Her Heart's Surrender Read online

  Her Heart’s Surrender

  Allison Merritt

  Copyright © 2016 by Alice Cummings, Demoiselle Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Ebook Edition 2016

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pronunciation Guide

  Chapter One

  Settlement of Suibhne, Northumbria – 935 A.D.

  Beneath the heavy wooden door, through a crack as wide as Ealasaid’s thumb, moonlight danced on the stone stoop. It called her, her nursemaid Kirsteen said because she’d been delivered to the Kentigern doorstep by aos sí. The fae often visited the hills and meadows around her home under the starlight.

  Getting across the slumbering bodies of her three sisters and two brothers wasn’t easy. They stretched out on the stone floor, buried beneath piles of wool blankets and animal furs to shield them against the cold. Tiptoeing through them and the handful of churls sprawled from here to the door made for a treacherous journey. It helped that they all slept like the dead.

  Ealasaid picked her way around them and glanced over her shoulder at Eoghann. He flailed his arms as he lost his balance and nearly toppled over onto their oldest sister’s bed.

  Ealasaid rolled her eyes. Her brother’s movements were clumsy and awkward. If he gave them away, they’d both face a switching. Numerous marks already crisscrossed her legs without adding to them. She pressed her finger to her lips.

  Eoghann scowled, then made a shooing motion. A loose board concealed a hole dug under the wall she used to escape the stifling, smoky room she shared with her family. The board came up without any noise, and Ealasaid slithered through the hole with the slightest rustle of dirt and gravel. If anyone woke, they might guess a rat burrowed under the hall.

  Eoghann joined her a moment later and shook dirt from his hair.

  “You almost gave us away,” she whispered, nudging his ribs.

  “Did not. Keavy could sleep through a herd of horses running over her.” He shook his head again, causing his burnished curls to dance. “Lazy bunch, the Kentigern’s other offspring. Come on, let’s go search for your stupid fairies.”

  “They’re not stupid. You’re stupid.”

  Nighttime journeys were a frequent thing for Ealasaid. She preferred going alone, but sometimes Eoghann followed her. He didn’t believe in the fae, so she didn’t know why he’d want to come, but it was easier to let him than worry he’d raise a fuss.

  Beneath the harvest moon, in the chilly air of the autumn night, she chased him toward the hill overlooking the river.

  When Eoghann reached the top, he dropped onto the grass and propped himself up on his elbows. “I’d like to take a ship all the way down the river and let the sea deliver me somewhere else.”

  “Where? You’d end up in Frankish territory, and they’d skin you alive for being a Saxon.” She kicked the top off a dandelion head, sending seeds into the air.

  “I’d fight them.” He mimed sword fighting. “I’d be their king.”

  “They already have a Norse king, just like the Danelaw.” The Northmen ruled everything except the Strathclyde lands to the west. The lands they didn’t rule remained under threat of their arrival at any time. A shaky treaty between the clans allowed their father to control Suibhne and collect taxes on the goods the vikingrs carried down the river on the trip back to Jórvík and their other settlements.

  Eoghann twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. “I’ll never be more than an earl, but I would like to be king someday.”

  She folded her arms. “You can’t. You’re the youngest son, and it’s a crime to wish Artair and Diarmaid dead so you can inherit Da’s position.”

  “King, not chieftain. It has a better sound to it.” He threw the grass at her, but it fell short.

  A nip of frost hung in the air. She hugged a thick silver-gray wolf skin tight around her shoulders. Last winter the Kentigern slayed the beast after it carried off a thrall’s child. Some of the churls still muttered the Kentigern hadn’t cared enough about his people to hunt the wolf before it caused real harm. They’d suffered the lack of meat while the Kentigern’s family ate well, snug in their great hall.

