Fate's Needle (28 page)

Toki grimaced at the order. Then he lowered his head again. “I will tell you. They were mostly Koll’s men anyway. All of my men are dead now.”

So Ulfrik heard Toki’s oath, sworn with his hands upon Ulfrik’s sword. Then Ulfrik raised Toki up and gave him over to Thor to reveal the location of the remaining raiders. Karvi left, disgusted.

“Saw yourself in him, did you?” Yngvar’s smile was quizzical.

“Do you think I was wrong?”

“No. You let wisdom lead and put vengeance aside. We lost a good crewman today, but perhaps you got one back who will be just as good. And probably smart enough to realize he had better reward your faith.”

Yngvar patted Ulfrik’s shoulder and gestured to the pit. “Let’s burn those scum and lay Johan to rest.”

Twenty-six

Runa remained in the stables for several weeks. After Bard raped her, he vowed he would care for her, see her dressed in better clothes and have her working in the main hall. Days later, he returned to tell her she would care for the horses and live in the stables “until things improved.” She understood this to mean she was still Bard’s toy.

Runa continued to hope Ulfrik would return for her, so she waited, expecting him every time the stable door opened. He never came. As foolish as she felt for it, she continued to expect him. It was all the hope she had.

“He has fled to suck what he can from another hall, this time from Thor Haklang and his father,” Bard told her, sensing that she held out for him. “He took his men to their next meal, and he won’t be coming back here.”

The horses alone gave Runa the warmth and acceptance she received from no other source. She learned how to groom, feed, and exercise them, and although she was made to clean the stables, she was also allowed to keep a small corner for herself; Bard required somewhere away from the horses when he came to deliver empty promises and force himself on her.

She stubbornly fought him every time: screaming, kicking, spitting, anything short of leaving a mark on him. It discouraged Bard enough to reduce his visits, but it did not stop him completely. Runa knew resistance only complicated her life, but she had learned her lesson at the hands of the Svear. Now, she vowed to fight every time, no matter how futile.

As she waited for the winter to pass, Runa plotted her escape. She would steal one of the horses and ride into Thor Haklang’s land, after Ulfrik. But by the end of her first month of captivity, mornings left her weak and sick. Her monthly flow ceased, and she slept whenever she could; often when she should not have.

Runa’s grandmother had always said that a mother’s instinct was right, and Runa’s instinct was that she was with child. She did not know whose child it was, but instinctively felt it was Ulfrik’s. It comforted her to believe that. Her belly did not yet show, but it soon would.

Runa often talked to the horses, sharing her thoughts and plans with them. One Fjord horse, named Reykur for his smoky gray coat, was the most responsive. Stroking his neck, she whispered in his ears, “My dear friend, you’re going to have to take me away sooner than I planned. Can you do this for me? Even if the snow will freeze us? You are a brave horse, Reykur. You will save this woman and her baby.”

Reykur whickered and nuzzled her hand as she stroked his nose. Runa smiled, but it faded quickly. She had horse blankets for warmth, Reykur for transport, but not enough food stored for a journey. Also, she did not have any directions other than knowing she needed to head southwest.

The slave collar at her neck irritated her as she returned to her corner. As long as it remained, anyone finding her besides Ulfrik would take her for a slave. But the gods loved a bold plan, or so she had once heard.

***

Runa placed the tiny onion from her last meal in a sack under a saddle blanket, storing it for her journey. She would have to withhold food today for eating later, if she wanted to escape and survive. When the guard came to watch her exercise the horses, Runa paid close attention to him. He had grown morose, the routine boring him. He bore a scowl the entire time. Runa guessed he disdained the lowly nature of his task.

The day was bitterly cold, and Runa wrapped herself in a blanket as she walked the horses. She looked enviously at the smoke streaming from the main buildings to the south. Up on the hill, the hall where Bard and his family feasted looked gray and faded in the overcast light. Snow flurries, combined with the cold, would keep people indoors unless duties drew them outside. Runa thanked the gods for that small mercy.

She had five horses under her care, and Reykur was the last one she had to exercise. Her inattentive guard tucked himself deeper into his faded cloak, putting down his spear so he could warm his hands close to his body. Puffs of breath obscured his face. Runa smiled, and touched her belly. She carried Ulfrik’s child—some of his bold blood was in her now. She thrilled at the prospect of a daring escape, more certain than ever that the child was his.

