Amoda glared at him for a moment. Anger and humiliation warred within her, testing her control until it snapped. “I am aware of my ‘position’ as it is! You bastard, you do not need to send your men out to remind me. Now if you shall excuse me I have things to do. I do believe I have a bed to warm!”
Cursing him profusely, she stalked past him. She picked up the dropped basket, tidying the herbs in it before heading for the manor. She cared not what he thought, not now, not ever. She cried out when he jerked her arm around, his grip precisely at the same spot as the newly formed bruise. She barely felt the tears rolling down her face as she pulled at his fingers.
“You will remember where you belong, woman. I have been as nice as I can be but I will not tolerate—”
“I care not what you will or will not tolerate. I hate you! May the Gods above decide to take you for all I care! Odin should spread his arms and swallow you into the depths of the very sea! I will never give you what you can’t even take!”
The sharp crack of his hand connecting with her face startled both of them. Pressing a hand against her cheek, Amoda stared at him for a moment, before her chin tilted up. “In future, my lord, I shall remember where I belong and set about staying there.” Gathering her shawl about her, she turned and all but ran for the castle.
She would not allow him to break her. She rushed past the people in the courtyard and up the stairs. Amoda ignored Byrne who watched her with a slight frown on his face. She had no time for the old man. The warmth of the bedchamber did little to ease Amoda’s anger and pain. Slamming the door, she sank to the floor and sobbed.
Eight
Mykyl strode past several young lads playing in the late morning sunlight, his eyes scanning the group of women doing laundry. He could hear their laughter and the faint rolling brogue of their native tongue as several sang. The slap of wet fabric against rock cracked across the air, sounding like a drum, keeping rhythm with their songs. The glorious mane he sought, however, was missing.
Stepping around a group of small children, he headed for the bubbling creek. Bracing a hand on a knee, he stared down at the women, his booted foot resting on the stone that jutted out.
“My lord.” Stuttering, Erin glanced at the others. “What can we—?”
“Where is my karras? I require her indoors.”
“My lord?”
“My woman, Amoda.” Mykyl leashed his impatience at the women’s confusion. In the years since he’d come to this place, the number of mistresses to spend their nights in his bed had been few. He much preferred dealing with the men and tactics for war. Women, he’d found, were a distraction he didn’t need nor want beyond a moment’s pleasure.
The women exchanged uneasy glances before focusing on Erin, who rose smoothly to her feet, her hands leaving wet splotches on her skirt. “She is watching the men training, my lord. She took her mending with her.”
Mykyl raised an eyebrow as he whipped around to stare past the houses and cottages to where he could see the rocky field his men used to practice their skills. Almost instantly, he saw the small figure sitting hunched over on a large, isolated boulder.
“By Thor.” Mykyl cursed fluently, turned, and stomped toward the woman. Obviously, she’d learned nothing from the incident with two of his soldiers, but mayhap he could teach her the lesson.
Clambering over several stone piles, Mykyl passed an older soldier sharpening his sword. He saw the astute, assessing way Amoda watched his men, as though her eyes sought to learn every move, every weapon.
“Have I been unclear?” Mykyl demanded, stopping inches from her toes. “Did I not say—?”
“I am not ashamed of my bruises.” Amoda glanced up briefly before refocusing on the men. “I am not guilty of any crime.”
“Your place is not out here watching my men train for battle! Your place is within the walls of my house!”
“Then slice my throat and be done with it.” Amoda smiled sweetly, a challenge within the green depths of her eyes. “I am mending. Where I choose to do so is of no concern.”
“You seem to forget where you are! I am not Rognvaldr, nor am I Olaf, and I will not tolerate your defiance. Return at once to our bedchamber before I am tempted to bare your flesh and redden it!”
Mykyl watched her stand and stare at him, a look of hatred in her eyes. “True, you are not your father’s priest. He would not have followed me so far from his bed. However, you are like him, a well trained pet.”
