Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (136 page)

“Damn you, Olav!” he shouted to the heavens. “Damn me! Damn your obsession with your God!”

Loki take him, not even Svein Forkbeard, who was well on his way to converting the Danemark, employed such harsh persuasion as had Olav! So absorbed was Alarik in his wrath that he did not hear the approaching footfalls.

He did note the shadow that fell over him, and swung about... to face his brother.

Bjorn’s face was pale, his eyes wide. “’Tis true,” he declared, shaking his head as though disbelieving his eyes. “You live?”

“Aye!” Alarik snarled. “Does it gall you, bastard?” He surged to his feet to face him. Anger and disillusionment burned in his dark visage.

If Bjorn had been relieved at seeing Alarik, his relief faded in the flaring of his anger. “Ya!” he exploded. “By Odin! I am bastard—as you’ve so often reminded me!”

Alarik was momentarily stunned by the accusation, for he’d never used the term in reference to Bjorn before. He’d done so this time only in anger.

“You’ve not heard that from my lips,” Alarik denied. His fists clenched at his sides. “If you have been reminded... ’tis by your own self alone, for you will recall that I am bastard, too!”

“Ya? And what ills has your bastardy brought you, mine brother?” Bjorn countered. “You have had everything in life you’ve desired. I!—I am the one who has had naught all my years! Naught!—do you heed? And for once I had opportunity, can you not see that?”

“I see only a sniveling fool,” Alarik broke in, stalking him now. Bjorn retreated slowly. “A fool who has betrayed kin and country alike! A fool, Bjorn, and naught more! Know you what price you have paid for your treachery? Your honor! Kinship! The Northland’s future—not to mention its king!” He stopped before Bjorn, his stance deathly still yet bespeaking the violence in his heart. “And the knowledge that you carry the blood of brothers on your treacherous hands!” Alarik laughed then, but there was little mirth in the sound.

“You live!” Bjorn pointed out, and the declaration sounded more an accusation. “As for Olav—” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “Olav was never mine brother!” Bjorn said vehemently. “Only yours!”

“Spoiled whelp!” Alarik lunged at him, his fury too violent to contain any longer. The two wrestled fiercely, until Alarik, exhausted as he was, could exert no more. He fell atop Bjorn, pinning him beneath him with an arm to his neck, his face crimson with anger. “You think he was not, bastard!” he shouted. “You think not? Is that why he defended your filthy heathen hide to the last? Even in the face of mine anger and accusations, even when I condemned you with proof. Aye, Bjorn, Erik’s son, I know well you met with Hrolf, for I spied you with mine own eyes coming out of the grove! Olav defended you even then!” His voice broke.

“Nei, Bjorn, Erik’s son, art mistaken, for Olav was more your brother than ever you allowed. It was always you who kept the distance! You, by God!” Slowly his anger tempered, mellowed by the sight of his only remaining male kin lying gasping for breath beneath him, tempered by sorrow for what might have been and now would never be. “You and no one else,” he ground out miserably. “Think on that when the nights grow long and you lie brooding in your bed—and you will brood, brother, for ’tis your way!” He shook his head, removing his arm from Bjorn’s throat.

“What have you to know of my ways?” Bjorn spat, scrambling out from under him to his feet.

Alarik’s sigh was deep and full of pain as he rose again to face his brother. “More than you know... more than you know... think on my words if you will—” His eyes were melancholy as he turned his back to Bjorn, again making his way to the
kirken
. “Choke on them, if you would!” he called out after him. “But leave me be—leave Gryting—take Nissa and go. The sight of you sickens me!”

Bjorn stood rooted to the spot. “I wish to stay!” he announced.

Alarik stiffened, turning.

Bjorn sounded as defenseless as the little boy he’d once been, and Alarik found himself remembering wistfully the bragging youth who had followed him so faithfully.

When had it ceased to be so? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall. Bjorn had been a shadow to him all of his days. But no more; he’d managed to sever the ties completely with his betrayal. He’d thought his heart could grow no heavier but it did, yet he found he could not hate one who shared his blood.

Mayhap... mayhap still they could find a way back.

“I... I did not intend it to end as it did,” Bjorn appealed. “I…”

“How else could it have ended, Bjorn?” Alarik shook his head morosely. “I cannot decide this now,” he announced before Bjorn could reply. He didn’t wish to hear bloody excuses—could think only of Elienor. There was nothing left to be done for Olav. “Stay for the time,” he allowed with a weary sigh, and then he turned abruptly, again making his way to the
kirken
.

M
ercy, she’d done this before, had she not?

Elienor groaned as pain erupted through her head. She rolled and endeavored to open her eyes, but the light was too strong, and she closed them once more.

And sweet Jesu, but her body felt so tender... her legs... it was as though her ribs and chest were bruised. Nevertheless, she welcomed the pain, for it bespoke life—precious life!

Taking in a long draught of air, she knew an instant of serenity she’d never experienced before—despite her soreness, despite her confusion—for she sensed the nightmare was ended at last.

“Elienor,” a voice called softly.

Still disoriented, Elienor’s eyes opened, focusing after an interminable moment upon Nissa’s face hovering just above her own. With a startled gasp, she tried to rise.

Nissa was quick to aid her. “Allow me!” she exclaimed, placing her arms behind Elienor for support. Her expression seemed genuinely troubled, but Elienor could only think that Nissa had been the one to lure her to the
kirken
. She stiffened at the touch.

“W-where... where is Alarik?” Elienor asked, swallowing for fear that she would hear what she wished not to... that he had perished at sea. If such was the case, her heart would perish along with him.

