Magnar (The Wolves of Clan Sutherland Book 1)

by Mary Morgan

  Magnar lifted his head upward and sneered. “If you have journeyed across the sea, Halvard, I pray the Gods sink your ship before you reach the isles.”

  No sooner had one man shut the door to the inn than another came bounding through, bringing the fierce storm back inside. Fear slammed into Magnar’s body. Abruptly standing, he tried to control his breathing. Unable to wait for the man to approach, he shouted, “Why are you here, Gunnar?”

  Breathing hard, the man’s grim expression hardened as he approached. “Erik and Elspeth are gone—taken.”

  Not caring who witnessed his display of fury, he snarled. “Who?”

  Gunnar’s lip twisted. “The stench of Thorfinn and another were found by the trees near the stream, along with this.” He withdrew Elspeth’s sgian dubh.

  The howl of displeasure from his wolf filled Magnar. Unable to hold back his rage, he let out a roar and smashed his fists onto the table. The wood splintered and cracked in half. He barely heeded the plea from Gunnar and Rorik to temper the anger—his fury and pain too great. Darkness clouded his vision, and his wolf clawed to be released and seek vengeance. Kill the bastards who may have brought harm to his beloved—feel their bones crush within his powerful jaw. Rip the hearts from their chest and feast on their blood for stealing Elspeth from him.

  “Stop,” demanded Rorik. “You are shifting between man and wolf.”

  Within the murky depths of his wrath, Magnar battled the indecision to let loose the beast. His body shook with trying to control his raging emotions. The anguished howls of his wolf filled his head. He cupped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. Piercing agony writhed within his mind and body. But the brutal force of a sharp blade slashed his heart into strips.

  Rorik dared to move closer. “Unless you are prepared to battle us, we need you to cease so we can save them.”

  Magnar shuddered. Control. Bind. Focus.

  Displeased, his wolf howled and then relented.

  With his breathing labored, Magnar lowered his hands and slowly opened his eyes. “Sa…save Elspeth,” he avowed in a raspy voice.

  “And Erik,” Rorik added quietly.

  He gave a terse nod.

  Gunnar solemnly handed the sgian dubh to Magnar. “Before you take my life, allow me to assist in rescuing Elspeth. If you find me unworthy for this task, then use her blade to slit my throat. ’Tis the only honor I ask of you.”

  Magnar’s hand shook as he accepted the small blade. Rubbing his thumb over the worn leather of the sheath, he swallowed. He placed the precious item within the pouch on his side. Returning his attention to Gunnar, he noted the wariness and also the weariness within the warrior. Though his wolf cried out to take the man’s life, Magnar must first hear his account—one he reckoned would not be cause for his death.

  “When was the last time you ate or slept, Gunnar?” inquired Magnar.

  Frowning, the man wiped a hand over his brow. “Since we found they had been taken.”

  “Rorik, see to some ale and food—again,” ordered Magnar, glancing around the inn. “Should be an easy request, since most everyone has fled the building.” Most certainly from witnessing my outburst.

  “I cannot take any food or drink until we have rescued the lad and Lady Elspeth,” argued Gunnar, shifting his stance.

  Magnar let out a growl of displeasure. “If you want to remain with us on this journey, you will take sustenance. You are nae good to us in a weakened condition. While you fill your stomach, you can give your account.”

  The man nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

  Magnar crossed the inn and went to the hearth. With his pain and fury barely contained, he required distance to think. He looked beyond the flames.

  Where did they take you, my kærr?

  Rubbing his hand over his chest, he tried to ease the ache within. Elspeth had woven herself inside him. More than lust. More than breeding an heir. He dared not say the word within his mind, yet there it was lodged within his heart. Had he always known? Possibly, but he refused to declare the word out loud.

  Love.

  His heart, body, and mind loved Elspeth. The fear of losing her forever twisted his gut, and he banished it with a single thought. He curled his hand into a fist.

