Chapter Sixteen
Divine Interference
With a sinking heart, Tyr left his stallion free to roam while he sniffed the nighttime air.
Instinct drove him eastward—fresh hoof prints had led him to this camp.
He knew it was Edwin. Few men could afford the luxury of such finely crafted tents.
Hoping to enter the encampment undetected, he eyed the sky with its unobstructed view of Odins vogn—the great bear and lode stars. Raising his hands, he greeted the gods.
Hail Day! Hail sons of Day! Hail Night and her daughter!
With watchful eyes, look upon me and give me victory!
Once he finished praying, he advanced. The eerie silence strangled him. A well-tended fire blazed in the common area between the shelters. There was no mistaking the ceremonial circle demarcated by a crudely built altar. Blood stained the snow. Perhaps a marital sacrifice …
Edwin must have sealed his troth with ritual blood, though he claimed to be baptized.
Falsifier. A true bastard down to his cowardly heart.
Odin’s law remained ever superior to men’s imperfect canon.
Even the prince recognized that. Imagining the hypocrite manhandling Rachelle made his hunger for vengeance explode.
“Hvis du r?rer henne du drittsekk, dreper jeg deg!”
He gripped his sword tightly, then rushed the tents with a bloodcurdling scream, wildly shredding canvas in his race to find Rachelle.
Men scrambled away from him as if he was a ravenous animal.
He reached the last tent and ripped open the flap, heedless of what threat waited inside.
His heart was driven by Rachelle’s unheard pleading, the worst fear he’d ever felt.
What if Edwin was forcing himself on her?
As he had imagined, the sight of Rachelle crushed against the upstart’s chest with her arm pinned behind her back, drove him mad.
“Tyr!” she cried. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you,” she sobbed.
Her apology pierced his heart. Edwin had exploited Tyr’s hospitality and kidnapped the woman he loved.
In truth, Rachelle had never been looking for excitement.
She’d only craved a safe haven—family—love.
That’s why she’d clung to him the moment they’d found each other.
And what had he done? Rejected her. Lied to her.
Hurt her. The fierce world he forced her into, the restrictions he’d put upon her, the misery and discomfort he’d caused …
Everything blurred together. This moment would decide their future.
Tyr refused to be held prisoner by a godless malingerer.
If death claimed him, he’d drag Edwin into the depths of Hel, leaving Rachelle safe.
The desperation in her voice intensified his need for blood. White hot jealousy flared inside him. “Release her.”
Edwin raised his chin defiantly. “I was afraid you’d miss our wedding feast. I apologize for not sending a personal invitation. I’ve been preoccupied with my reluctant bride.”
Rachelle twisted to break free. “Let go.”
But Edwin held tight, brushing kisses across her milky throat, positioning her so Tyr would be forced to watch.
The prince touched her in places no other man had the right to explore, his cursed fingers tracing the contours of her beautiful face.
Tyr eyed Edwin’s weapon belt. He couldn’t risk a direct attack yet, Rachelle might get hurt.
Ty’s heart hammered—hatred swelling inside him.
A flash of movement forced Tyr to look over his shoulder. Aaron stood inside with a weapon drawn. Tyr swung around to face him.
“My god.” His cousin froze. “How … when did you get here?”
Tyr despised Aaron’s weakness. “Your treachery ends tonight,” he threatened, unwilling to take his eyes off Edwin for too long. “Throw down your sword.”
“You’re outnumbered,” Edwin spoke coolly. “Relinquish your weapon, Jarl Sigurdsson, and I’ll let you go. This woman is my wife. There’s nothing you can do to oppose it. Celebrate with us.”
The world melted away and the prince was the only thing Tyr could see. Lowering his weapon, he crashed into Edwin and Rachelle, knocking them both down. Tyr quickly separated Rachelle from the heap, pushing her safely away.
Edwin tried to escape by crawling away on his knees. Tyr took hold of his ankles and snatched him back. “Wretched piece of shite, come here.” He rolled him onto his back, then straddled the bastard, sitting on his chest. Bloodlust driving him to murder, he wrapped his hands around Edwin’s throat.
Rachelle struggled to catch her breath as she staggered to her feet next to Aaron. “Stop him,” she begged.
“I won’t interfere.” He backed away slowly, clearly afraid. “But I’ll get help.”
She watched his retreat in dismay as Tyr dragged Edwin closer to her by the throat. The prince’s face turned red, eyes bulging.
