Undercurrent (25 page)

Ragnar dodged as Red Beard’s knife caught his forearm, slicing through fabric and flesh. Blood soaked his sleeve even as the knife lifted to strike again. The other guards laughed, doing nothing to stop the insane match.

Behind the skirmish, Alarik leaned against a boulder, arms folded, eyes following the action…and nothing more. So what if he was tired and sick! Would no one help Ragnar?

The indignation pumping through her veins grew stronger with each heartbeat and swipe of Red Beard’s blade. She snatched up one of the many rocks, intent on smashing it into the back of his head. The stone’s jagged edges cut into her fingers as she hefted it. Good. All the better to dent the bully’s thick skull.

She advanced, but strong hands pulled her backward, snug against another guard’s big stomach. His arm pinned her solid, squeezing the breath from her. She wriggled like a skewered bug, unable to break free.

Ragnar turned aside, and Cassie gasped. What kind of stupid move was that? How could he just give up and walk away? Alarik grinned. The other guards exchanged money as if some kind of bet had been won. Red Beard reared his blade back like a seasoned pitcher about to loose a deadly fast ball.

She screamed as the knife plunged through the air.

Ragnar wheeled about, cracking into the man’s forearm with a roundhouse kick. The sickening sound of snapped bone filled the air, and the blade flew from his hand. Before the look of surprise left the guard’s face, Ragnar struck again. And again. Red Beard’s head jerked back as a crashing fist separated his nose from cartilage. Another blow knocked his jaw crooked, and Ragnar’s relentless pummeling shut an eye before the man hit the ground.

Cassie gaped, shocked at such violence from Ragnar. Within moments, Red Beard lay unconscious in the dirt. Sweaty and breathing hard, Ragnar looked as if he’d merely been out for a jog, except for the telltale blood on his sleeve. No wonder Alarik hadn’t helped him.

He stepped toward her, focus fixed on the guard still gripping her. Fire kindled in the one eye she could see, and the man behind her tensed. She flinched, glad it wasn’t her having to face that fierce look.

“
Release her.”

The man didn’t move. “She is your woman?”

Ragnar lowered his gaze, locking onto hers. For one unguarded instant, the hard set of his jaw shifted. Fire yet shone in his eye, but of a different nature, something more. Not even Drew had looked at her that way. It left her breathless and…

Wanting.

Before she could comprehend her feelings, the steely warrior mask descended over Ragnar’s face, and he lifted his chin to the guard. “Ja. The woman is mine.”

Then he turned and strode away.

The man’s arm dropped. Cassie tumbled forward. Before he could change his mind, she hurried out of his reach. This time they let her pass. Panting, she caught up to Alarik and stuck close as Ragnar led them along a downward trail. Now and then, she snuck a peek past Alarik to marvel at Ragnar. She never would’ve guessed such power and strength lay behind his peaceful façade. What other secrets did he hide?

Shades of ebony edged into the deep sapphire sky as they curved around a rocky cleft. Snatches of music drifted to her ear, louder at times, almost like trying to tune in a radio station. Eventually, the path opened into a wide, canyon-like basin. An enormous bonfire burned at the center and smaller ones dotted the surrounding area. Foul smelling torches spiraled black plumes of smoke from their flames. Tents covered the well-lit grounds and countless people scurried about.

Cassie took a deep breath. The aroma of roasted meat, sage, and apples sent a ripple through her tummy. A fast-paced folk reel added a merry backdrop to men raising cups along with their voices, hooting and hollering.

This was an assembly? Looked more like a party.

Ragnar picked his way into the throng. Alarik did not. He lowered himself onto a rock not far from the trail they’d left. Rather than try to find where Ragnar disappeared to, she opted to wait next to Alarik. In the flickering light, his gray skin and half-lidded eyes admitted what he’d never voice.

So she said it for him. “Not feeling so good, huh?”

He shook his head, allowing a slight smile. “As I have said, you speak too much, woman.”

She looked away, ignoring his jibe. To her right, several men huddled deep in debate. One gestured with a half-eaten drumstick, his words distorted through his full mouth. Cassie’s stomach groaned. Lunch had been a long time ago. Too long. She glanced at Alarik. “Well, what do we do now?”

