Devil's Angel (9 page)

“Your help brought death to their friends and loved ones.” Conor’s voice was hard. He set a brisk pace up the stairs.

Erika puffed along behind him. Her circuits about the room had not prepared her for the amount of stairs they were climbing, but by Odin’s blinded eye, she would not tell him to slow. “It was war,” she argued, surprised that she had to explain it. “Perhaps the battle should not have happened, but surely they understand—”

“Death is death, Angel,” he said curtly. “They understand that husbands will never come home again, fathers will not teach their sons to hunt, and some weddings will not occur. Would you be unaffected by your brother’s death?”

“I would weep for Olan, but I know that if he died in battle, he would be taken to Valhalla with singing and feasting. For a warrior, you speak strange words, Devil of Dunlough.”

“A blade is not the only way to settle a disagreement.” His anger showed through in his voice, and he did nothing to temper it. How could she talk so calm of killing and death? What had happened to her that she could speak of it as some women discussed their weaving?

“Many are they who are quick to war, and they are the ones quick to die. Be sure of this, Angel of Death: I fear little in this world and I have stared Death in the eyes many times. When I pick up my sword, I use it—and not to wound.”

He stopped before another door complete with a pair of guards. He dismissed them and they left, giving her more hostile looks. Conor opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

Wary, she peered inside, then hurried in as she caught sight of the man lying on the pallet before the fire. With a small cry, she knelt beside him.

Conor turned to leave, but paused, caught by a curious sound. Erika was speaking in her native tongue, but that wasn’t what caught his ears. No, it was the way she touched the face of the man on the pallet, the way she leaned over him, the way her shoulders shook.

The Angel of Death was crying.

It caused a curious sensation in Conor, as if something thawed inside him. He supposed it was the anger draining out of him at the realization that Erika was not as callous as she seemed. That ’twas possible she had a heart. Deep in thought, Conor closed the door, leaving brother and sister alone.

Chapter Nine

“Who is it that brings tears to your eyes?” Olan demanded. “Tell me, that I may give him grief.”

Her brother’s voice, humming with menace, stanched her tears and forced a laugh from her. “Ease your berserker rage. My tears are for you, because you live.”

With a sweep of golden lashes, the fury in his eyes diminished. “It was a near thing, Rika,” he admitted, using slow movements to sit upright on the makeshift pallet. “I could hear the hoofbeats of the Valkyr, come to bear me to Valhalla. But into their path came an angel with raven hair and eyes as green as new-grown grass.”

“The Lady Gwynna,” Erika confirmed. “She is a gifted healer.”

A curious expression crossed her brother’s face at the mention of the healer, a potent mixture of anger and yearning battling for supremacy. Anger won out. “She would not let you come to me.”

“Gwynna was not able, though she did try,” Erika insisted. “She told me what little she could of your progress while I was locked away, and for that I am grateful.”

Blue eyes, blazing like sapphires, pierced her own. “All I knew of you was that you were alive, and at times, I could feel your fear.”

His voice was as hard as the tempered edge of a sword. “Have you been harmed? Did that scarred whoreson who stabbed you in the belly attempt to touch you?”

Erika hesitated. She had never lied to her brother, though she had omitted telling him things at times. “My only injuries were from the battle. One guard attempted to harm me, but Conor prevented it. And more than that, I was able to challenge him to a duel, to first blood. When I win, we will go free.”

Her news did not have the reaction Erika expected. A short, bitter word broke free of her brother’s clenched features. “That you even have to face this is more than I can bear,” he said in a harsh whisper. “I have failed in my duty to you.”

“No, Olan, you haven’t! Do not blame yourself for this.”

“How can I not?” Anger drove him to his feet, though he swayed with the effort. He raked his uninjured hand through his shoulder-length mane, away from his sweating brow. “This life we lead—this is no life for you!”

Concern rising like bile in her throat she rose to her feet, facing him. “But it is the life I chose.”

“That does not make it right!”

The outburst must have cost him dearly. A moan escaped him as he closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. Erika hurried to his side. “Olan?”

“Allfather, God in heaven, give me strength,” he prayed, so low she almost didn’t hear him. Opening his eyes, he stared at her, and Erika saw the anguish apparent in his gaze. “Rika, I do not wish to argue with you.”

“Then do not.” She quickly poured watery wine for him, pressing the cup into his hand.

He swallowed deeply, then refused her urging to sit on the small stool. “It is not I who will argue,” he said, his voice hard. “I’ll stand toe to toe with you as I tell you what you do not wish to hear. And you will hear what I have to say.”

When he took that tone, Erika knew better than to challenge her brother. That did not mean that she would be complaisant. She sat his mug on the low table then folded her arms, waiting for the speech she had heard so many times before.

Olan smiled faintly at the stubborn tilt of her chin, but his expression sobered when he began to speak. “I have never been happy with the path your life has taken,” he said. “You deserve more than this.”

With one massive shoulder he pushed away from the wall, cradling his mending right arm with his left. “I swore a solemn vow when our father made his voyage to the afterworld. I vowed that I would do whatever was necessary to see you safe and happy. I have put us upon this course, not only for the gold and silver we have acquired, but also with the hopes that you would find a place you love.”

No longer able to keep silent, she cried out, “But I am content!”

Slowly, Olan shook his head. “You are not content. I know of the tears you thought to conceal from me in the early days of our travels. I also know the day you ceased to shed those tears. I am your twin, remember? I can see the sadness in you. I have lost the sister with the ready smiles and bright laughter, lost her to a woman who only knows death and destruction.”

“Olan—”

“That is why we were heading to Donegal. Larangar wanted to go to Anglia to join Canute, with you protected as his wife.”