  The churls and thralls didn’t know her father’s concerns went beyond one rogue wild animal. Only his closest advisors and eldest sons were told of the impending vikingr threat. The Norsemen were angry because the Kentigern increased the taxes after he promised not to. Rumors swarmed among the people about the dangers of angering Ingvar the Bloody Raven, king of the Norsemen to the north. The Kentigern put them to rest with his fierce barking—the settlement should carry on as usual until the moment vikingrs burned it to the ground. In public, he treated it as no more than a story to frighten children. In private, he plotted defense and worried about casualties of war.

  Because her father’s men and her brothers knew, Ealasaid knew. She couldn’t resist listening when the men talked. Their conversations were more interesting than the chatter of the hall’s ladies and certainly better than anything Kirsteen talked about, unless it involved the fae.

  What would the Bloody Raven’s Norsemen look like? They were rumored to be giants, unclean men who took what they wanted—women and thralls, food and drink, animals and treasure—then left nothing but ashes and bones in their wake.

  Her father’s lords often trained for battle in the courtyard and her brothers along with them. Eoghann taught her to use a knife for defense, and she thought she could stab someone with a sword if it came down to it. But she liked plants and studying the way they grew. From ugly, odd-shaped seeds, they changed into delicate shoots, and then into useful things that could be eaten or woven or mashed for poultices. They could even be used against enemies.

  Blanid, the settlement’s ancient healer and midwife, didn’t mind when Ealasaid joined her in herb hunting. If one knew where to look, they could find any plant they needed.

  If the vikingrs came, with the knowledge Blanid passed along, Ealasaid figured she could easily poison any of the rotten bastards who tried to make her a thrall. She would not lay down, not the youngest daughter of the Kentigern. Or a changeling who might be aos sí royalty.

  Stars glittered in the blue-black heavens. Her sister Keavy claimed somewhere above them, in the mad, sparkling mess, their mother waited for the day they would all join her. Ealasaid didn’t want to die. Dying meant pain, a fact proven by the way thralls twisted and moaned when they were on death’s doorstep. She harbored no illusions about her mother’s death. She’d gone the same way, torn apart by Ealasaid’s birth.

  Eoghann entertained himself by throwing rocks down the hill to see if they would reach the water. Most of them fell short of the goal.

  No sparkling fae danced on the overgrown grass and weeds, but they might be busy with their own harvests. Surely magical creatures needed a store for winter too.

  She plucked long blades of grass and wove them together to make crowns, one for her and one for Eoghann. When she
plunked it on top of his head, he scowled.

  “A crown fit for the king of a hill.” She laughed and skipped away.

  “I don’t want to be king of a single hill.” Eoghann tossed it at her. “I’ll rule most of the world like the Romans did. Emperor Eoghann.”

  She caught the grass crown, then threw it back. They continued the game of catching it until it fell apart.

  Water splashed downstream, and she faced the sound. Ealasaid’s breath came out as steam. She snagged the front of her brother’s jerkin. “Eoghann.”

  A fleet of dark longships rowed up the churning water. With each stroke of the oars, they grew closer to the settlement’s landing. Sails hung like empty sleeves on the ships’ great masts. In the red and orange glow of the fire lighting the decks, men clustered in war armor.

  Her heart stopped, but a rush of noise flooded her ears, high-pitched like the squeal of a dying rabbit. It left her dizzy and unbalanced. She clapped a hand over her mouth. A sharp snapping made her blink. The unfurled banner on the foremost ship whipped in the wind. So black and almost impossible to see, the material cracked again, then expanded to its full length. It displayed a red bird perched atop an eyeless skull. Two gold slashes made up the bird’s eyes.

  Vikingrs.

  Worse, the bloody raven symbol meant Ingvar’s ships.

  Ealasaid’s knees weakened, and she almost dropped to the ground.

  “Come on.” Eoghann grasped her wrist and pulled her behind him.

  The wolf pelt fell from her shoulders. She staggered over the hill with him. When they found the path, she gained some strength. The distance to the hall from the river might have been the length of Northumbria.

