Undercurrent (18 page)

And a worn leather boot stomped down, covering the blade.

“
Enough! What in Odin’s name goes on here?”

Ragnar loosed his hold and stood, breathing hard. Alarik looked from his face to Kier’s, waiting for explanation, a sobbing Gwenn behind him. Cassie stood to one side, perched upon her crutches, gaping at Alarik’s brother. Ragnar couldn’t help but look at Kier as well, for truly he did not know why he fought, other than to protect Magnus.

Kier frowned, not an unusual expression for him, but this time the creases at the sides of his mouth etched deeper. “That halfwit dared to make love to my Gwenn, and under my very roof. I’ll kill him. I vow, I’ll—”

“
No!” Gwenn’s outstretched arms bumped against Alarik, then redirected her to fall at her father’s feet and clasp his legs. “Please, Father, please. I know he is simple, but I love him. He would marry me, but he fears you. Do not harm him, for my sake.”

Her thin shoulders shook as a stunned silence descended. Ragnar’s breathing slowed even as his thoughts sped. He’d known Magnus felt attracted to the girl, but marriage? If he thought of the girl as a bride, had he already—“Gwenn, speak true. Has Magnus dishonored you?”

“
Nay! ’Twas but a kiss. Nothing more.” She climbed her way up against Kier’s rigid body. “Magnus has been naught but gentle with me, Father. What will become of me when you pass on? No other man will have me, and he loves me. He’s said as much.”

“
Your brother will look after you. He will be grown and—”

Cassie smirked. “Hah! That little street rat? Too busy stealing things. I’d trust Magnus before…” Her words trailed off as Kier glowered at her, and Ragnar shook his head. That tongue of hers would get her into much trouble one day.

“
Let us take this matter inside. Ragnar, see to Magnus, ja?” Alarik’s gaze brushed his before he turned to the house.

The knife now freed, Kier set his daughter aside and retrieved it. He followed Alarik, but Kier’s grip on the haft showed bloodless knuckles, and he did not sheath it.

Ragnar glanced heavenward before setting off. Ill timing for yet another trial. Magnus should’ve kept a tighter rein on his heart. A bitter laugh escaped him at that thought—as if he’d done any better. When Cassie claimed the brooch as her own and carelessly threw out the word murderer, his heart had nearly stopped. Nay, it was impossible to believe either the pin or Einar’s death could belong to her.

The afternoon sun warmed him through as he increased his pace and his search for Magnus. Mayhap he had sought to cool himself and his fears in the river. Ragnar traveled the banks of both the Ouse and the Foss, avoiding the shallows where the water lay stagnant. Merely a few lads splashed about, none overgrown to manhood.

Where else? Magnus held no penchant for strong ale, so thankfully pubs were ruled out. The big man would sooner eat his way to oblivion. Ragnar snapped his fingers. That was it—sweetmeats. Magnus would frequent a baker, and Jorvik claimed several besides the one Ragnar and Cassie already visited.

As he traversed one dusty lane after another, the sun slipped lower, and his stomach growled. All he’d eaten that day had been the small shared manchet loaf with Cassie. He smiled at the memory, but as quickly, it faded. Would she be so willing to abide his company once freed of her lame foot? He batted his hair forward and pressed on.

He’d been so certain that the jolt heating through him when he’d first seen Cassie meant that she was the woman in the dream. But after so many days with her under Kier’s roof, she showed no interest in him—no more than in anyone else. Maybe his vision truly had been nothing more than fever. Even so, to his shame, she filled his thoughts more often than Jesu. May the Lord forgive him.

Heat waves shimmered out from a nearby smithy, breaking a fresh bead of sweat down his back. A dragon’s breath couldn’t have been hotter. In the smithy’s soot-coated environs, a man leaned against a center post, glowing embers highlighting a familiar large frame.

“
Magnus.” Ragnar stepped close to be heard over the smithy’s pounding. Once nearer, however, he quickly retreated. Magnus’ entire tunic was a shade darker, soaked in sweat and sour smelling. He wished now that the giant had chosen the river. “Magnus, time to move on.”

