Come Back to Me (35 page)

And in his heart. Ah, yes, that was the problem, wasn't it? He
loved
her. He, who had loved so very many women,
loved
the fire-haired warrior woman who ran like the wind and sailed over cliffs. Who met his passion with her own, beguiled and bewildered him, and made him long for what he had never thought possible. Somewhere, Loki was laughing.

"MY LADY," MAGDA SAID, "THERE IS SOMETHING you should see." She spoke very quietly yet Rycca heard the alarm in her voice. She gave up brushing Grani's mane and, ignoring the horse's protest, followed the older woman from the stable. "What is the matter?" Rycca asked when they were outside.

Magda glanced around to make sure they were not overheard. Still very quietly, she said, "There is a problem in the weaving shed."

It was late afternoon. The yard at the center of the stronghold was almost deserted. Most people had finished their tasks and gone off to the nearby pools and streams to bathe and relax before beginning preparations for supper. The weaving shed was likewise empty. Earlier in the day, the women who had charge of the weaving had moved their tall looms outside into the fresh air to do their work. But now the looms were back inside the shed, heavy with the effort of many days' labor to craft the fabric needed to make garments.

Except that no garments would be made from this
cloth. Rycca gasped and stared in disbelief. All the looms were slashed, cut straight through the warp and woof, so that the fabric on them hung in shreds.

"Sweet heaven…" she murmured.

"I found them like this just a few minutes ago," Magda said grimly. "I couldn't remember if the women had enough thread for tomorrow and I wanted to check."

"Who could have done such a thing?"

"I have no idea. Nothing like this has ever happened before. The women are at the stream, bathing. They put the looms away no more than an hour ago."

"Then someone came in here between then and now, and did this." As she spoke, Rycca touched the tattered remains of the cloth. Her hand shook. The fabric was cut through with what must have been a very sharp blade. Speed would have been essential since anyone could have walked in at any moment. But there was also an aura of deliberate violence in the way each and every loom was slashed, as though someone had worked in a swift fury.

"Master Trygyv's vessel sailed this morning, didn't it?"

Magda nodded, her expression making it clear that the same thought had occurred to her. "I checked and it did." Her gentle face creased with worry. "I cannot imagine who could have done this. Landsende is a peaceful place. There are no troublemakers here."

Rycca did not doubt that for she knew full well her husband would never have tolerated any such. But someone had done it and that raised the question of who would be so foolish as to provoke the ire of the Dragon.

"We must tell the jarl," Magda said softly.

"Yes, of course. He is on the training field right now but I will tell him when he returns. When the women come back from the stream, I will also tell them. They have worked enough today and should rest. Tomorrow
will be soon enough to remove what is left and begin anew."

Rycca thought for a moment, then added, "I will ask my lord to have a sturdy lock put on the door here. I don't really think whoever did this would be so foolish as to try it again, but it is still better to take precautions."

Magda nodded. She looked relieved to have someone else take charge of the matter. It had not occurred to Rycca to do otherwise, yet she was a little surprised to realize how readily she was slipping into her role as the mistress of Landsende. All the same, the destruction in the weaving shed troubled her greatly. Beyond the waste of the women's work, it bespoke an angry and unstable temperament unseen and unsuspected existing among them.

Rycca was still thinking about who that might be several hours later when Dragon returned to their lodge. He had bathed and was freshly garbed but it made no matter. Grubby and sweat-stained, he looked just as glorious to her. She restrained the impulse to hurl herself at him and instead poured him a cup of wine.

He took it with a nod of thanks and an appreciative look that warmed her to her toes. With an effort, she dragged her attention back to the matter at hand.

"My lord, there has been an… incident in the weaving shed. I am sorry to trouble you with it but I think you must know and I also need your approval to put a lock on the door to the shed."

Dragon set down the wine he had just tasted, reined in his thoughts of how soon he could properly take his wife to bed again, and frowned. "What sort of incident?"

Briefly, Rycca told him. Before she finished, his frown had deepened. He stood before her very much the Lord of Landsende, calm, controlled, but completely focused on the trouble that had come into his domain. "You saw no sign of whoever could have done this?"

"No, none, but I must also tell you that yesterday morning when I was in the town, I thought for a moment that I saw a man I remembered from Wolscroft. I have no idea if he could have had anything to do with this."