Nissa released Elienor at once, sensing her mistrust. Her lashes fell. “Only now has he gone from your bedside,” she revealed softly. “He worried much,” she disclosed, her gaze returning to Elienor, and it seemed to Elienor her eyes were filled with worry as well as regret. “Does your head pain you overmuch?”

“A little,” Elienor confessed. Her lips twisted wryly. “Though ’tis a wonder I’ve any head at all with the abuse it has received.”

Nissa smiled uncertainly. She shook her head. “I... I am sorry,” she said again.

“Where has Alarik gone?” Elienor asked quietly.

“I’m certain he’ll return soon,” Nissa announced. “I-I hoped you would hear me before then—I’m so sorry!” she rushed on when Elienor did not at once refuse her. “I meant to cause you no harm. ’Tis simply that mine father... well, he wanted so much that I should wed Alarik. Oh, Elienor—can you forgive me?”

Elienor’s emotions reverted from giddy relief at knowing that Alarik was close by to her former wariness. “Why should you suddenly wish my forgiveness?” she asked skeptically.

Only silence answered her question.

“Nissa?”

“Because I wish to remain at Gryting!” Nissa revealed in desperation. “With mine sister! And... and with Bjorn,” she said more softly, her lashes lowering. “I... I believe I’ve loved him from the first,” she admitted brokenly, and there was a wistful note in her voice. Once again her sky-blue eyes returned to Elienor and they shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ve given myself to him, Elienor... and now I carry his babe. He wants so much that our child be born here as Gryting is his home!”

“And what of your father?” Elienor asked.

Nissa shook her head in sorrow, suppressing a sob. “By our laws... I am free to choose whomever I should wed. ’Tis only that... I wanted so desperately to gain mine father’s favor as well.”

“And now?” Elienor prodded.

“And now... now I know I must follow mine heart. I cannot allow mine babe to be born and never know his sire. Mine father—” Tears pooled at her eyes and spilled over her lashes. “Mine father must understand,” she said sadly, as though she doubted he would.

“And if he will not?”

“Then there will be naught I can do to remedy it. I know only that I must do what I must,” Nissa contended. And then her expression grew anxious. “Y-You’ve not told him?” she asked apprehensively, and then she rushed on. “You’ve not told Alarik that I was the one to lead you to the
kirken
?” Her voice was fearful, hopeful.

Elienor shook her head.

It seemed to Elienor that Nissa’s expression brightened suddenly. “Will... will you tell him?” she asked hesitantly.

Faced with the optimistic look in Nissa’s eyes, Elienor knew she could not refuse the request. She shook her head. “I’ll not tell him,” she yielded.

Crying out in relief, Nissa buried her face into her hands and wept. Elienor watched a moment, feeling awkward with the unexpected show of emotion, and then reached out to touch Nissa’s arm. Nissa lifted her face, her brows drawing together.

“Why?” she asked in bewilderment. “Why would you not tell him? After all I’ve done to harm you, Elienor?”

Elienor shrugged and shook her head. “For Alarik,” she revealed softly. “Because Bjorn is his brother... for the nephew he might not know otherwise... and because it seems to mean so much to you,” she proffered.

“And to Bjorn!” Nissa assured, her lips quivering. “He wishes so much to make things right betwixt himself and Alarik!”

Elienor nodded. “And where is Alarik now?” she asked once more. “I... I need to see him.” She did, desperately. More than aught else, she needed to behold him with her own eyes, needed proof that he yet lived—that this was not part of some cruel dream, that by some twist of fate, she would awaken and find herself alone. The last she recalled was her flight through the air as she’d hurled herself against him.

“Oh, but Elienor! Do you think you should seek him out so soon? You’ve only just awakened. Mayhap... mayhap it would be best if you waited until he returned.”

“Nay!” Elienor whispered fervently, and it was her turn to be despairing. “Nay, Nissa... I must see him! I must!”

In that instant, a look of profound understanding passed between the two, and Nissa nodded. “Then I shall lead you to him,” she relented, and with a tentative smile, she proceeded at once to help Elienor rise from the bed.

Alarik had slept not at all throughout the night.

Dark shadows rimmed his steely eyes, a silent testimony to his inner turmoil. In his heart there was an emptiness that made him feel more vulnerable then he’d ever thought conceivable—all these years he’d mistakenly assumed love, itself, rendered a man impotent. Now he knew better... it was not love, at all, but fear of loving that was the true weakness, for by it he’d lost everything.

Kneeling at the altar, he thought of Elienor lying so still within his bed and his gut twisted. He’d never done such a thing as pray ere now, for the old gods were not invoked in such a manner. Nevertheless... he felt the need to attempt the strange ritual... for Elienor’s sake...

The door had been left ajar.

During Elienor’s absence, the roof had been re-erected, and the little building was now shadowy within. Still... she could see well enough to make out the figure kneeling before the altar.

With Nissa supporting her, Elienor halted silently in the portal of the
kirken
. Her heart pounded within her breast at the sight before her. Stunned, she broke free of Nissa and leaned upon the door frame for support. She turned and motioned for Nissa to leave her, and then her gaze was drawn again, like metal to a lodestone, to the curious sight within.

Never had she seen Alarik pray... and though he did so awkwardly, his sincerity was evident in his every gesture. Still, to her surprise, she found it changed nothing. Nothing, at all. She shook her head, bewildered, for in truth she felt the same for him now as she had moments before.

She loved him recklessly.

Alarik sensed the presence well before he heard the footsteps enter the
kirken
, but didn’t bother to pause, nor did he conceal his prayers. He cared not who spied him now. Mayhap, had he been more convincing, Olav might have changed his tactics. Mayhap he would have softened? And mayhap not, he acknowledged ruefully.