Lord of Hawkfell Island (24 page)

“Did he ever bite your fingers?”

“When he was a pup, aye. But not now, 'tis a game with him.”

“That dog,” she said, staring at Kerzog, “was never a pup.”

She ate then, but not enough.

“Kerzog is getting fat,” Rorik said as the dog finished Mirana's mutton and gave him a look that clearly said he deserved the mutton and much more. Rorik punched him lightly on his shoulder. Kerzog belched and slept again, but not before he'd looked about to find Entti. Seeing her laughing with Hafter, kissing him, feeding him bits of food, the dog let his head fall back onto Mirana's ankles.

Rorik gave her more wine. When she was smiling and laughing at nothing that was funny, just laughing because the wine had loosened her thoughts and her tongue, he fed her honeyed almonds. He didn't leave her until she, like Kerzog, was asleep. He hoped her head wouldn't feel like bursting when she awoke from all the wine. He'd stopped drinking the wine in good time.

All the men had begun to build Hafter and Entti a small house of one chamber on the north side of the barley fields where all his married warriors and their wives slept during the summer months. All his people ate together in the longhouse, and lived there during the coldest months, but the married men liked their
privacy with their wives when it was warm enough. There was at least a roof over the beams so the two of them would sleep there this night. The jesting was in fun and there was no mention that many of the men had already plowed her belly when she'd been a slave and seemingly a half-witted woman who hadn't cared who did anything at all to her.

Entti sought out Mirana before she went with Hafter to their small hut.

“She sleeps, Entti,” Rorik said. “She is nearly well again, thank the gods and her dislike of the broth.” He leaned over and kissed Entti's cheek. “You are a good woman. I am the lord of Hawkfell Island. You are free now, Entti, forever. You are now one of us. You are now a Viking woman and a Viking warrior's wife.”

“Hafter is crowing like a rooster, Rorik. I have not heard him laugh much before. It is a nice sound. He will never regret this marriage, I vow it to you.”

That night Sira disappeared.

T
HERE WAS ENDLESS
talk and argument and questions. It was a full day now and no one had found Sira. None of the boats were missing. She was dead, there was no doubt about that, for she couldn't have swum to the mainland because she couldn't swim, nor could she have flown there like one of the myriad birds, but the men were near to violence because they couldn't discover what had happened to her. And that troubled everyone the most. What if she hadn't wanted to be found?

Tora said little, just held her grief to herself. The women held their voices low and simply didn't speak of Sira. Finally, Mirana was able to leave the longhouse late that evening to find a few moments to herself.

It happened so quickly that Mirana had no chance to struggle or to yell or to even recognize who her attacker was. One moment she was staring out over the moon-drenched sea, alone, letting the warmth of the night enfold her. The next, a hand slammed down on her mouth, her hands were jerked behind her back, and bound quickly. She bit the hand, then opened her mouth. She heard a man's oath, then felt the pain on her left temple, then nothing save a deep pulling blackness. But the voice had seemed somehow
familiar and she tried to hold to it even as she slumped unconscious.

When she awoke, she was aware instantly that she was in a longboat. She lay very still, becoming used to the rocking, the rhythm of the oars dipping into the water, rising, dipping again, smoothly, quickly. Her head hurt, but she became used to that too. Her fear eased. She heard four men speaking, and she knew all of them. Each of them excited, pleased, but one of them was furious.

It was Gunleik, and he shouted suddenly, “By Odin All-Father, you struck her, Ivar! She is still unconscious. You were to rescue her, nothing more, and bring her to me so that I could speak to her, to reassure her. But nay, you were a brute and rough with her.”

“There was no time, Gunleik,” Ivar said, and Mirana could picture him biting his lip, stiffening because the man he worshiped was angry with him. “You set me to watch the longhouse and when I saw Mirana, I knew I had to take her then, else risk our lives and perhaps hers as well. Forget not that the other woman told us that all want her gone, that Rorik Haraldsson hates her and wishes her dead, that someone has already tried to poison her. She was alone. I took my chance. I had to hit her else she would have screamed. When she awakens, you will speak to her, she will agree that I did only what was necessary.”

“You struck her,” Gunleik said again. He cursed, and Mirana saw him thrust his fingers through his coarse gray hair.

“Aye, but if I hadn't, she might have struck me. She is a good fighter, Gunleik, forget it not.”

“I'm all right, Gunleik.”

“Mirana?” He bent down and began to rub her arms, her hands, lightly touch his callused fingertips to her
cheeks. “Thank the gods, you're awake. Listen, we've saved you. You're here with us now. You're not to be afraid. Aye, I have you again, little one. All is well now.” He lifted her onto the bench beside him. The boat rocked to the side and one of the men cursed. It was Emund, and she wished it were any other save him. He was one of Einar's minions, a mean-spirited bully she had never liked. He abused slaves and women.

