DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (17 page)

There was a moment of stunned silence as Annikke and the others took in the fact that Benoia had offered violence to one of the Fey. Tears coursed down the girl’s cheeks but she seemed unaware of them. Annikke rose and put her arms around her foster-daughter. “Please forgive her. She’s endured so much these last days. She didn’t mean—”

Torlon smiled ruefully, rubbing the side of his face. “It is forgotten. Compared to the blow an Elf maiden would deliver, it was a caress.”

Then Norva said, “You’re wrong, Benoia. Sveyn’s injury isn’t on your head, it’s on his own.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, and I appreciate the thought, but Lord Tholvar is still after us,” Benoia said in a tone that suggested that Norva had missed an obvious point.

“Thus your need for protection,” Gaelon said. “And whether or not your action was justified, you could not have taken it but for me and the magic I gave you. I share responsibility.”

“Wonderful. You can come to Quartzholm and tell Lord Dahleven that,” Annikke snapped. “But Aren won’t be traveling for several days. I did my best, but his injury needs time to heal.”

Again the Elves exchanged a glance. “That’s something we can help with, if you will allow it,” Gaelon asked Aren.

Annikke saw the struggle on his face, and knew he didn’t want to be any more indebted to the Fey than he already was.

When he spoke, Aren’s tone was resigned. “It wouldn’t be prudent to camp here in the forest while I recover enough to travel. That archer might rediscover his courage. In the interest of being better able to protect Annikke and Benoia, and of seeing them safely to Quartzholm as soon as possible, I accept your offer.”

Torlon chuckled. “Yes, of course. This won’t incur new obligation. We do it only to assist you in paying your debt.”

Gaelon knelt beside Aren. Annikke watched and listened carefully as the Elf put his hands over the wound. With the Elves’ unexpected arrival, no one, not even Aren, had thought to cover his nakedness. His spilt blood had congealed and dried on his muscular thigh, and now that she wasn’t concerned with saving his life, Annikke couldn’t help notice his exposure, seeing him as a man rather than a patient. Even as a healer, she’d seen few men’s privates. Feeling her face flood with heat, she looked away and met Norva’s gaze. The older woman waggled her eyebrows in appreciation.

Annikke had never played the casual love games of youth. None of the village boys had wanted to test their luck with a Fey-marked girl, so she didn’t know if Aren was exceptional or not. Norva seemed to think so, however.

Then the Elf began murmuring in his song-like tongue and Norva lost her smirk as she blanched and turned away, muttering a soft curse and a prayer for protection. Annikke smiled. At least the other woman wasn’t staring at Aren’s cock anymore.

A few minutes later Gaelon sat back. “You’ll be sore, but you can safely travel to Quartzholm now. We should move away from this place of death. Have you another pair of trews?”

Aren grimaced. “Nay. I didn’t think I’d have need.”

“I can mend them,” Annikke said, “but I’ll not be able to get the blood out of them.”

Aren swore. “I don’t welcome the comments that will come of walking into Quartzholm with my crotch drenched in blood.”

Torlon laughed. “I can help with that. I’ll put a bit of glamor on them that will last long enough for you to change. No one will be alarmed on that score.”

“You’re coming with us to Quartzholm?” Vali asked, the eagerness plain in his voice.

“We’ll see you safe to only to the edge of the village,” Torlon said to Norva, who had an alarmed expression. “We don’t want to call your sanity into question,” he finished with wry tone.

Chapter Eighteen

Aren watched Annikke plying her needle on the slashes in his trews. When their group moved, they left the one man still living held fast to the ground by the weeds. The Elves had reinforced Annikke’s command, but they said he’d work his way free by the next day. Torlon had leaned close to the man’s face and warned him of the danger of pursuing them too closely.

Their attacker had wet his pants.

The dead they’d left like Outcasts, lying untended on the ground where they’d fallen. The Elves refused to spend a moment’s time on men who’d tried to kill Annikke and Benoia, and Aren felt much the same, even though one of those men was dead because of him.

