Lord of Hawkfell Island (18 page)

“Do what is normally done,” Mirana said. “I will sit by my husband,” she added. If he had changed his mind, then she would know it now.

She went to their sleeping chamber and changed into the gown and tunic she'd worn the previous day at her wedding. It was the only gown she had that was fine enough for a feast. She belted it at her waist. She combed her hair with the antler comb Rorik had given her. She fastened the beautiful brooches Rorik had given her to the tunic. She pinched her cheeks and changed into soft leather slippers. She drew a deep breath and walked out into the big hall again.

The air was filled with the tangy smell of the sea bass, wrapped and baking in oiled maple leaves. The boar steaks spat and sizzled atop the grating of the fire pit. The goat cheese, freshly made, smelled tart.

The men were drinking steadily, the women as well, though not as quickly for it was their job to serve the food, and they had to keep their wits about them to carry the heavy platters. Rorik sat beside his father. Sira sat on his other side and next to her, his mother, Tora. She wondered what was in his mother's mind. Her stillness made Mirana uneasy. Old Alna had told Mirana that she was much like Tora. She didn't see
any likeness, not a bit. The remaining places at the table held his brother and all Harald's men. There were no other women save Sira and his mother, Tora. All Rorik's people sat together, away from Harald's. She assumed this was simply the way of things. Rorik had granted his father and all his men the best places in the longhouse. Mirana smiled at the slaves and the wives who were serving with them. She picked up a tray of mutton and leeks and walked to the table. She took it to Rorik and held it out to him.

“My lord,” she said.

He looked at her then, though she knew he didn't want to. In that moment she saw such pain in his eyes that she nearly gasped aloud. Instead, she said calmly, “Would you like some mutton? Entti prepared it.”

“Aye,” he said, no emotion in his voice, his eyes blank of feeling. “It looks excellent.”

She served him, saying nothing, then turned to his father. “My lord Harald,” she said, and offered him the platter.

Harald didn't look at her. Indeed, he turned away from her completely and spoke to Merrik, his voice overloud. “You will go trading to Kiev soon now, boy. Press me not just at this time. Soon you will go, I promise you.”

Sira said loudly, “I wish some. Don't just stand there gawking at me. Serve me.”

Mirana looked at the girl, then looked down at her wrist. There were purple bruises where Sira had gripped her so tightly, then twisted.

“Why do you just stand there? Do you not understand me? Are you witless? Serve me now.”

“I have learned from my husband,” Mirana said loud enough so that all would hear her, “that rudeness can
be dealt with simply and practically, with no undue anger or insult.”

She dumped the platter of mutton and leeks on Sira's head, turned on her heel, and walked out of the longhouse, paying no heed to the shrieks and wails of fury and outrage behind her. She thought she heard Amma laugh, but she couldn't be certain. She did hear Kerzog bark loudly, and could easily imagine the huge mongrel trying to lick the mutton from Sira's face.

That image made her smile.

I
T WAS COLD
and becoming colder still, the sky black with turbulent clouds, roiling and bursting against each other, harbinger of a violent storm to come. The wind was whipping the waves against the rocks below her, sending plumes of spray thirty feet upward only to crash downward again hard and fast, the sound of mad thunder. She felt the cold mist on her cheeks and stepped back from the cliff edge. She shivered and rubbed her arms but didn't even think of returning to the longhouse and the pandemonium she'd left behind her.

She grinned suddenly, the picture of Sira shrieking like a witch, as leeks and mutton thick with gravy slithered off her head and face and onto her gown, ah, it was a vision that would probably stay with her until she died. Without a doubt, Mirana had made an enemy.

But Sira was already an enemy.

What would Rorik do?

She felt a shaft of pain slice through her belly. Her marriage of one day—surely a hopeful beginning—had collapsed into a pile of cold ashes.

She saw his pain again in her mind's eye, unguarded in that instant, such pain she couldn't comprehend.
What would he do now? Would he send her away? Kill her?

“The little princess is still shrieking like a goat, with Rorik's mother trying to calm her. There is laughter, but it is muffled behind hands. Kerzog holds no respect for her plight. He is trying to lick the gravy from her neck and face.”

Mirana turned to smile at Entti. “Kerzog is an excellent dog. You shouldn't have come out here, Entti, though I'm glad you're here. You know, I am the stranger here, not any of them. I am the outsider. No one owes me loyalty; no one owes me anything.”

“Don't be a fool, Mirana. You are the mistress of Hawkfell Island. Rorik owes you loyalty as do all the people here. He swore his loyalty to you before all the people. Were it only Sira, the women would not hesitate to openly show you their loyalty and affection. It is Rorik's mother who holds them back. They respect her and don't wish to hurt her. They don't understand her hatred for you; they say she refused to let the pain fall away from her. She nurtured the pain, both she and Harald. Still, it doesn't matter. You are the mistress here, none other, and soon his mother and father and that wretched Sira will be gone.”

