I t was a nasty sting, sharp enough to wake Royce from his slumber. His hand came up to swipe the offending insect away from his neck. Fingers encountered cold metal instead, and the sharp point of the dagger pressed more firmly into the side of his neck, warning his hand away.
He was not dreaming. He could feel Kristen snuggled close to his left side, one hand resting slack against his chest. And on his right the sting of pain was too real. He could not see his assailant in the dark, but the man had managed to come stealthily into his chamber to threaten his life. And since no one of Wyndhurst would do so, he came to the most likely conclusion: The Vikings had escaped. And if they could get to his chamber, were all dead below?
Kristen had sworn there would be no slaughter, that they would simply leave if they could. Had they merely come for her, then? He was not going to let them take her with them. They would have to kill him first. And he realized that would not be so difficult, as the situation stood.
"Can you understand what I say?"
The muscles in his chest tightened. The husky whisper was indeed clear to him. No Viking tongue, but a Celtic one. Gaelan? Nay, the voice was not deep enough. The Vikings had not escaped, then, but just as bad, the Celts were raiding again. And they dared come into his hall this time.
"Answer, Saxon!" Still a whisper, but angry now.
"Aye, I understand you."
"Good."
The pressure of the dagger slackened and then the blade was lying across his neck, where it would only take the slightest jerk to sever his jugular. He could not move yet. He had to lie there and accept what came next. Anger rose from such impotence.
"State your demands!" he hissed.
"Easy, Saxon," the whisper warned. "I come for answers while they still fight amongst themselves. I am not so quick to judge until I know all the facts."
Royce frowned into the dark. He could make no sense out of what had just been said. He could hear no fighting. In fact, he heard nothing but their own breathing. The hall was as quiet as it should be in the middle of the night. All either still slept, or were dead.
"Who—"
The blade drew blood, silencing him. Kristen stirred at his side. He tried to relax the arm she lay on. He did not want her waking to this.
"I will ask the questions, Saxon. You will answer truthfully if you value your life."
This made less and less sense. What knowledge could he have that would interest a Celt? And who was fighting amongst themselves?
Royce said quietly, "I will tell you whatever you want, if you let the woman go."
"Let her go?" It was said in surprise, but he was not prepared for what the Celt said next. " 'Tis my daughter you sleep with. Has your Saxon church given you this right?"
Royce closed his eyes. He had not heard right. He couldn't have. Kristen's father was no Celt.
Impatiently the voice continued: " 'Tis no question that requires thought, Saxon. Either you have the right from your church, or you do not."
"I do not."
"Then has my daughter given you the right?"
Royce felt like laughing suddenly, this was so unbelievable. "I think you have made a mistake. 'Tis no Celtic wench I sleep with."
The blade pressed again against his neck. "I have not much time to learn the truth, so do not waste it with evasions. Kristen is my daughter, and I make no mistake in who you are."
The whisper was gone. She spoke in a clear, husky voice—a woman.
Royce said incredulously, "You are her mother?"
"God save me, who the devil did you think I was?"
"Not a woman!" he growled.
Kristen could not sleep through that. "Royce, what—"
"Be still, love, or this blade I hold to his neck is going to slip deeper."
"Mother! Oh, God, it is really you? How—"
"Kristen, be still!" Royce added his warning as she sat up, shaking the bed, and more blood trickled down his neck.
"What blade?" Kristen asked, and then cried in alarm: "Oh, nay, Mother, do not hurt him!"
"Do not?" Brenna removed the dagger, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Do not hurt him, after all, Ohthere has told us he has done to you? He whipped you!"
"That was a mistake," Kristen said, pushing Royce back down as he started to sit up. "Did Thorolf not tell you so?"
Brenna paused. "Mayhap he would have, but your uncle Hugh gave him one of his fists when he started to speak in the Saxon's behalf. I think he still sleeps."
"Uncle Hugh is here too?"
Royce caught Kristen's arms and sat up despite her effort to keep him down. "You lied to me," he said coldly. "You said you could not understand Gaelan, and yet you speak to your mother in the same Celtic tongue."
"Of course I do. We both learned it from her. Gaelan is my brother."
"Selig?"
"Aye."
"Then you lied about his death!"
"Nay! I thought he was dead. It took him a long while to recover from his wound and find me. But I could not tell you who he was. You would have put him in chains with the others if you knew he was a Viking."
