Undercurrent (16 page)

Blood rained a steady drip onto Cassie’s skirt. Frustration curled Ragnar’s hands into fists, though he couldn’t let it show in his voice. “I know, my friend. ’Tis no fault of yours. Now let…her…go.”

His arms opened. She dropped the few feet to the ground and staggered as one who’d imbibed overmuch. Then she skirted Magnus and darted into the street—

Straight into the path of a galloping horse. A fancy noble spurred his stallion on, one who’d likely slow for naught but the king. She’d be crushed.

Fear grabbed Ragnar by the throat and shook him. “No!”

He bolted forward. She pulled up short, then fell.

In the heartbeats it took to reach her, she lay in the dirt moaning, her foot bent at an unnatural angle. It could’ve as easily been her head. The thought braised like a hot poker to his guts.

The pounding hooves never even slowed but faded away, as did everything else as far as Ragnar was concerned. He scooped Cassie up, cradling her. She did not resist. Not a good sign for this fiery woman. Her glazed eyes met his, and an angry welt darkened her cheek. He shifted so that her bleeding arm pressed between his chest and her body. She groaned, letting her head rest against his shoulder, then stilled.

Not a good sign at all.

“
Cass-ee?” Her name came on one of Alarik’s heavy breaths, followed by a curse.

Ignoring his irreverence, Ragnar turned to his cousin. “She needs a healer.”

“
Kier’s wife. Come.” Alarik stooped to pick up the dropped brooch, then pivoted. Ragnar followed with Magnus in tow. Their speed did not lend well to conversation. Just as well. It allowed Ragnar to direct his helplessness to God.

He stumbled once, and Cassie cringed. He’d gladly bear a lash than cause her more pain, but speed was imperative. “Shh, Cassie. ’Tis not far now. Jesu watches over you. As will I.”

Alarik burst through Kier’s front door and held it open. “Anna!”

Kier’s wife bent at the hearth, stirring a large pot. When her gaze met the limp woman in Ragnar’s arms, she stood, the wooden spoon dropping from her hand. She pointed toward the one big bed in the far corner. “What has happened?”

As Alarik explained, Ragnar eased Cassie onto the woven blankets. She looked at him, pain haunting her eyes. At least she remained conscious, Jesu be praised. Blood still seeped from her arm. And her foot…bent. Broken. He winced at the sight.

Anna stood next to him, silent and motionless. Time stopped. Ragnar opened his mouth to question her healing abilities, but as suddenly, the quiet before the storm ended. Anna rained a barrage of orders, dousing everyone in the room.

“
Gwenn, my sewing basket, then find the comfrey. And get some cinquefoil for a strong tea. Alarik, I need two stout splints, a hand’s-breadth apiece, plus a healthy length of binding to secure them. Your friend here”—she paused to meet Ragnar’s eye—“can hold her steady. And you, big man—”

She glanced over her shoulder to where Magnus stood in the doorway. “Wood for the hearth and a pot of water to boil.”

Magnus blinked. Cassie moaned.

Anna thundered. “Move!”

A downpour of activity let loose. Needle and thread in one hand, Anna leaned over Cassie and brushed the hair back from her face. “Be brave, ja? Pain is the way of women. This you can do.”

Cassie’s lower lip trembled, and the rise and fall of her chest increased. All color drained from her face. Ragnar feared she would lose consciousness, though truth be told, that would be a blessing. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, and screwed her eyes shut.

“
Now.” At Anna’s word, they both took places at the bed frame. Ragnar leaned over Cassie’s body should she thrash about. Clamping his hand on her upper arm, he pinned it to the mattress. When the needle bit her flesh, over and over again, she did not cry out. Ten stitches later, the knot was tied and thread snipped. Anna reached into her sewing basket for a strip of cloth, and Ragnar released his hold.

Tears streamed down Cassie’s temples, and she’d bit her lip so hard it bled. Would that he could take away her pain. “You show much courage, little one. I—”

Her eyes went wide, and a shriek to reach the heavens tore from her mouth. Her body rose, then went limp. Ragnar jerked his head toward Anna, fire in his words. “What have you done?”

She merely shrugged. “You held her attention. Sometimes that is better than force, ja? Look.”

