Chapter Eighteen

“Úlfheðnar (pronounced “oolv-HETH-nahr”), Norse warriors who wore wolf skin, went armor-less into battle and were as crazed as wolves and as strong as bears or bulls. They bit their shields and slew men, while they themselves were harmed by neither fire nor iron. This is called “going berserk.”
Ynglinga Saga, Snorri Sturluson,
thirteenth century

“Tell the men to stand down,” Erik told Nial as the man waited to disembark at Helsingør, Denmark where several deep-water slips allowed the ships to unload and load goods. “There’s at most thirty men on the Sinclair ship.” And there were two hundred Wolf Warriors waiting at the docks with another two thousand Norwegian warriors over the ridge to the southwest past Kronborg Castle.

“And three lethal women on top of the one who swung across,” Nial said. He didn’t look worried, though. What was thirty men and four lethal women, even with the Horseman of Death, when the Wolf Warriors had faced down hordes of Swedes barreling down on them during border raids?

“I’ll let the other women and girls disembark as soon as ’tis safe. They’re not prisoners, only Hannah,” Erik said, watching the Scottish sailors scurry about their ship, lowering the sails to slow their movement toward the dock. Erik’s gaze slid to Hannah, who stood on his upper deck, watching her kinsmen skillfully aim the mid-sized warship toward the slip. The wind tugged at her golden hair, and the blue Norwegian costume made her look like a lovely, simple maid instead of a pawn in this dangerous political game.

His fingers curled along the rail. Nothing about her was simple, especially not this anxious knot tugging inside him when he thought of her being married off to Peter Kaas. I won’t let it happen.

Nial slapped his hand down on Erik’s shoulder and leaned in toward his ear. “Don’t give her up to anyone until we have your sister back.”

Erik turned his face to his friend, noting the question in the arch of his brows. “I know the plan,” he said, feeling his teeth clench.

Nial’s gaze was like a sharp blade, unbending. “The plan didn’t have you bedding the woman. She’s less valuable now that she’s not a virgin.” Nial quirked his head to the side. “Which you knew.”

Erik stared back at him. “Do you believe all women are chattel, their worth tied to their maidenhood?”

A ruddiness came to Nial’s cheeks, and he dropped his hand. “Chattel, nay. But Hannah Sinclair is a mission first, a mission to save your own sister. She’s a woman second.”

Erik looked out over his disciplined warriors, each wearing a tunic with a wolf head embroidered on it. “We are friends from childhood, Nial Kristiansen,” he said, keeping his grip on the rail so he wouldn’t punch him. “But don’t forget I am your commander.”

Nial didn’t move for a moment. “Aye, I know. Just watching your back, Erik.” He turned, marching across the wide planks to the dock where several senior warriors waited to hear the news and plan for the approaching foreign ship.

The women who’d come, Hannah’s sisters by marriage, had not played the warriors back on Scotia, although he’d seen evidence of their skill. But even the pregnant one had taken to the sea to follow Hannah, and at least three babes had been brought because they were still nursing. Erik could only imagine the height of Bàs’s protests. The man hadn’t stood a chance against all four women working together to make the voyage happen as quickly as possible. They’d probably departed as soon as the storm blew itself out, making their crossing in five days instead of the nine it took Seieren to cross due to their time on Shetland. Those days of worry had fueled the Sinclair women’s anger and determination to rescue Hannah.

Right now, Nial was telling his generals they were not to kill the Highlanders and Horseman who came off the Scottish ship. Killing women, especially women who Queen Anne sponsored, one being pregnant and two carrying babes, ran counter to the plan Sophie and Peter Kaas had laid out to help her daughter as Queen of Scotland. And Erik would never allow the slaughter of women and children. Even if his ancestors had been cruel in raids, Erik had trained his Wolf Warriors to honor life, not blatantly destroy it.

Bàs Sinclair, the Horseman of Death, stared across at his sister. As long as he didn’t attack, Erik was reluctant to kill the great warrior for seeking to rescue Hannah. He couldn’t fault Bàs Sinclair for doing what he, himself, was doing.

Hannah escorted the girls and Cait Sinclair toward him and the plank to disembark. Cait walked behind Trix and Libby, her arms around their shoulders as if she worried they might disappear again. Before they even reached him, Hannah was shaking her head. “He’s already put on his skull mask, and they’ve led his horse, Dòchas, up from below.”

