A Heart of Fire (37 page)

Her
forwardness pushed him over the edge. "I do not want you," he said.
"Is that plain enough to be understood? I am happy with my
threatening
wife, and as I warned you
before, I shall let her have at you if you do not keep your hands from
me."

He
started from her.

"Valdrik,"
she called.

He
cursed under his breath and turned to her, not expecting to have her body
connect with his, and out of reflex, he caught her against him. She shocked him
still as she pressed her lips to his.

"Do
you not remember what we shared?" she asked. She laughed against his
mouth.

Valdrik
steadily peeled her from his body and then thrust her away. "I do not wish
to," he said, and turned from her.

Isaguilde
laughed behind him. "You shall regret this," she called after him.

Valdrik
paused on the first step. "Methinks you should leave here as soon as may
be."

He
fled the longhouse with that, but as he left the heavy wooden doors, Stieg rode
up to him, Valdrik's horse tethered to the other man's.

Valdrik
frowned. "What is this?" he called.

"We've
spotted the captives. They’ve prepared to cross the fjord on foot. They stopped
and made a camp just before the bank, in the wood. Our men spotted their fire
and are closing in on them as we speak. We should meet the others on their way
back with the captives."

This
news thrilled Valdrik to his core.

Readily,
he moved to mount his destrier and swung his leg over the gray animal.

Soon,
they would know the truth. He did not doubt his wife, but he wanted proof to
hand the others.

****

Finna
paced the same path she had made scores of times, from the table to the hearth
and back. Over and over again with the same thoughts churning in her mind.

She'd
expected her husband back well before now.

What
kept him?

When
the door opened and it was not her husband, but her sister, Finna stopped. She
glanced to Ragnarr as he held open the door for Geera and then gave her a quick
look before he shut the door.

Finna's
head snapped back in surprise, for she knew she was not allowed visitors, but
then Geera blushed and her stare fell to her sister's swollen lips and Finna's
brows shot up in surprise.

"Do
not ask," Geera said, holding up her hands as she came to her in the
center of the room.

"Very
well," Finna said. Her brow furrowed. "Where is Valdrik?"

Geera
clapped her hands. "He and Stieg rode out to meet the warriors who had
spotted the captives. They were camped on the bank of the fjord, preparing to
cross. They have most like been reclaimed by now." She went and dropped
herself into a seat at the table. "I thought I would let you know. Soon
all suspicion of you shall be done with and we can return to normal."

Finna
snorted. "Normal." She sighed and came to sit by Geera. "Normal
shall be when Isaguilde is gone from here."

"That
is what I meant. Surely when the truth comes out, even if voiced by captives,
Father shall have no choice but to turn her out."

A
fleeting worry etched over Finna's mind.

It
was a bitter winter. She wanted the woman gone, but with no shelter, she knew
what would happen if Isaguilde was turned out. She would be dead in less than a
day from the elements.

Nay,
she no longer wanted her turned out. She could be housed with the prisoners
until spring. She could be returned to being a slave. That would suit her well.

"Finna,"
Geera's voice snapped her back to their conversation.

"Sorry,"
she murmured.

"How
are you feeling?" Geera asked, and she reached out to touch Finna's belly.
"You are not far along, so I doubt your ride atop Valdrik's shoulder did
any harm, if that is what worries you. You have not felt any pains?"

"Nay."

Geera
reached up and smoothed her hand over Finna's hair. "You should tell
him."

Finna
glanced at her. "Aye, I shall."

"Good.
I must go. I promised Ragnarr I would be in and out before anyone noticed. I do
not wish to repay his kindness with getting him into trouble."

Finna
glowered at the door. "If it weren’t for him and his poor eyesight
I
would not be in trouble."

Geera
laughed. "I do not think he has poor eyesight. I think he saw something,
but whatever it was, was designed to put the blame on you."

"And
you laugh over that?" Finna asked wryly.

Geera
snorted as she stood from the seat and started for the door. "I hope to
see you later in the hall. Surely Valdrik and the men will be back soon."

****

Soon
didn’t come on
any swift wing.

Finna
waited and waited. At some point, she went to lie down and fell asleep. When
she woke the next morning and Valdrik still had not come home, she began to
worry even more.

Unable
to bear any more of her solitude and captivity, Finna went to the door and
opened it, ready to argue with whoever was present.

But
only fat, wet flakes of snow hit her in the face and no one appeared on her
step to force her back inside. She frowned at the lack of any guard.

She
glanced left and then right, her frown deepening.

"Ragnarr?"
she called.

No
answer.

"Stieg?"
she tried.

Finna
reached inside and took her cape from the peg and thrust it over her shoulders.

"Stay,"
she ordered Fang. The bird craned his neck at her from his perch.

Finna
held her cape in place with one hand as she closed the door and hurried to the
longhouse.

When
she got there, her nervousness turned to dread.

A
commotion stirred the hall, and in that commotion, she had been forgotten.

Nay!

The
sight before her told a very vivid story.

Hadarr's
warriors had been attacked, and now their injured lay on pallets, being tended
by the women in the great hall.

"Valdrik!"
she called into the den. She groped through the crowd, turning every man in her
direction to see if he were her husband.

There,
Geera knelt over one man, tending him, and Finna threw herself at her sister's
side.

"What
happened? Have you seen Valdrik?" she asked in a panic.

