The Viking's Woman (49 page)

Eric felt the cold enter him, felt the fear that had plagued Mergwin since they had come to this land.

“To my manor? Why?” he demanded huskily.

“Because we believe …” Jon began. He inhaled quickly, but Edward was continuing for him.

“We believe that William of Northumbria has long coveted your wife. There were comments that he made to Rowan, things that we saw, others that we suspected. We used to joke about it. But he always thought that if Rowan was gone, or if Rhiannon lost the king’s favor, he would be the one to have her. And now he will have lost everything, and so we believe … we believe that he will make all haste to vent his hatred and anger upon her now.”

Eric’s fingers tightened into fists at his side. He cast back his head and let out a battle cry tinged with anguish and with fury, a sound that shattered the very sunlight and the day. The battle cry of the house of Vestfald, the tearing, horrible cry of the wolf at bay.

Rollo appeared upon a spotted mount, leading the white. Eric leapt on the stallion and started out at a hard gallop, and the others were hard pressed to follow behind him.

For Rhiannon the days passed slowly.

It was spring, and the earth was coming alive. The fields seemed fertile with planting and there was an abundance of animals, squirrels and rabbits and countless deer. In the stables the horses were restless. Daria was anxious and restless, too, and despite her happiness and delight in her son, so was Rhiannon. Only Mergwin and Adela seemed calm, and Rhiannon wondered if age brought peace, or an ability to
realize that time would pass at its own pace and that there was nothing to be done.

There was news from the battlefront. Eric sent a man back every week, so she knew where battle had been engaged and that he was well, and the king also; and that the fighting was going in their favor. She knew that they had come to London; that it seemed that there would be a new peace treaty. But the treaty had yet to be signed, and until it was, she would worry about Eric. She knew that despite his apparent calm, Mergwin waited, too, and that he seemed to watch not only her but also the sky and the wind and the sea. Often he walked away alone; she knew not where, nor did she know what he did during his long absences. Until Eric came home, she would worry.

She blessed Daria for being with her. Daria told her Norse tales about the gods Odin and Thor, and Irish tales about St. Patrick and about the little people who lived in the glades, and the banshees who came and cried when death was imminent. The two women laughed and joked about men, and Daria described her dream lover, and they spent long spring afternoons by the fire with the baby between them, whiling away the hours, and the endless days.

But when William of Northumbria arrived at the gates one afternoon, Rhiannon was alone. Mergwin was out in the forest somewhere, and Daria had accompanied Adela to the shore, where a small ship had just arrived from Olaf and Erin, laden with gifts.

The guards, recognizing William’s colors, had instantly opened the gates, and the servants summoned Rhiannon. She hurried to the door, certain that the
news must be grave indeed if William, himself, had come to her home rather than a servant or a carl.

She ran out to the courtyard to meet him, her heart pounding fiercely. He seemed to have ridden in great haste, and that, too, alarmed her. He was alone except for his constant companion, Allen. Rhiannon quickly greeted them both, offering food and ale. But William dismounted from his horse and caught her shoulders between his hands. “Rhiannon, there is no time. Have a servant bring us ale to carry—and some bread and cheese, perhaps. We must make haste.”

“Why? What is it? What has happened?” she cried in alarm.

“Eric has been wounded. He cannot be moved. He asks for you. I have promised to bring you with all haste.”

“Oh!” she cried with horror. And suddenly she could not move, could not think. “I must—I must get Adela and my things—”

“No, you must come right now. Send a man for food and drink, then come with me. Now. There’s no time.”

“I must get Garth—”

“What?” William demanded, stopping her.

“My son. I cannot leave my son.”

William’s fingers moved pensively over his mustache, twirling the dark length of it. Then he smiled. “Yes, of course, my dear. You must bring your son. But hurry.”

She did. Trembling, she moved in terror, her knees quaking as she tried to walk. This was it, the horror that had been descending upon her for so very long. Eric had taunted death one too many times. He was a
great warrior, perhaps one of the greatest, and he could wield a sword like no other man. Yet every man was mortal, and now he lay, hurt and perhaps dying, when he had finally become everything in life for her. He could not die! No matter what the omens, he could not die! She would not let him do so!