Shocked beyond measure, Erika could only stare at her brother. She sank onto the three-legged stool, trying to assimilate his words. “We were going to leave
Iraland
?” she whispered, her voice catching. “You were sending me to Anglia as Larangar’s wife
against my will
?”

“No, not against your will,” Olan replied, flushing with anger. “Never against your will, Erika. You must know that.”

“Then what is this plan you speak of, this decision you made concerning my future that you did not share with me?” She surged to her feet. “How could you do this to me?”

“Because I will not see you die with a sword in your belly!”

He leaned heavily against the wall, strength ebbing from him. Startled to see her brother so angry, she rushed to him. “Olan, please do not tax yourself so!”

“Do you not know how it plagues me each time you are injured, no matter how slight?” he asked, his voice rasping with each word. “I would take you away from that, Erika. Lars wanted that as well. He has…had…loved you long.”

She should have been shocked at his words, she knew. But deep inside, she had always known the truth. They had known the dark-haired Dane for most of their lives—their fathers had been best friends and often went a-viking together. She knew Lars had held deep affection for her, and had often joked about claiming her for his own if he could ever best her in swordplay.

“I loved Lars, but I could not have wed him,” she said, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “That is not the sort of love I bore for him.”

“I know.” Olan sighed. “That is why I did not tell you. If Larangar could not convince you to wed him and settle in the Danelaw, I would have taken you elsewhere.”

“But the reason we did not go Anglia from the start is because there are too many men there who knew our father, who might be loyal to Gunthar,” Erika protested. “The risk was, and still is, too great.”

His face was becoming alarmingly ashen as he ground his words out. “I will find a place for you. I failed you with Gunthar, and I have failed you here. If we live through this, I will not fail you again.”

Her heart hammering in her throat, Erika brought the stool to him so that he could sit on it while resting his back against the wall. “You have never failed me, Olan,” she whispered fervently, tears pricking her eyes once again. “I have never blamed you for what happened at home. Please believe that.”

She found a cloth and a basin of water, and set about mopping his perspiring brow. He sighed gratefully, but the look he gave her was one filled with an anguish years old. “I know you hold me blameless, Rika, but I blame myself enough for the two of us.”

Erika had never before considered that her brother carried such a weight with him. Olan had always been light of heart, and save for his berserker rage, his anger was as fleeting as a summer squall. Her heart twisted painfully inside her, knowing that she was the cause of his grief. Her own unhappiness she could bear, but not his.

She sought to lighten his mood. “When I win my duel with the man called Devil, we will find a place to call home, I promise.”

“What if you lose?”

Erika laughed, a sound like silver bells. “I have never lost, Olan, as well you know, even when it did not matter. I will not lose now.”

“If our lives are at stake, perhaps I should be the one to challenge him.”

“I do not believe our lives are forfeit,” she replied. “When I challenged Conor, he did not have time to set a prize for himself. But I will ask next time I see him.”

Olan raised an eyebrow. “You are this familiar with the man who wished you dead?”

Erika had the grace to blush. Olan’s mood was lightening. She would not ruin it by telling him she had been living in Conor’s bedchamber the last three days. “Our deaths are no longer uppermost in his thoughts,” she said, hoping it was true. “And he did subdue the true raiders.”

Olan perked up. “Did the raiders suffer greatly?”

“Absolutely.” She related the tale to Olan, and soon they were both laughing with delight.

Chapter Ten

Conor was startled by the sound of Erika’s laughter. It was a sweet, musical sound. He wondered what it would be like to share such a laugh with her.

The laughter ended with the opening of the door. Erika shot to her feet, preparing to defend her brother against harm. Conor held up his hands. “Ease, Erika. No one here will harm you.”

She relaxed her fighting stance, though she remained standing before her brother, blocking him from Conor’s view. The look she gave him was wary, yet pleading. “Is Lady Gwynna about? My brother needs her.”

Before he could answer, Gwynna pushed past him into the room. Erika stepped aside as his sister hurried over, and Conor had his first good look at the blond giant sitting against the wall. He had been impressive lying facedown in a puddle of his own blood. Now, even half mended, the Viking was a force to be reckoned with.

He seemed not to notice Conor’s presence, focusing instead on Gwynna. “
Mo aingeal
.”

My angel
. Conor frowned at the endearment. How dare this man be so familiar with his sister? His hand clenched into fists and he stepped forward. The anxious expressions on the women’s faces halted him. Perhaps the Viking was still delirious from his ordeal, and thought Gwynna someone else.

Erika stood in the center of the small chamber, wringing her hands. The love she bore her brother was unmistakable, as was the concern. Conor knew he could use that to his advantage. He also knew he wouldn’t have to.

He moved into the room, coming to stand beside the fair-haired woman. The need to reassure her, to erase the pinched look from her expression and replace it with the laughter he had heard earlier, was strong, and he gave in to it.

“Gwynna is the best healer in Connacht.” His hand, of its own volition, moved to rest on her shoulder. When she glanced up at him, startled, he continued, “Her knowledge of the healing arts is handed down through generations of Dunlough women and Druid healers. You need not fear for your brother’s life at her hands.”

A ghost of a smile flitted behind her eyes. “I have seen the truth—”

“Diabhal!”

More epithet than name, the word was uttered low and harsh by Erika’s brother. The Viking, having finally noticed Conor’s presence, climbed to his feet, his eyes blazing. Gwynna tried her best to return him to the stool, but the man had the width and breadth of a
cromlech
, as immovable as those stone tombs. Conor read the clear intensity of the blue-eyed giant and knew they would be soon to battle.

“Gwynna, take Erika and wait outside,” he charged his sister. “Olan and I have something that we must discuss.”