Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (118 page)

Olav’s mood lightened, satisfied as he was with the expected response. “Well—I didn’t think so! At any rate,” he continued, “mayhap for the sake of peace with the church, for me, you will return her to...”

Alarik slammed his tankard down, shrugging Olav’s hand from his shoulder. “Nei! She stays!”

Olav scratched his chin, tilting his head in stupefaction. “Yet you don’t care for her?”

“Nei,” Alarik maintained, his jaw taut.

Olav chuckled suddenly, his green eyes dancing. “I see.”

Alarik glowered at him and shoved his tankard away. “You see naught, you pompous old dog!” He rose abruptly from the table. “I’m going to bed,” he said irascibly.

To that declaration, Olav merely threw his head back and roared with laughter. “And yet he says he does not care for her?” He turned to elbow Brother Vernay.

At Olav’s unexpected jab in the ribs, Brother Vernay choked upon his ale, uncomfortable at taking his meal with so many hostile eyes upon him.

Alarik ignored the quip, shoving away from the table.

Brother Vernay cleared his throat. “Er... my lords?” He raked his chair backward and stood along with Alarik. “If I might be so bold?”

Alarik turned from Olav, to the pestering monk his brother had cast into his life, his face contorting with impatience. It was the bane of his existence that Olav adhered to the one extreme, Bjorn to the other. “Go on,” he prompted, his brow furrowing suddenly as he scanned the hall. Bjorn was nowhere to be found, and he wondered idly that he’d not missed his youngest brother ere now. Nevertheless, Bjorn’s absence surprised him not, for the animosity between he and Olav was palpable, oft splitting Alarik between the two.

“You said the demoiselle was raised in a nunnery?”

“Aye,” Alarik affirmed. “If her word is true.”

“Well, then—if I may be so bold to advise—I believe I know a way we might appease everyone.”

Both men stared expectantly.

“Aye, well,” Vernay continued. “My lord, Olav, I know how much you would like for me to record for you
l’ ecriture sainte
, and if the demoiselle can copy, then she might be the answer to our quandary!”

Both men continued to stare blankly, unaware there was a quandary.

Brother Vernay cleared his throat and tried again. “You know I cannot write,” he reasoned. “Though the demoiselle would be perfectly suited to the task. Surely they would have taught her letters at the priory. And jarl?” he prompted, appealing to Alarik’s desire to keep the girl. “Wouldn’t that be the perfect persuasion? If she thought this were God’s will for her? Having been raised in the priory, she couldn’t possibly disagree. If only she were to realize how much she was needed here!”

Alarik nodded, considering.

“And my lord, Olav… I believe the demoiselle might even prove to be a suitable... er... influence, shall we say, for... he inclined his head subtly toward Alarik, “... us all?”

“Aye!” Olav exclaimed, warming finally to Brother Vernay’s meaning. “Aye! I believe she would in fact be the perfect solution! ’Tis settled then!” he said, excited.

“Er... not quite, my lords,” Brother Vernay broke in once more. His brows rose apprehensively. “There are those who would need to be appeased—her family for instance—but I would be delighted to speak in your behalf!”

“Very good!” Olav exclaimed.

“I dare say, we should hear no objections from the church,” Vernay added. “And I’m certain that in itself will hold tremendous sway with her family. Surely they can have no objections when informed by the church of the exceptional task set before her? Know you who they might be, my lord?”

Alarik’s gaze riveted on the monk as he considered the ring. He glanced at his brother and knew without a doubt that Olav would be less inclined to approve of his keeping Elienor if he suspected that a man as influential and pious as Robert of Francia was her kin. “Nei,” he said after a moment, averting his eyes. “She has not said.” Again, his gaze returned to spear the monk. “And your only interest in the wench is merely to guide her in copying the holy writ?”

Brother Vernay’s lids lifted, and his eyes widened in stunned surprise as he caught Alarik’s meaning. “Of course, my lord! I assure you my passion is with God alone!”

