Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 (17 page)

She was his.

No matter how many times Elisead remembered his words, they sent a shivering thrill through her.

To be claimed by this powerful, unbending Northman warrior was something that would have been completely outlandish to her a mere fortnight ago. And now she could imagine no other fate for herself than the one entwined with Alaric’s.

But even more shocking had been his statement that he was hers, too. The golden-headed man walking silently at her side was hers. He was her protector, her champion, but also her companion, to walk with by her side for all their days.

And from what she had learned of the Northland ways, they were
partners
in their joining. She’d sensed from the first that Alaric saw her differently than all the men she’d known before him. He listened to her, asked her advice, and took pride in her carving skills, even encouraged her. She felt more alive—more herself—than ever before. It was as if in his presence she was as free as she felt running through the woods, hearing the whispers of the spirits.

He glanced at her, his green eyes dancing with the secret they’d just shared. Reaching out, he plucked a leaf from her hair.

“You truly look like a forest goddess, little spirit,” he said, shining a smile on her. But then his face darkened slightly. “I fear that your father will know what we have done the moment we set foot in the fortress.”

When the haze of passion had at last cleared and they’d untangled their bodies, that same worry had stolen over her. She’d dressed slowly, carefully smoothing her tunic of wrinkles and dirt. And as they’d walked back toward the fortress, even her elation at their union was blunted slightly by her uncertainty.

“Aye, mayhap,” she said, looking at the leaf he spun in his fingers.

“Do not worry, sweet Elisead,” he said lowly. He tossed the leaf aside and took her hand in his. As they continued on through the trees, she drew on some of his strength.

“I will tell him that we are to be married at once,” she said. “He will come around. It is in his best interest as well as yours.”

Alaric stopped again, turning toward her and taking her by the shoulders.

“Let me be clear, so that you never have cause to doubt me. By Odin’s last breath, I would marry you even if it meant betraying my mission and destroying my honor. That is…a difficult thing for me to accept, for honor is all a man truly has, and this voyage is not just for my own glory, but for the wellbeing of all my people.”

He clenched his jaw, his eyes clouding with some unreadable emotion for a long moment. But then he exhaled slowly through his teeth, and his gaze focused on her once more.

“By some blessing of the gods, though, marrying you allows me to keep my word and secure my mission. I do not know what I have done to deserve such luck. But understand me well—I would burn the whole world to make you mine, Elisead.”

She fought back the raw emotion that rose in her throat at his words. “Nay, I will not doubt you again,” she breathed.

“Thank you,” he said, a smile tingeing his lips faintly. “And just to be sure, I’ll make it my new mission when we are wed to woo you properly.”

She blinked, feeling her own smile mirror his. “What do you mean?”

He tucked her arm under his and set off at a lazy pace once more. “In the Northlands, a woman gets to have a say in whom she will wed.”

“Aye, you’ve said that before.”

“Well, it means that a man vying for a woman’s commitment must work to win her over. Courtship is quite the sport in the Northlands.”

Elisead widened her eyes on him. “Sport? You must be exaggerating.”

“Nei, I speak the truth,” he replied with a chuckle. “And a deadly sport at that. If an insult is given by either the man or the woman, or either of their families, a blood feud can settle upon all involved for generations.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand your ways.”

“Ah, mayhap not, but now we have naught but time.” She felt the warmth of his smile on her and she couldn’t help but reciprocate.

But then a question that had perplexed her suddenly rose to her lips.

“Are Madrena and Rúnin married?”

Alaric snorted. “Nei.”

“Why not?

He shrugged. “Most Northlanders believe in marriage, of course. Madrena has always been…different. She likes to do things her own way. She and Rúnin have an understanding about what they are to each other. They might as well be married, for they are solely devoted to each other, but their arrangement as it is works for them.”

“But
you
wish to be married, do you not?”

“Ja,” he said, a soft smile lifting his lips. “More than anything, I wish for our peoples, as well as our gods, to witness us pledge ourselves to each other.”

His smile widened into a mischievous grin. “Mayhap because we are to be married first, this courtship will go smoother than most,” he went on. “For I will already have both you and your father’s blessings on the union, so I can avoid the pitfalls many Northmen face. I could even write verses praising your beauty!”

