Blind Mercy (17 page)

“I have no
real
quarrel with you. Only bits and pieces of gossip I’ve overheard that tell me more than I want to know about you. I cannot condemn you for disliking me. I’m a stranger. And your master has locked me away without offering any explanation to his household. Under the same circumstances, I too, would be suspicious and resentful.”

“Your candor is appreciated.” The maid looked sincere. “Do you love him?”

Rachelle coughed. “I love no man.”

Frida’s eyebrows arched. “
All
women find Jarl Sigurdsson irresistible.”

The two stared at each other.

“I am not one of those women.”

“If that’s the truth, milady, we’ve more in common than you think. I’m acquainted with your circumstances. As I’m sure you’re aware of mine. Why shouldn’t we collaborate and bring about a happy ending for all interested parties?”

What did she mean by that? More empty promises from Northmen would only deepen her distrust for them. “Speak plainly.”

“If you agree to my terms, in two hours, a mutual friend will meet us outside and escort you to safety, away from the confines of this house. We’ll pack one of the satchels in the wardrobe with whatever you need. Freedom is only a short distance from here.”

Freedom? A concept she’d lost sight of weeks ago. Even if she escaped, what would it be like at home now? Tyr painted a ghastly picture of her homeland. With the conquering Normans leaving a trail of destruction in their wake, what nightmare awaited her in England? She looked around her suite, weighing the benefits of staying and going. Both presented serious risks. If she stayed, it didn’t put her any closer to her uncle or any further away from Tyr. She pressed her fist to her mouth.
Think. Hard.
Tyr had spies on the ground in England. If she gave them enough time, they’d likely find her kinsman. That much she believed. She’d seen how capable Tyr’s men were. However, the longer she waited, the greater the chances of finding Henry dead. She sucked down her wine, wrestling with her conscience.

“I am unsure.”

“The choice is wholly yours,” Frida offered.

Fate had done her no favors, neither had that damned Viking. She shrugged. “I cannot decide. Serve me more wine.”

The maid blinked. “You need a clear head to make this decision.”

“I’ve been sober all my life. It’s done little to help.”

“I’m . . .”

Rachelle’s expression grew somber. She held up her hand. “Spare me your pity.” Her gaze flicked away, resting on the far wall.

The last thing she needed was more sympathy. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Everyone, including these godless Norsemen, looked at her with regret and guilt in their eyes. Receiving it from her romantic rival would only make her feel more ridiculous. Life hadn’t been easy, but it was her burden to bear, alone. She fought the urge to cry her frustration away.

Frida approached with the bottle. “I am obligated to serve you.” She refilled Rachelle’s glass with hesitancy in her eyes.

She savored the sweetness of the garnet-colored liquid, rolling it around in her mouth before she swallowed. She tasted cinnamon and a woody flavor. Grapes couldn’t thrive in this harsh climate. Where did they get this fine wine? Where did they find anything of quality in this frozen country? The answer slithered around her. England. France. Ireland. Scotland. All the places they ravaged and destroyed.

The solution to her predicament couldn’t be plainer—go.

A soft smile touched Rachelle’s lips as she set aside the half-empty cup.
Home.
It felt strange thinking it. “I accept. Although, I don’t know why I should trust you.”

Frida spread her arms wide. “Don’t question Odin’s generosity, milady.”

Odin? That pagan god had nothing to do with this. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. Keeping her thoughts to herself was the prudent thing to do. She looked away, then walked to the wardrobe. She took out a leather bag, selected several dresses, an extra pair of shoes, a wool cloak, and combs for her hair. These clothes should keep her warm enough on the voyage home. The prospect of landing on that rocky coastline, where she’d departed for Norway all those weeks ago, made her heart skip a beat. She’d never felt so happy and sad at the same time.

Frida stepped around her, then reached inside the closet. Pulling out a fur, she flung it at Rachelle. “Put this on.”

Rachelle swore she’d boil alive before they made it outside—she was already dressed in so many layers. But she felt compelled to agree with the woman who offered her a way out. Frida completed her costume by covering her hair with a thick scarf. The servant stepped back and inspected her.