An ember shot out with a pop and sailed a good seven paces to light on Magnus’s shoulder. He brushed it off, ignoring any pain—and Ragnar’s request.

“
Magnus, you cannot stay here. You must speak with Kier.”

He turned then, his lower lip jutting out, perspiration raining down his cheeks. Or were those tears? “Nay. Kier want to kill Magnus.”

A bellows chugged. The heat intensified. If they stayed here much longer, he’d smell no better than Magnus. “Let us speak outside, my friend. Køm, ja?”

Ragnar swept his arm toward the street. Magnus followed the movement with his eyes, but not his feet. “Kier not like Magnus.”

Letting his arm go limp, Ragnar shifted his weight. If the conversation must take place in Hades, then so be it. “If you love Gwenn—”

“
Magnus do love Gwenn!”

Ragnar held up a palm. “Peace, man. I question not your heart. Will you hear me out?”

The big man nodded.

“
Very well. If, by your own admission, you love Gwenn, then you must speak to Kier. There is no other way.”

“
What if Kier say no?”

The pounding crescendoed. Either the smithy was hinting they should leave or he worked a particularly stubborn bit of metal. Ragnar could sympathize on both accounts. He wiped the sweat dripping from his own brow and walked away. Magnus would move eventually, so Ragnar leaned against an outside corner timber, prepared to wait the duration in the evening breeze rather than in the inferno.

Before he’d even settled into a comfortable position, Magnus’s voice sounded in his ear, “What if Kier say no?”

Ragnar turned to face him. “Did I not tell you to trust Jesu in all things?”

“
Even with this?”

“
Especially with this, my friend. If this woman is for you, Jesu will make it so.”

“
But Kier…” Magnus sucked in his lower lip and blinked for a while. Then he turned his head side to side. “It not possible.”

“
Anything is possible for a God as great as the one we serve.” He clamped his lips shut as his own words boxed his ears. Easy enough to say to Magnus. Harder to believe concerning Cassie.

Magnus smiled then and trotted into the street, a cloud of body odor left behind. “Køm, Ragnar. Magnus talk to Kier.”

Ragnar sighed and followed. Hopefully Kier would not still be clutching his knife when they returned.

SEVENTEEN

Squatting near the hearth in the middle of the room, Alarik poked absently at the banked fire with a stick. If he sullied his new linen tunic, there’d be no facing Anna. He’d sooner bait a bear. So he took care as he prodded small holes in the ash, trying hard not to think of what he must do. The increased sounds of revelry out back, however, would not let him forget.

Footsteps. He suspected to whom they belonged even before Ragnar spoke. “It is time.”

Alarik dropped the stick. A crater puffed up tiny walls of gray dust on each side. As it settled, powdery bits of charcoal masked where the piece of wood landed, effectively hiding its true measure. Alarik rose, donning a smile. Would that his attempt at concealment worked as well.

“
Then let us not tarry. Magnus has been ever patient the past moon cycle, but I daresay he’ll not wait another night in an empty bed, ja?” He passed Ragnar with a merry step, but not nearly as light as if he were going to wed his own Signy. Signy. Fire smoldered in his belly. Nay, he would not think of her—a feat hard-pressed to be won this day. As a chieftain’s son, he’d been charged to perform the ceremony.

Brushing away any possible bits of hearth debris, he met the sun of the late summer day as he stepped into the backyard. Anna’s touch had transformed the area. Once the animals were securely penned, she’d scattered flower petals across the grounds. Garlands of clerodendrum swagged the length of each waiting food trestle. Though more than hesitant in accepting this union two fortnights ago, Kier now stood between Gwenn and Magnus in front of the gathered guests.

Alarik forced himself forward, taking his place at the head of the assembly, then sucked in a breath. He could do this. He’d faced far more frightening a foe in his time. A simple wedding would not bring him to his knees.

“
Magnus ready.”

His dark musings faded in the light of Magnus’s big smile. So be it. He threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Then let us begin. Above you is sky, below you the earth. We meet between in the sight of Odin. Bride, have you come here today to join with this man?”

“
I have.” Not many words, to be sure, but no one could mistake her husky tone of desire. The depth of her love glimmered in her blind eyes.