Cassie’s ankle swelled larger than ever, but her foot lay straight. Alarik stood at the bed’s end, holding splints in place as Anna wrapped them tight.

Ragnar sighed. Surely he must have aged two summers in this one afternoon. “It is good? She will walk again?”

Anna layered the cloth strip and secured it before she answered, setting Cassie’s foot upon a rolled-up blanket. “With much rest and even more time, she will walk.”

Relief surged through him, leaving a shiver behind. The tension that’d stressed every tight-fisted muscle began to slip away—until Alarik spoke.

“
Good. Then the woman will be of use to your household. She is my gift to you, Anna. Ragnar and I leave for Rogaland on the morrow.”

FIFTEEN

“
No!”

Alarik couldn’t be sure which voice carried more insistence, Anna’s or Ragnar’s. An interesting response, to be sure. He angled his head, studying both. Each wore a fierce frown, and he laughed. “You look as though I’ve loosed Fenrir.”

Anna stooped to collect her sewing basket, then stood next to Ragnar. “This woman”—she shifted her eyes to where Cassie lay and back again—“is as much use as a three-legged mongrel. Oh, she tries, but she’s not been taught the most basic of household skills. My own blind Gwenn is of better service. Nay, I know this girl carries your seed. You’ll not be leaving her or your by-blow behind. I’ve enough to tend to without two extra mouths.”

Alarik looked from one face to the other to see who would first give away the jest. Ragnar blanched to a sickly pallor. Very good. But Ragnar had ever been a consummate jester, proven on many a long winter night. Anna stood firm, chin jutted, brow raised. So she could playact as well. If he didn’t already know the truth, he’d have fallen victim. Instead, he smiled as he shook his head. “Your folly, my friends. This jest will not work, for I’ve never yet—”

A crash and rolling thumpity-thumps of wood hitting the floor interrupted him. Everyone flinched. Cassie shifted and moaned though did not awaken. Magnus stood sheep-faced, wide-eyed, and empty-armed in the doorway.

“
I’ll see to more wood.” Ragnar strode to the door and shoved past the big man, jarring him aside as if he were no more than a mountain of goose down.

Alarik scratched at the nape of his neck. He caught the distinct impression that if Ragnar had carried a broadaxe in his hand, it would be buried in his own skull by now. Ja…an interesting response indeed. Anna whooshed past him, skirts aswirl, and set about helping Magnus pick up the fallen hunks of wood. At least her anger was more understandable. Women and their fancies. What faery had whispered such a tale of a babe-laden Cassie?

“
Anna, Cass-ee is not with child. Leastwise, not mine. I meant no burden to you. If you will not take her as a thrall, then I’ll give her to someone else or set her free.”

Weighted with logs in one arm and the sewing basket still attached to the other, she rose and met his gaze. She read his face as one ciphering runes before answering. “Do as you see fit.”

At last—a response he expected. He winked as he said, “I usually do.”

Whistling a tune his own Signy would’ve hummed, he cuffed Magnus on the back as he exited to find Ragnar. Though he’d said otherwise earlier, mayhap Ragnar yet harbored some ill feeling toward him concerning Gerlaich’s death.

In the time it took him to reach the woodpile beside Kier’s workshop, Ragnar had hewn a good three or four logs into hearth-sized pieces. A flurry of woodchips lightened the black dirt around him, and sweat darkened splotches on his tunic. “You’ve chopped enough to warm my brother’s family through yuletide.”

Ragnar grunted and with one last, mighty swing, planted the sharp edge of the axe into the scarred block. He spared Alarik but a brief glance before he walked a few steps to stand beneath the shaded overhang of the workshop roof. Leaning his back against the wall, he sank to the ground.

“
You are angry.” Alarik squatted at his cousin’s side. “If we are yet unresolved about Gerlaich’s death—”

“
Nay.” Ragnar sighed, rubbing his brow with the back of one hand. “I meant what I said when I spoke of forgiving you. How much more has Jesu forgiven me? Speak no more of my father’s death, or of your hand in it. I bear you no ill will. Understood?”

“
Understood?” Alarik turned aside and spat. “Nay. I can never understand this God of yours. The forgiveness you’ve shown since you went a-viking nigh on three summers ago and came back a Christian is beyond what I can fathom.”

