Rorik, p.5
Rorik, page 5
“Fortunately, I did not have to suffer his wrath, but I have witnessed the fury from my half-brothers when another man attempts to take their women.”
Again, Magnar shrugged, only adding more to her anger. All the wolves of Clan Sutherland abided by their own private rules. Even the barbarian who stood in front of her conducted business on his terms.
Turning away, Ragna departed the haven of the north tower.
****
When she first entered the hall, Ragna was prepared for an enjoyable meal and willing to relax. But all her plans were quashed when she noticed Hallgerd whispering to Rorik. They appeared to be lovers deep in conversation, and Ragna instantly searched the hall for David. After finding her half-brother not in attendance, she let out a sigh of relief and crossed to the opposite side of the hall. Before she had a chance to take a seat next to one of the other women, Elspeth reached for her arm.
“Please come sit with me at the main table,” pleaded the woman. “We have not spoken much since your arrival.”
Unable to think of an excuse to remain at this table, Ragna allowed the woman to guide her across the hall. “Where is your husband?”
“He is with Erik in the stables. They are tending to a new foal. David is with them as well. Your brother was intent on seeing our horses. Knowing my husband, I do not expect him to return until late.”
Ragna gave her a smile. “I find your gardens and surrounding land soothing for speaking with the Goddess.”
Elspeth beamed. “Have you been down by the river? I try to escape each morn for some quiet time.” Her face took on a rosy glow when she added, “Magnar often finds me there.”
“Aye,” she responded slowly. “’Tis a lovely place.” Images of Rorik’s naked form on the boulder by the water flashed within her mind, and Ragna swallowed. As she’d thought before, he appeared to be a man chiseled from the Gods and something of a magician. Each night he slipped into her fragmented dreams, and each morn she shoved them aside.
Elspeth pulled out a chair, forcing Ragna to sit across from the man she tried desperately to avoid.
Rorik lifted his cup and stared at her from across the rim.
Shifting in her seat, she clasped her hands together. What game are you playing at, wolf?
His smile came slowly as if he heard the words within her mind. After taking a drink, he said, “Hallgerd has spoken of the strong arm of David. Can you confirm his strength, say, over mine?”
Hallgerd leaned against Rorik. “Surely Ragna has never seen her brothers in training. David mentioned she was not allowed in their father’s home.”
“Harald was a boar’s ass,” muttered Rorik and took a long draw from his cup.
Elspeth gasped. “Is this true, Ragna?”
Reaching for a jug of mead, Ragna filled her cup with the honeyed liquid. She took a sip to settle her nerves. Rarely did a conversation surround her or her father. The Seer always had the respect from others. To speak thusly was not acceptable. She fought the growing ire. “Hallgerd is correct,” she confirmed, taking another sip of the cool liquid. “Furthermore, my mother had nae desire to send her only daughter into a home ruled by a tyrant of a man.”
“A wise decision,” Rorik acknowledged.
Hallgerd touched the man’s arm. “I say your strength might be a challenge to David.”
“Why don’t we ask him,” suggested Ragna, lifting her cup toward her half-brother striding with intent into the hall.
Hallgerd slipped her hand into her lap.
Ragna smiled inwardly as the woman’s features paled. Do not tempt the beasts within men, Hallgerd. Your guiles will only incite a war between them.
David approached and took a seat next to Hallgerd. The woman tried to draw him into a conversation, but he ignored her touch and words. Worry creased his brow as he reached for a trencher filled with salmon and wild onions.
“How is the new foal?” asked Ragna.
After stabbing a piece of fish, he responded, “Weaker than normal.” He turned to Elspeth. “Your husband will join us after he has determined the foal is gaining strength. And Erik has requested to keep him company.”
Elspeth nodded slowly. “My thanks for your message. His concern for the foal is mine as well. We lost a colt, six months old, several months ago. Many of the horses were lost or became trapped in the fire from the attack. Each one birthed is now a blessing. My husband is seeking others to trade for more horses to add to Steinn.”
