Chapter Eighteen #2
Loud pounding yanked Randvior from sleep on the fourth night of his honeymoon. He bolted upright and eyed his sleeping bride tenderly. The poor girl was drained—overwhelmed by his bed play. He’d taken her countless times and in many ways, used her wee body to fulfill every youthful fantasy he had.
The knocking grew more intense and desperate. He growled angrily as he got up and grabbed his sword. He stalked to the door and threw it open.
“Speak!” he thundered, standing stark naked over a boy he dwarfed.
“Jarl,” he said. “You’ll not know me. I’m Matheson, one of your newer stable hands. There’s been an attack. Someone set fire to several cabins and many have perished.”
At that, Randvior motioned him inside and slammed the door. The servant stared unwittingly at him.
“I’ve been sent to retrieve you. Master Aud appointed me as his personal messenger and humbly begs you to postpone the rest of your holiday and come home.”
Randvior latched on to his shoulder and shook him. “Who died?”
“Three families—burned beyond recognition.”
Randvior let go. “Ride boy, tell my captain I’ll be on my way. Gather the women and children and hide them in the cellars. Prepare the steading for battle, arm every man and boy with whatever weapons you can get your hands on—sticks if that’s all you can find.”
“Aye.” The servant bowed and paused at the doorway.
“Go!” Randvior pushed him outside.
Noelle yawned and stretched, and scanned the room. She smiled once she discovered Randvior standing at the open doorway naked. But her smile quickly faded once she noticed the weapon in his hand.
“Get up.” He slammed the door. “We must return home at once.” Not wanting to alarm her, he offered no further explanation.
He tossed the sword on the bed, grabbed a towel, and washed his face with water from the basin. Disgusted, he threw the linen at the wall and walked to the door. “Lock it after I go out.”
A cold bath would clear his head, and a half frozen stream would serve him well.
Sleepily, Noelle stumbled out of bed and latched the door.
Had she done something to displease her husband?
Deep concern gripped her heart. She could think of nothing under the sun and moon that would lure him from their bed unless it was serious.
Judging from the intensity of their lovemaking last night, she was the sole object of his desire, the only person who existed in his universe.
She bathed. Only last night Randvior had threatened to penetrate the layers of her soul—to pierce her heart with his love. Her body jolted at the memory of it.
She dressed hurriedly, putting on a plain wool gown. Despite its lack of adornments, the material was soft and warm. Eager to get outside, she skipped putting on a pair of leggings and laced her boots over bare feet.
She smiled as she hurried to the door. A little love goes a long way—she’d help him recover.
As she reached for the latch, Noelle stopped short at the sound of male voices outside.
She listened closely and easily recognized Randvior’s baritone.
But there were at least two others—possibly arguing with him?
She strained to hear more—pressed her ear to the window, the faint glow of dawn sneaking its way around the edges of the old curtains.
“How did you know where to find me?” Randvior asked.
“Look to your mother,” a man answered.
She shivered. That woman had her talons buried in every man’s hide within a day’s journey of Randvior’s steading.
It was unsettling. Nine days since she had been home, nearly five spent with Sveinn and four with her husband.
It was the closest she would ever come to escaping Lauga’s destructive reach.
She imagined the dark witch conjuring spirits.
Consulting tarot cards or reading rune stones to predict her son’s whereabouts or relying on dark forces to threaten Noelle’s future prospects of happiness.
A flutter of butterfly wings tickled her stomach and she wrapped her arms protectively across her midriff.
Open the door, chase the intruders away.
But a voice inside her head warned she should grab as many weapons as she could carry. Noelle went to the trunk.
Get knives—many of them.
Her silvery blade only waited her hand, and Randvior’s sword was too heavy for her to carry.
His battle-axe was nearly as long as her body.
She chose a long knife and turned back to the doorway.
What are you waiting for? The same hesitation that often over powered her common sense and got her into trouble growing up nearly took over now.
She started for the door after she heard Randvior scream.
She nearly yanked it off its hinges as she went outside.
No one was at the front of the cabin and she started for the stream.
She stopped to think before she took another step.
Emotional responses always ended badly. Get a hold of yourself.
Valuable advice she remembered from her father.
Good thing she stopped. Noelle’s stomach felt gravelly and a wave of nausea nearly made her throw up.
Loud noises came from around the corner. “Put him down!” a voice demanded.
Then silence.
Showing herself might distract Randvior and put his life in jeopardy.
The unpleasant sensation she felt earlier intensified in the pit of her belly.
She decided to listen in a little longer before she made her presence known.
