“If that is so, you will not live to see it. But you flatter yourself, Dane. When your king hears of the outrage you have committed, he will be eager to make amends, and you will be the least of his concessions.”
It was Turgeis Kristen looked at as she said this, but whether he heard her or not, she didn’t trust him to abide his lady’s orders. The others would, but he would not.
So Kristen told him plainly, “You follow at her peril. For every second that I see you, she will get ten lashes—if I do not kill her outright.”
“Then you will not see me, lady.”
Kristen glared at him for that response, for they understood each other perfectly. He was Norwegian like her, and loyalty was involved. She wouldn’t see him, but he would be near, and there was nothing more she could say to make it otherwise. So be it.
Kristen looked to her horse, but quickly discarded the notion of riding with Erika. She would be too exposed while getting her into the saddle. So she dragged her to the end of the wagon and dropped the back flap, intending to haul her in without taking the dagger from her throat. Ivan even moved his mount to partially shield her while she managed it. But Selig had heard most of what had transpired, and he was turned enough that he could see her and her hostage.
His whisper came to her, stopping her cold. “Keep her away from me, Kris, until I can defend myself.”
Erika paled, hearing those words. For the next moment she was sure she would be killed right there, so much fury did she sense in the woman holding her. Held facing Gronwood’s walls, Erika had yet to see Selig’s true condition. But his words were clear. He feared her, and the notion appalled her as much as it did his sister.
But Kristen controlled whatever impulses she had and looked to Ivarr in front of her. “Take her up with you.”
He hadn’t heard Selig’s words. “Nay, I would strangle her,” he said with so much disgust Kristen was surprised he didn’t spit on the woman.
She turned to Thorolf then, but he said, “Let her walk,” before she could even ask him the same.
“And slow us?”
Kristen made a low growl of frustration. Damned stubborn Vikings. They were affronted because a woman had done this to Selig. Had it been a man, they would simply have killed him. Had it been a man, she would simply have killed him, and to hell with fighting their way out of there. But she wouldn’t argue with them in front of the woman.
“Take my horse, then,” she said angrily, “And, Ivarr, lead this wagon until we reach the others.” She then pulled Erika behind her into the wagon, and without looking back at her brother yet, said sharply, “Not another word, Selig. She will not harm you whilst I am here.”
Kristen didn’t stop until they reached the front of the wagon bed, no easy feat, since Selig had been placed on a pallet that took up more than half the floor space. Cramped, she pulled the hide cover over them, so it could not be readily seen that her dagger was no longer at Erika’s throat. But before she moved to sit, lifting Selig’s head carefully onto her lap, she yanked the neck of Erika’s gown back to stab her dagger through the cloth, pinning Erika to the bed of the wagon and leaving her lying prone next to him, the dagger still within her own reach.
It was not the most comfortable position for Erika. The neck of her gown choked her now, but to relieve the tightness of it had her shoulder touching the sharp edge of the dagger. Still, it was better than having the blade at her throat, she reasoned—until she chanced to turn her head and caught Selig’s eyes on her.
She shivered at the loathing she saw there in those bright gray eyes. With that reaction came the urge to grasp the dagger holding her in place, pull it out, and run. But she doubted she could work it loose quickly enough, her prone position giving her no leverage, and she didn’t care to find out yet what would happen if she tried and failed. She was away from immediate help now. These people had no reason to keep her alive, least of all the fierce Norsewoman, whose hand was tender only on her brother’s cheek.
Through the end of the wagon, still lowered, Kristen could see the gate and the men standing there as the party rolled away from it. So she was witness to one of those men getting his neck broken with the Viking’s assistance.
Seeing it happen, and so easily, caused a shiver of her own, though Kristen quickly shook it off. She had already known a man as large as Turgeis Ten Feet would have incredible strength. A demonstration of it hadn’t been necessary. And she had no reason to fear him. He could be held at bay as long as they held his lady. She wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss him as a worry, but neither would she let the promise of his dogging them plague her.
What was left was a mild curiosity that Kristen saw no reason not to appease. “Why would the giant kill one of your own men?”
Erika closed her eyes, groaning inwardly at the question. It had to be Wulnoth the woman referred to. Turgeis did not kill for no reason.
“If he has killed him, ’tis for what he thinks I will suffer before he has me back. He would blame that one for what has occurred this day.”
“And who do you blame?” she was asked with scathing contempt.
“Myself,” Erika admitted regrettably.
“We are agreed,” Kristen said.
“Very much agreed.”
That came in a whisper from the man beside her, and although Erika refused to look at him again, she could imagine the loathing was even brighter in his eyes. Turgeis was correct if he thought she was going to suffer. Selig the Blessed was going to demand it.
Chapter 12
THE WAGON HALTED when it reached the rest of the men, but only long enough for Kristen to explain what had happened, and to assign a driver for it. They wouldn’t be leaving East Anglia as soon as anticipated now, not with the baggage wain slowing their progress. But at least a sturdy horse had been hitched to the conveyance, rather than a lumbering ox, which would have slowed them even more.