“Stop, Tyr.” She gasped as her hands scaled the rigid muscles on his left arm. “Let him live.” Her light touch seemed to break his trance.
Tyr nodded, then released the prince who immediately wilted to the floor.
Rachelle threw her arms around Tyr. Sorrow and joy filled her heart. She’d bargained with God earlier—promised to abandon her pride and fears and marry Tyr if he came to her. God had answered her entreaties. Ty’s presence made it impossible to ever dispute his purpose in her life again.
She loved him. More than she ever thought possible.
“Rachelle.” Casting a glance in the direction of the familiar voice, she went slack-jawed at the sight of Uncle Henry standing in the tent with open arms. Her heart melted. Her legs buckled, but Tyr steadied her.
“Go to him,” he whispered, giving her a gentle push in her Uncle’s direction.
She ran, then collapsed in her kinsman’s arms. Weeping and laughing hysterically, she latched on to him, afraid to ever let go.
There was no time for words, men filed into the tent behind them.
Some she recognized from amongst the prince’s regiment, others from Tyr’s great hall.
Rachelle felt as vulnerable as she had the day Henry rescued her from York.
She glanced quickly in Tyr’s direction, but he was now hunched over Edwin.
Insults were exchanged between the two camps.
It reminded her of the male posturing she’d witnessed on Tyr’s ship.
Threats were threats and by the dark countenance her Viking wore, he was ready for action.
Death she feared. She edged closer to her Uncle, who patted her hand reassuringly. “Trust him,” he whispered.
That shocked her. Had Tyr and Henry reached an understanding?
When she saw Onetooth inside, she relaxed.
The captain would take control of the situation.
Onetooth smiled grimly at her before he headed for his master.
As the old warrior had done before, he leaned in and whispered something in Tyr’s ear.
The jarl miraculously regained his composure and stood up.
They spoke privately for several minutes.
She went still. Her mind was trapped in a childhood memory—Henry whispering to her over and over again how she’d be all right. God would grant her a new life. Swallowing hard, she refused to give into her fears again.
Instead, she was seized by hatred—for Aaron and Edwin—the guards—even Frida.
All the deception and self-serving measures they’d taken to destroy her.
Justice must be done. But death followed in Tyr’s wake whenever he took up his sword.
She’d seen it—smelled the fear and blood of the men he killed at the lake.
The dark mood emanating from the men gathered nearby didn’t help.
They itched for violence. Challenges were issued from both sides.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Tyr faced them. Edwin remained motionless on the ground.
“By my will there will be no blood spilled here today.” Tyr beat his chest once with his fist. “Do not mistake this for weakness. A man can die bravely or as a coward. The testimony I hear will determine the fates of many.”
Rachelle’s gaze darted around the tent. Aaron’s pale face stood out amongst the warriors; he’d be severely punished for his role.
Tyr stepped in front of her and offered a tight-lipped smile. “How did you get here?”
It didn’t matter greatly. Surely he already knew.
“Don’t be afraid,” Tyr said. “Your words won’t be used against you, they are meant to condemn the guilty.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Speak, child.” Uncle Henry urged.
Ashamed, she dragged her gaze slowly upward. How could she refuse the two men who meant the most to her? “Frida told me a mutual friend would help me escape. Aaron McNally promised me a way home.” She cast Aaron a solemn look. “He lied, and instead delivered me to Prince Edwin.”
Tyr’s perfectly muscled body tightened. Anger flashed in his eyes. If she had a chance to set things right between them she’d do it.
“That only explains part of it,” Tyr said. “Why did you run away from me?”
She’d agonized over her uncle for weeks and hoped Tyr would show more sympathy. Everything she’d done was out of loyalty for her family. “I was afraid.”
“You talk too much of fear.” His nostrils flared.
She’d be wiser this time and listen.
“Fear lies, Rachelle. It plays tricks on your mind—makes you do things you later regret. I believe you,” he said. “Now you must trust me. There’s a reason why I brought you here.” His expression was so possessive, she gasped.
“I’ll try.”
“Good,” he said. “Sir Fiennes.” Tyr looked beyond her.
Uncle Henry came forward.
“I understand you have personal matters to discuss with the priest who performed the marriage ceremony between your niece and Edwin.”
“Very personal,” he confirmed. “My late king signed a death warrant for this brigand years ago, after he was excommunicated by the Church. The man eluded capture and traveled village to village collecting alms and charging innocent people with crimes. He imprisoned women and children.”