Ravished by a Viking (23 page)

Honora leaned over Turk’s shoulder, pretending to look at the readings on his console. “The viewing screens are set to malfunction?” she asked as quietly as she could. Guards strolled along the aisles, watching her every movement.

“They will reflect our current location, then flicker off and on,” Turk whispered. “The image will be frozen so they won’t guess at our headings due to any familiar constellations.” Turk’s one-sided smile and the gleeful expression he wore, only for her, reassured her that he was content to follow her plan.

No one else aboard the
Proteus
knew that she was going to commandeer the ship for a second time.

“Coordinates are set?”

“New Iceland is locked in. Autopilot is set to get us there, then keep the ship in orbit. Once we’re in range, the transporter will open a portal on the bridge.”

“Only problem is our gear,” Honora muttered. They needed cold-weather clothing. “Let me handle it.” Her mind raced with the possibilities.

“Is everything all right?” The officer who had spoken to her when the security contingent arrived strode up beside them, suspicion burning in his eyes.

“Just double-checking the coordinates. We don’t want to take a longer route than necessary to get home.”

His gaze darted from her carefully controlled expression to Turk’s guileless stare, then huffed and marched away.

Honora didn’t linger. “Here we go.” With swift moves, she left the dais, heading toward the corridor at the rear of the bridge.

The security officer stepped in her way. “You do realize now that you can’t go anywhere unaccompanied.”

“I do now,” she said, fighting to keep her tone even, “but I would like to go to my quarters to use my own latrine and freshen up. Will you have to come inside to watch?”

His cheeks reddened. “I’ll remain outside your door.”

“For my protection? How kind of you,” she drawled, then began to step around him.

His eyes narrowed, but he backed away. He fell in behind her when she swept past.

Once inside her cabin, Honora quickly ran water to mask her sounds, and then toggled the comm switch on the wall. “Computer, set ship’s temperature ten degrees higher than cold storage.”

She flushed the toilet, satisfied when the air turned chilly almost immediately. Honora stuck her head out the cabin door. “Do you feel that?” she said, widening her eyes.

The guard cocked his head. “It’s getting cold. What did you do?”

She raised her eyebrows and jammed a hand on her hip. “You think I want to freeze my ass off? I don’t know what’s wrong, but we need to get everyone into cold-weather gear quickly.”

Ducking back inside her own cabin, she pulled out her hooded cloak and gloves. Then she made her way down the line of cabins to retrieve Turk’s gear.

Back on deck, she almost grinned at the sight of everyone bundled up. The air had gotten so cold she could see her own breath.

After suiting up, Turk revolved in his chair and gave her the signal, a subtle tip of his head. They were almost there, just a few moments more.

Sitting in the captain’s chair, she depressed the comm to the computer, and then waited ... Her breath caught in her throat.

When the first little glimmer of light brightened the center of the dais, she said, “Restore temperatures to previous setting.” Then she dove through the widening circle, Turk on her heels.

They landed in a drift of snow.

Honora scrambled to her knees and glanced back. The portal had closed, and no one had been near enough to follow. Pulling her hood forward to cut the biting cold, she shouted above the wind, “You’re sure they can’t follow?”

“The computer was set to erase our coordinates, then obey preset coordinates back to Helios. The viewing screens will do a restore in about an hour so they’ll get an inkling where they are and don’t panic. By the way, why do we care?”

Accomplishment zinged along her nerves and Honora grinned. They’d done it. She headed up the hill toward the gray door, feet sinking deep into the snow.

“We just gonna knock?” Turk asked, nerves causing his voice to rise.

“Hope someone’s there to hear or we’ll freeze to death.” Honora raised both hands and pounded on the heavy metal door.

When no one responded, Turk stepped beside her and pounded with her. With the cold seeping through her clothing, she refused to stop, her fists aching from the effort.

The door slammed open, and she and Turk fell forward, landing in a heap at the feet of the red-haired giant.

The Viking scowled down at them, then glanced quickly over their shoulders. “Are you alone?”

“We are,” Honora said, her teeth chattering.

“Get inside,” he said, his voice surly.

When the door closed, she turned to face him and realized he hadn’t come by himself. Several others stood behind him, their faces filled with suspicion, gazes hard—hands gripping short swords and knives.

“You’re the woman, the one he brought with him,” he said, his voice low and ominous. “Where’s our lord?”

Honora blew a breath through pursed lips, and straightened her spine. There was no easy way to break the news. “I need you to listen. You’re all in danger. Consortium ships are on their way here. They plan an invasion. I came to give you warning and to help.”

