Her Heart's Surrender Read online

  Eoghann rubbed his forehead and refused to meet her gaze.

  A man staggered through the animal pelt door and fell to his knees. Blood and bruises distorted his face, his hands were tied behind his back, and, when he raised his head, there was a gaping hole where his right eye should have been.

  So much blood poured down his ruined face. A wave of dizziness swept over her. Why aren’t you with Hella? Terrified for him and of the possibility the invaders might have captured Hella as well, Ealasaid scrambled to his side and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Erik, how did they find you?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The men who joined Hella in the courtyard at dawn brought their weapons. The collection appeared impressive, but he wasn’t convinced it would be enough to frighten away their enemy. His feet were heavy as iron, heart-leaden, and his eyes burning from the constant wind.

  “Word of Erik?” Bjorn’s usually jovial face pinched. Black smoke rolled into the overcast sky from three points—the main fire and probably shelters housing Diarmaid and Eoghann.

  “Nothing.” He wouldn’t count his brother among the dead until he saw a body. Beside Erik and Bjorn, he’d survived impossible odds. Erik would never give up easily if captured.

  The search for Ealasaid and Skuld hadn’t turned up anything. Njord paced around the courtyard without bothering to conceal his worry. Hella wished the Saxons would attack so Njord would turn his focus away from his missing wife. Pity Hella’s focus suffered the same unrest. He wanted to tear Freysteinn apart board by board, stone by stone, thatch by thatch, but it would serve no purpose. Either Ealasaid was well hidden or...he tightened his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ached. She would never leave Birgir for her brothers.

  “What do you suppose they’re waiting for?” Bjorn stared across the valley separating Freysteinn from the camp.

  “For us to err on the side of false confidence. They think we’ll grow lazy waiting for them to arrive, but they don’t know us or how different we are from the poor unprepared bastards at Kilsarn.” The wind clawed at his face and chaffed his lips as he leaned into it, but the cold kept him alert. Plumes of smoke allowed him to focus on the approaching battle and warmed his blood as he imagined slicing Diarmaid’s scarred head from his body.

  “You think we should march on them.” Bjorn narrowed his eyes. “Surprise them before they can damage the village.”

  “I do. If they see us marching, they may rise to meet us. It might prevent some damage to Freysteinn.” There would be no retreats. They would march forward and die on the hills if Saxon blades pierced them. “Gather the men.”

  Confusion and chaos reigned as the meager army formed unruly lines. They seemed eager, ready for a fight, but it could change once they were faced with an opponent.

  He couldn’t find any words to inspire them. His father hadn’t been much better. Ingvar never led a raid with fancy talk. He’d lifted his sword high over his head then pointed the way. Just as they did with every raid and battle, the men knew what they were facing in the coming hours. The possibility of death didn’t bother them. This day would end with many of them in the Valkyries arms, borne to Valhalla.

  He slipped his engraved helmet over his head. Whorls, winding vines, and square knots decorated the scratched and dented metal he’d used to protect his head over the years. It would do the same for him today. He withdrew the sword Ealasaid had purchased for him and let the hilt warm beneath his palm. I will win to preserve our kingdom, to raise our son, to make love to you again, Ealasaid. Wherever she was, his heart was with her. He lifted the blade above his head then leveled the tip at Diarmaid’s camp.

  A roar filled the air and assaulted his ears. He joined in and the warriors moved as one toward their enemies. Diarmaid’s flaw was camping in a valley. His army would be forced to rush uphill to do battle. The rapid thud of his heart overcame the thunder of hundreds of feet and clatter of weapons on wood. He led them at a steady pace but not too fast. Some of their warriors were older men, and if they were tired by the time they reached Diarmaid, they didn’t stand the slimmest chance of survival.

  Miles to go. Hours before the outcome. Sweat trickled down Hella’s temple despite the cold. Ealasaid hadn’t kissed him goodbye. Perhaps because she didn’t want their parting to be a final farewell. I’ll find you and when I do...I’ll never let you go.

