Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“My lord.”

Einar turned at the sound of Gunleik’s deep voice. “Aye, what is it you want? I must think. There are many problems to deal with.”

“I know, but one of them is going to arrive here at Clontarf shortly.” Gunleik drew a deep breath. “The king and Hormuze will be here within the hour. They bring many warriors with them.”

Einar cursed.

“Our runner just brought word. There isn’t much time.” Gunleik wanted to tell him then that Mirana was already wedded, that she was not a virgin, but he knew it was too late now. He’d failed Mirana.

“I will prepare my sister.”

“My lord, perhaps Mirana can be spared, perhaps—” He broke off at the look on Einar’s face.

“Don’t say it, old man. She will wed the king. Aye, Sitric will give her all a woman could want. She will have to suffer his meager fumbling, but not often for he is old and frail. She will take him or I will kill her. Do you understand me?”

Gunleik nodded.

“I would have to kill her if she refused, for I too would die for failure to deliver her to Sitric, and believe me, I will never die alone.”

Einar found Sira in Mirana’s bedchamber. She was looking through the gold-banded trunk at the end of the box bed. She didn’t look the least bit guilty or worried when he suddenly appeared.

She smiled at him. “I have need of ornaments, Einar, to enhance my beauty.”

“Take what you wish,” he said, and left her. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Your half-sister, my lord. Nay, I saw her earlier with the women, but then she was gone. I know not where.”

He grunted and left her without another word.

Sira stared after him. He was behaving differently. It made her uneasy.

She’d heard that one of the men, an old man with crooked ways and a brutal manner about him, had visited Lella in the storage shed. She wished she’d heard the little pederast scream. She looked into the trunk until she found arm bracelets that pleased her and earrings and a necklace. Aye, she would look much more beautiful than that bitch, Mirana. What would she say when Sira appeared in her jewelry? Would she whine to Einar because she had taken her jewelry? Would Mirana plead that he dismiss her? For a moment, Sira hoped she would. She’d felt her power growing over Einar, and she knew now there was a good chance she would win. She would have him. He was dark and his darkness fascinated her. Aye, she would have him and learn to control him as she would a dog.

Perhaps, when the king came, Sitric would want her, Sira, instead, if she hadn’t wedded Einar before he came. She was still humming, feeling quite confidant, when she heard that the king was nearing, that he had come to wed Mirana.

So soon, she thought, then rose. Very well then, she would take Einar. She fingered the beautifully pounded silver bracelet that encircled her right upper arm. Aye, Einar would suit her well enough. He would give her whatever she wanted.

She smiled when she thought of the king’s fury upon discovering that his new bride wasn’t a virgin. She hoped he would kill Mirana slowly, perhaps strangle the last living breath from her, or perhaps give her to his men and let them ravish her until she was dead. But what of Einar? Would he be in danger too? She smiled again, for she was beautiful, far more beautiful than that black-haired bitch, and more importantly, she was a virgin. Ah, life was suddenly rife with possibilities.

She decided to take the boy Lella some food. The pathetic scrap just might beg her for it. She wanted to see if she’d scarred the little beggar’s cheeks. She wanted to see what the brutal warrior had done to him.

She wondered, as she carefully stepped over cow dung in the outer yard of the fortress, where Rorik was. Surely he would come after her, his family would demand it. She wanted to see him. She wanted Einar to capture him. She wanted to wield a whip and flay the flesh from his back. She trembled a moment at the thought of his treachery, at his rejection of her, at the pain as he’d whipped her.

Mirana stood just inside the longhouse entrance, looking toward Ivar, who wouldn’t meet her eyes. She frowned, wondering what was happening or what had already happened. Then Einar was there beside her and he was smiling down at her and taking her hand to hold between both of his.

“King Sitric comes,” he said. “He will be here very soon. I will assist you to change into clothes to dazzle an old man’s eyes and bring his rod to renewed life. Trust me, Mirana, this is for the best.”

She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her. She heard the fear in his voice. “By all the gods, I pray you are a virgin, that it was all a reckless lie you told—this wedding you claimed between you and that Viking, Rorik Haraldsson. But you have never lied to me, have you?

“I should have tied you down and seen to your maidenhead last night, but I was distracted by Sira and Lella.” He paused a moment, looking toward a knot of his warriors who were preparing themselves for the king’s arrival. “Listen to me, Mirana, and listen well, for I give you excellent counsel. I accept now that you told me the truth, that you always have in matters of weightiness. I accept that you are wed, but you must forget the Viking. You will never see him again. Save yourself, pretend to great pain when the king enters you tonight. Suffer loudly and whimper of the agony he inflicts upon you so the king will not doubt your purity. Aye, then he will ply you with favors and jewels in his gratitude. You will see. You must trust me in this.”

He stopped then, and ran his hands down her arms. “Come, I will help you to gown yourself appropriately. Sira was in your chamber, taking your jewelry. I will have her show herself to you, and if there is anything that would become you, I will have her give it to you.”

Mirana nodded. She realized that as long as she was alive, there was hope. She didn’t want to die. She’d been a fool to ever consider it. She had no intention of dying willingly even though it might mean her loss of honor. Death was too final to accept because of beliefs that men had fashioned and preached and held so dear, particularly when it came to women. She would survive until . . . She would survive.

“Come,” Einar said. “We have little time.”

“I’m coming,” Mirana said. She didn’t look back.