Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

She heard him behind her and she jerked up with all her strength. The cross beam flew upward and fell to the side with a heavy thud. She shoved open the door and dashed outside.

She stumbled on the blanket, falling to her knees. She was up in a flash, running, ignoring the pebbles and shards of wood that dug into her bare feet. She heard him behind her, but he wasn’t saying anything now. No, this chase was a silent one, one that would end with her death.

There were four guards at the huge gates of the palisade. They saw her coming, saw Lord Rorik behind her, naked.

They didn’t move. They said nothing. It was as if she were alone with him.

Rorik caught her hair and stopped. She cried out with the burning pain and fell back against his chest.

He wrapped the thick hair around his wrist again and again, until her head was pressed tight against his shoulder.

“You wish to relieve yourself again?”

He sounded calm, not at all angry, but she wasn’t fooled. He would kill her.

“Nay,” she said, gritting her teeth against the pain as he again tightened her hair around his hand. “Nay, I wanted to escape you, to force you to catch me and kill me cleanly. But that isn’t your way, is it? You would prefer to torture me, with your words and your threats and your deeds.”

“Kill you,” he said. “Aye, that’s a thought, isn’t it? You’ve caused me nothing but annoyance, forcing me yet again to hurt my shoulder running you down.”

He said nothing else, merely jerked his hand lightly. She was close to him, pressed tightly against his side. She couldn’t move away because he held her hair wrapped tightly around his hand. The blanket slipped and she jerked it up.

He laughed, nodding to the men standing silent by the palisade.

There were men awake in the longhouse. One called out, “My lord, what goes?”

“Seek your dreams again, Gurd. The woman wished to see the moonlight above Hawkfell Island. She believes this island to be beyond any land she has ever before seen. Aye, return to your sleep.”

Once inside the sleeping chamber, he unwound her hair and shoved her down onto the bed. He lit a rush torch.

He opened his trunk and pulled out a length of chain from the bottom. She watched as he fastened one end of the chain to the post at the foot of his bed. He held up the other end and straightened. “Come here.”

A chain, she thought, staring at it dumbly. She shook her head. He would chain her like an animal? He wouldn’t kill her cleanly?

He strode to her, grabbed her right hand and wrapped the chain around it. The blanket fell to her waist.

He fastened the chain securely, then straightened again. He grabbed her left hand as she tried to pull up the blanket.

He said nothing, merely stared at her breasts. Slowly, knowing that she was watching, knowing well that she hated him looking at her, he reached out and cupped her right breast in his palm.

She froze for an instant with fear and humiliation. Then she jerked back. He grabbed the chain, laughing now, and pulled her forward. She hit at him with her free hand.

He pushed her down onto her back and came over her, straddling her. He again lowered his hand, all the while looking at her face, watching her staring at his hand. This time he ran his fingers lightly over her breasts, from one to the other, again and again. His expression was unreadable. Then he frowned and jerked his hand away,

staring at it as if he were unclean, as if she’d befouled him.

He rose off her and jerked the chain, bringing her to her feet. He looked down at her, said nothing. He hooked his leg behind her knees and sent her sprawling onto the floor.

She watched him extinguish the rush torch. She heard him fall onto his bed. She heard him drawing deep steadying breaths.

She was awake when his deep breathing evened into sleep.

6

RORIK TENSED AS Old Alna probed at the pink flesh around the wound on his shoulder. She pressed more, made more noises he didn’t understand, then rubbed a noxious-smelling paste over the healing wound. She looked hard at the paste and the wound, made more noises, patted him as she would a small boy, and said, “ ’Tis good. You’ll live, my lord. Whoever tended you after you were pricked did a fine job. Saved your lordly hide, I’d say.”

Rorik grunted, easing now as she bandaged his shoulder again in soft clean white wool. When she’d tied the knot over the bandage, he rose, and smiled down at the bent old woman. “Thank you. It doesn’t pain me so much now.”

“Aye, it shouldn’t. You heal well and that’s because of your mother, aye, never a scratch on her that wasn’t well in a day’s time.”