Aren turned the thought over in his mind. A man would not return to his family because Aren’s arrow had found its mark. He’d never killed a man before, and he didn’t much like the feeling. But he couldn’t wish he’d done otherwise. Annikke and Benoia’s lives had been in peril.

It was still light when they’d made a new camp, and Annikke had bent to the task of mending his clothing. Aren imagined her sewing in a rocking chair in front of a cozy fire in his cottage. Head bent over her work, she was unmindful of the silver strands that had come loose from her braid. He wanted to tuck them behind her ear, much as he would have with Tandra.

No, not at all like he would with his daughter. He wanted to brush Annikke’s hair back and kiss the delicate ear he’d expose, and on down her neck to her collarbone, and then lay her down on his bed and wrap himself around her. He wanted to feel the silver beauty of her hair trailing over his skin, and tease her nipples with the soft tail of her own braid.

His cock began to stiffen, despite his blood loss.

What in Freya’s name am I thinking!

There was no future to be had with this woman. She and Benoia were fugitives, and he was taking them to face Lord Dahleven’s justice. That was all there could ever be between them. He hoped the Jarl would see that Benoia had only defended herself, but the girl had harmed the heir of a lord, a lord whose vote the Jarl needed at the upcoming Althing, the annual meeting of the Jarls and their lords. A man might think of his own daughter, sister, and wife facing assault and treat Benoia with compassion, but a Jarl who wanted to enfranchise all women in his province might think their needs outweighed those of a single girl.

Even worse, Benoia had used Elven magic.

Was doing so a violation of the Laws of Sanction? Aren didn’t know. Most would think so, even if it wasn’t. Lord Dahleven might have the support to make an unpopular decision, but would he spend it by deciding in favor of the foster-daughter of a Fey-marked woman? Shame twisted Aren’s gut. He hadn’t set out to deceive Annikke and Benoia, or himself, for that matter. Nevertheless, he’d led the women to believe the Jarl would be sympathetic to them, and though he might well be, Aren knew that sympathy wasn’t likely to translate to leniency for the girl.

Afternoon sun filtered through the trees, sparking light from Annikke’s hair. The magic of it couldn’t distract Aren from the miserable truth.

Taking Benoia back to Quartzholm was very probably going to bring grief to Annikke, and he couldn’t imagine she’d want anything to do with him after that. Worse, he’d be breaking his promise to Torlon. Again.

“Why are you staring at her like that?”

Benoia’s low challenge startled Aren into speaking the truth. “Because she’s beautiful.”

In a tone that wouldn’t be overheard, Benoia declared, “She’s more than beautiful. She’s honorable and compassionate.”

Aren smiled at Benoia’s fierce defense of her foster-mother. “I can see that. I wish my daughter had so devoted a mother.”

The young woman’s brow furrowed as she considered his answer. “You aren’t put off by her being Fey-marked?”

“Why should I be?” Aren replied in a similarly low voice. “She’s clearly not mad. And I’ve had dealings with the Elves myself, after all.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” Rather than sounding like she was afraid he’d take advantage of her foster-mother, Benoia’s tone suggested impatience with his lack of action.

Taken aback, Aren asked, “What do you propose?”

Benoia shrugged. “Free me from my parole. Let me go, if not to Forsvaremur with Norva and Lord Vali, then somewhere else. I’ll be safe from Sveyn and his father, and your generosity will earn you Annikke’s gratitude.”

Aren wished his choice could be that simple and straightforward. The idea of letting Benoia go, and of having Annikke, warm and loving in his arms each night was tempting—and that seductive whisper scared him more than standing on the edge of a precipice. He owed his life to Torlon, and that debt preceded the oaths made to Lord Fender and the Jarl. He could do as Benoia asked, fulfill his promise to the Elf, and have Annikke.

Was this how Da broke his oath to his liege? By putting sentiment over duty?

Shame would follow his daughter for the rest of her life if he failed his duty to Lord Fender.

