Chapter Fifteen
Unlikely Allies
Tyr hesitantly cracked one eye open. There was nothing he hated more than being forced from deep sleep. Onetooth towered over him, shaking his bearded face reprovingly.
“Although you swallowed copious amounts of spirits last night, it may interest you to know that one of your ships has returned from England.”
Both eyes snapped open. Blinding pain thundered between his ears. He’d stupidly attempted to drown his passion for Rachelle. Few outlets for his frustration existed—women, blood sport, or spirits. He’d chosen the last because he could suffer the consequences alone.
“Bring food,” Tyr groaned.
“Food? You deserve a swift kick in the arse first.” Onetooth swiped the furs off him. “While you were getting pissed, Rachelle disappeared.”
His brows knitted in disbelief. Tyr remembered allowing the guards posted outside her bedchamber to join him for drinks. He’d kept a watch on the stairs. And the girl promised never to leave her room unattended again. However, some of the night’s events remained fuzzy.
“She’s gone to the clearing for prayer.”
“No, I looked.”
“The bathhouse.”
“Nay.” Onetooth shot him a furious glance.
“A walk—”
“Stop guessing and get dressed.”
If he were any other man … Tyr swung his booted feet over the side of the bed, while holding his throbbing head between his hands. The room started to spin. He stood unsteadily at first, then tromped to the bed stand to wash his face and rinse the sour taste from his mouth.
“You look the devil,” Onetooth observed.
“So I’ve been told.”
The captain handed him a clean shirt.
“Which vessel?”
“The Raven.”
The first ship he’d dispatched. Good. Hopefully his men returned with information about Sir Henry Fiennes. Things had changed though, he’d never let Rachelle go. Instead, he’d pay generous restitution for her disappearance and triple the usual sum for a bride price.
“Where are my men?” Tyr asked.
“Assembled in the great hall.”
Judging by the look on the old man’s face, there was more to tell. “Speak.”
“Rachelle’s Uncle and her maid, Mercia, have come for her.”
Tyr nearly choked. “Here?”
“No,” Onetooth bit out. “In another lord’s great hall.”
Tyr nodded, stupefied. He’d deal with his captain’s sarcasm later. Obviously, the man was worried; he’d grown quite fond of Rachelle.
“I share your concern.” Tyr donned the clean shirt. He combed his beard and hair, then eyed the door. “I’ll never give her up.”
Onetooth’s face tightened. “We’ll find her.”
Tyr immediately noticed Rachelle’s uncle as he entered the great hall.
The man was dressed in a finely embroidered military tunic and wool cloak.
His grey beard and peppered hair was slicked back.
Rachelle had described him as large, but from what Tyr saw, the man must have lost a considerable amount of weight.
The dark-haired girl at his side was nearly as striking as Rachelle.
Tyr’s shipmen were seated at the high table and only a few servants were about serving food and drink.
Guards were posted at the doors. Excellent, his reliable captain had cleared the room of any unnecessary visitors.
Tyr didn’t like surprises or Saxons. However, he appreciated the other man’s astonishment once they both got a full look at each other.
Not all Englishmen were cowards. It took a great deal of courage and love for this man to board his ship and sail to Norway.
For this reason alone, the jarl would deal fairly with him.
Tyr claimed his seat and scanned the room before speaking.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Tyr looked at the stranger.
Short and muscular, Henry stepped closer to the dais. “And you should never have gone to England, you bloodsucking parasite.”
Tyr’s eyes narrowed at the insult. He cast a look at Onetooth, who always lingered nearby in case violence erupted.
“But I did, milord, and now you’re here to beg mercy from me. Let us agree to remain civil—I think we might discover we have the same goal.”
Tyr willed himself to remain calm. The memory of his twin brother’s bloodied body hanging limply in his arms still tormented him. This man sought a beloved niece. Yet, the temptation to thrust a pike through the belly of another Saxon pig crossed his mind, too.
“I care little for formalities, Jarl Sigurdsson. After we discuss the future of my niece, do with me what you will. Where is she?”
If only Tyr could give a proper answer. “Gone …”
Rage overtook the older man. “Hva har du gjort med henne du sodomitt?” Henry screamed in perfect Norse.
Surprised he spoke his language, Tyr replied, “I’ve been called many things, Sir Fiennes, but a Sodomite isn’t one of them.”
“Where is she?”
Tyr despised himself for getting drunk and losing Rachelle. “Onetooth.” He’d scour all of Norway if that’s what it took to recover her. “Send out two search parties. Cover the steading first. She may be hiding.”
Onetooth nodded and left the hall.
