Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“At least she didn’t stick the other end of the sword through your flesh. Be grateful for that.”

“Aye, I am. She must know I’ve a hard head. Ah, her perfidy still shocks me.” Rorik thought Hafter would burst into tears. “All I wanted to do was care for her.”

Entti tried again to rear up, to break away from him, but Hafter was strong and big. He pressed her back, even as she screamed at him over her shoulder, “Care for me! You stupid bastard, you’re naught but a selfish cruel animal! You bray like a mindless lout. You believe yourself so kind, so tender with a simpleminded slave. Aye, and why not? I never said you nay! If I had, you would have clouted me and raped me or just killed me! I should have killed you, more fool I. Aye, dead you would look as fetching as you believe yourself to be.”

“I do not believe you,” Hafter said slowly, still unwilling to accept this woman who was so different from the one he’d taken to his bed. She’d been such a simple woman and he’d given her so many smiles, all of them gentle, all of them filled with kindness, and he’d patted her as she’d passed him in genuine liking so many times, on her shoulder, on her bottom, aye, he’d even taken her hand and gently squeezed it. But the truth of it was that she was a shrew and a termagant, just like the other one whom Rorik was holding unconscious against him.

“Hafter,” Rorik called, “come now and get off her and tie her securely. Think before you act whenever you deal with either of them. After you tie Entti tightly, call the oth

er men. They are but twenty yards inland.”

“You told them to remain close by,” Hafter said slowly. He shook his head, saying low, “I am a great fool. I have seen nothing clearly, understood nothing.”

“Stop condemning yourself,” Rorik said. “All of us believed Entti to be different. I told the others to remain close by because I didn’t want them to get lost or come across any family or friends of the men brought low by these two docile females.”

He swung Mirana up into his arms. She didn’t weigh much, this woman who had too much fight in her, this damned woman who wouldn’t give up, even when she knew she couldn’t win, even when she knew he could kill her.

He didn’t want to kill her. He felt profound relief that he’d found her unharmed. If there was any abuse to be done, he wanted to be the one to do it.

“You killed her, you bastard!”

Rorik merely smiled at this new Entti with her narrowed, vicious eyes and a voice to pierce a man’s eardrums, and said, “Nay, her jaw is as hard as her head. I didn’t break it. I simply don’t wish to have to fight her more for a while. Hafter, tie those ropes more securely or she might do you in again. Get it into your brain that she isn’t simple, she isn’t willing or soft or meek.”

Rorik looked down at the woman in his arms. Her head lolled back, her white throat was bare. She looked defenseless. She looked very female, very soft, but by all the gods, he should know her better by now. The only thing soft about her was her white flesh. He needed her if he was ever going to gain revenge on her damned half-brother. But how to keep her from killing everyone on his island? He didn’t want to have to be on his guard all the time. But how to avoid keeping her tied to his bed? He hated doing it, hated seeing the raw flesh of her wrists when he changed from one wrist to the other. But he knew as well that the women would find a way to unchain her just as soon as he was gone from the farmstead, damn them for their loyalty to her, his enemy.

He considered several alternatives as they rowed back toward Hawkfell Island, Mirana on the planking, hands and ankles bound, his left foot resting on her neck.

It was but moments later when she said, her voice vicious and low, “Get your foot off my neck.”

He heard her easily over the slapping of the waves against the side of the longboat, over the smooth motion of the oars dipping into the water and rhythmically drawing hard, over the talk of the men, over the whipping wind and the cawing of gulls overhead, for her voice was mean and hard and furious, and it pleased him very much and, too, he’d been waiting for her to speak, even looking forward to it. He’d won and he knew that she knew it. Aye, it made him feel quite good. He left his foot on her neck. This time, he placed his foot so she couldn’t manage to bite him again.

He leaned down and said quietly, right into her ear, “If I do, do you swear not to try to jump overboard again? That or try to push me over the side?”

