Sobbing and shaken, Amoda could feel the tug on her hair, the small stings hurting more than a blow would have. She kicked at her attackers, rolling in their grasps in an attempt to escape. She felt her foot connect with the soft, fleshy groin of one man. The outcry only added to her fervor as she pulled on her arms.
“Be still you, foolish harlot,” Olaf ground out as he tossed another handful of crimson aside and moved around the table to stand between her legs. “You should know I always get what I want, and my dear brother is not going to stop me from taking what is rightfully mine.”
Amoda stared at him, hatred and disgust rolling within the pit of her stomach. She refused to grant him a scream, or any indication of fear. Instead, she bit her lip as she heard the fabric of her tunic ripping and the cool, moist air whisper over her skin. She gagged as he mauled a bare breast but didn’t make a sound.
“You couldn’t take anything from him if your life depended on it. You traitorous bastard, you’re a vile disease on his blood, a stench on your own house! Do you think he hasn’t figured out who attacked his city last winter? Do you believe he’s forgotten who and what you are? Slinking about in your own filth because you aren’t even half the man he is.” Amoda spat as she struggled, pulling on her arms as she slowly slid across the table. She struggled to hide the shudder at the feel of his groin pressed against the soft core of her womanhood.
“Shut up!” Fury filled his tone as he roared at her.
Amoda’s world tilted and became hazy as she felt the full force of his fist against her face. She struggled to curl into a position to protect her baby even as she felt heavy hands holding her shoulders down. With each repeated blow, her world spun even more, the pain filling her mind and body until she could barely feel anything else. Dazed, she barely felt the harsh, clumsy groping at her breasts, or the rough fabric that rubbed against her legs. She barely heard the crude laughter from Olaf’s two men or their demands for a turn when he’d finished with her.
Jolted back to reality, Amoda kicked out at Olaf as she felt his fingers trailing across the pale skin of her thighs. She felt the give of her foot as it connected with his groin. The angry snarl from him came a moment before he pulled her to her feet by her hair.
Throwing both hands out in front of her, she caught herself as he threw her across the room. Turning to glare at them, she gasped at the agony coursing through her body.
“Do you believe that Mykyl will come charging in and rescue you?”
“I believe nothing,” Amoda whispered as her eyes fell on the knife that lay before her. Clutching it with fingers that shook, she turned slowly to face Olaf, hatred and rage boiling within her, flowing over the fear to cascade into a whirlpool of emotion. Lifting the knife, she sneered at them. “You will not have what belongs to your brother.”
“You insolent—”
“I learned my skills with a blade on the battlefield.” She held tightly to the tattered remains of her clothes and glared at him. “You will never win. Mykyl is twice the man you think you are. Everything you touch, you poison. Mykyl knows it, his army knows it, and you cannot deny it. I am Mykyl’s, and you will never have what is his.”
Olaf strode toward her fury in every line of his body. “How dare you? You are nothing more than my horse, perhaps less. I shall decide if you are a fine mount.” “You will never discover that,” Amoda replied. She swayed dizzily as she realized what the pains might mean. Swallowing, she clutched at the babe beneath her heart and prayed for mercy from the gods.
“I will never submit to you. He will kill you for this. Mykyl is devoted to his child,” she ground out through clenched teeth.
Olaf’s shocked face was the last thing she saw as her world went black the emotion, quickly replaced by rage and fear.
Nineteen
Striding hard-heeled down the corridor, Mykyl caught a glimpse of his sister-in-law. She looked weary and ashamed as she shuffled past him. Her glance darted to his face then away, a sign of fear quickly masked. His brow furrowed thoughtfully as he realized he’d seen more of Sonja than he had of Olaf in several days. He couldn’t exactly recall the last time he’d seen his brother, could remember only Olaf’s determination to retrieve his ‘thrall’.
He paused as a dangerous thought filled his mind. Could Olaf have located Amoda? The other man’s desire to reclaim his woman bothered him much more than he’d admitted. There could be no worse treachery than what he’d endured from his brother before. Olaf did not want Amoda, the woman. He wanted to use her to humiliate, to discredit him.
