Shooting his father a glare, Mykyl bowed at the young woman. “My lady.”
“My lord.” Her smile seemed shy, hesitant, but her eyes held nothing but an icy cold and cunning. “I have heard much about you.”
“All lies, I assure you.”
“They said you are a handsome, powerful man. I can see this with my own eyes. I see no reason to believe the other things are fabrications.”
“‘Tis still early in the season, my lord Mykyl. If you wish, King Tyr, I can perform the ceremony now.” Rognvaldr stood from the far side of the table, his gnarled hands tangled in the robes that shrouded his body.
“There must be purification for the wedding,” Lord Mallon interrupted. “A few months? Spring at the very earliest. It would be advisable to even wait until next harvest so that the wedding can be blessed.”
“Agreed,” Tyr interrupted him with barely a glance. With startling clarity, Mykyl realized, for all their talk the marriage would be a means to an end that held little importance over the true matter.
“Father, I must protest. I do not need nor want—” Mykyl protested, sliding into his native tongue. Unease settled like thorns in his flesh with the thought of taking a bride when he already had a woman at home. He would not allow anything to disrupt what he and Amoda had begun to build, albeit slowly.
“That will be all, Mykyl.”
Standing silently as his father and the other men left the room, Mykyl seethed with anger. To his father, his kingdom held more importance than the lives of his own flesh and blood.
“I shall take her back,” Olaf chuckled. “I am sure I can find something you have not touched about her.” Turning his head slightly, Mykyl met his brother’s stare. “I doubt that, brother.”
“You should have learned from experience. I am not as generous as you might wish me to be. Return what you stole.”
“Nay, I shall keep her. After all, she is not your betrothed.” Mykyl watched Olaf’s face pale before it mottled with red in his anger. “Take care, Olaf. One might mistake you for a fool!”
“You shall regret taking her.”
“You wish for another, a pure woman you can corrupt. Take the Lady Mallon. I have no need of her,” Mykyl retorted coldly before stalking out of the room, leaving his brother stewing in his own rage.
Catching sight of one of his lieges, Mykyl waved him over. “I want to ride at a moment’s notice. See that my men know it.”
“Aye, my lord.”
Watching the men and women that made Dublin come alive, Mykyl wondered how long before he could return to Woodstown, to his home.
Thirteen
The sound of a fast moving horse and screams tore through the still of early morning and drew attention from those already at work in fields. Dropping their work, everyone gathered to see what news had come with the terrified young man who tore through the fields and galloped in the gates.
“What in Agrona’s name is going…?” Cahal joined Amoda upon the steps of the manor house, an uneasy, perplexed look upon his face.
“Trouble,” Amoda replied softly and hurried to the boy who slid tiredly from the horse. “Boy, what is the matter? Where do you come from?”
“They attacked us! We had no warning. I live in the village a day’s ride east of here. They came swarming in like insects!” The boy panted, his eyes darted from Amoda to Cahal.
“Who?”
“Vikings and Irishmen. I did not know their banners.”
“Come inside.” Cahal turned the young man toward the manor house. “Vidor, see to the horse.”
“Aye.”
“I’ll gather some herbs and such and meet you there.” Amoda darted off.
Quickly gathering the herbs she would need, Amoda rushed along the corridor. Men and women had gathered, congesting it as they murmured amongst themselves. Brushing past the blacksmith, Amoda hurried down the stairs and over to the table where the boy sat. She set the basket down and collected a bowl of steaming water. “The dawn’s light had not yet touched us. We had only just risen to start the day. One moment, we bustled about starting fires and lighting lanterns, and the next, we were being over-run. They killed anyone who got in the way. Our chieftain’s wife sent those she could into the larder to protect them. Women, children, it did not matter, they burned the buildings, and the screams…”
“Relax,” Amoda soothed softly as she washed the boy’s wounds. “You have done right in coming to us. Are there other survivors?”