“Is that not normal in your land?”

He chuckled again, a low and silky sound that sent tendrils of awareness through her.

“Ja, many a man has composed verses expounding on his woman’s comeliness. But it must be done in secret, for any such open declarations are taken as an insult to her honor.”

“Why?”

“Because any man who can craft verse upon verse about a woman’s…charms…implies that he’s already sampled them.”

Alaric actually winked at her. She felt a hot blush creep up her neck.

“But since we will be wed, there is no dishonor in praising my wife’s beauty.”

“
Wife
,” she said, the blush heating her cheeks. “I very much like that.”

Throwing back his golden head, he laughed. She longed to freeze this moment in time, for never had she felt so happy before.

“Your father will acquiesce,” he said, his laughter fading but merriment still sparkling in his vivid green eyes. “Do not worry, little spirit. We simply need to—”

Suddenly the mirth drained from his face. His whole body went rigid next to her.

“What? What is it?” she asked, abrupt panic rising within her.

She followed his gaze to the swath of forest ahead.

Smoke trickled through the trees, winding around boughs and smearing the blue sky overhead.

Before she knew what was happening, Alaric had ripped his sword free of the scabbard on his hip and grasped her by the wrist. He bolted toward the smoke.

She stumbled after him, barely keeping up with his long strides. As the stench of burning filled her nostrils, a terrible dread nigh choked her.

The scent had alerted him.

If he hadn’t been so focused on Elisead’s beautiful smile and her honey eyes, he would have seen the smoke sooner. As it was, even his lust-clouded mind had been penetrated by the smell of burning.

He skidded to a halt where the tree line ended suddenly. With his blade poised for an attack, he released Elisead’s wrist but pushed her behind him.

“The fields,” she panted in disbelief.

“Ja.” He’d recognized the barley fields by the abrupt edge to the otherwise thick forest. It had been painstaking and laborious work to clear away so many trees and such abundant underbrush, but he and his crew had carefully made this bare patch in the woods.

But the sight that met him was a nightmare version of the barley fields. When last he’d seen them only a day ago, the soil was still in its carefully plowed rows. Green shoots had stood almost knee-high, promising a good harvest in a few moons’ time.

Now the fields lay smoldering and destroyed. Some of the barley had been burned, while other areas of the field that were likely too green to catch fire had been ripped apart. The soil at his boots was churned, with broken barley stalks strewn and smoking everywhere.

“Who would do this?” Elisead whispered behind him. She peered around his shoulder, a look of stricken horror on her face.

Alaric scanned the field for movement, but the only shift was the lazily rising smoke. “I know not.”

But then his mind flew to the camp he and his crew had made only a stone’s throw away. He grasped Elisead’s wrist again, but this time he moved on careful, silent feet as he slipped toward the camp. He kept his sword raised in case the perpetrator still lingered, but the woods were quiet and still, revealing naught.

He edged his way into camp, shielding Elisead with his body. All the tents still stood, their wool sidings unmarred. He stepped around the tent Elisead had been using to get a clear view of the entire camp.

Chainmail-clad bodies still lay broken and bloodied on the ground. Flies hung in the air, and several ravens took flight as Alaric approached.

“Do not look, Elisead,” he bit out. He’d meant to give his crew the order to return to the camp and dispose of the remnants of last night’s battle with Domnall’s men, but he’d instead brought his proposal of marrying Elisead to Maelcon, then gone out into the woods with Elisead.

He felt Elisead tense within his grasp and knew she hadn’t heeded his command. She made a sound that was half-gasp, half-scream.

Alaric pushed down the rage—for himself at forgetting to give the order, but also at whoever had burned the fields—into the pit of his stomach. He spun, gripping Elisead by the shoulder and forcing her to turn with him so that her back was to the carnage.

“Just breathe,” he said, willing his voice to be soft. “Focus on my eyes.”

She blinked up at him, gulping several breaths. “I…I know it was like this last night when I stood here,” she said, her voice cracking. “But it was so dark then, and I didn’t see…”

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Do not overwhelm yourself.”

She nodded, holding his gaze more steadily now. But just as she was pulling in a deep breath, he heard the sound of footsteps in the forest to the northwest. Many footsteps.