He admitted, if only to himself, that his attraction to the young Irish maiden his brother had wed before he could was based upon youth. He’d respected her family’s power, but he realized now that he’d been more embarrassed than hurt by Olaf’s claiming of the young woman. What he’d felt then was a boy’s emotion. It paled in comparison to the love he felt for the woman who, until recently, had occupied his bed, and his life. Aye, to lose Amoda to Olaf’s jealousy would destroy him.
“I’ll cut out his heart,” Mykyl muttered, stalking into the summer rain. His scowl tightened as he realized that his brother’s horse had vanished from the stable.
“Byrne!” he bellowed.
“Aye, my lord?”
“Where is my brother?” Mykyl demanded as his herald hobbled toward him as quickly as his old legs would allow.
“He left some time ago with two of his men. I know not where he has gone.”
“Where is Cahal?”
“He’s with his wife and sister. When I spoke to him he said that he wanted to speak with Erin and would not be disturbed.”
“Bring him to me.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Bring them both to me,” Mykyl snarled, uncaring of anything Cahal wanted at the moment.
Byrne bowed low before scurrying off. Mykyl watched his retreat, a slow burning rage settling within his gut. Olaf would not hesitate to hurt or even kill Amoda if she displeased him.
“You sent for me, my lord?” Cahal’s firm tone drew his attention.
Mykyl launched his attack without a second thought. “Where is she?”
“My lord?”
“I have no time for games, Cahal. I will know where Amoda is, now. Olaf has ridden out, and he’s determined to retrieve her. Where is she?” Mykyl snapped. He saw the pallor, which overtook Cahal’s face. He may have lost her to his own foolish pride but he would not abandon her to Olaf’s mercies.
“She’s at the farmer’s cabin to the west. But Olaf would not—”
“He had someone watching; I am certain of it. He has been very single-minded in his pursuit. Make ready to leave immediately,” Mykyl ordered, his steps hurried as he rushed to gather his weapons. A sudden pain clench of his heart, made him stumble. If indeed Amoda was with child then he could lose both of them. His pace increased, driven by the fear clawing at his throat.
“What is the ruckus about?” Tyr demanded, stepping into the doorway of Mykyl’s bedchamber. He stared at his son gathering his sword, bow, and a quiver full of arrows.
“I have no time for you, Father.” Mykyl buckled on his scabbard, his eyes scouring the room for anything else he may have missed. His mind was already on the trail, the shortcuts, and the easiest, quickest way to get to Amoda before his brother did.
“You will answer me, Mykyl.” Tyr’s voice was cold, harsh, demanding a response from Mykyl.
“This is my house,” Mykyl ground out. “Not Brattahlid, my court, Father, and I have not the time for idle talk.”
“And your brother?”
Mykyl froze and turned to look at the old man standing staring at him. “When I find him, I will be sure to extend your concerns.”
“Hold a civil tongue—”
“I do not care to speak of this now. There is much to do and very little time to do it. I will not risk the loss of one of my people for your time,” Mykyl snapped impatiently, uncaring how Tyr took his words or his actions.
“Whe
re is the slave you stole from Olaf? That girl belonged—”
“Amoda is free! She belongs to no one.” Mykyl stalked past Tyr and hurried down the steps, ignoring the looks from those within the great hall, including Lady Mallon who stared at him in horrified shock. Mykyl hurried down the steps, ignoring his father who trailed behind him.
~ * ~
Racing over the trail, Mykyl allowed Cahal to take him in the right direction. Need clawed at his heart as he pushed his stallion harder. He needed to reach her before Olaf did, needed to see her whole, safe. He would kill Olaf if anything had happened to the young woman who’d become his whole world.
“My lord, we are less than a mile from the farmhouse. If she is there, it will not do well for you to show yourself. She fears your retribution.”
“Why?”
