Blind Mercy (18 page)

“I won’t molest ye,” he spoke with an exaggerated Scots brogue. “My manly appetite is quite satisfied already.”

Curse his indecency. Spending another minute with him would be akin to self-mutilation. If she could find her way back to Tyr’s house and explain, or better yet, slip into her room unnoticed, there’d be no harm done. She stole a last glimpse at Aaron, slid off her horse, and then bolted.

“Christ’s blood!” he bellowed.

She followed the hoof prints in the snow, running several yards, then careened left. Darting between two pines, jumping over rocks, avoiding uneven ground, she managed to stay on her feet. Nearly out of breath, she pushed herself to run faster and farther, until she found a tiny copse to hide in.

Aaron McNally was a rogue who took advantage of women, clearly demonstrated by his immoral behavior with Frida—only recently turned out of Tyr’s bed. If only she’d listened to Onetooth that first night and stayed in her room, she wouldn’t be a victim of Aaron’s deceit. Compared to his cousin, Tyr looked the saint.

Tension weakened her body while she waited silently. Where was that deceiver lurking?

Twigs snapped.

Barely recovered from her violent run, Rachelle sprinted away. Through the thinning canopy, she eyed the full moon. It wouldn’t help her navigate. Her gaze darted in every direction. Then she collided with a tree.

Aaron heard a deafening thud. He launched from his saddle, then found Rachelle in a heap on the ground. He knelt beside her and wiped blood from her right temple with his sleeve.

“Stupid lass,” he muttered.

Confident there were no other injuries, he scooped her off the ground with a grunt. She’d pay the price for her foolishness after she woke up. The ache in her head would be punishment enough. He cupped her cheek, what a pity to waste such an exquisite girl on Prince Edwin. But Aaron needed this newly found alliance and the wealth it promised. Five hundred gold pieces purchased her—a ridiculously generous bride price. And Edwin had promised to marry her. Not a bad arrangement for all parties involved. Imagine the daughter of a modest merchant marrying into the Hardrada family.

After Aaron walked back to his horse, he shifted Rachelle to his left side, then rummaged in his saddle bag for a piece of rope. No more risks. If he didn’t bind her, the next time she ran off she might kill herself accidentally. With her hands secured, he cradled her in his arms again. He smiled at her enticing, slender form. No wonder Frida cursed her. His new lover’s bountiful arse alone seduced men—but there was something incredibly tempting about Rachelle. He considered bedding her now, but it wasn’t worth jeopardizing his arrangement. If the prince discovered his bride wasn’t a virgin, he’d demand reparation. A penalty Aaron couldn’t afford to pay.

Onetooth advised Tyr not to drink alone. Ignoring his captain’s wise council, Tyr secluded himself in his bedchamber. Everything had caught up with him. He’d suffered too much over the last few weeks. Emotionally depleted, the lasting effect Rachelle had on him drove him madder with each passing day. Sweetness filled the air wherever she went, leaving a hollow spot in his heart. War and death couldn’t defeat him—her rejection had.

He held the cure to all misery in his left hand. Mead. He uncorked the wineskin, then swallowed deeply.

The more he thought about her, the more he believed she hid her deepest feelings. Sadness lingered behind that woman’s eyes. Hadn’t death darkened his life, too? She wasn’t the only person to lose everything. Hundreds of people he loved and admired had suffered similar fates. War, pestilence, and disease were rampant across Europe. Love was not something to take lightly. Or deny. He'd made his intentions clear. Was she too blind to see, or too numb to feel?

The pain and confusion he felt over her quick affection for that bastard prince . . . He took another swig, stomped across the bedchamber, then slammed the skin down on a table. Tomorrow he’d set her straight, reveal everything. Including why he returned to the beach.

“Love, goddamn it!”

Every nightmare she’d suffered over the last few weeks came to life the moment Rachelle woke up in Aaron’s arms. Where were they? A throbbing headache sparked her memory. She’d been running wildly and lost her footing. The rogue must have felt her move. He glimpsed down at her. She couldn’t fight with her hands tied. She tried to convince herself her fear was unjustified.

“Head hurt?”

“No,” she lied.

He laughed. “Judging by the size of that goose egg on the side of your head, I’d say you’re fibbing. The tree you assaulted is in much better shape than you.”

