Rorik said, “Did you speak to Entti?”
“Aye,” Hafter said, looking away from his feet up to Rorik. “She said she would kill me or herself if I tried to bed her. She said it mattered not to her. She walked out of the longhouse then, saying nothing more, as if daring me to force her.” He paused a moment, drank deeply of the mead, and said, “She is strong, Rorik. She fights like a woman and her knee is as quick and as deadly, just like a man’s weapon. I could take her, but it would be difficult if she didn’t want me to. I would have to hurt her and I don’t want to.”
“Why not? She’s but a slave. She belongs to you. You can do anything you wish to do with her.”
Hafter shook his head. “She might be a slave now, but she wasn’t before. And what she is now is more like she was before than what she’s supposed to be now.”
Rorik wondered why a mortal’s plans must always go awry as he tried to sort through Hafter’s words. There was sense there, but he was too tired, too frustrated, to delve deep enough to find it. His plan was noble. It would solve every problem. Except for Entti’s, but she was a slave. What she was before no longer mattered. He bellowed down at Hafter’s bent head, “You are a warrior! Tie her down, damn her!”
Hafter’s eyes lit up. “I hadn’t thought of that. Would you help me? She is very determined.”
Rorik looked disgusted. He slammed his fist against Hafter’s shoulder, sending his friend sprawling onto the earth floor. “Go tie her up yourself!” he yelled, then turned back to see his wife grinning at him.
Hafter shook himself as he rose. He drank down the rest of his mead, slammed the mug on the bench, and strode from the longhouse. Mirana felt a shaft of fear. She turned, only to feel Amma’s hand on her arm.
“Nay, Mirana, leave him be. Entti can see to herself. She has surprised us all. I vow this is the meat for a scald’s verses, at least those verses that make you laugh. I wonder what my husband Sculla thinks of all this.”
“Ha,” said Old Alna, “Sculla is out doubtless hitting his head against a low-lying oak branch, that, or polishing one of his weapons. ’Tis all the man thinks of—his weapons.”
“He thinks about me when he is angered,” Amma said, and smiled. “I have the skill to make him angry quite often now. Nay, he spends little time on his axes and knives when I am close to him, goading him to anger and to pleasure.”
“Ah,” said Erna, tears filling her eyes. “How I wish Asta were here. Can’t you just hear how she would tease Hafter? How she would laugh and hit him on the arm? And tease him until his eyes crossed?”
“Aye, I can hear her,” Mirana said, and wondered if Gurd had gone off by himself to grieve for his dead wife. She didn’t like him, but she felt a small portion of his grief.
“At least you survived the bad food,” Old Alna said, “though what it was I don’t know. I’ve thought and thought, but I cannot imagine how only you and Asta were struck. Ah, it is too much for an old woman to bear. Aye, we’ll miss Asta, a fine treasure that one was. I remember when she was born, came out of her mother’s womb squalling louder than a Viking’s battle cry. And then she gurgled, I swear to you, all were astonished.”
“Aye,” said Amma. “And I’ll wager she made her mother laugh but moments after that. I remember when she first met Gurd. She said he had the strongest arms of any man in the world. She said she wondered about his temper, but then she just laughed and said that no man could resist a good jest and she would bring him many jests.”
Utta said, “Mirana, you are very pale. Should you not be in bed?”
Mirana agreed and returned to the sleeping chamber. She lay there, wondering what Entti and Hafter were doing.
Hafter had found Entti at the dock, untying the mooring lines to one of the smaller longboats. He yelled at her, running full tilt toward her. She turned, then began to tug more frantically at the knots.
He caught her and twisted her about to face him.
“What are you doing? Do you think yourself a man? Nay, a dozen men to row this damned boat? You are a fool, my girl. Now, I will follow Lord Rorik’s advice.”
“And what is that, pray?”
“That I tie your arms and legs and open you to me, and do whatever I want to with you.”
She howled and sent her fist low in his belly. Hafter felt the bolt of pain, but this time it was high enough so that he didn’t drop like a stone at her feet. He drew back his fist and hit her jaw, not too hard, for he didn’t want to hurt her. She crumbled against him. He liked the feel of her limp and soft against him. It was different from the loudmouthed woman, all fists and meanness, that she’d become.
