Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 (22 page)

His mind swirled with
the happy tasks ahead of him. Finally, he’d found a way to free her from
thralldom, protect her from the schemes of Grimar and Gunvald, and do right by
his sense of honor. He could rest at last.

Grimar stumbled out of
the longhouse and toward a clump of nearby shrubs. He fumbled impatiently with
the ties on his pants. He’d already drunk several horns of ale, and the liquid
was nigh bursting inside him.

As he finished
relieving himself in the shrubs, he heard a pair of voices coming toward him.
He stuffed himself back into his pants and quickly retied them. As he listened,
he could make out the voices of a man and a woman. Had he fallen upon a
nighttime tryst, perhaps? If the lovers wanted darkness, they’d only have
another hour or so of blue light before the sun rose again.

He listened closer from
the cover of the shrubs.

“…surprised you’re as
happy as you are, sister,” the man said.

Grimar cursed under his
breath. No illicit lovemaking to spy on after all. Just a brother and sister.

“I know I was against
it at first, but she’s more than proven herself worthy,” the woman replied.

Grimar’s mood darkened
further. Not just any brother and sister pair. Those voices belonged to Alaric
and Madrena, his cousin’s favorite toadies.

“Ja, she has. Mayhap
this will finally put an end to Eirik’s strange behavior of late,” Alaric said.
The two were almost level with the shrubs behind which Grimar crouched.

Madrena snorted.
“Mayhap. Though I doubt he’ll want to return to his old ways once he’s
married.”

A cold stone sank in
Grimar’s stomach. Married? Eirik? They couldn’t be speaking of anyone else
other than the thrall girl, either. He had to bring a fist to his mouth to keep
himself from cursing.

“Ja, you may be right.
With Laurel under his roof, he may never want to leave again.” Dimly, Grimar
recognized the notes of sadness and frustration in Alaric’s voice, but he
couldn’t think on that now. His head swirled with a mixture of ale and this new
information.

Eirik was going to
marry Laurel. Grimar forced his mind to reason out why. If Eirik married
Laurel, she would no longer be a thrall. So Eirik was trying to defy his
father’s ruling that the girl be sold.

But if she stayed in
the village—and especially if she became his wife—Eirik would remain here, too.
As those cursed twins had said, he would no longer be distracted by the desire
to explore and raid in the lands to the west.

So much for Gunvald’s
plan to remove Eirik’s distraction and return things to the way they had been
before their voyage westward—with Grimar poised for the Jarlship and Eirik
preoccupied. His father was a fool. Thank the gods Grimar had taken matters
into his own hands.

Worse, though, if Eirik
were willing to circumvent Gunvald on his decision to have Laurel sold, what
else—or
who
else—would he challenge?

Madrena and Alaric’s
voices faded as they passed the longhouse and moved deeper into the village. As
Grimar rose from his crouch, he felt the tip of a blade press into his back. He
sucked in his breath as the blade nudged slightly deeper into his cloak.

“Jarl Thorsten still
awaits payment.”

The voice behind him
was little more than a whisper, but Grimar spun and clamped a hand over the
man’s mouth.

“Do you wish to draw
attention to yourself, fool?” Grimar hissed at Thorsten’s henchman. He grabbed
the man’s arm and dragged him farther away from the longhouse and into the shadowy
trees closer to the rocky mountain walls.

Once they were fully
concealed and well out of earshot of anyone in the village, Grimar rounded on
the man. “And why does Jarl Thorsten think he still deserves payment after
failing in the task I gave him? My cousin lives!”

“We attacked as you
asked,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing on Grimar. “We spotted the solitary
hut further up the fjord and even saw a figure emerge from it. One of our
archers sent two arrows into him. We saw him fall. If the man you wished to
have killed still lives, perhaps the fault is yours, not Jarl Thorsten’s.”

