Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“I have learned from my husband,” Mirana said loud enough so that all would hear her, “that rudeness can be dealt with simply and practically, with no undue anger or insult.”

She dumped the platter of mutton and leeks on Sira’s head, turned on her heel, and walked out of the longhouse, paying no heed to the shrieks and wails of fury and outrage behind her. She thought she heard Amma laugh, but she couldn’t be certain. She did hear Kerzog bark loudly, and could easily imagine the huge mongrel trying to lick the mutton from Sira’s face.

That image made her smile.

18

IT WAS COLD and becoming colder still, the sky black with turbulent clouds, roiling and bursting against each other, harbinger of a violent storm to come. The wind was whipping the waves against the rocks below her, sending plumes of spray thirty feet upward only to crash downward again hard and fast, the sound of mad thunder. She felt the cold mist on her cheeks and stepped back from the cliff edge. She shivered and rubbed her arms but didn’t even think of returning to the longhouse and the pandemonium she’d left behind her.

She grinned suddenly, the picture of Sira shrieking like a witch, as leeks and mutton thick with gravy slithered off her head and face and onto her gown, ah, it was a vision that would probably stay with her until she died. Without a doubt, Mirana had made an enemy.

But Sira was already an enemy.

What would Rorik do?

She felt a shaft of pain slice through her belly. Her marriage of one day—surely a hopeful beginning—had collapsed into a pile of cold ashes.

She saw his pain again in her mind’s eye, unguarded in that instant, such pain she couldn’t comprehend. What would he do now? Would he send her away? Kill her?

“The little princess is still shrieking like a goat, with Rorik’s mother trying to calm her. There is laughter, but it is muffled behind hands. Kerzog holds no respect for her plight. He is trying to lick the gravy from her neck and face.”

Mirana turned to smile at Entti. “Kerzog is an excellent dog. You shouldn’t have come out here, Entti, though I’m glad you’re here. You know, I am the stranger here, not any of them. I am the outsider. No one owes me loyalty; no one owes me anything.”

“Don’t be a fool, Mirana. You are the mistress of Hawkfell Island. Rorik owes you loyalty as do all the people here. He swore his loyalty to you before all the people. Were it only Sira, the women would not hesitate to openly show you th

eir loyalty and affection. It is Rorik’s mother who holds them back. They respect her and don’t wish to hurt her. They don’t understand her hatred for you; they say she refused to let the pain fall away from her. She nurtured the pain, both she and Harald. Still, it doesn’t matter. You are the mistress here, none other, and soon his mother and father and that wretched Sira will be gone.”

“My being mistress here—I believe that is now in question.”

“Did Rorik really dump food on you?”

“Aye, I taunted him and he retaliated. Not on my head, but just on my lap. ’Tis better than striking someone, and I wanted to hit her, Entti, I wanted to hit her very much. But the leeks slogging down her face—it was a nice sight.”

Entti grinned. “Aye, it was.”

Mirana looked out to sea for a moment, then looked again at Entti, saying low, “Is Lord Rorik angry?”

Entti wrapped her cloak more closely around her. It was, actually, naught more than a ragged piece of wool, and Mirana frowned at it. Entti would have a real cloak on the morrow. She started to say something about that then closed her mouth. She had no idea if she would even be the mistress of Hawkfell Island on the morrow.

“I don’t know what he is. There is something going on here I don’t understand, Mirana. Oh, I know that Gurd told them all about you being Einar’s sister, but this hatred for you—it makes no sense to me. They don’t wish to give you a chance. And Lord Rorik—”

“They have reminded him of his pain and the horror of what happened. They have reminded him of his guilt. They have made me a part of it. I wonder now what he will do.”

Entti sucked in her breath. “You are being too understanding. Truly, you don’t believe he will send you away? By the gods, you are his wife!”

Mirana shrugged. “He is close to his family. He listens to them. He may kill me. Or Merrik, his brother, might or even Sira. She is capable of it, doubt it not. She is a girl of strong passions. She wanted Rorik and I believe she still hopes to have him. Thus, I must be made to leave or die. There are doubtless many who would gladly volunteer for such a task, including any one of the men who came with them.”

Entti said then, her fingers on Mirana’s sleeve, “Let’s take one of the boats and leave tonight. Let’s leave now. We could make it this time, I know we could.”

Mirana smiled at that. “A storm is coming, Entti. Remember our last adventure with a storm?”

Entti moved away from her, closer to the edge of the cliff. She stared down at the roiling water. It looked black, even the froth of the waves. It looked terrifying. She looked beyond, to the south, where the longboats were tied securely to the wooden dock. Even in the protected inlet, the waves were tossing them about like leaves. Still, it made no difference, not now, at least not to Entti. She said, “I can’t stay, Mirana, you know that. If I do, I will have to protect myself from the men, for I will play the dull-witted whore no more. I have no wish to kill one of them.”

“No one will touch you. I will not allow it.”

“As you told me, you are in a rather uncertain position right now yourself. I have been left alone because of you. But now neither of us can be certain that you will remain untouched and alive.”

“You’re right, of course. I’m being stupid, believing that Rorik will realize what is happening, that he will speak to his family, convince them that I am no threat to them, that I am not guilty of my brother’s crimes.”