Patricia Bates

by Patricia Bates

  “Does she not greet your guests?”

  “I sent her away,” Mykyl declared.

  “Why?” Tyr demanded. “Was she so lacking in—”

  “I sent her away to aide one of my trusted associates. That is all I shall say on the matter. Cahal, please see to it that King Tyr has all the comforts he desires.”

  “Aye, my lord. His quarters are ready.”

  “Excellent. A hot meal will be ready shortly, along with some mead.”

  Mykyl left his father and brother standing, staring at him as he stormed back inside. He would find her if he had to tear apart his estate, stone by stone.

  ~ * ~

  From beneath the branches of a massive tree, Amoda watched the river of men and horses flow past her. Eerily familiar, she swallowed against the rising nausea as she noted the banners that fluttered and whipped about in the wind. The color, the patterns, seemed no different from any other banner, yet they held a memory of violence and fear. .

  She shuddered as she caught sight of a familiar man mounted on a bay. Swallowing against the rise of bile within her throat, she rose and darted back into the woods. She had strayed too far from the temple and would not allow discovery of her whereabouts.

  “Something troubles you?” Sodja’s voice startled her as she hurried through the quaint house the older woman had offered for Amoda’s exile.

  “Aye, there are many banners, men, and horses that move by.”

  “‘Tis the king and his court. They have arrived for the Prince’s nuptials.”

  “I am aware of that, Priestess.” Amoda stared out over the lush life of spring. Feeling the baby kick beneath her heart, she raised a hand to her expanding belly and rested it there. “It is the banners themselves that trouble me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Amoda trailed a finger down the scar on her face, “I have seen them before.” Leaving the priestess in stunned silence, she turned and made her way through the crammed corridors to her simple room. Closing the door softly, she sank onto the thin, lumpy mattress and stared at the wall. The pain settled within her heart for her life at the manor house. She missed it nearly as much as she missed her lord. There were moments when she wanted to run back to him, to swallow her pride and become a willing mistress to his desires. However, she couldn’t do that. She could no more risk her son than she could make Mykyl love her.

  When she’d run from him she’d tore a part of herself away, leaving it behind her without a thought. Mykyl had no idea he held a part of her in his hands, no idea that he had claimed her heart as well as her body.

  “I cannot go back. I cannot condemn my son to a life of misery to serve my own greedy heart.” She curled up on the bed, her back to the door. Her eyes swam with tears, and sobs wracked her body.

  ~ * ~

  The crackle and snap of the fire seemed loud in the silence as Mykyl sat alone in his small, private hall. The seemingly endless parade of demands from his father and brother had stilled for a moment, but it did not bring him comfort. Peace surrounded him, offering no indications of time passing, no servants, and no annoying voices to disturb him. Instead, only his thoughts, his memories kept him company.

  Watching the dancing of the flames, a soft smile drifted across his face. Her hair had shone copper in the light of their fire. The softness of her tresses had wrapped around him and cloaked him in the silky warmth as they lay together. He could still feel the caress of the strands flowing through his fingers, wrapping in them, teasing, and caressing him into the fire of passion. He’d spent hours watching her comb it out, watching the burnished copper flash and dance in the flame light. The way it curled around her shoulders, the way it lay over her breasts.

  “Brother, I see you are awake.”

  “What is it you seek, Olaf?” Mykyl heard the bitterness, the curt notes in his voice but made no attempt to mask them. He had no use for the older man. Too much had passed between them for there ever to be peace. Olaf strode further into the room, his thick arms crossed over his rounded belly. “You stole something that belongs to me.”

  “Did I? I thought I merely retrieved what you took from me,” Mykyl replied icily.

  “The red-head is hardly an equal to Darina.”

  “Aye, they are not equals. Still, you saw her, you took her, you killed her.”

  “I believe the babe she carried killed her. Not I.”