“Unrecognizable,” Frida slipped into her own cloak. “If you’re quiet, we should be able to get outside.”

“What about the guards?”

“Leave them to me. They’ll never suspect anything. Two wenches on their way home for a bit of fun.”

You’ll be in Tyr’s bedchamber the moment I’m gon
e.

Rachelle could not believe what she was seeing. Frida flirted deplorably with the only sober man left in the great hall. The rest were passed out drunk on the floor. Rachelle didn’t wish to witness the maid’s defilement. She refused to play the whore for anyone and slipped outside unnoticed. With her own wits compromised after drinking so much wine, she prayed for the luck to make it through her deliverance. It was cold outside and she rubbed her hands together to generate some heat.

She took a deep breath, exceedingly grateful for the extra cloak and buried her hands between the folds of fur. She gazed skyward. Cloudless nights in England weren’t half as cold as Norway. Everything about this place was brutal—everything. A noise from the woods startled her. Left without any protection, she prepared herself. Wild animals roamed the steading at night; wolves, bears, boar, nearly any creature imaginable. She raised an eyebrow when she saw who it was. A bear would have been more welcome than Aaron McNally.

“We meet again, Lady Rachelle.”

Why did everyone insist on calling her
Lady Rachelle
? That title hadn’t been formally bestowed upon her yet. She crinkled her nose. Any compliment this man made was purely condescending in nature. “I presume you are the
friend
Frida spoke to me about.”

His biting chuckle made her skin crawl. “It needn’t be so miserable for you. We both desire the same thing. Why shouldn’t we assist each other?”

Those words sounded uncomfortably familiar. Rehearsed perhaps? What had she really agreed to? She glared back. “I find it hard to believe you want to help me. Let’s be perfectly honest, shall we?”

“I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get you out of here.”

Very carefully, she stepped closer. Oh, she agreed about escaping—that much she couldn’t deny. But this man shouldn’t be trusted by anyone. It worried her. Was she unknowingly part of a wider conspiracy to harm the
jarl
? Unable to live with that possibility, she tested him.

“You have a firm reputation for being a troublemaker. Is it possible you intend to use me as a weapon against your cousin?”

“I do appreciate a girl with imagination. If Tyr cared, why does he keep ye locked up like a dirty little secret?”

Offended, she turned to leave.

Aaron caught her by the wrist, then yanked her close. “Unlike the castrated bastards under this roof,” he said, releasing her, “I’ll not hesitate to discipline you if you get highhanded again.”

The threat didn’t surprise her. She looked up at him. His pale-colored eyes lacked the warmth his cousin’s possessed. Devoid of feelings of any kind. “I believe we understand each other.”

He smiled. “Good.”

“What do you understand?” Frida joined them.

The maid had taken much too long inside.

“Nothing important,” Aaron said dismissively. “Our friend has an unpleasant side. I’ve advised her to control it.”

Frida swatted his arm. Aaron responded by pulling her into a lewd embrace.

A tremor raced through Rachelle. Everything made sense now. Aaron and Frida were lovers. What had she fallen into?

“Forgive our lack of control,” Aaron apologized sarcastically. “I cannot resist this lady’s charms.”

Rachelle ignored them, and instead, eyed two horses tethered a few feet away. She approached them slowly, then fumbled with the reins of the one she liked best. After she mounted, she stared at the shameless lovers. “The night is short,
Aaron McNally
.” She purposely left off his title. Such a man didn’t deserve distinction.

“In a hurry to get away from here?” he asked.

“You must know nothing pleases me more.”

“Don’t forget this.” The maid handed Aaron the leather travel bag.

“Thank you,” Rachelle said.

“Don’t mention me to anyone,” Aaron instructed Frida as he climbed on his horse. “I’ll find you after I return.”

“Secrets have a way of catching up with you,” Rachelle warned.

“Oh?” The snake twisted in the saddle to look at her. His guilt betrayed itself. “I’m sure we’re capable of outrunning it.”

Even though she despised her riding companion, Rachelle left Tyr’s steading with hope in her heart that she’d soon be reunited with her uncle.

