Rurik fought them like a beast being forced back to his cage. For that was exactly what he was and he had decided to embrace the comparison. He could have easily taken two of them on, perhaps even all four of them with a proper weapon. The seax was all but useless and he finally tossed it at one of them in favour of his fists. He landed several good blows, taking the first two down, but the older one hung back, wiser than the others with his years of experience.
Lady Annis hung back as well, her eyes wide and alert, but she had already come to the inevitable conclusion. He could fight, but in the end he would be dragged back to his cell like an errant mongrel. The assured resignation on her face fanned another blaze of fury to life within him and he fought with renewed vigour.
More men came in until the chamber seemed to overflow with them. Rurik felt as though he was drowning. One man was downed, but his place was taken by another, like treading water in the increasing fury of a storm. The heel of a boot kicked Rurik’s leg out from under him, sending him down on one knee. That was enough to give them the upper hand. Faces closed in above him. Raising his arm to keep the fists away from his already sore nose, it was quickly jerked away and twisted behind his back. Another man grabbed the other. Rurik fought, but he was tired and outnumbered.
‘That is quite enough.’ Lady Annis’s voice filled the room with authority. It worked to halt the blows, but his arms felt near to breaking. ‘Take him below.’
‘So much for our truce.’ It was not wise, but he could not help the sneer that twisted his features.
‘The truce? You tried to grab me!’
‘Get him below.’ Cedric interrupted their argument with the order. ‘He broke the lock on the chain and the door. The one on the cell seems to be working.’
‘Not for long,’ Rurik promised as they dragged him out. He did not make it easy for them, but there was no escaping. They pulled him down the stairs and all but tossed him into the cell. At least there was no chain to bind his wrist this time. He ran at the cell door, but was not able to stop them from locking it.
‘I will not be kept down here as a prisoner!’ he yelled, knowing that his voice would reach the main floor before they closed that door. ‘Lady Annis! Come and face me! We have more to discuss!’
The door closed with a bang on its old hinges, but he was not going to give up easily. He kept up the yelling all day, hoping that he was being heard.
* * *
The light that seeped through the crack in the stone had started to wane when Rurik heard the door over the stairs open. The familiar tread of her boots on the steps told him that Lady Annis had finally deigned to pay him a visit. She was dressed in the finery befitting her station when she presented herself to him before the bars. Her gown was a finely woven wool in a suitable but sumptuous golden colour. She wore no cloak tonight. Her fiery hair was tamed in a series of braids that wrapped around her head with a shiny fall of sunset-coloured hair over her shoulder.
Had he not despised her so much he might have found her attractive. That was not true. He still found her attractive despite the fact that she had broken their truce and imprisoned him again and he was all the angrier for it. Also, he did not really despise her. He hated that she had imprisoned him, hated that she was part of the family who had plotted to murder his father, but he could not find it in him to hate her. He wanted to, and in his darkest moments a tiny part of him did, but it never took. The grudging respect took over. In an attempt to disguise that, as well as because his throat was raw from all the yelling he had done that day, his voice came out more harshly than he had intended.
‘Who were the men Wilfrid hired to kill my father?’ he asked, picking up where they had left off.
She winced at the callousness of his tone and a thread of satisfaction wove its way around his spine, straightening it. As the day had worn on, Rurik found himself latching on to the idea of the assassins as a drowning man might grasp at a piece of driftwood. He had been denied the release of satisfaction he would find in killing a healthy Wilfrid, but had been gifted with the knowledge that there were others involved in the vicious plot. Just as the search for justice had led him from King Feann of Killcobar to Glannoventa, it appeared to be leading him to other men. Other warriors who had sought to end his father’s life. Would the search never reach its own end? Would everyone involved ever be punished?
She shook her head and he grasped the bars in his fists, unwilling to be denied his justifiable revenge. This time she took a step back from him. He was reminded of where they had left off in the conversation before her men had intervened. ‘What did you mean earlier? How do you have blood on your hands?’
This time she shook her head harder. ‘There has been too much death in regards to Wilfrid and Sigurd and their dispute. I will not be the cause of more. There was enough with Sigurd. Let it end there and forget the men who came to Wilfrid.’
Before he could think better of it, he sneered at her. ‘Forget. That is an easy word for you when your family wielded the last blow.’
She straightened her shoulders and became very still. ‘They are not easy words, Norseman. I have lost as you have. I know what it is to have death change your entire life.’
Remorse hit him immediately. Of course she had lost. This was not a battle of losses; if it were she might have won, having lost a husband, a babe and very nearly her father-in-law. Rurik had lost his father, but no one belonging to him. Gilla and Ingrid had been kind women, but he had not known them well. Their losses had been keenly felt by their families. Rurik’s pain had come from how Ingrid’s death had nearly destroyed his eldest brother Brandt. How his brother Alarr had almost lost his legs. How his family had been nearly destroyed.
In terms of personal loss and pain, Annis had him bested. Her family had been destroyed as well, coupled with numerous personal losses.
‘There were more killed than Sigurd. Innocents.’
Her brows drew together, not in anger but compassion. ‘I know. It was a terrible thing that happened to your family. If I could go back and change this whole mess, then I would. I have no stomach for revenge. Not any more.’ She drew in a breath and he could not help but study how her bottom lip trembled with it. ‘I am here because I have a proposition for you.’
