Come Back to Me (48 page)

The day wore on. While yet Rycca slept, Dragon did all the things she had said he would do—paced back and forth, contemplated mayhem, and even honed his blade on the whetstone from the stable. All except being oblivious to her, for that he could never manage.

But when she awoke, sitting up heavy-lidded, her mouth so full and soft it was all he could do not to crawl back into bed with her, he put aside such pursuits and controlled himself admirably well, so he thought.

Yet in the midst of preparing a meal for them from the provisions in the pantry of the lodge, he was stopped by Rycca's hand settling upon his.

"Dragon," she said softly, "if you add any more salt to that stew, we will need a barrel of water and more to drink with it."

He looked down, saw that she was right, and cursed under his breath. Dumping out the spoiled stew, he started over. They ate late but they did eat. He was quite determined she would do so, and for once she seemed to have a decent appetite.

"I'm glad to see your stomach is better," he said as she was finishing.

She looked up, startled. "What makes you say that?"

"You haven't seemed able to eat regularly of late."

"Oh, well, you know… so many changes… travel…all that."

He nodded, reached for his goblet, and damn near knocked it over as a sudden thought roared through him.

"Rycca?"

She rose quickly, gathering up the dishes. His hand lashed out, closing on her wrist. Gently but inexorably, he returned her to her seat. Without taking his eyes from her, he asked, "Is there something you should tell me?"

"Something… ?"

"I ask myself what sort of changes may cause a woman to be afflicted with an uneasy stomach and it occurs to me I've been a damned idiot."

"Not so! You could never be that."

"Oh, really? How otherwise would I fail to notice that your courses have not come of late? Or is that also due to
travel
, wife?"

"Some women are not all that regular."

"Some women do not concern me. You do, Rycca. I swear, if you are with child and have not told me, I will—"

She squared her shoulders, lifted her head, and met his eyes hard on. "Will what?"

"What? Will what? Does that mean—?"

"I'm sorry, Dragon." Truly repentant, Rycca sighed deeply. "I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for a calmer time. I didn't want you to worry more."

Still grappling with what she had just revealed, he stared at her in astonishment. "You mean worry that my wife
and
our child are bait for a murderous traitor?"

"I know you're angry and you have a right to be. But if I had told you, we wouldn't be here now."

"Damn right we wouldn't be!" He got up from the table so abruptly that his chair toppled over and crashed to the floor. Ignoring it, Dragon paced back and forth, glaring at her.

Rycca waited, trusting the storm to pass. As she did, she counted silently, curious to see just how long it would take her husband to grasp fully what he had discovered.

Nine… ten…

"We're going to have a baby."

Not long at all.

She nodded happily. "Yes, we are, and you're going to be a wonderful father."

He walked back to the table, picked her up out of her chair, held her high against his chest, and stared at her.

"My God—"

Rycca laughed. "You can't possibly be surprised. It's not as though we haven't been doing our best to make this happen."

"True, but still it's absolutely incredible."

Very gently, she touched his face. "Perhaps we think of miracles wrongly. They're supposed to be extraordinarily rare but in fact they're as commonplace as a bouquet of wildflowers plucked by a warrior… or a woman having a baby."

Dragon sat down with her still in his arms and held her very close. He swallowed several times and said nothing.

Both could have remained contentedly like that for a long while, but only a few minutes passed before they were interrupted. The raven lit on the sill of the open window just long enough to catch their attention, then she was gone into the bloodred glare of the dying day.

THE RIDERS CAME AN HOUR AFTER FULL DARK. There were a dozen in all. They drew rein in front of the lodge, except for Ogden, who rode his mount right up to the door and pounded on it with the hilt of his sword.

"Come out, you Norse scum! Your precious Valhalla awaits!" This must have struck him as the height of wit for he followed it with high-pitched laughter.

"Shut up," Wolscroft ordered. "Hakonson! Come out now and you will die with a sword in your hand. Otherwise, I swear you will perish without honor."

Inside the lodge, Dragon shot a stern look at Rycca, warning her to be silent. He let a few more moments drag by, long enough to make those outside uneasy, then called, "If I'm going to die, Wolscroft, I want to know why."

"Come out! We'll talk."

"Don't go!" Rycca said urgently. "It's a trap."

Her husband looked down at her with amusement. "Of course it's a trap, sweetling. There are a dozen men out there. They assume they've got us neatly caught."

"You could be killed before anyone got near enough to stop them."

He shook his head. "I'm not going to be killed. But I am going to get Wolscroft to talk. It's the only way." He turned toward the door, turned back, and said, "Do not, under any circumstances, even think about so much as poking a finger outside. Do you understand?"

Ever obedient, Rycca nodded.

Again he turned to go, again he looked back. "Let me rephrase that. Do you promise me you won't come outside until I tell you to?"

Her response was a glare but she followed it with a nod.