“I wasn’t trying to jump. Do you think me witless? I don’t want to die—”

“Ah, so you were trying to shove me out of the warship. I should have known. I wouldn’t have bound you if you hadn’t tried violence again. But you forced me to tie you up. You forced me to fling you at my feet. Well, at my foot, really, since my other foot is on your neck. You do look uncomfortable. Actually, you’re looking very miserable. There’s water in the bottom now. Soon it will come over the planking and splash in your face. That will be true misery, won’t it? Saltwater in your mouth? Well, do you swear to lie still if I remove my foot, if I untie you? No more violence?”

She nodded. He saw she didn’t want to, but his foot must be quite heavy on her neck and her wrists and ankles must be growing numb. Also, there was the water in the bottom of the warship and he knew that probably decided her, for soon it would reach her face. Aye, he’d won.

He lifted his foot. For a moment she didn’t move. He wondered if she was able to move. Just before he would have helped her, she shook herself and sat up. She stared at him, holding her bound hands toward him. He untied her hands and ankles. She rubbed the back of her neck, then her wrists, then massaged her ankles. “I will pay you back for that,” she said, not looking at him.

Rorik merely smiled, not at all disappointed. He looked over at Entti. Hafter had tied a rope about her waist and the other end was about his waist. Perhaps that’s what he should do with Mirana. She looked calm now. No, defeated was the word. Her shoulders were slumped and she merely sat there, staring at nothing in particular, her eyes dull and indifferent, methodically rubbing her wrists. Rorik discovered that didn’t please him. She was utterly withdrawn. He frowned.

It was raining hard when they returned to Hawkfell Island. All were soaked to the skin by the time they reached the dock. Mirana said nothing as she trudged beside Entti back up the trail to the longhouse. It continued to rain, heavy thick rain, hard and cold, a rain that the high winds gusted about, making it impossible to go out of the longhouse. Everyone was inside, even the pets and two goats. Smoke filled the longhouse, turning the air blue, making it difficult to breathe. Ah, but the food was delicious, the mead sweet and warm. The women were quiet, the children played and chattered and argued. Kerzog barked madly when one of the children threw a leather ball, then raced after it. The huge mongrel never tired of the game, spinning the ball over and over with his nose. There was the long constant sound of the loom and spinning wheel. One of the goats was chewing on a rope. All was normal.

Entti sat beside Mirana, both of them altering gowns Old Alna had given them. The men gave them both wide berth. The women did as well, but not because they were angry but because they were wary of the men if they came too close. Still, Erna had brought them food balanced on her left arm, the withered stub of her right arm up to steady the platter if it slipped.

“Raki told me what happened,” she said very quietly. “I am proud of both of you. You tried.” And then she was gone, saying nothing more, leaving Mirana and Entti to stare at each other.

Mirana supposed that Rorik and the men had made it clear the women were to keep away from them. Mirana caught Amma’s eye once and saw her wink. She then looked at Entti and smiled widely. So the women knew now that all Entti had done had been naught but an act. Soon, surely, once the rains had stopped and the men were out of the longhouse, the women would come to her again. She wanted to make amends to Asta and Old Alna for tying them up. They hadn’t seemed angry with either her or Entti, more accepting than anything else, for Mirana had been bound to try to escape, hadn’t she? As for Entti, Mirana thought the women believed her very smart.

“I should have killed him,” Entti said now as she looked over at Hafter, who was drinking a wooden cup of mead, laughing at something Askhold was saying. She speared her needle viciously into the wool.

“Even if you had,” Mirana said, not looking up, “we couldn’t have disarmed Rorik. He’s too smart and he’s very strong.”

“He isn’t all that smart,” Entti said. “Certainly no smarter than Hafter, who is a witless fool. ’Tis just you who believe Rorik to be close to perfect, and that only because he continues to prevail over you. But it’s true, if I had killed Hafter then your Rorik probably would have killed me. He would have had no other choice.”

At that, Mirana looked up. “Surely you don’t believe that I see Rorik as smart only because he beats me? The sun beat too brightly on your head, Entti.”