“Gunleik,” she said. “You must listen to me. What Ivar said is true, but not really. What did he mean—‘the other woman'?”

“The girl with the silver hair so wondrous that even I have stared at it. Her name is—”

“I know who she is.” Mirana turned to stare at Sira as she spoke. She was sitting beside Ingolf, another of her half-brother's favorites. He was as ill-favored with his squinting eyes and his too-heavy black eyebrows as Sira was beautiful, her hair gleaming silver beneath the bright moonlight. She smiled at Mirana and gave her a small salute. It wasn't a nice smile. Sira merely looked at her, but there was malice in her eyes, and pleasure.

“All are worried for you,” Mirana said. “All have been searching for you. Many believed you dead, by your own hand. Guilt and remorse, it is said. But Tora is distraught by your disappearance.”

“I am sorry for that because Tora has always loved me and always tried to make me happy. But in the end, she lost to you, Mirana, and I knew she would lose to you, as would I. But that is over now. It is a new life for both of us. Are you not pleased? I am quite alive and so are you. Were it not for Tora and Harald, I would have no remorse, merely a sense of dissatisfaction that I failed so badly. But now you are here, Mirana, saved just as I was from certain death
by these brave warriors. Aye, we are the luckiest of women.”

Ivar said to Mirana, his young voice eager to placate, eager to reassure Gunleik that he'd done the right thing, “Sira was out walking about, just as you were tonight, Mirana. Ingolf took her last night and she told us all about you and the way you've been treated here.” His young voice rose in his anger at what had happened to her, for he and Mirana had been playmates since she'd come to Clontarf years before. “We will come back to this place, Mirana, and we will avenge you.”

“Aye,” Ingolf said. “This Rorik, this little lordling of Hawkfell Island, is naught but a fool, a pretentious, impudent oaf, and we will kill him and fire his little island and take all his women. Gunleik should have killed him before. You, mistress, should have let him die from his wound. Your kind heart stayed your hand. The next time it will be my turn.”

Mirana closed her eyes for a moment. She had to speak to Gunleik, but not in front of Ingolf or Emund. Her head throbbed where Ivar had struck her. Sira merely sat there looking beautiful and fragile and utterly self-assured.

“You look thin, Mirana, and very pale,” Ivar said.

“Aye,” she said, so distracted she scarce knew what she was saying. “ 'Twas because I was ill. But I am well now, worry not about me.”

“It is because they poisoned you,” Ingolf said. “Sira told us all about it. She told us how you were abused and mistreated by all of them. Einar will be pleased to have you back. It has not taken us too long to find you.”

“Einar,” she said, knowing from the first instant she'd regained consciousness that it was her half-brother who had sent Gunleik to find her, but not wanting to face it.

Emund laughed, reached forward and lightly trailed his fingers over her arm. “Einar will be most relieved to see you, mistress. We have all missed you.”

“Leave her be,” Gunleik said sharply. “See to your oars, Emund. We must move quickly now.”

“I must speak to you, Gunleik,” Mirana said, her voice pitched as low as she could manage it. Still, she knew that Ingolf had heard her, for his features sharpened and he leaned forward over his oars.

“Certainly, little one,” Gunleik said, and patted her hand. “I am glad to see you. I have been very worried for you. 'Twas by the veriest chance we learned about Rorik Haraldsson's island and its location.”

“Aye,” said Emund easily. “We were in London, a nasty place with smells vile enough to make a man puke, but Rorik is known there, as is his family. We pretended to be his friends, and soon enough there was mention of his Hawkfell Island. He keeps the island's location secret, but we had silver and it wasn't long before we found someone to tell us. Aye, 'twas easy after that. We hid to the east of the harbor, in a small protected cove. We rowed from the mainland when the night was blacker than a witch's eyes. None saw us. This Rorik believes himself a warrior. He is naught but a fool, aye, and I'll slit his throat for him.”

“Doesn't the man even have enough wits to post sentries?” Ingolf said, then laughed.

“Aye,” Mirana said, nothing more. “But all have been searching for her.”

Emund said, “They could have found us, even during their search, but they didn't. Aye, 'tis an island filled with fools and led by a stupid man.”

“We were well hidden,” Ivar said.

Mirana said nothing. She felt sick to her stomach and her head throbbed. She couldn't speak to Gunleik
until they beached the longboat and camped for the night. She felt a knot of cold deep in her belly, and said, “When do we go ashore for the night, Gunleik?”