  Bjorn spoke, but his voice vanished in the noise. His cheeks were flushed, brow drawn, but the sword in his hand didn’t tremble. He held his shield close to his body. The yellow and blue paint and metal studs in the shield were vibrant beneath the gray sky. If the Saxons didn’t fear the Norsemen marching their way, they were fools. The noise lulled and Hella heard Bjorn’s chanting.

  “Týr and Odin watch over us. Foil our enemies’ blades, direct our archers’ arrows, strengthen our men. Make us fearless against attack. Valhalla awaits, glory will be ours.” Bjorn thumped his sword hilt against his shield. A wild gleam brightened his eyes. Battle ready with one quick prayer to the gods of victory. Easy for Bjorn because his wife remained in safety at Solstad. For now anyway.

  Dry autumn grass crunched beneath their feet as they covered the distance from Freysteinn to the camp. Withered thistle heads hung from their stalks with a few wisps of down left attached. The thistledown trembled in the wind, and a few seeds came loose as Hella passed by one shriveled flower. Down floated amid the sparse snowflakes, whisked over the heads of his men. Drifting began a new start for a plant, a symbol of false hope for men eager to face their fates. Beautiful as the blossoms were in spring, the weed choked a good pasture for the livestock his people raised. In some ways, the plant made him think of Ealasaid. Delicate, prickly, stubborn, capable of snaring a man and cutting him if she wasn’t handled with care. But strong and determined to survive no matter the difficulties.

  Odin, I will take care of myself. You look after my wife.

  A dozen cawing crows flew over the warriors as they marched toward their fates. Perhaps the birds were Valkyries in disguise, waiting for the chance to swoop in and claim the most valiant souls. He tightened his grip on his sweat-slickened sword hilt. If one came for him, he would plead for his life, convince her of his need to return to his family. He wouldn’t pass quietly from this world, not without a proper farewell from the woman he loved. His resolve hardened as the enemy camp grew larger and the numbers of men forming a line before crude shelters swelled.

  Volleys of arrows rained from the sky like deadly birds. They struck ready shields and many caused Hella’s men to fall. His archers returned fire, sending thick-shafted projectiles at any object in range. Men collapsed, the fluttering banners tore, and the noise increased a hundred fold. A scream of rage built in Hella’s throat as he entered the fray with his sword high.

  I will force them to take me to Diarmaid. I will find Erik and I will prevail or I’m not the king of Solstad and its surrounding villages.

  His sword bit through a charging Saxon’s leather armor and cleaved flesh from bone in a bloody spurt. With a swift kick, he knocked the dying man aside and pushed on to the next walking corpse. A spray of crimson blurred his vision as he cut down another. He wouldn’t soon forget the scents of death clogging his nose—the overwhelming body musk, salty tang of blood, and odor of shit. The cries of the dying ripped through the air, grating his ears. Some of them cried out for Christo, others to pagan deities with foreign names. Their gods would be busy sorting through souls for worthy new members of whatever afterlife they believed in before nightfall.

  The ground churned beneath Hella’s feet, hard topsoil made soft again by blood and gore steaming in the frigid air. He slipped and flailed, searched for his balance when a short sword bounced off his chainmail. It left a stinging spot, but he used the edge of his shield to knock his attacker backward. The soldier’s nose gushed red. Hella finished him with a jab of his blade in the man’s gut. Something slammed into the back of his helmet and he pitched forward. The nose piece distorted his vision. To correct i
t, he either needed to drop his sword or his shield. Relinquishing his weapon might mean death. A powerful forced slammed into him again, working against the chainmail. Hella hit his knees, twisted, and slashed blindly.

  His sword struck nothing but air. He tossed his head, hoping to center the nose piece. Instead, he caught a blow beneath his chin. The rough metal of the small loops in his armor cut into his skin. Dark spots swam before his eyes. He shook his head and blinked them away in time to see a small figure slash his attacker’s neck. A crimson flood poured down the dying man’s front.

  Under a helmet far too big to stay in place, Skuld grimaced. She reached out and straightened his helmet, grinning at him though her bone-pale face reflected her fear.

  “Ealasaid?”

  She shrugged. “Not with me, your grace. Pick yourself up, there’s a war on.”

