Chapter Six

Odaria hummed a tune to herself as she carried a stack of wooden plates into the cookroom. She set them on the small table and glanced over her shoulder. Sig stood in the doorway, focused on her every move. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He looked much like the other Norsemen. He had a light brown beard and wore a dark brown tunic with gold embroidery. She wasn’t afraid of him, but he was grating on her nerves.

Sig had hovered over her ever since Rothgar had left nearly two hours ago. Although he was obeying Rothgar’s order to watch over her, she didn’t like to be followed around. “If you insist on trailing me like me shadow, you ought to help with the cleanin’.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Ah, never mind.” She rolled her eyes. “Even if you did understand, you wouldna be a help.” She brushed past him and reentered the main room. Where was Rothgar? What was keeping him? She wrung her hands as she paced in front of the fireplace.

After Rothgar had left, she’d kept herself busy by cleaning and straightening up. The gathering hall was a sight: food had dried onto the straw floor, the table was coated with spilled beer, and the woodbin was empty. Although this wasn’t her home, she felt the urge to keep it tidy and presentable. Doing the chores had prevented her from worrying about Rothgar and kept her mind off of Darach’s betrayal. His cruel words still stung. How could the one person she had trusted and confided in turn against her so easily? She frowned. Perhaps it made for a good lesson. It proved that men were liars.

She looked up as the main door swung open and three Norsemen came inside. She recognized the short, fair-haired one as a man Rothgar called Haraldur. She ran to Rothgar’s side as soon as he entered.

“Did you find Orvind? What happened? Why were you gone so long?”

“Allow me to pass through the doorway, woman,” Rothgar grumbled.

She moved back as he walked past her carrying a dripping wet boot and an enormous shield. “What are these?”

“Objects we found on the northern side of the isle.” Rothgar arched an eyebrow and looked at her. “You claim you can learn of a person through objects.” He laid the items on the wooden bench near the fireplace. “Then tell me of these.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared up at him. Was he serious? Did he expect her to tell him things instantly? “Now? Are they Orvind’s?”

“You are to tell me, witch.”

She shook her head. “Rothgar, the gift I have doesna work on demand. I—”

“You said you could help. Now help.” He directed the others to lay the objects they carried on the bench. “Or have you been lying to me all along? Are your claims to possess powers but a mere trick?”

“Nay.” She bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor. When she focused her energy and touched objects, she could tell of their former owners. But using her powers for this purpose disturbed her, and she avoided it whenever possible. She never knew what she might see or feel when she touched something belonging to a stranger.

At times, this gift left her plagued with terrible dreams, and she didn’t like to invite bad images into her head. But what good would it do to explain all this to Rothgar? He didn’t believe in her powers, and even she didn’t know exactly how they worked. Using her sight put a great strain on her, and she was already exhausted from the long day.

“Would you rather wait till morn? I may—”

“Now.” Rothgar grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bench. “Do not try my patience. Do what you must to find Orvind.”

“Unhand me.” She yanked her arm from his grip and glared at him. “I’m not a plaything to be ordered about as you wish.”

Rothgar gazed at his boots and let out a long breath. “Forgive me. I’m most eager to find him.” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I need you to help me.”

Deep down, she understood Rothgar’s sense of urgency. He was desperate, and if Orvind was nearly dead or trapped somewhere, every moment counted. “Aye. I’ll do what I can with what you’ve brought me. I’ll tell you what I see.”

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She cleared her mind, then rubbed her hands together briskly. Heat radiated from her palms, and she relaxed. When her fingers started to tingle, she opened and closed her left hand a few times. Whenever her hands prickled and grew warm, she knew her powers were being channeled from wherever they came from.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes and approached the first object on the bench. It was a brown leather boot.

Haraldur said something to the other men, and she whipped her head in his direction. “Quiet, Haraldur.”

His blue eyes widened, and he took a step back, clutching the silver pendant dangling around his neck.

She grinned. Word must have traveled through the Norse camp about what had happened with Brennan. It seemed as if Rothgar’s brave Norse warriors were afraid of a mere girl.