When Entti awoke, she was in the barn and her wrists were tied above her head to a stake, her legs spread, ankles tied as well.
She stared up at Hafter, who was seated beside her, his legs crossed. He looked like a man who hadn’t a care in the world. He looked like a man who had gained what he wanted. He was whistling and chewing on a piece of straw.
He saw she was awake and gently felt her jaw. “You are all right. Your jaw won’t even be bruised. Well, perhaps just a bit, but that you deserve. I controlled my great strength with you since you are but a woman.”
“Untie me.”
He shook his head and smiled. “I am not a fool.”
She pulled at the bonds but they didn’t loosen. She looked at him with murder in her eyes.
“I’ll untie you,” he said, enjoying that look, and unfastened the knots of her tunic. “Now I’ll do more than untie you.” Then he calmly pulled her clothes off. It didn’t take him long for she didn’t wear many clothes, not even a shift. She didn’t have anything save rags, and it angered him immensely. He would see that she was well garbed, just as soon as he convinced her to trust him, to cease playing her woman’s jests on him.
“There,” he said, sat back again and looked at her as he would a platter of boar steaks. “I have missed seeing you. You please me.”
Entti stared up at this golden man who had helped sack and destroy her town, his skills and enthusiasm well suited for such an endeavor. He was staring down at her, not at her breasts or her belly, but into her face. He was silent, just looking down at her. Then he began to frown.
Finally, he said, “What is wrong with you?”
She said nothing, merely turned her face away.
“Entti!”
He grabbed her face between his palms and jerked her back. “Don’t you look away from me, damn you!”
She closed her eyes.
“All right, if this how you wish things to be between us I care not.”
She heard him rise, heard the rustle of his clothing. She felt his body come down over hers, felt him hard against her, felt the hair of his chest rubbing against her skin, felt his hot breath on her cheek.
He moaned and moved over her. He kissed her ear, her jaw where he had struck her, her nose. “You’re crying,” he said suddenly, rearing back. “No, don’t do that, Entti. You never cry. You are too mean to cry.”
“There is nothing else to do,” she whispered.
He cursed, then cursed again.
23
“IHAVE BROUGHT you some mutton broth and some warm bread with butter and honey.”
“Thank you, Utta,” Mirana said, took the wooden plate and laid it on her lap.
“Lord Rorik said you shouldn’t yet have the mutton itself or the mushrooms or the cabbage. He said it was still too much for your belly. He said the broth was only for you and the rest of us weren’t to touch it. He even told the men to keep away from the broth, but they were laughing and all were trying to tip some into their bowls, trying to annoy him.”
“And they succeeded?”
“They annoyed him, aye,” Utta said. “My father said Rorik has become too protective and that you, of all men or women, have little need of protection. I thought Lord Rorik would hit my father, but at the last moment he held back.”
Mirana smiled.
“I think he held back because I w
as there, right beside my father.”
“Aye, you’re right.” She tasted the broth, but it wasn’t to her liking—it tasted of a strange condiment she didn’t recognize—and she ate only a few bites. A pity Rorik couldn’t have tended to his own business and left her to decide about what food she should and shouldn’t eat.
“Who prepared the broth?”
“We were all working about the fire pit. All had a say in its preparation but Amma said we must add some brawly root.”
“Ah,” said Mirana, and ate all the bread, gently shoving the broth to the side of the tray.
When Rorik came into the chamber a few minutes later, she was full and sleepy.
He looked harassed.
“What has happened now?” she said, patting the bed beside her.
He eased down, not really heeding what he was doing, and said, “Hafter wishes to marry Entti. I don’t understand any of this, Mirana. He says he tied her up just as I told him to, then she cried and he couldn’t bear it, he said, and now he will marry her. He has freed her. He didn’t force her, he said he wouldn’t take her until they were man and wife. He has told her that if she wishes to unman him again, she must now consider closely, for he will be her husband and the man to give her babes. To unman him, he said he told her, would hurt her as much as it would him now. They will wed tomorrow.”