Cahal’s guilty look and the way he shifted uneasily in the saddle angered Mykyl. “She fears you will take her back to the manor house. She does not—”
“I care not what she wishes at this point. Her safety comes before her desire to stay where she is,” Mykyl snapped but pulled up his horse. “Go to the house, see if she is there. Return with your news or with her. Any protests from her lips shall fall on deaf ears.”
Cahal bowed his head respectfully before spurring his mount forward.
Mykyl watched his friend and captain disappear up the road and silently cursed. He knew he had no one to blame but himself for this mess. His entire life he’d done as his father had instructed. He’d sought the older man’s approval in most everything. No more, he would not give another moment of his life to his father’s control. As the lord and master of Woodstown, he would not sway from… his thoughts scattered at the thunder of hooves.
“My lord!” Cahal shouted as he drew even with Mykyl, his mount dancing beneath him. “She’s gone. They’ve taken her.”
“Where?”
“I do not know. Their tracks head west.”
Mykyl roared with fury and whipped his mount’s head around. “I will know where he has taken her.”
“There is no one at the manor house that could—”
“His wife is there. So is my father’s priest,” Mykyl snarled. Whipping his horse into a full out gallop, he raced back to his home. Galloping beneath the arches at the gates, he pulled up beside the stable and dismounted. Stomping across the yard, he glared at anyone who stepped into his path.
“Where is she?” Mykyl roared as he slammed the front door.
“Who, my lord?” Erin froze in place, a startled, fearful look on her face.
“My brother’s wife? Where is she? Or my father’s wretched, foul plague of a priest.”
“I’ll fetch her,” Erin volunteered and darted off.
Jerking off his gloves, Mykyl tossed them onto the table and paced impatiently. With each step, his thoughts grew more tangled. What would Olaf gain by leaving a wife behind to steal a slave?
“By the gods I shall slice his throat for this,” Mykyl ground out as he waved away a servant girl who held a goblet of ale. He had no time for drunkenness.
“My lord.”
Mykyl turned his glare on the man standing in the doorway. “What is it, Cahal?”
“I fear this is worse than you believe.”
“How do you mean?”
Cahal shifted uneasily, fear within his eyes as he moved into the room, closing the door quietly. “She begged me not to speak of this.”
“Who?”
“Amoda,” Cahal shrugged as he stared into the ashes of the fireplace. “She seemed so determined not to bring you shame that I doubt if she thought it through. She loves you, you see. She wanted more than to bring shame to you, to your—”
“Get to the point,” Mykyl croaked, Cahal’s words soaking into his bruised heart and healing a bit of the pain.
“She is with child, my lord.”
“With child?”
“Aye. She is with child, just starting to grow round with it.”
Mykyl paled considerably at Cahal’s words. Fear for Amoda raced through his blood. His eyes scoured the room without seeing anything; his mind raced with the implications. If Olaf knew that the child was his he would not hesitate to kill both of them. Mykyl swallowed and turned to stare at Cahal who shifted uneasily, shame coloring his face.
“You left my karras, my child out there?” A note of steel in his tone, he caught Cahal’s flinch at his words.
“She refused to come back. She would not bring a child into a world of slavery. The priestesses convinced her to go no further than the farmhouse. I spoke of returning to the manor house more than once, and she refused. She feared that you would be ashamed of your bastard and not claim him. It tore out her heart to know of your upcoming union with the Lady Mallon, and with the very real threat from Lady Mallon, she felt safer on her own.”
“Dear gods, I will kill him if he so much as touches her.”
“You summoned me, my lord?” A soft, shy tone drew both men’s attention to the woman standing in the doorway.
“Yes, I did. Tell your women to leave us.”
The young women moved off hesitantly as soon as Sonja waved them away. She didn’t speak as Mykyl closed the door and moved to stare at her.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Do not play games with me, princess. Where is my mistress, Amoda?” Mykyl stalked her, anger and barely controlled violence within each step.
Sonja cast a startled glance between Cahal and Mykyl before she moved further into the room. “I do not know. Olaf only mentioned that he would take her back. That he would be sure she knew her place.”