Grimar had to clench
his fists to prevent from striking the man for his insolence. Nevertheless, the
warrior before him was taller and broader and still held a seax in his hand. He
needed to cool his temper lest he do something foolish.

“Are you going to pay,
or do I need to extract payment from you?” the man said lowly. The seax glinted
in the bluish light.

Grimar suppressed a
wince. He’d skimmed several dozen gold coins from his father’s store of loot,
but it still wasn’t enough to pay Jarl Thorsten their agreed amount for killing
Eirik and covering it with the appearance of a feuding neighbor’s raid.

Like a bolt of
lightning, a thought struck Grimar.

“I can give you something
of far more value than the price I promised your Jarl,” he said, the idea
taking hold.

The man eyed him. “The
Jarl did not authorize me to negotiate, only to collect what was agreed upon.”

“But what I am offering
is far better,” Grimar replied, a smile spreading on his face. “There is a
thrall sheltered not far from here. She is young and innocent. She’ll fetch
triple the price I owe Jarl Thorsten at the slave market in Jutland, if not
more—unless your Jarl decides to keep her for himself.”

The hulking man grazed
his thumb along the sharp edge of his seax. Grimar held his breath, praying to
the gods that his plan would work. Finally, the warrior nodded.

“Where is she?”

“I’ll take you to her.
She’s in my cousin’s remote hut. Don’t enter, for I am still not sure what his
condition is, and you’ll not want to face him lest he overpower you.”

The warrior stiffened
and bared his teeth, but Grimar rushed on. “Besides, it will be best for you to
remain unseen. Simply wait for her to emerge from the hut and take her.”

The man nodded and
motioned for Grimar to lead the way. As he wound his way toward the path
leading to Eirik’s hut, he had to press his lips together to prevent from
laughing in glee.

In one fell swoop, he
would rid himself of the thrall girl and pay Jarl Thorsten. No connection could
be made to him, either for the attack on Dalgaard or Laurel’s disappearance.
And he would thwart his cousin’s effort to circumvent the decision to sell the
girl on the slave market.

With the girl gone and
Eirik wounded, no one, not even his father, could stop him from taking the
Jarlship now.

Laurel stirred and
blinked her eyes open. Her head still rested on Eirik’s chest, which rose and
fell peacefully. She lifted her head, careful not to disturb him, and glanced
around the cottage. The fire had now completely gone out, but sunlight streamed
in around the edges of the furs covering the windows. It was hard to tell what
time it was this far north, but she guessed that it had only been a few hours
since she’d fallen asleep.

The memories of what
she and Eirik had just shared came flooding back. Her skin heated, but not in
embarrassment. Nay, their union had been powerful, emotional, and passionate,
but not shameful.

And now she was to
become his wife, and he her husband. She felt the last threads of her old life,
the one filled with loneliness, self-denial, and shame snap and fall away. She
no longer had to listen to Abbess Hilda call her very existence a sin and
punishment. She no longer had to duck her head and bite her tongue. For she
would now truly be free. Free to love Eirik, free to learn and work and hold
her head level.

She sat up and felt a
twinge between her legs. It was yet another reminder that her old self was
gone. She stood quietly and scooped up her shift. As she slipped it down her
body, she gazed at Eirik. He was still naked, with only a fur pulled loosely
across half his body. His wounds were no longer an angry red color, but instead
were scabbed over and dry. His body was so strong, hewn from a lifetime of
battles and hard work. She shivered at the memories of both his gentle touches
and his rough need when he’d taken her.

As she moved to step
over her crumpled dress, the brooch caught her eye. She unfastened it from the
dress and studied it again. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Longing
to keep it close, she grabbed a cloak from a peg by the door and pinned the
brooch to the inside of it. As the cloak settled around her shoulders, the
brooch pressed against her heart, concealed from view. She smiled at the feel
of the cool metal through her shift.

She stepped outside
quickly, trying to keep the slanting early light from waking Eirik. He needed
his rest. Once the door was closed quietly behind her, she went around the
cottage to the stream. The water rippled and gurgled happily, matching her
mood.