Alarik nodded. “Very well then, she can begin on the morrow...” He turned to consider his brother. “If Olav has no objections.”

Olav shook his head, his mouth contorting as he considered the way Alarik had so easily yielded to his request. Never had he so easily. “Not at all,” he assured. “In truth, it would please me greatly.” He ran a speculative hand across his jaw and reclined further within his chair, considering what had just transpired.

Brother Vernay, on the other hand, beamed. “Well then! Will you summon her now and speak to her, jarl, or would you have me appeal to her in your stead? She could not deny me, I assure you!”

Alarik’s scowl returned, for he disliked being manipulated. He grunted with irritation and said sharply, “I shall speak to her, myself, though not just now. I grow weary and would seek mine bed!”

“Then I look forward unto the morrow.” Olav proclaimed, straightening as Alarik turned to leave. “Oh, and Alarik?”

Alarik turned, beginning to think it a conspiracy to keep him from his chamber. He tried to keep the impatience from his face and tone, but felt as agitated as a stallion in a brood mare’s stall, separated from his obsession by mere walls and the will of others. He stole a look over his shoulder at his chamber door. As the stallion with the mare, he was keenly aware she was there.

“What might be the name of this wench I’ve not yet met?”

“Elienor,” Alarik answered on a sigh, “of Baume-les-Nonnes.” He turned to go, vowing no one would keep him from his destination this time. “
God natt
, Olav!”

“Rest well, mine bror” Olav returned.

Brother Vernay nodded approvingly. “Baume-les-Nonnes!” he murmured. “My lord! Somebody must have valued her highly, for it took good coin, I warrant, to ensconce her within those walls.”

“Aye,” Olav agreed, settling back as he watched Alarik stoop to pick up a small yapping pup before continuing on to his chamber.

“My lord?” Vernay said more quietly. “I believe we may finally have found the perfect way to persuade your brother!”

Olav nodded, again smoothing his hand along his jaw, watching shrewdly as Alarik carried the animal within his chamber. “Mayhap,” he agreed. “Mayhap we do, at that.”

E
lienor awoke in the midst of the nightmare, uncertain whether the sound that had roused her was her own whimper or that of the door opening. She made an effort to orient herself, for the chamber had grown dim with the fire’s waning, and after an instant she could discern the sound of footsteps. She knew it would be Alarik, yet she dared not move in hopes that he would think her asleep and leave her in peace.

He made his way across the chamber, and Elienor watched through her lashes as his dark form stooped along the way to set something upon the floor.

He sensed at once she was awake.

Elienor watched with bated breath as he came nearer, his silhouette dark and forbidding against the dull orange glow of the firelight.

He stared down at her for an interminable moment.

“Did you dream again?”

Elienor averted her gaze, terrified that despite the darkness, he would discern that she had, and worse, he would inquire of it. How could she tell him? And yet how could she not? Her fingers twisted the bedsheets. She understood now what the dream revealed—had dreamt it so often that she could recall every vivid detail.

According to her divination, Alarik would die, betrayed, though that part of it she could not yet discern.

In truth, she should have been elated at the notion, yet she wasn’t. She was terrified.

He hovered silently above her, waiting for her to reply. Swallowing, Elienor avoided his question, distracting him with another. “You... you banished Nissa and Red-Hrolf?”

“’Tis none of your concern!” he declared.

Why was it that his response seemed to deflate her spirit somehow? And why had she thought he’d banished them for her? Because he’d held her so tenderly in her dream—silly fool! she berated herself. It had been no more than a dream, after all. There was naught between them. Naught.

Naught!

“Tell me, Elienor...”

Elienor swallowed, averting her eyes, sensing what he was about to ask yet again. She turned to her side, clutching the blankets to her breast.

“What demons haunt you so that you cannot sleep through the night?”

