Chapter Fourteen

“Patrick Stewart, 2nd Earl of Orkney lived from 1569 to 6 February 1615. The son of Robert Stewart, 1st Earl of Orkney, Patrick adopted his father›s tyrannical approach to governing the islands: though unlike his father he took his political maneuvering a step too far, losing his head in the process, and bringing to an end the short and brutal Stewart dynasty on Orkney and Shetland.”
Undiscovered Scotland.org

Hannah’s heart was already pounding from being so close to Erik, moving around him as if they hadn’t shared the most exquisitely delicious experience of her life the night before. And that she hadn’t tricked him into thinking her already devoid of her maidenhood, revealing she was nearly an old maid.

Now she’d confidently asserted she had some strategy that would win the day for them while not sacrificing Erik’s sister, herself, or her brothers. What that strategy was, she didn’t know. She was acting without having any clear path. If only Cain were there. His brain had been trained to calculate odds and devise unbeatable plans since he could move a chess piece on their father’s board. Gideon, too, would know what to do to maneuver royal minds, since he did so with King James and the chiefs of their allied clans. But neither were there, and now she had Patrick Stewart riding toward them with twenty men.

“Don’t tell Patrick Stewart who I am,” Hannah whispered. “He might take me to control my brothers.” She hmphed. “I hear that men employ the dishonorable tactic often.”

Erik ignored her jab. “Take Eydis and the girls onto the ship.”

Hannah glanced around for Trix and Libby but saw that Frode had already shooed them up the plank leading to the Seieren’s deck, and Eydis was already aboard.

Hannah turned back to Erik. “Don’t get killed,” she said and walked away.

Erik called something Norwegian, which brought his additional six crewman off the ship. They were all armed with multiple daggers and swords. Their number would make it ten on the ground against twenty on horseback. Terrible odds for normal warriors. Her brothers would still be favored, but Hannah didn’t know how well Erik’s warriors could fight. “They are Wolf Warriors,” she whispered to herself, hoping that meant something.

After the sixth Norwegian soldier trotted off the plank, Hannah strode quickly up it, wondering if she should struggle to pull the board away. But they wouldn’t be able to sail the ship if the Norwegians were killed, and Patrick Stewart would easily find another board for his men to swarm up like ants drawn to honey. Hannah’s stomach churned, and she scooped up Leif’s bow and the quiver of repaired arrows.

“They’re Scots,” Libby said, pointing to the plaid wrap that half the soldiers wore. “But I don’t trust them.”

“Good instincts,” Hannah said, and Libby’s chin lifted with the praise. “That’s Patrick Stewart out front.”

“The one with the floppy hat and pointy beard?” Trix asked.

“Yes.” Hannah watched the man in his mid-thirties dressed in velvets and silk, sitting on a sleek bay horse. He was of medium height and build, and had dark, shifting eyes.

“They call him Black Patie,” Eydis whispered. “Because his heart is black as wet coal.”

Hannah would order the girls to hide, but they’d already been seen. “If Patrick’s men make it past Erik, get away from them as best you can,” Hannah said.

“We will climb up high into the topcastles,” Trix said.

Hannah didn’t tell her that Patrick would send his men up the poles to carry them down. “Go find as many weapons onboard ship as you can,” she said instead. “Eydis can shoot, too, if you find another bow.”

Trix and Libby ran off with their important mission. Eydis stood next to Hannah, trembling slightly, but the girl didn’t run off to hide. Hannah nocked an arrow, one she quickly inspected to make sure the feathers were attached. She kept it down by her side, partially hidden by the gunwale.

“Who are ye, causing mischief on my isle?” Patrick called.

“I am Erik Halverson on a mission from King Christian of Denmark. Our ship was blown off course in the storm four nights ago. We will depart after I am certain the Pedersen family, who sheltered us, is treated well here on this isle.” He indicated the heraldic crest. “Earl Patrick Stewart.”

“Six of my men went missing after visiting that homestead,” Patrick said.

“They attacked a farmer, setting his barn ablaze. One had attacked the daughter, a mere child, with carnal intent,” Erik said. Hannah squeezed Eydis’s hand where it curled around the rail.