“We don't,” he said. “We must continue without stopping, Mirana. Einar said to return as soon as we could else he would suffer for it, and thus we would as well. I know it will be hard for you, but there is really no choice.”

Mirana knew it was true that Einar would kill Gunleik and anyone for that matter who didn't do what he wanted them to, anyone who failed. She drew a deep breath. There was nothing for it but to try. “Listen to me, all of you. Einar has made a contract with King Sitric. He will force me to wed that old man in exchange for more power, more slaves, and more silver. I will be given over to him the moment Einar has me again. I do not want this. I would ask that you return me to Hawkfell Island. I would ask that you tell Einar that I am dead, that, or you couldn't find me.” She realized this wouldn't work, and quickly added, “Nay, do not even return to Einar. Come back with me to Hawkfell Island and become one with Rorik's men. They were well treated and there is raiding and trading, enough to make a man rich.”

Gunleik was frowning. “But Einar said nothing of this, Mirana. You to wed with King Sitric? It doesn't seem likely to me, for you aren't of a royal house nor do you bring great wealth. How did you learn of it?”

“Rorik had a spy in the King's court in Dublin. He returned to Hawkfell Island and told him of it.”

“Aye,” Emund said, as he spat over the side of the boat. “Aye, this Rorik had many spies. Aslak was his spy at Clontarf. He is responsible for freeing Rorik and for him taking you. I would kill the fool if I could. I would go back to the little lordling's island—
to kill Aslak. But I don't believe you about this other man, Mirana. At the king's garrison? Not very likely, I say.”

She shook her head numbly. “It is true, Gunleik. The man's name is Kron and he was at the garrison for some six months. He discovered everything. I don't want to go back. I don't want to be forced to wed that old man. By all the gods, he is old enough to be my grandfather! I know I am not of a royal house. I know it makes no sense, but Kron said that the king was told by his advisor, Hormuze, that he was to have me, Audun's only daughter, a virgin, and I would bring him back to his virility and to his youth, and give him warrior sons.”

Mirana looked at each man in turn. They were staring at her as if she'd gained three heads. She said very calmly, her heart spurting fast with fear, “It matters not now anyway, for I am no longer a virgin. I am already wed, to Rorik Haraldsson. I am his wife and the mistress of Hawkfell Island.”

There, it was said. Her words lay stark in the night. The men were silent, frozen, staring harder at her now, clearly disbelieving. Then Sira laughed, a delicious woman's laugh, filled with amusement and disdain.

“It's true, damn you, Sira, and you well know it!”

“Ah, Mirana, you lie to yourself just as you lie to these valiant men who have risked their lives to save you.” She smiled in pity, continuing to Gunleik, “I know that you are fond of her, but Rorik didn't want her, though she tried hard enough to gain his attention. He didn't wed her. He left her virginity intact. She was naught but a hostage to him, despite all her tricks, nothing more than an enemy to his family who would have killed her, despite him wanting to keep her to bargain with Einar. Nay, I was the one who was supposed to
wed him. His parents came to Hawkfell, bringing me with them for the wedding. You saved her, Gunleik, for surely they would have killed her.”

“Don't believe her, please,” Mirana said. “She lies. She was the one who tried to kill me. She wanted Rorik, but he was already wed to me.”

Ingolf snorted, his heavy brows a single black line across his brow. “It sounds like naught more than a tangled weave of a woman's lies. You will be quiet, mistress. Your whining has no effect on any of us. Your lies are childish. Not a virgin! You, the manly little bitch who would let no man near you, who would kill a man before you let him caress you? Aye, I wanted you, but you would only stare at me, contempt for me writ plain on your face. You're a cold one, mistress, and I doubt not that you will die a virgin. Or, if your wedding to King Sitric is true, why then, you will have no choice but to part your legs for him and then you'll be a vessel for the old king's rod. You, no longer a virgin? It would take more than a single man to rob you of your maidenhead. And that is a lie easily disproved. If Gunleik doesn't wish to do it, why I'll stick my finger inside you and find your maiden's shield.

“Nay, there is no reason for this other slave to lie. You lie because you don't want to be wedded to an old man, your fine white flesh crawls at the thought, doesn't it? But mistress, he is a king, think you on that and on the advantages it will bring you. You will have slaves and jewelry and more gowns than you would wish for. Einar will gain from the bargain as will the rest of us as well. Lie down and sleep and keep your lies behind your teeth. Leave us in peace.”

“Gunleik,” Mirana said, grabbing his arm. “Please, I am telling the truth. Don't take me back to Einar. This whole idea of the king wanting only me—it makes no
sense. Why would he demand to have only me when there are princesses of more value to him?