She nodded and made a last pass with a soapy sponge over her delicate skin. She braided her hair and dressed while he watched. He gave her a leather bag and she chose an extra gown and clean leggings, packed her jewel box, two books, and a dagger he pressed into her hands.
He discarded the pack on the bed and lifted his wife into his arms. “I’m sorry.” He twirled her braid around his fingers. “Once this is finished, I expect you to return with me to our little cabin in the woods.”
She smiled.
It would be a lot easier if he had been matched with a shrew. The kind of woman who once the marital vows were taken clamped her legs shut as tightly as a cell door. He had lost his strength to resist her and carried her to his room. She waited patiently while he put on his armor. Strapping his helmet on, he gave her a serious look. Together they went to the stairs and stopped. He saw the glow of what he thought was admiration on her cheeks and realized she’d never seen him dressed in full armor.
The welcoming heat inside her mouth as he kissed her made him reconsider his goals. A quick detour to the bathhouse wouldn’t hurt a soul. He shrugged her bag off his shoulder, took off his helmet, and dropped it to the floor. God, what he could do with that little body in just ten minutes…
With some hesitation and more than a little regret, for not having the time to make love to her, he pushed the thought out of his mind, picked up the bag and helmet, and escorted her downstairs, straight to the cellar. Guards were already posted at the door. His men saluted and opened it. Randvior grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and went in. The passageway curved left and opened into a wide stairway. The main roomhad a high ceiling with plenty of light. A hundred women and children gathered around them.
Questions were hurled at him all at once.Where had he been for so long? How long would they be locked in the cellar? Who burned the cabins?He listened until the last woman had an opportunity to express her concern. He shushed them as gently as he could.
“There are no definitive answers, only strong suspicions. We know these families were targeted because of their relationship to me. Once the guilty are apprehended, I promise to mark days of mourning and all of my household will honor the dead. Odin hears their cries for justice and my sword is his answer.”
Whispers among the women went on for a while. Some of the women and children were directly related to the victims and they wept for their loved ones. Randvior’s words were accepted and eventually they quieted, but the sound of weeping ripped through him. This had always been the most difficult part of his duties and he hated it.
“I have brought my wife to join you.” He pulled Noelle to the front. “We married four days ago in a secret ceremony at the standing stones. Who shall I entrust with the responsibility of looking after my bride?”
Unnr Raske raised her hand.
“Unnr,” he acknowledged, reached out, and pulled her from the crowd. “I give her over to your capable hands.” He joined his wife and Unnr’s hands as if in formal pledge.
Before he departed, he walked with Noelle toward the back of the room. “Once I leave these rooms, I will lock the door from the outside. Only I have the key.”
Her face flushed, and she spun slowly around as if memorizing the dimensions of her prison, or looking for an escape route.
Noelle did not like tight spaces or the idea of being locked underground. “There is a secret passageway meant for the women and children if an emergency arises. I know of no grown man who can fit through the door to get inside the tunnel. It stretches for over a mile westward—onlyto be used as a last resort. The older women know the signal to listen for to use it. These guards…” He pointed at his men. “…will stay with you.”
Her color improved.
“But this…” He placed the bottle in her left hand and forced her fingers closed around it. “…is a means to a painless death if our enemies prevail. Don’t be afraid, my love. I’m sure even your White Christ would forgive a woman for protecting her virtue.” He felt a slight tremor in her hand as he let go.
“It’s common practice—all the women own one.” He attempted to convince her of its usefulness. “The threat of slavery or rape is beyond the comprehension of free Norse. Thralls face no such threats, would only be used in the same manner they are accustomed to in another man’s household.Promise me,” he said with gruesome finality, “that if the situation arises, you won’t hesitate to use it.”
She stared past him, unblinking, searching the faces of the women and children, then looked back at him. “Only once I have seen to the needs of the others—I am their mistress now.”
His mouth twitched.Brave to a fault.Randvior walked away, appreciating his bride even more than before.
Chapter Twenty
Remember
Blood lust grippedRandvior’s soul. Families were slaughtered for nothing more than a personal vendetta his mother held against his choice for a wife. Six children and four women, their homes burned to the ground. Even during his darkest days, pillaging in Western Europe, he’d never forgotten his morals or approved of unnecessary slaughter. Women and children were forbidden targets and if his men disobeyed, they’d suffer his wrath. Yet today he had failed to protect them.
The victims’ bodies were relocated to Odin’s altar. Funeral pyres were constructed in the clearing, one for each family, to be kept burning in memoriam. He didn’t allow the bodies to be cremated yet. Not until the guilty were apprehended and forced to kneel before the pyres. Forestalling funeral rites was considered dangerous. It might delay the crossing-over of their souls, possibly imprisoning their spirits on earth forever. A chance he’d take for now.
In order to appease Odin, he brought a pregnant mare to the altar. His guards and slaves gathered around as he tethered the animal to a stake.
“Hear me great Odin. Grant me one gift—to see my enemies for what they truly are. Give me wisdom to judge fairly the men and women who seek to destroy these lands. Gift me thefortitude to see this through, even if I must sit in judgment of my own flesh and blood.”
The horse reared and whinnied frantically as Randvior came near. Dark eyes grew wide in fear. He comforted her by running his hand over her broad chest, moved slowly downward until his fingers traced the outline of her belly, praising her spirit for being chosen for sacrifice.
“Run free in Asgard forever,” he spoke quietly. “You are valiant, honored as any brave warrior in battle. An ordinary death is no end for a creature as beautiful as you.”
Only a few of his men overheard these words as he unsheathed his sword. Slitting the throat of a pig or ram to entertain his patron was one thing; driving a broadsword to the hilt, through the muscled chest of a beast larger than a man to appease his god’s wrath, was a rare demonstration of strength. Odin’s stamina overtook his body and his blade cut through thick flesh and bone. The mare swayed and snorted. Randvior stood strong, looking her straight in the eyes.
Her sides heaved for air as she scraped the frozen earth with her front hooves.