Once she’d seen to her
needs in the nearby bushes, she splashed water over her hands and face. The
stream water was cold even in midsummer. The air was fresh and full of the
scent of plant life, a faint whiff of salty air coming from the fjord behind
her. She sighed contentedly, her ears filled with the sounds of the stream.

Suddenly a hand clapped
over her mouth while another yanked her head back by her hair. She screamed, but
the hand muffled the noise. Her neck twisted painfully, struggling against the
hand gripping her hair.

She clawed at her
attacker and won a curse from him, but his hold didn’t loosen. She raised her
heel and brought it down as hard as she could on the top of the man’s foot.
Then she kicked at his shins.

He lifted her straight
up so that her feet flailed in naught but air. Then just as suddenly, he
dropped her. She landed on the hard-packed dirt with a whoosh of air. She
struggled to inhale even as she tried to scramble to her feet. But the hip and
shoulder she’d landed on ached deeply and wouldn’t cooperate with her efforts
to flee.

Before she could draw a
full breath, a rag was thrust into her mouth. She screamed against it but made
even less noise than she had with a hand over her mouth. Her attacker tied the
gag in place with another rag, then wrenched her arms behind her back. The bite
of more bindings cut into her wrists.

She was hoisted in the
air once more, this time over her attacker’s shoulder. As she was bent and
lifted, she caught sight of his unfamiliar face, twisted in a triumphant sneer.

Her mind reeled and she
tried to scream again, to flail and dislodge herself from his grip. But it was
no use.

Where was this
barbarian taking her, and why? Her attacker strode farther away from the
cottage, going in the opposite direction from the village. She lifted her head
and watched as the cottage and Eirik grew farther and farther away.

Eirik’s hand reached
for Laurel, but all he found was an empty span of bed next to him. He lifted
his head to scan the small cottage for her. She wasn’t there.

She must be seeing to
her needs outside. He let his head fall back on the bed as he savored the
memories from a few hours ago. He was the luckiest man in all the Northlands—nei,
in all the lands beyond as well. His eyes trailed lazily along the thatched
roof as he waited for her to return. Perhaps she would be naked.

Nei, she was too modest
to venture out of the cottage in naught but her skin, despite the fact that
they were isolated and away from the village. But mayhap she only wore her
shift.

He eased himself up so
that he could peer over the edge of the bed. Sure enough, he saw her crumped
overdress, but no sign remained of her shift. He smiled, relishing the anticipation
of seeing her come back through the cottage’s door. Perhaps the early morning
light would stream in behind her so that she might as well be naked.

He propped himself up
on his good arm. It had been quite a while since he’d noticed her absence. It
was strange that she wasn’t back yet. His eye caught on the rumpled dress on
the floor again. He reached for it and shook it out. But the brooch that had
been there the night before was missing.

Something was wrong. He
sat up fully but had to pause while his head spun. He hadn’t been upright in
five days. When his vision cleared, he scanned the cottage once more. Naught
was amiss, yet fear snaked through his innards. One of the cloaks by the door
was gone as well. Where could she have gone? And why wasn’t she back yet?

A dark thought stole
over his mind. Nei, she wouldn’t have tried to escape. She’d made no effort to
do so thus far, and she seemed resigned to her new life here. She was more than
resigned—Eirik had thought she was genuinely happy.

“Laurel!” he bellowed,
hoping she was nearby enough to hear. But silence was his
only
answer.

He pressed himself to
his feet and immediately fell back to the bed, his wounded thigh stabbing with
pain. He cursed his own weakness and stood again, gritting his teeth against
the piercing pain radiating from the wound. He dressed quickly and hobbled to
the door, barely putting any weight on the bad leg. As he yanked open the door,
bright light streamed into the cottage.

