“You’ve already claimed that once before… not if you hate the land… despise the people. You’ll eventually fall prey to your own folly. And Tyr will notice I’m gone.”
“I suspect he’ll do more than that,” he added. “He might start a bloody war.”
“Is there anything I can do to convince you to let me go?”
“Everything has a price.” He rubbed his chin introspectively. “Two thousand gold pieces buys your freedom and a horse.”
“You know I cannot pay.”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s not my problem.”
Further pleading would accomplish nothing, but make her look like a desperate fool. He’d never let her go. All hopevanished. She might not have the brute strength to overcome Aaron, but the prince would have to hold a knife to her throat if he expected her to speak vows.
Chapter Fifteen
Unlikely Allies
Tyr hesitantly crackedone eye open. There was nothing he hated more than being forced from deep sleep. Onetooth towered over him, shaking his bearded face reprovingly.
“Although you swallowed copious amounts of spirits last night, it may interest you to know that one of your ships has returned from England.”
Both eyes snapped open. Blinding pain thundered between his ears. He’d stupidly attempted to drown his passion for Rachelle. Few outlets for his frustration existed—women, blood sport, or spirits. He’d chosen the last because he could suffer the consequences alone.
“Bring food,” Tyr groaned.
“Food? You deserve a swift kick in the arse first.” Onetooth swiped the furs off him. “While you were getting pissed, Rachelle disappeared.”
His brows knitted in disbelief. Tyr remembered allowing the guards posted outside her bedchamber to join him for drinks. He’d kept a watch on the stairs. And the girl promised never to leave her room unattended again. However, some of the night’s events remained fuzzy.
“She’s gone to the clearing for prayer.”
“No, I looked.”
“The bathhouse.”
“Nay.” Onetooth shot him a furious glance.
“A walk—”
“Stop guessing and get dressed.”
If he were any other man… Tyr swung his booted feet over the side of the bed, while holding his throbbing head between his hands. The room started to spin. He stood unsteadily at first, then tromped to the bed stand to wash his face and rinse the sour taste from his mouth.
“You look the devil,” Onetooth observed.
“So I’ve been told.”
The captain handed him a clean shirt.
“Which vessel?”
“The Raven.”
The first ship he’d dispatched. Good. Hopefully his men returned with information about Sir Henry Fiennes. Things had changed though, he’d never let Rachelle go. Instead, he’d pay generous restitution for her disappearance and triple the usual sum for a bride price.
“Where are my men?” Tyr asked.
“Assembled in the great hall.”