“He also has his ax out,” Trix said. She imitated Hannah by shaking her head, which made her two braids swing. One braid hit Libby, making the girl huff and lean away.

Cait stopped before Erik and looked between Hannah and him, her lips pinched. Was the woman so perceptive that she’d noticed the strained glances between them? She exhaled as if making up her mind. “Bàs will likely take you on as soon as he disembarks.” Cait glanced behind him at the assembled army of his elite warriors. “I’ve never seen him so agitated and irrational before. Once he’s made up his mind, he swings immediately.”

Like Erik had been when he’d found Iselin missing, and he’d torn apart their homestead cottage with impotent fury. “I understand,” Erik said, meeting Cait’s gaze. “I have a sister in jeopardy as well. ’Tis not an easy feeling, this helplessness.”

“Exactly,” Cait said. “None of the brothers do well under that feeling. Their father went mad under its weight.”

He looked between them both. “How do you suggest I proceed?”

Cait’s lips dropped open a bit, her brow rising as she glanced at Hannah. “The walking Norse corpse is asking for suggestions?” She turned back to Erik. “That’s what Kára named you.” She gave a little smile and tipped her head at Hannah. “Hannah will have to advise you on Bàs, though. She practically raised him and knows him best, maybe even better than his wife.”

Cait’s gaze snapped past Erik to the plank. “Be careful!” She dodged around him. They turned to see Sten and Frode pick up Trix and Libby, carrying them across the narrow bridge to the dock. Hannah didn’t try to follow.

“Suggestions?” Erik asked her.

“Let me go talk to him.”

“A suggestion other than me releasing you.”

Hannah frowned. “I’m sure your hundreds of men could get me back from him.”

“Aye, but you could be hurt, and he would be killed, which I believe we are trying to prevent.”

Hannah reached into her pocket, pulling out a scrap of plaid. It looked like she’d ripped it from the ruined costume she’d been wearing when he took her from Scotia. She knotted it and handed it to Erik. The brush of her fingers against his made him want to clutch them. They lingered, but then she pulled away. “Give him that. Throw it at him once you get a few feet away.”

“I’ll hand it to him,” Erik said. “He’s not some diseased beast who will leap on my throat with gnashing teeth.” Like the legends of the first úlfheðnar who fought like wolves in battle.

“Bàs is excellent with a sword and ax, and he gives no warning before executing whom he feels is guilty. Every head he lops off has a surprised look on it. Just throw the scrap at him and point out that ’tis knotted.”

“What does the knot mean?” Erik asked, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Not to act. ’Tis a system we have worked out with colors and knots. And if he’s thinking rationally, he’d know I’d never tell you what it means.” Even though she just did.

Erik led Hannah off the ship. One of his men brought over Erik’s sleekly muscled, black horse, Loki, named after the troublesome god from the old legends. Loki had been wild at first, but they’d trained together, saving each other on the border with Sweden more than once.

“Have you gotten into mischief while I’ve been away?” he asked.

Loki tossed his head, and Erik slid his hand along the planes of his angular face, scratching the jawline in his favorite spot. Loki’s nostrils flared as if taking in the scent of his travels. Did he smell Hannah on him?

“Stand back, milady,” Nial said, taking a more formal tone with Hannah now that they were on Danish land.

Erik threw his leg up in a practiced move and mounted his warhorse. Feeling a weighty gaze, he turned in the saddle to see Bàs staring at him as his green horse was led off their ship. He’d lifted his skull mask to rest on top of his head like some macabre helmet. Hard emotions sat in the narrowed eyes, emotions that summed to a promise of death. Like staring down the brutish Swedish commander before battle, Erik let Bàs’s look release him from any guilt about having to kill the man. Faen. Except that he was Hannah’s beloved brother, the one she raised like her own child.

Erik broke the stare and turned toward his men. He raised his fist in the air. “Wolf Warriors,” he boomed in Bokmål.

The two hundred gathered warriors shot their own fists in the air, bellowing. “Slå hjertet!” their war cry. Then, in unison, they thumped their chest once, the thud loud like the dull beat of a giant’s heart.