  Hope loosened some of the knots in his shoulders. Perhaps Ealasaid remained at Freysteinn, waiting for his return.

  Skuld sneered and lifted her sword. She opened her mouth to howl at the sky.

  A blade burst through her abdomen, and her battle call shrank into a strangled gurgle. The Saxon wielding the sword wrenched it free. Skuld toppled as life faded from her face. Hella made certain the last thing the man who killed her saw was his shining red blade poised for a deadly blow.

  * * * *

  Ealasaid crouched next to Erik. He ducked his head from her ministrations and growled when she got close to his wound.

  “If you don’t allow me to clean it, you’ll get the poisonous rot and die.” The empty hole gaped ragged and needed tending. How did he keep from crying out in pain?

  “Leave me in peace,” he snapped.

  What peace? She sat back and dropped her hands into her lap. Eoghann had taken pity on Erik, ordering a soldier to bring water so she could attempt to clean the injury. Without Erik’s cooperation, she couldn’t do anything. He hadn’t offered any explanation about how he’d arrived in the enemy camp.

  “Where is Diarmaid?”

  Her question drew Eoghann’s gaze, but with his mouth pinched in a flat line and his arms folded, he gave the impression he didn’t intend to converse with her.

  “I wish to return to Solstad now.” She rose and strode up to her brother. “You will take me to my horse and let me go. You already said you would.”

  Eoghann snorted. “The battle has come to us. You aren’t going anywhere. If we stepped outside, we’d all be killed.”

  “I’m neither a traitor nor a prisoner. I came here to ask you to stop this madness before good men killed one another. Suibhne’s lands are empty. If you’d asked Hella to return it, I’m sure we could have established a business relationship between our people. Instead, you allowed Diarmaid to push you into a war no one wants. Or does it make you feel important to kill people, Eoghann?”

  Erik spit on the ground. “Hella would never give up Suibhne. He’d rather salt the land and watch every blade of grass wither before giving it to enemy whelps.”

  Eoghann pulled a knife from his belt. “Careful or I’ll cut out your tongue.”

  “And lose a finger for your trouble.” Erik bared his teeth at his captor. “My brother will come. He won’t stop until he’s killed or captured every last enemy crawling over our lands. With the power of the gods’ wrath, I’ll get to watch you hang for what you’ve done.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Erik, I command you to hold your tongue.”

  “You’re no queen of mine, völva.” Erik glared at her. “You’ve bewitched the rest of them, but I see you for what you are. You lured these men here somehow with the intent to take what belongs to my people. All you’ve done is lie since the night Hella failed to kill you.”

  The heat in the room pressed on her. Being trapped with Erik and Eoghann made her dizzy and uncertain of herself.

  “You are my brother by law, Erik Agmar, but by Thor’s hammer, I will kill you myself if you don’t regain control of your sensibility. I need a man of level head, not a snarling dog.” She curled her hands and dug her fingernails into her palms. Frustration mounted, redoubling into fear. The chance of getting out of this shelter without fatally wounding Eoghann or outright killing him wasn’t in her favor. Even if it were possible, she doubted she would make it out of the camp without falling prey to Diarmaid’s loyal men.

  She opened her mouth but snapped it shut again when the noise level outside the shelter heightened. Men were yelling, screaming, whooping with abandon. Ealasaid covered her mouth with her hand as Eoghann put his head through the doorway.

  The fight had come. She’d failed to save any lives with her sacrifice. A strangled cry left her throat. Hella was out there too. Maybe fighting, but possibly wounded or dead. Ealasaid pushed Eoghann out of the way.

  He caught her arm and pulled her to his chest. “You can’t go out there. It’s dangerous and you’re unarmed. Those men won’t see a helpless woman—they’ll see another enemy to cut down.”

  “My husband is there. I need to see him.” She struggled against his grip. “You don’t understand—I love him. He saved me in every possible way. I belong with him, even if it means dying.”

  “No.” Eoghann dragged her into the shelter. “The moment you walk into the fray, you’ll be run through with a sword. You have a son to think of, remember? If you die here and Hella dies as well, who does he have?”