She touched the boot with her fingertips, then jerked her hand back. Her fingers felt numb and ached as if they were stabbed by hundreds of needles. She looked at Rothgar. “Where did you find this?”

“In the sea.”

She frowned, then placed her hand on the toe of the boot. An icy wave washed over her body. She coughed and sputtered as her mouth and nose filled with the salty taste of cold seawater. Her lungs hurt, and her head spun. Everything went black. She couldn’t breathe. Drowning … She was drowning. Odaria kept her eyes closed and allowed the vision to play out in her mind’s eye.

Roaring waves of black water rushed over her head. A thick rope had her by the right ankle and was dragging her down into the depths of the sea. She struggled and tried to swim, but it was no use. The rope was attached to something heavy, a rock perhaps, that was sinking fast.

Salt water filled her nose, burning her nostrils and the back of her throat. Her heart thundered as her lungs ached for air. She held her breath until it felt as if her head and chest would explode. After another minute, it was too much to bear. Her lungs filled with water, and everything began to fade.

She jerked her hand off the boot and bent over, coughing and wheezing as she gasped for air.

Rothgar was at her side in an instant. “Odaria, what—?”

“He drowned.” She coughed into her hand and wiped her watery eyes. “He got caught on a rope and was pulled down. He’s dead.”

“Are you certain?”

“I saw it. I saw him as he died. He tried, but he couldna reach the surface.”

“Was it Orvind?”

“I dunno.” She spit into the fire, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of seawater. Haraldur and the other Norsemen backed away from her. One of them said something to Rothgar, and he answered.

She took a moment to catch her breath and calm herself. By the gods, she hated doing this. Why had she ever told Rothgar that she could divine from objects? Her mother had warned her against toying with this so-called gift.

When she’d been a young girl, her mother had told her that all personal objects held some energy or presence of their owners. Most times it was faint, but if a person died tragically, it was stronger and much more dangerous. Holding a death object often allowed her to experience the person’s death with them, watching and feeling all that they felt, but she was unable to help. If she touched the wrong object or the wrong person, she could get a nasty shock.

“What did he look like?” Rothgar asked.

As her breathing settled, she rubbed her temples, forcing herself to recall the horrifying details of what she’d seen. “He had dark hair and a beard. He thought it was a coward’s way to die.”

“I see. Move on to the next item. Tell me of it,” Rothgar said, gesturing at the bench.

She glanced at the three remaining objects and sighed. Had the owners all drowned? Odds were that they had and she would be forced to see each one of them suffering and crying out for help in their final moments. “If you insist.”

The next item was a large leather pouch with a thick strap. She shook her left hand a few times, and when it started to tingle, she touched the edge of the pouch. After a second, she relaxed a little. There was no death associated with this object. Instead, she felt anger and frustration.

“He’s on a ship … at night … There’s a storm.” The howling wind roared in her ears, and she started rocking with the roll of a ship.

“An older man with a red beard carries this satchel over his shoulder. He is arguing with a young man who has … strange white hair. The older man is quite angry.”

“What are they saying?”

She opened her eyes and looked at Rothgar. “If I spoke Norse, I could tell you.”

He frowned. “What else do you see?”

Her right hand balled into a tight fist. “The older man longs to strike the younger man but dares not. He’s worried about the storm. He walked away from the young man, then went back and pointed at him.” She took her hand off the satchel and shrugged. “It seemed as if he was chastising him for something.”

Rothgar sighed. “Nothing else?”

“Nay.” She moved on to the next object. It was a small gold dagger with an ornately carved jeweled hilt. As she touched the cool metal, a warm tingle spread through her.

“Oh, this is different.” A feeling of intense pleasure flooded over her, and she relaxed. There was no mistaking the owner of the dagger. She smiled and turned to Rothgar.

“What is the meaning of this game?”

Rothgar glanced at the other Norsemen. “What do you mean?”

“This was not on the beach.” She picked up the dagger. “’Tis yours.”

Rothgar flashed her a grin. “If so, then tell me of it.”