Garth had been sleeping. She ignored his protests as she swept him up into her arms and bundled him in a huge linen blanket. She caught up a mantle and came hurrying back down the stairs. By then the servants had brought food satchels and drinking horns, and a mare awaited her in the courtyard.

Patrick had arrived. Tensely he listened to William’s tale of the battles fought.

“I should ride with you,” Patrick said.

“No!” William replied sharply. “Eric especially requested that you remain behind with his sister and Adela at the manor. He needs you … here.”

“Oh, Patrick!” Rhiannon said, shaking. He held her tight, then helped her upon the mare, securing Garth within her arms.

“He will be well, milady, he will be well! Eric is created of steel, I know it. You must keep faith.”

She nodded, afraid to speak for the tears that choked her.

“Milady, come!” William urged.

“Yes, let’s make all haste, let’s ride!” she whispered. “Oh, please, bring me to him as quickly as you can!” she pleaded. “Patrick, God be with you.”

“And Godspeed to you, milady!”

William led his mount about. At a swift canter he led Rhiannon and Allen through the gates and toward
the cliffs. Tears stung Rhiannon’s eyes. She scarcely noticed in which direction they rode.

But Mergwin, emerging from the forest, did notice. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes tightly, then raced for the stables. Ignoring the painful thundering in his heart, he leapt atop a bare-backed mount. Ignoring the concerned shouts of Patrick and the stable hands, he went racing after the riders.

They were already far from the manor, already entering the copse of trees. Mergwin pounded hard after them, catching up with them as they entered upon a shadowed trail.

“Rhiannon!” he called to her.

She reined in her mount. “Why does the old fool delay us?” William demanded, exasperated.

“I must wait for him!” Rhiannon insisted. She turned back. “Mergwin! Eric has been injured!” she called. “I must hurry to reach him.”

Mergwin rode slowly before them. He stared at her and at William. Then he looked at Rhiannon again and said softly, “He has not been hurt. Eric of Dubhlain has not been hurt.”

“How do you know, you old fake?” Allen demanded curtly. “We have been with him. We have come from the battle. He has sent us for his wife.”

Mergwin shook his head slowly. He edged his mount between Rhiannon’s horse and William’s. “I would know if Eric of Dubhlain were near death. Do not go with them, Rhiannon. Take your babe and race homeward—now!”

He cracked his hand down hard upon the mare’s rump. Rhiannon cried out as the mare leapt forward, nearly dislodging her. She clutched Garth close to her
breast, and fear rode through her as she started to obey Mergwin’s order, her heart racing. Yet even as she led the mare down the narrow path, William shouted, and Allen was quick to cut her off. She could not manage to evade him, not while holding Garth and desperately trying to see that he did not fall or come to injury. She heard a sharp, dry cry and a thud, and she spun her mare around in time to see that William had struck Mergwin and that the old man fell from his horse to hit the ground with cruel force.

She dismounted quickly from her own horse and hurried to his side, clutching Garth tightly. She gazed up at William with loathing and hissed in fury, “’Tis the truth he tells! What game is it that you play?”

With Garth carefully laid at her side, she brought Mergwin’s head to her lap. His eyes opened, gray as the twilight, mystical, pained.

“Leave him!” William commanded her.

“You’ve hurt him!”

“I meant to kill him.”

“Bastard! Alfred will hang you!”

“Alfred, madam, will never see me again.”

“Mergwin,” she whispered, ignoring William. The ancient eyes remained upon her, then he winced, and she cried out, “I have to get him home! He will die here!”

“Lady, he will die, and you are not going home.”

“Mergwin, hold on, I beg of you! Hold on to life, cherish it dearly. Adela or Patrick or Daria will come, I know it—”

“Rhiannon,” he whispered. She alone could hear, and only then by bending very low to his lips. “Fear not for me, for my years have been many. I have
warned you, and mayhap not too late, for with every moment Eric comes closer. Take what time you can, make the journey difficult, and if I have thwarted this traitor, then my purpose here is done and it is time that I join those I love in a better life.”