  “I shall search the ends of the earth to find you, Elspeth,” he stated with conviction. “Be strong, my wife. You are a true shield-maiden.” He clutched his torc. “Hear my prayer, Freyja. Never have I asked for anything from you, until now—until I can rescue them, keep Elspeth and Erik safe. Let nae harm befall them. Use your shield to protect them.”

  When the door to the inn blew open once again, Magnar looked over his shoulder. “Thank the Gods,” he muttered and went to greet Bjorn.

  “What news?”

  Bjorn wiped the water from his face. “One longship departed three days ago for the isles. Yet another one left this morn. The man described Thorfinn and one man, along with a woman and child.”

  Scrubbing his hands vigorously over his face, Magnar shifted his stance. His beast demanded to be set free. “Gather the other men.”

  Bjorn cast a sideways glance. “Loki’s balls! Why is Gunnar here?” His eyes grew wide as he turned back toward Magnar. “The woman and child are—”

  “Elspeth and Erik,” confirmed Magnar. “Have Ivar find any ship to take us to the isles and onto the shore. Anything will do, since we will leave all but one of the horses behind. I assign you to follow with the weapons. Once on the isles, we can shift into our wolves and catch the lad and Elspeth’s scent. You can follow on horseback with the weapons. Task Gilmore with informing the king and Sutherland of the enemies’ actions. The rest of the king’s men can ride back to Steinn with our horses.”

  Bjorn rubbed his nose. “With the storm, none will be willing to take us across.”

  “If they refuse, offer to buy the ship.”

  The warrior snarled. “Death to Thorfinn.”

  Placing a firm hand on the warrior’s shoulder, Magnar ordered, “His death is mine—nae other shall claim his life! Now go.”

  “Can I claim second death?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Magnar shook his head. “I reckon Gunnar will want that privilege, though I have yet to hear his account on how they were seized.”

  The man hesitated briefly and then stormed out of the inn.

  “You have woven your charm within my warriors, beloved. Be strong. We are coming for you both.” Magnar blew out a frustrated breath and raked a hand through his hair.

  And in a moment of clarity, his hatred for Thorfinn grew.

  He reached for a chair and scraped it across the floor to the table. Reaching for the jug of fresh ale, he poured a hefty amount inside his mug, sloshing liquid over the sides.

  “Venison stew and bread,” announced Rorik, shoving a trencher toward him and Gunnar.

  Magnar gestured to Gunnar. “Quickly give me your account.”

  As he devoured the meal, he listened with rapt attention as the man gave a detailed report of the day Elspeth and Erik had been snatched from Steinn. He then explained further how he tracked them through the forest and to the coast, where he had come upon some of the king’s men. After he alerted them to the disappearance of Elspeth and Erik, they directed him to the inn.

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Magnar pushed aside the empty trencher. He grabbed his mug and drained the entire contents. Placing the mug back down, he regarded the warrior. “You are not to blame, Gunnar. ’Tis not the first time my wife has disobeyed an order.”

  “If I might add, the guard did state he overheard Elspeth shouting at Erik to not go any farther from the main entrance.”

  Magnar rolled his shoulders. The effort mildly eased the tension that coiled within his body. “Nevertheless, as soon as we can procure a ship, we depart. Thorfinn has taken them across the sea.”

  “For what purpose?” demanded Rorik, pounding the table with his fist.

  His lip curled in disgust, recalling how he thought to bring hi
s brother into the brotherhood. “For the blue stone of Odin. I believe Thorfinn sensed the power and wanted to possess it for himself. He would have heard the tales growing up with the Northmen.”

  Rorik dropped his hands to his sides and stared at him in disbelief. “Then you ken the reason why he is taking her across sea.”

  “To take her to the blue caves and the temple of Odin on Orkneyjar where he can force her to give him the stone over the ancient flame,” confirmed Magnar.

  Rorik shook his head and let out a low growl. “He is a fool to think Loki will challenge Odin. Does he seriously believe the God will give him the power to take what is not his to claim? And they cannot wander inside without consent from the men who guard the caves sacred to Odin.”