His hold on her relaxed as he remembered her strange behavior the day Gaelan—or, rather, Selig—showed up. He brought one hand to her cheek, the fingers gentle there as he leaned close to brush his lips against hers.
"I am sorry," he said simply.
"How sweet," Brenna sneered. "If you two are done fighting and making up, there is still a serious matter to be faced. Your father wants your Saxon's blood, Kristen."
"Nay!"
" 'Tis not as simple as that," Brenna said sternly. "I was only able to slip away and come in here because they argue among themselves—Garrick, Hugh, and your brother—not about whether to kill him but about who will have the pleasure of it."
"Not Selig," Kristen insisted. "He knows how I feel."
"Mayhap. But once he heard of the whipping—"
"That again!" Kristen cried impatiently. " 'Twas naught—two minor lashes. 'Twas ordered done when he thought I was a lad and he was after the truth. He stopped it as soon as he saw I was a woman."
"Then you should have explained that to Selig, instead of letting him hear about it from Ohthere—who, I am sure, understood naught of it but what he saw."
"I never blamed Royce for it. How can they? Thorolf knows. Oh, curse Uncle Hugh for being so quick-tempered and striking him down."
"They are all angry, love. Did you think it would be otherwise when we come here and find you enslaved and forced to share the bed of your captor?"
"I will kill Selig!" Kristen stormed. "He knows I am not forced. Why did he not tell you so?"
Brenna laughed at her daughter's vehemence. "Mayhap he lost sight of that in his anger. But I am glad to hear it. Now calm down, love. Getting angry yourself is not going to solve aught."
Royce asked with forced evenness, "Am I to assume you have freed my prisoners?"
"Aye," Brenna replied. "That was the easy part. Your yard is not well guarded, Saxon."
"The patrol in the woods?"
"Taken."
"You mean killed!"
"A few were. It could not be helped. Your guard on the gate also. The only reason we withdrew outside your walls without taking your hall is that you have Kristen inside it. You have the upper hand as long as you hold her. But they will not go away, Saxon."
"My name is Royce," he said curtly.
"And mine is Brenna. And if we have come to first names, then let me tell you: I could have killed you while you still slept and taken my daughter out of here to safety."
"Your men apparently want my blood," he returned angrily. "Why not you as well?"
"I did think of it."
"Mother!" Kristen protested.
" 'Tis true, love. As God is my witness, I wanted to see him and all his people dead. I finally understood, after all these years, how your grandfather felt, and why he sought revenge against my people for what had been done to your father when he was captured in a raid. I came here for revenge myself, just as Anselm did when he captured me."
"But how did you know where to find us?"
"Ivarr's wife. You know what a worrier she is. Ivarr had told her what they planned, and long before the ship could be expected back, she came to Garrick and confessed all. But we thought we came for naught when we found Jurro monastery only a ruin. We thought the men had succeeded in the raid and we had left home too soon, that you were probably there now. We were making our way back to the ships—"
"More than one ship?" Royce interrupted.
"Three," Brenna replied. "So if you were thinking about fighting us, do not. We came prepared to fight, with over a hundred men."
Kristen found his hand. "You would not fight my father, would you?"
He only grunted in answer. Brenna made a sound very like it. "He may not have a choice, Kristen."
"Nay, there will be no fighting," Kristen insisted stubbornly. She scrambled out of bed, pulling the sheet with her. "Mother, I—Oh, God's teeth! I want to see you, Mother. Stay where you are." She swiped up a candle and left the chamber to find a torch to light it.
Royce reached for his clothes, then proceeded to calmly put them on. "You said why you wanted to kill me, Brenna. Now tell me why you did not."
"Because I was captured and enslaved once myself, yet I came to love the man I was given to. Garrick is my husband. He has come here not as a Viking, but as a father. And 'tis the father you will have to deal with."
"I could take you now," he speculated, strapping on his sword. "I would then have two hostages to bargain with."
There was soft laughter from across the room. "I would not try it."
He said nothing as light moved toward the door. A moment later, Kristen appeared, shielding the candle with her hand, with the sheet drawn over her shoulders and around her.
"Oh, Mother, put that down," Kristen chided. "He is not going to attack you."
With light now, Royce was staring at an evil-looking crossbow trained on his chest, and it was not even one of his own. Brenna had brought it with her.
