Loki's Daughters (16 page)

Nay, she was not through with them yet.

 
Yet, could she be wrong about these men? If she could only find a way to ask without revealing her reason for concern. But any word at all could trigger their suspicions. She would not run that risk. They must be driven out before they learned the truth.

She looked back to the stream bank. Egil casually tossed in his fishing line and trolled through the water. Liam, his bucket forgotten at his side, hid behind the big oak tree, his eyes fixed in intense concentration on the giant Viking.

CHAPTER NINE

"Ronan, have you seen my axe?"

From where he sat planing an oak timber, Ronan turned to see Olav coming up behind him. "No, I did not have it."

"But you asked to borrow it."

"Aye, but I could not find it. But Bjorn has finished forging a new head for mine, so I do not need it anymore."

"You are sure? It was hanging on the peg on the shed post."

"But it was not there when I looked. Use mine. I am through with it."

Olav shrugged, his brow wrinkled tightly as he picked up Ronan's new axe, hefted it to test its balance, and joined the men who went to cut timbers for a new cottage.

Ronan frowned. Hoes were missing from the fields. Tongs had disappeared from the forge. And then the anvil. How in Hel's pit had those women managed to carry off Bjorn's largest anvil? Since Bjorn rarely left the forge except to eat and drink of an evening, they must have done it then. Or when the man was too deep in his cup to know anything was going on. That happened often enough.

What would the women think of next? And what was he going to do about it? He’d better think of something, because he’d seen the women quietly gathering in one of the cottages last night. And that meant more mischief coming.

Ronan returned to shaping the lintel, running his plane over its surface for the last smoothing finish. He straightened his back and stepped back to admire it. There was much old, rotten wood to be replaced here, enough to test his skills at carpentry for some time.

Close to dusk, Wynne's brass supper bell rang.

Long past the supper hour, Olav and his men had still not returned. Ronan finished off his mead and set the horn down on the slab table.

"So where are they?" he asked.

"Don't know," said Egil. "They went off to fell timbers in the far hills, and a few trees are down. We found their axes. But they seem to have wandered off. No signs of violence."

Another one of the women's pranks, or so he hoped.

"This could be serious, Ronan," said Egil.

"Could be. But I doubt it. Their tricks have been getting worse, it's true. But I don't think they'll do anything truly harmful, or Tanni would have been pushed into the pit, not tricked there. No real damage has been done. And they could have, if they'd wanted to."

Egil chuckled, and an amused twinkle shone in his eyes. "In an odd sort of way, there's a kind of trust in all this, Ronan. As if the women believe they'll be safe, no matter what they do."

Ronan raised his eyebrows. It was a thought worth considering. "Or maybe they mean for us to prove we can be trusted. Surely they would not pull such stunts if they expected to be slaughtered for them. I wonder if they recognize that."

"There's another possibility. They are Celts, after all."

"Hmm. You mean, they'll fight back, even without weapons, even if it means their death. Aye, I thought of that. But these pranks, they're a nuisance, but they're also funny, in a way."

Egil snickered. "Tanni didn't think so."

Ronan grinned. "Aye, but everyone else did. What about all of your hoes standing upright in the mud of the stream? Meant to make you feel foolish, I'll wager."

"True." Egil chuckled again. "Nothing broken, or harmed."

The anvil had been found by an ash tree in the forest. The tongs were close by, half buried by leaves. Of Olav's axe, nothing more had been seen.

But now the men themselves had disappeared.

Misgivings were beginning to flourish.

Then the old wooden door to Ronan's cottage burst open. Olav straggled in, followed by his men, clothing snagged and bare skin scratched, their faces set with tight-set jaws and frowns.

"What happened to you?" Ronan asked.

"Got lost," grumbled Olav. He seized the horn of ale handed to him and downed it as if he had had none in a sennight.

"Lost?" Oh, this was ripe for merriment. The other men gathered around Ronan, their eyebrows rising with increasing interest. "But you were not so far away that you could get lost. Did you forget which way the sun sets?"

"We uh, decided to explore a bit."

"Ask them what they were exploring," Tanni suggested with a sly grin.

"Or maybe who," said Bjorn. "Which little witch has got your eye, Olav?"

Olav's face reddened, and tried to object, over the roar of laughter. It would do him no good. Tanni's mishap had been easily unearthed by Olav, so he was not about to let Olav go unscathed.

"Told you," Bjorn said. "You don't take control, the women will run you."

"I suppose you'll do better."

"Aye. I'll have no women in my life. Nothing but trouble."

Bjorn emptied another horn of mead. His cheeks were flushing from indulgence. But there was none of the laughter of camaraderie in his voice, only an odd bitterness.

