Blind Mercy (8 page)

“Don’t blame Onetooth for anything. I’m to blame, always sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Willing to shoulder the responsibility for an old man’s wagging tongue?” Tyr rubbed his chin. “Most women deny responsibility altogether. You’re an intriguing creature, Rachelle Fiennes. Protecting a Norseman when you were raised to hate us.”

She most absolutely should—independent of what she’d been taught. A week ago, she had fallen asleep safe and secure in her own bed. The next day, the king’s recruiters came to her village. Hatred required too much. And as she stood there staring at Tyr, she couldn’t imagine ever hating him.

“Come with me.” He offered his hand.

They walked to the stern. The sailcloth had been hung for shelter. Peeking inside, Rachelle eyed a pallet, table, and stool appreciatively. A small brazier warmed the space. She stepped inside and sat down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t provide these accommodations sooner,” he said.

“I understand. You’ve much on your mind.”

“Aye . . .”

Distracted by how attractively his mouth moved when he spoke and how his thin shirt hugged his muscles, his words fell on deaf ears. With shoulders and arms as hard as granite, she wondered if any man had the right to be so tantalizing.

“Did you hear me?”

Startled from her thoughts, she repositioned herself on the stool. “I’m sorry.”

The apology didn’t mollify him. “Come here.”

She’d seen that look before. Shaking her head, she scanned the tiny enclosure.

Ignoring her refusal, he stomped closer and hooked his arms around her waist. Tyr lifted her to her feet. “I want you.”

Was everything so easy for him? Affection was given, not taken. Crushing her lips with his, his big warm hands moved up her back. Strong fingers kneaded the tension from her shoulder blades. What would he think if she tried to molest him?

“So blasted sweet.”

Blooming heat suffused her body. Pressure built inside her breast. This scoundrel’s intentions were clear, evidenced by his intrusive hands wandering down the front of her dress. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. All that distress and pain . . . She landed a limp-wristed slap on his chest. Feeble resistance seemed better than none.

He rolled back on his heels. “I told you I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.” Reason rang sharply in her ears. She didn’t want to lose her virginity. “I’m not ready.”

He waved his hands. “Maidens rarely are.”

His indifference upset her. Didn’t he have the sense to see she suffered, too? “I don’t appreciate your attitude. You tricked me into accompanying you, insulted me in front of your men, threatened to tie me to a bench, and now expect me to act the wanton. My maidenhood is intended for the man I love.”

“There are better uses for your mouth.”

Shaking her head in disgust, she thought him the biggest lout she’d ever met. Often, men acted as creatures without conscience—driven by something she didn’t fully comprehend. Lust and passion were only part of it. They hungered for control. Complete dominance. Even the matrons in her uncle’s small household endured this harassment.

Not me.
She wished to be left alone. “Don’t you have something important to do?”

He studied her face. “Be quiet my beautiful little fool, before
I
silence you.”

Tyr tilted her stubborn chin. He brushed another kiss across her lips. “Do you realize what a nuisance you are?”

“Maybe you should have left me on the beach.” Her muscles felt weak, and her mind a bit hazy from no sleep. That padding on the floor looked more inviting than the softest feather mattress. Rest would restore her strength. Give her the sharpness of mind she needed to match this giant’s wit.

“And what would leaving you behind have accomplished? I have plans. Trust me.” He pinched her cheek, then left her standing alone.

Chapter 5

Words

Rachelle’s rapid heart rate separated her from her dream. She stared overhead, the daylight muted by the white fabric that served as a roof. Days and nights blended together on this ship. They’d been at sea for seven. The only reason she knew was because Tyr informed her daily. Sleep should have brought relief. Instead, she felt muddleheaded. Stumbling to her feet, she pretended she was still wrapped in her mother’s protective embrace—a recurring dream she’d had since her parents died. Keeping their memories alive made life easier to face. Damp air chilled her. Why did she let Tyr Sigurdsson bring her here? A long agonizing moment passed as she relived the hours she’d spent scouring the fields for her uncle. The cries she’d heard from men she’d never see and all those bodies.

