Thorolf had reasoning of his own. “His guards will not listen if his life is threatened.”
“It will not work, I tell you!”
“Your cousin disagrees. Look at him, Kristen. Ohthere has already reached the same conclusion as I. If your Saxon is foolhardy enough to come in here to get you, then he deserves what happens.”
God help her, she could almost hate Thorolf for forcing her to choose between them. If she ran out of here now, no one would stop her, but she would be denying her friends their chance for freedom, and there was no guarantee they would ever have another chance. But if she stayed…if she stayed, Royce could very well die.
Thorolf divined some of her thoughts, probably from her anguished expression. He loosened the grip on her hand which had kept her by his side. He was making her choose, leaving the decision wholly with her. But softly he said, “We will not kill him, Kristen. That would serve no purpose.”
His words made no difference. The choice was no longer hers, for Royce’s patience had run out. Instead of closing the door and forcing her out in some other way, his arrogance—his cursed, foolish arrogance—brought him forward. It was as if he walked in his own hall, with only his trusted servants surrounding him. That was how relaxed and at ease he was as he closed the distance between them.
Ohthere obviously did not believe this could happen. He had waited to see what Royce would do, but now that he had done the unlikely, Ohthere stood there doubting his own eyes. Thorolf must also have doubts now, for he rose, pulling Kristen up with him, his expression much less confident. Yet she felt the tension in his hand, still holding hers. He was still going to go through with it and try to overpower Royce. And she could not warn Royce, for that would only make it happen sooner, now that he was in the midst of them.
Vikings were by nature a superstitious lot. For men who would not step foot on a ship that they knew inside and out without making a sacrifice to their gods first, Royce’s boldness, which bordered on sheer madness, had to unnerve them. It allowed him to walk through them without a single man moving to stop him. He had done it before and they had not believed it then, even with his guards standing about with arrows at the ready. But now, alone, with his sword still in his scabbard, with his hands empty…
He reached Kristen and Thorolf, stopping to stand in front of them. Thorolf released her hand. She expected to feel Royce’s hand next, his long fingers curling about her wrist to drag her outside. His expression was nearly bland, yet she knew he had to be in the grips of a terrible rage to do what he had done.
She was past revealing emotion herself, her stomach tied up in knots, her nerves gone dead, numb, waiting…waiting.
Royce’s hand shot out, but it was Thorolf he grabbed. In a move that was so swift it was almost a blur before her eyes, Royce was behind Thorolf and had the prisoner’s neck twisted at an odd angle inside the arm he had circled round it, his other hand braced against the Viking’s head. It would take no more than a second to give the twist that would break Thorolf’s neck.
“Royce—” she began.
He cut her short, without looking at her, his tone, to her astonishment, dry. “Mayhap now you will leave, wench?”
Thorolf made a sound in his throat that drew her eyes worriedly to him, but what she saw made her emotions come back to life with a vengeance. He was choking on his own laughter! God’s teeth! If he could think it was funny that his own plan had been turned around and used against him…
She gave the two men her back and stomped over to Ohthere. “Do you let him go, or do you let him kill Thorolf? Thorolf might think it amusing to find himself outwitted, but the Saxon does not share his humor. Hewillkill him.”
“So I see,” Ohthere replied, and then he too somehow found it amusing. With a grin he added, “The Saxon will leave, with no help from us, I think. Thor’s teeth, he is ever a source of entertainment, that one. Let us be amused a bit more to see how he does it. Go on, child, take yourself out of here. I am sure he will follow after you.”
He gave her a hug before he let her go, for it was unlikely she would be allowed to see them again after this incident, and they both knew it. Then he pushed her toward the door. She went, getting farewells and whacks on her bottom as she passed the others, just as she used to at home. Were they all mad to see the humor in what had happened, instead of nurturing the disappointment?
Well, while they were all laughing about this later, she would be dealing with Royce, and she had every reason to believe it would not be pleasant. She wasn’t going to stand around and wait for his anger to wash over her. He had told her to leave. She did, making her own way back to the hall.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Iwonder, if I hide under this table, will he notice me?”
Eda gave Kristen a sharp look. “What kind of question is that, wench?”
“A whimsical one,” Kristen retorted as she plopped down on a stool.
After such heart-stopping suspense, she had a right to be irritable now, but that was not why she was. She did not like being blamed for something that was not of her doing, so in defense she was in the proper mood to face Royce’s fury. She would rather avoid it. She did in fact wish there were someplace she could hide for a while, just until he calmed down. But there was not, not in his hall.
“You came back alone?” Eda broke into her thoughts. “Where is Lord Royce?”
Kristen waved a hand dismissively. “There was some minor trouble with his prisoners. He will be along directly.”
He was, just then, and his eyes lit on her from across the hall. But apparently he was not ready to deal with her, for his look was only brief, and he crossed to his empty chair at the long table, not to her.
So, he would return to his drinking and entertainments, as if he had not just come close to losing his life. Why did that irritate her even more?
“Do I sleep with you again, Eda?”
“You know you do not. You saw Lord Averill and his family leave today.”
“Aye, but I would prefer to sleep with you.”
