Chapter Nine

“Once it arrived in Norway [in the fourteenth century], the plague tore through the country. Estimates are between one third and two thirds of the population being killed. While exact numbers of deaths aren’t known, the country didn’t fully recover to its pre-pandemic population level until the 17th century.”
Life In Norway.net

“Vær fri,” Erik yelled from the back of the mare, letting her run. His smile widened, his unbandaged hand holding loosely to Loinneil’s reins, his bitten palm protected in a fist.

The horse stretched her legs, galloping across the hardpacked ridge he’d surveyed before helping his men with the Seieren. Covered with wild grass and summer flowers tossing like waves with the wind, it was the perfect spot to peer down into the sheltered bowl that held Leif Pedersen’s homestead.

Erik’s gaze stopped on the figures beyond the barn. Two women stood across from a filled sack. He recognized Hannah immediately. She wore the Norwegian costume that he’d bought with the dowager-queen’s coin before leaving on Sophie’s mission. The blue, white, and yellow looked fresh hugging the Highland woman’s soft curves. Hannah. To think of her caught his breath yet pinched tightly in his chest. His smile dropped away from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

Gathering the reins tighter, Erik guided Loinneil down the hill toward her. Hannah was helping Eydis hold the bow, her arms around the girl, guiding her like she’d guided him during the festival competition back on Scotia. He remembered the warmth of Hannah against his back, hugging him.

As Loinneil’s hoof thuds caught their attention, both girls turned. Eydis looked on with a smile while Hannah’s frown was ferocious. “Get off my horse,” she said sharply as he neared.

“She’s beautiful,” Eydis said, setting the bow down to hurry over to where he stopped the horse. Eydis slid her hand down the mare’s neck, over the unique gray dappling of the coat.

“She needs exercise after being stuck on the ship,” Erik said to Hannah, who looked like a Norwegian princess full of snapping wrath. As if she could summon lightning bolts to throw like javelins through his chest.

“And where exactly is your ship?” she asked but then didn’t let him answer. Her finger poked hard into his lower leg, punctuating her words. She threw one arm out to the homestead. “I thought you’d left. Stolen Loinneil and left me here to defend these good people. Luckily, Leif was here and told me you would return. From a port somewhere?” She gave him no time to answer her question. “It would have been considerate to let me know or take me with you to see to my horse.” Hannah stepped close to Loinneil’s face, rubbing her palm down the horse’s gray nose.

Eydis’s eyes grew round as she glanced between them. “I will…check on your…nieces.” With one more pat on Loinneil’s side, she strode down the path toward the homestead, glancing back over her shoulder more than once.

Erik let the girl retreat from hearing range before turning back to Hannah, who stood at the horse’s head. Hannah’s cheeks were rose-hued, either with exercise or anger. By God, she had a bursting spring of passion within her. Right now, ’twas all fury.

“Why would I leave you here when I was tasked to bring you to Denmark?” He continued to sit on her horse.

“Don’t smile at me,” she snapped. “There’s nothing funny about abandonment.” Even though he was much higher than she, Hannah Sinclair had a way of bringing herself level in every confrontation. He liked that about her.

Erik’s fingers rose to his mouth. Was he smiling? Or did this woman, raised with the Four Sinclair Horsemen, view a relaxed mouth as a smile or the closest she’d ever seen on a warrior? His fingers grazed the still sore scratch marks along his cheek where her claws had sought his eyes. Elizabeth had given him ointment and a poultice for his hand.

Erik took a deep breath, easily letting his mouth fall into his familiar frown. “The horse needed to disembark and there are a few repairs that must be made to the Seieren before we can continue our journey.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Just north along the west coast is a deep-water dock where I could maneuver the ship into a berth. ’Tis tied up there and being worked on. I was able to lead your mare off.”

He saw Nial and Sten walk over the rise. Erik had overtaken them before he’d let Loinneil have her head across the flat meadow. The two men carried the one splintered top of the main mast between them. They’d sand it and lash it as securely as they could to take them to Denmark-Norway where they’d find a replacement mast. On an isle with no trees, there were no masts to be found.

“You could have left a message,” Hannah said. She crossed her arms. “Libby and Trix were worried you’d left them.”

“I apologize for worrying all of you,” he said, letting his gaze drop to the splendid ensemble. It tapered around her waist to flare out over her hips. “The costume fits you well,” he said. “And the colors suit you.”

Hannah’s hands slid along the short cape around her shoulders. “Yes,” she said. She glanced down. “And the boots are appreciated.”