David gave her a smile. “Aye, so he shared with us. Magnar has sent a message to Carlsten Castle for my brother to send four of our finest mares.” He devoured the fish in one bite.
“This is good news!” exclaimed Elspeth.
Taking another stab at his fish, he added, “Your brother—the young chieftain—made the suggestion. I see strength in this young warrior, and I ken Jon will as well. Erik has a sharp eye and listens. Moreover, he is not fearful of offering his own advice.”
“I observed this the moment I met Erik,” interjected Ragna. “His journey has already been fraught with grief and dangers. Many a young lad would cower. But this has strengthened him.”
“I am in agreement with your insight,” declared David while shoving another piece of fish into his mouth.
Hallgerd reached for the jug of mead. Instead of pouring some for David, she filled her cup. Giving Rorik a slight smile, she sipped her drink.
David regarded her coolly. “Is there a reason you drink heavily without eating the food our host has supplied us?”
She lifted her chin. A flash of fury shone briefly in her eyes. “I ate earlier.”
“’Tis correct, David,” remarked Rorik, placing his cup on the table. “I fetched some ripe berries from the bramble growing outside the castle, and she ate them with some of my cheese.”
Hallgerd bent her head as she tried to stifle a giggle. “They were indeed delicious.”
David’s hand stilled, and he leveled a hard glare at Rorik. “Your manners are sorely lacking when it comes to my future bride.”
“I take great care when it comes to my conduct with those who are intended to another.” Rorik folded his arms over his chest and dared to wink at Hallgerd.
With a loud thud, David thrust his knife into the wooden table. Standing abruptly, he pointed a finger at him. “When the first light creases the morning sky, meet me on the hill above Steinn.”
“Why not the lists?” asked Rorik.
The man’s lip curled. “Let us keep the other wolves out of our fight, aye?”
He gave a shrug. “Your reason is sound.”
David gave him a curt nod and reached for Hallgerd’s hand.
The woman’s shoulders slumped, but she complied.
After the couple departed, Ragna clucked her tongue in obvious disapproval. “Stirring the ire of a Maddadsson is not wise.”
Rorik leaned his forearms on the table. His features were taut with strain. “Why do you care?” he asked softly.
Her heart screamed to say the words within, but her mind forbade her from speaking them aloud.
He continued to stare at her, waiting, until he shook his head in resignation and leaned back.
The sound of raucous laughter broke the moment as Erik came rushing in with Magnar following closely behind him.
Elspeth stood and embraced her husband. “Our new foal is faring better?”
“For now,” Magnar confirmed, taking a seat next to his wife and reaching for a jug of mead.
Ragna picked at the food on her trencher with a fork. The conversation continued to flow as heavily as the mead, yet she remained silent during the remainder of the evening meal. Come the morn, she would cast the runes and prayed the Goddess would permit her to see a vision of Rorik’s destiny.
If not, she feared death would claim the one man who once left her heart in shards of broken glass.
Chapter Five
Holding his sword up to the gray light of dawn, Rorik studied the steel. It was fashioned by the blacksmiths in the small town of Kirkjuvágr. The men there were known for their highly skilled work, forging and melding the iron into weapons worthy for any warrior. The blade was presented to him by his friend, Berulf the Axe, when he entered the brotherhood of the wolves for training on his fifteenth summer.
Rorik traced the engraving of the words down the length of the blade. Courage, strength, and honor—all sealed with a blessing from Odin.
A tremor of unease slithered down his back. He frowned and sought out his wolf. The beast continued to remain indifferent to his concerns. Is this a warning? What do you sense?
His wolf snapped at him and turned away.
He fought the bitterness and anger over his inner beast’s refusal to answer Rorik’s questions. Hissing out a curse, he resumed his focus on the impending fight with a certain man.
“Watch over my blade and my body, All Father. Give me strength, though let nae fatal blow come to my foe or me. ’Tis a battle of wits between two men.” He brought the blade to his lips and pressed a kiss against the cold steel. “Hail, Odin,” he whispered.