The guard had positioned himself so that he could watch her whether in the stable or at work in the field. Runa glanced at him, and hot fear gripped her. She led the current horse back into the stable. Once inside, she did not put the horse away but instead fetched Reykur from his stall, tossed her makeshift sack of supplies across his back, and pulled herself up onto his back.

Reykur whinnied, surprised but easily calmed. With a deep breath, Runa leaned down close to Reykur’s mane, and reached across to slap the other horse in the rump.

“Now’s the time!” she screamed. Despite being weak from hunger and pregnancy, the moment flushed her with power. Panicked by her slap and the scream, the other horse bolted out the door. Runa kicked Reykur forward after him, throwing herself flat over his neck as they charged out the stable door.

Clearing the exit, Runa pinpointed the guard. He was not watching as the two horses burst out. Runa pointed Reykur at him and kicked the horse harder. He snorted at her insistence, the whites of his eyes showing. The horses had been bred for drawing sledges and light riding, not for barreling into an armed warrior.

“Just this once,” she called to Reykur. “Knock him down and we are free!”

The guard’s head snapped up as he heard the pummeling hooves of two horses galloping towards him. As Runa expected, the other horse followed Reykur. The two animals bore down on the guard before he could reach his spear.

Balking, the other horse screamed then pulled away, but Reykur, guided by Runa’s trembling hands, galloped onward. Runa shrieked in excitement. The guard dropped, scrabbling for his spear as Reykur pounded over the earth toward him.

Then the guard shot to his feet, his hand gripped tightly around his spear. Runa’s magnificent charge ended in that moment.

Reykur skidded in an attempt to avoid the guard and Runa’s furious kicking only adding to the animal’s terror. Her bag of supplies was flung to the ground as Reykur veered hard to the right and the guard scrambled out of the way. The horse reared, and Runa fought to keep her hands twisted in his mane.

“Bitch!” The guard sprang forward, wielding his spear like a club. He swiped at Runa, missing, as Reykur twisted and bucked in terror. Runa called his name and tried to calm him, but she had overestimated their rapport. Reykur continued to thrash.

The spear shaft connected with her shoulder, the heavy blow numbing her entire arm. Runa let go of Reykur, and her world tumbled upside down. She landed on her back, moaning beside her screaming, kicking horse. Reykur’s hooves thudded into the ground a short distance from her head, spraying mud across her face.

“Get up!” The guard slapped the horse with his spear and Reykur leaped forward and charged off behind the other horse. Runa lay still, facing the gray sky. Snowflakes alighted on her face, and a cold wetness seeped into her back. The guard appeared over her, the point of his spear glinting in the milky light.

“You crazy bitch! I should stick you right here. What were you thinking?”

Runa did not look at him, her eyes remained on the sky. “Lucky for you, I didn’t kill you like the last guard I slipped.”

“Well, you almost did.” He reached down and seized her arm. She followed limply as he yanked her up. “But no horse is going to charge a man with a spear, you fool. You better pray Frodi’s horses come back or I think Bard’s playtime with you is over.”

“I carry Bard’s child.” She said it easily, surprising even herself. The guard stepped away from her as if she carried the plague. “You better hope you didn’t kill his baby when you knocked me off the horse.”

The guard stood wide-eyed and still. Then he shook his head and cursed. “If he wants a bastard slave child, it’s not my business. You explain that to him. My orders are to keep you from running like the rat that you are, and I did.”

Runa smirked and swiped the mud from her face. It took all of her strength to appear uncaring. Despite her efforts, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes grew hot at the thought of losing Ulfrik’s baby. Behind the guard, she watched Reykur’s silver-gray rump as her only hope galloped away.

***

“A child? You are certain?” Bard’s face had flushed completely red and tears threatened to erupt from his eyes. “This news is … well…” He put his arms around her. “It is the greatest news of my life. It must be a son. That is what I want—a boy I can shape and teach.”

Runa nodded, refraining from saying anything more. The guard who had dragged her up to the hall stared bewildered over Bard’s shoulder to where Runa sat on the bed, her muddy skirt spoiling the clean linen. She let Bard ramble.