“The farmer didn’t pay his taxes, and the daughter is a whore.” Patrick’s face took on a red complexion that showed his well-known bad temper. The men beside him held the same frown. Hannah’s heart sped as their gazes shifted beyond Erik and his men to land on her and Eydis on the ship.

“I’ll drown myself before I let them take me,” Eydis whispered next to her.

Hannah wasn’t sure what her choice would be. She’d been taught that where there was life there was hope, but she hadn’t been assaulted like this young woman. “Kill as many as you can first,” Hannah whispered back.

Her words seemed to make Eydis stand straighter. “From your lips to God’s ears to my hands,” she whispered.

Breathing heavily, Libby and Trix came running back on the deck. They carried three bows and more arrows, dropping them at Hannah’s feet. “There are swords too,” Trix said.

Libby plopped down on a crate, her hand to her heart in a dramatic gesture of exhaustion. “But they were heavy, and we thought you could do more damage with arrows.”

Eydis quickly picked a bow up and nocked an arrow. “We can pluck them off one by one if they come up the plank.”

“Or even along the waterfront,” Trix said.

Erik slowly drew his sword, apparently deciding there was no negotiating with a liar. The heat of anger on behalf of Eydis and her family, on behalf of many Shetland natives up through the string of northern isles, grew inside Hannah. If Patrick Stewart wanted war today, she would add her skill to Erik’s Wolf Warriors. She lifted her arrow, pointing at the man next to Patrick who leered their way.

“Your men attacked innocent people for their own gains. So their bodies are being feasted on by sharks and eels now.”

“Except for one head,” Hannah yelled out. “Which stands guard against other cruel, lying uilebheistean.”

“Monsters for certain,” Trix said, picking up a bow that was as big as her.

Patrick’s gaze shifted to Hannah, and he narrowed his eyes. “She’s Scots, a Highlander. We’ll take her too.”

“And I will shoot this arrow straight through your eye, Black Patie, traitor to King James along with your bastard father, Robert Stewart,” Hannah said with words so forceful she imagined them as arrows. Words, and the way they were spoken, could weaken an enemy before the first sword strike. If they survived the day, she’d order the Wolf Warriors to come up with something to say like her brothers reciting the Horsemen part of Revelations from the bible.

Patrick chuckled. “Feisty wench. I’ll bring ye to heel.”

“And I’ll cut your floppy cod off and shove it down your screaming throat,” Hannah called back with cold, calm words that seemed to spread across the group of men like a wave of wide eyes and some grins. Joshua would be proud, although when he threw out grotesque threats, no one grinned. Gideon would shake his head, but no one found his threats humorous. Bloody hell, she missed her brothers. And if she died out here, they’d never know what had become of her.

Libby came up alongside her. “Look how worried they are.”

“You’re definitely a sister of The Horsemen,” Trix added with a sharp nod. “Tell them you’ll…shred their hearts with your sgian dubh.”

“No,” Libby said, “your fingernails.”

But Hannah was listening to Erik’s cold words. “I understand that you, Earl Patrick Stewart, are a wanted man in Scotia. That you and your father are ordered to Edinburgh to stand trial for treason against your king.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes. “Keep to your own politics, Dane.”

“We’re Norwegian,” Nial said. “Wolf Warriors for our king and dowager-queen in Denmark.”

At the name Wolf Warriors, faces of several of Patrick’s men snapped to Erik and the three other men on either side of him. They apparently had heard of them, and their sudden mutinous uncertainty showed clearly in their faces.

“The Wolf Warriors will shred your hearts,” Hannah said slowly, her voice strong but even. Her hard stare without moving made it look like a fact rather than some fantastical exaggeration.

“With their fingernails,” Libby whispered, but Hannah didn’t add it.

“I don’t answer to Wolf Warriors,” Patrick said, ignoring her. The man next to Patrick said something that sounded more guttural, like he spoke in Gaelic, but Hannah couldn’t hear the words.