“Brianna, the lady of our—”
“Yes, yes. What of her?” Cahal waved away the boy’s introduction.
“She has gathered all of the survivors. I came ahead to plead for shelter at her order. We have nothing to offer in return. Everything was destroyed, you see.”
“You need nothing.” Amoda turned to Cahal. “They face certain slaughter if we do nothing.”
“Aye. When will they arrive?”
“Tonight, perhaps. In the morning would be a better guess. They are coming in several wagons. Our attackers will surely follow when they know.”
“We will deal with them then.”
Cahal stared at Amoda, shocked “Amoda, you are not—”
“I will not allow the only chance they have to slip away. These people are your responsibility, your task,” Amoda hissed at him. “Lord Mykyl bid you to stay and protect these people. That is your job, your place.”
“Aye, these people, this city, not every villager under the care of their own lord,” Cahal protested. “He will surely be displeased if he comes back to find your head upon some invader’s lance. I shall do what I can, but…”
“You do not understand, Cahal, if this city falls, everything you hold will vanish. I know what life as a slave is like—you have been fortunate enough to avoid that fate. Please, I beseech you don’t turn away from this.” Amoda’s voice broke with fear.
“Aye, I do not understand what life in bondage is like. I would do what I can to prevent anyone else from knowing what you do.” Silence filled the room at his words and everyone shared uneasy glances amongst themselves. Mykyl’s instructions had been clear, what would it mean to offer aide to an outsider?
“I will do what I can for them, but I will not kill our own to save them.”
“Think of it this way. Those that can fight will fight. Our lives are not so rich that they can’t be spared to save the children.” Amoda shook her head. She knew she would risk everything to ensure that she kept her promise, even angering her lord and master…and his closest friend.
“She speaks honestly,” Byrne interrupted. “We cannot run from a fight.”
“We need men who can fight. There are few left.” Cahal glanced between them.
“We will fight.” Amoda acknowledged the women huddled together, fear and uncertainty heavy in their faces as they listened to the conversation.
“You are not warriors. You’ve never been trained!”
“We will fight,” Amoda repeated firmly.
“You risk certain death. Women are not meant—”
“Then give us weapons.” Amoda waved her hand at the women. “Allow us to protect those that we love. Armed or not, we will die as quickly as you.”
“Mykyl will not be happy to return to your corpse,” Cahal murmured softly.
Amoda sighed and stared at the man whose anger danced in the air about him. “What good is life if you have to spend it in bondage? I gave my word to him that I would stay here. I can no more run than you can leave your wife and children. Cahal, please, if death is to be our fate then at least let us die defending what is ours.”
“Do you know how to handle a sword? Can you shoot an arrow? Could you kill if necessary?”
“We are not as weak as you may think. There is much to be learned from watching the old warriors,” Amoda replied, turning to tend the boy’s wounds.
He exchanged a look with Byrne before he shook his head. “How does he put up with you?”
Amoda grinned at her patient. “Th
ere are many things he enjoys about me, Cahal. We will follow your lead.”
“There is much to prepare. We’ll have to get everyone from the farms and settlements behind the walls.”
“Might I suggest that those who cannot fight be moved elsewhere?” The mere thought of a child or a pregnant woman killed because of the attack sickened her. Her stomach churned with fear, with unease. This battle would be hard, and the mere fact that the army came prepared to wage war through the snow and bitter cold of the season revealed their desperation.
Amid the murmurs of agreement and unease, Amoda stared at Byrne, who eyed her with a knowing look. “Something you have to say, old man?”
“He will be decidedly displeased if you miscarry of your freedom.”
“He has only been gone a month,” Amoda muttered crossly. She had no idea how far into her pregnancy she was. She simply knew that her body carried a new life. A missed moon cycle, nausea in the morning, and a tiredness that plagued her all revealed her condition.
“Does it matter how long he is gone?”