“Help? How?” His gaze narrowed. “And how do I know you aren’t part of a plan to trick us all?”

“You don’t know me. And you don’t have to trust me. You just have to get me to Dagr’s keep so I can talk to Odvarr.”

The red-haired man eyed her, then Turk, his lips curling in disgust. “Neither of you would be worth the clout.” He turned away and spoke to the men nearest him. “We’ll close the minehead. Send everyone here to guard the ore.” As his men hurried away, he set his fists on his hips and lowered his shaggy eyebrows in a fearsome scowl. “I’ll take you to the keep, and you’ll tell your story to Odvarr. But you’ll both make the trip bound.”

Honora gave him a short nod, grateful he hadn’t killed her on the spot, and that she’d have a chance to get word quickly to the rest of Dagr’s people. Still, she dreaded telling them that their clan-lord was now the captive.

Twenty

The great ship’s cargo hold was completely unlike anything Dagr had seen before. The space wasn’t intended for cargo. The wide, open expanse was a staging area for a military force. The number of warriors lined up in three companies, four rows deep, sent a chill through him. Their armaments were another concern—laser spears, mortar guns, composite armor and shields. Beneath the warriors’ accoutrements, they were also dressed for the climate in the latest, thinnest cold-weather garments designed to allow them a full range of movement.

Beside him, Frakki growled. “This is your plan? To bring an army into our midst?”

Frakki wasn’t really questioning him. Dagr understood. His friend and second-in-command wanted a last reassurance, a final farewell before facing a battle that might mean the end for them all.

Dagr turned away from the long, precise rows of well-armed, well-trained warriors and eyed his own ragtag crew. He and his own men were dressed in furs. Their arms had been returned to them, but seemed pitiful in comparison. They didn’t stand in rows, but managed to look more menacing than an entire battalion of perfectly identical Consortium soldiers.

He hadn’t had a chance to speak to his men alone. Just before marching here, he’d had to brief them in the brig, with guards present to report back every word, while he’d laid out his “plan” to take the keep at Skuldelev and wrest the throne from their present king.

His pride in his men, who hadn’t betrayed any surprise or any emotion whatsoever, gave him hope that they would pull this off. When he’d detailed where exactly they would transport to, he’d seen the light dawning in their eyes. Not a one had betrayed fear at his bold plan.

Commander Arikan strode toward him. “Are you and your men ready?” he asked, eyeing their clothing, a slight smirk curving his mouth.

“We’ll lead you to the postern gate. Are your men prepared to step out on ice?”

“They wear cleated boots.”

“Good,” Dagr said, smiling inside.

“Leave the rest to us.” Arikan jutted his chin toward the soldiers. “We are better armed. Better trained than any barbarian clansman.”

Dagr hoped his gaze didn’t reflect an ounce of his anger. Each of his men was worth a dozen of the little men lined up like toy soldiers.

The commander raised his hand. Up and down the lines, calls to attention were shouted out, ringing against the metal walls of the staging area.

A bright, narrow beam of fiery light burst in the center of the room, quickly expanding, exploding outward, the boundaries of the circle spinning.

Dagr stared and swore he could see the frozen blue sea and the dark shadow of the Keel Mountains in the distance. A driving snow was falling. Would Arikan hesitate if he saw how far from the keep they would be?

“Go now!” Arikan said, lowering his arm, his back to the portal.

Dagr tucked his head toward his chest and raised his sword, not looking back, and stepped through the portal and onto the frozen waters of Hymir’s Sea.

They’ve come! They’ve come!” came the whispers up and down the wallwalk.

Honora ran to a guard who leaned over the parapet, his hand pointing.

Vikings scrambled from below, climbing the stairs and ladders to get to the top.

“Are they daft?” Odvarr exclaimed loudly.

And next to her ear. Honora shook her head to clear the ringing and aimed a glare his way. “Shhh! The wind will only carry away so much of our sounds.”

“Why bother being quiet? They’ve already proven themselves fools.”

“That is a whole battalion of Consortium ground warriors,” she said, whispering furiously. “Men trained well in hand-to-hand combat, and armed to the teeth. Shouldn’t you be sending your own barbarians out to meet them before they reach the walls? They carry small cannons!”

“We needn’t bother. Do you hear them?”

Sure, she heard the rhythmic, snow-muffled stomping of hundreds of feet. So why did he look so gratified? Her gaze ran over Odvarr’s craggy face. She’d never understand any of them. They seemed to thrive on conflict.