  Eoghann let her go as they approached the hall. She skidded to a halt in the dirt, tripped on the stoop, and banged her nose on the hard ground. Stars brighter than the fire on the Norse ships flared before her eyes. Hot blood spurted from her nose. Her knees almost failed as she struggled to her feet.

  Eoghann started shouting the moment he threw open the door. “They’ve come to kill us.”

  The Kentigern climbed to his feet. His face twisted with anger. “What the devil were you two doing out there?” His voice boomed big as thunder. “You know better than—”

  Eoghann’s mouth closed with a snap.

  “V-v-vik—” Ealasaid’s breath caught, and her nose throbbed. “Coming. On the river. It’s the Raven.”

  “What’s happening?” Artair, her eldest brother, rubbed sleep from his eyes.

  “Stupid children,” Keavy said. “Go back to sleep.”

  Kirsteen climbed to her feet, then waved her thick finger in Ealasaid’s face. “I’ve told you time and again not to sneak out in the night.”

  “But-but Ingvar the-the... he’s coming!” Eoghann’s face paled and his body shook.

  “Spit it out, boy.” The Kentigern shook Ealasaid. “Why have you disturbed us?”

  “Vikingrs. Ingvar’s flag flies over his longboat. He’s coming here. We saw them at the river.” Ealasaid gave out, collapsing against her father’s chest. “I know what I saw, Da. He’ll kill us all.”

  The Kentigern dropped her. She landed on her bottom on the hard stone floor. “Artair, Diarmaid, come with me now.”

  They knew better than to disobey. The three of them left. Eoghann didn’t make a noise of protest as he helped her up. His silence lent credit to his fear—normally he’d squawk in protest if they went without him.

  “You’re lying.” Keavy sneered. “When Da finds out, he’ll toss you to the wolves.” She drew her fur up and buried her head beneath it.

  Kirsteen attacked Ealasaid’s face with a wet rag. “Right mess you’ve made here. I hope you’re proud of yourself, disturbing the household like a peasant child. Wait until the Kentigern comes back. I’ll beat you both raw in front of the whole settlement.”

  “We’re not lying.” Ealasaid’s stomach churned. “I’m afraid, Kirsteen.”

  The iron bell in the middle of the settlement rang loud and frantically.

  Her siblings bolted out of their beds. Kirsteen’s rag fell from her hand, and her face paled. They glared at Ealasaid as though she’d brought the invasion herself. Eoghann stared at the floor.

  The door burst inward. “Arm yourselves. We’ll not let them storm the hall.” Donald, one of the Kentigern’s men, and a dozen others crowded the room.

  “Is it really Norse invaders, Donald?” Kirsteen wrung her hands together.

  “Aye, it’s them.” His battle-scarred face drew tight with a scowl. He carried a wooden shield on one arm, a sword almost as long as him in the other.

  Kirsteen collected the knives they used to cut meat and passed them out to Ealasaid’s brother and sisters. She handed a small knife to Ealasaid, handle first. “You’re to hide in the rafters. You and your sisters. They’ll not honor Keavy’s betrothal, and they’ll make thralls out of the lot of you girls.”

  “What about Eoghann?”

  “He’ll stand with us and do the Kentigern proud,” Donald said.

  Eoghann’s face took on a green tint. For all his talk of conquering the Franks, he wasn’t a fighter.

  Keavy grabbed Ealasaid’s arm. “Come on. We’ve got to climb.” Often choked with cobwebs and dust, the loft wasn’t well lit and made a good hiding place. The Norsemen might not notice it. Still, she clutched the knife—a dull thing hardly suitable for defense—in her sweaty fist and dragged her feet as Keavy tugged her along.

  “You go on. I want to stay and fight with Eoghann.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Keavy snapped.

  Beside her, the next sister, Neilina, four years Ealasaid’s senior, wailed. “Just do what she says.”

  “Everyone will be murdered because of you.” Aileen, Neilina’s twin, grabbed a handful of Ealasaid’s hair. “Sheehy, you brought them here. I say we let them have you.”