“What he does not know will not hurt him. I have no intent to miscarry.” Amoda glared at him. Doubts assailed her. Could she live with herself if she lost the child? More importantly, could she live with herself if she allowed a Prince’s son to become a slave? No, better to risk death than to risk capture.
“Be cautious, my lady.” Byrne laid a hand upon her shoulder. “You are showing a weakness.”
“I am a woman. I am allowed to have a moment of weakness.” Amoda rose to her feet. Anger had long since faded, replaced by more tender emotions that she could admit to, if only to herself in the darkness of her bedchamber.
“Nay, I see no weakness.” Byrne whispered softly. “Amoda, you have the power to destroy him. Be cautious how you use such power.”
Amoda watched Byrne shuffle off in amazement. She found the very notion that she held some sway over Mykyl difficult to swallow. She could not believe that he cared for her. To him, she offered a means to an end.
Nothing more than the broodmare he needed to get his heir, a means to further humiliate his brother. Once he had his son, she would be of no more use to him, and she would be free. The thought twisted like a knife within her heart.
“Amoda, what are we to do?”
Turning to Erin who stood watching her closely, Amoda straightened her shoulders. “Gather the women and children. If they cannot hold a weapon of any sort, escort them to the glen. There is a safe place there for them.”
“And you?”
Amoda glanced around at the young children racing around carrying swords, quivers full of arrows, and shields and sighed. “My place is here.”
Erin nodded. “Those with child or nursing, I shall send with the children. The rest of us will stand with you.”
Amoda smiled tightly. They would need all the help they could get. With the young, trained warriors gone, Amoda wasn’t too sure how long their weak defenses would hold. Fear pricked at the back of her mind and she ruthlessly silenced the thoughts. She would not fail these people.
I am not a small child now. I will not run, nor will I let another take anything from me again! She hurried through the corridors; her skirt flapping around her ankles with each stride as she avoided the others doing the same.
She paused before her chamber door before slipping inside. Leaving the door ajar, she rushed over to the bow and quiver hanging on the wall. “Forgive me,” she whispered as she took them down before heading for the great hall.
Carrying them into the room, she slipped past two young lads checking their own arrows. “These are Mykyl’s.”
“Do you know how to shoot a bow?” Cahal asked, nodding at the battle axe in a man’s hand as he walked past them.
Amoda nodded with a grin. “I’ve seen it done. I do not know how accurate I will be, but I’ll do my best.”
“We need to know how many are coming. I have no doubt that an army is coming, but I would like to know how many.”
“If we are to succeed, perhaps we need to catch them in the crossfire,” Amoda suggested, a frown on her face. With so few trained men, the chances of victory were slim. Catching the invading forces in between two separate forces would give them a better chance of success or delay the inevitable.
Amoda caught the shock in Cahal’s eyes as he turned slowly to stare at her. “It makes sense.” She defended her idea quickly. “You put the women who can fight within the city walls and put the more experienced boys and men out there where they can cut off the escape routes.”
“You’ve been talking strategy with Mykyl, haven’t you?” Cahal smiled at her. “Alright, we’ll do that. All able bodied men are to report here for weapons and instructions. Amoda, take the women and spread them out along the wall.”
Thankful that Cahal had allowed her to assist, Amoda nodded quickly before catching Erin’s eyes. She trusted the other woman; Erin could help to secure the wounded. “Every woman who can wield a weapon is to get situated along the wall. When the army gets here, they’ll assume we’re unprotected and launch a full-scale attack. As soon as they are close enough, we will strike. The men will hit them from behind.”
“Aye.”
“Erin,” Amoda paused. “Keep safe.”
“You do as well.”
Amoda smiled and hurried to get a position close to the gate. She felt no confidence in her limited skills with the bow. Still, she was certain that she could hit a target if it came close enough. She offered a quick prayer for victory to the gods, her eyes watching her friends as they rushed about, making ready for the dawn.
~ * ~
Dawn’s pale fingers had just started to pull back the night’s curtain when the sound of hoof beats filled the air.