She closed her eyes. Obviously Rothgar had meant to test her by inserting one of his own objects into the mix. A warm pulse of energy flowed from the metal.

“’Twas given to you by an older man … with white hair and light blue eyes. He was not your father but a close relation. He is a noble man and loves you as a son. Yet”—she looked at him, puzzled—“when he presented it to you, you did not wish to accept it. Why not?”

Rothgar’s mouth opened a little. From the look on his face, she knew he hadn’t expected her to tell him such personal details. “Is that enough, or shall I read more?”

Rothgar snatched the dagger from her hand and fastened it around his waist. “Ja, enough, witch.” He pointed to the gold-and-green-painted shield. “And what of this? Tell me what you see.”

She touched the edge of the large shield. A searing, white-hot pain shot through her right shoulder and arm. “Ow!” She jerked her hand away and whimpered as she massaged her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“The arm, or shoulder … ’tis broken or crushed.” She took a few deep breaths to push the intense pain away and forced herself to touch the painted shield again. “’Tis dark. The water is cold … People are screaming.”

She shook her head and winced as the pain in her shoulder increased. “The storm smashed the ship against the rocks. He, too, hit the rocks but floated to shore, clutching the shield. He’s scared. The wreck was his fault … never should have left home … bad sailing. He should have listened to … Turvid.”

Odaria opened her eyes. “The owner of the shield is the same man who argued with the owner of that.” She pointed to the satchel.

She waited while Rothgar translated her vision to the other Norsemen. They exchanged worried glances and muttered a few words amongst themselves.

“What else?” Rothgar barked.

“Nothing. ’Tis all I see from this.”

“What do you mean, that is all you see? This is Orvind’s shield. I must know where he is.”

“I know not. The image faded. He may have passed out from the pain. All I can tell you is that he got to shore and was alive when he carried that shield. Ow! Dammit!” She cried out as another blinding pain shot through her arm. She sat on a nearby chair and rubbed her aching shoulder. The ache would subside in a few moments, but the ordeal had made her tired and cranky. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to be grilled by Rothgar over something she couldn’t control.

“Is he still alive?”

“The injury is not fatal. He may be.” She shrugged. “I cannot say.”

Rothgar paced, gesturing wildly. “What good are your powers if they tell me nothing? You were to tell me where Orvind is and how to find him. Instead of learning what I need, I hear tales of arguments at sea and a—”

“I told you all I can.” A ceramic pitcher slid off the table and shattered to bits on the floor. The group of Norsemen muttered to themselves and backed into the far corner.

She stood up, glanced at the broken pieces of pottery, then looked at Rothgar. “I’m tired, and I’m going ta bed. When you find Orvind, you will see that I was right. He’ll have a broken arm or shoulder,” she called out as she marched up the stairs. “My visions are never wrong.”

Odaria snapped her eyes open. What had awakened her so abruptly? Perhaps she’d had a bad dream. How long had she been asleep? She glanced around the moonlit bedchamber. Rothgar lay sleeping next to her. When had he come upstairs? The moment her head had touched the pillow, she’d fallen into a deep sleep. Rothgar must have come in some time after she’d drifted off and—

All of a sudden, the bed jostled and bounced as Rothgar flailed next to her. He shouted a stream of words she didn’t understand, then jerked his head from side to side, moaning and muttering.

She sat up. Although the room was bathed in shadows, she could see Rothgar clearly. His eyes were closed. He was asleep.

His shoulders twitched as his arms strained and jerked wildly. It seemed as if he were fighting with someone. What was he dreaming about? She reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Although it was dangerous to wake a person during a dream, she was worried that his shouting might bring the other Norsemen upstairs to investigate.

“Rothgar, wake up.” She grasped his thick shoulder and shook it as hard as she could. He muttered something, and she shook him again. A second later, he opened his eyes.

“Hvat?”

“Are you all right? You were—”

“I’m fine.” He sat up and cradled his head in his hands. His blond hair splayed through his fingers.

She rested her hand on Rothgar’s broad back. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin. His muscles twitched and rippled beneath her palm as his chest heaved. She longed to comfort him through his troubles but knew not how. Her experience with men was limited. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing. Merely a bad dream.”