“
Wait for your man to come back.”

“
My man?”

He turned to her, and his smile faded. “If Ragnar had not claimed you, others would. You will find that not all are as even-tempered. If I were you, I would thank Odin, or Thor, mayhap even Jesu, for your good fortune.

Good fortune? Stuck in this medieval menagerie? Her mouth opened, but no words came out. How could she possibly speak against Ragnar? No matter what century she lived in, he was a rare man.

As if her musings conjured him up, Ragnar suddenly stood before them. “Køm, Cousin. I have purchased you a soft place to lay your lazy backside this night.”

Alarik grunted. “I need not—”

“
Nay.” Ragnar extended one arm, the other wrapped tight in cloth. “Do not argue. I would not like to flatten you here.”

“
As if you could.” Grinning, Alarik clasped Ragnar’s hand, allowing the other man’s strength to hoist him. “If I did not require all my wits on the morrow, I would give you the sound thrashing you deserve.”

Smirking, Ragnar lifted Alarik’s pack, leaving behind his and Cassie’s. “Mayhap later, then. Cassie, wait here. I will return.”

She watched them snake through groupings of people, past the central fire, and enter one of the many tents beyond. Her tummy growled again, and her eyes returned to the meat-waving man. This time, however, the conversation did not hold his interest nearly as much as she did. He ripped off one more big bite with yellowed teeth, flung the bone aside, and stepped her way.

Cassie sank lower against the backpacks she’d been left to protect. Not again. Not without Ragnar nearby. The man met her eye with a leer, and she rocketed to her feet. Shooting into the crowd, she darted toward the tents. Funny how similar they looked up close. Which one? She narrowed it down to one of three. A quick peek through the door flaps ought to do the trick.

Lifting aside the canvas of tent number one, she peered through the crack. No good. All dark. She let the flap fall shut and scooted to tent number two. A glance over her shoulder showed that an evil grin stretched drumstick man’s lips as he craned his neck one way then another. What was the deal with these Nordic men and testosterone?

She grabbed the canvas of tent two, yanking it back slightly. Light poured through the narrow opening. The usual oily lamp smell wafted out, carrying with it a strong scent of lavender. At the center of a fur-lined floor, a woman sat with her back to the door, brushing her dark-gold hair. With the next stroke of the comb, the woman bent, allowing her long tresses to fall forward. Her clothes lay folded in a pile, and her naked skin gleamed white in the lanterns’ halos. Something about her looked familiar.

Shame alarms buzzed in Cassie’s subconscious, warning that her peeping Tom behavior was wrong. Sick even.

Footsteps behind broke her trance. Cassie jerked her hand away, allowing the door flap to slip closed. She pivoted, then froze.

Gray eyes, the shade of a cadaver, stared down into hers. White eyebrows and lashes lent them an electrical charge. Bold and unrelenting, the man before her commanded by stare alone. His straight hair hung loose, an unnatural color, as though the life ebbed from each strand. Waxen skin pulled tight against high cheekbones. He sprouted no beard or moustache, nor even any stubble. Bearing a strange mix of primeval youth, he looked as though he’d seen more years than humanly possible.

“
Who are you?” Like the wolf’s cry, his voice instilled instant fear.

Cassie forced her stuck tongue to move. “I’m…uh…Cassie.”

“
Cass-ee?” He stepped closer. A musky scent came with him, strong and animalistic. “Foreign name.”

Broad-shouldered—more so than Ragnar or even Alarik—he stood a head taller as well. “Why do you seek me?”

“
I didn’t, I mean…I wasn’t…” Her stomach twisted, but this time not from hunger. This was stupid. She should just step around him and—

“
Foreign words.” His hand shot out and a steel grip on her chin forced her face upward. He brought his mouth close to hers, his breath smelling metallic, tinny…like fresh blood. “Foreign taste as well?”

Her heart pounded, almost drowning out a voice from behind the frightening man.