The atmosphere was thick with waiting, and the gazes of his men before him turned toward the dock. Bàs Sinclair, the Horseman of Death, clopped across the pier on his pale green horse. The horse tipped its nose down, its mane ruffling in the breeze, and lifted its feet high in a beautiful display of restrained power. One could almost imagine the great beast unfurling a set of wings to attack from above.

Bàs halted before Erik’s gathered army, and his voice boomed out from the skull mask that he’d lowered over the top portion of his face. “When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, ‘Come!’ I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death.”

Not a man answered him. They stood, unmoving.

And then the Sinclair warrior repeated the bible verse in Latin, the words as strong. Several men in the group leaned to others to hear the translation of either English or Latin, but it was clear that the tone and presentation had caught their full attention, possibly attacking their courage.

“See.” Hannah tapped his leg, and he looked down to her upturned face. “You need a poem or something about wolves. Something as ominous as Revelations.”

“There’s nothing as ominous as Revelations,” he murmured. “And we have a war cry.”

She looked out at Bàs who remained mounted while the sisters came to stand beside him. Had she realized that her hand remained on his calf? “Quite right, but we should look for something…a bit longer.”

She tipped her face back to him, and he studied her calm, angel face. We? Was she on the side of the Wolf Warriors then? Never. Like a mother with her child, there was no doubt that Hannah Sinclair would die to protect Bàs and probably all her brothers.

“I still think I should go up to him first,” Hannah said.

“Stay with Nial,” he said from atop his horse.

“I’m not the one he wants to slay,” she muttered, dropping her hand from his leg.

“I will take care,” he said. The Swedish Hussars, riding down icy slopes like avenging angels, had been known to send soldiers to their graves by making their hearts explode with fright. One Horseman was not a problem. Although one or two of his youngest men looked scared enough to piss themselves as Bàs swung his ax in an arch over the heads of his wife and sisters, making it whistle against the breeze. The women stood still, staring out, holding their own weapons, trusting Bàs not to mistakenly slay them. Their trust was their strength.

Bàs turned his horse toward Erik and spoke low in the same ominous tone he’d used reciting from the bible. “I challenge ye, Erik Halverson, to a contest to the death for the crimes ye’ve committed against my sister.”

Hannah rushed toward Erik, standing beside his horse. “Don’t you dare accept that,” she said with force, poking his leg. Hannah didn’t wait for his reply and turned toward Bàs and her sisters, her voice raised. “There is to be no challenge before discussions.” She hit Erik’s leg again. “Give me the scrap.” No matter his instructions, she’d decided to jump into the middle of this. A glance back at Nial showed the man was confronted by Libby and Trix, both of them with hands on their hips as if they dared him to move past their little frames to get to Hannah.

Hannah punched his calf hard. “Give it to me,” she said in an angry whisper.

Erik handed it down to her. “You don’t trust me to show it.”

“I don’t trust Bàs to see it with vengeance coloring his gaze.”

Hannah waved the scrap. “I’ve knotted it, Bàs. We must have discussions before any bloodshed. I demand it and, since the crime of abduction was done to me, Gideon would surely rule that I am entitled to it by the law.”

“A trial,” Cait called out from where she stood with her daughters. “’Tis a discussion really.”

Frode stepped even with Erik on Loki. “We have no time for a trial,” Frode said. He was so close to Iselin again. She was held in Kronborg Castle to the south, over the hill, less than an hour’s march away. Frode would carry Hannah there himself if he thought Erik would allow it.

Hannah glared at Frode. “Discussion first.”

“A scout would have been sent to Kronborg as soon as our ship was spotted,” Nial said, having made his way around the girls.

“Well, then,” Hannah said, “let’s talk right now.” Hannah turned back to Bàs, her voice raised high. “Erik’s sister is being held by Dowager-Queen Sophie and will be released only if I am traded for her. If you try to interfere, the Wolf Warriors are to kill the Sinclair Horsemen.”

“They will fail.” His voice was hard, uncaring. Right now, Bàs was not at all the compassionate man she’d raised but a warrior who’d been tortured with regret over this past week, regret that had hardened his heart to anything but vengeance.

Hannah took a full breath, her chest rising with the effort of yelling across to him. “You and Erik are both fighting for a sister most beloved, and your sister, me, has decided to help him. So, stand down, brother, Horseman of Death.” Her beautiful face was hard in challenge, like a sculpted masterpiece in marble. “Restrain your ax and help us devise a plan to solve this debacle together. In the name of God and in the name of peace between Denmark-Norway and Scotland.”