“They fit then?”

“Yes.” Hannah looked up at him. “I appreciate them like a prisoner appreciates the scraps from the kitchen thrown into his cell.”

She was still furious, but he didn’t blame her. “Hannah, I am…”

He was what? Sorry? He’d already said that. Was he sorry he was trapped in his role of savior to his people and elder brother to Iselin? Sorry he wasn’t still kissing her, touching her, letting her seduce him? Sorry he’d ruined anything that had started between them?

None of that was useful. “I am…glad the clothes and boots fit you. My wish is for you to be comfortable.”

“Then take me home. That is the only place I will feel comfort.”

He swallowed, looking away. “Would you like to ride with me?”

“I will ride alone.”

Normally, he’d worry about a horse taking the combined weight of two adults, but Loinneil was large, a breed with muscle and huge hooves. He shook his head. “I would not have you riding off through Shetland, trying to convince the people to sail you back to Scotia.”

She snorted. “There are apparently too many villains on this small isle to make that a wise plan.”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “I spoke to the workers at the dock. Patrick Stewart has employed immoral and cruel men to work for him on his tower house. And then he left them here to do as they will.”

“One attacked Eydis,” she said, her mouth tight.

Erik inhaled abruptly, his nostrils flaring as his gaze followed where the girl went. “Drittsekk,” he murmured, looking down into the vale where she held Trix’s and Libby’s hands. “I will ride to Scalloway and let it be known that the Pedersens are under the protection of the Wolf Warriors.”

“Ride?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “My horse of course.” She huffed. “For Eydis, you may. But right now, climb down.”

Instead, he reached a hand to her. “Ride with me for a short bit before I must help with the mast.” Erik held his breath and realized he was a fool to think she’d take it.

But then she placed her hand in his. She rose with his lift, and he slid back to set her before him, her legs opening to sit astride. The edge of her skirts rose nearly to her knees, showing the white of her stockings. He could point out that they might get dirty sliding along the horse’s bare back, but he wouldn’t do anything to make her retreat from this closeness.

He let her take the reins, thankful she sat in the safety of his legs. Bareback was dangerous enough. She leaned forward, and the backward shift in her hips against his groin caught him off guard. Only the strength in his thighs kept him seated as the mare leaped forward, ready to fly once more. She glanced over her shoulder at him as if to see if he was still there.

Hannah guided the mare back up the path to the ridge. Her hair, loose down her back, flew up around him like whipping silk. It still held the flowery fragrance from the night they’d kissed in the stables on the shores of Scotia. It reminded him of the crown of flowers she’d worn at the holy well when he’d watched her before knowing she was the sister of his sovereign’s enemy. If she’d have kissed him then, had wanted him then, before he knew… His cod hardened with the carnal thoughts and the rub of her arse against him. He leaned forward, almost over her, to keep his seat. Perhaps she was trying to knock him off.

He heard her laugh and realized he, too, was smiling into the wind, smiling with the false sense of freedom. She was an excellent horsewoman. He’d expect nothing less from the sister of the Four Sinclair Horsemen.

Hannah guided the horse down the next hill and pulled to a stop before a nearly ripe field of Shetland barley, called bere. Wind blew across the pale gold stalks in the field, making waves, but the rise blocked the constant whoosh of wind over the isle. They stared out at the field in silence. Erik would sit there as long as she allowed, soaking in the feel of her against his chest. He blocked his thoughts, allowing himself only to feel her warmth.

“Why does Sophie of Denmark want to control my brothers?” Hannah asked, still looking out at the waving field.

The thought of his mission soured the moment. He wasn’t privy to the dowager-queen’s thoughts, but fear was easy to spot, especially by a warrior. “She’s afraid of them taking over Scotia, taking it from her daughter.”

Hannah shifted in the seat, turning halfway around to face him, her brows pinched. She’d rested the reins on Loinneil’s neck and leaned the slightest amount closer to him. “Anne? Queen Anne?” He nodded. “I’ve spent some time with her,” she said. “She was so pleasant. Loves children and animals. Loves her husband, King James.”

Hannah stared up into his eyes, and he took a moment to remember every part of her pale blue irises, the little flecks of gray bathed in blue. Long, dark lashes framed her eyes, eyes that flashed with fury or sparkled with humor. ’Twas as if every emotion Hannah felt could be discovered in those eyes.

“Why would the queen’s mother attack her daughter’s warriors?”