  “All of you stop it and get your arses up there.” Kirsteen’s round face blazed red. “Shut up and behave.”

  Ealasaid allowed Keavy to lead her to the loft ladder. She couldn’t ignore Neilina’s sniveling, which hurt her head and would surely give them away. One by one, the Kentigern’s daughters climbed into the dark loft. Outside, the bell ceased ringing. Shouts filled the night air, followed by the screams of terrified and dying people.

  Ealasaid’s bravery tumbled into the soles of her feet. Blood dripped down her throat, tinging her saliva a metallic flavor. Gods, don’t let them find us. Don’t let them kill Da or the boys.

  She shivered when a woman screamed. Aileen clamped her hands over her ears and muttered a frantic prayer. Keavy wrapped her arms around Neilina and Aileen. The three of them rocked back and forth. The motion stirred up dust and made Ealasaid cough.

  “Quiet,” Donald hissed from below.

  The door flew open and light filled the hall. Kirsteen screamed, but the sound cut short.

  Ealasaid bit her lip hard. Keavy pressed her hand over Neilina’s mouth, smothering the babyish whimpers threatening to reveal them. Below, men struggled and knocked over the heavy furniture. The light brightened again, and the sickening scent of burning hair reached the loft. The furs…or perhaps even a person on fire.

  Ealasaid shook. The knife clattered on the loft floor. Aileen pinched her leg. They can’t hear it over the fighting. A yell rang out in the hall, followed by a sucking sound. She leaned forward and peered over the edge of the loft.

  Donald staggered into view, his hands clutching his innards. He hit his knees then fell on his face. Near him, Kirsteen lay motionless, along with some of the Kentigern’s thralls and a few churls. All dead. There wasn’t any sign of Eoghann.

  There wasn’t anyone left to protect the Kentigern’s daughters.

  She snatched up her knife and huddled on the edge of the loft. Keavy grabbed for her, but missed. Below, a black-haired vikingr surveyed the damage he’d caused. Blood splattered his jerkin and boots, and coated the blade in his hand.

  A rush of fury bolted throug
h Ealasaid’s veins. No one hurt the Kentigern’s kin or ruined his home. She jumped from the loft and hit the young Norseman's back.

  He staggered under her weight but didn’t fall. Ealasaid gripped her weapon and plunged it into the hard muscle of his upper arm then ripped it free. She lifted it to stab him again, but he snagged her dress and flipped her over his head. The air whooshed from her chest when she landed on her back, leaving her muscles useless. The knife clattered away.

  A wicked smile split the invader's grime-covered face. He grabbed her dress front and lifted her off the floor. “A little warrior all set to defend her settlement. This one is braver than most of the men we killed tonight.”

  She bit him below the thumb as hard as she could. Blood and grit filled her mouth. He dropped her, and she sprawled out once more. Before she could move, someone forced her father through the door.

  The Kentigern, bloodied and bruised, fell to his knees. A man wearing Ingvar’s crest twisted the Kentigern’s arm behind his back.

  “Ealasaid,” her father said. “Run, girl.”

  The utter devastation on his face made her skin prickle.

  Tall warriors blocked the entrance.

  “Da,” she whispered. She reached for him, but the Norseman she’d bitten yanked her hair.

  The man holding her father swept his blade across the Kentigern’s throat. A flood of crimson washed down Cairbre the Kentigern’s tunic.

  Ealasaid cried out and fought against the grip holding her back.

  “Take the thralls to the ships.” The man who’d killed her father released the corpse. “Hella, dispose of the runt and help the others.”

  She glared up at the invader whose fingers tangled in her hair. “I’m not afraid to die.”

  “No, it appears not. I wonder why?” Blue eyes the color of sky after a storm pierced her.

  “I am Cairbre the Kentigern’s daughter, Ealasaid. I have no reason to fear gutless vikingr dogs.” She lashed out at him.

  He laughed again. “Well said.”

  His fist hit her jaw and black spots blinded her.