Sunder (34 page)

“Good. Once she is dead, I’ll get you a horse—a fine animal of equal value from our stables, some food, and some gold. I suggest you go north—”

“Mother? What in God’s eyes are you doing in here?”

The voice ringing out from behind her froze her to the core. Einar had not been looking at the horse.

Wyrtgeorn was here in the jailer’s pens, for what reason, Annis could not even begin to speculate, but she did not turn to face her son. She could not.

All she could do was stare straight ahead into the smug and frighteningly delighted face of Einar.

“Why Lady Annis, this must be your eldest.” He raised his eyebrow and gave a toothy smile. “The heir of Shaftesbury?”

A cold sweat broke out on Annis’ forehead. Wyrtgeorn could not run away, and if she ran herself to get help, how would she explain how Einar got out of his cell? Or why he was holding a weapon. Her breath caught in her throat as the light from the window flashed against the dagger in Einar’s hands, the sunlight glinting on the metal as he raised it ever so slightly.

“Einar,” she quavered. “Remember our arrangement. You have no quarrel with him.”

The satisfied flash in his eye turned hard as he looked directly into her face. “He is in my way.”

23

“Isa...”Mama’s sing-songy voice echoed through the grey fog beyond the pool, jolting Isabella from her crumpled fetal position. 
 
Her muscles ached from the uncontrollable shivers wracking her body. She had to get out of this car or she would freeze to death. 
 

Her joints rebelling against her, Isabella clawed her way through the smashed rear windshield, heaving the top half of her body into the darkness, reaching with all her might for the ladder at the edge of the pool, noticing for the first time that the blood-red water had frozen solid. If she could reach the ladder, she could run—run far away and they would never find her.
 

Bam! 

The ear-shattering sound jolted her entire body, knocking her off balance and driving her face first onto the ice, her jaw cracking with the impact. She lay still, barely daring to breathe. 
 

Bam! 

The sound vibrated beneath her chest, propelling her back against the car with a shriek. There was someone underneath the ice. 
 

Scrambling to her knees, she swatted at the white layer of snow crystals covering the dark red ice—back and forth, back and forth—seemingly of its own accord, the cold biting into her fingers with every stroke. She could see it now, a human hand, stretched out and pressing hard on the ice, trying to lift it. 
 

Sick dread crushed her stomach as the hand resumed its pounding, louder now, the open palm now a fist crashing against the ice, just as she cleared the last of the snow. She could see him.
 

“Thorstein!” she screamed, beating her hands on the ice in tandem with his, trying to free him from his frozen coffin. She had to save him! 
 

“Hold on!” she begged him, trying not to look at his mouth stretched open in an airless scream, the blood red water enveloping him. He was dying... dying right before her eyes.
 

“Thorstein!” 

Isabella’s scream bounced off the wooden rafters of the barn as she jolted awake. Her heartbeat in her throat, she gasped for air while pulling her cloak closer to her sweat-soaked body in a futile attempt to stop her shaking.  

“Thorstein,” she whispered to herself, reaching out with her left hand in search of Simon’s comforting presence, but finding only straw. The dog had abandoned her sometime during the night. The barest hint of daylight peeked through the wooden slats, confirming it was not only Simon who had left her. The hunters—nearly every man in town—had surely departed. She was alone—alone once again to interpret the dream God had sent to answer her prayer. Had the dream been a warning that Thorstein was in danger? Or was it telling her Thorstein was a danger to
her
? 

“Maybe it’s just your subconscious giving you a smack for dumping him in front of the whole town.” The nervous tilt of her voice betrayed her shallow attempt at calming herself. Something was horribly wrong.   

Still shivering violently, Isabella climbed down from the hay loft, cursing her aching body with every rung of the ladder and throwing in an extra curse for Thorstein. As if she didn’t have enough worries, now she had to be concerned for him as well? 

The previous night, Isabella had dragged the sled to rest against the bottom rungs of the ladder to alert her if anyone else tried to climb up. The wooden slats creaked with even the slightest touch, and Isabella’s firm kick to its side sent an echo of clattering wood and metal pinging off the walls, causing the three resident horses—the nags too old or fat to hunt—to flinch. Her path now clear, she eased off the ladder and limped as quickly as she dared out the front door of the barn, assuring herself with every step that Thorstein would be fine when she reached his room. Just fine.  

