He’d never before seen a woman swim as quickly and efficiently as she. Gunleik knew she could swim, her father had taught her, but he’d never imagined anything like this.
She was gaining on the men. To his further astonishment, he saw her swing away from them and make for shore at an angle. She beat the men by at least twenty yards. She struggled through the surf and onto the hard black sand. She didn’t pause to rest, but ran to the nearest tree and began searching frantically.
She was looking for a weapon. Gunleik felt his back miraculously straighten, only to feel fear for her and for Rorik fill his throat, bringing up bile, thick and sour. By all the gods, did she realize what she was doing?
Mirana knew well what she was doing. She paid no attention to the men coming toward shore behind her. She finally found a thick maple branch, stout, but not too heavy. She swung the club, changed her grip, then whirled about to the beach.
Einar was on his hands and knees in the black sand, frothing water swirling around him, heaving, trying to regain his breath. Rorik was behind him, struggling to stand in the breaking surf, striding now slowly through the water, coming closer and closer. He yelled, “I will kill you now, you damned bastard!”
Einar was on his feet in an instant and running, but no longer at his full strength. He stumbled and went down, only to drag himself up again.
Rorik was breathing hard, but he was running fast, and soon he would catch Einar, she knew it. Mirana was amazed at Rorik’s strength, his determination. But she wasn’t at all surprised that she’d easily beaten them to shore. She hadn’t been exhausted. She’d had her full strength. And she still had it now.
Einar whirled about to see how close his enemy was, then he heard a woman’s laugh. He turned back and saw his half-sister standing in front of him. She had a stout club held in both hands. She was standing like a man, her legs apart, her arms firm, held in front of her, her wrists locked around that damned club.
“By all the gods, how did you get here?”
“I swam here quickly. Just for you, Einar, just for you. I won’t allow you the chance to hurt Rorik. I won’t allow you the chance to escape into the woods. Come here, brother, and let me kill you. Unlike you, I won’t be your tormenter, I won’t make you beg and plead. No, I will kill you quickly and cleanly and then it will be over and all your evil will die with you, and Rorik will be free of you forever.”
Einar laughed. “You think you can kill me, you stupid bitch? I can break you in half with one hand. You are nothing, Mirana, nothing.”
Rorik refused to believe what was right in front of him. No, it was impossible. No woman could have swum that distance so quickly, but she had and there she was, standing in front of Einar, just like a Valkyrie, a thick club in her hands, and he knew such fear he nearly choked on it.
“Mirana,” he shouted. “Get away from him!”
He drew his knife and ran forward. He was nearly spent, he knew it. He was beyond spent, and that was the truth of it. His rage was the only thing that drove him now, and his fear for Mirana. The hours at the oars had drained him, and the wild swim to shore had nearly brought him to his knees. He felt exhaustion pulling on his legs, dragging down his arms, slowing his mind.
“Stay back, Rorik! Einar is a snake, I told you that. He has no honor. Stay back! I won’t allow him to escape, to hide in the woods, to be free of what is due him, to leave you to wonder, always wonder if he lives or is dead. I will end it now.”
“No! Mirana! No!”
Einar charged her, head down, his hands out and over his head to protect himself. Mirana struck him hard, but the blow struck his upper arms, doing him little damage. Kill him, ha, she’d barely bruised him.
Then he was on her, flinging her backward and he came down over her. She kicked upward, but he twisted her wrist viciously, and managed to jerk the club from her. He slammed his fist against her jaw, and sent his knee into her ribs. He was up in an instant, jumping away from her, whirling about readying himself to face Rorik.
She saw black, then shook her head violently to clear it. She felt no pain, nothing but a rage that burned hard and intense, fanning throughout her mind and her body. She saw Einar standing there with the club, waving it at Rorik. She saw him look quickly to the woods to his left and knew he was weighing his chances of escape without fighting.
Rorik ran at Einar, then jumped suddenly, his legs going out, and up high, striking him solidly in his chest. She stared, for she’d never seen a man move like that and so very quickly. It sent Rorik onto his back and he rolled gracefully, coming to his feet again. As for Einar, he was thrown backward, sprawled onto his back, his face turning blue because he couldn’t draw breath into his lungs, but he was up quickly, and now he was running toward the woods.
He just might make it. He was more desperate than he’d ever been in his life. Aye, he just might make it.
She couldn’t allow it. She was after him in an instant, and she was faster. She was filled with strength. Energy poured through her and she ran even faster. She would catch him. She had to catch him. She had to put a stop to this. It had to end, irrevocably. She could hear Rorik breathing heavily behind her, hear his footfalls in the fallen leaves.
She heard Rorik cursing and soon he was nearly beside her, and she veered away. He would stop her instead of catching Einar, because he was afraid for her and he wanted to hold her safe above all. She looked back at him, and knew she must be gaining on Einar.
Suddenly Einar’s arm slammed around her throat, jerking her off her feet, tightening until she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and he yanked her back against his body.
“I have you now, Mirana. Finally, I have you.”
Her fear brought nausea into her throat, but she knew she had to control herself. She wouldn’t let the fear control her. She felt tears sting her eyes, not tears of fear, but tears of rage and frustration, for now Einar had the advantage.
Rorik had stopped dead in his tracks, and there was a look of horror on his face. He didn’t move.
“I have your bitch, Rorik Haraldsson,” Einar called out, such pleasure in his voice that it made her flesh crawl. She held very still, waiting. The tears trickled down her cheeks, and she hoped Einar saw them and laughed and believed her afraid of him. She felt the heaviness of Einar’s breathing against her back.
“Aye,” Einar yelled out even louder now, for he was enjoying himself. He had the upper hand. “Aye, Rorik Haraldsson, she thought herself so above me in skill and cunning, but I know her, much better than you do. Aye, I will tell you something else, I had her before I had to give her over to the old king for the pathetic lecher to sweat over her and maul her. Aye, I stuck my fingers into her, for she’d claimed she wasn’t a virgin, that she’d married you, but I didn’t believe her. I had to make certain, and I felt her and she was ready for my finger, Viking, aye, more than ready. There was no maidenhead, she hadn’t lied about that. She moaned and lifted herself for me. She begged me to take her, Viking, this faithless bitch of yours.
“You wonder why she’s trying desperately to kill me, Rorik Haraldsson? It is because she knew I would tell you that I’d taken her, that she pleaded with me until I freed my rod and drove into her and she shrieked like a whore.”