The air was thick with tension and clouds of steam rose from those hidden around Amoda as they watched the army approach. From the shadows across the fields and rolling knolls, men and horses seemed to spring up like wheat.
Clouds of snow rose beneath the horses’ hooves, dancing in the morning air as they trotted forward. She shivered at the chill in the air, frozen in place by fear and a slow burning anger. Amoda glanced at the others as they felt the very ground beneath them tremble under the weight of countless horses. Amoda watched the men advance slowly, their horses snorting in the cold. From where she crouched, she could see the horses dancing beneath their riders, excitement and tension within their movements. Nickers tore through the air, stirring long forgotten feelings, and Amoda tightened her grip upon the sword in her hand.
She turned to survey the wall’s defense. Women hunched over with weapons, wounded men from Brianna’s village shivered in the early glow of morning. While not a strong defense, it would have to do.
“We are all ready. We will move upon your signal,” Erin whispered before she scurried into position.
Amoda nodded slowly and shifted on the hard, frost-covered ledge. Her fingers and toes had long since gone numb, her nose felt as though it was about to fall off, but she refused to move. To move meant to reveal her position to the advancing invaders and risk their discovery.
“Wait for just the right moment.”
A quick nod and the whispered instruction drifted down the line. Slowly, carefully the mounted men moved forward. Their horses pranced and tossed their heads, the tension growing heavier.
The roar of the battle cries rose to fill the winter air. Moment by moment, the screams swelled, rolling across the open expanse to crash against the rough walls of the city. Riding past the men hidden in the high rocks, in the trees, they didn’t seem to notice the armed men awaiting their retreat.
Weak sunlight glinted off the men’s helmets, the blades of their swords, and heads of their battle axes as they flashed them. The clatter of metal against metal competed with the sounds of their battle cries. As assiduous as poison, the volume and momentum grew until the long, drawn out cry of a battle horn broke the tension, and men and beast leapt into motion.
Her heart pounding
in her ears, Amoda watched their oncoming rush. The whistle of an arrow as it flew past her head made her jump. She swallowed against the bitter taste of her own fear and huddled further down. Barely visible, she folded up and stared through the cracks in the wall.
From down the line, she watched as the other women and young boys copied her. Pride warred with fear, as the gates seemed to shake. The walls trembled. Rising to her knees, she peeked out. Several mounted warriors had begun to try to get the gates open. Heavy ropes wrapped around the support beams, the riders turned to gallop back along the road. With a mighty roar, the wood splintered to leave a gaping hole in the wall.
With the first wave of riders through the gates, the fear and unease that had haunted her throughout the night, returned full force. Flexing her fingers, she shifted, her breath coming in terrified gasps as she saw the first wave of riders gallop through the breach.
The loud thud and shouts of the women around her stirred the anger within her. Refusing to surrender, she lifted the sword and swung. Cursing the bitter cold, she smiled weakly when a warrior fell from his horse.
“Now!” she shouted as the others fired repeatedly. Dropping the bow when a man scrambled up the ladder, she grabbed for the only other weapon at hand. Staring into his eyes as he lifted his axe, she prayed for courage.
Ducking as the axe head whistled over her head she lifted the lance and pushed it at her attacker’s chest. The loud crunch of metal on metal told her she’d hit him even as he stumbled backwards.
The splatter of hot blood upon her face drew a strangled scream from her even as she saw the large gash appear upon another man’s throat from the tip of her blade. Scrambling across the frozen wood, she skidded and slid down the ladder, the sword clutched tightly in her hand.
Jumping down the last two rungs, she swung at the back of a man, slicing into his exposed flank. The feel of metal sliding through soft flesh barely drew a pause from her as the others followed her.
Nodding at a young lad who scrambled from beneath the blade of a warrior, Amoda whirled as an arrow whizzed past her head. She saw the mounted soldier reach for another arrow, before a startled look crossed his face and he slid from the saddle to hit the ground hard, a lance through his back.
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