She had a right to change her mind. Maybe if she asked the Viking to drop her off in the nearest port she could pay passage back to England . . . Except, she had no money. No means to support herself. Damn it. Surely he’d understand. His brother’s death affected him the same way her fears about her uncle impacted her. The Norseman had been kind, before he’d tried to seduce her again. She reconsidered it. His personal feelings were secondary to her concern for family. Maybe he wouldn’t help, but she must try to convince him otherwise.

Shrouded in fur, she stepped outside the makeshift tent. It must be very early in the morning. The moon and sun were nearly aligned. Stars still dotted the horizon. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Men were sleeping huddled together. She passed Onetooth, then Tyr’s abominable cousin. A few oarsmen were sitting on the benches, their conversations barely above a whisper. They paid no attention to her as she walked to the side of the boat and looked over the railing. The gray ocean water was eerily calm, almost silent. Magical, if she believed in such nonsense.

The vessel suddenly turned, gliding into a fjord. She had a panoramic view of snow-capped mountains and rocky ledges. On the highest peak, mantles of bluish-green ice cascaded down and disappeared under water. Across the inlet, a herd of red deer watched as the ship skated by. Rendered speechless by the sights, she visualized her future and wrung her hands. Natural splendor couldn’t conceal the villainous nature of these beasts. Vikings appeared as untamed as their lands. What if she’d had misjudged Tyr? She could easily be a prisoner of war. Maybe he’d charmed her just to get her onboard without incident. If only she had trusted her deeper instincts and run away. She covered her mouth. Wild thoughts circulated in her mind. Fear gave rise to paranoia.

A horrific rhyme from one of those childhood stories about Vikings popped into her mind.
Crush your skull and grind your bones, drain you’re English blood until you’re dead. Offer up your Christian soul, to feed Odin’s great head . . .

“Enjoying the ride, sweetling?”

Rachelle turned abruptly to find Aaron McNally standing behind her.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Aye, it is,” he said. “It’ll be the last time you see it.”

She knew she shouldn’t pay any attention to him, but—

“The last woman my cousin carried across the North Sea was sacrificed during the spring harvest festival. She admired the wilderness, too.”

“That can’t be true,” she cried. “Surely, human sacrifice is forbidden.”

Aaron laughed. “By who, their dead Christian king? The Trondelag is far away from the capital, milady. These brutes worship Allfather, not Christ. You’ll appease Odin’s bloodlust.”

Rachelle’s eyes widened with horror. Was she a prisoner of war? That didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility. Turning back to the water, she considered the Scotsman’s words. Was it a warning? Hypnotized by the water, she shrugged off the fur.

“Are you lying to me?” She didn’t bother facing him.

“I wouldn’t joke about something so evil. I fear for your life.”

She struggled to think clearly. Refusing to be a sacrificial lamb for pagans, there was no other choice . . .

Rachelle jumped.

Frigid water enveloped her. A freezing kind of hell sucked all the breath out of her body. River Derwent never got this cold. She paddled vigorously, but every stroke sapped her strength. Within a minute, she started to sink. She flailed and kicked. Her legs got tangled in her skirt, then she sank. With what little strength she had left, she propelled upward and pulled in a long breath. It didn’t help. Swallowing a mouthful of water, her mind started played tricks. Her hands and feet grew numb. Worse ways to die existed. And time didn’t matter anymore.

Then her skin ignited with pain, it felt like a thousand pinpricks at once. She closed her eyes.
Mother. Father. Soon it won’t hurt anymore.

Tyr heard a distinct splash. His eyes popped open. His gaze swept the deck, bow to stern and back. Aaron was staring over the railing. He stood, then bolted for the tent. Damn the gods. She wasn’t inside. Without thought, he ran toward his cousin, then dove overboard.

Thank Odin the ship was merely drifting and the river current wasn’t strong. If it were springtime, after the ice melted, Rachelle’s tiny body would have been swept away. Scanning the surface fervently, he didn’t see her. So, he plunged, feeling his way along the silty floor. Cold temperatures had little effect on him. He’d been conditioned for this environment, slowly building tolerance like calluses on a farmer’s hand. He resurfaced and sighted her bobbing above water.

