Rorik, p.21
Rorik, page 21
Magnar gave a curt nod to the healer, and the man resumed his task. Beads of sweat broke out along Steinar’s forehead, but he uttered no sound of complaint, even when Munro dug the arrow spoon deeper within the shoulder to find and retrieve the barb.
Long moments bled into the next while Magnar maintained his hand on his friend’s head. If the wolf suddenly emerged, he was prepared to stand between the healer and Steinar’s wolf to take any angry blow from the animal.
Elspeth entered quietly bringing more cloths and bandages. After giving him a weak smile, she slipped out of the chamber.
“There is the beastie,” Munro announced, holding the barb outward.
Magnar removed the steel from the healer’s fingers. Striding toward the hearth, he then tossed it into the dwindling flames. “I will find the man who did this to you. You shall be avenged, Steinar.”
While the healer finished tending to Steinar, Magnar motioned for Declan to join him by the window. He drew back one of the wooden shutters and inhaled deeply. The brittle air cooled the fiery temper coursing through his veins.
“Give me your account, Declan.”
The druid leaned against the stone wall. “Steinar sensed others approaching. He also heard the cry of a hawk—”
“Most likely Oda, Ragna’s sparrowhawk,” interjected Magnar.
“Aye. Steinar did mention this to me right before he shifted and stormed outside. I followed his lead, which led me along the back of my dwelling into the forest. Arrows hissed all around us, and then Steinar took one to the shoulder, and another slashed through his leg. Nevertheless, he kept moving forward. When we arrived in a partial clearing, Steinar took a blow to the head, landing him to the ground. I’ve never seen the fierceness or power of the wolf.”
Magnar nodded in understanding. “An angry wolf will disregard all pain in his pursuit of the enemy.”
Declan pinched the bridge of his nose. “’Tis then I saw him. The man’s laughter was cold and victorious as he held Ragna’s limp body in his arms.”
“His name!” snapped Magnar, doing his best to quell his fury.
Declan raised his head. “Jorund ordered me to deliver a message to you and Rorik.”
Magnar fisted his hand. “Ecklund,” he spat out in disdain.
The druid eyed him skeptically. “I have heard he weaves hatred amongst the people in the north. Many of the earls refuse to offer him hospitality.”
“What is his message?” insisted Magnar.
“To start mourning the death of your Seer for the actions of her traitorous kin. He plans to kill her at the ruins on Rorik’s land.” He shifted his stance, and hatred flashed through his eyes. “Then another man took a fist to my jaw, and ’tis the last I heard or saw anything. Even now, I fear she might already be dead.”
Magnar snarled. “Foolish man! Ragna has brought him nae harm, so I cannot fathom his reasons for taking her. He should fear the wrath of Rorik’s wolf. He cannot grasp the fury of what will happen when Rorik finds out. Clearly, the man does not realize Ragna is Rorik’s woman.”
Declan scratched at his bruised jaw. “Since you have mentioned his name, I do understand his hatred toward Ragna.”
He stiffened, eager to hear more. “Clarify.”
“When Ragna’s mother was the elder Seer, she spoke against Jorund at a council gathered on Hamnavoe. His abuse of women had been known throughout the isles. Many of the men—those without daughters—blamed his actions on his youth. However, the women went to meet with the Seers and pleaded for the Elder Inga, Ragna’s mother, to consult the runes.”
Declan huffed out a breath. “On a stormy day, Inga approached the council and went directly to Jorund. She threw the runes at the man. When they landed, each marking on the rune stones faced the ground. The sign clear for all to witness. The Gods and Goddesses had cast out the man.”
“Were you there?” Magnar asked quietly.
The druid nodded solemnly. “The council members banished Jorund, though he had a choice of either Scotland or Norway. Within a week, I had left for Scotland. Tension drummed along the isles, even within my own kin, so I did not ken when he departed.”
Magnar laughed bitterly. “And now he plagues us.”
“When does Rorik return?”