“You must be cared for, Runa. No more time in the stables. You will serve me in the hall, and sleep here as well. You need fresh clothing and a bath.” His nose crinkled with disdain. “You smell like a horse.”

“Do you wonder why? I should smell more like horse shit, since that is what you have left me with.” Bard flinched backward at her biting words. “What good is the bastard son of a slave to you? Take this collar off my neck. Make your son a freeman.”

Bard backed further away, his blush deepening. “My son will take my status and not yours. I get to decide that. If you want the collar off, then behave like a lady and not some wild woman trying to run my guards down with a horse. First, you bear my child, and then we talk about freedom. I don’t want you fleeing, and in the middle of winter … that’s mad.”

“I wouldn’t run if I were free! Don’t you understand?”

“And where were you going? Still dreaming about Ulfrik, I bet. But he has gone. Will he even have you, with your belly full of my child?” Bard smirked, as if his logic was irrefutable. Runa played along and bowed her head. She was not making any progress, and she still hadn’t faced Frodi or his wife, Svala. They were the real powers to persuade.

Bard dropped to one knee beside her. “This will be my first son. I will ensure your duties are light and you live in comfort. Deliver my son, and I will free you. Perhaps then there can be more between us. Perhaps even marriage.”

Runa could not hide her repulsion. “You are the stupidest man I have ever met. I suffer your terms because I am enslaved to you. There will never be more between us.”

She knew the words were stupid, wrong.
What choice do I have but to manipulate?
she wondered. Still, the one thing she could not bear was his blatant disregard for her intelligence.

Bard threw his head back and laughed. Rising to his full height, he looked down at her lovingly, as if she were a misguided child. “Let fate decide what shall be between us. I will send someone with clean clothes. When you are presentable, return to the hall for your new duties.”

He left and his guard followed. Runa stood, and slowly walked to the door. “Fate has already decided, you fool,” she mumbled to herself. “You are an idiot and a rapist, and someone I must flee.”

***

Despite her unhappiness, life in Bard’s hall turned out better than Runa expected. She slept in a corner of the main hall, in a deep pile of new furs and she had clean clothes, better food, and more companionship, although the other slaves mostly treated her with cool indifference. Runa attributed it to jealousy. Svala and Frodi were also indifferent, unimpressed by the news of Bard’s child. But Runa knew Svala disliked her. The jarl’s wife made that evident whenever Bard or Frodi were elsewhere.

“Fetch more firewood for the hearth,” Svala commanded.

Runa put her hand over the bump that showed at her belly. “Bard has forbade heavy lifting.”

Svala’s eyes flashed, blue ice in her finely carved face. She stood by the hearth, next to the empty firewood bin. The other slave girls slinked away to leave Runa suddenly alone. “My son has forbade you from your share of the work? That is interesting.”

Svala moved closer, like a predator, and Runa stiffened at her shift in mood. She was a striking woman, sternly beautiful and hardly touched by age, but now angry wrinkles pulled down her thin brows.

Runa bowed her head. “I will fetch the wood, as you command.”

Svala’s anger only flared brighter. She seized Runa’s face in a thin, cold hand and her nails dragged into Runa’s cheeks. “You had better deliver a boy after what I’ve put up with from you. Do you think I don’t understand your game?”

Runa’s eyes widened, but she held herself still in Svala’s grasp. “I am merely a slave.”

“A smart, pretty slave, and a whore on top of that. What a dangerous toy for my son to play with. Do you think this child will benefit you? I’m already tired of the privileges you take, even if I stomach them for my son’s sake.” Her eyes narrowed. “Once you deliver your child, you’re done in this hall. My son can ride you night and day if he wants, but you’re not finding a way into my family by dropping bastards from your filthy slave crotch. Do you understand?” Svala shoved Runa away, and she stumbled back and rubbed her cheeks. “I understand, ma’am. I will get the firewood now.”

“You’re carrying too low for the child to be a boy.” Svala pulled her woolen cloak around her shoulders, nuzzling the fox fur trim against her face. “I wonder if that’s really my son’s child to begin with. Better hope for a strong family resemblance.”