ONE WEEK LATER
Leif bided his time, waiting to pursue Katarina and Arik. Let the others believe that he cared nothing about his bride being stolen away from him. He had gone about each day, feigning indifference.
But he did care. No one had the right to deny him what he had waited for so long—the vengeance that was his right.
He loaded a small bundle of supplies into the small fishing vessel and stepped into the water as he shoved it away from the shoreline. The boat was hardly large enough to fit two people, but it was enough for him.
Leif pulled hard against the oars, rowing out to the open sea. The morning sky was streaked with red, and it gratified him to see the gods showing favor upon him. He would have his revenge, spilling the blood of his enemies. And Katarina was one of many.
Her father, Lars, had been the first to die. Then his youngest daughter, Ingirún.
Katarina would be next, and then her brother Hrafn. Arik Thorgrim would be last, after he witnessed their deaths.
Leif knew he could have slit Katarina’s throat easily, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d wanted to make her suffer, to watch her eyes darken with fear. It would make her death all the sweeter to watch.
It pleased him that she hadn’t known he was one of the men who had attacked her sister. She believed he had been the one to save her. Her naiveté had given him the idea of a betrothal, for he’d wanted to destroy her spirit before he killed her.
It enraged him that she had been taken and claimed by Arik Thorgrim. The man had no right to interfere. Leif let his fury flow through him, harnessing the anger into raw strength as he rowed. It would take longer to reach the settlement with the smaller boat, but he would use the time to plan his strategy. Both Katarina and her brother would suffer and die. He would wipe out every living descendant of Lars.
Only then he would find satisfaction, knowing that he had avenged his family.