After half an hour of arguing with Sir Fiennes, Tyr was weary and impatient to find Rachelle. “I could send you back to England.”
“The Normans spared my life, not my lands and wealth. There’s nothing to return to.”
“Where did you encounter my men?” Tyr asked.
“In York. So many of my countrymen have been uprooted, York is brimming with migrants. There are no coincidences in life. I believe God brought us here.”
Tyr nodded. “Sit with me.”
After a long pause, Henry walked around the table.
Tyr handed him a cup of wine. “Tell me about the girl?”
Henry eyed Mercia. “Her mother served me faithfully for forty years. When the Normans invaded, I claimed her as my own daughter so they’d spare her the humiliation other women have suffered.”
Tyr considered the man’s plight and deeply appreciated his bravery. “You did the honorable thing.” Tyr’s respect for him grew in the span of a few seconds. He signaled for one of his guards. “Take this young woman to Rachelle’s bedchamber. Let her rest. Stay posted outside the door.”
“Rachelle has her own room?” Henry asked.
“Did you think I locked her in a cell?” Admittedly, he remembered threatening to do so when she’d insulted him.
“I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Tibi seris tibi metis.” This time, Tyr spoke in Latin. As you sow, so shall you reap.
The Saxon smiled ruefully, then raised his cup. “I cannot deny that bit of wisdom.
“Your niece has earned my admiration.” Worry gnawed at Tyr’s gut. The longer she was gone … “Clear the room.” He intended to win this man’s trust in the next few moments. He was the closest thing to a father-in-law he’d ever get.
“Rachelle often refuses to stay where’s she’s told. On more than one occasion, she’s placed herself in danger,” Tyr reported.
“She’s been that way since the day I first met her.
Unfortunately, after my young wife died in childbirth, I left England.
I wasn’t a part of my niece’s life until after her parents died.
I’m afraid I’ve overindulged her. She answered to no one growing up—she ran wild, disappearing for a day at a time. ”
“I must find her.” Tyr wouldn’t rest until he did.
Aaron sat on a high stool and crossed his legs.
He accepted a cup of wine from Prince Edwin’s hand.
The transformation from a stately nobleman attending a feast in Tyr’s great hall to the man that stood before him now was disturbing.
The prince seemed overly anxious and unpleasant.
Of course, being forced out of a jarl’s hall so violently, when you’re the son of the late king, gave this man good reason to be bitter.
Aaron hoped Edwin didn’t hold him personally responsible.
Surely, he knew how ardently Aaron had pleaded with Tyr on his behalf.
Aaron took a sip of his wine and glanced over at Rachelle, who slept peacefully on a pallet in the far corner. Safely delivered as promised.
Edwin drained his cup, slammed it down, then locked gazes with Aaron. “I asked you to bring Lady Rachelle to me,” Edwin said. “Not to deliver her in bonds.” His agitation crested.
At least Aaron knew why he was angry now. The marks on her face and her dirty gown didn’t garner trust. “She ran away. What else could I do?” Aaron leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. Goddamnit, even bastards expect the impossible.
“Console her. Slowly introduce her to the idea of marriage with me. I didn’t ask you to put the fear of the Almighty in her. Look at her. You’ve passed the whole bloody night alone together—need I ask what else happened?”
A trick question if he’d ever heard one. In truth, Aaron wanted to say he’d tupped her silly, but that would cost him his life. As his captive, he’d done what was necessary to maintain control over the high-spirited lass.
“Everything I did was reasonable. She’s headstrong—has her own idea of the way things should be done. She’s proven to be nothing but trouble for the length of her stay at my cousin’s home. And I assure you, marriage with anyone is the last thing she wants.”
“If I find out you’ve harmed her—”
“Wake her and ask.” He was tired of accusations.
Edwin grimaced. Color slowly returned to the prince’s face. He shrugged unapologetically and reached inside his pocket for a leather purse. He threw it on the table near Aaron. “Your payment.”
Aaron retrieved it. The weight of the gold felt good in his hand.
“Our business is finished for now,” Edwin said. “The wedding vows will be exchanged tomorrow. I expect you to appear as a witness for my bride. Until then, you’re free to enjoy the comforts of my camp.”
Aaron wished that included Frida’s open arms and legs.
Once the Viking made his intention of marriage known to Sir Fiennes, a pledge of cooperation swiftly followed. “I clasp your arm in friendship, Jarl Sigurdsson.”
Satisfied with the arrangement, Tyr excused himself. He went to the courtyard where thirty guards waited. Two thralls handed him his helmet, shield, and sword. “Where is my cousin?” Tyr sheathed his weapon.