Her eyes grew wider, spying Randvior’s unclad form partially submerged in the icy water with a man dangling helplessly in his grip.
She’d seen him do this to a man before and knew what to expect.
Two others with weapons drawn were standing only a few feet away and verbally threatening him with every sort of violence known to mankind.
She marveled at her husband’s extraordinary strength. As vulnerable as he appeared—weaponless and naked—he was an incredibly imposing figure in the morning light. From head to toe, he swelled with fury and a rare vengeance shined in his eyes.
Noelle considered their positions.
She estimated twenty-five feet between her and the closest man.
If she charged from behind, aided by the element of surprise, she might be able to stab one in the back.
This standoff was accomplishing nothing.
God help her. Unwilling to watch her Viking sacrifice himself to these nameless brigands, she charged.
The man on the left was her intended target.
The sturdy blade cut deep. Randvior screamed as the man she stabbed swung and cuffed her across the side of her face with something as heavy as a mace.
She tumbled, and the light faded in and out as she lay on the ground, trying to maintain consciousness.
In the confusion of the skirmish that broke out after, Noelle searched for Randvior.
She managed to keep one eye focused if she kept the other squeezed shut.
Randvior crushed the man’s skull he was holding with his bare hands and tossed him aside.
The man she had stabbed lay only feet away, curled in the fetal position—his weakening groans evidence she had aimed well. There was blood everywhere. Lightheaded, her vision blurred again. Not now, please God, not now …
“Stay with me!” Randvior was close; she knew it without seeing him.
“Get back!” a voice warned.
Noelle raised her head, arms flapping uselessly at her sides.
The third attacker circled her, blocking Randvior’s path.
With great effort, she managed to rise up on one elbow and meet her husband’s worried eyes.
She looked toward the woods and spotted another figure.
It moved closer—Brian? She wanted to scream his name out, warn Randvior, but it was impossible. Her brother was in Durham, not Norway!
The world started to spin. She collapsed and vomited, didn’t have the strength to sit back up. Noelle heard the unmistakable sound of bodies moving and weapons scraping. The world went black.
Randvior’s eyes snapped open. His head felt like it had been impaled on a Rus pike. He wiped fresh blood off his right brow. He could hardly move his left arm, where he found a gaping wound. How much blood had he actually lost? And then, it hit him, Noelle …
He staggered to his feet. Found her withered body some twenty yards away from where he had fallen. He raced to her side. By Odin, what have I done?
Noelle had saved his life, defended him with what little strength she possessed. He groveled helplessly at her feet, regretted everything he had ever put her through. The list of violations were endless. He bowed his head. Forgive me, my love.
He swept her into his arms. As he made for shelter, more blood seeped from his wound.
He rushed to the warmth of the cabin and slammed the door.
Laid her across the bed, undressed her, and examined her from head to toe.
A nasty bruise and a small cut along the hairline of her left temple were the only injuries he could see.
Dry blood was crusted on her cheek. He suspected a concussion, which sparked fear inside him.
He immediately tried to wake her. Called her name a hundred times, but nothing helped. Her pulse was erratic.
“Wake up,” he croaked. He’d seen this type of wound before. Watched men in the prime of life succumb to serious head injuries.
There was water in the pitcher on the bed stand and he wet a cloth and sponged her off. “Wake up, pokker det.”
His hope deteriorated as he started to massage her feet.
Pinched her arms and legs, caressed her cheeks.
She needed stimulation and he’d utilize any tactic necessary to rouse her, even pain.
Randvior grabbed a knife from the table and quickly made the decision to use it.
Gently at first, he pressed the tip into the soles of her feet.
No response. He scraped the blade across her toes, nearly drawing blood. Nothing.
“Wake up, god damn it,” he begged. Odin, heal her and this wound in my heart.
His jaw clenched as he further appraised her condition. They were too far away from home to ride for help. Nothing seemed to work. The stream!
He scooped her off the bed and carried her outside.
The frosty air made him shiver, reminding him that he had no clothes on.
He waded into the frigid water, knelt, and submerged her—letting her head dip under for only a second.
As he lifted her, she sputtered and coughed.
Those beautiful brown eyes opened in horror and confusion.
His heart nearly burst and tears of infinite joy filled his eyes.
Randvior balanced her on his knees and brushed strands of hair from her face.
Her lips were dark blue and her teeth chattered, but he was more than just a little bit tempted to steal a kiss.
He needed to get her inside by the fire.
And to tell the truth, if he didn’t warm up soon, he’d freeze to death, too.