“My being mistress here—I believe that is now in question.”

“Did Rorik really dump food on you?”

“Aye, I taunted him and he retaliated. Not on my head, but just on my lap. 'Tis better than striking someone, and I wanted to hit her, Entti, I wanted to hit her very much. But the leeks slogging down her face—it was a nice sight.”

Entti grinned. “Aye, it was.”

Mirana looked out to sea for a moment, then looked again at Entti, saying low, “Is Lord Rorik angry?”

Entti wrapped her cloak more closely around her. It was, actually, naught more than a ragged piece of wool, and Mirana frowned at it. Entti would have a real cloak on the morrow. She started to say something about that then closed her mouth. She had no idea if she would even be the mistress of Hawkfell Island on the morrow.

“I don't know what he is. There is something going on here I don't understand, Mirana. Oh, I know that Gurd told them all about you being Einar's sister, but this hatred for you—it makes no sense to me. They don't wish to give you a chance. And Lord Rorik—”

“They have reminded him of his pain and the horror of what happened. They have reminded him of his guilt. They have made me a part of it. I wonder now what he will do.”

Entti sucked in her breath. “You are being too understanding. Truly, you don't believe he will send you away? By the gods, you are his wife!”

Mirana shrugged. “He is close to his family. He listens to them. He may kill me. Or Merrik, his brother, might or even Sira. She is capable of it, doubt it not. She is a girl of strong passions. She wanted Rorik and I believe she still hopes to have him. Thus, I must be made to leave or die. There are doubtless many who would gladly volunteer for such a task, including any one of the men who came with them.”

Entti said then, her fingers on Mirana's sleeve, “Let's take one of the boats and leave tonight. Let's leave now. We could make it this time, I know we could.”

Mirana smiled at that. “A storm is coming, Entti. Remember our last adventure with a storm?”

Entti moved away from her, closer to the edge of the cliff. She stared down at the roiling water. It looked black, even the froth of the waves. It looked terrifying.
She looked beyond, to the south, where the longboats were tied securely to the wooden dock. Even in the protected inlet, the waves were tossing them about like leaves. Still, it made no difference, not now, at least not to Entti. She said, “I can't stay, Mirana, you know that. If I do, I will have to protect myself from the men, for I will play the dull-witted whore no more. I have no wish to kill one of them.”

“No one will touch you. I will not allow it.”

“As you told me, you are in a rather uncertain position right now yourself. I have been left alone because of you. But now neither of us can be certain that you will remain untouched and alive.”

“You're right, of course. I'm being stupid, believing that Rorik will realize what is happening, that he will speak to his family, convince them that I am no threat to them, that I am not guilty of my brother's crimes.”

“He is your half-brother.”

“Aye,” Mirana said slowly. “He is my half-brother. But in their eyes, his blood is my blood and thus I am tainted with his wickedness. I am as evil as Einar is.”

“This is madness. How can Rorik be so blind?”

“Rorik isn't blind, girl. Speak not of your master in such a way. Lord Rorik is a man who has suffered grievous pain, pain you cannot begin to imagine.”

Both women whirled about to see Hafter standing there, still and silent in the black night, a thick wool cloak about him, the wind whipping his dark golden hair about his head. He looked big and strong, his shoulders stiff with anger. Mirana took a step closer to Entti. She wished she had her knife.

“Aye, I know,” Mirana said, “but I was not a part of it.”

Hafter shrugged. “His family believe differently. You left them raging, Mirana.” Then he laughed suddenly. “I always believed Sira to be more beautiful than any goddess. With leeks dripping off her forehead, she looked quite human. Aye, a good dose of humility you gave her. She will hate you forever now.”

“Mirana could have stuck her knife in the girl's gullet, Hafter. A leek or two atop her head is nothing.”

“Women see things differently. Sira is after your blood, Mirana. She was calling for your death when I left the longhouse.”

Mirana didn't want to ask him but she did. “What of Rorik? Do you know what he will do?”

He shook his head. “He remains within, with his family. They are very angry.” He turned to Entti and he smiled, holding out his hand to her. “Now, I am here to fetch you. You will warm me tonight and I will take you until I am sated on your soft flesh.”

Before Entti could speak, Mirana lightly touched her forearm to hold her silent, and said, “Nay, Hafter. No man will touch Entti again unless she wishes it. This is her wish and I honor it.”

“I will give her pleasure this time, I swear it. I have a man's needs and she must fill them. She will enjoy herself as she does. She must do as I wish.”

Entti straightened as stiff as one of the palisade posts. “Take yourself back to the longhouse and stick your head in your mead, Hafter. I will have naught to do with you. Did you not believe me yesterday? Do you wish me to unman you again with my knee?”

“You said you were sorry. You said you wouldn't do that again.”

