The Silken Cord (29 page)

Death surrounded her, a gruesome specter
threatening to consume them all. The stench of lifeless bodies
filled the early morning air. Screams of men vibrated throughout
the forest along with the ringing clash of swords. A chilling
breeze swept the copse and the tall pines surrounding the glade
shivered.

Cold fear washed over Kerstin of Moere. She
stood at the edge of the woods and stared at the carnage. Sweat
trickled down her neck and forehead. Her knees wobbled and her arms
shook with fatigue.

The destroyer had come, not a dark heathen
with fangs and cloven hooves, but a golden warrior, fighting in the
thick of battle. He stood shoulders above the rest, broader with
hardened muscles. He wielded his sword with the skill and strength
of a berserker.

He yelled orders to his men and they obeyed.
His mighty sword gleamed crimson as he thrust and lunged. Several
of Kerstin’s men surrounded him, seeking to cut him down. He hacked
his way through one and sliced through another. Blood sprayed
across his chain-mailed chest, spattering against a tree trunk to
his right. As his muscled arms heaved, his shrill war cry vibrated
in the air.

The cry of death.

Kerstin’s throat tightened at the grisly
scene. She longed to look away, but could not. He must be stopped
else all would be lost.

With trembling hands, she reached over her
shoulder and plucked a long, straight arrow from the quiver
strapped to her back. Her metal helmet made it difficult to see,
but it shielded her identity and protected her head. Raising her
bow, she aimed it at the warrior. His wide back made an easy
target. Drawing back her arm, she let the arrow fly.

The thin head of the shaft pierced through a
link of his mail and buried deep in his left shoulder. He didn’t
scream at the impact, but grunted.

Pity that her aim had been poor, but her
arms were weary from firing arrows at the enemy.

The man whirled, a snarl on his lips. His
gaze stabbed her, marking her for death. With little concern, he
snapped the shaft off, leaving the head embedded in his shoulder.
Did he feel no pain?

He continued to slash his way toward her,
his gaze leaving her long enough for him to slaughter any foe that
stepped into his path. Kerstin’s men had little chance against his
greater strength and a blaze of panic shot up from her toes. He
would cut her down if he reached her.

Knut, one of Kerstin's best, turned in time
to see the threat. Having been her protector since her mother’s
death a year earlier, Knut placed his own large frame in front of
her and yelled over his shoulder. “Flee! We have lost the advantage
and it’s only a matter of time before we are beaten.”

Kerstin couldn’t move. Her feet were leaden
with despair. She couldn’t abandon her men. Instead, she stared at
the demon warrior as his burly shoulders flexed beneath his chain
mail.

He was coming for her.

Terror clogged her throat. This man showed
no mercy.

“Warn our people,” Knut said. "Your father
will carve the blood eagle in my back if I let anything happen to
you."

He pushed her around to face the dense
foliage of the forest. With a mighty shove, he thrust her toward
the sheltering trees.

“Go,” he roared.

She ran. With her bow clutched in her fist,
she sprang through the forest, ignoring tree limbs and branches
that snatched at her as she passed. Her long shirt of chain mail
slapped against her knees, hampering her flight. Tripping, she
crashed hard upon the ground, her heart pumping.

Lying in the dirt, she tried to catch her
breath. Her lungs burned and her calf muscles cramped, but she had
no time to tarry. She must warn the women, children and the old
ones. Kerstin came to her knees, wiped her bleeding hands against
her woolen hose, then picked up her bow where she had dropped it.
As she placed one foot beneath her to stand, she heard a crashing
behind her. Whirling, she saw the demon warrior plunging through
the forest, moving at an alarming rate.

She gasped. Knut must be dead. Slain by this
monster.

As she sprang to her feet, her heart lurched
with grief. She raced through the woods, veering uphill, away from
her home. Never would she lead this heathen to Moere, but she must
find a way to outwit him before he caught her.

Dodging hanging branches, she swooped over
fallen logs. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him gaining
fast. Relentless in his pursuit, he didn’t bother to push tree
limbs aside as he charged after her. His heavy chain mail and
helmet didn’t hinder him at all. Clutching his bloody sword in his
hand, he yelled with fury, like an evil fiend from the
netherworld.

