance, Rachelle eyed her friend. “No one ever prepared me for this moment.”

  Mercia thumbed her cheek. “You’re beautiful. What more do you need to know? He loves you. Nature will take care of the rest.”

  “When did you become so knowledgeable about these things?” Rachelle needled.

  “When I saw how Jarl Sigurdsson looks at you. I’d like to feel that way someday about a man.”

  Holding hands with Mercia, Rachelle took a deep breath. “You will, I promise.” She couldn’t believe the uneasiness in her stomach—even her palms were sweaty from anticipation. “I’m ready.”