Erik inhaled. “The dowager-queen must have heard about the Sinclair Horsemen from her daughter and has decided that there is a danger of civil war in Scotland. Sophie of Denmark is protective of her children. Where children born to royalty are usually sent away to be raised by others, Sophie refused to be separated from her children.”

He shook his head and reached forward to catch a golden piece of hair that had been caught in Hannah’s lips. Her gaze followed his fingers. Would she bite him again? Gingerly, slowly, as if she might attack, he tucked it behind her ear. “When Sophie was queen,” he said, “she kept her children close, formed strong bonds with them. She will not tolerate her daughter living in jeopardy.”

Hannah sat silently staring up into his eyes as if drawn to him. Could she feel this pull between them? This pleasure-pain caused by the tug?

He’d felt the attraction since walking with her down the hillside from the sacred well. The feeling was forbidden and traitorous. And now she hated him, would hate him more before this mission was over, and yet he couldn’t pull away from her.

Hannah Sinclair was a clever, mischievous siren from her golden tresses down to her toes that had left his thighs bruised as she kicked him while being carried over his shoulder. And she’d wanted him enough that she’d taken him to the stables to seduce him, something that had never happened to him in all his years, because women were frightened of his scars and fierceness. Only the experienced, thrill-seeking widows followed him to his bed. Innocents were too frightened, but not Hannah. Not the brave woman raised with battle-sliced warriors. Despite her innocent look, she was a warrior, too.

Hannah ignored the bit of hair that fell immediately from behind her ear. She threw an arm out toward the field with a graceful arch as if to take in the whole isle.

“But my brothers protect King James and Queen Anne. Right now, they’re risking their lives to bring in James’s traitorous uncle who has declared himself king of Orkney and Shetland.”

He glimpsed the soft skin of her wrist at the edge of her sleeve before she dropped her arm.

“If I could write a letter to Queen Anne and her mother,” she said, “this could be solved without force.”

Erik almost forgot what they were talking about. He shook his head. “I don’t know why I was sent on this mission, only that I must…” He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the face that had haunted his dreams last night. “I must complete it. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why must you go along with such a horrid, dishonorable mission?”

“There are circumstances…”

“Erik!” a voice called down from the ridge. ’Twas Sten. He waved a hand, beckoning him.

Without further words, Erik took up the reins and turned Loinneil toward the homestead. His one arm wrapped firmly around Hannah’s middle, and she didn’t protest. The softening was real, but he wouldn’t wish for it to mean anything. He would leave her with the dowager-queen, and Hannah would hate him forever.

…

Hannah didn’t understand the Norse words exchanged between Nial, Sten, and Erik, but the inflections and postures showed they were angry, maybe disgusted. Hannah walked over to them after leading Loinneil to a water trough. Frode and Sten worked on sanding the splintered mast while Nial continued to talk. He even spat on the wind-swept dirt.

Erik looked at Hannah. “We will do something about the men harassing this homestead,” he said. “And the devil who attacked Eydis.”

“Only Leif is here to protect his family.”

The door was open to the stone hut, and Hannah could see Trix helping Elizabeth cut root vegetables while Libby braided Eydis’s long hair into plaits.

“I will make a plan.” Erik strode off toward Leif at the barn.

Nial walked past Hannah with a sanding block in hand. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Erik is not someone who can walk away from an injustice.”

She snorted, following him over to the splintered mast that had been laid upon two boulders. “But he can abduct an innocent woman, carry her away from her family across the sea to control her brothers.” Hannah watched Erik wave Sten and Frode over to Leif, and they all listened to the man, frowns on every face.

Nial didn’t say anything for several strokes of the sanding block. “Has Girnigoe ever suffered sickness?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes. No village is immune to illness creeping in,” Hannah said, turning to watch the man that Trix had called soft. Nial Kristiansen might be broader around the middle than the others, but there was nothing soft about his muscles.

“You’re fortunate then to still have so large a family,” he said, glancing at her.

“A family who is worried sick over the disappearance of two little girls.”

He kept sliding the ridged stone over the wood. “Imagine that a serious illness rolled through Girnigoe, all of Caithness,” he said, not looking up. “Imagine those four sisters you have by marriage died, that their children died.” He hooked a thumb toward Trix and Libby in the doorway. “Imagine those two closing their eyes, their sweet faces turning gray with death.”

Hannah’s stomach clenched, but she didn’t say anything as Nial continued to paint the horror. “And then your Aunt Merida and Kára’s grandmother and aunt, them all dying. And your brothers.” He met her gaze, his hand stilling on the mast. “Erik has suffered.”