He gestured, but she’d never see him. With lightning speed, he swam to her. “Why
elskede?
Why risk your precious life?” He swept her into his arms.

Her eyes fluttered open. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t understand her whisper.

“Stay with me.” He swam for the north shore. Reaching it, he hauled her motionless form onto the muddy bank.

“
Følg meg til stranden
!” he shouted in the direction of his ship. The narrow strip of mud he stood on was too soft to support the weight of his vessel.

Lifting Rachelle again, he scaled the bank. He reached solid ground and stretched her out. She shivered violently and coughed. He knelt beside her, checking every inch of her body. No visible injuries. And she was breathing normally. All wonderful signs, praise the gods!

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he whispered, wiping aside strands of wet hair plastered to her cheeks.

For some unknown reason, she wouldn’t open her eyes. She’d only been in the water a few minutes. Not long enough to suffer permanent damage. His throat tightened when he considered what could have happened. Stupidly, he’d let his guard down. If he hadn’t been dozing, he might have prevented this.
Why, my little fool?
He kissed her bloodless lips. Standing, he assessed the area, plenty of wood to build a fire. He gazed over his shoulder. Onetooth and a second man were swimming toward him with packs held high above their heads. They’d bring wine and food and flint. He worked quickly at gathering kindling.

Dripping wet, Onetooth appeared at his side. He opened his pack and gave Tyr a piece of C-shaped steel and quartz. Tyr hit his knees and scraped the stone against the metal. Instant sparks. The tinder he placed on top of the small woodpile began to smolder.

“Take over,” he ordered. Onetooth took his place.

Tyr returned to Rachelle’s side.
Still bloody unconscious.

Grabbing a wool blanket from the second pack, he spread it open. Next, he stripped Rachelle’s wet garments off, then moved her on top of the blanket. He cupped her hands between his and blew on her fingers, before rubbing his way down her legs.
Get her blood flowing again. Force feed her wine, and then give her the beating of her life!
He’d massage her until his fingers bled if that’s what it took to revive her.

Color seeped back into her lips. She groaned. Smiling, he swaddled her, then carried her closer to the fire. Sitting, he cradled her on his lap.

Onetooth shook his head. “What possessed her?”

“I don’t know.” Tyr stared at her tranquil features. “Perhaps I should have paid closer attention. At first, she wanted to join me.” He should have known better. Sorrow had etched her countenance for most of the voyage. Desperation made people do dangerous things.

“Maybe she’d rather die than spend another moment with us,” the second oarsman observed carelessly.

Tyr’s muscles tensed. “Get back on the ship!”

After they left, he disrobed. Sliding under the blanket, he lifted Rachelle on top of him, wrapping his arms firmly around her. Stomach to stomach, it was a challenge thinking about anything but the feel of her silky smooth skin against his. Believing her out of danger, he admired her delicate features. He silently praised her thick eyelashes and pert little nose as her color continued to improve. Finally, her shivering ceased. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically. There was no reason for her to be unconscious, unless the shock of everything had finally hit her. She shouldered her burdens with such fortitude and grace he’d never considered how fragile she might be.

Tyr yawned. A short nap would do him some good. Getting sleepier, he considered whether waking up in his arms would delight her or worsen her condition. What if she tried to kill him? Or dismember him? He smiled. A risk he’d take.

Hours later, he woke up covered in sweat. The heat their bodies emitted could melt a blasted glacier. He gently rolled her onto her side and repositioned himself so he faced her. Being so blasted close to paradise made his shaft stand at attention. Cursing this bodily rebellion, he imagined the most unattractive, hunch-backed old woman on his steading. But it couldn’t overpower the feeling of her in his arms and his cock did as it damned well pleased, the rest of his body responding appropriately. It didn’t help that the wench had already scrolled her indelible signature across his heart. Straining to concentrate on anything but her, he sagged with relief when her eyes opened.

Things looked blurry.
And it was so hot.
Shocked she didn’t have any clothes on, shame caught her by surprise when she realized the behemoth next to her was naked, too. She stared ahead.
Tyr.
His eyes were closed. The rogue appeared as cozy as a caterpillar in a cocoon. She tried to squirm free. Of course, he didn’t budge.