Her words reverberated along the dock, spanning out over the gathered men. Strong and without fear, Hannah Sinclair was a fierce beauty, like a Valkyrie from the old legends. If he hadn’t seen it before, Erik truly saw now how she was the sister of the Four Sinclair Horsemen. Foolish pride filled him. Foolish because she wasn’t his, would never be his.

“Stand d—” Trix’s words were stopped behind him, probably by her mother.

Hannah raised the knotted sash high in the air and waited. Everyone waited, not a word even whispered among the two hundred men assembled ahead of the rest of Erik’s army.

Bàs was too far away for Erik to hear any mutterings from him. Erik leaned forward enough to make Loki take a step before he started speaking. “I seek an audience to judge the suspected treason by the Sinclair Horsemen against the Scottish King James and Queen Anne.” Hannah stepped up even with him again.

“As ordered by Dowager-Queen Sophie of Denmark and her chancellor Peter Kaas,” Erik said, his voice booming. He repeated it in the native language of most of his soldiers, Bokmål. There could be no evidence he might lean against Danish royalty, otherwise he and his close commanders would be exiled or executed. Even though they’d been trained to be a deadly defensive unit, King Christian’s advisors didn’t fully trust the Wolf Warriors because of that power. Much like the king and queen of Scotland being wary about their powerful Sinclair Horsemen.

Lady Ella met the shadowed eyes recessed inside Bàs’s half skull mask and commanded such dignity that it was as if they stood on equal ground. She said something to Bàs, quiet words that must have been powerful, because the Horseman of Death lowered his ax, attaching it to a special holder built into his saddle.

Erik heard a gust of relief issue from Hannah’s lips. She touched Erik’s leg. “Is there a building nearby where we can talk, before we march to Kronborg?”

There were several old buildings that lined the cobbled road off the docks. Erik motioned to Nial to follow them toward a two-story meetinghouse raised up on thick pillars so that steps must be climbed to a long porch before the doors. Vertical planks of warm brown oak made up the walls and cut shale fit overlapping to create the pointed roof. Dampness from the fog clung to the steps and wooden rail, making everything slick. The scent of the sea, which was eerily calm, and the remaining mist gripped the scene in silent dread.

Erik dismounted Loki, handing his reins to one of his generals who stood grim-faced. He turned to the Sinclairs. “Lady Ella Sinclair and Horseman Bàs Sinclair, come for discussion. Without weapons.”

“No weapons for ye, either,” Bàs called back.

Erik pulled his sword from the sheath strapped to his back and laid it on the porch. Bàs dismounted and walked forward, leaving his sword and ax behind. Erik pulled his short sword from his side and laid it next to the other. Bàs pulled a dagger from each boot, dropping them at the foot of the steps up to the porch. Ella did the same and so did Nial. Erik knew Hannah had a blade on her, which he wouldn’t ask her to surrender.

“All weapons,” Erik said, looking down from the porch.

“Ye too,” Bàs answered.

Nial lowered his daggers and Ella handed her bow and arrows to Cait Sinclair. Bàs and Erik each produced three more blades hidden upon their bodies. They stared at each other. Was the horseman remembering how they’d dropped their weapons during the harvest festival at Girnigoe? Did the memory flaunt how Erik had infiltrated and tricked the Sinclairs?

Erik held his arms out to the sides. “I have only my fists and cleverness now.”

Bàs made the same gesture and strode to the steps, taking them quickly and entering the room. Erik’s arm slid without thought around Hannah’s shoulders, escorting her to the stairs, Nial leading them up.

Nial entered the room first, going toward the covered windows to open the indoor shutters, letting in light and releasing the musty air inside. The room wasn’t often used, a place to facilitate trading at the docks before the newer post was built with glass windows and proper locks. Erik and Hannah stopped just inside the doorway.

Bàs’s gaze centered on Hannah immediately. Erik dropped his arm, and Hannah strode to Bàs, right into his arms. Her brother was a head taller than her even though she was tall for a woman. He closed his eyes as he hugged her, his mouth dropping to her head to kiss it. “I thought I lost ye,” Bàs said, emotion thick in his voice.