Footsteps rustled in the leaves behind him, and Rorik smiled slowly. The male scent mixed with wild garlic filled his nostrils before he set eyes on the man. He picked up his shield from the ground.
Turning around, Rorik pointed his sword outward as David entered the clearing between the trees. “You are late.”
The man snarled in return. “I found it difficult to leave the comfort of soft flesh.”
Rorik arched a brow in amused contempt. Stirring David’s ire proved interesting. How far could he provoke the man into making a reckless move? “Was the soft flesh Hallgerd or another?” He dared to take a step forward. “Or did you have both in your bed?”
“You bring dishonor to her name!” shouted David, lunging forward with his sword.
Too easy, mused Rorik as he swiftly stepped to the side and pounded his shield with the hilt of his sword. “Then by your actions I can conclude it was the soft flesh of Hallgerd? You should have remained silent about your carnal appetites.”
“You are nothing but a wretched animal!”
“And a man who can entice any woman into his bed,” added Rorik.
With a great roar, David charged forward, and the battle of swords began in earnest. Each man intent on inflicting bodily harm to the other. Groans and curses spewed forth from David as he leveled strong, precise blows on Rorik. He proved to be a worthy opponent with his strength, and Rorik relished the fight, maintaining his own skill against the man.
After delivering a fist into David’s side, Rorik was rewarded with a kick to the knees, landing him onto the ground. He tumbled to the side and quickly righted himself. Charging forward, David lost his footing, and Rorik took advantage by knocking the blade from his opponent’s hand with his shield.
David promptly withdrew the dirk at his belt and tossed it outward where it landed with a thud into Rorik’s arm. The man then quickly scrambled through mud and leaves to retrieve his sword.
Rorik’s roar of displeasure echoed in the morning air, along with the sound of his wolf’s. In an attempt to rid himself of the pain, he called for the animal. The ground rumbled beneath him as pain seared into his body, leaving him unsteady.
The beast refused his pleas.
Rorik barely had time to yank the offensive blade free before David came charging at him with his sword. As he slumped to the ground and rolled to the side, Rorik narrowly avoided having his guts spilled from the slash of his foe’s blade. Blood gushed forth from his arm as he crawled to the nearest tree. Gasping for breath, Rorik fought the burning agony coursing through his body.
“You are done, MacNeil! Finished,” taunted the man. “Let this be a lesson if you ever come near Hallgerd again.”
Lifting his sword in front of him, Rorik snarled. “Never tell me what to do. You shall fail. My orders do not come from you.” His hand shook as he continued to hold his weapon upward.
David spat on the ground. “The next time I see you with Hallgerd, your life is mine to take. And since she is my future bride, I can give you that order.”
Determined to be the winner in this sparring match of words, he countered, “Worried I can give her more pleasure?”
The man pointed his blade at Rorik’s chest. “Do not tempt me to remove your heart where you sit bleeding, wolf.”
With the last amount of strength he possessed, Rorik stood and dared to take a step against the man’s outstretched blade. The cold bite of steel tore into his tunic as he stared into the heated gaze of his foe. “If you kill me, King William will have your neck and lands.”
A flash of unease replaced the fury within David’s eyes. He took a step back and then abruptly stormed away.
When the man vanished into the dense pines, Rorik finally slumped back down against the tree for support. Dizziness clouded his vision, and weariness crept into his body. He wiped a shaky hand over his brow and encountered moisture. Raising his hand in front of his face, he watched in stunned horror as blood oozed from the skin within his palm. “Nae,” he muttered, clenching his fist.
He dropped his sword and closed his eyes. Searching—seeking for his beast.
“Where are you?” he rasped out. The effort cost him sorely, and he coughed, tasting bile mixed with the coppery tang of blood.
Within the murky recesses of his mind, Rorik could not find his wolf. The beast had retreated deep within his body, leaving him alone in agonizing torment.
Rorik judged death had finally come to claim him and his beast.