Expecting to be greeted with the silence of an empty city, Isabella was startled to hear the sound of female giggles almost as soon as she took her first step up the hill. Despite the glare of sunshine against the snow, she could make out Saoirse an
dӔ
mma walking toward her with their arms looped together, both smiling the carefree smile of children. They spotted Isabella in tandem and, instantly, both smiles dropped. 

“Deorca!” Saoirse’s voice rang out in a panicked clang. “Selwyn said you were to stay hidden today. Where are you going?” 

“I need to talk to Thorstein,” Isabella shrugged, turning away from them. “It’s important.” 

“We shall go with you then.
”Ӕ
mma’s voice was low and almost sultry as she took three large steps to bring herself even with Isabella. Even with only one eye
,Ӕ
mma caught Isabella’s gaze and silently communicated that there would be no refusal to this offer.  

She had spoken so rarely t
oӔ
mma, but legend had it she had returned to her kitchen duties the very next day after Annis had stabbed her through the eye without provocation. She cooked and served every meal, her empty socket still weeping, and she had done it with her head held high. Looking at the younger woman now, Isabella believed every word of that story and wondered briefly if she could be so brave if she lost a body part.  

“All right,” Isabella gave a tight smile t
oӔ
mma. “Let’s go then.” 

The eerie quiet of the town enveloped Isabella as she and the girls walked three abreast, each swiveling their heads to survey their surroundings. The inherent danger of their situation silenced any nosy questions they may have had, and for that at least, Isabella was thankful. For all she knew, the Dane was watching them right now, and all their stealth could be for naught.  

As they walked around the back end of the Great Hall towards Thorstein’s quarters, Isabella noticed the scattered patches of dead leaves poking through the snow became thicker, giving the incline the appearance of confetti frosting. The majority of the leaves were dead and brown, as expected, but miraculously some of them were red and gold, as if it were still autumn.
What a beautiful view Thorstein gets to wake up to.
The patches of color were so frequent, Isabella had stepped completely over a patch of crimson snow before realizing it wasn’t a leaf. 

“Saoirse?” The low vibration in her voice brought her two companions to a halt. “What is that?” Her numb index finger extended toward the red splotch in the snow. 

A moment of silence. Then another. And one moment more. 

“There’s another one,
”Ӕ
mma croaked, pointing farther away. 

Focusing her eyes, her vision made blurry by the cold, Isabella saw that, in fact, none of the leaves were red. The crimson pops of color punctuating the path to the men’s quarters were a jagged line of blood stains, leading straight to Thorstein’s door. 

The freezing air caught in Isabella’s throat and she nearly choked on her tongue as she bolted toward Thorstein’s room. Saoirse an
dӔ
mma easily overtook her, their shoes and skirts spitting snow and blood back into Isabella’s face as she ran. 

With fire in her lungs, Isabella continued her labored sprint as she watched Saoirse an
dӔ
mma burst through the gaping doorway and out of her sight. Twin screams enveloped her as she finally reached the door, panting and suppressing the urge to vomit. 

Please don’t let him be dead.
 

“Move! Move goddamnit! I can’t see!” Throwing her shoulder into Saoirse and propelling her away from Thorstein, Isabella could finally see his face, his beautiful, untouched, unblemished face. It was the only part of his body not covered in thick, sticky blood.  

Isabella whipped her head around t
oӔ
mma. “Run back to the barn and bring that sled. As fast as you can!” 

Like a har
eӔ
mma shot out the door, her face as boldly white as the snow her feet kicked up around her.  

“I’m sorry!” Isabella cried, falling to her knees and gathering Thorstein’s bloody mass up in her arms. “I’m so sorry!”

As she held his head in the crook of her arm, tiny pinpricks of pain rose up on her shoulder. Not bothering to open her eyes, Isabella winced against the pain of Saoirse’s fingernails in her arm. 

“Don’t move him unless you have to!” the girl hissed. 

“Is the chiurgeon still here?”  

“No, he’s gone on the hunt!” Saoirse sobbed, her finger straightening to point. “It’s in his belly. The wound.” 

