Enthralled: Viking Lore, Book 1 (16 page)

“You haven’t answered
me,” he said. “About marriage.” His eyes glinted softly in the dim light,
penetrating her deeply.

She froze, considering.
It was all so much to take in—the question of marriage, the shift taking place
within her heart, the pleasure he’d just given her.

She opened her mouth to
answer when a dull snapping sound filtered into the cottage.

Eirik tensed,
listening. The snap sounded again, though it wasn’t the sharp, higher noise of
a branch breaking in the wind. It was lower, duller, and more distant than the
trees clinging to the mountainsides around them.

Eirik bolted from the
bed and had a hand around his sword, which stood in the corner, faster than she
could blink.

“Stay here,” he
whispered. Sword in hand, he eased the wooden door open and peered out into the
bluish light of the midsummer night. A long, strained silence hung in the air
for what felt like ages.

“What is it?” she
finally whispered, unable to stand the tension.

“Something is out on
the water, but I can’t tell—” He cursed violently. “Stay inside the cottage no
matter what, Laurel. Do you understand?” he barked.

“What’s happening?” she
hissed, her voice rising in panic.

“There are at least
three ships sailing straight for the village. We are under attack!”

“Stay here,” he
repeated. “If it comes to it, make a bolt up the mountainside. Climb as high
and as fast as you can and don’t look back.”

If it comes to it?
What
did that mean? If the attackers cut Eirik down and breached the cottage? Terror
squeezed her throat until she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“I need to warn the
village before the ships are upon us.” He tugged on his leather boots but
didn’t bother taking the time to don a padded vest or his chainmail and helmet.
With one last look at her, he slipped out the front door and closed it silently
behind him, his sword dull in the blue light of half-night.

Laurel jerked to her
feet, frantic to do something, yet she didn’t know what. She pushed the heavy
wooden table and two benches across the cottage floor so that they blocked the
front door. But then she realized that the windows were completely unprotected.
They were only covered with furs so that the mild air on these long summer days
could be enjoyed.

She glanced around for
some sort of weapon and had to settle for a dull knife from the kitchen and an
iron poker for the fire. She stood for a moment, facing the door, weapons
shaking in her quavering hands.

Longing to reassure
herself that Eirik was all right, she moved to one of the front windows and
eased the fur covering back a few inches. The air outside was cool and twilight
blue
,
though she guessed it was after
midnight. Her eye was immediately pulled to the fjord waters in front of
Eirik’s hut.

Panic twisted her
stomach at the sight that met her eyes. Three ships were indeed moving up the
fjord, nearly to the village already. Their sails were white and red, just as
Eirik’s had been on that terrifying night they’d attacked the Abbey, but
instead of stripes, there were red diamonds on a white background. The white
glowed almost blue, whereas the red diamonds were darker than blood, nigh
black. The high, curving prows of the ships rose like ghosts over the calm
waters.

She heard the same dull
snapping sound that had alerted Eirik and realized that it was their sails
flapping in the weak breeze. She prayed that somehow the other villagers would
hear the noise and rouse themselves.

Her eyes moved down the
trail that connected Eirik’s hut to the village. Even from the distance he had
already covered, she could make him out clearly, for his off-white tunic glowed
vividly in the bluish light. A terrible realization struck her as she watched
him move swiftly toward the village. His tunic made him a beacon, an obvious
target for the ships that drew nearer by the second.

As if her thoughts
brought the nightmare to fruition, Laurel heard several muffled shouts coming
from the direction of the ship. Her eyes locked on Eirik as a scream of warning
rose in her chest.

But the scream never
made it past her throat, for in the next instant a sickening thunk of an arrow
sinking into flesh met her ears, and then it sounded again. Eirik’s body jerked
unnaturally, first in one direction, then another.

She didn’t comprehend
the noise of the kitchen knife and fire poker falling to the ground, but in the
next moment, her free hands were flying to a dark woolen cloak that hung on a
peg near the door. She flung the cloak around her shoulders to obscure her pale
colored shift. She didn’t bother trying to move the table and benches from the
front door. Instead, she ripped back the fur window covering and leapt out the
window.