Gazing outward, Magnar sighed heavily. “Unsure. I shall gather men to begin the search for Ragna. As soon as Steinar shifts back from the wolf into the man, I will follow. If I ken Rorik, he will arrive earlier than he spouted before he departed.” In a more somber tone, he added, “And when I tell him what has occurred, there will be nae stopping the vengeance his wolf shall pursue for the death of his beloved.”
“How can we stop Rorik from this bloodshed?” whispered Declan, glancing at Steinar’s rigid form on the bed.
“We cannot.”
****
Agonizing pain throbbed throughout Ragna’s body as she woke. Its angry fingers crawled over her skin like sharp blades. To fight against the waves of burning torment merely increased the agony. When she attempted to open her eyes, blackness greeted her. Fear cloaked her as surely as the hood over her head—the stench coating the back of her throat. She bit her lip to staunch the bile threatening to heave within her prison. When she attempted to shift on the horse, a firm arm around her waist yanked her back.
With each jarring movement of the horse, Ragna clenched her jaw. Pain hammered inside her skull with each stomp of the animal’s trot. She forced her mind to stay focused—to will the pain away. Her mind flashed to what happened, including her shock at seeing Jorund. Why did he seize her? And where were they going?
What of Steinar? Were he and Declan searching for her? Ragna gasped. What if harm had befallen them?
Soft whimpering echoed behind her. Another woman? A child? Her hatred for Jorund increased.
Thank the Goddess you fled, Hallgerd. Your brother’s wrath has descended on me.
Her body veered to the right, and Ragna grasped the pommel. The man holding her grunted a curse, slamming her back against him. As the rope bit tightly into her wrists, she attempted to straighten. She swallowed the scream and drew in a shaky breath. Fear clawed inside her, scraping her nerves into a twisted knot. Darkness and pain fought for dominion within her jumbled thoughts. Ragna’s head slumped forward, yielding into sleep’s dark bosom.
Do not be weak! Use the land to aid you. Remember all that I have taught you, Daughter!
Ragna snapped her head up. “Mother?” Wincing from the pain of the sharp movement, she listened with intent. Her sharpness returned.
Even though her body and mind were weak, Ragna drew strength from the animal beneath her.
From the brisk breeze caressing her fingers.
From the faint scent of the land beyond her hooded prison.
From the training her mother had shown her.
She drew them all to her—absorbing their power and healing.
The tension eased, and the pain lessened to a dull ache within her limbs. Sweat beaded on her brow with the effort, but she gave no care. She prayed her condition in this wretched state would not last long.
She focused her hearing beyond the other horses’ steady gallop, seeking out the one she hoped to assist her. Ragna kept a steady rhythm with the horse, waiting, hoping for what she required.
When the breeze quieted, she smiled fully. Oda, Oda! Fetch the wolf, Magnar! Raw determination filled her plea and quest.
The path dipped, and Ragna pitched forward. Her muscles burned from the abrupt movement. Again, she resumed her plea. Find the wolf, Magnar.
Gruff voices traveled back to her. She stiffened. How many were with her? Tilting her head, she waited until the flap of wings left her hearing. She exhaled with relief. Support would assuredly come soon.
Ragna’s horse came to a sudden halt, and the man released his hold on her. The sound of others dismounting from their horses surrounded her. Without warning, strong hands gripped her around the waist. Her feet slammed onto the ground, and she swayed.
“Do not move,” ordered her male captor.
Where would I flee? She yearned to spit out the words to the vile man.
Another approached by her side. “I am sorry, Ragna.”
She turned toward the voice. “Hallgerd?”
The woman gently touched her fingers. “Aye,” she whispered.
“But you left for the coast with David,” hissed out Ragna.
“He had received an urgent message from his brother. David made sure I was secured on the ship, along with some of his trusted men to see me safely home. We spoke kind words to each other, and he bid me a good life on Hamnavoe. After he left, I was confronted by one of my brother’s guards—Vidar. He gave me two choices. I could return with him to Jorund or die with the others. The man had followed us to the coast.”
“How did Vidar get you off the ship? Where were your guards?”
