Undercurrent (27 page)

Alarik stomped off, and Ragnar offered her the last bit of porridge. With the sharp edge of her hunger dulled, she shook her head. He ran his stick around the bottom of the pot and lifted the rest to his lips, then collected both their sticks and set the whole thing on the ground. “Køm, before Alarik takes on the whole of the council by himself.”

They followed others on a short trail leading from the campground, up a steep path, wide enough for single-file only. It opened onto a flat plain ringed by rock pillars evenly spaced in a broad half-circle. Seventy-five or so yards ahead, a ridge of flat boulders formed a natural stage. Six men sat on each side of a tall, wild-haired man who stood at center. Even from their position at the rear, Cassie could see his dark eye sockets sank far into his head.

“
He’s blind.” The statement popped out her lips unbidden. Good thing political correctness wasn’t a big deal around here.

“
The lawgiver’s eyes are put out that justice may be seen more clearly.” Ragnar stopped at the back edge, not far from the path. “You may watch from here. Speak to no one, and do not wander. I will not be so close at hand should you have need of me.”

Alarmed, she stepped closer to him. “Where are you going?”

“
Peace, Cassie.” His voice carried a strength that could calm a storm. “You will be safe. Stay here and pray to Jesu that truth will reign.”

Then he pivoted and threaded his way through the crowd until she could no longer see the sun glinting bronze highlights in his hair. She stood alone, exposed, and suddenly afraid.

Creeping with tiny, backward steps, she closed the short distance between her and one of the tall rocks. She probably wouldn’t hear this far away, but neither would she draw attention. Some of her fear eased as she leaned against the pillar. The rest of her unease disappeared in increments as the morning wore on.

The lawgiver spoke, and spoke, then spoke some more. She sank to the ground, her eyes heavy with sleep, and still he talked. Doodling one finger in the dirt, she listened to his eternal droning. His voice carried surprisingly well, but the points of Old Norse law that he imparted couldn’t have been more boring.

When she figured he should’ve dismissed them for lunch, she perked up a little, then drooped as he kept on. She should’ve finished off that porridge instead of letting Ragnar have it. Wasn’t everyone else getting hungry? Now and then, men shifted weight or stretched their neck side to side, but for the most part, the gathering stood attentive. Not much other fidgeting went on—that’s when she realized no children attended this event. Where were their kids? And how come the women she’d seen in the camp weren’t here with the men?

Her speculations and theories eventually fizzled, and she nodded off into a light doze. Footsteps kicked the dirt close to her, and she jerked away, then curled deeper into her cloak. Heavy boots and lighter, leather shoes passed by, but did not enter the crowd. They stopped two rock pillars away from hers, meeting toe to toe.

She peeked past the edge of her hood. Torolf bent over a woman, devouring her with his lips. His hands roamed up the length of her back and pushed away the hood of her cloak. The woman didn’t struggle, even when his mouth traveled to her neck. She pulled her golden braid aside with a sweeping movement and leaned into his embrace. That had to be the same lady who sat naked in his tent the night before. Hadn’t they gotten their fill of one another yet?

As if sensing her gaze, Torolf lifted his head. His pewter eyes bored into hers. Cassie jerked her face away, heartbeat throbbing in her ears. Had he recognized her? The instinct to crawl behind the rock swept through her. She planted her hands on the ground to inch in that direction. Would the movement attract him further? She froze like a rabbit in a barren field, a last swirl of undigested porridge churning in her stomach.

Footsteps again. Closer. But only one pair, and light ones at that.

Cassie dared one more upward glance. Only the woman passed by, for Torolf entered the crowd. But the sick feeling in her belly lurched stronger when she caught a glimpse of the woman’s face before she tugged her hood back on.

Ragnar exchanged a glance with Alarik as Torolf silently emerged from the gathering and stood in the front row beside them. ’Twas a blessing indeed that only council members sported swords. The hatred in Alarik’s eyes warned he’d quarter the man if given the chance. Not that Ragnar could lay blame, for he’d as soon slit Torolf’s throat himself. He closed his eyes, shutting out the vengeful thought. Forgive him, Jesu.