He shoved Elisead behind him, sword flashing in the late afternoon sunlight. Time stretched as Alaric’s nerves were pulled taut, trying to gauge how many people moved in the woods beyond the camp.

The first figure he saw bore a wild head of red hair and a bushy beard. Tension suddenly drained from him in a flood.

“Olaf!” Alaric barked.

The movement in the underbrush stilled for a moment, but then a dozen of Alaric’s crew strode out.

“Where have you been?” the ruddy giant demanded with no preamble.

Alaric slowly re-sheathed his sword and pulled Elisead protectively to his side. “We had some sorting to do,” he said.

“Madrena and Rúnin sent us out to check on the camp,” Tarr said, coming to Olaf’s side. “We could see smoke from the fortress walls. We searched the fortress for you, but when Maelcon said you and his daughter were out here, we feared the worst.”

“We are fine, and the camp is untouched,” Alaric said, “But the barley fields have been destroyed.”

The dozen warriors before him tensed as one.

“That was the source of the smoke you saw,” Alaric went on.

“Who?” Tarr breathed through clenched teeth.

“I know not. I came here to check on the camp, but it has been left untouched for some reason.”

“Perhaps whoever destroyed the field heard us approaching?” Elisead offered softly at his side.

“Mayhap. Or they knew that the smoke would draw others from the fortress and they didn’t have time to reach the camp,” Alaric said. “Whatever the reason, we will discover who did this.”

Alaric strode back toward the burned field, his men falling in behind him. The sight of the destruction once again sent a hot knot of rage into his belly.

He slowly began to pace the perimeter of the field, looking for a clue as to who had torn and burned it. Elisead remained close at his side, her eyes wide as she glanced into the surrounding trees. 

“Boot prints,” Alaric said over his shoulder to the others, who had fanned out and were examining the field.

“How many?” Olaf called back.

Alaric knelt and examined the tracks. They were of average size for a man, with no distinguishing features. But they were all evenly spaced and similar in length and shape.

“They could all belong to just one man,” Alaric responded, “But they could be
any
man’s tracks.”

“Alaric!”

He jerked to his feet at Elisead’s frightened voice. She pointed toward the far end of the field, where he and his men had piled the larger rocks they’d uncovered as they’d cleared the field.

Even from several dozen paces away, Alaric could see that something marred one of the stone’s faces. Dread tightened his throat.

He strode toward the pile of rocks. The others must have sensed his sudden focus, for they followed him to the far end of the field.

There upon the largest stone were scratched two runes in charcoal.

“Ashes and man,” he said. “The same as before, next to the burned bones.”

He dimly registered Elisead’s shocked gasp beside him.

The rumble of his men’s unease reverberated behind him.

“Who made the carving where the burned bones lie?” Tarr asked, his voice as grim as Alaric’s.

“I did.”

Suddenly every set of eyes was on Elisead. She shrank into Alaric’s side under the narrowed stares of his men.

“You’d best remove the suspicion from your eyes,” Alaric warned them. “Now.”

“If she carved those other runes—” Olaf began.

“Elisead has been with me all day,” Alaric snapped. “There is no way she did this. The boot tracks clearly belong to a man. And I suspect this act was done out of spite, to warn us to leave these lands.”

“Domnall?” Tarr said, his brows lowered.

Alaric considered the possibility for a long moment. Domnall had made no effort to hide his hatred of Alaric and the other Northlanders. Had he somehow doubled back and made one last effort to thwart relations between the Northmen and Picts?

Before he could sort out the tangle of his thoughts, however, Elisead spoke up.

“Nay, I don’t think so.”

Once more, all eyes were on her.

“Why is that?” Alaric asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice so as not to frighten her.

She caught her lower lip with her teeth for a moment. “He knew of the attack by Northmen invaders seven years ago, and also that my father and his men beat them back.”

She shot a cautious glance around the group of Northlanders as if to make sure they weren’t angered by her words, but when they remained silent, she went on. “But he never saw the place where…where we burned the Northmen’s bodies…or the runes…”

“Elisead,” Alaric said, holding her with his gaze. “I think it is time you told us exactly what happened seven years ago.”