“I don’t find it humorous,
at all
.” Her body stiffened. “You bring nothing but misery to those around you.”

Aaron smiled. “Maybe . . . But tonight I’ll remedy that if I can.”

She cocked her head to the side. What was he talking about now? “Where are we going?”

“We’re attending a reunion, milady.”

Only one other man in Norway wanted her as much as Tyr Sigurdsson. “Edwin?” she croaked.

“Aye. How perceptive ye are.” He slowed the horse.

How had this man gained influence with Prince Edwin? Aaron possessed no redeeming qualities. Even an opportunist like Edwin must surely recognize a transgressor when he met one. She sighed. Of course there could be a competition between the two to see who was better at sinning. She trusted neither man.

“I wonder who the true beneficiary of this arrangement is.”

“Both of us.”

Rachelle tried to wiggle out of her bonds. He didn’t try to stop her. Why did Prince Edwin want to see her again? The Norse liked English slaves. “I’m shocked you’d sell a Christian into servitude.” She expected the worst from him.

“We all fall short of the glory of God.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Marriage can hardly be considered slavery.”

Panic gripped her heart. Marriage?
Oh my God.
“Maybe not for a man,” she countered tartly.

“You’re to be wed to a prince. I hardly think you’ll be expected to work your fingers to the bone, unless you view bedding your husband as an unpleasant task.” He grinned lecherously. “Some women never learn to enjoy bedsport.” He caressed her cheek. “Somehow, I think
you
will.”

She jerked away. “Don’t do this, I beg you.”

“Milady,” he replied. “Men conduct this sort or business every day. Without a proper guardian, someone needed to act on your behalf. It’s a fine match. You’ve done your duty. Rose above your unfortunate circumstances and secured a man most women would trip over their skirts to get to. Prince Edwin may be a bastard in the Biblical sense, but he’s rich and comes from a reputable family. Celebrate your good fortune. I could have shipped you to a place where women are expected to perform the marital act without the benefit of nuptials and protection. There’s a thousand brothels in the western provinces waiting for beautiful virgins like you to be auctioned into slavery.”

Her hands burned to slap him. He’d done this with the intent to harm her. From the moment she’d stepped foot on Tyr’s ship, this man had seethed with contempt. She swallowed thickly. “Why?”

His startling gaze pierced her. “I hate Tyr. And everything about you reminds me of the home I dearly miss. I don’t need a constant reminder of things I cannot have.”

His confession took her by surprise. “I thought you despised Scotland.”

“I’ve only implied it to keep my enemies confused.”

What kind of man denies his own heart? A man without a home was likely the most wretched creature on earth. Beholden to no one, he’d do as he pleased. “Why do you stay?”

“There’s opportunity for me here.”

“You’ve already claimed that once before . . . not if you hate the land . . . despise the people. You’ll eventually fall prey to your own folly. And Tyr will notice I’m gone.”

“I suspect he’ll do more than that,” he added. “He might start a bloody war.”

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to let me go?”

“Everything has a price.” He rubbed his chin introspectively. “Two thousand gold pieces buys your freedom and a horse.”

“You know I cannot pay.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s not my problem.”

Further pleading would accomplish nothing, but make her look like a desperate fool. He’d never let her go. All hope vanished. She might not have the brute strength to overcome Aaron, but the prince would have to hold a knife to her throat if he expected her to speak vows.

Chapter 15

Unlikely Allies

Tyr hesitantly cracked one eye open. There was nothing he hated more than being forced from deep sleep. Onetooth towered over him, shaking his bearded face reprovingly.

“Although you swallowed copious amounts of spirits last night, it may interest you to know that one of your ships has returned from England.”

Both eyes snapped open. Blinding pain thundered between his ears. He’d stupidly attempted to drown his passion for Rachelle. Few outlets for his frustration existed—women, blood sport, or spirits. He’d chosen the last because he could suffer the consequences alone.

“Bring food,” Tyr groaned.

“Food? You deserve a swift kick in the arse first.” Onetooth swiped the furs off him. “While you were getting pissed, Rachelle disappeared.”

His brows knitted in disbelief. Tyr remembered allowing the guards posted outside her bedchamber to join him for drinks. He’d kept a watch on the stairs. And the girl promised never to leave her room unattended again. However, some of the night’s events remained fuzzy.