  “You planted the seed.” Mykyl poured himself a full horn of ale and stared into the flames. Memories that he had long buried rose to swirl around him, awakening pain and misery he’d long denied. Memories from a time when he’d known love and tasted the forbidden desires that had ultimately come to an ill end. Memories that paled in comparison to what he felt now.

  “She needed a man, not a lad.”

  Mykyl merely shrugged. He would not give a passing thought to his brother, “So what is it that you want?”

  “I want my thrall back. By rights, by the law, she is mine and as such—”

  “Do not tempt me, brother. You have no more use for her than you have for the wife you have!”

  “She is mine!” Olaf roared, his face turning mottled purple with rage.

  “Nay, she is not.” Mykyl lunged to his feet. “You only want what I have.”

  “What is it that you have, Mykyl? A slave that you’ve used to warm you bed and sate your lust? Rognvaldr must have trained her well for you to defy me so.”

  “Oh yes, I saw the results of your priest’s training,” Mykyl snarled. “The bruises, the scars. I have no more use for him than I do you. You are here for your wounded pride, nothing else. You’ve lost face amongst your men and want to repay my actions.”

  “I will have her back.”

  “Nay, you will not,” Mykyl replied grimly. “You think you’ve won but you haven’t. I will not give her to you.”

  “It is my right to have my thrall—”

  “She is not a slave.” Mykyl waved away his brother’s claim. “I have given her freedom for her service to me. Or did you not listen earlier?”

  A look of shock and rage filled Olaf’s face, but Mykyl refused to back down. His hand slid down his body to grip the hilt of his sword. He would be ready for Olaf’s explosive rage. “Now, get out of my private hall. I wish to be alone.”

  “You coward, you have no idea what you’ve done! I will have her back even if I have to take her.”

  “I will fight to protect what is her right. She is a member of my court and as such deserving of my protection. You wish to go to war over a slight on your character, so be it.”

  “This is far from over.”

  Mykyl sank onto the chair as his brother stormed from the room. He felt chilled, weighted down with the misery of his loss, and yet he could not bring himself to reveal that he had no idea to where Amoda had run.

  The softest of sounds had him glancing up to see Cahal standing in the doorway. “What is it now?”

  “You did not give her freedom. You lied to him.”

  “It matters little if I have given her freedom or not. She is gone, is she not?” Mykyl snarled, slamming his fist down on the table. “I have lost everything and you wish to stand and reprimand me like some little boy!”

  “Nay, old friend. I wish to know why.”

  “Why?”

  “Why would you give so much away? You know that you have but to order it and your men will find her and drag her back to you.”

  Mykyl rose and walked to the hearth. He braced his weight on his arm above it and stared into the flames. “You still have not revealed your part in this matter.” He sighed. “It is no matter now, she is gone and there are no words to bring her back.” He wanted more than to be her master. He wanted her to want him, to need him. He wanted her to love him.

  “There are some words,” Cahal stated gently.

  “Words can be false,” Mykyl drawled. “I will not drag her back if that is not her desire. It has become clear to me. I want more than to be her master. She has to wa
nt to be here, with me, to need me, the way I need her.”

  “Your brother’s humiliation is enough.” Cahal crossed his arms. “What more could you need of her?”

  Mykyl shook his head. “‘Tis my burden, my penance for testing the Great Father. Tell me where she is.”

  “I cannot tell you. Let her be, my lord, let her go.”

  Mykyl shook his head, anger and pride warring. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lose what little he still held. Part of him longed to know for sure, another part, realized that even if he found her, even if he begged and pleaded, Amoda would never return to a house that did not belong to her. She’d been honest with him when they’d made their bargain. He’d betrayed her and now he would suffer the consequences in silence.

  ~ * ~

  Olaf paced the small room Mykyl had given him and his wife, his face twisted with rage. “The fool, he protects what has always been mine!”

  “My lord?” Meek, barely audible, the whisper drew his attention to his wife.

  “Be silent.” He sneered before returning to his pacing. “‘Tis a simple matter to find her. Once I have, I will take her, show where she belongs. I cannot stay here. Nay, I will have to slip away. North would be the best route, I can take her to—” He paused to stalk to the door and pull it open.