“Aye, I said I wouldn't hurt you again if you kept your distance from me. I don't want you. Go away.”

“Which of the men do you want?”

Mirana was fascinated at the sudden very jealous tone of his voice. She saw that Entti was about to laugh, and said quickly, “Entti doesn't wish any man right now, Hafter. Surely you understand. She has been sorely unhappy. You are a man of sense and kindness, are you not?”

“Aye. Mayhap. Not in this instance. I want her, Mirana. Don't interfere, it is not your right.”

“If you force her, Hafter, she will kill you or hurt you badly and then she will have to die and all because she was protecting her honor. Do you wish her to die because of your lust?”

Hafter had no real thoughts, only a burning need to bed Entti. He didn't want another woman, only her. He stared at Mirana, the woman who was the wife of Lord Rorik, a woman who could possibly be dead soon by the hand of one of Rorik's family. He said slowly, turning now to face Entti, “I don't want you dead.”

“What do you want then, you boorish lout?”

“Speak not so meanly to me, Entti. I am a man and you are naught but a slave. It is I who am in the right. You will do as I bid you.”

Entti shook her head at him, so frustrated with his stubbornness she wanted to hit him. “You are more obtuse than the goat who must eat cow dung! I will not be your whore, Hafter. Understand me, for I grow tired of repeating it. I will not be your whore or any man's whore. No more.”

He looked perplexed. “But no other man will have you. I've seen to that. I have told them that you are mine and they are to keep their distance. I am protecting you.”

Entti said to Mirana, “It is of no use to speak to him. All men are dull-witted goats when lust possesses them.
He is no different from that man Erm who wanted to rape me.” She turned then and walked away, pulling the ragged square of wool more closely around her shoulders.

Hafter said, “Entti is wearing a rag. It isn't right. I don't like it.”

“Aye, you are right,” Mirana said. “I will see to it that both of us have better clothes to wear.”

“She's leaving me and I am not done with her. Entti! Come back to me! I will give you a new cloak. Just come back here, now.”

He gave Mirana a distracted frown, then turned to run after Entti. Mirana didn't think he would catch her.

 

It was so very cold and yet it was a summer night and she had pulled hay over her to keep warm, but it wasn't enough. It was still dark, so she didn't believe she'd slept all that long. The wind was howling outside the barn and she wished she could stuff her ears to keep out the loud dinning of rain, the cracks of thunder that made her jump. She remembered the storms at Clontarf, vicious and unrestrained, tearing the sod from the roofs of the huts, making the cattle bawl in fear.

It was so very cold.

She burrowed deeper into the pile of hay. A cow shuffled nearby, but made no sound. The oxen stood with their heads down, sleeping, she supposed, oblivious of the storm. The goats were trying to eat the leather straps that held them tethered in their stalls.

What would happen on the morrow?

It was Old Alna who found her, curled into a tight ball, only her head showing from the pile of hay.

“Aye, mistress, 'tis time for you to rise, for the sun is climbing in the sky and there is much to be done. The storm is done and it will be a hot day, both outside and inside. Aye, his family is like a pack of wolves, unheeding of naught but their hatred, a festering thing it is, deep and burning, and they've not let it go. They've not healed since your half-brother killed Inga and the babes. They've gotten but more bitter. It is not a good thing. And they believe what Sira told them—you seduced Rorik, claimed you were with child, and he was honorable.”

Mirana sat up and began picking off straws of hay. Her hair was stiff with it. So this had added fuel to their hatred. They believed the tale Sira had spun for them. She should tell them how long she'd known Rorik. Why had Rorik not told them that she'd come to him a virgin? She said without looking up, “There is no reason for me to return, Alna.” She looked toward the goats for a moment, then added, her voice so wistful that Old Alna frowned, “Unless Lord Rorik sent you to find me?”

The old woman spat as she shook her head. She scratched her shoulder. “Nay, the master has said naught of anything. He is different. Last night he was different, this morning he awoke with the same blind pain in his eyes. They came and poisoned him and he is different. Lord Rorik spent the night next to his brother and some of his father's warriors. They spoke long into the night to him. They drank too much mead, and Lord Rorik doesn't hold mead or wine or ale well. It makes his bowels churn and his head ache fiercely. He pukes up his guts. You'd best come into the longhouse now. You are still mistress. It is your responsibility to oversee the slaves and the chores and the comfort of his family.”

“Have you seen Entti or Hafter?”

Old Alna cackled. “Aye, Entti struck him down with an iron pan last night. Hit him solid, she did, and he just spun away like a drunken duck, sitting down finally, holding his poor head in his hands. She slept next to me, complaining this morning that I snored. Ha! An old woman doesn't snore. I didn't snore. I was awake most of the night, listening to Hafter moan. Then that Gurd tried to take her.” Old Alna cackled again. “I told him to go back to Asta, where he belonged. I told him that Entti was having her monthly flow. That got him away from her.”