If nothing else, this husband of hers was learning caution, which was all to the good since he surely had need of it.

Dragon drew his Moorish sword, opened the door, stepped just outside it, and shut it firmly behind him. Torches carried by the riders illuminated the scene. Seeing the fierce warrior and the weapon he carried, Ogden backed up hastily toward his father. Wolscroft was in the center, bearded and begrimed after what must have been several days in the saddle coming down from Mercia.

"So," he said with a sneer, "the mighty Viking wants to know why he is to die."

"It seems a lot of trouble for you to go to just because you don't approve of me as your son-in-law."

"God's blood, it's amazing you Norse filth can find your own asses if that's as far as you can see."

"If there is something larger at work here, what is it?"

"What is it?" Wolscroft repeated. He leaned forward in his saddle, staring at Dragon. Little flecks of spittle shone at the corners of his mouth. "It is vengeance, you fool! Years ago I suffered injury at the hands of Norsemen and I swore I would exact payment for it. But Alfred wants to make
peace
. God preserve us from the fancies of so weak-minded a dolt."

"How does killing me stop Alfred?"

"It stops his precious alliance. Men will realize all this talk of peace was idiocy. They will turn against him and his reign will end!"

Dragon nodded. "I have to admit that makes a certain amount of sense. Frankly, under the circumstances, it's too bad you couldn't have stopped the alliance earlier on."

"Not for want of trying! God's blood, that woman…" Wolscroft shuddered suddenly. Apparently even he who cheerfully contemplated the murder of his daughter and son-in-law had limits.

"The Lady Daria," Dragon said, grimacing. "Still, you can't say she didn't make an effort. After all, it was she who stole Wolf's letter to Hawk proposing the alliance in the first place, and Wolf's own marriage to the Lady Cymbra. Did she contact you then to warn you of what might happen?"

"Her husband and I knew each other well and shared many of the same sentiments. She understood that."

"So you directed her to forge the response from Hawk that came so close to provoking war. And later to kill Krysta and make it look as though Hawk were responsible. Whose idea was it to blame the Danes?"

"Daria's," Wolscroft admitted grudgingly. "Even a fool woman can have a good notion occasionally. But all the rest was mine." He drew himself up in the saddle, impatient now to be done. He raised one hand to order forth his men.

Not a fair fight, then, Dragon thought. Himself on foot against eleven men on horseback. No, ten, since apparently Ogden meant to absent himself. Perhaps he remembered too well what had happened on the Essex road not all that long ago.

If these weren't the worst odds he had ever faced, they came damn close. Still, he sensed the wings of panic moving through the riders and thought he might have a decent enough chance.

Thought but was destined never to know, for just then a great fluttering shattered the forest stillness, a sound somewhere between the howl of wind and the throb of drums. A terrible beating that grew louder and louder as the air thickened, becoming almost solid, and the men began to scream.

Ravens filled the sky. They swarmed from the surrounding trees, darting at the riders, going for their eyes. Even as they did, out into the clearing before the lodge ran a band of stout little men, weirdly dressed, sporting long beards, and looking as though they had just crawled from beneath a bridge. They seized the bridles of the horses and whispered to the animals, causing them to rear so violently that the riders were tumbled from their saddles and fell one after another to the ground. The birds swooped lower, still attacking, as the men huddled, arms wrapped around their heads, thrashing frantically. Before Dragon's startled gaze, the little men loosed the horses and turned to go. One, who looked somehow familiar, gave him a cocky grin and waved.

Friends in high places… and low.

It was over very quickly then. Wolf, Hawk, and their men emerged from their hiding places, surrounding Wolscroft and the others, disarming them before they knew what was happening. Even so, Wolscroft tried to brazen it out.

"Kill me and kill your precious alliance!" he shouted.

Sheathing the sword he had not needed—truly peace was a marvelous thing—Dragon strode forward. "Kill you? God's blood, man, we're not going to do that. You will be treated with tenderest care while you are conveyed to the king for trial."

Even Wolscroft had the sense to blanch at this, yet still he tried to bluster his way out. "You have no evidence! It is no more than your word against mine."

"And ours." Father Thomas spoke with quiet confidence as he stepped into the clearing. Beside him stood the man Dragon recognized as Hawk's house priest, Father Desmond.

"We two," Father Thomas said, "will swear to what we heard here this night. You are condemned from your own mouth, Wolscroft, and all England shall know it."

More was said then, most of it by Wolscroft, who blathered on, screaming threats even as he was tied and hustled into the wagon in which he would begin his ignominious trip to justice. But none of that mattered. It was, as Rycca had so fervently prayed, over.

Almost…

"MY LORD?"

Dragon turned to eye the man who had just addressed him. They were standing on the dock at Hawkforte. A fresh wind whipped the riggings of the drakars, where preparations were being completed for the voyage home.