"Oh,
Finna!" Geera said as her fingers moved steadily over the wound she
tended.

"Valdrik,"
she repeated. "Is Valdrik all right?"

Geera
paused, her eyes widening. She began to shake her head. "I tended him the
best I could," she said through sobs. "Believe me."

Finna's
heart froze until her sister indicated the dais with her head. "He is
there, but he has yet to waken. One man told me he was hit in the head with a
shield and they thought Valdrik dead at first. He is truly in the gods’ hands
now."

Finna
tore herself from her sister's side and hiked her dress to race to the dais.
She found him there and flung herself to the rug he lay upon.

"Oh,
nay!" she cried, raking her hand over his head. The bloodied wound Geera
had tended had been wrapped in linen. "Nay," she sobbed. Her head
fell to his chest as she cried all the harder, as she could not discern the
beating of his heart.

Regret
pooled in her belly, coming up to seize her heart, constricting painfully.

This
was all her fault!

Finna
let out a rage-filled cry and slammed her fists into the rug at her sides.

Aldar
had tricked them yet again!

He'd
never cared to have his men back, and she should have known that! He only
wanted to stir Hadarr's warriors into leaving the protection of their walls.

Oh,
how she wanted to kill her uncle!

She
wanted that vengeance so badly she could taste it.

Her
tears rattled her, shook her, blinded her. She cradled Valdrik's head against
her breast and rocked his limp body as fury gripped her until she could no
longer feel anything else—until all that was left was the desire to take
Aldar's life.

How
dare he!

Finna
crooned to her husband soft words of assurance as she wisped her fingertips
over his brow. Valdrik could still come back to her, if the gods willed it. She
issued a silent prayer before she gently rested his head back to the rug.

She
looked to her sister as Geera diligently worked through the injured men
gathered there. This was Geera's place, not Finna's.

Aldar
had wanted his revenge and drank deeply of it for years. He'd wanted to hurt
her father for taking his place as Jarl and Surguilde as his wife—but he had
hurt
her
more than anyone in his
revenge. He had deceived her, neglected her, deprived her of the parents who'd
loved her even in her absence. Now, he had harmed her husband and had
threatened everything she'd come to love.

Now,
it was her turn
for revenge.

Finna
gained her feet, unsteadily, and dragged her arm across her face to dry her
tears.

She
started across the hall, seeing only those large open doors and the promise of
vengence.

"Where
are you going?" Geera shouted.

Only
her sister's voice hitched her step. "To do what I must," Finna
called behind her. "Aldar must pay for this, and 'tis I who shall make him
pay."

"Nay,
Finna! You cannot."

Finna
stopped at her sister's urgency. Geera's eyes darted from Finna's face to her
belly, still slender and firm. She gave her a look of warning, stirring, trying
to gain her feet from where she knelt beside a man, but Finna placed a hand on
her shoulder and came to a crouch before her instead.

"I
must do this."

"The
fjord is frozen. How shall you cross? Do you plan to face your uncle and all
his men alone? He will kill you!"

Finna
swallowed at Geera's sharp tone, but she did not answer. She didn’t have an
answer.

She
only knew she must take Aldar's head from his body by her own hand.

Geera
grabbed her arm and tried to hold on, but Finna stood. "Tend them
well," Finna said. Her gaze raced across the hall to her fallen husband.

"I
shall tell him where you have gone," Geera told her. It was perhaps the
firmest tone Finna had ever heard her sister use.

It
rankled something deep inside her.

It
inspired hope that her husband would rise before death took him.

"I
have to do this," she said meekly as she stood and hurried away before
Geera could stop her.

Finna
raced from the hall and stopped to scan the scattering of horses remaining in
the yard. Thralls scurried to secure them all and bring the beasts in from the
snow.

There
Valdrik's horse stood, its gray coat blending into the snow and ice. She
hurried to it, out of notice, and took a leap onto his back.

"Come,
my friend. You must aid me once again," she cajoled, just as she had the
night she had stolen the horse more than a month ago.

A
single teardrop rolled off her cheek onto the powdery snow as a coldness swept
over her. Something much colder than her surroundings violently tore at her
heart and chilled her soul.

Her
uncle had hurt her for the last time. Never again would he use her as he had
before.

Never.

Chapter
Thirty-Two

Valdrik
groaned and lifted a hand to his head as he began to rise in, at first
unfamiliar surroundings, and then as his vision cleared, he began to realize he
was in the hall, on the dais, lying on his back.

"What
in all the hells," he growled as he sat up and scanned the chaotic room
for Stieg or Ragnarr. Finding neither, he sat all the way up. Memories of the
day began to sift through his mind, connecting to form a reason for all the
bodies lying about. Some of the men were injured grievously, and others bore
minor wounds, while yet some of the men were dead. Grieving widows bent over
their husbands, and other women tended to the wounded.

He
reached up as his head began to throb and pulled at the strip of linen wound
around his head, tugging it free. The white strip bore dried blood.

He
remembered the sudden attack from the camp where, not two, but two-
score
men had overwhelmed them. How many
of them had made it out alive, he didn’t know. But seeing most of his men still
living, even if injured, was a welcome sight.

He
began to panic at seeing neither Ragnarr nor Stieg standing though, and he
moved himself, gingerly rising to his feet. He glanced down. No wounds gushed
with blood, and nothing ailed him but his splitting head.