Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“Rorik,” Mirana said. “You came. By all the gods, I prayed you would come. I prayed you would come for me.”

“Of course I would come for you. I would search the earth to find you. You are my wife.” He turned to Hormuze and looked silently at the other man for a very long time. Finally, he said over his shoulder, “Hafter, bring Eze.”

Hormuze wanted to fling himself on the huge Viking, even though he would have no chance against such a man, but it didn’t matter, the Viking had taken his Eze, he had to kill him, he had to.

Eze came into the chamber, her hand held by another one of those Vikings, this one more golden, less controlled, Hormuze knew, than the other man. He could tell simply from the way he held himself, the clenching of his muscles, the expression in his eyes, those damned blue eyes that most Vikings had, guileless eyes, beautifully light and clear, yet he knew these Vikings could kill as quickly and eagerly as they could love or laugh or drink their mead.

“Eze,” he said, and held out his hand. The little girl would have gone to him but the Viking held her back, gently, Hormuze saw, but still he wanted to kill the man.

“I have brought your daughter to you, Hormuze,” Rorik said. “I will make a simple trade with you. My wife for your daughter. Agreed?”

“Damn you, both of them are mine!” Hormuze wanted to hurl himself on the damned Viking, so calm he appeared, so sure of himself. He wanted to stick a dagger in his chest, deep and deeper still and twist it. He wanted to pour poison down his strong corded throat, and watch his muscles spasm and tighten until he was naught but a pitiful scrap, just like the king had been.

“Papa,” Eze said, not trying to move from Hafter’s side now, for she sensed the pain, the uncertainty, the rage of failure that filled her father. She said in a voice too old for a child her age, “Papa, Lord Rorik has told me what you have done and why. He realized that I have the look of his wife, Mirana, and that you wanted my mama back so badly you stole Mirana. But Papa, she isn’t Mama. She belongs to Lord Rorik. She belongs on Hawkfell Island. Papa, please, let her go. Lord Rorik has no desire to harm you or me. Please, you don’t prefer her to me, do you?”

Ah, Rorik thought, seeing the anguish distort Hormuze’s face. A child’s words could cut deeper than the sharpest knife. He held himself still and waited. He saw that Mirana was as silent as a shadow, her face pale, yet her eyes were bright and watchful. She was sitting up on those damned foreign pillows, looking like some sort of sacrifice to an alien god in that white gown that showed her breasts and her belly, so stark against her black hair.

“I have held contempt for most men I have met in this land,” Hormuze said at last, speaking straightly to Rorik. “They are vain and greedy and would kill their brothers if it would bring them gain. But you are different.” He turned to his daughter. “He hasn’t hurt you?”

“Oh no, Papa. Lord Rorik and I spoke all the way here to Clontarf. He has been very unhappy without Mirana. Her half-brother stole her back and forced her to wed with the old king. Lord Rorik wants to kill Einar and he wants to have Mirana back with him. He kept telling me not to be afraid, that he knew you were a wise man, not a fool, and that you would quickly come to an agreement with him. You will, won’t you, Papa?”

“Aye,” Hormuze said, knowing there was no other answer for him. “Take your wife, Rorik Haraldsson. She is not an easy woman. She speaks the truth even when wiser counsel would be silence. She rejects being my queen and knowing ease and wealth throughout her life. I do not understand her fully. She speaks and questions when she should be silent, but she holds you in honor and she is loyal to you. That, I believe, is very important.”

“I know. I heard what she said. It pleased me. I don’t want an easy woman,” he added, speaking to her now, watching her face. “I want a woman who will fight by my side, a woman who will love me until the day I leave this earth, a woman who will laugh with me or hit me when I treat her stupidly, a woman who will hold my honor as dear as she holds her own.” Rorik turned to Hafter. “Let Eze go to her father.”

The little girl didn’t immediately run to Hormuze. She walked instead to Mirana and held out her hand. “I am glad you are all right,” she said. “I don’t think you look at all like me. I don’t remember my mama so I can’t speak about that. My eyes are dark like my papa’s, and yours are very green. Lord Rorik hasn’t been happy without you.” She held Mirana’s hand until they stood in front of Rorik. Eze gave Mirana’s hand into Rorik’s, then smiled up at both of them. “Do not worry. My father and I will survive. We always have. He is very smart and he won’t let anything hurt me.” She smiled at them, then turned to her father, running to him, hurling herself against him.

Hormuze gathered Eze against him, hugging her so tightly she squeaked. “I like you to look like you, Papa,” she said, and he squeezed her again, then he laughe

d. “I don’t like you to be old and fat and ugly. I hated that ugly scraggly beard. Please stay like you are now.”

“I will try, Eze. I will try.”

“I had no wish to kill you,” Rorik said. “I am pleased that you are a reasonable man.”

“I have no choice but reason,” Hormuze said. He saw Mirana held close to the Viking’s side, her head pressed against his chest. He felt something move deep within him. By all the Viking gods, she looked like Naphta. He watched her look up at her husband and remembered that look as well. It was the way Naphta had looked at him. He shook his head. It wasn’t to be.

Hormuze said to Rorik, “You were lucky. I dismissed most of the king’s warriors. I made it easy for you to board the barge. I have made everything very easy for you.”

“I appreciate the result, though your motives were blacker than a Christian’s sins. Aye, the warriors are within the fortress, drinking themselves sodden, I doubt not, so that you were able to kill the king with no witnesses, no interference from his vaunted Viking guard. Aye, I am grateful that Einar does not know I am here. I want Mirana safe before I take him. I assume you have already killed the king?”

“Poison. I would have preferred to kill him more slowly. He was a venomous man, old and rattled in his wits, but his greed was that of a younger man’s.”

“Sira is with Einar,” Mirana said.

“I know. Hafter questioned one of Einar’s guards. He didn’t wish to die. He told us all we wished to know. We will take both of them. But first I would ask Hormuze what he will do now.”

He shook his head. “I must flee, I suppose.”

Mirana said, “Why? You will present yourself as the king on the morrow. Why must you change that?”

“You are not my queen,” Hormuze said simply, finality in his voice, and acceptance of that finality.

Eze said, “Papa needs a queen so we don’t have to flee.”

Rorik stared at the child. Mirana said slowly, “Sira is a virgin. If we were to fetch her now, could you not bring yourself to wed her, Hormuze?”

Rorik laughed. “It is indeed a solution to Hormuze’s problem, but Sira is a witch—vicious, heedless, beautiful, utterly without honor.”