Chapter Sixteen

“The Viking war cry was an essential part of the Viking warrior’s arsenal. It was a battle cry that was designed to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, and it was often accompanied by the beating of drums, blowing of horns, and other loud and intimidating sounds. The war cry was used to rally the Vikings and boost their morale, as well as to intimidate and demoralize their enemies.”
ModernMan.com

Erik had lost his mind. Again.

His arm wrapped around Hannah’s middle while she faced the hull’s wall, her skirts bunched up and his breeches undone to give his cod its randy freedom. Her sweet breast rested in his free hand. He cupped and teased her nipple until she quivered. Their passion had taken them like a storm, and there had been nothing to do but hold on and ride it out until they both peaked and their passion ebbed like a retreating tide.

Erik liked to think of himself as restrained, careful with strategy, and disciplined. But nothing about his passion for Hannah Sinclair followed any of his better characteristics. With her, a need to touch her, to bury his face in her hair and his cod in her slick heat, took over everything.

She leaned forward, her hands flat against the wooden hull, and he slid one hand past the layers of petticoat to the place of their joining. She gasped as he brushed against her hidden nub, so sensitive and waiting for some attention. He rubbed across it rapidly, listening to her breathing grow raspy and shallow. Caught between wanting to arch backward into him and forward against the friction of his fingers, Hannah stood helpless while he took his pleasure and teased out her own.

Erik’s mouth fell onto the bared skin at the base of her neck, kissing and sucking upon it. She moaned and thrust toward his fingers in front and then back against his pelvis, and he found the rhythm to match the movement. Faster and harder, they plunged together, the heat and friction raising the intensity until her gasp fell over into a moan. The clenching around him pulled him over the edge into his own release, and he buried his face in the back of her hair, inhaling like a bull in a rose patch.

His arm wrapped around her middle to hold her against him as he curved over her back. Their rhythm slowed into long, languid ins and outs, and he kissed the delicate skin on the side of her slender neck, marveling in its softness. “Smoother than the costliest silk,” he murmured.

He pulled a rag from his belt, pressing it into her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he stepped back, allowing her to drop her petticoats. Her breasts were still perched on top, looking luscious, and he had the need to suck on them.

He moved forward, kissing her lips. “We should put those away before I ravish you again.” Her smile made his chest open, and he felt lighter in the glow of it.

“Another ravishment?” Her brows rose with her teasing voice. “Perhaps there is time for that now.” She plumped her hands under her breasts, and Erik felt his cod twitch.

Nial might opine that she was merely using him for his seed to get out of wedding a man at the Danish court. But she wants her child to have my eyes. The thought made him step up to her, bending to kiss her lips gently.

A noise in the corner made him pivot, but then he remembered her horse tethered in the one stall that he’d had built for his own horse, which he’d left this time in Norway. Hannah’s mare tossed its head and nickered.

Someone cleared their throat. “All done down here?” came a voice speaking Bokmål.

Erik spun around to see Nial’s head poked through the hatch as if he bent double to peer down before climbing.

“By the devil, Nial,” Erik swore and turned back to Hannah. She’d already tugged her bodice back into place. Her hair was askew, but everyone’s hair was misshapen when sailing. The wind tangled knots and sucked out pins.

Nial held a lantern and jumped down the last two rungs, landing with a thump. He turned, a wry grin on his mouth. “There are no secrets on a ship, Erik. You know that.”

“We were talking,” Erik said, which was only a half lie, since they had exchanged words. Wicked words.

Erik glanced at Hannah, who now held a horse’s brush. “And grooming my horse,” she said, holding it up. Her face was innocent enough, but her petticoats held deep wrinkles from being rucked up around her waist, pressed between them with vigor and heat. Faen. Just the thought made him long for her nipples.

“Well, you can thank me for keeping the innocent children at the other end of the ship while you two talked.”

“I will finish with Loinneil and come above soon,” Hannah said, stepping into the stall.

“I will see you above,” Erik said, and Nial stood aside while he climbed the ladder into the evening calm, the gentle wind barely filling the sails.

Nial followed him up, lowering his voice. “You might want to tie your trousers.”

“Faen,” Erik cursed and yanked the ties closed.

“We are two days out from the strait before Kronborg,” Nial said. “Our army of two hundred will be stationed at the docks. Another two thousand over the ridge beyond with platoons riding between Kronborg and the docks to ensure the dowager-queen’s safety. They will be waiting for your orders once we land.” Nial cocked his head to the side. “Do you know yet what those orders will be?”

Trix and Libby sat with Frode and Sten at the stern of the ship. Trix and Libby gestured as they spoke over each other, but their smiles showed no fear or agitation.

“I will soon,” Erik said.

Nial exhaled. “If you don’t have a new plan,” Nial said, walking next to him, “we will continue with the plan we started with. Deliver Hannah in exchange for Iselin, and if the Sinclair Horsemen land and attack, we kill them.”

They dodged thick coiled ropes and the other crewmen as they kept the ship on course. “We will come up with a better plan,” Erik grumbled as they approached the children.