Ronan decided to probe. "Why did you come with us then, Bjorn?"

"Just wanted some peace. You said nothing about women, just a chance to make new lives. That's all I want, to work my forge and be left alone. You can keep all the women, for all I care. Do what you want, but I won't let a woman make a fool of me."

Bjorn raised even more jeers than Olav had. Bjorn ignored them and ladled himself more mead.

"But he's right, Ronan," said Egil, settling down from a hearty laugh. "The imps. We've got to get a handle on this, or they'll just get worse."

"Aye, I know. They’re as mischievous as Loki himself, as if Loki gave birth to the whole lot of them. But they're not like Hel. This time Loki made his daughters beautiful instead of ugly, to add to the torment. We'll have to outwit them."

"How?"

Ronan almost laughed aloud as inspiration struck. "Gather all the sacks you can find, big, sturdy ones. And cord."

"Why? What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see."

After the last torch was damped, Ronan's men hid in their cottages. When darkness was almost total, they gathered their materials and set the watch.

Ronan hardly slept for the waiting. Long after he'd taken his turn at the watch, then crawled into bed fully dressed, he was still awake when Olav tapped his shoulder. He sprung to his feet. With the waxing moon hidden behind the clouds, the Northmen filed out of the cottage and lurked at its corners.

Ronan spotted his own special quarry among the shadowy figures prowling cautiously up to the cottages, at the head of the furtive gang. Whatever her scheme, this time he had her.

At his signal, the men dashed forth, whooping great war cries like berserkers, and leaped upon the creeping women. Loud shrieks and squeals erupted as men stuffed flailing women into heavy woven bags and tied the bags shut.

 
Tightly securing his squirming victim in his sack, he hoisted her over his shoulder and strode up the slope. Fists pounded through the cloth on his back, accompanied by shrieks as
 
Ronan swatted her rump.

"Ouch! Don't you dare! Put me down!"

All in good time, my sweet.
As Egil caught up to him along the path, Ronan slowed and they walked silently apace to the door.

Egil banged his fist on the door. "Open the door, Liam."

"My mama said no," the boy called from inside.

Egil laughed. "Open it."

"I can't. Mama said!"

"Open the door, Liam," grumbled out Birgit's voice from inside Egil's sack.

"Come on, Liam, let me do it," said a young girl’s voice.

Ronan roared out his laugh as the door gaped open, with Liam and an astonished young girl standing aside. Bursting in, he tossed the wriggling sack down onto Arienh’s bed and gave a parting swat to her rear. Egil plopped Birgit down just as unceremoniously. Leaving both women still incarcerated in their sacks, the brothers headed for the door.

"Try to keep your mother out of trouble, Liam," Egil said.

"And your aunt," Ronan added. "Since you seem to be the only one with any sense around here."

Down the path, several other men joined them, laughing, clapping each other's shoulders.

"Ah, you were right, Ronan," said Tanni. "That was fun."

But it had been too easy. Ronan frowned. "Don't get cocky. We haven't won the war yet."

Wild shouts echoed up the valley. Ronan strained his eyes against the darkness. More women?

Clouds parted and the waxing moon shed its puny light on the longship as it slid from its berth into the stream.

"The Black Swan!"

Ronan broke into a run. Egil sped beside him.

Ahead of them, shouting men leapt into the stream, splashing after the ship as it caught the current and turned toward the estuary, gliding smoothly away.

His ship. All the years of effort. Perfectly fitted clinkered planks, the lovely, graceful swan's head bow he had painstakingly carved, all disappearing before his eyes.

Not his ship!

Ronan ran faster down the narrow trail than he'd ever run before, faster than either the Black Swan or the swimmers in the widening stream.

   
"Come on," he yelled to Egil, who sped along with him, racing apace with the boat and swimmers.

Bjorn cut in behind them. "Damn women!"

"The women?" Ronan asked between hurried breaths.

"Thor's beard, aye, it was the women. What do you think, Loki himself cut the damn thing loose?"

They had to make the estuary before the ship, or they'd never catch it. Dashing past the Black Swan, they rushed on. Bjorn turned and made for the river bank.

"Not here," Ronan shouted. "Get ahead of it, and let it catch up with us."

"You mean swim after it?" Bjorn asked, slowing.

"Got a better idea? Come on."

"Can't swim," Bjorn said, slowing more.

"Hel's tits," sputtered Egil. "Go for a rowboat. You're no use here."

At the stream's mouth, where it joined the estuary, Ronan dove into the river, Egil after him. With choppy strokes, they cut through the rippling water. The ship drifted toward them.

"Go to larboard and catch her as she drifts past," he shouted to Egil. They split apart, one for each side, treading in the water, waiting for the ship to glide up to them.