She understood that. Over the years, she’d had her fair share of troubling dreams. “It must have been awful,” she said, rubbing his back in small circles. “You were twitching and yelling—”

“Yelling?” He looked at her over his shoulder. “What did I say?”

“I know not. ’Twas in that Norse tongue you growl out. I couldna understand a word of it, but it seemed as if you were fighting something—or someone.”

Rothgar pulled away from her and climbed out of bed. He picked up his tunic off the floor and yanked it over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Go back to sleep.” He laced the front of his tunic closed, then fastened his cloak around his shoulders.

“Leaving? Why? Where are you going in the middle of the night?” She watched Rothgar’s shadowy figure as he gathered his dagger and sword. Why did he have this sudden urge to leave? Where was he going? Was he upset with her?

“Pray do not leave, Rothgar. Come back to bed. If you are leavin’ because we exchanged cross words downstairs, I’m sorry. I couldna say more about what I saw in the vision.”

“It’s not that. I know you told me all you could.” He sighed. “I need to go. I will sleep no more tonight. Not after that dream.”

She didn’t ask what he’d dreamt. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t tell her anyway. What sort of horrible dream could make such a brave man afraid to go back to sleep? “Where are you going? ’Tis pitch-black out.”

“To my ship,” he answered as he strapped his dagger to his waist. “I will return in the morning.”

“You’re leaving me?”

He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. “You will be fine. You can take care of yourself for a few hours.”

“Pray do not leave me here alone.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “The moment the men downstairs know you have gone, they shall be up here beating down the door.” She made her voice as sweet and as gentle as possible. “Stay.”

Deep down, she had no fear of the Norsemen. She just did not want Rothgar to leave her. He was the only person she trusted on the isle. What if a terrible tragedy befell him while he was gone? Who would protect her? How would she ever leave?

“I’m in no mood for sweet talk and games. Go back to sleep. You will not know I’ve gone.”

She tightened her grip around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against the back of his tunic. “Pray, do not leave me behind. Allow me to come with you. I promise I shan’t be a pest. I will do whatever you ask of me.” She batted her eyelashes. “I feel safer when I’m at your side.”

His shoulders sagged, and he let out a deep sigh. “Fine, then. You may come along.” He frowned. “I know better than to argue with you anyway.”

Rothgar stepped over a large rock as he made his way through the darkness. Odaria walked alongside him carrying a small oil lamp and chattering away.

“Oftentimes, I’d bake pies and cakes and take them into the village. A woman named Maeve would trade me …”

He tuned her out and kept walking, lost deep in his own thoughts. Today had not been a good day, and tonight had been even worse. Even though he had learned that Orvind’s ship had been wrecked here, he was no closer to finding him than he had been yesterday.

The long day had tired him out, and yet his sleep had been plagued with dreams about the pretty little wife he’d lost years ago. Why was Gretta haunting him tonight? Was it because for the first time in years he was capable of becoming erect, as a man should be? He sighed. If only I had listened to her and stayed home …

After months of being cooped up indoors with Gretta and the new baby, he had prepared to go a-viking with some of the other men from the village. Gretta had pleaded with him to stay home with her instead. He recalled their conversation clearly, as if it had happened yesterday.

It was early morning. The sun had not yet risen over the mountains.

Gretta had followed him around their shadowy bedchamber. “Pray do not leave me here alone,” she had whispered, then wrapped her arms around him.

A chill settled over him. Those were the same words Odaria had used on him tonight.

What Gretta said to him would haunt him forever. He should have listened to her and stayed home. If he had, he would be living a far different life now. But he’d paid heavily for ignoring Gretta’s pleas. While away, he had sinned, and the gods had taken his wife and child as punishment for his infidelity.

He strolled on for a few more yards before realizing that Odaria was no longer at his side. Puzzled, he turned around. Odaria was staring at a patch of burned grass and wood embers. She shivered, and the oil lamp she carried trembled in her hand.

“Are you cold? Do you wish to wear my cloak?”