He called her name
again but got no response. He saw what he thought might be her footprint in the
dust along the path leading to the stream, so he dragged his bad leg that way.
The stream gurgled cheerily, but Laurel’s complete disappearance sent an eerie
shadow over the scene.

His gaze swept the
area. Naught indicated her presence. Then he glanced down and his heart lurched
into his throat.

At his feet in the mud
along the stream were two sets of footprints. One was small—clearly Laurel’s.
But the other was large enough to be a man’s. The mud along the stream’s bank
was churned up as if a struggle had occurred. Then only one set of footprints
made a path away from the stream—the man’s.

Eirik tried to bolt
after the trail of tracks but immediately collapsed. He struggled to his feet
once more using his one good leg and arm. He had to reach her somehow. His leg
and shoulder screamed at him, but he didn’t listen. He hobbled around the front
of the cottage and scanned the narrow sliver of land between the mountainsides
and the fjord.

In desperation, he
turned his gaze in the opposite direction of the tracks, back toward the
village. His eyes locked on a flicker of movement on the path.

“You! Halt!” he
bellowed, hobbling in the direction of the village. The figure ahead of him
froze, but he couldn’t make out who it was.

After a long moment,
the figure started moving toward him on the path. As he drew closer, Eirik
inhaled sharply in recognition.

“Grimar! What are you
doing here?”

His cousin’s gaze swept
over him in assessment. “I was coming to check on you. Your friends told me
that your injuries weren’t serious, but now I see that they were trying to be
kind.”

Eirik waved away
Grimar’s apparent concern. “I can’t find Laurel. Have you seen her?”

Grimar’s eyes widened
and he shook his head slowly. “Nei, cousin, I haven’t. She wasn’t in the
village when I left a few moments ago, and she hasn’t passed me on the path.”

Eirik cursed and swung
his head back in the direction of his hut. “I fear…I fear something has
happened. There is a set of large footprints leading away from my cottage.”

“Are you sure,” Grimar
began delicately, “that the girl didn’t simply…leave?”

“Nei, she wouldn’t do
that,” Eirik bit out, the memories of her tear-filled eyes as she’d agreed to
marry him swirling in his mind.

Eirik exhaled and
shoved his hair back with his fingers. He was wasting time. If Grimar said she
wasn’t in the village, then there was clearly only one other direction to
search for her. He needed to find her—now. She was clearly in some sort of
danger.

“I’m going after her,”
he said, racking his brain for a plan.

“Alone?” Grimar said,
his brow lowering. “That doesn’t seem wise, especially in your condition.”
Again, his cousin’s calculating eyes swept over his nigh-useless shoulder and
the leg on which Eirik could barely put any weigh
t
.

“I can’t wait to form a
search party!” Eirik barked. His insides were beginning to coil in panic. The
longer he stood here, the farther away Laurel likely was.

“Let me help you,
cousin,” Grimar said softly, his eyes scanning the ground in thought. “We can
leave right now if you wish.”

Eirik nodded and turned
to head back in the direction of the tracks, but then paused. “Why, Grimar?” he
said, glancing over his shoulder at his cousin. “Why are you offering to help
me now?”

Grimar hesitated for a
heartbeat but then shrugged. “You are kin,” he began falteringly. He searched
for words for another moment. “Besides, my father said that we would split the
profit from selling the girl,” he went on more steadily. “If she is gone, then
I won’t get my cut of the profits from our raid in the west.”

Eirik barely suppressed
a growl at Grimar’s answer. It was like his cousin to only think of profits
when Laurel’s life was in danger. But he would take any help he could get
without having to waste more time going into the village and organizing a party
of warriors.

“Come,” Grimar urged,
taking Eirik’s good arm to help him walk faster. “We’re wasting time.”

Eirik let Grimar help
him hobble back toward his hut. He pushed aside the foreboding curling in his
innards at Grimar’s eagerness to help. He couldn’t let himself become
distracted. Laurel’s life was
hanging
in the
balance.