Undercurrent (26 page)

The men exchanged looks. Bryn shrugged, then offered to take over Oláf’s meat, roasting them both. Released from his cooking duty, Oláf glanced side to side, then lowered his voice. “’Twas only a day, mayhap two after you and Magnus took sail. The wolves put up quite a howling that night. Close. Loud. Next morn, one of the thralls sent to gather wood found Steinn’s body, throat ripped open, blood drained—”

“
Nay!” A quiver of disbelief ran the length of Ragnar’s backbone. Cassie scooted closer to his side. “I myself have seen Steinn take down many a wolf. He could not be bested by such an animal. You are mistaken.”

Oláf leaned across the fire. The intensity between light and shadow lent him an unearthly visage. “Ja, a wolf he could manage. But his body hung from a tree, Ragnar. Even the mighty Steinn was no match for a shapeshifter.”

A curse rose to Ragnar’s lips, followed by a vile acidic taste. He swallowed both. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he battled a swell of grief. He never should have left Steinn behind. The man had practically pleaded to go with him and Magnus. Would to God he had consented. “Steinn’s death is my fault.”

“
Don’t be a fool. You were long gone. Your hand had no part in such bloodshed. It was a shapeshifter, I tell you.”

Oláf ’s story, or the way he growled the word shapeshifter in a low, gravelly voice, must have frightened Cassie. This time she edged so close to him, she bumped his shoulder. Ragnar shook his head. Superstitious Oláf. Bryn, too, for that matter. Why would they not as easily believe in Jesu? “That ’tis naught but a spae-wife’s tale told to frighten the dull witted.”

“
Think what you will, but whatever Steinn encountered, his body now lies beneath a mound of dirt.” Oláf lifted his scruffy chin, taking a moment to scratch behind his neck. “Ja, think what you will, as did Karl and Bjarni, and several others. They charged Torolf with the murder.”

Oláf persisted with his scratching, long and hard. One side of his mouth drew up in a smile, pleased as a mutt pawing a flea bite.

Ragnar eyed the roasting quail, considering the accusers’ bold move. To indict Torolf to his face rather than at an assembly was foolishness at best, deadly folly at worst. “What happened?”

Oláf lowered his hand and frowned. “Their heads rot atop pikes before the longhouse Torolf claims as his own—Jarl Hermod’s.”

Ragnar looked away, throat burning. All the well-reasoning men murdered. He sighed and looked back. “What of Ónarr and the men he led a-viking? Surely they—”

“
Naught has been heard from them.” Oláf shook his head. “I fear fate holds ill intention for our people.”

“
Nay. ’Tis Torolf who holds such.” Rising anger choked off the rest of Ragnar’s words. Torolf must think Rogaland his already. All the more reason to pray for Alarik’s success on the morrow. “I did hear of Hermod’s death.”

Bryn reached above the fire and handed Ragnar one of the sticks with meat cooked to perfection. “Did you hear the rumors surrounding Jarl Hermod’s death?”

The question baited him, though appearing too eager would encourage embellishment. ’Twas hard enough to strain truth from tale whenever Oláf or Bryn shared anything. He accepted the offered food and held it between him and Cassie. She pulled off a small piece, blowing on it before popping it into her mouth. He smiled at her feminine nicety, then ripped off a large chunk, his calloused fingers hardly registering the heat. Finally, he spoke. “I heard of the jarl’s death. There is more?”

“
Women talk, as women will, but this I heard from Gudrun. You know as well as I that she is not often given to idle chatter.” Digging his index finger deep into his mouth, Bryn fished out a small bone and flicked it into the dirt. “Gudrun tended the ailing jarl in shifts with other women. ’Twas ever when she served with Signy that Hermod would take a turn for the worse.”

“
Surely you do not think…” Ragnar handed the rest of the meat to Cassie, sickened at Bryn’s implication. “I will not listen to women’s tales.”

“
As you wish, Ragnar. I merely tell you what I heard.”

A slow throb began behind his bad eye, and Ragnar pressed his fingers against his temple. “Does anyone yet speak of Einar’s murder? Is the blame solely for Alarik to bear?”