The lawgiver’s voice stopped booming, and Ragnar refocused his attention. As the lawgiver sat, the council member farthest to his right stood, signaling cases of injustice would now be heard. Alarik took a step forward.

Torolf’s stride outdistanced him. “Men of the council, I wish you to address a matter of murder that leaves Rogaland without a rightful jarl. I charge Alarik, Hermod’s son, with the slaying of Einar, his brother, for greed of claiming that jarlship for himself.”

Alarik shook visibly. “Nay! Torolf has no right to accuse—”

“
I have every right—”

“
Silence!” The councilman lifted a hand, and both men pressed their lips shut. “Each will be heard in turn or not at all. Understood?”

Ragnar eyed them both, anticipating some kind of hot-headed objection from Alarik or a blood-thirsty comment from Torolf. Neither said a thing.

“
Alarik, Hermod’s son.” The councilman advanced toward him but stopped before the edge of the boulder platform. “How plead you to the charge of your brother Einar’s murder?”

Alarik threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Unlike Torolf, I am no murderer.”

“
You have proof?” The councilman’s question pulled Torolf’s lips into a grin.

Ragnar cringed inwardly that the once piece of evidence they’d obtained was no longer theirs to produce. Would to God he’d uncovered something more. What could his cousin say?

But Alarik did not shrink from the question. He stood all the taller. “My word as Hermod’s son, sworn as oath, should be proof enough. However, if the lawgiver wills it, I accept a trial by ordeal to attest to my honor.”

Several men gasped, and the councilman frowned, then turned to Torolf. “Do you have any proof or witnesses?”

“
Ja.”

Ragnar fought to keep astonishment from altering his emotionless mask. How had Torolf unearthed that which Ragnar tried in vain to find? He’d asked the least likely of men, or women for that matter, if any held insight to that murderous morn. Magnus alone had discovered the brooch, but mayhap Torolf found its owner.

“
I call Ragnar, Gerlaich’s son, to testify.”

Ragnar tightened his jaw as all eyes turned to him. What foul scheme was this? Torolf couldn’t possibly expect that he would speak against his cousin.

The councilman nodded toward him. “Ragnar, Gerlaich’s son, present yourself.”

Stepping forward, he lined up with Alarik and Torolf.

“
Speak your testimony, Ragnar.”

He bowed his head.
Please Jesu, give me right and true words
. Then he looked up and squared his shoulders. “I agree with my cousin. He is no murderer. The night of Einar’s death, I witnessed no harsh language between the two, no acts of aggression on either part.”

The councilman paced the platform. “You did not see Alarik strike Einar?”

“
Nay.”

Slanting a glance at Torolf, the councilman kept his pace unbroken. “What kind of witness is this, Torolf, that you call on your behalf? He speaks of Alarik’s innocence.”

Torolf tilted his chin. “Ask him why he did not see Alarik strike down Einar.”

The man’s pacing ended, and he planted himself in front of Ragnar. “Why?”

“
I…” He glanced at Alarik, but his cousin wouldn’t make eye contact. “I was attacked myself and lay unaware for a time.”

Considering in silence, the councilman took a deep breath, as if sucking in a vast amount of energy. “Who attacked you?”

“
I know not.”

“
Manner of attack?”

“
Knife.”

“
Manner of Einar’s death?”

“
Same.”

“
Whose knife?”

“
Alarik’s.”

“
Did Alarik bear wounds?”

“
Nay.”

The barrage of questions stopped, leaving him shaken. Somehow, the intensity and speed of the interrogation had twisted his witness in Torolf’s favor. He swiped the sweat trickling down his temple.

Positioning himself in front of Alarik, the councilman crossed his arms. “Did you kill your brother?”

Alarik shook his head. “I swear, I could not have—”

“
Did you kill your brother?”

A shudder shook through Alarik, and he cast his gaze to the ground.

