But it was too late. Kerek watched helplessly as men swept down the path yelling at the top of their lungs, carrying swords, axes, knives. Some had even picked up rocks beside the path. At their head was Haakon, Utta’s husband. Had Ragnor grabbed her right out of her bed? Had her husband still been beside her?
Behind him were Rorik, Merrik, and Cleve. Kerek would die for this fool of a man, all of them would die.
He said to Torric, “Tell Olya to throw the girl Utta back onto the beach. Do it or we’ll be butchered.”
Ragnor screamed, “Row!”
They obeyed Ragnor, muscles straining, they rowed, but still it wasn’t enough. Haakon and two dozen warriors splashed through the waves and climbed over the side of the warship. The fighting began.
Torric tried to rise, but Rorik merely frowned at him and brought the flat of his sword down on his head. Torric collapsed and fell beneath the rudder. As for Olya, he dropped Utta on the center wooden plank, drew his sword and fought with all his strength and skill. He got a sword through his belly, another through his chest. Because they were Vikings, because they were trained warriors who would never surrender, most died. Three were groaning, helpless, when it was over.
Kerek, as had been his vow to the queen, had protected his prince. He now stood at the stem of the warship, waiting to be slashed apart. The men had stayed away from him until the others were either dead or helpless. Now it was his turn. He expected no less. Ragnor was behind him, the bloody coward. Suddenly Ragnor raced around Kerek, grabbed up Utta and pulled her upright in front of him. He pulled the knife from his belt. He screamed at Rorik, “Keep them back or the girl dies. I care not though she makes the best mead I’ve ever drunk.”
There was instant silence. The boat swayed and rocked in the waves, for they were still close to shore. Slowly, all the Malverne men and the Hawkfell men fell in behind Rorik, staring at Ragnor, and the still-unconscious Utta held in front of him like a shield.
Though his hand shook, Cleve said in his calm diplomat’s voice, “My lord Ragnor, it is over for you. If you wish to live, you will at once release Utta. You will lay her down very gently. You will not so much as make a shadow on her throat with that knife. Do you understand me?”
Ragnor didn’t know what to do. It was all Kerek’s fault. If only he’d captured Utta instead of that arrogant Chessa, who looked at him as if he were naught but a worm, even after he’d solved the skald’s riddle. He called out, “ Haakon, I will buy her from you.”
Kerek saw Cleve gently touch Haakon’s arm. “No, don’t move.” To Ragnor, he said in that same calm voice, “ Release Utta now. You, Kerek, and Captain Torric will survive if you do as I tell you. Mirana will tend those men’s wounds.”
“You’re nothing but a slave, Cleve, you’re ugly with that scar sliced up your face. I don’t know why Chessa thinks you so manly and beautiful. She must have a squint. You’ve no right to even speak to me. Go away, all of you.”
Suddenly there was a moan, a woman’s moan. All the men looked toward the small covered cargo space to see Chessa on her hands and knees, her mouth tied with a rag, trying to crawl through the opening.
“You damned bastard,” Cleve yelled, all his diplomat’s calm vanished, and ran right at Ragnor. “I don’t care who you are or what your damned father may do. You’ll die now, you gutless worm!” The ship rocked wildly, throwing Ragnor to the side. At that moment, Utta awoke, shook her head to clear it, saw her husband’s white face in front of her, and sent her elbow back into a soft stomach.
Ragnor yowled. She was free. She rolled aside just as Cleve leapt upon Ragnor. He dragged him down else they’d both have gone flying over the side of the warship. He pounded Ragnor’s head against the center plank, the thud sounding loud and painful.
“Kill the damned bastard,” Haakon yelled out, grabbing Utta and holding her steady.
“Wring his fool’s neck,” Hafter said. “Slice off his mangy parts.”
“Please, Cleve,” Kerek begged. But this time Rorik held him back and said, “If Cleve wishes to kill him, let him. He is responsible for the death of all of these good men.”
Cleve was red-faced with rage. He sent his fist into Ragnor’s throat, then quickly drew the knife from its sheath at his waist.
“No, Cleve.”
He stopped cold. She’d but whispered the two words, but it stopped him. He looked at Chessa, who was still on her hands and knees, but she’d managed to work the gag from her mouth even with her wrists bound. “No,” she said again, trying to crawl to him. “Don’t kill him. I don’t want you declared an outlaw and it is what King Olric would do, at the very least. He would even send men here to Hawkfell Island. He’s not worth it. Don’t kill him, Cleve.”
He slowly withdrew the knife. Ragnor was looking up at him, so terrified that he couldn’t even groan at the pain in his ribs and his head.
“Has he hurt you, Chessa?”
“No, I’m fine. Could you please release me?”
Cleve rose slowly, looked down at Ragnor, then kicked him in the ribs. Ragnor yelled, then screamed, “Kerek, I’ll kill you for this. It’s all your fault. You took her and look what happened.”
Kerek turned to Utta, who was still standing close to her husband. “I’m sorry he did this. He is sometimes ungoverned. Will you kill him, Haakon?”
Rorik said nothing, just looked at his man.
Utta said, her arms around her husband’s back, “Nay, Haakon, leave him be. It is as Chessa said. You would be made an outlaw and I won’t want our children to know their father had to flee to survive.”
“Our children?” Haakon said blankly.
“Aye,” she said, smiling up at him. “At least we will have the first one in seven months or so.”