“She’s gone to the clearing for prayer.”

“No, I looked.”

“The bathhouse.”

“Nay.” Onetooth shot him a furious glance.

“A walk—”

“Stop guessing and get dressed.”

If he were any other man . . . Tyr swung his booted feet over the side of the bed, while holding his throbbing head between his hands. The room started to spin. He stood unsteadily at first, then tromped to the bed stand to wash his face and rinse the sour taste from his mouth.

“You look the devil,” Onetooth observed.

“So I’ve been told.”

The captain handed him a clean shirt.

“Which vessel?”

“The Raven.”

The first ship he’d dispatched. Good. Hopefully his men returned with information about Sir Henry Fiennes. Things had changed though, he’d never let Rachelle go. Instead, he’d pay generous restitution for her disappearance and triple the usual sum for a bride price.

“Where are my men?” Tyr asked.

“Assembled in the great hall.”

Judging by the look on the old man’s face, there was more to tell. “Speak.”

“Rachelle’s Uncle and her maid, Mercia, have come for her.”

Tyr nearly choked. “Here?”

“No,” Onetooth bit out. “In another lord’s great hall.”

Tyr nodded, stupefied. He’d deal with his captain’s sarcasm later. Obviously, the man was worried; he’d grown quite fond of Rachelle.

“I share your concern.” Tyr donned the clean shirt. He combed his beard and hair, then eyed the door. “I’ll never give her up.”

Onetooth’s face tightened. “We’ll find her.”

Tyr immediately noticed Rachelle’s uncle as he entered the great hall. The man was dressed in a finely embroidered military tunic and wool cloak. His grey beard and peppered hair was slicked back. Rachelle had described him as large, but from what Tyr saw, the man must have lost a considerable amount of weight. The dark-haired girl at his side was nearly as striking as Rachelle. Tyr’s shipmen were seated at the high table and only a few servants were about serving food and drink. Guards were posted at the doors. Excellent, his reliable captain had cleared the room of any unnecessary visitors.

Tyr didn’t like surprises or Saxons. However, he appreciated the other man's astonishment once they both got a full look at each other. Not all Englishmen were cowards. It took a great deal of courage and love for this man to board his ship and sail to Norway. For this reason alone, the
jarl
would deal fairly with him. Tyr claimed his seat and scanned the room before speaking.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Tyr looked at the stranger.

Short and muscular, Henry stepped closer to the dais. “And you should never have gone to England, you bloodsucking parasite.”

Tyr’s eyes narrowed at the insult. He cast a look at Onetooth, who always lingered nearby in case violence erupted.

“But I did, milord, and now you’re here to beg mercy from me. Let us agree to remain civil—I think we might discover we have the same goal.”

Tyr willed himself to remain calm. The memory of his twin brother’s bloodied body hanging limply in his arms still tormented him. This man sought a beloved niece. Yet, the temptation to thrust a pike through the belly of another Saxon pig crossed his mind, too.

“I care little for formalities, Jarl Sigurdsson. After we discuss the future of my niece, do with me what you will. Where is she?”

If only Tyr could give a proper answer. “Gone . . .”

Rage overtook the older man. “
Hva har du gjort med henne du sodomitt?”
Henry screamed in perfect Norse.

Surprised he spoke his language, Tyr replied, “I’ve been called many things, Sir Fiennes, but a Sodomite isn’t one of them.”

“Where is she?”

Tyr despised himself for getting drunk and losing Rachelle. “Onetooth.” He’d scour all of Norway if that’s what it took to recover her. “Send out two search parties. Cover the steading first. She may be hiding.”

Onetooth nodded and left the hall.

After half an hour of arguing with Sir Fiennes, Tyr was weary and impatient to find Rachelle. “I could send you back to England.”

"The Normans spared my life, not my lands and wealth. There’s nothing to return to.”

“Where did you encounter my men?” Tyr asked.

“In York. So many of my countrymen have been uprooted, York is brimming with migrants. There are no coincidences in life. I believe God brought us here.”

Tyr nodded. “Sit with me.”

After a long pause, Henry walked around the table.

Tyr handed him a cup of wine. “Tell me about the girl?”