She and Turk had arrived at the keep the previous afternoon, bound like roasted geese and greeted with suspicious stares and muffled laughter. Honora bore the indignity, filling in Dagr’s man in charge, the surly giant Odvarr, on what had transpired since Dagr’s last stop for ore.

Odvarr’s shaggy eyebrows had risen, but he’d stayed silent throughout the retelling. Of course, she’d left out the more intimate details.

Not that that had saved her from scrutiny by his two concubines. Astrid had looked down her nose from her great height, her glance skimming her body, then sniffing as though Honora were of no consequence. However, Tora had chided Odvarr for leaving her and Turk bound.

Under her insistence, the giant had reluctantly freed them. “Do not think I won’t split the two of you from gut to gullet if you threaten anyone here.”

Tora’s eyes twinkled. “Do not worry about him. He’s still smarting over the trick the last guest we held here played on him.”

“Do you hold all your guests prisoner?”

Tora had folded her hands over her belly, and her friendly gaze had narrowed. “Well, you aren’t really guests, are you? Dagr never gave you leave to come here.” She’d sighed and her stern expression softened. “However, the great risk you took coming to warn us says a lot about you.”

Then she’d fussed over them, waving a team of servants through the great hall to feed them, asking endless questions about Honora’s home, her ship, the people she knew.

And especially how Dagr had been when they’d parted. “Did he seem grim?” she’d asked.

Honora shrugged. “Not any more than usual.”

Astrid’s eyebrows shot up. “You spent a lot of time in his company, then?”

Honora’s cheeks had warmed beneath Tora and Astrid’s fascinated stares. “He . . . demanded that I remain close . . . to ensure the good behavior of my crew.” She had been just as curious about the two women. Knowing he had his choice of Viking women, she’d been surprised that he hadn’t chosen the most beautiful or even younger women.

“It can’t be. She’s a tiny thing,” Astrid said under her breath to Tora. “He’d break her like a twig.”

Tora patted her hand. “My friend, you’ve known this day would come.”

“But she’s ... not Viking. Her skin is dirty.”

Honora had had enough of them speaking as though she wasn’t even there. She cleared her throat. “My skin’s bronze.”

Astrid ’s hard-eyed gaze bored into her. “Her hair’s mud-colored.”

Pride inching her chin higher, Honora replied, “It’s actually a deep russet.”

Astrid snorted and aimed a confused glance at her sister concubine. “She knows nothing about our history.”

“And yet she’s human too,” Tora said softly. “We all have a common history, a common origin. Perhaps he sees a way to breach the divide between our peoples.”

A political arrangement?
Honora shook her head. “You place too much importance on me. I’m a disgraced ship’s captain, not someone a noble would consort with for a political alliance.”

“And yet, you’ve slept with him,” Tora said, studying her.

Honora’s cheeks burned hotter, but she nodded.

“More than once. I’d hazard a guess that he didn’t wait long past the taking of the ship to claim you.”

Honora’s mouth dropped open.

Tora smiled. “It’s all right, dear. You’re among friends.”

“Friends!” Odvarr and Astrid exclaimed in unison.

“Friends,” Tora said firmly. “Our Dagr has made his choice.”

“But he didn’t even want her here.”

“Likely for her own protection. Am I right?”

Honora saw no reason to argue, since the woman had somehow guessed right about everything else. “That’s what he said, but he might have been sparing my feelings.”

The three Vikings sitting opposite her froze, their mouths half-open, then erupted in peals of laughter.

“He wanted to spare your feelings?” Astrid said, holding her sides.

“He’s a sensitive man. More so than I originally thought,” Honora said, feeling foolish for having mentioned it at all.

“Tell me,” Tora said, wiping her eyes. “Was he wearing a stone talisman when last you saw him?”

Honora shrugged, not understanding, and then remembered the amulet Dagr had given Birget. “He passed it on to Birget before she boarded the transport ship to follow Dagr’s brother.”

For the first time, Tora’s soft mouth pinched into a tight line. “He is stubborn beyond belief. The man needs to learn to pray.”

Honora had had enough of small talk and turned to Odvarr. “You have to believe me. Consortium ships are headed this way. They intend to attack this keep and seize the mines.”

Odvarr didn’t respond with a gesture or an expression.

“Are you going to do nothing?” Honora said, jumping to her feet, anxiety fueling her muscles.

“It’s already done,” Tora said, her voice soothing. “As soon as you were brought into the keep. Odvarr set guards on the wallwalk and scouts along every access road to the keep. We will know if anyone comes.”