Hannah blinked as tears stung behind her eyelids, but she kept her lips firmly pinched. Nial could be lying to gain her sympathy, so she’d cooperate.

“Erik has little left,” Nial said and turned back to the mast, stretching to reach higher. “You can’t swing a sword at illness…disease. So…” He paused as if thinking, but then continued. “Erik battles for his country, saving people, doing his duty for his sovereign. Don’t your own brothers do the same for King James of Scotland?”

“King James doesn’t order the abduction of women. Why would King Christian and his regents order something like that?” And why would Erik agree? Duty? Hannah wished she had Cain and Gideon here to think things through with her. She’d listened to their discussions over proclamations and political moves, as if Scotland were one big chessboard. But Gideon had the mind to understand secret maneuvers and clandestine reasons.

“Perhaps one abducted woman can prevent war and the deaths of many,” Nial said.

Hannah looked toward the barn where Sten and Erik stood with their arms crossed, listening to a widely gesturing Leif while Frode paced. “What war?”

There are circumstances…

The scrape of the plane continued against the wood as Nial spoke. “A war that our sovereign feels is on the horizon.”

…

“When will the ship be ready to sail?” Erik asked Nial as they walked the few miles back to the homestead, having left the Seieren behind at the dock, guarded by all six of the crewmen.

“A day at most,” Nial said. “I left Kyle in charge of re-rigging all the sails this eve. The others will help. They’re as anxious as we to reach Denmark.”

Erik nodded, his gaze sliding across the barley field. “We must do more for Leif before we go. To give half his harvest to Patrick Stewart’s men without recompense is blatant thievery.”

“And they deserve to lose their balls or their life for attacking that girl,” Nial said darkly. Behind them, Frode grunted his agreement.

They’d gone to the tower grounds in Scalloway before continuing on to the dock, but only a few servants scurried about. None of Patrick’s hired men were there or in the village beyond. One wide-eyed, hunched man said he thought they’d journeyed north collecting taxes on the land.

“We could stay—” Nial started.

“Nay,” Frode said with force. “We must get Iselin without further delay.”

“The dowager-queen did not give us a time frame,” Nial said. “She knows the Horsemen were on Orkney, so we’d have to wait to confirm Hannah’s importance to them. We were lucky Bàs came back early.”

Erik rubbed his jaw. “When those Horsemen come, and they will, they will be as ferocious as a pack of wolves rescuing their pup. And I doubt Sophie has considered that they might have little care about insulting or threatening her.” He shook his head. “’Twill be a battle to the bloody death either way, and Sophie will call us to wage it.”

“As long as we get Iselin away from the vipers at court before she’s forced to marry that walrus of a man,” Frode said. “I’ll steal her away if I must.”

“Peter Kaas.” Nial murmured the name of the Chancellor of Denmark. If Nial was considered soft, Peter was a melted pile of pudding with a large belly, swollen fingers, and pasty skin.

“We will rescue her, but she won’t marry a dead man,” Erik said, glancing at Frode, his friend and future brother by marriage. Frode cursed under his breath, knowing he must be patient.

Erik stared out at the field, his mind drifting back to that morning when he held Hannah before him on the horse. “We will stay to speak with the tax collectors. Make a lasting impression on them.”

Frode raked fingers through his hair. “You are delaying our mission. ’Tis for Hannah Sinclair, isn’t it?”

Erik turned to Frode who stood in the middle of the path. His friend’s face was red with anger, and Erik fought to tamp down his own. If Frode could read Erik’s mind, he’d probably see some truth in his words. But the man couldn’t read Erik’s mind nor any weak part of his body, like his traitorous cod or his tight chest.

Erik stepped close to look directly in Frode’s face. “I’ve loved my sister since she came out as a newborn from my parents’ bedchamber, swaddled and held in my father’s arms. You’ve loved her only for the past year. So, you can hold your thoughtless, damnable tongue before I yank it from your crusty, sneering lips.” Neither Sten nor Nial said anything or tried to step between them.

Frode inhaled but didn’t respond. Erik turned away, trudging forward along the ridge. “We will remain on Shetland until we’ve tried to help the situation for Pedersen and his family, but no more than a couple days.” He listened for a snort of derision or curse behind him but all three of his men remained wisely silent.

They continued toward the homestead. Erik inhaled the breeze, which had shifted to come in off the bay where they’d initially landed. Smoke? The tang registered in his mind, and he broke into a run before he could say the word.

“Brann!” Sten called behind him.

Erik charged forward and crested the ridge to see down into the little valley.

Fire! The homestead was on fire.