Page 10 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

K enna’s hand flew to her mouth and she dropped down and out of view. What was he talking about? Not her… Surely, not her. He didn’t want her.

Lass, who had managed to get up to the rampart, nuzzled his nose against her neck.

She tickled him between the ears, taking comfort in his familiar soft fur and his scent.

“What is it you want?” her father said. “Really?”

“My friend,” Haakon said. “I want to converse with you, discuss your crops that I have never seen, your seasons, that is all. I told you, we come without plans of raiding or maiming. I even speak your tongue so that we can be civil.”

“Men who are battle-scarred from fighting Scotsmen on Scot Land and bear arms against us,” Hamish said firmly, “are not our friends.”

Kenna peered over the top of the fortress again, one eye observing between two splintered, spiked poles.

“It is true: we are scarred and bear arms.” The woman, with glinting, copper hair and a shield, stepped up to Hamish and stood with her feet hip-width apart. “You also have scars.” She tilted her head and continued to study him. “I guess that shows we are like-minded.” She reached out and touched his hair. “Not the only thing we have in common.” She held his eye contact with a confidence that didn’t fit her small stature as she spread the strands of his hair between her thumb and index finger.

“How do you speak our language?” Hamish asked her, his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tense. He didn’t move away from her and his gaze settled on the wolf’s head brooch that held her cloak secure. “You have come from across the sea. A foreign land.”

“We have known your kind of people before.” She dropped his hair with a dismissive flick of her fingers. “And we are particularly clever people when it comes to learning language.” She chuckled and tapped her head. “We do, after all, have the gods on our side.”

“God s ?” Hamish touched the strands of his hair she’d just held.

“You saw us?” Haakon asked, nodding at Hamish. “When our ship wrecked on the rocks.”

“Aye.” Hamish stood his ground. “But we didn’t think anyone would survive. It was the kind of storm only the Devil himself could have created.”

“The ‘Devil’?” another Norseman asked, the one who had laughed and clapped. The one with kohl streaked down his cheeks. “Who is that? Who is your devil god?”

“The Devil is not a god, and he is someone I hope you do not turn out to be,” her father said firmly. “I am Noah MacCallum, son of Jack MacCallum of Tillicoulty.”

“That is the name of this place?” The flame-haired woman nodded at the fort gate. “Tillicoulty?”

“Aye, that it is. And the surrounding land and bays all belong to us.”

Kenna watched with horror as her father, Noah, nodded to the guards. “Open the gates. We will feed and water these people. God has saved them from the wicked seas. We must do our part in seeing they are fit to go on their way.” He swung to face Haakon, long cane outstretched and almost jabbing him on the chest. “Do not make me regret this, Haakon Rhalson.”

“Oh, you won’t.” Haakon glanced upward again, as though he could look right through the wooden struts and see Kenna. “I will only bring satisfaction to your people. That is my promise.”

Kenna gasped and sank low, hugging Lass tighter. What was Noah thinking letting these people into their home? They’d raid and murder, rape and pillage. The church would be emptied of what meager treasures they had, the crops destroyed, homes burned to ashes before nightfall. Animals slaughtered, women raped, and men sodomized.

They should kill them all now. She’d fight alongside her brother and the other strong, young men of the village. She could easily take on the woman with the long hair and the shield, she was sure of it.

There was clanking and movement below as the opening gates allowed entry into the village. She pressed her back to the wall and hoped she wouldn’t be spotted.

Lass ran from her, then did her usual leap onto a low, grassy roof and down to the ground from there. She barked and ran in a circle as the group of Vikings entered the village.

It was clear the other men of the Tillicoulty were as skeptical as she. Their spines were stiff, their lips tight, flat lines. Bryce had wrinkled his nose, as though there was a bad smell around, and her father’s friend Olaf, his cheeks were flushed and he held his Bible tight to his chest.

“You have good light,” Haakon said, gesturing around. “For the season.”

“Soon, darkness will spread and be here for many hours,” Noah replied.

“In our northern land, it barely gets light each day. Only a sliver on the horizon.”

“I have heard that. It sounds…depressing.”

“It is a hard way to winter. Preparation is key.”