She stared at his strong throat, and kept her smile hidden. “What do you think about this now, Rorik?”
He shrugged. “He will have his way. I told him not to leave now to live on the mainland. I told him he must stay, that you would be very unhappy were he to take Entti away.”
“And you wouldn’t miss Hafter, I suppose.”
“Oh aye, I would surely miss the great idiot. I don’t understand him, but I would miss him sorely.”
“You have very nice legs, Rorik.”
He whipped around to stare at her. “Are you all right?”
“Aye, I was just looking at your legs. I like the golden hair. They’re strong legs. They could walk for a very long time and not tire. Very beautiful. I want to touch you.”
He laughed then, softly at first, then he laughed louder, deep and full and free.
And then she said, “And your belly. It is covered with gold fur, all soft and thick, just like a goat’s belly, and you are hard and lean, and mayhap your belly is more beautiful than your legs.”
He stopped laughing and stared at her. There was something deep and brilliant in his eyes, something that drew her and made her want when she’d never wanted before, and she was smiling at him, reaching out her hand to him. She wanted to touch him, and she wanted him to touch her and kiss her, and aye, perhaps even the other, perhaps she even wanted that now, for there was a warmth in her, deep and curling and so very intense that she wondered how one could feel like that and not burst with the need of it. He was taut, leaning toward her now. His beautiful eyes were alight with her, with the thought of her with him, and she recognized it. Then she said, “Aye, Rorik, and your mouth, mayhap that is the most beautiful part of you, but it will take me many years to decide. You have a bewitching mouth.” And he was smiling again, that beautiful mouth of his turned up at the corners, his lips slightly parted, then laughing and shaking his head at her. She wanted to bring more laughter like that into his life, she thought, then her stomach cramped viciously, and she scrambled from the bed and vomited up the little broth she’d drunk and the bread.
“By the gods, no!”
Mirana moaned, clutched her belly, and fell onto her side on the pounded earth.
She was ill for only two hours, for she’d eaten little of the broth, but she was white and pale and sweating profusely, lying on her side, her legs drawn up, waiting, dreading the next cramp. There was no laughter in her now, no joy, just the fear of more of the awful pain.
Finally, she slept. Rorik stood over her, shaking his head. He’d been a fool. He covered her with a woolen blanket, smoothed the damp hair off her forehead.
Hafter stood in the doorway. “Will she live?”
“Aye. I fear it is Sira.”
“I believe so too, but I am sorry for it. I have known her since she was a child, as have you. But I do not understand her now.”
“I am not certain that I do either. She must have poisoned Mirana. Poor Asta died because she liked the taste of the food and thus she ate most of Mirana’s. But why would Sira do it again? It is you who turned away from her. Mirana was not involved.”
There was a shout, then a scream.
Both men ran from the sleeping chamber into the main hall. Sira had wrapped Entti’s long hair about her fist and had dragged her down to her knees, pulling her toward the fire pit. She had a knife in her right hand.
“By Thor, this is madness!” Rorik slammed through the men and women and children who were crowding close, uncertain what to do. Kerzog was barking wildly, his strong teeth tugging at Sira’s skirt. Sira reached down and struck the dog with the handle of the knife. Kerzog fell sideways, whimpering for a moment, but then he was up again, his teeth sunk into Sira’s gown, pulling, slowing her.
“Nay, Rorik, I will stop it. Entti is my woman.”
Hafter grabbed Sira’s forearm and shook it. Then he bent back her wrist, but still Sira was screaming at Entti, twisting and jerking on her hair, “You damnable whore! You slut—you are her friend and between you there is no man for me, no man that I want. I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill that other miserable bitch!”
Hafter calmly drew back his fist and cuffed her solidly in the side of her head. The knife fell to the earthen floor, Sira fell forward onto her knees, then fell to her side. Entti went down with her, her hair still wrapped about Sira’s hand.
Hafter said to Entti, “Lie still and be quiet, or you’ll just hurt yourself more.”
