Lord of Raven's Peak (Viking Era 3)

Erik wasn’t in sight. Had she only been unconscious for an instant? Was he still there on top of the path, still on his knees, still holding his belly?

Fear rushed through her, clearing her head. She didn’t wait, she stumbled down the path, not stopping until she reached the bottom and then she halted against a fir tree to catch her breath. Her heart pounded, her side ached, her back, nearly healed, was now pulling and throbbing. As for her leg, she felt nothing, which, she supposed, was a good sign.

“By all the gods, where have you been?”

It was Merrik striding toward her, yelling.

“I thought you’d gotten yourself attacked by a wild animal or you’d fallen into the water and drowned.” He was utterly furious, but she saw it was from fear for her.

She tried to smile at him, a miserable effort, but still her best effort. “Nay, I’m all right. I wanted to see the view from the top yon. It is glorious, Merrik, so very beautiful, with the water winding like a snake and—”

“Damn you, be quiet! Who ripped your gown? Who?”

He was on her then and he grasped her upper arms just as his brother had done, but immediately he gentled. He stared down at her, gaining control of himself. He’d been frantic with fear, and he’d hated that damned fear that had driven him wild. He calmed. He saw then that she was heaving, that her face was without color, the pulse in her throat pounding wildly above the rent in her gown. “Who?” he said again. “Who did this to you?” He saw her wince, saw her make an unconscious gesture to her head.

He said more calmly now, more slowly, “Tell me what happened.”

“I fell, nothing more, I just fell and knocked myself out for a moment. I’m all right now, Merrik.” But even as she spoke, she was looking back over her shoulder, up the narrow path.

“And when you fell you ripped your gown? By all the gods, tell me who did this to you!” He felt her pulling away from him even though she wasn’t really moving. He realized then that she was terrified.

He drew her close, his hands stroking lightly up and down her back. Then he remembered Thrasco’s beating, and brought his hands up to her shoulders and her neck, massaging her, soothing her. “Tell me what happened.”

“I want to go back to the longhouse. Please, Merrik, I wish to go now, I must!”

Her fear was palpable. He frowned down at her. “ Neither of us is going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”

She began to tremble, she couldn’t help herself. She knew Merrik would fight his brother, he wouldn’t hold back, she knew it. “He’s up there, I know it. He ripped my gown but no more, nothing more, I swear it. I hurt him, kicked him just as I kicked you in Kiev, and I heard him screaming after me and then he was moaning loudly. But now he must be all right. He will come down and he will see me with you and he will take me away or you’ll fight him and I can’t bear that, not brother against brother!”

He said not a word, merely looked back up the winding, rutted path.

She struggled against him now, so frightened that she was trembling, her flesh cold beneath his fingers.

“How long were you unconscious?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! Please, Merrik, let me go, don’t let him see me!”

“Hush. Listen to me. You left me to return to the longhouse over an hour ago. I got worried and began to look for you.”

“An hour?” She stared up at him blankly. “Oh no, that can’t be right. No, that’s too long. No, that isn’t right, Merrik!”

Suddenly she felt his fingers tighten around her arms. She turned to see Oleg strid

ing toward them, Old Firren behind him.

Merrik said, “Laren, you will remain here. Do not leave this spot. Do you understand me?”

“Why? Where are you going? Why?” Her voice was shrill and she was shaking. He cursed, then grabbing her hand, he pulled her after him. “Come, Oleg, Firren. We must see that Erik is all right.”

They found him sprawled at the top, facedown, his right leg dangling over the cliff edge. The back of his head was bashed in. He was quite dead. In his right hand he held a scrap of wool. Merrik recognized it before Laren did.

Erik had torn it from her gown.

15

“AYE, POOR SLAVE, you killed him and now you’ll die. I shall try not to smile when the last breath leaves your miserable body. I will go away by myself and laugh and know pleasure that you are gone forever. I won’t fear your ghost, for they will bury you so deep that even your evil will die.”

Laren stared up at Letta’s face, barely discernible in the dim light of Merrik’s sleeping chamber. She’d been sound asleep, deep in a frightening darkness that held her unmoving and terrified. And now Letta’s voice, low and vicious and filled with glee. Still it was better than that nothingness, those obscure shadows that would have sucked away her life.