Hallgerd replied bitterly, “It was an easy decision for the brute. Vidar slit their throats. There was no one to challenge him, unless you consider an aging man tending to his wares of dried fish nearby on the harbor.”
“And none to challenge me, Sister.”
Ragna’s hood was yanked off her head. She blinked to focus her attention on the evil standing in front of her. “Jorund,” she spat out in disgust. “What gives you the right—”
The slap came without warning, and she recoiled from the blow. Blood trickled from her lip and down her chin as she stared into the eyes of hatred.
“Stop!” Hallgerd pleaded, reaching out to him.
“Do not touch me!” he screamed, shoving her to the ground. Jorund pointed a finger at his sister. “You are as traitorous as this woman.”
Hallgerd buried her head into her hands and wept silently.
Jorund’s lip curled as he returned his attention to Ragna. “All will be explained soon.” He waved his hand outward. “Welcome to the MacNeil keep—lands which should have been mine. I have decided I nae longer wish to seize back what was stolen from my father, but to take vengeance for the actions against me and my father here.”
When the man approached near Ragna, she fought the urge to take a step back. His foul breath slithered over her skin, and she clenched her jaw.
His gaze swept over hers. “Vidar has informed me the MacNeil has taken you as his. Pity he won’t be here to witness your death. But then, he will soon join you.”
“Take them to the dungeon,” bellowed Jorund, storming away from her.
The vision! Rorik’s death. Oh, Goddess, nae!
Ragna had lost track of the hours. How long had she been on the horse? Had they journeyed through the night? She prayed she had one more day before Rorik returned to Steinn so Oda could deliver her message to Magnar in time. The thought of Rorik dying wove a thread of fear inside her bones, but she instantly banished the terror.
Determined to save the man she loved, Ragna would do all in her power to stop the wrath spewing from the loathsome Jorund.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You did well, my friend.” Rorik patted Bran’s thick black mane while sweeping his gaze outward. “Snowfall is light, aye?”
The horse tossed his head and gave out a loud snort. Puffs of air billowed in the icy breezes.
Rorik chuckled. “Can you not see the north tower, Bran? We are almost home. The shelter of warmth, food, and drink.”
Again, the horse snorted.
“Aye, aye, I ken I rode you hard and with only one day of rest. Yet my news is important. Did you want me to leave you at Vargr?”
Bran remained silent.
Rorik leaned near his ear. “You would have been miserable without me, and I ken you favor Ragna. I shall tend to you myself when we return to Steinn. Fresh food, even apples from the garden.”
The horse gave a soft whinny.
On a deep sigh, Rorik raised his head. Joy filled him, and he grew eager to share his good news with Ragna. Resting his hand on his pouch where the precious document from the king lay, his mouth curved into a smile.
His love for Ragna spurred him forward in his requests to the king. And the man agreed with Rorik. Plans were made and discussed at length. A new beginning for Rorik and his duties for the king—one he was sure Ragna would be pleased to learn.
The Dark Seducer had been stripped of his title.
Ragna, my kærr. Rorik let the request drift outward, searching for his beloved. When nothing welcomed him in return, he resumed his attempt to contact her. Can you not hear me, kærr? Where are you?
Rorik waited for several more heartbeats and then frowned. Had she learned to block out his thoughts so soon? “Did I not warn you not to thwart my attempts, beloved?”
He whistled softly while planning a form of pleasurable punishment for disregarding him. Reaching for the reins, he nudged his horse across the land toward Steinn.
As the gates of the castle loomed mightily before him, he slowed his approach. The guards had already raised the portcullis, and he continued over the bridge and into the bailey—searching for Ragna. However, silence ensued all around him. Not one person filled the place, and no one came to offer their greetings.
Swiftly dismounting from his horse, Rorik led the animal to the stables.
Alan darted out from the building. The lad glanced around him as if expecting another with Rorik. “You have returned.”
“Aye,” he acknowledged. Rorik peered over his shoulder. “Are you looking for someone?”
The lad ignored his question and hesitantly reached for Bran’s reins. “I shall tend to your horse,” he mumbled.