Ella hurried inside and hugged her from behind. “We are so sorry, the ladies and me, to encourage you.” She shook her head. “We came at once.” She released her, but Bàs continued to hold Hannah as if he would never let go.

“I am hearty and well,” Hannah said, pulling back so she could look into Bàs’s eyes. “Truly. No foulness has occurred.”

Bàs’s face hardened as his gaze lifted to fall on Erik. “No foulness? Ye were forced onto a ship after several Sinclairs were knocked unconscious and tied up. No foulness?” The volume of his voice rose, and Erik could imagine the hate and promise of vengeance swirling around like black smoke in the rafters of the pointed ceiling. Bàs lowered his voice and looked down at Hannah. “Ye said ye might be with child.”

Hannah tried to step back, but Bàs wouldn’t let her go, holding her upper arms. “’Twas my will to… I seduced him.”

“Release her,” Erik said, feeling his hands tighten into fists. The man was her brother, but he held her to him like he’d reclaimed some treasured possession.

Bàs raised his daggerlike gaze to Erik although he spoke to his sister. “Ye were a virgin, Hannah, innocent and protected all yer life. What do ye know of seduction? Nay, the fault is his.”

“There is no fault,” Hannah said, her voice firm, and she brought the heel of her boot down on Bàs’s toes. “Let go of me.” She reached up and gripped his earlobe, twisting it.

He grunted and dropped his arms. Only then did she release his ear and tugged on the bottom edge of her bodice as if righting it. She frowned at Bàs. “Do you want me to tell you detail by detail how I convinced Erik to touch me, to pleasure me?”

Bàs’s eyes opened wider as he dropped his gaze to his sister. “Nay!” The word shot out like a defensive blast.

Hannah reached for his arm. “Then you will have to believe me when I say that I encouraged him fully.”

Bàs shook his head. “Ye were a maid.”

“A maid of nearly thirty years old, brother. I am no cloistered nun, yet I’ve been treated as such.” She shook her head. “But that is not what we’re here to discuss.” She looked back at Erik, and he could see the stain on her cheeks. “We must get Erik’s sister free of Kronborg Castle and the Dowager-Queen Sophie. Iselin Halverson was taken a month ago from her homestead in Norway.”

“Two months now,” Nial said, standing next to Erik, his arms crossed.

Erik watched Hannah’s steps, which brought her to the middle between him and her brother. She held her arms out from her body as if trying to hold back two massive forces.

Erik spoke while staring across, meeting Hannah’s beautifully expressive eyes. “To prevent my sister being forced to marry within the Danish court, I was tasked to bring the Four Horsemen of Scotia to heel.”

“Under Denmark’s heel?” Ella asked.

“Aye,” Nial answered. “Iselin’s freedom traded for a way to control the Horsemen. We were tasked to discover if the sister was loved.”

“Which was easy to ascertain,” Erik finished. “Hannah Sinclair is much beloved.”

“And she was unguarded,” Bàs said.

Ella flushed. “A woman must be able to live, too,” she said softly.

“Your village was unguarded,” Erik said. “No roaming patrols.”

“We have no nearby enemies,” Ella said. “There is peace in our land.”

Nial gestured toward her. “Something that worries Queen Anne. The Sinclairs have so many allies, they could mount a civil war against the king and queen.”

Ella looked at Bàs and then Hannah. “Queen Anne worries about a civil war?”

Hannah sighed. “Anne must have said something to her mother or King Christian about King James being uneasy about the Sinclair Horsemen. That our strength, if turned against the royal Stewarts, could take the throne. Sophie has always been a loving mother to Anne. I could see her interfering to ensure her safety.”

She gestured to Bàs. “So, you see, brother, ’tis a misunderstanding we need to rectify.”

“Or I take ye home and go to Edinburgh to emphasize our allegiance,” Bàs said.

Nial stood, his legs braced and arms crossed. “’Tis not that easy. There are twenty-two hundred trained warriors out there under Sophie’s orders to bring the Sinclair Horsemen to heel. Two hundred are the elite Wolf Warriors. If you try to take Hannah, we will kill you and any Sinclairs who land here.”

“We must talk to Sophie,” Ella said in the thick silence.