Patrick’s face was sharp with hatred, and he met Erik’s gaze directly. “You and your women are fortunate I feel lenient today. Be gone at the high tide, and I won’t persecute you for the slaughter of six of my good men, though I will be charging you with the crime and reporting it to my king.”

Eydis released a breath of relief next to Hannah.

“Would that be King James or your father?” Erik asked. His tone showed plainly he didn’t appreciate Patrick’s leniency.

“It’s like he wants to fight,” Libby murmured.

“Cain Sinclair wouldn’t back down,” Trix pointed out. “Even if he were outnumbered.”

“Frode won’t let them get to us anyway,” Libby said, shrugging.

“Neither will Sten,” Trix added with every confidence.

Eydis glanced at Hannah, and she wished her eyes reflected the assurance that the girls had.

“Maybe we should pull the plank in.” Libby looked to Hannah.

She nodded, and the little girls ran to the board. They grunted as they struggled to slide it from the dock. Trix was nearly launched into the air as the weight of the board, freed from the dock, pulled it down toward the water. Eydis ran over, catching the end and the three pulled it onto the deck.

It was comical, but not a single chuckle came from the tense group behind Patrick. And Hannah certainly didn’t find it humorous knowing people were destined to die today. But she would do anything to make certain it wasn’t the three girls on deck with her.

“Sail away now, Norwegian,” Patrick said, “or die. ’Tis your choice.”

Erik said something to his men in their language. He didn’t keep his voice down, but Hannah didn’t understand it. Eydis gasped, and two of Patrick’s men quietly turned their horses around and walked away as if back to Scalloway, causing the men around them to murmur. One called after them, but they continued, picking up speed as they fled.

“What’s that?” Patrick demanded. “Speak in English, barbarian.”

“To show support for our dowager-queen’s daughter, Queen Anne, now of Scotland, I arrest you, Patrick Stewart, for your crimes against your people and your treason against your sovereign.” Erik took two steps closer to the man on horseback. “You are coming with us.”

Erik stared up at the finely dressed aristocrat. Dowager-Queen Sophie would like the Scot’s horse, too, but he hadn’t brought food for more than Hannah’s horse.

Patrick’s lip curled back like a dog about to attack. “Ye are a foking idiot, Halverson,” the rotten Earl said. “I rule this isle and will control Orkney soon enough. Ye’re outnumbered, and I’ve run out of patience.” He drew his sword as if to strike Erik from his seat. It was all Erik and his men needed to signal the start of a battle.

Erik knew that a man wielding a long sword on horseback was unbalanced. Unless he practiced and honed his skill, he was easily toppled. With one yank and lift of the man’s boot out of his stirrup, Patrick Stewart flew over the far side of his horse, knocking against the seated man next to him before thudding to the ground in a tangled heap with the horses’ legs. His horse sidestepped away as his master’s sword clattered on the worn flagstones built into the edge of the meadow.

Without waiting, Erik’s men flew into action. Using their steel-plated shields, his six crew ran among the men on horseback.

“Slå hjertet!” Erik’s men yelled their battle cry as they used their shields to protect their heads while slashing the legs of Patrick’s men. They snarled and showed their teeth. Erik hadn’t brought his wolf’s hood off the ship, but Wolf Warriors didn’t need the skin of their spirit animal to attack with the vicious strength and cunning of the magnificent animal.

Many of Patrick’s men wore the Highland wraps, leaving their legs devoid of any protection, not that a pair of breeches would sufficiently defend against the slash of a honed sword. Some of Stewart’s men screamed, wheeling their horses around.

Nial rotated his sword in the air in the figure eight pattern they practiced, but he wouldn’t run into the fray like that. There would be no loss of equine life if they could help it. Noble beasts who had no control over who feeds and houses them were to be protected if possible.

Frode and Sten ran in low, yanking men off horses. Those who chose to fight them lost quickly while a few retreated. The numbers were changing in Erik’s favor quicker than he’d anticipated.