“Nay.” She looked at him. “Do you not know this place? ’Tis where it happened.”

“Where what happened? It is dark. I—”

“This is the exact spot where they had me. Where I cursed the whole lot of them.” Odaria bent down and picked up a burnt piece of wood. “Your men came out of the darkness there,” she said, pointing to the right.

“Ja, we are not far from the ship. Come with me,” he replied, clasping her hand and pulling her away. He didn’t want Odaria to dwell on what had nearly happened to her. She had suffered through a terrible ordeal in the last two days. How much could her mind take before she fell into madness?

As they headed to the beach, he thought about the fire. Odaria had escaped the flames that had tried to consume her, but Gretta and Rurik had not been so fortunate. He frowned. The only two women he had ever cared for seemed plagued by fire—but Odaria had survived. Perhaps delivering Odaria to him was the gods’ way of making amends and giving him another chance. Before he met Odaria, he had closed his heart to all thoughts of love and romance.

They had not walked far when he heard the familiar slapping of waves against the shore. The moon came out from behind a cloud, silhouetting the knar as a black dragon against the night sky.

Odaria squealed and yanked her hand from his. “What is that?”

“It’s my ship. Beautiful, ja?”

The knarr was magnificent. Fifty-four feet from stem to stern, it held thirty men and was designed to serve multiple purposes. It was not as long as a warship, yet not as bulky as a cargo ship. The draught of the hull was only three feet, making it fast and lightweight for speedy travel.

All Norse ships were designed to sail in varying water depths, whether across deep seas or up shallow rivers. They had sailed this ship right up to the beach. A hundred feet down the shore, another knarr was anchored in the sand.

“Beautiful? ’Tis horrid. ’Tis no boat; ’tis an ugly floating stick.”

“What do you know of ships, woman?” he growled as he walked to the knarr. He was in no mood to have his pride and joy insulted, especially by a Pict. But in her own odd way, Odaria was right about the ship’s appearance. To her, it might look horrid—but that was intentional.

Their ships were deliberately carved and decorated to spark terror in those who saw them approaching. An ornate dragon’s head curved out across the bow, and the stern was fashioned into a curled tail. Colorful carvings of griffins and serpents adorned the wooden shields fastened to the sides, but they couldn’t be seen in the dark. What would Odaria think of the ship when she saw it by the light of day?

“Climb up and over the side.”

“I canna do that.”

He grumbled a curse. Women! They did not belong on ships and were sometimes as helpless as mewling kittens. “Do you live to vex me, woman? What manner of nonsense is this? You asked, nay, begged to accompany me. I should have left you behind.”

“But I do not like this ship. I canna—”

“For Odin’s sake …” In one swift move, he scooped Odaria up and slung her over his shoulder. Within a matter of seconds, he climbed over the side of the ship and set Odaria down. “Be careful where you walk.”

He strode across the deck and leaned against the ten-foot mast. He closed his eyes and was soon lulled into a sense of familiar comfort by the creaking of the ship and the waves lapping against the sides. He had wanted to come aboard and think in silence, perhaps devise a plan for questioning the villagers, but with Odaria here, he had little hope of peace.

“What is this for?” She tugged on a rope hanging from the mast.

“For the mainsail. Leave it be, lest you unfurl the whole damn thing.”

Odaria walked around the deck, holding the oil lamp out in front of her. “This ship is not large enough to carry many people. Are you certain ’tis seaworthy? If I’m to sail with you, I wish to know that the boat shan’t sink like a stone.”

He rolled his eyes. “It carried dozens of grown men here, did it not? I’m certain it can carry a troublesome Pict girl.”

“Aye, but if one Norse ship sank, then others could as well.” Odaria peered over the side. “If this floating log is truly seaworthy, why is it half-sunk into the water? It barely floats. What if it tips over? Nay, ’tis too low for safe travel. A large wave could come aboard and drown everyone or swallow the ship.”

“The low keel helps it travel swiftly. It pays no mind to the waves.” Odaria’s endless questions were not improving his sour mood. If anything, she only reminded him of the disastrous fate of Orvind’s ship.