Apparently satiated with food and scratching, Oláf once again joined the conversation. “Some say aye, some nay, but I tell you this. There is no great love for Torolf. Even if Alarik is guilty, most would sooner serve him as jarl.”

Ragnar looked from one man to the other. He measured his words, slow and firm. “Alarik is not guilty.”

Oláf grinned, and Bryn laughed outright. “Ragnar, your faith in your cousin is as unmoving as your belief in Jesu. Are you so certain either is well placed?”

“
Without doubt.” The veracity of his tone wiped the smiles off both men’s faces.

Bryn looked away. Oláf cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to Cassie. “So you have found yourself a woman, ja?” His eyes traveled the length of her, a hungry leer flushing the skin above his beard. “Are you as singular about her as you are about your God, or is she for the sharing?”

“
I will give you a rumor of your own to spread, Oláf, though indeed ’tis truth I speak.” Ragnar stood, tugging Cassie up beside him. “Should any man touch this woman, my wrath will send him to meet my God.”

He allowed the threat to hang, black as a tempest, then lightened his intense scowl. “Many thanks for the food and talk. I bid you fair sleep.”

Scooping up his pack, he waited for Cassie to collect hers. He grabbed her hand and strode off, sweeping the grounds’ perimeter with his keen eye. Choosing a spot farthest away from Torolf’s tent, he stopped and slung his pack to the ground. “We bed here.”

Staring at the ground, she blushed a shade of red so deep, it was visible in the half-dark. She snatched her hand from his and rubbed it against her cloak. “Look, Ragnar, I want you to know I’m grateful and all for the way you watch out for me, but about this whole business of…uh…you being my man. I don’t want you to think…”

Her toe scrubbed a pattern in the dirt, and she crossed her arms. He could see something gnawed at her, but her words held more mystery than a skald’s riddle.

“
Cassie, what are you saying?”

“
I’m saying…well…” Her toe stopped and she hugged her arms tighter, then met his gaze full on. “I am not going to sleep with you. You know, like Signy and Alarik.”

The memory of their entwined bodies heated him through, and he took his own step backward. “Think you I would violate your virtue?”

“
No, I mean, I don’t think so. I guess…” She looked away. “I just thought I should tell you.”

Even in the shadows, he could see half of her face deepen to scarlet once again. And why should she not think so of him? The other men she’d encountered this night could hardly lead her to expect otherwise. Compassion for her welled in his throat, and his voice broke. “Fret not, Cassie. You may sleep in peace this eve, for I tell you I have not known a woman since my pledge to Jesu. Nor will I until I share vows of troth with my bride.”

She jerked her face toward him, one brow raised. “You have a bride?”

“
Nay.” He smiled that she would think so, but as soon let it fade. “’Tis not likely a woman would look past…”

“
Look past what?”

Mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed. This conversation suited him as well as a sore tooth. He stalked past her, leaving behind only his words. “You are weary. I will fetch us a fur to soften the ground.”

A host of tangled emotions snarled his thoughts. Though he’d said otherwise, the craving to know her for himself burned white hot, and soon a slick coating of sweat chilled him in the cool air. Sweet Jesu, what a long night this would be. Easy enough to fight off other men who might claim her, but with her sharing the same blanket, how would he battle the demon of desire pumping stronger with each beat of his heart?

TWENTY-FIVE

Cassie rolled over and stretched, the fur blanket beneath her bunching into a lump at the small of her back. Early morning’s gray light colored everything monotone. From her vantage point at the far edge of camp, a dreary pallor hung over the assembly, a combination of smoke from fires and spent oil lamps.

Ragnar dozed on the blanket next to her, his back propped against a rock. His toast-colored hair hung unbound, covering more of his face than usual. Steady breaths raised and lowered his chest, his folded arms riding with the rhythm. In sleep, his stern jawline relaxed, erasing the years of violence and abuse he’d endured. Brown eyelashes rested against his tanned cheeks, set above a beard and lips that—

She sat up, a rogue urge rising as well. She’d brush back that hair and for once look him full in the face. Why would he never let her see him? Asleep, he wouldn’t know. She lifted her hand. Slow. Sure. His hair was surprisingly soft as it met her skin. Warm breath tickled along the back of her hand. His mouth, for now she saw all of it, did look full. Soft. Sensual.