‘You are not here because my yelling drew you down?’
Her eyes narrowed while a white line appeared around her lips and another zing of satisfaction surged through him. She had heard him and been annoyed by him. He would be content with any small blow he could land to her regal composure.
‘Wilfrid is asking for you,’ she said, continuing without acknowledging his question.
‘I am surprised he remembers me.’
‘If I’m honest, so am I. He has a keen mind much of the time. There are days when he seems to forget almost everything, but other days when he remembers. This is one of those days. Unfortunately, he remembers what you told him…about us.’
The blush on her cheeks reminded him of his comment about them being lovers, something he had almost forgotten. It had been a stroke of brilliance to unsettle her in that way and watch her squirm so prettily. Rurik’s gaze dropped to her lips, remembering how soft and warm they had been beneath his. Even knowing who she was, he would enjoy having her beneath him once. To his immense surprise, she was looking at his mouth, possibly remembering their kiss. She did not look disgusted. When her gaze flicked back to his, there was a moment of awareness that passed between them before she forcibly looked away.
‘Is he angry?’ he asked.
‘He…he wants you to dine with us. He wants to meet you again to discuss matters, he says.’ She said this with a raise of her chin as if she had been caught doing something wrong and was willing to face her punishment.
‘He’s not angry that we’re lovers?’ He found that impossible to believe.
‘Concerned, perhaps, but he isn’t like any man you have met before. He knows how much Grim’s loss meant. He seems content that I have found a bit of happiness.’
If that were true, then Wilfrid was indeed like no man he had met before. Propping his arm on the bars, he enjoyed watching her obvious embarrassment play out on her face. ‘And your proposition is…?’
‘I would like you to dine with us. Pretend to be my…who you said you were. We must be very careful about upsetting him. If he is stirred to anger, it could bring on another attack. Strong emotion has brought them on before. Therefore, you must agree not to mention your family. We will say you are an emissary from Jarl Eirik—’
‘You would have me pretend to be a Dane?’
She frowned at the interruption. ‘A Dane sent by Jarl Eirik to check on things here. We have successfully avoided the Jarl’s meddling for several years. Wilfrid will believe that we were finally forced to accept a visitor.’
‘You would have me pretend to be someone else to pacify the man who was involved in plotting to kill my father?’
She blinked and took a step back. ‘You are right. It’s unconscionable. I do not know what I was thinking.’ She turned and would have hurried out, but he realised at that moment that this very well might be his only chance to negotiate with her.
‘Wait.’
She had the decency to look sheepish when she turned to him, her gaze trying to dip down, but she visibly forced herself to meet his eyes.
‘You said a proposition. What do you plan to give me in return?’
Meeting his gaze, she said, ‘You can move upstairs into a chamber there. It will be more comfortable than your straw.’
‘You expect me to pretend to be someone else for only a bed?’
‘After tonight, we can discuss a way for you to earn your freedom. I would not be opposed to setting you free if you could somehow persuade us that you intend to leave and not harm us.’
He thought of what leaving would mean and even glanced towards the steps that would lead him out of here. He could go, but what then? There was nowhere for him to go. Home to Maerr was out of the question. The kingdom that should rightfully belong to Brandt had been given to another. He could go back to Éireann.
But, no. Even as the idea crossed his mind, he pushed it away. His mother had been Irish, but it was not his home. Rurik was Norse, but he did not belong there any more than he belonged in Maerr. Bastards rarely had true homes, he was learning.
All he had was his need for justice. He needed to prove his family innocent in plotting against his father—he and his brothers had been declared outlaws in the aftermath as baseless rumours had circulated that they might have wanted Sigurd dead for their own gain. Rurik needed to know that those who had plotted against his family had been brought to justice. He could not leave without knowing the names of the assassins.
‘I need to know the names of the men who were with Wilfrid.’
She paused. ‘I have already told you that I cannot give you that.’
Gripping the bars, he stood as close to her as he was able. ‘I have to find justice for my family, for those innocent people who had no say in what Sigurd did, but paid for his perceived crimes anyway. Please…’ It was the first time he had pleaded with her. She drew in a shaking breath and seemed to drop the regal demeanour she adopted so easily. Perhaps it had never been real at all.
Nodding, she said, ‘If you agree, then we can discuss it further.’
It was all that he would get from her, but it would have to be enough. At least he would be a step closer and away from this cage. The truth was he was looking forward to a hearty meal. Thanks to his exertions last night, he had not been given food yet today. He would agree, but first he wanted to make certain that his knife was returned to him.
‘I will have your promise that my weapons will be returned to me.’
‘When you leave, perhaps.’
‘The bone-handled knife has meaning to me.’ He despised giving her that information, because it was always possible that it could be used against him, but he found himself trusting her a little more every time they met. He needed to know that it would be kept safe. ‘I will have your promise that it will be safe until such time that it is returned to me.’
She gave a brisk nod and the tightness in his shoulders eased. ‘It is in the armoury. No harm will come to it.’
‘Do you not think he will question why the Jarl’s emissary is beaten?’ He indicated his nose. Most of the other bruises were hidden by clothing.
‘We will say you were attacked on the road.’
He nodded, accepting the opportunity she was giving him. ‘Then I will need a bath first.’