“And what of the monsters that lurk beneath the sea? What if one of them decides to pull the ship under? What weapons does this boat have to defend against sea beasts or other raiders? Nay, it shall not do one bit. ’Tis not safe. You have to find another ship or build this one higher out of the water before I shall—”

“Quiet!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “If you do not like the ship I’ve provided, then you can remain behind with your beloved villagers. Stay here and wed Darach for all I care.”

Odaria gasped. “How dare you!”

He cursed. His words had come out harsher than he’d intended. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m upset and not thinking clear.”

“Because of your bad dream?”

“Ja.” He flopped onto the wooden rowing bench and sighed. “Sometimes I dream about terrible things.”

“Perhaps if you would tell me of it—”

“I will not discuss it with you or anyone.”

He closed his eyes and listened to the waves rolling in and out. After a moment, he realized that Odaria wasn’t picking on the ship to be mean. She was expressing her fears—in her own way. She was afraid of the sea. By Thor, the seafaring Nordmann was in love with a sea-fearing Pict. He opened his eyes and looked at Odaria. “Have you ever sailed off this isle?”

“Nay. Never.” She glanced at him and bit her bottom lip. “I’ve heard horrible tales of ships that sailed off the edge of the world and monsters that lurk in the sea waiting to eat people.” She paused. “I didna mean to make you angry. I wish to go with you Rothgar, but I’m … afraid of the water and what’s hiding in it.”

He nodded. Odaria’s worries weren’t entirely unfounded. Ships did disappear. They were sucked into whirlpools, struck by ice or whales, or blown off course into parts unknown. But if he told Odaria these things, she’d never set foot on the ship again. He forced himself to smile and sound soothing.

“Have no fears, little witch. It is a sturdy, seaworthy vessel. Would I allow you to come aboard if it weren’t safe? The ship is designed to ward off other raiders and evil spirits. We intend for it to look menacing, to frighten enemies, understand?”

“Aye. I trust ya to keep me safe.”

“Gut.” He patted the bench seat next to him. “Sit with me.”

Odaria placed the oil lamp on the bench and sat down. She shivered as a breeze blew in off the sea.

“Are you cold?”

She shrugged. “A little.”

He removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night.” He blew out the oil lamp. “Close your eyes and go to sleep. And fret not, little witch. You have nothing to fear from the sea while I’m at your side.”

Odaria rested her head against his shoulder and cuddled closer to him. She yawned, and he wrapped his arm around her. He noticed that she was gazing at the thousands of stars twinkling overhead.

“I love being outside at night, Rothgar. On clear nights such as this, I used to stroll around the isle, watching the stars and wishing for someone to share the evenings with.” She sighed. “Are these the same stars you have in the sky over your land?”

“Ja. They are the same the world over.”

“What are they made of?”

He looked into the night sky. “I do not know, but they are pretty.”

Odaria was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. “How do you steer this ship and not become lost at sea? How do you know where you are sailing?”

“By the position of the sun and the stars. We’ve learned how to guide ourselves beneath them so we may travel without fear of becoming lost. When we sail, the waves, the birds, and even the color of the seaweed we find tells us how far we are from land.”

“Oh. Then I shan’t need to worry about your ship?”

“Nay.” He stroked her hair and kissed her temple. “You must never fret when I am near. I will take care of you, Odaria. Now rest. It is very late.”

He leaned his head against the ship’s rail and stared out across the dark sea. A light wind stirred up small waves that gently rocked the ship from side to side. He inhaled the salt air and relaxed as his mind wandered.

At this moment, life was perfect, but he knew it would not last long. He couldn’t stay on the ship forever. Come morning, he would have to return to the village and begin another search for Orvind. The moment he found him, he’d whisk him aboard and set sail.

But what if he never found Orvind? They had already combed the village from top to bottom. Karnik and his men were growing impatient with the futile searches. Soon, even he would be forced to admit that there was no hope in finding Orvind and go home.