“Really?” Trix asked Frode. “You say nothing?”

“How does your enemy even know you’re the Wolf Warriors?” Libby asked, hands landing on her hips in her favorite chastising pose.

“We have a banner,” Sten said, his face snapping around until he saw their flag flapping high on a mast. “’Tis a wolf’s head.”

“We don’t need a banner,” Libby said. Her hands shot out before her as if depicting a wedge. “We have four armies with the horses divided by color. White, bay, black, and pale green. Like in the Bible.”

Frode took a drink from a flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “There are no such thing as green horses.” It was likely nothing stronger than watered-down ale.

Erik turned at Hannah’s step behind him. “They are gray and white horses,” she said, stopping next to the girls. Her hair had been tidied, but her skirts were still quite wrinkled. “Bàs’s men use a mixture made from green plants to paint on their horses before battle,” she explained, looking at Frode. “When they appear greenish gray, riding together, the effect is—”

“Terrifying,” Trix said with a big grin and wide eyes, “with Bàs Sinclair, The Horseman of Death, riding in front of them, his skull mask over his face and his sword and ax strapped across his bare, tattooed back.”

“And Joshua, The Horseman of War.” Libby threw her arms up as if Hannah’s second brother was a giant. “He rides a bay horse the color of fire, and he spouts off curses and throws his sword about so that everyone in his path quakes.”

“Gideon rides a shiny black horse and Cain rides Seraph, a beautiful white horse,” Trix added. “Although Seraph is as deadly as the other horses.” She looked at Hannah. “Keenan once told me he saw Seraph bash a man’s skull in during battle.”

“How is that possible?” Libby asked, hands back on her little hips.

“The bastard had fallen off his horse, and Seraph trampled him.”

“I doubt Cait would want you cursing, Trix,” Hannah said, and the little girl covered her mouth as if to suck the word “bastard” back in, but she smiled behind her hand.

Sten leaned against the gunwale with his arms crossed. “And they ride in separate armies by horse color?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. “’Tis intimidating and sometimes stops a battle before it begins. The other army hears my brothers roar the words from Revelations in the bible, and they surrender before blood can be spilled.”

Frode snorted. “Cowards.”

Hannah’s gaze slid to him, hardening. “When you hear them recite the words of Revelations about God sending the Horsemen of Conquest, War, Justice, and Death down to conquer the world, let me know if the hair on your nape prickles and chill bumps race across your skin.”

Frode frowned back at her, but when she glanced away, his hand went up to rub the back of his neck as if the hairs were already standing on end.

“So, what do you call out before you charge at the enemy?” Libby asked, trying to climb up on a stack of crates to sit. Her foot slipped. Frode stood and wordlessly picked her up around the waist and seated her carefully on the top before regaining his own seat.

Nial cleared his throat. “We yell our war cry, slå hjertet.”

In unison, Trix and Libby repeated it.

“What does it mean?” Libby asked.

The men looked at Erik who was the one most knowledgeable about English translations. “Strike the heart.”

“Strike the heart!” Trix yelled, pretending to thrust a sword into an imaginary foe. She smiled broadly at Erik and nodded. “I like it. That would be buail an cridhe in Gaelic.”

Sten and Frode repeated the Gaelic words, while Nial’s mouth moved in silent repetition.

Frode looked at Nial and then Erik and spoke in Bokmål. “We should come up with some biblical words to herald us. It sounds effective.”

“Are there wolves in the Bible?” Sten asked.

“English, please,” Libby said, rebuke in her tone.

“We are discussing biblical words to herald us as you suggest,” Sten said.

“We could use Norse mythology instead with Sköll and Hati or Geri and Freki,” Frode said.

“Those are names of wolves?” Trix asked.

Hannah nodded. “Yes, from Norse mythology.” Her gaze met Erik’s. “But if my brothers are speaking their ominous biblical passage and you’re yelling your stories about wolves it might seem…comical.”

Frode crossed his arms. “Not if we say ours first.”

“But,” Libby said, “you don’t have anything to say.”

Erik watched the storm clouds gather on his men’s faces.

“We will,” Frode mumbled in Bokmål.

Erik leaned against the rail and looked out at the calm water. They weren’t moving fast with the weak breeze, but he wasn’t anxious to reach Denmark anyway. The water reflected the muted sun as it began its descent to the horizon edge. “So, is that part of your plan, Hannah? To have us frighten your brothers long enough that we can talk to them?”

Her voice came from behind him, calm and poetic as a sunset on still water. “My brothers do not become frightened. The only thing that makes them pause is surrender.”

“Surrender?” Nial asked, anger lacing the word.

“The Sinclair Horsemen do not slaughter those who drop their weapons,” Hannah said. Erik could tell without turning that she looked toward him, speaking to him.

“Wolf Warriors don’t, either,” Sten said and one of them let out a gusty exhale.

“If you both lay down your weapons, there will be no slaughter,” Hannah said.

“Faen i helvete,” Frode said.

“Dritt!” Sten said at the same time.