He carefully unwrapped her hair from around Sira’s hand, then massaged her scalp. He helped her to her feet and stepped aside, keeping her in the crook of his arm.
Tora leaned down and looked at her niece. “Harald,” she called to her husband. “Take her out of here. Let her sleep outside the longhouse. Let her think about her lack of control. Let her think about her punishment, for surely there will be retribution to match her crime.”
“I believe,” Harald said, “that I will keep one of the men with her.” When Harald lifted Sira and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her away, Tora said, “I am sorry. Entti, you seem a reasonable girl. I would be pleased were you to forgive her.” She shook her head. “It is difficult. First Rorik and then you, Hafter . . . it is her disappointment. Harald and I have raised her gently, for her parents had died suddenly, and left her alone, and we wanted her to feel happy with us. We had no daughter, and thus we tried to make her into ours, but we gave her no boundaries. Mayhap we have given her too much, not reined in her temper, not tried to dampen her vanity. I suppose she came to believe that anything she desired would be hers. It is my fault, not hers.”
Entti thought that was nonsense, but she held her peace. She was still rubbing her scalp. Her eyes were stinging from the pain of it. Sira had caught her off guard and she felt like a fool for letting the woman get the better of her. She looked up to see the pain on Tora’s face. She sighed and said, “I forgive her,” and thought she would surely kill the damned bitch the moment she got the chance. First Mirana and now her. Why was Tora commiserating with Rorik and Hafter as if they had been Sira’s victims? It was she and Mirana who had suffered, not the damned men.
She knew Sira had tried to poison Mirana. All knew it had to be she. What would Rorik do? After all, Asta had died and so much laughter and jesting had passed with her. After all, Rorik was lord of Hawkfell Island. He had to do something.
He did. The following morning, Rorik ordered Sira stripped to her waist, tied to a pole, and whipped, first by Harald, since she was his responsibility, then by Rorik and finally by Hafter. Entti wanted very much to wield the whip herself, but only men were allowed to do it. Mirana, still pale and weak,
stayed in her bed, Utta with her.
“You will be safe now,” Rorik said when he came into the sleeping chamber after it was done. “Sira will not soon forget the pain of her punishment. It should slow her anger in the future, make her pause before she loses her control.”
No, Mirana thought, it might slow her outwardly, but her anger and hatred would fester. She said, “You are certain she tried to poison me, Rorik?”
He stared at her. “Who else would it be? Forget not that she tried to kill you before you were poisoned, and then Entti last night. Aye, she had to be the one to put the poison in your food. She has learned a lesson. She will obey my father and mother now. She will do as she’s told and keep silent.”
“I spoke to the women. None were certain, but Utta told me that Sira didn’t come near the broth.”
“Utta is a child. She cannot be certain. Don’t forget that Asta died. I told Gurd that he could whip Sira as well, for she has no silver to pay him Danegeld for Asta’s life and he refused to accept payment from my father. He also refused to whip Sira. He said that I would provide the punishment. He said he didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t stay to watch. He grieves for Asta. It pained me to see his sorrow.”
He paced the room several times, frowning ferociously. “Sira continued to swear she hadn’t poisoned you, either time. Even as I brought the whip down on her back, she screamed that she hadn’t done it. Had I not seen her attack on you and then on Entti last night, I might have believed her.”
“I am sorry for all of it, Rorik,” Mirana said. She’d brought him such misery, she thought, suddenly exhausted, too exhausted to think more, to reason out what she should do. She had never been so weak in her life. Even rising from the bed to relieve herself made her legs tremble and sweat break out on her forehead. She closed her eyes. She was asleep within minutes, a deep sleep without dreams.
Rorik sat on the bed beside her. He just looked at her for a very long time. He remembered what she’d said before she’d fallen ill again the previous night. She’d made him laugh and she’d much enjoyed doing it. She enjoyed his laughter as much as she enjoyed his rages. She’d also made him hard as a stone. And what she’d said to him—did she really believe him beautiful? His legs and his belly? Did she really want to touch him?
Lord of Hawkfell Island Page 22