He glanced at Odaria. Her eyes were closed, and from the steady rise and fall of her chest, he knew she was asleep. He wasn’t surprised. She’d had a trying day. He kissed her forehead. No matter what happened with Orvind, this trip hadn’t been in vain. Finding Odaria had brought light back into his life. Now all he had to do—

A noise to his left captured his attention, and he peered into the darkness. A moment later, he spotted a figure approaching the ship. Now what in Odin’s name was this? What fool would dare sneak aboard his ship in the dead of night?

Careful not to wake Odaria, he eased himself out from underneath her and gently laid her down on the bench. Without making a sound, he rose and clasped the hilt of his sword in his right hand. He watched the man climb onto the ship. A second later, he recognized the figure and loosened his grip on his blade.

“What do you want?”

Karnik scowled at him as he crossed the deck. “Knut and Olav saw you leave the gathering hall with that girl. I came to see where you’d gone.”

“So now you have your men spying on me? Watching my movements?”

“What are you doing here? Looking for a change of scenery? Did you grow weary of having her upstairs and decide to do her outdoors?”

“Shut your filthy mouth. What I do with Odaria is none of your concern.”

“It is my concern when you’re wasting time coddling her and neglecting your duty.”

He grabbed Karnik by the front of his tunic and pulled him close. “Mind your words,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Our purpose here is to find Orvind and bring him home.”

Karnik smirked. “Do you think you’ll find him between her legs?”

In a heartbeat, Rothgar drew his short dagger and pressed the sharp blade against Karnik’s throat. “Don’t underestimate me. I still remember how to kill a man.”

“Slay me and you’ll never leave this isle alive.”

“Don’t tempt me to find out. If I die, you’ll have to explain to my uncle why his son and his favorite nephew have gone missing.” He arched an eyebrow. “Do you dare face him with your threats?”

Karnik licked his lips. “Is this what you’ve become? A cowardly excuse of a man who hides behind his uncle’s breeches like a child?”

He chuckled. “Jealous, Karnik? You’ve never won any favors with my uncle, despite all your efforts. It’s no wonder you don’t want me to find Orvind. If I fail, you can tell my uncle how pathetic I am.”

“Everyone except that bitch already knows how pathetic you are,” Karnik said, gesturing at Odaria. “The men are laughing at you behind your back.”

His temper flared, and he leaned more of his weight against Karnik, pressing the edge of the blade into his skin. “Let them. I care not what they say about me. But if any of your men dare bother Odaria, Odin himself will not be able to spare them from my wrath. I’m still in control here, and I expect my orders to be followed. Understand?”

Karnik nodded slightly. “Ja.”

He released Karnik and returned his dagger to its sheath. “Now, as for the rest of these villagers—”

“The villagers,” Karnik spat. “I suppose you wish me to spare them, as well?”

“For the moment. I need the villagers alive to question them about Orvind.” He glanced at Odaria. She had shifted her position on the bench but was still asleep. Good. The last thing he wanted was for her to wake up and see him holding a dagger to Karnik’s throat.

“After we find Orvind, they are all yours. Bring them back as thralls if you wish, I care not about their fate.” He meant what he said. The villagers had tried to burn Odaria alive, and for that, they would receive no mercy from him.

“And what of my men? You’ve deprived them of their fun here. They again grow restless and wish to travel elsewhere to raid. Tomorrow I will allow them to take a ship to Vestrey to sate their hungers.”

“Fine. Do as you please. You may go now.” He took a step back and dismissed Karnik with a wave of his hand. The less he saw of him, the better. He was in a fighting mood tonight, and spilling Karnik’s blood would be easy.

“I’ll give you three more days to find Orvind. After that, my men and I will sail home—with or without you.” Karnik motioned toward Odaria. “If you care so much for her and her villagers, then you can remain here with them.”

Karnik stormed across the deck. He glanced back as he reached the side of the ship. “Remember what I said, jarl.”

He clenched his fists as he watched Karnik walk along the shoreline. Although he could have easily torn Karnik to shreds, he didn’t dare. If Karnik’s men banded together and turned against him and Odaria, the two of them wouldn’t stand a chance.