Rorik’s mind reeled with confusion. Gone was the bold stable lad who spoke his thoughts often. In his place, stood a timid and fearful lad. “Where is everyone, Alan?”
“Hiding, I guess,” he blurted out while pulling the horse into the stables.
The joy Rorik held within now turned sour as stale mead. Turmoil knotted within him, and he took off running across the bailey. He thought it strange the doors to the castle were open, but he stormed inside and went into the great hall. He found the place lacking in people and warmth.
Ragna! Again, he called out to her within their joined minds. Fear seized like sharp talons, and he called out with more force, “Ragna!”
As Rorik started for the winding stairway, he halted his progress. Magnar stood in the doorway of one of the chambers they used for visitors.
“We need to speak, Rorik.”
With each step he took, his dread grew. “Where is Ragna?”
Magnar turned and went inside the chamber.
When Rorik entered, he froze. His gaze settled on Steinar lying on the bed. “What happened?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.
“Can you close the door, Rorik? All will be explained.”
Ignoring the order, he tilted his head to the side, regarding his leader with curiosity. The man appeared to be wary, even fearful of Rorik.
Magnar took another step back.
The blood hammered within Rorik’s veins. His wolf rose on a growl. “Ragna!” he bellowed, slamming his fist into the door and splintering the wood.
“You must first temper the anger,” ordered Magnar with steely calm.
Clenching his hands, Rorik snarled and stalked toward the man. “Give me the account.”
Magnar went and stood between him and Steinar. “Ragna requested to visit Declan. Steinar accompanied her. In her quest to get a message sent here from Oda, Ragna was taken by Jorund. There is more, but I am asking you to temper the wolf.”
Rorik’s steps faltered, and he staggered back. A piercing howl filled his head. “Where?”
“Taken to your lands.”
Rorik’s anger became a scalding fury. “Why?”
“He craves vengeance for her mother’s deeds. The man’s mind is surely muddled.” Magnar motioned to Steinar. “The wolf fought bravely and took several arrows and a beating in his attempt to save Ragna. He has been in the deep healing sleep and shifted back to the man this morn.”
Rorik struggled to keep the wolf contained. “Vengeance, as in death?” His voice grated harshly—his rage mounting.
When silence reigned between them, the tempest of his wolf’s strength swirled around him. In one swift blow, Rorik’s heart shattered. His grief so raw, he roared out his agony within the chamber. His wolf clawed and lunged against him, howling to be set free. Rorik gasped and ripped his tunic from his body.
“Nae!” shouted Magnar. “Do not let your wolf control you!’
But Rorik had already surrendered, allowing himself to become the blood thrall of the wolf. In a shimmer of gray and black, he let loose the beast. The wolf gnashed his teeth and stomped the floor with his paw. A warning to the man in front of him. If any attempted to thwart his path, death would be swift.
With one final cry of anguish, the wolf stormed out of the chamber and through the open castle doors. Blind rage took control, and the beast set his path on the swiftest route. He tore through the landscape in a blur of speed to reach the main pass to his lands.
His cold stare was focused. His blood burned with a thirst for one.
Jorund.
****
Ragna squinted within the darkness of their prison. A small shaft of light seeped through the cracks of stone and wood, and her shoulders slumped with relief. The night had turned into day. She shifted on the cold ground to ease the ache in her back and legs. Her bound wrists were raw and bleeding from her bindings, and her head throbbed from the blows she had taken.
During those long, dreary hours, she thought she heard Rorik call out her name. Hope had filled her, and she yearned to reach out to him. But to do so would bring him to death’s door. Therefore, she shuttered her thoughts from the man who held her heart. Her love so great, Ragna would willingly give her life for him. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands.
Hallgerd nudged her in the arm. “’Tis another rat that has scurried past.”
“How many do you reckon?” asked Ragna with interest.
The woman snorted. “Twenty-two.”
“They are curious of the new tenants of these wretched ruins.”
“Especially since we were not welcomed into their home,” added Hallgerd.