“Those were all curse words,” Libby said, and Erik could imagine her wagging a finger at his large, tattooed friends.

Erik turned, crossing his arms to tuck his hands in his armpits, and leaned back against the rail. The breeze ruffled Hannah’s silky, blond hair. Her cheeks were rose-hued either from their exertions below or the wind above. Big blue eyes set in an angel’s face stared at him, waiting. He was the leader of this mission, leader of the Wolf Warriors of Norway. What he said would be what his waiting army would do, unless his three friends, his three generals, chose to abandon their oaths to follow him. Erik could feel their stares.

“What exactly would that look like?” Erik asked.

Hannah inhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. “We land north of where you said for my brothers to land, and your army waits nearby.”

Erik gave one slow nod. His army of two thousand would be camped near the coast southwest of Kronborg Castle where Sophie watched and waited, sending provisions out to them. With Erik’s withdrawal from the Swedish border, the king’s advisors had panicked and sent their army into Norway. Sophie must have had to answer for that, but Peter Kaas was definitely on her side of the conflict between the dowager-queen and the regents for her son, King Christian.

Hannah continued, holding his stare. “Then we proceed to the meeting point. Your armies will no doubt outnumber ours, since we must sail across. The Wolf Warrior leaders ride forward and…wave a flag of pure white.”

“Dritt,” Sten said again.

“My brothers will be surprised enough not to attack outright,” Hannah said, her words growing faster to combat his men’s agitation. “I’ll come forward with you and explain that we must save Iselin from Sophie and Peter Kaas.” She glanced at Frode and then back to Erik. “I will tell them what’s going on, and Gideon will help explain to Sophie that we do not plan to take over Scotland. Once everyone talks, Iselin will be released, and the girls and I…” Hannah swallowed. “We will go home to Girnigoe.”

“Our armies will turn against us if we surrender,” Nial said calmly. “They will not stand for it, especially when we so obviously outnumber those coming to our shores.”

Hannah didn’t look at Nial but kept Erik’s gaze. “I believe they have respect for Erik Halverson,” she said, “and his men who have led them safely while keeping Sweden from encroaching into Norway. I think they would follow the Wolf Warriors to Hell if need be.”

“That’s what surrender would be,” Sten said, his voice hard as frozen granite. “Hell.”

Erik rubbed his jaw. “Wolf Warriors do not surrender.” He looked directly at Hannah, hoping his words alone would crack through. “I do not surrender.”

Hannah’s brows furrowed. On her cherubic face, it made her look like a young girl dismayed with finding her doll dropped in a puddle. She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Cain will pause when he sees the white flag,” she said. “Everything he does is calculating. And Gideon.”

“They would see our flag as the trickery it is,” Nial said, shaking his head. “Your brother of war would know the odds are against them with our thousands. He cannot be fooled.”

“How about we kill that one?” Frode said. “Joshua? He’d probably piss on our white flag and plan to splatter it red with our blood.”

Hannah’s furrow smoothed, and she seemed to almost smile. “Killing Joshua would be nearly impossible, but he would find favor with your description, Frode.” She crossed her arms but pointed one finger at him. “Actually, you two would probably like each other if you were on the same side of this disaster.”

Disaster. That’s what this was. How could Erik surrender to a small group of Highlanders on Denmark-Norway land? It was preposterous and inconceivable. He drew in a deep breath. “We will get Iselin back as soon as we land, leaving Hannah in exchange at the Danish court.” He crossed his arms. “Then my army will withdraw far enough back that the Sinclairs can land and march to Kronborg Castle to retrieve their sister.”

“Kaas won’t allow our withdrawal,” Nial said.

“Our scouts will see Swedes trying to cross during the night north of Kronborg, and we respond by marching that way.” Erik waved a dismissive hand as if the excuse would be easily accepted. “With the Danish armies being sent to Norway since we were called to Denmark, the Wolf Warriors would certainly defend the Swedish border in southern Norway. Without our army close at hand, Chancellor Kaas and Sophie will settle for peace over war, especially at sword point. And Hannah can stop her brothers from acting against them.”

His gaze slid to his men. “No one need surrender.”

Frode dropped his head in his hands, obviously relieved. Sten nodded, and Nial released a gusty breath. Hannah looked at Erik. Did she think his plan would work? She gave no indication.

One of the sailors spoke to Nial, and Nial turned to them. “There is stew below. We should take nourishment.”

Libby thumped her heels absently on the crate where she sat, and her arms went out to Frode, who helped her down. Trix slid into Hannah’s arms as if feeling the chill of possible war.

Hannah hugged the little girl back, her lips tight as she met Erik’s gaze. “With the delay on Shetland, let us hope we still reach Denmark before my brothers.”

Erik couldn’t read her expression. Where there had been such raw passion below, up here in the light of war, with talks of slaughter and surrender, her face was pale, her brows drawn, and her lips pressed tight. He would do anything to see her bright and laughing again like when they walked in the meadow at the foot of the clootie-well hill.

Anything except surrender.