Heart of a Viking (9 page)

He rubbed his beard. “I know not but as you say, you must hold onto hope.”

“And what of you? Where is your hope?”

“A man like me has no need of hope.”

“Then what does he need?”

Thorarin gave her a lopsided smile. “You will find out soon enough.”

Thorarin stepped out of the bathhouse and pushed a hand through his damp hair. Since that first time with Keita, he had not let any of the slave girls wash him. He certainly could not ask Keita to. Her coming to his home had been a great risk on her behalf and though at the time he’d been more concerned for her, he’d somehow forgotten that it put his plans at risk too. He could not afford to lose Ragni’s trust—not now.

Not while they were looking for a traitor in their midst. The
járl
was convinced it had to be someone who knew when and where the coin was being taken. Of course, he was right.

It seemed two of the guards had already been beaten for their role in not protecting the money and several others punished in the hopes that the truth would spill from their lips. Thorarin eyed the sun in its low position. It was hardly morning and Ragni was already inflicting pain. He regretted that he’d had a role in it but this would not be the first time Ragni had used his power in such a dishonourable way. If all went well, no one would have to suffer at his hands again.

And if Keita had her suspicions, would others? He could not afford to take wrong step at this point. He was too close.

Her words rattled through his mind while he made his way back to the farmstead. Friend. He’d never had any friends. He was not even sure Anki counted. And friendship implied so many things, things that he did not believe he could consider with her. After all, you did not wish to peel a gown off your friend or dip your fingers into their wet heat. Kiss them until they cried out then spread their legs to lose yourself.

Friends. He snorted to himself. That slave girl had no idea about him.

After tidying away the scraps of wood from last night, he tamped down the embers of the fire and checked the false wall. He headed back down to the longhouse. There was more work to be done on the farmstead and several villagers had mentioned having work for him but he needed to be by Ragni’s side to discover what he knew so far.

When he entered the building, the tension hung thicker than the smoke in the air. The two guests—important men from one of the settlements at the head of the river—sat at the table while Ragni occupied his carved chair.

He lifted his head in greeting and motioned for Thorarin to join him at his side. He leaned in. “I may have need of you.” He jerked his head to the two men. “It seems our guests are not happy with our hospitality.”

Thorarin eyed the two men, both older than he but he knew them to be raiders. These were the sort of men who had become warriors in the blood of their enemies. While Ragni had plenty of guards in the longhouse, Thorarin remained on edge.

“It is not your hospitality that is a problem,” the younger one, Hattr, spat. “It is your lack of payment.”

Ragni’s nostrils flared. No weapons were allowed in the longhouse but these men needed no weapons, nor did Thorarin. Would he harm another to protect Ragni, to prove himself?

Já
, he likely would. And he’d feel no compunction about hurting these men. He’d met the likes of them in his time away. They cared only for riches, sacrificing their honour with ease if it meant they would gain.

“Why should I pay for a failed expedition anyway?”

Hattr slammed down a balled fist on the table, sending mead spilling out of the goblets. “We used our ships—”

“And my men. I was promised untold riches in return for helping fund this expedition yet I have none,” Ragni replied, a bite to his voice that left Thorarin’s muscles tense.

He could not let Ragni come to harm, could not let these men do his job for him. There would be no satisfaction in a quick death by the hands of another. He glanced around and noticed Keita and a few of the other slaves lingering by the doorway. He motioned to her.

“Why do we not have a drink, my
járl
?”

Ragni nodded stiffly.

Hattr leaned across the table and jabbed the wood with his finger. “We cannot be to blame for the lack of riches. We took what we could.”

“You have no right to gamble with my investment. You should have landed where you knew you would be successful,” Ragni replied.

Sigurd, the younger man lifted his lip in derision. “You would have us plunder the same places like cowards. You would not be complaining so had we discovered new wealth.”

“I am no coward,” Ragni spat.

Keita came between the men and poured some mead. Thorarin hoped her ethereal presence would calm the anger simmering about the longhouse but they paid her little attention.

“So you will choose to forgo your honour and not pay?” Hattr said coolly.

“I will not pay when you did not fulfil our agreement,” the
járl
stated.

The older man leaned back and folded his arms. “And what if we take our payment?” With a movement far swifter than Thorarin could have expected from a man of his age, he was upon his feet and had grasped Keita’s wrist. He hauled her into him and she released a cry.

Thorarin stood and lunged but froze when Hattr brought his eating knife to her neck. He glanced at Ragni, whose face had turned an unnatural shade of red. Sigurd joined Hattr, armed too with his knife.

“If she is pure and a princess, as you say, she will fetch a fine price,” Sigurd said, waving the knife at them.

Inwardly, Thorarin cursed himself. He should never have placed her in such a vulnerable position. Now there was a knife pressed to her throat and he spied the faintest spot of blood trickling down under her collar. The stark red against her pale skin sent a rush of heat under his skin.

“You think you can take my property?” Ragni snarled.

“You owe us, Ragni.” Hattr backed toward the entrance way.

The slaves moved aside while Ragni’s men looked to their
járl
for guidance. They knew how prized Keita was and no doubt had little idea what to do. Risk her death? Let her go? Try to seize her and risk their
járl
’s ire?

Thorarin stalked after them slowly. He certainly would not let her die or be taken. But that knife point on her neck prevented any sudden movements. It would be easy to slice her throat before he’d even made a move.  

“You will leave us unmolested or she shall die,” Hattr warned.

As they stepped out of the door, Thorarin put a hand to Ragni’s arm. “If you wish to keep her, let them leave.”

Keita could not have understood his words but her eyes widened, fearful and tear-stained. She must have understood his meaning at least.

“You shall get her back,” Thorarin assured the
járl
quietly.