  A stone-faced soldier stood guard in the hallway. He turned to face Olaf who snickered softly before he issued his orders. “If anyone of Mykyl’s men leaves the city, follow. They are hiding my property and I will know where.”

  “Aye, my lord. I will ensure you are informed of anything.”

  “Excellent, I will desire to leave here in great haste once it’s located. We will ride north to my wife’s family and sail from there.”

  The soldier bowed low and disappeared into the shadows before Olaf closed the door softly. “I shall win, my dear brother, as I have always done!”

  Eighteen

  “What news do you bring?” Amoda demanded of the lone rider slowly climbing down from his mount. She stood in the safety of a small farmer’s shack, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Olaf is most unhappy at Mykyl’s refusal,” Cahal replied, securing his horse quickly. “They very nearly came to bloodshed when Olaf demanded your return and Mykyl declared you a free woman under his protection.”

  Amoda swallowed at the rising wave of nausea and turned away. “Come inside. I have tea on. Did he truly say I am free?”

  “Aye, Amoda, he did.” Cahal settled at the table. “It would be wise to return to the city. Once within the walls, you would be protected.”

  “Why? So that wretched spawn can sell me to some stranger at will? She has already made plans—”

  “She cannot, Mykyl freed you!” Cahal defended. “She has no power over you any longer!”

  “Freedom is not my greatest desire. Nay, for him to grant it would mean defying his father and that he won’t do.”

  “Amoda, it is not safe to remain here. Mykyl will find you and bring you back to the city.” Cahal shook his head. “Mykyl is a wretched man. He’s barely eating, not sleeping, as surly as wounded dog.”

  “As I am?” Amoda returned. “Look about you, Cahal, I live on a farmstead, I cannot work, waiting for the kindness and charity of Mykyl’s closest friend. I will not shame his son by staying within the city walls.” “You believe he is to have a son?”

  “Aye, I feel it.” Amoda rubbed the gentle swell beneath her apron. “The heir he wanted will be my legacy.”

  “There will be peace.” Cahal shifted, unease crossing his face. “Olaf and Tyr must return to—”

  “Nay.” Amoda reached out to grab Cahal’s arm tightly. “Be wary of this ‘peace’ between Olaf and Mykyl. Be wary of that vile copulation of a serpent and a dog. He comes at a time of tempest. He is not here for peace but revenge.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “The banners, the standards we took from the dead, they belonged to a Norseman. The same banners flew high in Bratthl’id when I was a girl. The ones Tyr flies now may be slightly different, but I know Olaf sent men to attack his own brother.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I must return to the manor house. Mykyl must know of this.”

  “He will doubt you. You must be careful, Cahal. Olaf will surely exact some form of bloodshed. He is not about to let Mykyl best him. Swear to me that you will watch over him.”

  “You are wasting away here. Come back to him,” Cahal pleaded.

  “I cannot,” Amoda whispered, looking at her cup. “It would destroy me to be so very close to him and yet never be able to touch him. With his marriage in place he no longer needs me.”

  “I see I cannot change your mind. I simply do not like the idea of you being so alone. Prince Olaf is not known for his understanding, and if he were to—”

  “You have told no one of my whereabouts?” Amoda asked.

  “Of course not!”

  Amoda smiled at the shock and anger in Cahal’s fierce reply. Grateful for his honor, Amoda met his eyes, “I realize that. Unless someone sees you leave, I will be safe. Please, my friend, tell no one of what has transpired. I will not give up my son, and I will not return to the city walls only to be shamed like some harlot.” “I shall do as you ask, despite my concerns. Are you in need of supplies of any sort?”

  “Nay. I am well. Say hello to Erin for me.”

  “Stay safe, my lady. I will guard you as I can; only I do not like this.”

  “The temple offered no true sanctuary for me. We both know that Mykyl is to wed within the clearing at the back of it. I could not—”

  Cahal’s smile dimmed with sadness as he reached across and took her hands. “I know. I shall return in three days.”

