Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

“You weren’t asleep, Gunleik,” Rorik said. “Nor sodden, and I thank the gods for that and your unexpected presence outside the fortress.”

Gunleik shrugged. “I was worried about Mirana, yet there was nothing I could do. Einar isn’t a fool. He knew the direction of my thoughts, knew that I was ready to go aboard that heathen barge, and thus stayed with me until just a few moments ago. He struck down Ivar to keep me here, and bound the lad. I thank you, Lord Rorik. Now, let us out of Clontarf before one of the warriors awakens.”

Rorik smiled at Gunleik, a man he knew would be loyal to him and then to his sons and daughters. “Aye, let’s away from here.”

He hoisted a bound and gagged Einar over his shoulder. “He’s heavy,” he said. “The murdering savage.” But there was joy in his voice, joy and triumph.

Hormuze had quickly bound and gagged Sira. However, she weighed just as much as he wished her to weigh. He was pleased at it. A pity about her hair. But he would allow her to return to her silver hair sometime in the future, if she obeyed him with grace and surrendered to him in all things. When she awoke, she would very likely shriek when she saw herself. But he would be there to explain everything to her, to tell her what she would do and how she would do it. Aye, unlike Mirana, this on

e would enjoy being a queen. She would enjoy having a man stronger than she. And he would beat her witless if she ever dared to set herself against him or his wishes.

Gunleik saw one of his men stagger to his feet and weave toward the closed doors of the longhouse. He was obviously going out to relieve himself. Gunleik waited, then quickly unbound Ivar and motioned him to follow. Gunleik quietly followed the man out, Ivar on his heels. He spoke to the man, then gently, as the man turned to away to relieve himself, he struck his left temple with his knife handle. He quickly turned back and motioned to Rorik to follow.

Mirana waited with Eze just outside the fortress walls in the deep shadows. She was furious with Rorik, but she understood some of what he felt, and had thus contained her ire. Had he not said that he wanted her to fight beside him? Ah, but not this fight. This, he’d said to her, was his fight, and his alone. Besides, she must stay with Eze and protect her. An afterthought, she knew, and had wanted to kick him.

When she saw him, she nearly cried out with relief. Then she saw Gunleik, and she smiled. Thank the gods he was still with Rorik. Without him, she wondered if Rorik would have succeeded in getting Einar and Sira out of the fortress. But there were both of them, unconscious and bound.

When Rorik had leapt out of the shadows and brought Gunleik down, his arm snaking out of the darkness to go around his neck, Mirana had stayed his arm and his strength. “It is Gunleik,” she’d whispered. “He’s coming for me. He’s coming to the barge to save me.”

Once Gunleik had regained his breath, Mirana hugged him and told him what had happened. Then she’d stepped back, saying little as Rorik and Gunleik had weighed each other and assessed the other’s strengths. Then Gunleik had nodded. Now they were safe, thank the gods.

Mirana saw now that Ivar was on Gunleik’s heels, looking a bit dazed, but nearly whole.

She stared toward Rorik, who was carrying an unconscious Einar over his shoulder. She’d known for so very long that Rorik must kill Einar, but when the moment had come, she’d known terror so deep she’d nearly choked on it. But she also knew that she couldn’t dissuade him or attempt to use his love for her to stop him. She had no right to try to change his mind about her half-brother. He had to avenge his people, his wife, and his babes.

What would Rorik do now?

They left Eze and Hormuze—now King Sitric—with an unconscious Sira. She’d come awake and Hormuze had poured a liquid down her throat to make her sleep. He was now very calmly mixing a potion of nut meats and borla roots and a purple plant that Mirana couldn’t identify. Soon he would dye her beautiful hair a dark, dark brown.

“I am unable to dye it precisely black,” he’d said. “But this will be sufficient. ’Tis a pity she is so much larger than you, Mirana, but we will make do. Once she is conscious again, I will begin teaching her the responsibilities of my wife and my queen. If I succeed, you will doubtless hear about it. My rebirth is the stuff of legends and this one will be sung by your Viking scalds far and wide. If I fail, why, you will hear about that as well.”

Rorik took one last look at Sira, and smiled. “I had worried about her,” he said to no one in particular. “She was so ungoverned, her passions so very unbridled. But now, with Hormuze’s assistance, she will become more reasonable, I doubt it not. My parents will be pleased that she is become a queen, despite her temper and her resentments.”

“What of all Einar’s people?” Gunleik said. “They know who she is. They won’t be fooled.” He had grasped what had happened and what they planned to have happen, but the shock of it was still writ clear on his face.

“Aye,” Rorik said. “Those who chance to see her will surely wonder, but Einar will be gone. There will be disarray. There will be chaos. Sitric plans to remove himself and this barge and all his warriors quickly on the morrow.”

Rorik hugged Eze good-bye, telling her that Sira was a witch but that her father would doubtless bring her to reason. Eze said in her too old child’s voice, “I will help Papa. Between us, she will make a fine queen. Take care of your wife, Lord Rorik. I hope she is worthy of you.”

Rorik looked over the child’s head at Mirana. She was grinning at him. He felt his body tighten, and he felt remarkably fine. Then he looked over at the bound and gagged Einar. He was awake. There was hatred and venom and a goodly dose of fear in his eyes. He was staring at his half-sister.

Soon thereafter, Rorik guided the two longboats into the Irish Sea. The night was clear and warm, only a slight breeze ruffling the hair on Mirana’s forehead. She stared at her husband, standing at the stern, his legs spread, his hands on his hips. He’d come for her. Not for Sira, no, he’d come for her.

She heard a muffled grunt over the smooth dipping of the oars and the conversation of Rorik’s men. She looked down at Einar. He was at her feet.

She saw the hatred in his eyes and smiled at him. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her foot and rested it on his neck.

“My wife has worried about you,” Hafter said to her above the sound of his oars.

There was pride and some humor in his voice and Mirana smiled. “I look forward to seeing Entti. I hope you have made her happy?”

“I had little time, for you were taken so quickly. However, she did not complain. We will see if she complains to you.”

That had a sour sound to it and she laughed. Mirana realized in that moment that they were indeed going home—to Hawkfell Island. To her home. She stared toward her husband. At that moment, he turned. She saw all she needed to know when he looked at her.

Toward the following evening, Rorik put them ashore on a small island just off England’s western coast. It was barren, save for a few scraggly sea shrubs, but the sand dunes curved one after the other, thick and deep and high, providing shelter and protection. There was no one around, no light, no dwellings, no other camp fires.

Rorik allowed Einar to relieve himself, then had Hafter bind him again. He kept him gagged. He didn’t wish Einar to torment Mirana, and he knew he would try if allowed to. He left Mirana in charge of the camp whilst he and his men scouted the area. They’d already caught several large sea bass for their dinner.