“Sophie has been alerted of the arrival of Bàs Sinclair,” Erik said, “and the wives of the Horsemen. You are all in jeopardy now.”

Hannah clutched her hands before her. “I will go to Kronborg—”

“Nay!” Bàs said.

“I must,” Hannah said. “They will release Iselin, and then”—she looked at Erik—“you will get me out.”

“We will be hanged as traitors,” Nial said in Bokmål.

Erik felt the fissure inside his chest, like a giant tear between his friends and heritage and this clever, honest woman with beguiling blue eyes. If it were only him that he risked, the plan was obvious. But it wasn’t just him. Sten, Frode, and Nial would be considered accomplices in whatever treason he committed. They were a team, friends since childhood, fighting their way together up the ranks of the Danish-Norwegian military until they were considered the elite Wolf Warriors who kept their country safe from constantly encroaching Sweden.

Erik cleared his throat. “After Iselin is out, I will help Lady Ella, Bàs Sinclair, and your team get inside Kronborg to get Hannah out safely. But my men”—he glanced at Nial—“must be free from any treasonous act.” He looked back at Hannah, willing her to understand. “I will act alone to help.”

Hannah stared at him for a long moment. Did she truly understand? Could she put herself in his place? Responsible for the lives of his friends?

“It may not come to that,” Ella said, “if Sophie listens to reason. If she believes us when I explain that her daughter is friends to us, a patron of our school and orphanage.”

“’Tis our hope,” Nial said with false confidence.

Erik looked at Ella. “The dowager-queen was most adamant the Horsemen will start a civil war in Scotia. Mere words and assurances will not be enough.”

Ella sighed. “We will try diplomacy first.”

Hannah frowned. “I hate the idea of me being used to ensure Sinclair obedience.” She turned back to Bàs. “If we can’t get me free, then—”

“All of Denmark will die,” Bàs finished. His words were so fierce they seemed like an oath. “If not by my ax alone, then by the thousands of allies we have.”

Erik caught Nial’s frown. His friend’s eyes had widened slightly, but it was enough to show his worry. And Nial was seldom worried.

Rap. Rap. Rap. “Peter Kaas is riding this way.” Sten’s voice came through the door. “He does not have Iselin with him.”

“He’s the chancellor of Denmark,” Nial said. “The one supporting Sophie in this plan despite the regency advisors not wishing to provoke war.”

“He must be quite powerful.” Ella took Hannah’s arm to leave.

Erik stopped them and took Hannah’s arm himself, drawing her away from her sister. “I must be in control of her.”

Bàs snorted. “Ye don’t know Hannah well if ye think ye’ll ever be in control of her.” He trudged out of the door before Ella.

“This should be interesting,” Nial whispered behind Erik as he escorted Hannah outside.

Her arm felt stiff linked with Erik’s. A distance had grown between them inside the dilapidated structure, and there was no time to speak with her alone. What would he say? I’m sorry for dragging you into this. He’d had no other choice. I won’t give up until you’re free. For the sake of his sister’s life, his friends’ lives? Perhaps silence was best.

As Bàs descended the stairs, his thirty warriors encircled him as if making him as large as possible. The Sinclair women stood in a row before the warriors, apparently having decided to hide Bàs in case he was a target. The man didn’t look happy about it, but one of his warriors, Kerrick, if Erik remembered correctly, spoke in Bàs’s ear. Bàs kept his skull mask off and remained with them while Ella took a step forward.

Nial spoke in Bokmål close to Erik’s ear. “We do need to come up with a saying, some legend. Even alone, on that green horse, speaking biblical words like God himself, the men looked uneasy. And that was just one brother.”

“One might see why King James mentioned being nervous to his queen,” Erik answered.

Hannah spoke without looking at either of them. “If you two are talking about your plans, ’twould be the decent thing to do so in English.” She stood tall and dignified, but her grip on his arm had increased, almost like she didn’t want to let go. Was that fear?

He laid his palm over her cold hand, leaning in. “This will be solved, do not despair.”

Her face turned to him. It was tight with questions and yes, a hint of fear in her large eyes. She blinked, swallowing, and gave him the slightest nod. “When words and actions align…” She wet her lips as if her mouth had gone dry. “Then I will trust you.”

Her words impaled him, quivering like an arrow freshly shot into a target, a target in his chest that beat with deep thuds.