He watched her gather her mending to her, every move filled with leashed violence as she glared at him for a moment before stomping toward her sanctuary. With her head held high, Amoda moved swiftly, uncaring of the looks sent her way. Mykyl felt a prick of pride mix with his frustration. Obviously, Rognvaldr had done little to crush her spirit.
He had no choice but to win this war, to come out victorious. He would have to find something he could use to bend her will, a weakness, or desire so hot that it burned away her resistance, something he could use to his advantage.
“My prince?” Mykyl turned to stare at the young man hurrying toward him. Exhaling sharply, he waited for the scribe to come closer. “What is it?”
“Needs of state are pressing. Have you a moment to deal with them?”
“What needs?” Mykyl muttered; his attention on the redhead that stalked up the steps. He flinched at the violence with which she slammed the door.
“What do you wish us to do with the offering that has come in? I had Ádhamh put the horses in the stable.”
“Why am I offered these animals?” Puzzled, Mykyl forced his thoughts from Amoda and the troubles he had with her.
“Uh, Vidor’s daughter is of the age to marry. Her suitor has sent them to you to request her—”
“Aye, aye, I remember. Have the animals taken to Vidor’s farm. She is his daughter. The horses belong to her father.” He waved away any disagreement with a harsh stroke of his hand, already moving on.
“Prince Mykyl, we need to find accommodation for a new family that has come to us.” Byrne shuffled up.
Mykyl glanced behind the old man to where a young couple stood. The woman was heavy with child, tiredness etched into her features as she stood behind her husband who looked just as tired. “Put several of the unmarried soldiers in one house. The empty cottage shall be theirs.”
“And what of the offer for trade from the Irish Chieftain to the west? He has sent you—”
“I am aware of all he’s sent to entice me,” Mykyl snapped. “I just don’t know if in that particular situation is something I want any involvement. He is at odds with another chieftain with whom I have an agreement.”
“It is a profitable alliance, my lord,” Byrne protested. “You can hardly afford to ignore him. He has a large following of warriors.”
“You know the man. What do you think of him?”
“He is an honorable and just leader, my lord. I believe an alliance with you would help to lower the risk of war between Quinne and Mallone. As well, you would have access to his lands, his men, supplies. It is a generous offer.”
“Send a messenger then.” Mykyl eyed a tall, muscled black stallion. “Have this Irishman send forth his agreement, signed in blood. I will not allow war between allies. We’ve enough problems with the Danes.”
“Aye, my lord.” Byrne paused, a look of indecision upon his face.
“Am I to think there is something else, Byrne?” Mykyl demanded impatiently.
“Aye, my lord.” Byrne’s look sent the young man scurrying off, leaving them with as much privacy as a busy stable could. “You may be too harsh on Amoda.”
“What do you mean?”
“She did nothing,” Byrne declared. “Those two young soldiers followed her uninvited, my lord. She only meant to escape her thoughts and went to discover the herbs and plants around here. ‘Tis not the first time she’s gone searching, I’ve followed her myself once.
I beg of you, show her some leniency. Amoda is fiercely protective of hersel
f, she would not offer to another what is yours.”
“You are certain?”
“Aye.”
Mykyl stared at his old advisor for a moment. Byrne spoke the truth. As fiercely determined as Amoda had shown to be to remain out of any man’s bed, there was little way she would attempt to seduce a pair of young soldiers. This meant that his men had acted with poor judgment. He would need to investigate further.
“Byrne, have Anrai and Garth come to the great hall. I would speak to them.” Mykyl patted the sleek neck beside him. “Tell them to make haste. I’ve no patience this day.”
“Right away, my lord.” Byrne hurriedly shuffled toward the small home he occupied with his family. Catching the eye of the young lad who worked for him, he waved him closer.
Mykyl watched Byrne speaking to the boy before he darted off in the direction of the fields. Ignoring the glances from the women hanging out their wash on the rocks, he strode past them and up the steps.