Patrick yelled something in Gaelic to two large men, and they dodged toward the cottage housing the old man with the vegetable garden. Erik must keep his focus on the leader, though. Capturing a man was trickier than killing him. Erik sheathed his sword and stepped toward Patrick. The man struck, and Erik easily deflected it with his shield. The foolish Scot didn’t seem to carry any defensive weapons. Erik shoved his steel shield into Patrick, throwing the man off-balance with the force. He fell to the ground where he cursed wildly, trying to avoid the hooves of the confused, prancing horses.

As if flying, Frode ran past Erik toward the ship, his arms pumping. “Go to Hell!” Frode yelled in Norse as he swung at one of the two men who were trying to board their ship. The other one crouched to grab the underside of a mast beside the cottage wall, the one the old man had tried to sell them. Even though it was too short for the Seieren, it was long enough to replace the plank the wee girls had yanked onboard.

Patrick rolled, leaping up to raise his sword again, making Erik draw his own. The old grumpy fellow with the garden ran out of his cottage, yelling at Patrick’s man to drop the mast. But the soldier picked it up as if it were a caber at the Sinclair’s Harvest Festival to drop it across the space between dock and ship.

Erik deflected several two-handed strikes from Patrick, unable to aid Frode in stopping the Scotsman. The wooden mast fell across. Crack! It hit perfectly.

“Ye’re going to break it, ye oaf!” the old man yelled and threw a turnip at the man.

Two more of Patrick’s men ran past to reach the ship, shoving the old man out of the way.

Thwack! Erik glanced up to see the one who’d dropped the mast fall from it into the water. He couldn’t see the bastard, but from the look on Hannah’s face, Erik guessed he had an arrow sticking out of his chest. Hannah quickly nocked another arrow beside Eydis, her gaze following the two who now attacked Frode. The girls were trying to dislodge the mast while the old man yelled at them not to drop it in the water.

Erik parried another clumsy thrust of Patrick’s. “I’d have thought you were a better fighter, Stewart,” Erik called as he shoved the man back. “Having survived the Horseman of War’s wish to see you dead.” He’d heard the legendary tale from the Sinclair men at Girnigoe.

At the name of the Sinclair, Patrick’s red, angry face drained of color, leaving him ashen. He tried to strike again, but it seemed he barely had the strength to lift his sword. Had merely the name of the Horseman frightened the man?

Patrick backed off, sucking in large draughts of air. His chest rose and fell as if he wished to collapse into a seat and order a bracing cup of whisky. “Did he send ye then? Sinclair? Joshua Sinclair? Send ye here to Shetland for me?”

The thought seemed to scare the piss out of him. More so than the fact he was face-to-face with and fighting the leader of Norway’s Wolf Warriors. Erik frowned.

“He was dead, ye know,” Patrick said. “I watched him be buried in the foking ground.” The genuine fear in Patrick’s face surprised Erik.

“Did you run away to Shetland when you saw him return to Orkney, Stewart?” Erik asked. “Did you abandon your father to The Horseman of War come back to life and sail away to hide here in your tower, abusing the populace?”

Patrick didn’t answer. Behind him, Frode sliced through one attacker and Hannah shot the other. The girls cheered at the rail while the old man tried to drag his mast back. Before he could dump it in the sea himself, Frode lifted it to carry back to his cottage, the old man following behind.

Sten, Nial, and the Seieren’s crew had killed or routed the rest of Patrick’s little army. Erik sheathed his sword and used his shield to knock Patrick’s aside, leaving the man open to a deadly strike. Erik grabbed the man by the neck, squeezing enough to make it impossible for him to talk.

“You are my prisoner now, and your people are set free,” Erik said and grabbed the man’s arm, dragging him toward the ship.

Nial mopped his sweaty face. “What do we have here?” He took hold of Patrick so Erik could find a rope along the dock.

Erik wrenched Patrick’s hands behind his back, tying them together. “We have a gift for Dowager-Queen Sophie to give to her daughter, Anne, Queen of Scotland.”

He glanced toward his ship, his gaze meeting Hannah’s. Relief was in her eyes as she hugged Trix and Libby to her, but there was unease there, too, because she knew what Erik must admit to himself.

A gift of Patrick Stewart wouldn’t replace the sister of the Sinclair Horsemen.