Laurel landed painfully
on the side of one foot but threw herself forward, forcing her legs to sprint
toward where Eirik had fallen on the path. She didn’t dare glance toward the
fjord and could only pray that the dark cloak obscured her from their
attackers’ sight in the low light.

She fell to her knees
when she reached Eirik. He lay motionless on his back, two arrows bristling
from his body. One was buried in his left shoulder, while the other protruded
from his right thigh.

“Oh God, nay! Eirik!”
she whispered, trying to keep her voice low even as panic threatened to steal
her senses completely.

He groaned and moved a
fraction of an inch. She breathed every prayer of thanks she could think of as
the air whooshed from her lungs.

“I told you…to stay
inside,” he ground out. She almost laughed, so great was the surge of hysteria
in her veins. But then reality crashed back down around her.

“What do I do?” she
whispered through trembling lips.

“Get back to the
cottage.” His voice was strained, and he still hadn’t moved more than a twitch.

“But I must get you to
safety. Oh God, the villagers!”

Without Eirik to warn
them of the impending attack, they were defenseless. Her eyes shot up to the
ships. They were gliding slowly past them and farther into the fjord. In a
matter of minutes, they would be level with the rest of the village and in a
perfect position to attack.

“Leave me,” Eirik
whispered. “Get yourself away.”

“Nay,” she said firmly.
“I’ll not abandon you, nor will I let everyone in the village fall under attack
while they sleep.” Her mind raced. She had to choose. She couldn’t stay with
Eirik and tend to his wounds and also warn the villagers. She glanced down at
Eirik. His face was twisted in agony, and dark blood was seeping over both his
tunic and his pants.

She sent up another
prayer for strength and grabbed Eirik underneath his arms. He tried to muffle a
moan of pain at having his wounded shoulder moved, but Laurel winced at the
noise. She couldn’t stop, though. She leaned back with all her weigh
t
, dragging him backward off the path. He groaned
again and she had to stop, panting at the exertion of moving his limp weight.

She pulled again with
all her might, managing to drag him another foot into the underbrush along the
trail. Again and again she threw her weight back, gripping under his arms even
as one hand grew slick with his blood. Finally, he was fully off the path and
into the tall grasses and shrubs that lined it.

She stood back on the
path and looked down on him. His pale clothes were now obscured by the
underbrush, hiding him from view. If their attackers made their way toward
Eirik’s hut, he would be concealed—and safe, she prayed.

“I’m going to warn the
village,” she said quietly. He tried to protest, but it came out garbled and
turned into a moan of pain. He was growing worse. She steeled her heart against
the desire to huddle next to him and hide. She had to be brave. She had to live
up to his words that she had a warrior’s heart.

With one final look,
she threw herself down the path toward the village. She held the cloak closed
at the front, concealing her white shift from the eerie blue light. She could
only pray that she looked like a shadow flitting along the shoreline to those
on the approaching ships.

The dark outlines of
buildings began to emerge before her. She dared a glance toward the fjord. The
ships were almost right on top of them. Then she heard a splash and realized
that their attackers were already leaping from their ships and into the water.

There was no time left.
Even though the village was still several dozen strides away, she inhaled and
screamed as loud as she could.

“We are under attack!
To arms!”

More splashes rose from
the fjord, as well as muffled voices.

“Wake up! We are under
attack!” she screamed again. As she sprinted forward, the whiz of an arrow
sounded behind her. Another arrow darted directly in front of her. If she’d
been one step farther down the path, the arrow would have found her chest.

She dove behind the
closest building, only to hear the sound of an arrow sinking into the
building’s outer wood planking. Blessedly, the village had begun to stir at her
first scream. Now activity erupted from the small clump of huts around the
village square. Men and a few women poured from the huts, their weapons dull in
the low light. Other shouts rose all around her as the warriors scrambled to
meet their attackers.

At the first sounds of
clanging metal, she scrambled to her feet. She was about to be in the middle of
a Viking battle, and she had no weapons, no armor, and no idea how to defend
herself. Yet there was nowhere to go for safety.