Slamming the door, Mykyl watched two young girls dart from the room, fear on their faces. With a glance around at the silent, empty room, he moved down the three steps and over to the massive table. “Bring me some warm bread and cheese,” he ordered quickly, “And a horn of mead.”
~ * ~
Impatience crawled along his nerves as he watched the servants vanish with the empty tray. He’d long since finished his meal and the young soldiers had yet to make an appearance. Mykyl tapped the blade of his dagger on the worn, wooden tabletop, his eyes narrowed on the door.
“My lord, you sent for us?” Anrai bowed as he dragged his friend Garth before their lord. Naked fear bleached the color from both their faces.
“Indeed, some time passed. Where were you?” Mykyl stared at the last of his drink.
“Uh, out past the, uh, stone fence. We had begun training, my prince.”
Mykyl straightened gracefully, his gaze steady upon them. “Tell me, why would you assume that you have the right to touch what is mine?” He spoke gently, almost kindly, before raising the horn to his lips and drinking the last of the pale liquid.
“My lord?”
“Do you believe you are free to take what is not yours?”
”I am uncertain what you mean, my lord,” Anrai squeaked out, fear making his stance unsteady.
“Your actions two days past are unforgivable. You both are aware of Amoda’s place within my house, and yet, neither of you had any fear of—”
“Prince, may I speak on our behalf?” Anrai pleaded. “Tis your woman’s fault, sir. She tempts even the most noble of men. We had no ill intents. We saw her leave the gates and followed—”
“Aye, she is tempting, spirited like a wild horse, and just as untamed. She went out to gather herbs for potions, for medicines for my people, and you followed her! You purposely followed her from the safety of these walls, from your duties.” Mykyl paused. “Tell me, how is that not ill intentions? Amoda is not yours. She does not occupy your home, your bed. How is it that you feel you have the right to touch her?”
“My lord, please. We meant no treachery. She is a slave, and—”
“She is mine!” Mykyl roared, slamming his fist down upon the table. “I should slit your throats for your acts!” He watched their already pale faces blanch at his words and smirked coldly. “I will not though. I will ensure that you provide an example of what happens when you betray me. I want your best horses. You will give them to me as penance. Next time, I will not be so merciful. Now get out of my sight.”
Anrai and Garth exchanged relieved glances at his words and turned to scurry toward the doors.
“Cross me again and the penance will be greater.” Mykyl watched them trip over themselves at the door. Young and foolish, their actions had been for naught and he would accept no excuse. It best they realize it forbidden to touch what belonged to him.
~ * ~
Settled by the fire, Amoda ran the brush through her hair. She had hidden from Mykyl all day, seeking the sanctuary of her room rather than deal with his temper, and now, as the shadows grew long, she wanted sleep. With each stroke of the brush, she cursed her lord. He had withdrawn since their conversation at the edge of the training field.
Even the other servants had walked carefully around him lest he explode in anger. She had seen that his men noticed the lord’s odd mood and went about their plans with quiet dedication.
She’d also noticed the men prepare for battle, gathering arms, horses, and supplies. The blacksmith stayed busy, shoeing horses and forging weapons. Men polished and stored their armor easily within reach. Women busily mended clothes and gathered stocks for war.
Amoda set her brush aside and rose to walk to the bed. She sat down on the edge and plucked at the fur beneath her. She did not want to be in the middle of a war. Still she had no other option. If she ran, he would simply catch and punish her—mayhap a beating or worse, selling her to another lord would be the justice he decreed; neither choice a pleasant contemplation.
With only the flickering of the fire to light the room, she crawled beneath the furs. With her head on the pillow, she stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. What did it matter if she let him use her body? He would grow tired of her soon enough, and she would be free of the worry when he moved on to the next girl.
She shoved aside the sharp bolt of pain at the thought. There would be no way she could maintain distance between them if she cared for him. Aye, she needed the safety and warmth of his embrace—but she didn’t want the heartache that came with it. Amoda closed her eyes and sought the safety of sleep.