  Rising slowly from his chair, Magnar regarded both men. He understood the grave situation they faced. “Even so, they have already departed. We can only pray that the God of the Sea slows their progress but grants us a swift passage across. Furthermore, I alone will battle Thorfinn to the death. There shall be nae argument. Finish your meal and then join me down by the pier.”

  Rorik lifted his mug. “Let victory be ours!”

  “Aye!” echoed Gunnar.

  Magnar steeled his emotions as he reached for his axe and cloak. Fury and fear would only serve to cloud his mind and body. When he reached the entrance to the inn, he threw back the door, letting the brutal sting of the wind and rain slash across his face.

  ****

  With one hand on the rope attached to a barrel and the other wrapped firmly around the limp body of her nephew, Elspeth’s body ached and her muscles burned as she desperately tried to remain seated inside the longship and not be tossed outward into the punishing seas. The wind howled in her ears, and the tempest of the storm battered her face. Several times, Erik heaved what little he had in his stomach onto the deck of the ship. He muttered an apology and then yielded to silence.

  Raw determination to keep them both alive had filled her when they first climbed on board. Did not Gunnar tell her she was a shield-maiden? How strange to think they were now heading to a land that was home to her ancestors, including her grandmother. She had never considered the isles her home—nae. The Northmen dwelled there. They came and slaughtered many in her country.

  Yet Norse blood flowed through her veins as surely as her Scottish heritage.

  Elspeth shifted to ease the onslaught of pain and water but to no avail. The storm was merciless.

  Another wave crashed over the side of the ship, filling her mouth and nostrils with the salty bitterness of the sea. Great spasms racked her body while her stomach heaved its watery contents onto the deck. The skin of her fingers burned in agony against the coarse rope, and her wrists were raw from the bindings she was made to endure as they traveled to the coast.

  The sea pitched the ship upward once again—before slamming down with such a violent force, her arm twisted. Pain gripped her in its talons as she tried to straighten her limbs. How long had they traveled? Time ceased to exist. One hour—one day bleeding into the next?

  With her resolve slowly fading, Elspeth bent her head on a silent prayer the storm would relent.

  Do you even ken where we are, husband? I fear we are not going to make land, and I will never have a chance to tell you what is inside my heart.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled the terror threatening to plunge her into its embrace. A sudden urge to rip the pendant from her neck and fling it out into the sea filled Elspeth. Her left hand uncurled from the rope. She clutched the stone through the material of her cloak, and her fingers tightened.

  Then nae one will have the power, if you are truly lost forever.

  Opening her eyes, Elspeth drew in a shaky breath, prepared to set free the blue stone.

  When a sliver of sunlight pierced the storm-cloud sky, she sighed. The light touched the side of the ship and spread toward her. Hope surged forth within Elspeth. She dropped her hand. Reaching her fingers toward the light, she waited for the warmth to touch her skin. A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

  I must have faith that you are coming, husband. For if I surrender the stone into the arms of the sea, I doom Erik and myself.

  Shouting from one of the men snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked in an effort to bring her vision into focus. Seawater continued to sluice down her face. Turning her head so she could hear better, Elspeth strained to make out what they were arguing over. She shuddered upon hearing Thorfinn’s voice, so like her husband’s. Apparently, the storm had sent them far west, instead of east to the inner main isle. Now they had to adjust their course and travel farther.

  Elspeth snorted at the twist of fate. She stared at the backs of both men, praying the ship might toss them into the water and spare the lives of her, Erik, and the few crew members attempting to cross an angry sea.

  Are you watching us, Grandmother? Do you help to guide the ship to a safe haven for us? Is not your homeland out there? If we cannot return to Scotland, then bring us safely home to Orkneyjar where Magnar can find us.

  With a renewed sense of strength, Elspeth took hold of the rope again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Steer the ship to center and then bend to the left!” bellowed Magnar, wiping another blast of seawater from his eyes. Thank the Gods the storm had abated, but the sea was ruthless.

  He pointed to the southern inward dip of the land near the coast. “Look! There is another ship. They have landed at Hamnavoe.”

  “How can you be certain ’tis them?” asked Rorik, coming to his side.