“
You know I—”

“
Say no more.” Of course he knew. He’d heard it all, time and again. He flashed a placating smile that most often worked with wenches in such situations. “Your Jesu is big enough to make me understand if he wishes, ja? Until then, I accept you at your word. Agreed?”

Ragnar did not return the grin, though he sprawled his legs into a more comfortable position and rested his head against the workshop wall. “Agreed. But I am not at peace with you.”

“
I thought as much. Why?”

“
How can you think of going back to Rogaland on the morrow? Your only chance is at the assembly, and even that is bare.” He lowered his chin to lock gazes with Alarik. “Your throat would be slit before the harvest grains are brought in.”

“
A valid point. And as much as I am flattered with your concern for the flesh of my neck, I can’t help but wonder if that is the only reason why.”

“
What else is there?”

“
The woman. Cass-ee. I see how you look at her, my friend. Mayhap it is not my leaving that frets you so, but that the wench is not able to make the journey.” He studied what response his words might elicit, this time truly not knowing what to expect. The slow smile that spread across Ragnar’s face could’ve been predicted. Perhaps even the laughter that followed. But it caught him off-guard when Ragnar shot to his feet and planted a solid kick to his chest, sending him backward in the dirt.

“
You would leave behind the woman that bears your child? It is not right, and you know it. If she were my woman—” Ragnar clamped his mouth shut, green as if he’d just swallowed one of Signy’s potions.

Alarik grinned. “Then take her. She is yours. I’ve not lain with the girl. No child of mine kicks in her womb. She’s a beauty all right, but no woman surpasses Signy in my eyes. And Anna will not have her. I give Cass-ee to you, and if it pleases you to wait here till she can journey on, then do so with my blessing.”

Ragnar shook his head. “No. I will not own a thrall. I do not think—”

“
I know what you think, man. Spare me your tirade on the evils of slavery.” Alarik threw up his hands. The man was as pigheaded as Cass-ee herself. “It is done. She is yours. Take her, leave her, free her. Do as you wish. Now, pull me up.”

He extended his arm, and Ragnar lifted him. “I will not leave Signy within Torolf’s grasp. I am going back come first light, even if I travel alone.”

Torolf surveyed the men filing into Great Hall. Dirty boots shuffled across the packed floor, kicking ruts into the strewn rushes and releasing the stink of grease and soured ale. Not one made eye contact with him, though, standing on the jarl’s dais, he could be seen by all. Spineless, gutless men.

Contempt pumped through his veins. Ahh, but it really was easier this way. The ripe berry of Rogaland was his for the picking. He’d pick it all right. Grasp it. Devour it.

His lips pulled into a smile. “Men of Rogaland, with Jarl Hermod’s burial berth safely sent to the shores of the netherworld, I take upon myself to annex Rogaland under my jarlship. Until the lawgiver speaks at the assembly two moons hence, my word is law.”

He paused, scanning for defiant glares or rebellious shoulders thrown back. A cough. A shifting of weight from one foot to the other. The howl of a late summer breeze sweeping in through the open doors. Other than that, silence. These were not men. They were worms. Nay, less than worms.

“
The only blood heirs remaining are Alarik and Ragnar. I do not see them here. Do you?”

A few glanced about, but most returned blank expressions. Oh, how these people needed a leader. With their best gone a-viking and the rest of the strong-willed exterminated, he could hardly expect less. His pride swelled, and his gaze landed on Signy as she entered the Great Hall.

Her beauty lit the room. No one had to tell any man to step aside as she passed. An aisle opened as her willowy figure drew toward him, hips swaying, breasts rising and falling as she breathed. Desire for her, for Rogaland, burned deep within him.

He held out an open hand, inviting her to join him in this moment of glory.

She reached the dais and stopped, looking from his outstretched palm to his eyes. Not a man stirred. Even the wind outside quit forcing its presence through the cracks in the walls.

Never varying her gaze, she bypassed his hand, hiked her skirt, and stepped up onto the dais. Fire heated Torolf’s skin as she closed the distance between them. She knelt at his feet, her head bowed but turned so that no one in the room could mistake her words.