He began to laugh at his own foolishness in underestimating the woman. He would have been in for quite a surprise if he had tried to disarm her in the dark.
Kristen scowled at him, seeing his hand on his sword hilt. He grinned at her, putting both hands up in surrender. And then he watched as mother and daughter were reunited, Kristen running into Brenna's outstretched arms. But it was Kristen who towered over her mother.
Royce shook his head, amazed. How could this woman be Kristen's mother? She was so small, so petite, her slender form molded snugly in a black velvet gown. Long raven hair was braided down her back, and tender gray eyes moved over Kristen's face as she held it cupped in her hands. Her coloring was that of the brother's, which could only make him assume Kristen took after her father. And yet her face was so like Kristen's. But, God's breath, she did not look old enough to be a mother. The woman was beautiful.
"You did not explain how you found us here," Kristen was saying.
" 'Twas Perrin, making a wide circle of this area, who found this place today, and saw the men working in the yard. We withdrew to the forest, to await night."
"Oh, Mother, you cannot know how glad I am to see you!" Kristen said, still hugging her tight. "I have been so miserable of late, knowing you would be waiting for our ship to come home, now that winter grows near, and knowing how upset you would be when it did not."
"That is why you have been depressed?" Royce said incredulously.
Kristen glanced toward the bed, looking rather shamefaced. "Aye. I am sorry I did not tell you, Royce, but there was naught you could do about it."
"I thought . . . Never mind," he said testily. "Next time tell me and let me judge whether I can help or not."
"There is no more time to waste with questions of your own, children," Brenna said matter-of-factly. "You must answer mine, and quickly: Will you marry my daughter, Royce?"
"Mother!" Kristen cried. "You cannot ask him that!"
"I must," Brenna insisted. "I must have something to appease your father with, although it may be too late to matter."
"I will not have a forced marriage," Kristen said stiffly. "And he has a betrothed. He cannot marry me."
Brenna looked to Royce with raised brow. He smiled at her. "The betrothal she mentions has been broken."
"What!" Kristen gasped. "When?"
"When I was gone those two days, I went to Raedwood to speak to Corliss's father. He was not too disappointed that I did not want his daughter, when I offered Darrelle for his son, Wilburt, instead."
"This was the surprise you said you had for me?"
"Nay, your own wedding was the surprise, though I was not sure you would agree. You were tricked into admitting you love me, and I have not heard you say it since."
"You really meant to marry me?"
"Aye."
"Oh, Royce!" She threw herself at him, knocking him back onto the bed.
"Then you do love my daughter?" Brenna interrupted their kiss.
"Mother!" Kristen rolled over. "God's teeth! I have heard none of this before, and now I must hear it in front of you, and by coercion? Is that any way—"
"Be quiet, love. I have no time to cater to your sensibilities. 'Tis no fault of mine if he has not told you until now, but I will hear him say it."
Royce said it. "I love her."
"It means naught when you are forced to say it," Kristen grumbled.
He caught her chin, bringing her eyes to his. "Do you really think I could be forced to say it, vixen? I love you."
Behind them, Brenna chuckled. "Your father came just as late to admitting it, Kristen."
Kristen was smiling quite bemusedly. She did not even hear her mother. But Royce could not ignore Brenna's presence, no matter how much he wished her gone at the moment.
Soberly he said, "And now what?"
"Now I have my answers I will leave as I came, and hope I can talk some sense—"
"Brenna!"
Royce saw both women cringe at the sound of that booming voice outside the window. It raised the hairs on his own neck.
"God save us, I knew it was too much to hope he would not find me gone."
"Brenna, answer!" Garrick bellowed again.
"Your father?" Royce ventured.
"Aye."
"And he speaks the Celtic tongue, too?"
"I told you his mother was Christian. She was a Celt—"
Brenna cut in sharply. "You had best make haste below, Royce. Garrick has no doubt awakened your men. See they do not leave the hall armed, or they will be cut down." She did not wait to see if he obeyed, but rushed to the window, calling down, "God's teeth, Viking, you do not have to shout down the hall. I am here, safe, and Kristen is with me. Nay! Do not come inside, Garrick. I will come to you."
Kristen had moved to the window beside her mother the moment Royce left the chamber. Torchlight illuminated the whole yard below, and what she saw were more than a hundred Vikings—helmeted, armed with sword and axe, and ready to storm the hall. She could only pray Royce would not call his men to arm. They would not stand a chance.