****
The wolf’s howl of agony reached Ragna, piercing her heart and head with cries of the animal’s torment. She stumbled and dropped to her knees, losing control of the herbs she had recently gathered. The stench of blood came on the wind. Gasping for breath, she tried to maintain her focus. Pain overtook her senses, and she rocked back and forth as great spasms ripped through her body.
On a guttural cry, she dug her fingers into the muddy ground and closed her eyes. Calling forth the power of the land, she attempted to thwart the assault within her body with its soothing strength. With great effort, Ragna brought her breathing to a steady rhythm and slowly opened her eyes.
“Rorik,” she called out on a choked sob.
She had no time to dwell on her connection with the man’s wolf. They both were dying.
Lifting her hands upward, she blew across her palms. “Oda, Oda! Come forth.”
The sparrowhawk let out a screech from a nearby tree and flew to her side.
Her hands shook as Ragna withdrew the small blade tucked within her belt at her side. After wiping the mud from her hand, she made a small incision across the tip of her finger. Blood pooled from her skin and spilled onto the ground. “Hear me, Lady Freyja. Do not take your warrior. Give me the strength to see through this hawk and find him so he can be healed.”
Again, the ground rumbled beneath her, and the wind lifted the tendrils of hair around her face. Time slipped by as she waited for a message from the Goddess. When nothing came, she closed her eyes, daring to risk her life by not remaining patient. Chanting the ancient words of magic, Ragna prayed the Goddess had heard her cry for help while she drew the magical signs of sight into the cool air.
“Go find the wolf, Oda,” she whispered.
Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest while she opened her eyes. Clouds rumbled in the distance when the bird took flight.
Ragna stood slowly and blinked. The power filled her. Holding her palms upward, she flew within the mind of the bird. Over the meadow, across the river, and onward over the thick forest, she soared with Oda until they spotted the man lying at the base of a tree high on the hilltop. Blood and bruising appeared on his face and hands, and she swayed from the sight. “Nae.”
Ragna took in the surrounding landscape, committing each detail to her memory. Certain she could lead the others to Rorik, she lowered her hands and severed the connection in her mind with the bird.
“Stay with him, Oda,” she commanded. Fisting a hand to her mouth, she squelched the cry threatening to spill forth.
Nae time to dwell, nae time…
After retrieving her blade from the ground, Ragna took off running for Steinn.
When the entrance of the castle loomed before her, she shouted, “Where is Magnar?”
One of the guards gestured toward the stables, and she dashed across the bridge and into the bailey. Dogs barked in greeting, following her on her quest. Elspeth stepped along her path and tried to hamper her progress, but she shook her head at the woman.
“Need Magnar,” she gasped.
Worried creased the woman’s brow, and she dropped the basket she held.
The leader of the wolves emerged forth from the entrance of the stables in time to take a hold of Ragna. His firm grip steadied her uneasiness.
“Rorik?” he asked.
She nodded. “On…on a hilltop. Large standing stone.”
Magnar directed his gaze at his wife. “Steinar is in the lists with the others. Have someone fetch him to the stables. Do so quietly as well.”
“Aye, husband.”
He returned his attention to Ragna. “Return to your chambers. I ken the place through the forest.”
Ragna lifted her chin in defiance. “Nae. I shall go with you.”
“We have a healer,” he offered.
“Not one who kens the wisdom of the ancients as well as I do.” She paused, trying to calm her thoughts and breathing. “Blood oozes from his skin. ’Tis the start of what I warned you about—his death.”
Magnar released his hold on Ragna. His jaw clenched as he turned away and slipped inside the stables.
Rubbing her hands together to ward off the chill, she shoved aside the distress battling within her. No matter her feelings for Rorik, she could ill afford to allow her uneasiness to cloud any decision she’d make in regard to his healing.
Magnar strode forth, leading three horses outside.
She quickly stepped out of his path. “Which one is mine?”
He motioned to the sable-colored animal.
Quickly retrieving her blade again, she made long slits in both sides of her gown.