They followed the men out and it took all his will not to tear her from their arms. The sight of these stranger’s hands upon her almost ate as deep as the sight of Ragni touching her. And Thorarin knew well these men would not leave her untouched. They did not have the same control as the
járl
. He never thought he would be grateful to Ragni for anything but he was grateful for that, at least.

“Have her,” Ragni declared. “But consider this a mark between us. You shall regret the day you crossed me, I swear.”

Hattr shook his head. “
Neinn,
Ragni. You shall regret your greed long before we regret taking what is rightfully ours.”

The men were allowed to leave unmolested. Thorarin watched Keita until she was out of sight, her pale blue gown disappearing into the forest of green. Her terrified eyes would forever eat into his soul.

He turned to Ragni. “We could do nothing while unarmed. You wish her back,
já
?”

“
Já
, those bastards will not take what is mine and live.”

“I shall get her for you.”

“I should send an army after them.”

“They shall likely kill her then.”

Ragni narrowed his gaze at him. “You volunteer to get my property back?”

Thorarin dipped his head. “
Já
.”

“Very well. Remember, she is to remain untouched.”

Of course, my
járl
.”

Thorarin sprinted to the farmstead and took up his weapons. His heart pounded fiercely like a warning drum.
They will not have her
, it said.
They will not have her
. Upon his honour, he would bring her back. Even a life as Ragni’s slave was better than whatever Hattr and Sigurd had intended for her. If they kept her, she would likely become a bed-slave and if they sold her, her fate would be no better.

He took the same path he’d used to come upon the men carrying the taxes. It was ill-used and tangled with roots and branches, but he carved through them with ease. Nothing would come between him and his quarry. His skills learned during his time away were once again called upon when he picked up the sound of voices and boots crunching. He slowed his pace, ignored the urge to race forward and tear her from their grasp. He might be big but he could stalk as silently as a wolf when needed.

So stalk he did. He moved through the woods as slowly as he could allow himself, snaking toward them. They laughed and talked of their brash behaviour. Thorarin silently encouraged them to continue boasting. It only served to cover his footsteps. When he was alongside them, hidden well by the foliage, he saw that they only had Keita by her arm now. Though tucked between the two men, without the threat of a knife to her neck, Thorarin had little concern for her welfare now. Failure was not an option.

He waited until their backs were to him.

Everything focused on one thing and one thing alone.
Keita.
He saw her, gripped by either man, her gown fluttering and her footsteps faltering. He noted the tremor in her body and heard her sniffles of terror. They would pay for each bruise now likely upon her arms and each tear she shed in fear. The forest around him stilled. Sounds of trees swishing and the occasional tweet of a bird or scuffle of an animal vanished. Hattr and Sigurd’s footsteps remained as did their voices, loud in his ears. But his heart beat slowed and his grip on his axe tightened.

He had no fear of failure, no notion of this ending any way other than with their deaths and Keita’s rescue. Thorarin relished the heavy weight of his weapon in his palm and made his move.

Hattr moved slightly as Thorarin lunged, perhaps hearing his footsteps. The axe met not with the soft flesh between his neck and shoulder as intended but rang off his helmet. Nevertheless, the man fell in an instant, dragging Keita down with him. Sigurd swivelled and Thorarin let out a war cry. The man had no time to respond or defend himself.

Thorarin’s axe cleaved through flesh like a knife through butter. Blood splattered, warm and full of life. But there was no life left in Sigurd. He fell, blood draining into the ground around him. He watched until the man’s eyes shuttered closed and his mouth stopped working in silent exclamation.

A sharp sting across his upper arm made him howl. He twisted to find Hattr on his feet, weapon in hand. The man was none too steady which was likely the reason Hattr’s attack had left him merely wounded instead of dead. Foolish. He’d been so intent on seeing Sigurd pay, he’d given no thought to the other man’s strength to survive such a blow to the head. Still, he would see this man dead too. He would pay for inflicting this upon Keita.

Keita—who now stood back against the trees, hands clasped tightly in front of her, her body seeming to tremble uncontrollably. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring look but he doubted she saw anything but blood and horror.

He let Hattr take the first swing and that gave him time to analyse where he still had strength left. The man was a brute so it should not have surprised him he’d survived the blow. However, Thorarin could not claim to have had a clear thought since first spotting Keita.

That did not mean he’d fail her, though. She gave him more than his pitiful life to fight for. There was simply no way he’d leave her to Hattr.

Thorarin made the next move, swinging wide and fast. Though Hattr blocked the blow, he felt the give in the man’s body, how the blow rattled through him and likely jarred his head and weakened his muscles. The older man wavered on his feet.

“I will take her,” he said, his words slurred. “Because of you, she will truly suffer. I will pin her down and rape her. I will make sure she hurts in every way possible. I will have her begging for me to take her life. All because of your actions this day.”

“
Neinn
.” Thorarin said simply.

They clashed again and he forced Hattr to take a step back. While the man was still recovering the blow, he came in again. His axe cleaved into his side. He withdrew and as the man sagged to his knees, he stared into his eyes.

“Be grateful, Hattr, that I have more honour than you. I will not make you suffer for your words.”

He took the man’s head off with one strong sweep. Keita cried out. Thorarin let his weapon drop to his side and drew in heavy breaths before kicking the dead body down. He lifted his gaze to the slave girl and regret panged deep in his chest. Pale skin, rapid breaths, wide eyes. His savagery had likely terrified her more than the two men had.

Thorarin took a swift step forward, half-expecting her to flee him but she remained rooted. He curled a hand around her gown and cursed. He’d left bloodied fingerprints on her gown. Now Ragni would know she had been touched by someone other than these men and the stark reminder of his savagery against her purity rang through his mind. He had no place touching her, Ragni’s property or not.