Thick, black columns of smoke rose high into the air unheeded amid the terror of the sudden and blinding attack. The acrid billows rose in seeming mockery of the hot, summer’s sun. High above, circling through the clear blue of the sky, scavenger birds called to one another.
The echoes of swords clashing competed with the clatter of hooves on stone. Screams of men and women ripped apart what had been calm. Shouted commands and pleas for mercy muffled and distorted by the violence inflicted.
“Take her. Keep her safe!” A pretty woman dressed in royal finery pushed her into the nurse’s arms. She glanced desperately at the doors that shuddered beneath the onslaught of the invading army. “Take the stairs. Go Amoda, go with Fiona and be safe. I love you.”
“No, Momma, please. Let me stay with you!”
“No! Please. Fiona go, take her!”
Like a huge beast, the doors flew open, splintering in all directions like giant teeth intent upon devouring those before it. The flutter of fabric was the last that she saw of a tall, fair-haired invader as she hustled into the secret chamber.
“No!” Screaming, Amoda bolted upright, her gaze darting around the room. Pushing her hair away from her face, she could feel her heart pounding, feel the terror that clung to her mind and sobbed.
“Amoda?” Mykyl’s concerned tone drifted from within the shadows near the hearth as he rose to his feet.
Amoda swiped at the hated tears. She glared at Mykyl who watched her unreadable eyes. “What?”
“You were screaming in your sleep.”
“It is nothing, a bad thought. Do you need me to fetch you something?” She asked to distract him. She tossed the furs aside and slid off the bed.
“Nay.” Mykyl shook his head and undressed quickly. He slid beneath the covers and lifted them, allowing Amoda to slide stiffly into their bed. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping her in his arms. “‘Tis alright to be afraid. I swear you are safe here, within these walls, within my arms.” He dropped a light kiss to her temple, his embrace tightening as the tension slowly eased from her body and she snuggled closer.
“How can you be so certain? Once long ago, men thought themselves safe behind the walls of their keep. Now they are all dead.”
“‘Tis rare that a city can withstand the constant attack of a mighty force. A prepared lord would have a trained guard loyal to him to protect what is his.”
“Aye, he did. And it did
not save him or his people.”
“You know a goodly amount of such things. How is it that you know?”
“It does not matter, master.” Amoda rolled over to stare at the shadows that danced in a lover’s embrace along the wall. The truth was too horrific to recall. A sea of red rose around her like petals on the blooms and she shuddered.
“Tell me how it is you know this?” Mykyl whispered softly. His lips pressed kisses to her temple.
“I barely remember it, my lord; I was but a small child.”
“It haunts you though. Tell me what you remember.”
For a moment, Amoda debated telling him. What good would come of disturbing the demons that plagued her? Still, to refuse him might force him to a more unpleasant route. “I remember the ships; square sails that rose skyward as they bobbed and twisted in the wind along the river. They came like a tide breaking against the rock. Men would fall and still they spilled over the land. Burning, pillaging, and destroying. When it was over, the stones beneath my feet ran red with the blood of my countrymen, my family. Everyone was dead. I have often wondered why they did not kill me. What could I have done that would have saved us?”
“You were but a child; there was nothing you could do.” “I should have been—”
“Nay, you could no more have stopped my father’s army than you could halt the wind or the sea. He knows not what defeat is.”
“What will happen if this city comes under attack?” Amoda shifted onto her back. Her worried gaze sought out his. “What then, my lord? Who shall pay the price?”
“My men are well trained, Amoda. You need not worry yourself. The walls might crumble but they will not fall. Not while a man remains alive.”
“Am I to accept that you’ve decreed this? What if you and your men aren’t here? Your people must be protected.”
“The walls will provide the first line of defense. The open ground before them offers a clear line of site. You must remember, this is my city, these are my people…”
“I cannot accept that. I will not accept that you are so unclear, mayhap unaware of the needs of those around you. What if your enemies attack us? Tell me how you plan on saving all these people,” Amoda insisted.
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