Lord of Hawkfell Island (Viking Era 2)

His arm loosened about her throat. She was ready. She closed her eyes a moment, drawing on what strength she had left. His arm tightened again as he shouted to Rorik, who’d remained obdurately silent, “Nay, don’t come closer, Viking, or I’ll twist off her skinny neck. You will remain here and I will take her with me. When I am tired of her scrawny body, why then, I might return her to you. I will survive, Rorik Haraldsson. I always have and I always will. Did I tell you that I finally remembered your precious wife? What a loud fishwife she was, yelling and screaming and trying to fight as my men held her down and jerked her arms and legs away from her body. But when I took her, she was just like your second wife here, she begged me, and pleaded with me and I took her, again and again, until she was quiet, very quiet. My men had enjoyment with her as well, but not all that much, for I killed her with joy.”

She had to move and she had to do it now. She knew Einar. He would quickly realize that Rorik would not be taunted into foolish action and then he would take her away with him.

She jerked her head down and bit as hard as she could into Einar’s forearm. He screamed, but she didn’t let go. He tried to strangle her, but the pain was too great. He hit her head, but her teeth, strong as

her will, went deeper into his flesh. She felt the bone in his arm. She tasted his blood and wanted to vomit. She knew he couldn’t get enough leverage to strike her with the club. She hung on.

Then Rorik was on him and she released his arm. His blood filled her mouth and she spat it onto the ground. Einar no longer had his club, it had fallen on a pile of leaves. Mirana grabbed it up, readied it, and moved closer to the struggling men.

Einar was fighting for his life, and he knew it. He was crazed, striking Rorik at every chance, most of them glancing blows of little import, howling and groaning at the same time.

Mirana saw the berserker madness in Rorik’s eyes, and knew the end was near.

Still, she moved closer, just in case he needed her, just in case he slipped or fell. She saw his large hands go around Einar’s throat. She watched Rorik hook his foot around Einar’s leg and whip him about to face him. She watched her husband’s eyes grow calm and deadly even as he squeezed the life from the man who’d haunted him for far too long, squeezed even harder as he looked into his face and watched the life fade away. Einar fought it, fought it with all his might, but it wasn’t enough.

Rorik said softly, his face but inches from Einar’s, “This is for my sweet wife and for my two small babes and for all my people you brutalized and murdered. And it is for my parents as well so they will face the future without the horror of you still alive from the past.”

Finally it was over. She watched Rorik release Einar and let him slide to the ground at his feet. He looked down at the man who’d killed so many of the people he’d loved. Then he looked up at her. He wasn’t breathing hard. He looked strong and fit and ready for any number of battles. He looked neither triumphant nor brutal. He looked calm and, strangely, at peace.

He said only, “Thank you, Mirana.”

“For what, my lord?”

He smiled then. “For allowing me to kill him.”

They both looked about at Hafter’s agonized shout.

33

MIRANA WATCHED ENTTI twirl around in her new royal blue woolen cloak in front of her besotted husband. It looked wonderful on her, her shining thick brown hair lying full over her shoulders, spilling over the swirling cloak.

“You look beautiful,” Hafter said to his wife, grabbed her hand and pulled her tightly against him. “I missed you.” He kissed her and laughed. “Aye, I missed you so very much I didn’t allow you to sleep last night. I trust you’ve forgiven me for all my past sins—imagined sins most of them—but you’re a sensitive woman, and thus I will beg your forgiveness yet again. Tell me you enjoy my man’s body now, Entti.”

Entti gave him a fathomless look, saying nothing, merely stroking her fingers over the soft blue wool. After a few moments, he began to fidget. Mirana looked down, trying not to laugh.

“I will suffer you, Hafter,” she said at last. “I vowed to endure you, to care for you even as you become an old man, toothless and withered. And I will bear with you until your sons tell me I have no more need to, on the day they set your shriveled old body afloat on an equally aged longboat and set it afire.”

“Sons? What mean you, sons?”

Entti kissed his chin. “If you continue as you have begun, I will give you more sons than you can count. Is it enough, you great lout?”

“Nay,” he said, “for I would have an equal number of daughters with their mother’s beauty but not her wicked tongue.” Then he frowned down at her. “I do not wish to be toothless and withered.”

“I have sworn to protect you, thus, if you do not wish it to happen, I will not allow it.”

He kissed her again. Mirana laughed aloud, a laugh replete with happiness.

Amma and Old Alna stood behind her, Old Alna cackling as was her wont, about nothing in particular, just cackling, a marvelous sound. Amma, a baby in her arms, was rocking it and making soft cooing sounds. Erna was at the loom, humming softly, not yet smiling, it was too soon, far too soon. Utta was stirring porridge in the huge iron pot suspended over the fire pit. The men were gathering their weapons to hunt on the mainland. Rorik was sitting in his lord’s chair, polishing his sword.

She heard one of the women laugh. She jerked around, joy stirring in her, but it wasn’t Asta. Mirana shook away the sudden tears, and prepared to rise. She looked about, wondering where Gurd was. She’d seen little of him, she realized, since they’d come home the afternoon before.

Kerzog suddenly rose on his hind feet and put his large head on Mirana’s lap. He woofed softly.

“Missed by my lord’s dog,” Mirana said. “It is the final pleasure in my life.”

“Nay, I am your final pleasure,” Rorik said, towering over her. “I am your first and final pleasure.”

“You men,” Entti said. “ ’Tis all you can talk about and think about, your rod and your pleasure.”