Chapter 34
The eve on the first day of October
in the Year of our Lord twelve hundred and sixty-three
If only the gentle sway from the waves or the sound of them lapping the hull or the salty air ticking her nose would soothe her like always. Raging hell, all of them served as a reminder regarding those she was about to encounter while they bobbed over the waves.
The pace had been maddeningly slow through the day after having paused a long stretch farther up the rocky shoreline, waiting what seemed forever for Sv?rn, who vanished, then, when reappearing, brought with him a Northmen cluster she didn’t recognize.
Gestir, they had to be – spies for King H?konsson hidden among the Scots providing information.
Brazen traitors! Aonghus had told her once after their loving that he thought her to be this when they first met.
Perhaps one of the odorous warriors boarding the barge was the cause of King Alexander’s forces being revealed at the assembly?
Following the gestir retrieval, they had shed the bishops onto their longship.
Sir Brayden’s body next to her became stiff as the board they sat upon when he spotted King H?konsson’s massive ship looming next in the distance at twilight, the gold-plated dragon’s head on the bow gleaming proud as if the sun was still high in the sky.
“Shite,” he whispered, shocked. “’Tis King H?konsson’s, the ship carrying the gold bowsprit?”
She nodded. He asked with disbelief for her ears alone: “Whose and what vessel is that just across?”
Turning her eyes, she discovered his beheld the numerous-decked cog with a mast which appeared to reach the heavens.
“’Tis a cog,” she whispered at him and Aonghus, who leaned in closer.
“Freshly built. A ship which is foretold to change the seas for merchants in times yet to come. The owner is nae merchant,” she said bitterly and paused to nod toward Lord Kollungr.
“He sought more cargo space for his own devious means.”
She observed the sheer number of ships’ lights shimmering in the darkening distance. Swallowing suddenly became difficult; it looked more like a star’s cluster across a midnight sky than ships belonging to the entire Northmen’s fleet. Her stomach sank. So many more then they had left Bj?rgvin with!
“Four Scots among twenty thousand Northmen,” Sir Brayden murmured under his breath toward the three other Scots at the foreboding sight to finish dryly, “What could possibly go awry?”
One Northman heard his dire comment. “You may still swim for the shore, Sir Brayden,” Lord Kollungr taunted, raising his fur-clad arm gesturing toward the shoreline, which was all but a stain on the horizon.
Nerves and coordination – never her strong talents. When they arrived at King H?konsson’s ship, while bobbing alongside, she fell off the rope ladder a few rungs up. Ugh!
“Ouff,” she puffed when thick arms caught her midair before she crashed onto the barge. She met the eyes belonging to her knight.
Did any see the daggers strapped hidden beneath her skirts? Did they?!
A few menacing chuckles echoed in her ears from the barge’s crewmen. No – secret safe. Thank all!
“Lady Keirah,” Torsten cackled, “there is the grace beneath pressure we all remember. Ahh, shown bright once more.”
Aonghus glared at the heckler. The grin vanished off Torsten’s face, still bruised from the inn. Leaning closer toward her, he whispered, “Cluaran” – his breath was warm upon her lobe – “place your arms about my torso. I shall see you safe.”
She bit her lips, quelching the hysterical laugh trying to burn her throat at the irony by his words. Even now in the belly of the Northern beasts he still held every determination she would be safe. Lad, love you till forever!
A nod was her reply while he set her upon her feet then turned his back toward her.
Carefully she wrapped one arm over his chainmailed shoulder, ignoring the bite from rough metal in the places his mantle didn’t cover.
Then her other arm went under his bicep by the empty scabbard.
Vengeance, along with Sir Brayden’s and Sir James’s weapons, had been commandeered by Sv?rn as soon as they set foot off soil.
Her palms locked before his barrel torso.
A few catches in breath sounded behind her when her Scotsman didn’t bother with the wooden ladder rungs but clasped the rope on the sides attaching to them then hauled up fibers as if they weighed no more than two hawk feathers.
She kept her dangling legs crossed under her skirts.
Tighter – conceal the daggers – good. No prying eyes below belonging to Lord Kollungr nor passengers could see them.
A few grunted exchanges sounded below as they were halfway up.
She caught a single sentence from Sv?rn, who would be departing to Lord Kollungr’s nearby vessel after.