“
Aye or nay, Alarik. Did you kill your brother?”

“
I…” Alarik’s words could barely be heard. “I do not remember.”

The councilman merely grunted.

Torolf shook back his mantle of unbound hair and raised his voice for all to hear. “The murder of a jarl’s son is no small crime. I propose that the council dismiss the penalty of banishment and impart a harsher sentence.” He paused, then spit out, “Death by beheading.”

A murmur swooped through the crowd like a bat in the night, and Ragnar’s shout could not be contained. “Nay! I object! Torolf would claim Rogaland for his own.”

The councilman uncrossed his arms and lifted both hands, instilling silence as he glowered from man to man. “Enough! Torolf, your demand for execution is noted, as is Ragnar’s objection. There is also the consideration of trial by ordeal as Alarik has requested. There is much to be decided in this case, and day’s light wanes. Council will reconvene on the morrow. Dismissed.”

Behind them, feet shuffled and excited conversations filled the air. Ragnar stared straight ahead, unmoving. He could not turn around and face the heated wagering. Not yet. Not until the horror of what they gambled on wore off.

For it was Alarik’s life—or death—they betted on.

TWENTY-SIX

Cassie hid her face in the shadow of her hood as the assembly dispersed. A moot action, however, as most men remained centered on the heated exchanges rising amongst themselves. Something big must’ve happened. Even Torolf didn’t look her way as he loped past. The fight-or-flight instinct tensing her muscles receded, leaving a jittery unrest that tingled outward to her toes and fingers.

Alarik and Ragnar lagged behind the crowd, both grim-faced and silent. Only Ragnar noted her, nodding for her to follow. Her questions about what had happened, and her choice bit of information about the woman with Torolf, took second place to concentrating on picking her way down the steep trail. The men’s big boots and sure steps soon outdistanced her, but she refused to let that influence her pace. She’d performed the part of a stumbling idiot one too many times. From now on, caution would be her middle name.

The dirt path had flattened solid from the weight of so many feet. Still, she took care. At one point, she leaned her hand against an earthen wall to make sure her balance wouldn’t give way. It didn’t, but some of the wall did. Pieces of pea-sized debris fell to the ground. Great. Just what she needed. Her next step would be like treading on marbles.

The path wound so much she couldn’t see Ragnar or Alarik—but neither could they see her. So she squatted, one hand sliding alongside the wall for support, until she landed her rear on the ground. Splayed like a crab, she pushed tentative feet ahead, bumped her bottom behind, and followed up with her hands. The catawampus rhythm worked. With the fear of falling eliminated, she scooched along, letting the hem of her long cloak act as a tail. Kick, bump, drag. Kick, bump, drag. The heels of her palms rubbed raw, but other than that, she zipped ahead. She’d just stand up when she got close to the end, and no one would be the wise—

“
Cassie?”

Ragnar’s voice carried a smile. Alarik outright laughed.

She looked up to find all nearby conversations stopped and at least ten sets of eyes on her. Shoot! She’d forgotten not only how short the trail was, but that the last twenty feet could be seen by the entire camp. Worse than the embarrassment working a slow burn up her neck, was the sinking lump in her stomach that she’d somehow turned into Tammy in this world.

What little pride she retained scrambled her to her feet. She lifted her chin and placed one foot in front of the other, regaining her composure.

The attempt did nothing to keep Alarik’s mouth shut. “Woman, you are clumsier than a newborn foal.”

Planting her feet on even ground, she put every effort into clenching her teeth and scowling up into his face.

He snickered all the more, then turned to Ragnar. “Keep an eye on your woman, cousin. I fear she would slay me on the spot if given half the chance.”

“
Yeah, well, you should try keeping a better eye on your own woman,” Cassie snapped back. “The way she and Torolf—”

“
What would you know of my woman?” All mirth faded from Alarik’s face.

Signy was the hussy, yet Alarik was getting ticked at her? Unbelievable. “I know you shouldn’t trust her. I wouldn’t trust her with my cat.”