Though his rattling gasps of breath declared him to be alive, Thorstein’s condition was dangerously unstable. Cradling him in her arms, Isabella could feel how cold he was, how shallowly his breathing was.  The blood still seeping slowly from his side confirmed Saoirse’s observation that he had suffered a stab to the gut.

“Get him a blanket,” she whispered, rubbing her hands on his bare arms. “He’s freezing.” 

“Deorca?” Thorstein’s strangled whisper was muffled by her shoulder. 

“Don’t talk, Thorstein. We’re going to help you.” Saoirse returned to his side, laying the fur onto his chest, gently wrapping it around his shoulders. Isabella’s throat was tied into a knot with the overwhelming knowledge that no matter what, Thorstein was going to die.
You’re too late,
an angry voice hissed in her head. 

“The keys…” 

Thorstein’s warbling voice had a liquid sound to it.
Please God let his lung not be punctured
. The wound was low on his left side, but she did not know how far down the lungs extended or what organs were situated beneath them.  

“It’s all right, she’ll come soon,” Saoirse reassured him, leaning her shoulder against Isabella’s. 

“The keys…she came for them,” he mumbled out again, this time more forcefully. 

“Hush, now.” 

Now you tell me what use that boy has for jailer’s keys?
 

The realization snapped clearly into place in Isabella’s mind and let out a moan of anger and frustration at her own stupidity. 

“The jailer’s keys? Did Annis do this to you?” she asked, her voice finally taking hold. 

“Don’t ask him questions, Deorca. He must not speak!” Saoirse’s roared. 

Thorstein’s eyes were unfocused, his pupils dilated, but as she wrapped the fur tighter around his arms in a vain attempt to warm him, she heard him hiss out, “yyeeee..ssssss.” 

“I told you,” Saoirse growled. “I told you what she could do.” Weaving her arms into the space between Isabella and Thorstein, Saoirse pressed her hands onto the seeping wound in his belly, prompting a low hiss from Thorstein, who had lost his light grip on consciousness. “I will make you well again,” she whispered. “You will be well.” 

Stupid!
Selwyn had been right. Thorstein had been holding those keys to keep Isabella safe from Annis, not to help her. Why had she ever listened to Garrick?
So stupid!
And now her friend may die because of it. 

The wind whistling through the still swaying door was the only sound in the little room as all three of them waited for Æmma to return with the sled. 

“Where will we take him?” Isabella whispered. “With the lach gone?” 

“Redwald will help him,” Saoirse nodded, seemingly to herself. “He can dress wounds.” 

Isabella felt herself recoil at the idea of Redwald and his filthy shit-stained hands being the one to address Thorstein’s internal bleeding. “Are you sure he knows how? What if he makes it worse?” 

“Would you rather take him to the wise woman so she may sprinkle herbs on him?” Unraveling herself from Thorstein, Saoirse shoved herself off the floor and bolted out the door screaming, “Æmma! Æ-mma!” 

A distant call echoed through the trees. “I’m here!” 

Isabella sighed in relief at her extraordinary speed. Æmma must have run at a dead sprint all the way to the barn in order to have made it back so quickly. Pressing her fingers to Thorstein’s neck, she could still feel his weak pulse. “Please God let him live. Please let it not be too late.” 

 “Deorca!
”Ӕ
mma’s voice was much closer now.  

Craning her neck to see out the door, Isabella could see the one-eyed woman running with all her might, pulling the sled by a pair of leather straps she held over her shoulders. She skidded to a halt a foot away from the doorstep, spraying bloody snow across the threshold. 

“Help me,” Isabella said behind gritted teeth, but she hadn’t needed to. Saoirse was already bent beside Thorstein’s feet, waiting for Isabella to grab his shoulders. Afte
rӔ
mma joined them to secure her grip under his back, in tandem they heaved him onto the sled, using two of the straps to tie him down like so much firewood. He moaned at them, clearly trying to say something, but he was trembling so badly Isabella could not be sure he even knew where he was. There was just so much blood, dried into crystals all over his skin and the waist of his breeches.  

In an unspoken acknowledgement that Isabella’s flayed back would be of no help
,Ӕ
mma and Saoirse grabbed the remaining straps and pulled like twin draft horses, lobbing Thorstein’s head back with the sudden jolt of movement.