  He pounded his fist against his chest. “She is here. Nearby.” Magnar held back the knowledge that since he declared his love for Elspeth within his heart, a burst of unexplained power and connection to his wife grew inside of him. At one point on their journey across the sea, he thought he heard her speaking to him. And in response, he called out to her within his mind. Was this part of the powerful claiming his father had spoken of? He had no answers, save one. His love for Elspeth grew with each passing hour.

  Glancing sharply at his friend, Magnar hoped he’d fathom and trust his direction.

  Rorik braced his hands on the side of the bow. “The storm is lessening. Their travel across the sea must have taken them beyond the caves.”

  Magnar agreed. “Aye. This will mean it will take them more time to travel across the land.”

  “What if some did not survive the storm?” asked Rorik quietly.

  Returning his attention to the land, Magnar reflected on Rorik’s words and considered his friend’s unspoken meaning. What if of Erik had not survived? He gritted his teeth. Nae! You are strong, young chieftain.

  Directing his thoughts to their plan, Magnar studied the surrounding landscape—treacherous, wet, and mud-filled. The trees were few, but the hill they needed to ascend was a steep, rocky incline. Once over the crest, they could descend without delay to the caves below.

  However, Magnar’s concern happened to be with a certain tribe of men loyal to Odin. Any seeking entry into the temple of Odin without consent might face the blade of a warrior. Or worse, have the skin flayed from their body. He found nae fault with harm coming to Thorfinn and the others, but the tribe might not be so forgiving to a woman and child attempting to enter. No female was ever allowed, and surely not a young lad.

  He blew out a soft curse. Magnar prayed to the Gods they would not encounter the tribe on their quest and would permit him and his men to seek justice.

  As they drew near land, Magnar tempered the increasing strain to shift into his wolf. Since Bjorn was tasked with taking care of their weapons, he knew the man had already drawn his blade. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled inwardly. Bjorn sat in quiet contemplation with his sword—whispering words while he sharpened the steel.

  Magnar returned his focus to the edge of the shore where they would land. Digging his fingers into the rough wood, he tried to settle his wolf. He would not shift until they all departed. And then he would plunder the l
and in search of his beloved and Erik.

  The ship slowed on her approach, rising and dipping within the sea.

  Magnar lifted his head. Hear my prayer, All Father. Though Thorfinn is my blood kin, I cannot abide by his reckless actions. We shared the same womb, but he is my enemy and yours. Grant me the power to bring justice for you and for my wife.

  The clouds separated, and a shaft of sunlight broke free. Magnar searched the hills to see where the light landed. Deeming this a message from Odin, he pointed outward to the area. “We travel there!”

  The other men came forward, each nodding their accord.

  Magnar regarded each of his warriors. “I do not ken what we face or the dangers. If Loki interferes, death may claim us all. Offer your own prayers for a swift victory.” He hesitated, unsure how to proceed with the next. Shifting his stance, he lowered his voice. “Once we come upon Elspeth, I am unsure how my wolf will respond to seeing her in danger. You must each give me your word not to hinder me in any way. I fear if you do, I cannot hold back my wolf. At the moment, he is barely contained.”

  Bjorn stepped forward. “May Odin guide our path, and Thor’s hammer smash our enemies.”

  “Aye!” bellowed the other men, raising their fists outward.

  Magnar acknowledged each of his men with a nod, and then returned his focus on the approaching shore. His wolf paced furiously, knowing the time to shift was drawing near. He quickly removed his tunic and tossed it to Bjorn. The rest of his clothing would be cast aside once they were on land.

  When the ship touched the shore, Magnar jumped over the side and landed with a heavy force onto the ground. He knelt on one knee, thanking the Gods for safe passage. Rising slowly, he scanned the area. His body shook with a fierce need to let loose the beast.

  Be patient, my friend. We shall find her.

  Soon he was surrounded by his men. They strode silently with purpose across the small shore and upward onto a small rise toward a cluster of trees. Immediately, Magnar rid himself of the rest of his clothing, leather greaves, and boots, as did his men.