His words floated toward her ears after the salty wind blew just right.
“The Scot is power.” He is, Sv?rn. Best take note of that, Northmen!
Aonghus didn’t seem to concern himself with the audience beneath. He called over his shoulder to her, “Cluaran, hold tight.”
We’re flying! She gasped when in a lone flawless motion he swung both his legs over the side wall. Thud. He landed onto the deck, with his feet loudly announcing their arrival to every Northman on the main deck.
A rustling sound came from behind belonging to Sir Brayden, who took his spot beside them while whispering wryly, “A warmer greeting one shall never find.” Aonghus set her down delicately then gently swung her before him.
He circled his hand over her waist protectively when every set of gray eyes present narrowed on them ragefully.
“My lord king awaits,” Lord Kollungr said, giving a smirk moments later before lifting his arm toward the wooded passageway leading off the deck to below.
Her eyes glanced up a hard moment at the heavens above.
Moon. A big, bright, bold moon smiling down at them as if mockingly saying, Nope.
No storm for you Scots! Take a good look; I am lightin’ the way right to your doom.
Step right up! Her gaze darted to the horizon.
This was not good either. Not a cloud in sight dictating a storm. NO!
“If you seek prayer, Lady Keirah,” Torsten mocked, seeing her action, “’tis too late. Move.”
The door on King H?konsson’s chambers opened in ease from newness.
The cabin was built to reflect the rest of the vessel: enormous, demonstrating his power.
It worked on Sir James, whose breath caught at spying the massive table flanked with oil lamps swinging from the tide’s wave.
She took a deep breath: pine, from the newly built ship.
She had left, but so much had changed since she was last here.
The king looks paler than the moon, huh.
At the table’s far end, two guards clad in furs sat flanking King H?konsson upon either side.
Vastly different than the young king she had left at Ayr, with H?konsson the years and wear had taken their due.
A fighter whose Viking ancestors would be proud to call him their own, he now looked older than his age at fifty-nine years. Aye, he is really peely-wally.
A small sway infected her step, causing her foot to catch on the surcoat’s hem. Going down! Aonghus’s grasp upon her arm halted the falling flat on her face. She saw a mirthful glint mark King H?konsson eyes when they gave a tiny crinkle at the lashes, spotting her signature clumsiness.
“Keirah.” His voice boomed through the cabin. “Or ’tis Lady Keirah MacCade now, I have been told.”
Had she ever fully feared him? No, that title belonged to her keeper whose smirk deepened on her left. Kollungr. The falcon appeared quite pleased with himself as one who had captured its prey. This may be the case, but don’t show it!
Strength. King H?konsson praised this above all else. Straightening her spine, she stepped forward from her husband’s grasp, getting right to the truth only Aonghus knew.
“Lord King,” she said, chin high, “may I speak plainly?”
King H?konsson’s look softened on her slightly. “You may, my lady.”
Sorrow with a pleading edge filled her tone. “Lord King, why have you come?” she began, feeling her words. “I warned you not to venture unto these shores as you would never set eyes upon your sacred Bj?rgvin again.”
Sir James spat under his breath at her advance, “Traitor.” Stuff it, Rooster!
She flashed her eyes at the rooster. “To warn does not make one a traitor,” she challenged, then turned back toward King H?konsson when he spoke.
“You did declare what the fates dictated, but, my lady, a king’s fate must be of his own making.” H?konsson leaned forward in the throne. “I will not run from destiny, otherwise I would have fled from my kingdom years ago when but a boy. I stand to fight; my blood is Viking.”
She nodded; he had to refer to taking his rightful crown from Skule B?rdsson who had challenged him.
The conflict between the pair had ended the hundred-year war plaguing Norway which crafted King H?konsson into the ruler they now faced, taking her own shores in his grasp.
Was he formidable? Aye, like a fire was red.
The king eyed her Aonghus. “This is the Scotsman who has won your affections?”
She nodded. “Aye, Sir Aonghus.” The king’s stare turned scrutinous. She stiffened.
Most would hide or cower under the intimidating gaze. Look at my knight! He turned into a greater giant when he rolled his shoulders taller. How did he seem to fill and take the room in his grip?
“Massive,” King H?konsson said, nodding. Aye, he is.
“Every last part,” Sir James said darkly. The Northmen gave a chuckle at the dirty remark.