Kristen stayed with Selig, so she was forced to keep the Dane with her also, unwilling to let the woman out of her sight while still so close to Gronwood. Lady Erika was all she had to bargain with if her threats were ignored and an army was gathered to pursue them. Until they were safely in Wessex, she wanted her close at hand.
Selig might not like the Dane’s close proximity, but he had said no more about it, had in fact fallen asleep with the steady sway of the wagon. Kristen would have preferred he wait until she had learned what exactly was wrong with him, but she didn’t wake him to find out. Sleep was as beneficial as anything else she knew for healing, which, unfortunately, was not much.
She had sent two men ahead to a village they had passed near dawn, to arrange for food in plenty and to inquire of a healer. The rest of them should reach there by nightfall, and would make camp nearby.
It was as far ahead as Kristen could plan. As it was, she was afraid she was not thinking clearly, she was so groggy herself. Already she was beginning to dread her husband’s reaction, not just of her coming for Selig, but in taking the Dane prisoner.
Royce hated all Danes, but he did not make war on women. Neither did Selig, for that matter. So what in God’s mercy had the woman done to him to make him want revenge on her?
She was too tired to reason it out, and Selig would tell her soon enough. And the sway of the wagon was working on her, too. She could barely keep her eyes open any longer. But she was still clearheaded enough to realize she needed to secure her prisoner better before she succumbed to exhaustion.
Unlike the other two occupants of the wagon, Erika was wide awake with her anxieties and self-recriminations. So she could not miss the sudden removal of the dagger at her shoulder, nor did she mistake the sound of cloth being ripped behind her. And the curt demand for her to sit up and pass her hands back for binding was also expected.
She still had to protest. “This is not necessary, Lady Kristen. You have an army surrounding me.”
“Be quiet,” she was told in a low hiss. “Until I can turn you over to Selig to deal with as he will, yo
u are my responsibility. So you can forget about escaping, Erika. You will find no opportunity for it.”
To have her title of respect and station dispensed with was telling. But then, Erika had already supposed that she wouldn’t be given the courtesies due her. She had not been found merely by accident and taken for ransom. She had been taken to exact revenge, and now she knew for a certainty who would do the exacting.
“Swing about to give me your feet, and be careful not to disturb my brother.”
Erika did so, but what she was careful of was not to even look at the brother. She didn’t sense his eyes on her any longer, but she didn’t want to chance seeing him gloat, now that their positions were reversed.
Her shoes were yanked off and cast aside, her ankles fastened tight together. Kristen had cut off the hem of her own gown to use for the binding. At least it was not coarse rope or chain—yet.
Erika remained sitting, since she had not been told she could not, and scooted back until she could lean against the side of the wagon. She continued to watch the Norsewoman, who ignored her now as she settled back into the corner, returning her brother’s head to her lap.
She was beautiful, Erika realized, very beautiful. But that was to be expected, she supposed, with a brother beyond handsome. Kristen’s hands just now were wrapped tenderly around his face. Obviously, she loved her brother dearly. Erika loved hers as well, and had to wonder how she would have reacted in the same circumstances. She hoped never to find out.
Despite her resolve not to, her eyes eventually focused on Selig’s face. When she had been snared by his eyes earlier, she had seen nothing but those eyes and the hate blazing in them. Now she noted the ravages to his face that hadn’t been there when she had seen him last. Had the fever Turgeis mentioned done that?
Her eyes drifted lower, caught first by his lack of tunic, unexpected, then by the sunken cavity between his ribs and hipbones, both protruding. If there had been a fever, a consuming one as Turgeis claimed, Elfwina would have purged it—he would not have eaten in the three days he had been imprisoned, and in fact, he did look as if he had been starved. Erika did not agree with that remedy. Logic told her a body needed nourishment despite what evil humors had taken root inside it—but she hadn’t been there to use logic.
His arm moved suddenly, lifting away from his side to drop over his sister’s legs. She looked quickly back to his face, but he had not awakened. Neither had his sister, who was now also sleeping. But his brow was creased briefly with pain from his unconscious movement. How much pain was he in from that head injury? It could not be a recent wound, if he had received it in Wessex as he said. At least she couldn’t be blamed for that, too.
But as she continued her visual examination, she found the thin cuts at the base of his hands, scabbed over now, and the chafed skin just under the cuts. She winced, knowing the iron shackles that had held him to the wall in the pit had made those marks, with the pressure of his full weight pulling on them. And she had let him hang there, thinking him only exhausted, while he had been in pain…
She saw it then, what his arm had covered before. Lines of dark blue streaked up his sides—bruises, she realized, and knew exactly the cause of them. Heat stole over her. Her hands even began to sweat. She had so been hoping that Turgeis had been in time to stop Wulnoth, that her only mistake had been holding the man prisoner and not seeing he got better care for his head injury. But no, she was the cause of those bruises. She had called for a lashing in anger, and it had been given—to an injured man, a man already in pain, a man beset with fever and Odin knew what else.
He had said to her, “You and I are not enemies, could never be enemies.”
But Erika knew that would not be true now. He had come to Gronwood for help and had been chained in the pit instead. He had spoken only the truth, but had not been believed. And she had treated his injury with a beating.