A bright flare of light
caught her eye. An attacker had set a torch to one of the thatched rooves
several houses over from where Laurel stood. The dry thatch went up in flames
quickly. Screams of pain and battle cries filled the air along with quickly
thickening smoke as several more buildings caught fire.

Laurel edged around the
side of the house behind which she hid. Along the shoreline, Viking warriors
poured from their ships, splashing in the water and making their way toward the
village. The armed villagers met the surging attackers. Yet the attackers were
managing to press up the rocky beach and into the outskirts of the village.

While most of the
shadowy forms of the villagers rushed toward their assailants, Laurel’s eye
caught on a few smaller figures moving back into the mountainsides. She
squinted through the smoke. They must be the village’s children and the women
who didn’t fight, along with the aged and sick. A clump of them were stumbling
toward the narrow path through the steep, rocky mountain walls that led to the
hidden practice fields.

It was Laurel’s only
chance to survive this battle. She took a deep breath and forced her feet to
move. She shot from behind the building and into the village square.

The attackers had
already pushed into the square and were hacking their way deeper into the
village. Laurel tried to skirt
around
the
pairs of warriors locked in deadly combat, yet there were already too many
fighting in the open square. She veered out of the way as a villager toppled
backward, slain. Yet she stumbled over another body and fell to her knees.

The cloak and her shift
tangled in her legs as she struggled to find her feet once more. A deep bellow
sounded over her, and she looked up to find a warrior standing above her. He
held a huge ax in both hands, which he raised, taking aim at her head. In the
blue light, she saw that his eyes were filled with pure bloodlust.

It was as if time
slowed in that moment. The ax’s curved blade glinted in the light of the fires
all around. It arced through the air in a half circle. Soon it would bury
itself in her skull. Everything went quiet, her ears muffling the screams and
clashing metal around her. A strange calm stole over her. There was nowhere to
run, no time to scream.

The blade’s slicing
motion suddenly halted. A sword appeared right over her head, catching the ax’s
handle. Breaking her terrified paralysis, she scrambled back.

The bearer of the sword
absorbed the force and weight of the ax’s swing. Her savior was brought to one
knee but managed to deflect the ax to one side. The warrior popped back on both
feet and spun the sword to swipe it across the back of the attacker’s legs. The
ax-wielding attacker screamed in agony and fell. With one more flick of the
sword, Laurel’s defender ended the attacker’s life.

The sword-bearer
turned, and Laurel realized it was Madrena. Her pale hair trailed out from
under her helm, her face partially obscured by the nasal guard.

Even still, Laurel saw
that Madrena’s eyes widened on her.

“Where is Eirik?”
Madrena barked, bending to pull Laurel up by the elbow.

Laurel couldn’t find
the words to explain all that had happened, so she simply shook her head.
Madrena visibly swallowed. “You need to get to the practice fields with the
others.”

She yanked Laurel back
by the arm, all the while scanning the square. Both the villagers and their
attackers were locked in deadly combat. Neither side seemed to have the upper
hand yet.

“Alaric!” Madrena
shouted. Laurel’s eyes caught sight of Madrena’s twin brother. He was engaged
with an attacker who was swinging two short blades at him. It seemed like all
Alaric could do to block first one blade and then the other as the attacker
slashed and thrust.

Madrena released
Laurel’s elbow and flew to Alaric’s side. She swung her blade at their attacker,
forcing him to use one of his short swords to block it. That was enough of an
opening for Alaric to deal a death blow with his own sword to the intruder’s
neck.

Just as Madrena and
Alaric turned to her, several of the attackers broke through the line of villagers
to spill deeper into the square. Some went straight for the buildings and huts
surrounding the square, either to loot them or set them on fire. Others were
simply looking for their next kill.

Laurel bolted toward
Madrena and Alaric, closing the distance between them. The twins put their
backs to her, their weapons pointed outward to fend off this new wave of
attackers. As they each dispatched more of the Viking attackers, they backed up
toward the path leading to the training fields.

At the mouth of the
path, Alaric and Madrena paused.

“If any of these
whoresons makes it into the fields—”