What would the Elves do if he helped others bring grief and harm to Benoia and Annikke? He had no idea, but he didn’t think they’d visit their wrath upon his family. Tandra would be safe—but what kind of man would he be if he allowed that to happen?

Aren huffed a bitter laugh. “An excellent argument, but for two small problems. One, Annikke might be grateful, but she’d leave with you, not cleave to me.”

Benoia bowed her head. “And what is the second?”

Freyr protect me.
“My duty to Lord Dahleven will not allow it.”

Aren hoped he wasn’t trading shame for Elven retribution.

*

The sun was fully up when they set out for Quartzholm the next morning. Annikke was happy to see that Aren didn’t even have a limp.

He caught her staring as he tested his movement and smiled. “Nearly good as new, thanks to you.”

Annikke dropped her gaze, but it was too late. She was already blushing. “And Gaelon.”

“Aye.” Aren sounded resigned.

The Elves accompanied them to where the road escaped the forest, and put a temporary glamour on Aren’s pants so the blood stain wouldn’t draw attention.

“You still have your debt to pay,” Torlon reminded him.

“I well know it,” Aren replied.

Annikke shook her head and made a derisive noise. “How many times does he have to save my life before his debt is paid?”

Torlon kept staring into Aren’s eyes as he answered her. “As many times as necessary.”

As they approached the edge of the village that surrounded the wall around Quartzholm, the size of the place seemed to grow. This was far larger than Lord Tholvar’s manor. Annikke had never seen so many people in one place, not even on festival days in her village. She tried not to gape and stare as Aren led their group up one of the main thoroughfares through the town that spilled down the slope outside castle walls. All morning and through the afternoon, Annikke had tried to imagine what Quartzholm would be like, but even Aren’s description had not prepared her.

Rising high on the skirts of the mountain beyond, rose quartz walls rose dozens of feet above the granite curtain wall that separated the castle from the one and two story stone buildings of the village. Several people called out greetings to Aren as their group climbed the switch-backed avenue and he responded with a few words or a smile and a wave.

Finally they faced the massive gates that stood wide open like a giant maw waiting to swallow them.

Her foster daughter stopped and stood rigidly staring. Annikke took her hand. “Courage, sweetling. I’m with you.”

Benoia swallowed hard, and then lifted a brow at Annikke. “You only call me that when things are really bad.”

Annikke blinked. Was that true?

“It’s all right. I don’t need to hear it every day.” Benoia squeezed Annikke’s hand. “Your heart isn’t hidden.” She straightened her shoulders, and they continued through the gates into the courtyard.

The paved bailey was big enough to accommodate ten of the village marketplaces back home. From where she stood Annikke could see three towers punctuating the buttressed walls. Catwalks connected them near the top, and staircases ran up to each in between. More towers connected by arching spans marked the castle that seemed to grow out of the mountains. It loomed over them like a massive hammer about to fall.

A wide staircase led up to an entrance flanked by several guardsmen. Aren identified himself, and then introduced Lord Vali and Norva. “Lord Vali is in Emergence. Escort him to suitable rooms, summon a Healer and
stirkedrikk
, and let the Jarl know Lady Solveig’s son is our guest.”

Vali threw Annikke a wry glance as the guardsmen reacted with the exactly right level of concern. Annikke could see that neither he nor Aren noticed the glances at her hair, or the looks passing between the guards.

Aren waited until Lord Vali and Norva had disappeared within before saying, “This is Annikke Torrsonsdatter and Benoia Fornosdatter. They’ll also need appropriate lodging.”

Annikke watched the guard’s face turn hard, and her heart faltered.

“You captured the Fey-marked witch and her fledgling? Well done. We’ll take charge of them.” One of the guards grasped Annikke’s upper arm tightly while another pulled Benoia over to him with similar roughness. “Get yourself some food.”

“These women have given me their parole,” Aren objected, putting a restraining hand on the man’s arm. “Treat them with courtesy.”