Chapter 14

Truth

Rachelle should have been content. But Aaron’s excessive laughter revealed his sin. He’d refused to answer any more questions and simply gawked at her as they rode. She’d learned early in life to trust her instincts and this escape wasn’t meant to benefit her. Apparently, when she overindulged in wine, that bit of wisdom fled her mind. There was no one to blame, but herself. After several hours, the scoundrel halted. Not only did she dislike looking at him, she could barely tolerate his endless chatter, constant complaints, and proximity.

“Do you wish to know why a Scotsman calls Norway home?”

Hopefully he didn’t expect an answer. The man didn’t know how to be silent. His sharp gaze didn’t leave her. “You’ll tell me regardless of what I say.”

“True,” he said. “I feel obligated to enlighten you, so you fully understand why I’m doing this.”

“Is there ever an acceptable reason for betraying your family? You can’t bully me into believing you.”

In response, Aaron circled Rachelle twice.

“Think you so little of me?”

“I feel nothing for you, sir.”

“Are all English lasses so bitter?” His expression hardened. “I’ve been deprived of the wealth and glory my grandfather promised me after my father died. He banished me from Inverness—accused me of stealing. My family is well-established; we’re prominent merchants with long-standing trade agreements with many notable Scandinavian families, including the Sigurdssons. I never wanted to come here. After spending the last five years groveling at my cousin’s table for what scraps he was willing to fling my way, I’ve decided to take advantage of what favorable circumstances I have.”

“You’ll find no sympathy here.”

He huffed, then turned his horse in the direction they’d been riding before. Rachelle eyed the dark landscape. Overhead, the Norwegian moon shed considerable light. One thing she admired about this wilderness was the nighttime sky. Never before had she seen so many stars blazing at once. Yet, she couldn’t fault Aaron for missing his homeland. The unprecedented beauty of the Scottish countryside was unmatched.

Observing their direction, she suddenly discovered her guide’s lies and treachery. He was leading her away from the coast and deeper inland. For the love of God, she’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts she’d failed to take notice earlier.

She stopped, considering escape. But where would she go? Trees surrounded her on all sides.

“Do you need to rest?” Aaron dismounted. He walked to her side, then offered his hand.

“No.” She didn’t want his guilty hands touching her. “I’m quite capable of dismounting on my own.”

He combed his fingers through his thick hair. “I know why you stopped. You aren’t very observant,” he commented. His gaze traveled up and down her body.

“I should never have trusted you.” What a contemptible liar he’d turned out to be.

Aaron remained outwardly calm, but she knew what simmered underneath his cool exterior—anger and jealousy and hatred. What was her part in all of this?

“Something troubling you, milady?”

“That’s a ridiculous question,” she retorted. “You deceived me, like so many others.”

“Are you denying you freely came to Norway? I sympathize more than you know. My cousin is a debaucher and thief.”

Rachelle shook her head furiously. “Be silent. Why slander your kinsman when he’s not here to defend himself?”

He took hold of her cloak. “You’re quick to defend him.”

“You misunderstand me.” She smacked his hand away. “I’m only interested in one truth right now. Why
you
brought me here.”

“You agreed to come,” he said. “Did Frida coerce you?”

“No.”

He nodded. Rubbing his chin, he stared at her for a long moment. “After all these hours of riding, what finally alerted you we were headed in the wrong direction?”

What reason to lie? Her fate rested in his hands. “You spoke about Scotland.”

His brow tilted with curiosity.

“Your complaints brought back many fond memories, the ocean. We’re far away from it,” she said.

“Aye.” He chuckled. “And we still have a few more hours to go. I’m afraid you’ll need to surrender your horse, Lady Rachelle. I no longer trust you to ride alone.”

The thought of sharing a saddle with him nauseated her. Polite conversation had run its course. No longer his guest, she cursed herself for trusting Frida.

With his jaw clenched in triumph, Aaron McNally resembled his arrogant cousin. Aaron had been quick to abuse her in their confrontation in the great hall. What would stop him from slitting her throat and leaving her to die? Ravens would pick her bones clean.

Bloody hell . . .

She glanced cautiously about, then returned her attention to him. He’d already mounted, held the reigns to her horse, and now patted the empty space in front of him on the saddle.