What might it be like to feel those lips pressed against her own?

Guilt tried to nudge out the twinge low in her belly. This was wrong. He’d never taken advantage of her, and even promised he wouldn’t, yet here she was—

An unyielding grip pinched her wrist, lowering her hand, not painful but insistent. Ragnar’s eye flew open, blue as her favorite pair of denims, twinkling a mixture of curiosity and admonition. Half a smile tempered the corded muscle that twitched along his neck. “I am tired, Cassie, not unconscious. Why seek you my face?”

Shame burned from her cheeks to her ears. “Ragnar, I…” She what? A sour taste lingered at the back of her throat. How could she admit she wanted to see more of him than he was willing to share? What had gotten into her this morning? And why did his fingers on her wrist send such jolts up her arm?

He leaned forward. His smile disappeared, and a strange intensity lit his eye. “Why?”

“
I…I just wanted to see…” Who could think with him so near? She breathed in deeply, bolstering her courage. “What is wrong with it? Your face, I mean. You always keep it hidden.”

He studied her a moment longer, his gaze hot, his grip hotter, then released her and stood, looking off into the camp. “You were very understanding when I told you the tale of Abbán and my resulting new faith. Not so when I spoke the same to my father. He met my news with a raised sword and took my left eye. He’d have taken my life had Jesu not stayed his hand, for such was his anger that I’d forsaken our gods.”

Cassie gasped. The cruelty this man had suffered both astounded and sickened her. “Oh, Ragnar, I am so sorry.”

A thinly disguised wince tightened his jaw.

And her stomach sank. Stupid! Of course he didn’t want her pity. What man would? “What I mean to say is I’m sorry for your father. He’s the one who missed out. He not only pushed you away, but Jesu as well. Those are two relationships I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

Snapping his gaze to her, he stared, open-mouthed. “Do you know what you are saying?”

She nodded, a slow burn working its way up her neck. “I mean every word.”

A warm smile highlighted the half of his face she could see—a more handsome face she couldn’t imagine.

“
You are a singular woman, Cassie. I know not what to think.” He reached out. “Køm. Let us find my lazy cousin and some food, though mayhap not in that order, ja?”

Relieved to change the subject, she gripped his hand and allowed him to pull her up. When he let go, she absently rubbed the skin his fingers had warmed. “Good idea.”

The sun peeked above the horizon. Golden rays cast a warm light but did nothing to lessen the cold autumn dampness traveling up her skirt. Though Anna had outfitted her well with woven stockings that tied tight on her thighs, the chill permeated even through that layer. Hopefully these people hibernated with the first snow and she wouldn’t be expected to participate in winter camping.

For now, though, women tended pots and men milled about. Some clasped mugs, slugging back steamy liquid. What she wouldn’t give for a hazelnut latte this morning. Others hiked by twos and threes toward a trail at the camp’s edge. Alarik greeted them before they made it half-way to his tent.

“
Hail, Ragnar.” He stood near the central fire, which burned smaller in day’s bright light. A pot of lumpy porridge and two flat sticks resting against the rim sat untouched by his feet. Nodding toward it, he continued to hold up his hands to the flames. “I have fetched you sluggards some food. Break your fast, and let us hie ourselves to the council.”

Ragnar bent, lifting up a stick-spoon to her, then stood with his own and held the pot between them. She scooped up a few lumps, trying not to inspect the grey blob too closely as she sampled it. Bland and thick, it coated the inside of her mouth with a pasty texture. After she swallowed and it sank to her empty stomach, she dipped in her spoon again. A far cry from yogurt and granola, but she could live with it.

“
I spoke with Bryn and Oláf last eve,” Ragnar said to Alarik between bites. “Torolf has laid a foundation of blood to claim Rogaland as his own. Bjarni, Karl, Steinn—”

Jerking his hands from the fire, Alarik smashed one fist into the palm of the other. He spun away, face flushed and teeth grinding.

Ragnar wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and smiled. “I see you feel better, cousin.”