Her guilt was so great it nigh choked her. If she were not so afraid, she could almost welcome his revenge in atonement. But she was afraid, and so could only make amends in some other way if she was given a chance to. Yet she could think of no way to atone for her cruel actions.
The rest of the day passed without Erika’s awareness, so deep did she sink into her misery and guilt. But the abrupt halt of the wagon brought her out of it, and also woke Kristen as well.
“God’s mercy.” The sound Kristen made was a definite moan as she looked down at her brother. “I had hoped ’twas only a dream.”
Erika could have wished the same, but didn’t say so, said instead, “He needs food. If he did have a fever whilst at Gronwood, it would have been purged by our healer, so ’tis likely he has not eaten for several days.”
Kristen looked toward her, her tawny brows sharply narrowed. “Do not tell me what my brother needs. And if you knew him, you could see plainly ’tis more like he has gone with little or no food for the last fortnight. He is nigh wasted away to naught.”
Worse and worse. He had already been starved when he came to Gronwood, and Erika hadn’t been there to see that Elfwina not purge him.
“I doubt me you will believe this, but I am sorry,” was all Erika could think to say at the moment.
“I am sure you are—now. But where was your sympathy when he needed it?”
Drowned by her temper. Buried by her confusion over her reaction to him. Yet she had felt it, briefly, when he had first mentioned his injury, that and more concern than was warranted for a man she did not know. An angel-faced man. Then Wulnoth had made his disclaimer, making her believe Selig had lied—again.
But she said none of that, and lost her chance to speak as the hide cover was suddenly thrown back and several men appeared at the end of the wagon. One she recognized from earlier, the sandy-haired, blue-eyed man who had wanted her walking all the way to Wessex.
“Ivarr is bringing food, Kris,” Thorolf told her, though his eyes were on Selig, on his sunken belly in particular. “Thor’s teeth, it will take buckets to fill up that hole.”
“More than that, I fear,” Kristen answered.
Their voices had stirred Selig, and his waking groan had them each wincing. But it also disturbed Kristen that Erika had heard it, too. Selig wouldn’t like it that the woman he despised should see him like this, and knowing that, Kristen liked it even less.
So she said, a bit more irritably than intended, “Take her out of here, Thorolf. See to her needs or whatever, but keep her away from here. And you may untie her, but do not let her out of your sight for a second if you do. I will fetch her back after I have tended Selig.”
Erika gasped as Thorolf’s long arm simply reached in and yanked her out of the wagon. He did indeed untie her, so he would not have to carry her, telling her plainly, “I would as soon not touch you, so do not give me a reason to.”
But he would not leave her side either, not for a second, so she declined his surly offer to escort her into the bushes, even though she had need to go there. For the moment, her mortification was worse than her need, because she knew he would give her no privacy. But she had no idea what she would do when her need became the greater.
And that was her only need he was willing to see to. She realized that when he shoved her down next to him in front of a fire that had been lit for their camp and began to partake of the food that had been obtained from the village nearby, without offering her a single morsel.
She was not surprised. The hostility radiating from him was so powerful she could feel it even when she was not looking at him. And the same came from every other man she happened to notice, Saxon and Viking alike.
But she had seen Thorolf’s expression when he had stared at Selig’s sunken belly. The blame for his deterioration was being given to her personally, rather than to the fever he had had, so she was going to be dealt with in kind. To be denied food was actually the least of her fears, for she had the sinking suspicion that Lady Kristen had not even noticed the condition of her brother’s back yet, and there was a sick feeling in t
he pit of her stomach as she imagined what was going to happen when she did.
Chapter 13
KRISTEN WAS SHOVELING the thick stew down Selig’s throat with such speed, she was not giving him a chance to chew it, much less swallow it. When he had trouble breathing as well, he finally had to turn his head aside to say around a mouthful, “Blast it, Kris, I swear to you, how fast you feed me will have no effect on how quickly I recover.”
He was surprised he would say that, as ravenous as he was, with his urge to wolf the food down the same as hers, to get it into him the soonest. Yet he would rather be doing it, had tried doing it, but his arm had grown tired and trembling after only a few attempts.
The weakness was making him testy, of course. It absolutely infuriated him that he could not do for himself. And he could only hope that it was from lack of nourishment, rather than from some strange malady related to his head injury that might not go away, just as the pain refused to go away. The thought that he might never be the same again was not so terrifying as it was simply unacceptable. And that he was even weaker than before was not encouraging.
He could not believe how much that earlier short trip from his prison to the wagon, even with the giant Turgeis’s support, had drained what little strength he had gained from his one night of undisturbed sleep. But the sleep he had just wakened from had restored him somewhat, at least enough so that when he spoke, he did not sound like he was dying.
Kristen was waiting patiently for his mouth to open again, no apology forthcoming for her overeagerness, none expected. But he asked, before he accepted the next bite, “Where is Royce?”
“Still in Wessex, I would imagine.”
Selig stopped chewing in his surprise. He had assumed his brother-in-law was merely busy somewhere in the camp, not that he was not in the camp at all.
“He actually let you come for me without him?”