Swallowing did little to ease the dryness in Alarik’s throat. Even glancing at Magnus brought no relief.

The big man simply lifted a bushy brow. “My turn?”

An unseen weight pressed on Alarik’s chest, or was it his heart? Nay, he could not weaken in front of so many eyes. “Groom, have you come here today to join with this woman?”

“
Magnus have.”

“
Who gives…” The lump in his throat blocked further words. Odin, have mercy. Looking up into the cloud-ribboned sky, he searched for the strength to continue, but Odin did not answer. He should run away. Mercy could not be found.

Until he met Ragnar’s compassionate gaze. His cousin nodded once, emanating a quiet strength. How many more trials had Ragnar faced and come out the victor? And all with no one to encourage him along. Nay, not true. His friend had Jesu from whom to draw strength. Alarik had…nothing. No faith. No Signy. The emptiness inside swelled until he couldn’t breathe. He tugged at the neck of his tunic, then tried again. “Who gives this woman to join with this man?”

“
I do.” Kier spoke aloud, but before he stepped back, he said for Alarik’s ears only, “Brother, do not fail in this.”

Perspiration tickled between his shoulder blades. Fie! Kier had been more than kind. Shame should not be his recompense. A muscle twitched in his neck, but he continued. “Do any say nay?”

Chickens squawked and a pig squealed, nothing more. “Then I bind this marriage as holy and solemn. Join your hands.”

He loosed the cord at his side. Almost over. Just a few more words. He could do this. “Like a stone should your love be firm, like a star should your love be constant. I bind this union—”

Those should be Signy’s slender fingers resting atop his outstretched hand, her hungry gaze firing his desire. This could not be done, not by him.

“
Ragnar, servant of Jesu, will bind this union.” Willing the trembling from his fingers, he wrapped the cord thrice around the couple’s hands. Better not to meet his cousin’s eyes as he gained his side, nor any of the guests’ while he skirted the gathering to stand at the back. Cassie sat on a bench, yet favoring her foot, but he would not meet her curious gaze either. Instead, he set his jaw, stood his ground, and let Ragnar’s words sail past him as an ill-aimed battleaxe. If even one more endearing vow of troth snuck past his defenses, he’d break—and a true Northman would bleed before he’d cry.

Staring straight ahead, he unsheathed the knife at his side, fingering it so that his palm bypassed the haft and clutched the blade. Its sharp edge pierced the topmost layer of skin. At the next thought of Signy, he’d squeeze.

Cassie shifted on the rough wooden bench. For a master craftsman, Kier sure hadn’t put much effort into this one. The legs wobbled, and she slapped one hand down to keep her balance. The raspy grain bit her palm, and she pulled it back to look. No broken skin, just little indented prickles.

She strained one more time, stretching her neck to see over the heads in front. No good. She’d have to stand to get a good view of the bride and groom. Though her ankle no longer wore shades of yellow and purple, and the swelling had deflated to nothing but a memory, she still babied it. Better to stay put. Who knew how long this wedding would last? Weird ceremony anyway, with Ragnar and Alarik tag-teaming it.

“
Magnus, as Jesu’s servant, do you promise to—”

She squinted, focusing hard and shutting out Ragnar’s voice. What in the world? She leaned forward, careful not to tip over or cave in a leg of the bench. Alarik stood at the back of the gathering, not far from her, a steady stream of blood drip, drip, dripping from his hand. Her eyes followed the trail. Spreading into the dirt, a three-inch puddle of red defiled one of the white flower petals she’d helped Anna spread.

A knife handle protruded from his tight grasp. Why would he be holding the blade? His knuckles paled, and the blood flowed more freely.

“
Hey, stop that!” The words came out louder than she intended. Everyone looked her way—except for Alarik. She swallowed and her cheeks burned. Infuriating man. Good thing she didn’t have a knife of her own, or she would’ve flung it at him.

Looking away, she pretended to study one of the flowered tables. Ragnar’s deep voice resumed, and from her periphery, she could see most returned their attention to the ceremony. She waited until all eyes quit giving backward glances before facing forward again. The blood stain still darkened the ground where Alarik had stood, but he was gone.