“He must have said something more. Hinted at a place he felt he could—”
“There is my family’s home, but he would not take her there. He spoke of sailing with her.”
“You seem awfully willing to part with your husband’s secrets,” Cahal interrupted.
Sonja glanced between the two men and shrugged. “I have no loyalty to Olaf.”
“Why is that?”
Sonja sighed. “I will do whatever I can to assist you in finding your woman, my lord. If you wish, I can give you directions to my family’s estate.”
“Then do so. We will leave as soon as my men can be readied.” Mykyl glanced at Cahal. “Inform the men that they must be ready and able to fight on arrival.”
Cahal bowed and slipped out of the room.
Sonja waited for the door to close before turning to face Mykyl. “He resents that you took her.”
“She is a pawn to him, something to be used then discarded.”
“And she is not to you? From what Olaf has said, you took her to humiliate him.”
“It may have started that way, but it will not end that way. Tell me what you know, woman, or so help me—”
“If he knows I have revealed anything, he will kill me.”
Mykyl nodded, “Aye, that is his way. If it displeases him, kill and replace it.”
“My home is north of here. Possibly a week’s worth of riding. There are several castles, Irish minor kings, and barons along the way to assist you. My father still maintains the home in Limerick.” Sonja paused. “It is near a river so he will sail with her.”
“Gods help her,” Mykyl ground out.
“My lord, I will pray for you.” Sonja smiled weakly at him.
“Your kindness is appreciated. Remain here, within my city.”
“My lord.” Cahal stalked into the room and bowed before them. “The men are ready.”
“We ride north.” Mykyl led the way out into the weak sunlight and glanced around. Catching sight of his man, he called out to him. “Byrne!” Mykyl waved the man closer. “I have several tasks for you.”
“What do you wish of me, my lord?”
“Firstly, see that my brother’s wife is safe. I leave it up to you to remove Lady Mallon from Woodstown. I shall not honor my father’s alliances.”
“And your father?”
“He may attempt
to seize control,” Mykyl replied. “No matter though, I will do all in my power to ensure my people are safe.”
“What of Amoda?”
Mykyl glanced at the expectant faces that surrounded him. He pulled on his gloves and mounted before answering. “My wife to be will want her citizens cared for. I will not return without her. I leave you with a most daunting task, my friend, but I trust no one better.” Mykyl paused and glanced around. “And see to it that my father’s priest is kept under guard.”
“Aye, I shall do all in my power to ensure your will be done.”
“Is she worth it?” Cahal asked, sidling up to his mount.
Mykyl shifted, his knees tightening on the prancing stallion beneath him. “She is worth more, much more.”
With a long, bone-chilling cry of battle ringing on the air, Mykyl led his men out of the city walls.
~ * ~
Blinking groggily, Amoda rolled onto her back and stared at the blue sky for a moment as she collected herself. Her entire body screamed in agony from the beating Olaf had administered. He’d roared in fury as she’d refused to submit. Instead, she taunted him, fighting him with every ounce of strength she had. The rounding of her abdomen she discovered repulsed him; a fact she’d used shamelessly.
The sun set low, the sky beginning to show the burnt gold and oranges of sunset. From the pitching and rolling beneath her, she knew they were moving, but the question remained as to where. Shifting onto an elbow, she stared around cautiously. She caught sight of the blue tinge to the rolling hills and swore. For two days now, they’d driven straight north, taking a road that few used. Still, she did recognize more than one landmark. They had traveled several days distance from Woodstown, a long, daunting walk but necessary.
She glanced at the men and noted their attention had focused elsewhere, a blessing as she turned to the thick, hard-knotted ropes around her ankles. Her bound hands made the task of untying a knot troublesome. With furtive glances at her captors, she managed to get one side loose enough to get her ankle free. Amoda slid the loosened rope off her other foot and tossed it aside in the wagon. Breathing heavily, she tucked the hem of her skirt around her feet, to cover her freed ankles. She turned her attention to the other rope.
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