“
Try it, Torolf, and you are a dead man.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Ragnar fought to calm the rage violently shaking his body. In front of him, Torolf loomed over Cassie as a wolf with a sheep before the kill. Ragnar had taken Torolf’s abuse many a time, but seeing him touch Cassie birthed an anger impossible to bear. His hands curled into fists. “You will not defile her.” He ground out the words, slow and murderous.

Torolf straightened, and Cassie bolted around his left side, then scooted behind Ragnar, her breaths shallow and fast.

“
The woman came to me, Ragnar. Are you not man enough to satisfy?” When Torolf finally turned, amusement crinkled fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Then vanished. “What are you doing here?”

“
Why ask? You already know.” Though Cassie stood safely behind him, Ragnar kept the edge to his voice and his fists clenched.

“
Ja. I know also that Rogaland will not have you as jarl.”

“
Me?” The presumption caught him off guard, and he shifted his weight. “I do not seek it. ’Tis Alarik’s to claim on the morrow.”

“
Alarik? But he is…” Torolf’s skin took on a purplish tone. He inhaled, his chest swelling until it seemed it might pop, then exhaled long and slow. “I see. ’Twill be quite the interesting council, will it not?”

His gaze drifted past Ragnar, searching out Cassie. Ragnar tensed and felt Cassie huddle closer to him, disturbing the folds of his cloak.

“
Come to me anytime, woman. I will teach you the ways of a real man.” Torolf spun, the edge of his cape slapping Ragnar, and disappeared into the tent. The door flaps swished with the sudden movement, as if the shelter trembled at his entrance.

Tension drained from Ragnar, leaving tingles in random muscles. He uncurled his stiff fingers, stretching them open and shut several times, and then turned. Cassie’s wide eyes peered at him from a face white as a winter’s morn. First the guard, now Torolf. Though he’d not wish her to suffer such distress, the gaze of implicit trust she directed at him caused his hope to swell. Mayhap one day, more than trust would shine there.

He swallowed back the reprimand he ought to give for not following his instructions. Besides, with her standing so near, who could think of harsh words? He offered his hand. “Køm. No doubt you are hungry, ja?”

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “Nope.” She grabbed his hand. “Starving. Let’s go.”

He smiled. “Let us retrieve our packs first, then find a friendly fire.”

She stuck close to his side as they wound their way through the crowd and on to where their canvas bags lay at the edge of the assembly. Not thinking, he reached for his pack with his bandaged arm, then winced as the weight of it shot pain from forearm to bicep.

“
You okay?” Cassie grunted as she hefted her own bag. “You know, I never did have a chance to say thank you for, uh…taking care of that guard. So, thanks.”

He shook his head. “’Twas a trifle. Think not of it.”

“
No, really.” She stepped closer, her teeth nibbling her lower lip as though she struggled to find the right words. “I feel safe with you.”

She wouldn’t if she could see the desire her presence incited within him, the battle he fought to keep his hands off her. Even now he could not control his fingers as he reached to brush away a wisp of hair blown forward on her face. “Thank Jesu for your safety, not me.”

Turning from her took more strength than wielding a sword in combat, though having her out of sight helped him focus on the task at hand. Their stomachs needed filling, and he needed information.

Skirting the multitude collected around the central bonfire for the night’s festivities, he bypassed several smaller groups huddled near fires before stopping at one. Flames lit the familiar faces of two men. Each sat gripping a roasting stick—bird carcasses sizzling on their skewers. Ragnar’s nostrils filled with the grilled aroma, and he stepped closer. “Hail, Oláf and Bryn.”

The men looked up. Both grinned, but Oláf spoke. “Ha, ha, Ragnar. ’Tis been a long time. Sit you down, friend.”

He squatted, but did not sit, especially when both men devoured Cassie with their eyes. “Your hospitality is unequaled, but ’tis Steinn I seek. Where does he make camp?”

Each snapped his attention to Ragnar, grins disappearing. “Oláf speaks true when he says you have been away a very long time.” Bryn paused and shook his head. “Steinn no longer walks among the living.”

“
What?” Ragnar sank, foreboding planting his backside on the ground. He patted the dirt next to him for Cassie to sit, but kept his full attention on Bryn. “Tell me all.”