Twice, she evaded his grasp. For all his
enormous size, he moved fast and light on his feet, his heavy
breathing now at her back. Something brushed against her neck. His
sword!

With a fresh spurt of speed, she dipped
around a tall pine. He hurtled after her. She couldn’t lose
him.

He knocked her to the ground. He was on her.
Screaming with terror, she lay upon her stomach, her face pressed
into the dirt. Bracing her hands beneath her, she tried to rise,
but he flattened her again. Her skin crawled, awaiting the sharp
bite of his sword.

Oh, please, God. Don’t let him kill me.

She rolled to press a frontal attack,
kicking and biting. He straddled her with his great thighs, his
chain mail leggings digging into her hips. He tried to grasp her
flailing hands. Had he dropped his sword? Why didn’t he kill her?
He had plenty of opportunity.

Their scuffling knocked his helmet from his
head. His fierce gaze clashed with hers, blue as the ocean on a
clear day.

If he subdued her, he would kill her. She
clawed at his face. He knocked her hands away with a stinging blow
and she sank her teeth into his hand.

“Cease,” he roared.

He struck a blow to her helm, knocking it
from her head. As her long hair fell about them, the man grunted
with surprise and his grip loosened.

“A woman?”

Kerstin took the advantage and clouted his
head, knocking him backward. Now was her chance. She scrambled from
beneath him, but he recovered and grabbed hold of her ankle,
jerking her back.

Clawing the ground, her fingernails filled
with earth. She scooped up dirt and threw it into his eyes. The man
roared with fury and she tensed, ready to duck a blow from one of
his hammerlike fists. Instead, he lay against her, holding her
wrists to the ground. She lunged upward, meeting the solid wall of
his chest. She couldn’t move, nor barely breathe. Her skin
prickled. Terror screamed inside her mind.

“Hold still, woman.” His deep voice shook
her.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she
swallowed, refusing to let them fall. Her brothers had taught her
to be strong and she wouldn’t disappoint them now.

His breath whispered across her lips, his
chilling eyes crinkled with curiosity. Drawing back, he studied
her, his voice like thunder. “Why would a woman battle amongst the
men?”

She jutted her chin. “I came to fight for my
people. If you plan to kill me, have mercy and get it over
with.”

An evil chuckle shook his chest. “Nay, I
have other uses for such as you.”

Even subdued, his suggestion outraged
her.

“How dare you? You’ll have naught of me,”
she vowed and shook her head.

He peered at her chain mail and hose, as if
amused by her man’s garb. “Why did your men attack? We were on a
peaceful mission.”

“Hah,” She snorted. “When has a Sigurdsson
ever sought peace? You’re dressed for war.”

“We are dressed for protection.”

“Oh? And I suppose you also sought peace a
sennight ago when your men raided our flocks and killed my youngest
brother. Your presence in our hills can only be taken as a sign of
hostility. You can’t blame us for attacking.”

He frowned. “I find it difficult to believe
your men take orders from a mere girl. Yet, they followed your
command.”

Pride enveloped her. “They are loyal.”

“Loyal to their death.”

“You could have sailed up the river, where
we would’ve seen you. Instead, you hid your ships and landed behind
my father’s steading. If you came in peace, you should’ve sent us
word you were here.”

“Your father?” He tilted his head to one
side, his brows quirked. His mouth tightened, his entire body
tensing against hers.

“The Witch of Moere,” he whispered in a
scathing tone.

Kerstin cringed. With her foolish babbling,
she had given away her identity.

“You are Kerstin of Moere, are you not?”

She froze. Dare she deny it?

His eyes narrowed. “With your cheeks smudged
with dirt, you look like a puling boy.”

It had been her intent to pass as a lad to
hide her identity, but pride got the better of her. “I am no puling
boy.”

His deep laughter filled the air, cold and
hollow. “Nay, you are all woman. Your eyes aren’t blue, like most
Vikings, but green as the damp moss that covers the trunks of pine.
I’ve heard you’re Irish.”

She locked her jaw. “My mother was from
Eyre.”