“And if they teleport directly inside the keep?”

“They will be like fish in a barrel,” Odvarr said, crossing his burly arms over his chest. “There isn’t a wolf inside the keep that isn’t standing ready and armed.”

Honora sighed. “I can’t be idle. Please, may I keep watch too?”

“And do what?” he said, eyeing her as though she were an annoying insect.

“I can shout.
I
can pray.”

“Do you have a god you have a relationship with?” Tora asked.

“Not really. I haven’t believed for a very long time.”

“Then let me introduce you to our Dagr’s god. The one who blessed his sword and whose symbol he wore around his neck—until he decided to gift his well-being to that arrogant bear.”

Honora liked Tora from the instant they’d met. But as the evening had worn on, she’d warmed to the woman’s natural warmth and good humor, melting just a little beneath her coddling when she’d fed her, then insisted on bathing her and tucking her into bed.

In all her life, Honora had never been treated like that. The servants in her father’s house who’d seen to her instruction until she was old enough to enter the academy had otherwise left her to herself.

She wondered if Dagr knew how different his world was, how wonderful it was to someone who’d never felt she belonged. She’d fallen asleep admitting to herself that she wanted to belong here. Wanted to belong to Dagr.

The fierce cold wind stung her cheeks, centering her thoughts. Her eyes watered and she blinked rapidly as she stared through the snowfall to see the shadowy figures spread out on the ice, marching toward them now.

They approached as quietly as a battalion of men could, likely hoping the whistling wind and the scurry of snow on the frozen surface of the sea would leave them undetected until the last moment.

Had they chosen this route or had Dagr? Arikan, the arrogant bastard, might have thought that seeing his men spread out would have the Vikings shaking in their boots.

If Dagr were alive, he might have bleated out this route during torture to ensure his people had warning. Dagr could already be dead; likely was.

Sorrow trembled through her, but she firmed her shoulders. She could still do one last thing for him. She could witness his enemy’s defeat.

She stared at the dark figures blurred by the snow, until they neared and clearer outlines formed. Her gaze narrowed on one with a familiar proud gait. Heart racing, she leaned over the parapet, gripping the edge hard.

A hand closed around the neck of her cloak and pulled her back. “Are you trying to kill yourself? Or me?” Odvarr muttered. “Dagr will have my innards for dinner if you fall.”

She shook her head and pointed. “Look!” she hissed. “At the front of the formation. It’s him!”

Odvarr squinted, then leaned over the wall. “’Tis him, all right,” he said, nodding as though he’d never had any doubt about his survival. “I hope he plans to start running soon.”

“If he runs, they’ll know he’s betraying them and they’ll kill him.”

“If he doesn’t, the serpents will eat him.”

“Serpents?”

She swung back to look at hundreds of figures, no longer shrouded because of diminishing snowfall. From her perch on a wallwalk, at the top of a rugged cliff, she could see the frozen ocean all the way to the horizon.

Another glance below and she sucked in startled breath. Long streaks of vibrant color skimmed below the ice. “Does he know?”

“Of course he does. ’Twas his plan,” he said, giving her a harsh smile filled with pride. He turned and bent over the railing. “Men! To the skiffs. Your king has turned dragons to our cause!”

Cheering arose, cries that didn’t diminish as the men below raised their swords and shook their fists. Their fervor filled her with exhilaration as though this were her own battle too.

Honora followed on Odvarr’s heels, racing down the steps. “Should everyone abandon the keep? What if the Consortium transports some inside?”

“The house guard will handle them,” he bellowed over his shoulder.

Voices shouted from below, and the great iron gate that guarded the entrance to the keep was cranked up. Honora joined the press of men spilling out the gate, and followed them down a steep cliff-side path to the beach below.

Along the edge of the water, a dozen or so skiffs stretched along a stone-and-timber dock with a steeply peaked roof.

Explosions sounded, and Honora stilled before looking out toward the advancing battalion, expecting the fire to be directed their way. However, confusion reigned on the ice.

The serpents’ presence had been noted.

Soldiers fired lasers at the ice beneath them.

Ice cracked and flew upward as large-headed beasts crashed through the thick layers. Men slid down the sides of the ice floes, tumbling into frozen water and the gaping mouths of the large beasts, gnashed and chopped by rows of long teeth.

Frozen in horror, she didn’t move until a Viking sped past her, knocking her to the side.

She caught the back of his cloak. “Take me with you.”

He scowled, but didn’t pause.