“No!” she cried out, feeling the dampness of tears fall upon her cheek. “No, Mergwin, no!”

She leapt to her feet, facing William. “You will help him or I will not make a move.”

William smiled and leaned down from his saddle. “You will move—and quickly, milady—or I will have Allen wrest your brat from you and ride hard with his knife set upon the babe’s throat. Have I made myself clear?”

She choked in fury. “You would not!”

“Allen—”

“No!”

She scooped up Garth and held him close, and then she looked down at Mergwin. His eyes were closed. His face was white and shadowed, already a haunting mask of death. She could not leave him!

But neither she could not risk her son.

“Milady?” William said. She did not move. “Mount your mare or I shall come for you and give the child to Allen. Do not try to outrun me. I will hurt you, and I will hurt the babe.”

Her only chance was to escape him on horseback and hurry back for Mergwin.

She had to escape him, had to …

But when she mounted the mare, William took her reins. He would lead her himself.

“We must make haste!” Allen warned him.

“To where?” Rhiannon demanded.

“To join the Danes,” William told her briefly. “I’ve given Gunthrum much in the way of warnings and information. I’ve been promised a place in his household. You will share it with me.”

“Alfred will demand my return.”

“Perhaps. But by then, my love, you will be far too weary and ashamed to want to return to your husband. Nor would he want the wife that I should return, eh, Allen?”

Allen started to laugh. Rhiannon nudged her horse closer to William’s. His hands were lax upon the reins. Clutching Garth tightly with both hands, she slammed her heels against the mare’s sides. The poor creature burst into a gallop with such force and speed that the reins were wrenched from William’s hands.

Desperately, still holding the babe to her breast, Rhiannon tried to retrieve the trailing reins as she thrashed wildly through the forest. Branches caught at her hair and scratched her face, yet she didn’t dare slow her pace. She was blinded by the brush, and the reins eluded her as the mare chose an ever more erratic path, until suddenly she reared so abruptly that it was all Rhiannon could do to maintain her seat. And when the mare’s hooves struck the earth once again, William was before her, lean-featured, tense, his eyes glittering anew with anger.

“One more antic like that and I promise that I shall set the child’s skull beneath my horse’s hooves. He is adept at crushing larger heads in battle—one little head will be as nothing to him.”

She lowered her head, shivering. She had to believe that Garth would survive this horror, to which she had so foolishly fallen prey.

She lifted furious eyes to him. “Lead on, then, milord.”

“If you doubt my threat—”

“Oh, I do not. I believe you completely capable of the murder of a helpless infant. ’Tis battle against men that must be beyond your capacity.”

He rode his mount very close to her. The back of his hand lashed across her cheek, and she gritted her teeth against the pain, fighting for balance upon the mare. William watched her face and then smiled slowly.

“You’ll learn courtesy and respect, milady. We have very long days and nights ahead for you to learn.”

Days and nights … her heart sank. She realized that in truth the nightmare had just begun.

Where was Eric? Still with the king? Mergwin had come to warn her but was too late. Tears stung her eyes, and she wondered if he still lay dying upon the path, or if he had already gone on to the great Valhalla of such men as he, if he embraced the loved ones he had lost.
Oh, Mergwin, be with me still!
she thought.

Someone be with me, oh, God, please!

He knew as soon as he reached the gates of his home that William had come already. Riding in, he gave no pause but called to the sentry on duty to find Patrick.

The alarm on Patrick’s handsome features quickly proved that something was very wrong. Eric did not dismount from the white stallion but questioned Patrick from the saddle.

“Has he come? William of Northumbria. Has he come here?”

“Indeed, Eric. He said that you were wounded, and my lady Rhiannon took the babe and fled with him.”

“How long ago?” Eric demanded harshly. They had not dared to sleep during the night, trying to close the gap of hours between their departures. For nearly three days they had done nothing but ride, and still William had beaten them.

“Perhaps an hour, maybe two. Thank God you are all right, milord! But then, why did William—”

“Eric!” Daria, who had heard their arrival, came running from the house. “Eric, you’re all right! But we had heard—”

“Daria, I will explain all later. Right now I’ve got to stop William and find my wife.”