Elienor’s grip upon the bedsheets tightened. She balled it within her fist, daring to say nothing, not trusting her voice. His shadowed eyes seemed to peer directly into her soul.

“Surely something?”

“Nay,” she croaked, swallowing. “I... I merely dream of my mother,” she improvised. Not wholly a lie, yet not the truth, either. She reminded herself that it was a sin to lie, yet rationalized that the truth might very well find her burned at the stake.

And she was a coward.

“Your mother?”

“Her death,” Elienor murmured in explanation. “It was senseless.” Guilt plagued her. How could she, in all good conscience, let a man perish when God, or Lucifer, had seen fit to forewarn her of his death? Shouldn’t she use her gift to the good of mankind?

Mayhap it would be for the good of mankind did he die, she argued.

Yet was she much better than he was though she simply allowed him to perish without a single, solitary warning?

Her heart leapt in confusion and growing desperation. Her mother had been courageous enough to speak freely of her visions. Why couldn’t she?

Because you’re a coward!

She glanced up to be certain she’d not spoken the self-depreciating accusation aloud. His expression was unchanged, brooding, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he sensed her lie.

She suddenly heard a faint whimper, and her brows knit as she watched Alarik bend to the floor and lift something up. To her surprise, he placed a whining pup upon the bed, and her eyes widened as she recognized it as the same one Nissa had booted and Red-Hrolf had abused. She peered up at him in surprise.

“I thought you might like to have it,” he disclosed in a husky whisper, his eyes spearing her through the shadows.

Her heart hammering, Elienor said naught, yet the hand that clutched the bedsheets suddenly released their hold and reached out to accept the pup. She drew it into her arms protectively and sat up to examine each leg for injury, finding none.

Alarik watched. “Do you loathe me so much?”

Elienor’s heart turned over, her breath choking her. He could not know, she assured herself—could not know of the dream—could not know that she’d chosen to deny him the knowledge that might save him! In reality, how could she even be certain that her dreams were anything more than her own fancy, she reasoned.

Mayhap it was only coincidence, after all?

The silence between them lengthened.

“How is it you came to be raised in a nunnery?”

Elienor dared not look at him. His presence beside her was becoming much too disconcerting. Releasing the dog, she raised the bedsheet and scooted backward in self-preservation—not that she supposed he might harm her. They’d been alone enough that she knew he’d not. She simply felt undone with him so near, was all. The dog followed her, whining as it reached up to lap at her lips, begging for affection. Elienor couldn’t suppress a soft giggle at its effort, and at once she recommenced stroking its head and back.

Her unexpected laughter jolting him, Alarik watched Elienor’s fingers move gently over the pup, his body quickening as he imagined those same fingers moving just so over his own flesh.

He had no notion why he’d carried the accursed animal in, only that the image of her with her anguished expression when Red-Hrolf had abused it had prompted him to it.

Keeping him centered was the simple fact that she would not even look at him—and that if she did, her smiling expression would revert at once to that of loathing. No matter how he treated her, how he spoke to her... that he kept his vow, she saw him only as she saw fit—as a demon, butcher, slayer of innocents. No matter how he strove to, he could not seem to banish the sound of her accusing voice from his thoughts... and now her laughter lingered; the two sounds were incongruous, yet equally tormenting.

“Why do you wish to know of my days in the priory?”

“Simple curiosity.”

“I entered the priory when my mother died,” she relented.

“And you say ’tis her death you dream of?”

“Aye,” Elienor replied.

“You need not speak of it... if it pains you.”

Elienor nodded.

“But... there is something I would have you tell me,” he prompted, settling upon the edge of the bed. Her violet eyes watched him warily. “I would know your relation to Robert of Francia.”

“He is my uncle,” Elienor said.

Without realizing he did so, Alarik exhaled in relief. The tension in his body eased.

Again the uncomfortable silence.

“Would it please you to know we have a
kirken
here?” he asked suddenly.