  Amoda nodded. “Three days.”

  Amoda rose from the scarred table and followed Cahal as far as the doorway. Leaning on the doorjamb, she watched Cahal ride across the uneven field, slowly fading into the dark grey of the summer rains. Rubbing her arms against the chill, she sighed, cold beyond the weather. With a gentle hand on her stomach, she rubbed the spot her baby kicked and moved back to close the door.

  ~ * ~

  Olaf glanced at the man suddenly appearing before him. “Well?”

  “It is as you said, my lord.” The man bowed slightly. “She is in a small farmhouse to the west of here.”

  “Anyone else there?”

  “Nay, she seemed to be alone. However, she did have a visitor. Your brother’s captain spent several minutes with her before riding back. I observed her for another day before riding back to you, my prince.”

  Olaf rose from his place next to the fire and stalked to the window to stare at the bustling village. He would go out and retrieve his possession, and he would make sure she knew her place. The rustle of fabric to his right drew his attention for a moment, and he glanced sharply at the woman sitting, working on her sewing.

  “Saddle a mount for me, and have Eric join us.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Olaf watched the young soldier slip from the room with a smirk. He would bind the thrall to him as tightly as he had bound his wife. “Wife, come and serve me,” he barked at the woman who jumped but rose to her feet and made her way toward him.

  “My lord?”

  Olaf chuckled at the fear and nervousness within his wife’s voice. He moved to close the door. A soft murmur and whimper from her did little to halt him as he enforced his will on her.

  ~ * ~

  Righting his clothes, Olaf let his wife slide down the wall, to pool in a tangled heap of fabric and tears.

  He stalked toward the door, jerking it open and leaving her in a shaking, sobbing huddle on the floor, her hands scrambling for the torn clothing she’d been wearing.

  Olaf ignored the young woman who appeared in the hallway and slipped silently into the room he had left. His thoughts were already far away on the small, unprotected house outside of the city walls.

  ~ * ~ />
  Amoda glanced up sharply at the pounding of hooves. She moved to the window and froze. Gasping in agonizing shock, she clutched at her stomach. The sight of the obese man drew fear like blood, and she searched the room for an escape.

  “Nay, I will not go back.” Terror clutched at her throat, making it difficult to breathe as she listened to the hoof beats slide into the gravel as the rider dismounted.

  Amoda couldn’t stop the scream as the front door crashed inward, splintering easily beneath the weight of a booted foot. Stumbling backwards, she stared at the man filling her small house with his fury. She clutched at the knife on the counter, frozen with the terror of her past.

  Olaf sneered at her. “I see you are still alive.”

  “Aye, I am.” Amoda stood frozen as he advanced slowly. Her fists clenched to stop the tremble within them. The others who had come with the prince entered the house.

  “So my brother freed you, did he?”

  The sharp, bitter laughter sickened Amoda, but she held her tongue. It would do no good to provoke the man. Rather she’d wait for her chance for escape. She kept her back to the wall as she watched him circle around her.

  “My lord, her hair.”

  Amoda’s hand flew to the thick braid that hung over her shoulder in shock. The russet curls had captivated Mykyl, the countless hours he’d spent running his fingers through the tresses had delighted him.

  She wished desperately that she were back there, back in the darkness of their shared chamber, lying still, listening to his heart pound as he traced over her curls. A longing to feel his fingers plucking at the knots and tangles, a night of passion always filled her as she stared at the intruders.

  “Indeed, I see he never cut it. Your dagger.”

  “Nay, you cannot mean to—” Amoda protested as the prince’s aides grabbed and held her steady. Pulling and twisting within their grip, they dragged her across the room and held her down on the table. The sharp blade sawed through her hair, severing the locks at her shoulders easily. With each lock that fell to the floor, she sobbed. Biting the hand of one of the soldiers as he held her wrist too close to her face, she welcomed his outraged cry.