"We have no trade with Mercia. There is no reason for anyone from there to be here, save for you, of course. How sure are you that you recognized the man?"

"I could be mistaken," Rycca admitted. "I only caught a glimpse of him. But if he is not the man I remember, he looks extraordinarily like him."

"Then we must try to find him. Tell me of his appearance."

When Rycca had done so, Dragon sighed. "That describes perhaps a third of the men in Landsende. Is there nothing that would set him apart?"

"Not really, but I would know him if I saw him again."

"I do not want you going about the town until we have gotten to the bottom of this."

She thought to argue with him but one look at her husband's face stopped her. His authority would not be challenged by her or anyone else. Yet still she might have tried but for knowing that he was right. If someone from Wolscroft was at Landsende, it was unlikely he had come for any good purpose.

"Perhaps this is only an isolated incident," she said.

"Let us hope so," Dragon agreed. "My men will ask after anyone unknown. If he is here, we will find him."

Unless, Rycca thought, he had already left. But she did not say that. For just then, Dragon shucked off his concern as a man might drop a wet cloak. He smiled in that way that never failed to make her toes curl and reached for his wife.

Later still, as she drowsed, she felt him rise from their bed. He moved quietly and she remembered how easily he had come upon her without her hearing. Shortly, he was dressed and left the lodge. When she emerged a little while later, she saw some of the men-at-arms moving down toward the town. If the man from Wolscroft was there, he would be found.

BUT HE WAS NOT, NOT THAT DAY OR THE NEXT. Indeed, the looms were repaired, the weaving was resumed, and the destroyed cloth was replaced before there was a hint that the man might still be present.

"My lady," Magda said. Her gentle face was lined with worry and her hands, clasped in front her, twisted anxiously. "I am sorry but… there is a problem in the kitchen. If you would come see—"

Rycca lay off currying Sleipnir and went quickly. "I cannot explain this," Magda said as they hurried across the yard. "Perhaps it happened by accident but I don't see how."

They stepped inside the low building. A large barrel of salt stood by the door. It had been brought, at Rycca's direction, from the storeroom only that morning. The salt was to be used to make brine that would preserve many of the vegetables that were shortly to be harvested.

"I opened it myself," Magda said as she again removed the top of the barrel. "At first, I assumed it was fine. Why would it not be? Everything is checked carefully before it is put away in the storeroom. But then I thought… something does not smell right." She lifted a handful of what the barrel held and offered it to Rycca. "Look here, there is salt but there is something else as well."

Rycca looked closely at what had come from the barrel. She moistened a finger, pressed it to the grains, and tasted them. Salt… and—

"Sand. Someone has mixed sand with the salt."

"It's the same way all through the barrel."

"Quickly," Rycca said and hurried from the kitchen.

Magda followed at her heels. In the storeroom, both women opened barrels of salt and tasted them.

Rycca sighed with relief. "Thank heaven!"

Magda managed a wan smile. Neither woman wanted to think about the havoc that would have resulted from having no salt this close to the harvest. But even so, to have one barrel destroyed was very worrisome.

"There must have been people in and out of the kitchen all day," Rycca said as she and Magda walked back in that direction.

"I think so," the older woman agreed, "but if anyone had seen this done, they would have come to you or me immediately. Besides, it must have taken some time to empty the barrel of half its salt and replace it with sand mixed all the way through."

"Whoever did it meant to conceal what had happened so that we would go ahead and make the brine."

"Which has to set for a fortnight. We would have been left with nothing for pickling."

"All right… someone would have needed at least a few minutes and then only if they worked very quickly. Also, the barrel is heavy. To upend it and spill out half the salt swiftly would require considerable strength."

"There are always times when the kitchen is empty."

"True, but someone would have to have known that."

Magda spread her work-worn hands. "We do many of the same tasks every day. Someone watching could take note of when the kitchen would be unoccupied."

"I suppose… but it would still have required swift work and strength."

The women looked at each other. "You will tell the jarl?" Magda asked softly.

"I have no choice," Rycca replied. With a heavy heart, she went to find her husband.

Dragon heard her out calmly. He went with her to the kitchen to see the damaged salt. He even inspected the lock on the storeroom door and agreed it was sturdy. Yet when Rycca proposed putting a lock on the kitchen, he shook his head.