His brows lowered in an ominous scowl. “Is
she the one who taught you the black arts of witchcraft?”

Breathless with anger, she shook her head.
“Of course not. She taught me the ways of healing.”

“Your people say you practice magic and
you’re a witch, but I don’t believe such foolishness. I think
you’re a silly girl who likes to fight with men.”

“Let me up.” She clenched her teeth. “I’ll
show you what a silly girl can do with her bow and arrows.”

He flexed his injured shoulder, flinching at
the pain it caused. “You’ve already shown me your skill. I should
kill you and be done with it.”

Her throat closed.

Releasing one of her hands, his fingers
skimmed along the column of her throat. She tried to hit him but he
leaned hard against her, stifling her fight. Swallowing heavily,
her gaze never wavered as she glared at him. She was the daughter
of a great earl and would not beg for mercy.

A deep sigh whispered past his lips and he
spoke as if to himself. “We hid our ships so an Eiriksson spy might
not discover them. Though your people have long feuded with mine,
we’ve come to form an alliance and put aside our differences. The
king wants us to unite with him against the Eiriksson’s.”

She didn’t believe him. Perhaps he was an
Eiriksson, one of those heathens who murdered her mother last
summer.

His frosty glare clashed with hers. Even
faced with his rage, she could not retreat. Her people must be kept
safe. Already he had the advantage. What more must she relent?

“You’re lying.”

“You question my word?” he asked.

“I have no reason to believe you.”

“Be very careful, witch. Your treachery is
well known. I won’t play games with you.”

His warning made her tremble. “I never play
games of war, but I would like to know who you are before I end
your life.”

As he lowered his sculpted mouth to gently
graze hers, she tried to bite him. Drawing back, he laughed, a
rumble she felt deep in her bones.

“I think you’re in no position to make
threats,” he said.

Kerstin placed the sharp point of her dagger
against his throat and he froze. When he had released her hand, she
had taken advantage of the opportunity. Her father and brothers
taught her well.

“I underestimated you,” he confessed with a
hint of respect.

“It would be wise for you to let me go.”

Dipping his head as if cowed, he raised his
chest to release her. She gave a satisfied smile and started to sit
up. In the next moment, he knocked the blade from her hand and
pinned her once again to the ground.

His hearty laughter brought a rush of anger
to her cheeks. Her hand throbbed from the blow and her face burned
with annoyance. As he lowered his face to hers, his dazzling blue
eyes sparkled with wrath.

She jerked her head away. “My father will
kill you for this.”

His probing gaze roamed over her, touching
her face, hair, neck and chest. “I don’t think so. Our king has
sent me here on a mission of peace, not war.”

She frowned at this news. “Again, you’re
lying.”

He drew back, but not enough to allow her an
escape. Crinkling his nose, he sniffed, then nuzzled her temple.
“Your hair smells of lavender.”

Shocked, Kerstin didn’t think to struggle
until he lifted his head again. Did he seek to distract her with
nonsense?

“Who are you?” she asked.

He showed a chilling smile. “Your new
husband. By the king’s word, ere this day is through, you will
belong to me.”

Outrage flooded her mind. It couldn’t be
true. Never would she be trapped into wedding this horrible man.
“I’m already betrothed to Elezer of Lade.”

“No longer. The betrothal is broken and you
are mine.”

Her mouth dropped open and she stuttered
over a denial. “But ... but that can’t be. Will you get off
me?”

He stilled, considering her. “If you run,
I’ll catch you. Will you give your word not to try to escape?”

“Only while the sun is high.” Thankfully the
sun would soon slide behind the western hills.

He squashed her once more and she groaned at
his solid weight, like a wagonload of rocks. “I cannot accept
that.”

She grit her teeth. “I won’t promise
more.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he lifted
himself off her and watched as she took a deep breath. Her bow lay
close by in the pine needles littering the ground and he positioned
himself so she couldn’t reach it without going through him.

He was a shrewd one.

She faced him bravely, ignoring the dirt and
leaves clinging to her hair. “Why did you spare my life?”

The wind blew her curls about her shoulders.
She pushed them back and looked at him boldly. He stood close by,
easily within reach.