  She shivered. “No one. But it doesn’t matter because Diarmaid will murder everyone in Solstad. Diarmaid will have those women and children slaughtered before the moon finishes waxing.”

  “Why did you come here, Ealasaid? To convince us your vikingr friends are good people who took vows never to harm another person? Listen to the screams out there. Those are Danes and Saxons all dying. War couldn’t be avoided. What they did to Suibhne must be repaid. They can fight until they are bone weary from it, but Diarmaid will see every one of them dead. You know this.”

  “You could stop him. You don’t want this. I see it on your face. You hate the sounds of battle as much as I do.” She grasped his upper arms. “Listen to me, Eoghann, together we can put an end to this.”

  “After all this time, you think this can be settled peacefully? You don’t understand revenge or war well, do you?” He raked his hand through his hair and moved to the doorway again.

  The fighting drew closer, heralded by the sounds of weapons clashing together mixed with the calls and cries of outraged men.

  “Those men Cuthberht sent with you, do they care about revenge on one Norse clan?”

  Eoghann hesitated. “They do as Diarmaid commands because he earned their respect.”

  “If Diarmaid was slain in battle, what would happen?”

  “I would take his place. You’ve done nothing to convince me I shouldn’t change the course of fate. All men from the Bloody Raven’s line must die as pittance for murdering the Kentigern and stealing his property.”

  Her heart ached. “Including your nephew. A boy of six who’s always heard stories of his uncles, the great chiefs who fled Northumbria and intend to reign peacefully in the north again someday.”

  Eoghann grimaced. “I would help, but there’s nothing to be done now. I’m sorry for the losses you’ll suffer, sister. Killing children doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “Then I’m afraid we have nothing more to talk about, brother. I regret this.” She snatched a stick of wood from the fire and swung it at him. The flaming club struck his cheek and jaw.

  He didn’t have time to cry out before Erik rushed at him and knocked him down. Eoghann’s eyes rolled, then his eyelids fluttered and he laid still.

  Erik drew his leg back, but Ealasaid put her hand on his arm to stop him from kicking the fallen man.

  “I need him alive. We can’t hope to end this without a living male Kentigern. I need you to bind him so he can’t escape or harm one of us. I understand it’s difficult for you to obey or accept any command from me, but this is for the good of our people.”

  The blood crusted on E
rik’s face made him look monstrous, but his expression softened from the twisted lines of pain. “Forgive me for the things I said, my queen. I hoped he wouldn’t harm you if he believed I hated you. You came here to save a group of people who treated you badly and were then forced to accept you as their queen. Not many would go to the lengths you have to protect us.”

  Tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away and removed the knife from its sheath on her leg to cut Erik’s hands free of the rough rope holding them behind his back. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I’ll wager Hella doesn’t know you’re here.” He rubbed his wrists and lowered his head.

  “He doesn’t.”

  “I’ll give my life to keep you safe until you’re reunited. Tell me your plan.”

  She didn’t have a plan, only a desperate need to find her husband. “I must find Hella. He can try to negotiate peace.”

  Erik’s eye widened. “Your grace, we’ll have to kill Diarmaid first.”

  “Then we will, or capture him, or die trying. I won’t stand by while this is happening.”

  “First thing is to secure one captive.” He fixed ropes around Eoghann’s wrists and ankles. Erik cut a strip of his jerkin with the knife and wrapped the cloth around his head to cover the ugly wound. He finished it with a tight knot and returned her knife.

  “We’ll have to catch him on the battlefield,” she said softly.

  Erik fixed Eoghann’s belt and knife around his waist, then tested the sword’s weight. “Well made. Your brothers have good friends in the craftsmen who do business with Ironfist. We should sack Edinburgh and force their laborers to serve us.”

  “After this day, you’re a jarl farmer. I would think each of us has had enough of sacking other villages.” She jabbed the air in front of him with her knife.

  “You’re fierce, my queen. Hella could never keep his eyes off you, and I wondered why, but now I know.” He pushed the pelt over the door away then peered out. “Come, sister.”