They carried on walking, their conversation going out of Kenna’s earshot. Inquisitiveness gnawed at her and she nibbled on her thumbnail. Was she brave enough to join the group after that look?

The second time he’d set his eyes upon her had been even more intense than the first. A shiver went up her spine at the memory and the same curiosity that had gripped her on the beach returned.

She saw Bryce and Hamish walking stiffly, flanking Noah, two guardian angels. She should have been there. She could fight as well as those two men she’d known since they’d been boys.

Quickly, she stood, brushed down her tunic and pants, and pushed her hair over her shoulders. With a straight back and her chin tilted, she headed for the ladder and quickly descended.

The ground was beginning to frost again, the meager heat of midday slipping into the shadows. She followed the group toward the Great House, her footsteps crunching the few blades of surviving grass.

She glanced upward. A crescent moon hung in the fading sky surrounded by slippery, gray clouds.

Bryce looked over his shoulder, saw her, and frowned.

“What?” she mouthed.

He flicked his hand. “Go away.”

“No.” She wouldn’t be dissuaded. She was going with them.

Lass was around her legs now. Kenna tickled her between the ears and carried on walking.

“What is happening?” her mother asked, suddenly at her side and pulling a thick shawl around her shoulders. She still held the pitchfork, though its prongs were angled at the ground now.

“Father has invited the Vikings in to trade.” Kenna tutted and shook her head. “This won’t go well.”

“At least no blood has been shed.”

“Yet!”

Noah entered the Great House. The door was low, the shallow, conical roof covered in turf that had hibernated like everything else for the winter. A steady stream of smoke rose from the central chimney.

Haakon followed, hunching down to enter. His men and one woman went with him.

Soon, the other villagers and Vikings slipped from view. Kenna and her mother entered along with her aunt and young cousin. Lass waited outside, knowing she wasn’t allowed in this building.

For a moment, Kenna paused in the shadows of the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. This space was lit with tallow candles and a long fire trough. There were also fires hanging from iron baskets that were used for communal cooking and heat and light.

“Where is the mead?” Haakon asked, folding onto a bench and looking around as he sat. He ran his tongue over his lips.

Kenna edged backward, hiding herself between several seal skins hanging from hooks.

“Fetch our guests food and drink,” Noah said, his voice not as deep and steady as usual.

Her father was nervous and he had good right to be.

“Plenty of it,” the woman said, sitting and crossing her long legs. She jabbed the toe of her boot into the air as she also looked around. “Our stomachs think our throats have been cut.”

The tall, lean Viking, the other one who had spoken their language, cackled and drew his finger across his throat as he lurched toward Olaf.

Olaf crossed himself and sat with a bump on a nearby straw bale.

“You have a church,” Haakon said to her father.

“We are good, Christian people.”

“Christian.” He nodded slowly and pointed to the pendent cross lying over her father’s tunic. “That is the Christian cross, am I right?”

“Aye.” Her father touched it. “It is a sign of our faithfulness to the Holy Father.”

“And your one lonely god has many treasures?” the woman asked, biting on her bottom lip as though holding in delight. “In your church?”

“Who are you?” her father asked.

“This is my sister, Astrid,” Haakon said, scowling at her.

“What?” Astrid said. “I want many treasures to take to my afterlife. There is nothing wrong with that.”

“We do not have treasures of gold and silver,” Olaf said, shaking his head and still eyeing the tall Viking with streaks of black on his face. “We are not a rich village. Our treasure is but one dog-eared Bible and our faith in prayer.” He paused. “A couple of iron candlesticks too.”

“No silver and gold?” Astrid folded her arms tightly. “I don’t believe you.” She paused and pointed at Hamish’s cross. “Because I see some there.”

Hamish kind of snarled at her.

“You are welcome to search for treasure,” Noah said. “Though you did agree not to raid, that we would feed and water you, trade with you, and then you would be on your way.”

A tray of mugs was set on a table and the Vikings reached eagerly for the ale, glugging and grunting and shouting, “ Sk?l! ”

To Kenna, it sounded as if they were shouting “skull.” Perhaps that was their toast for a collection of victims…victim’s skulls.

“ Ja , about that being on our way thing.” Haakon took a deep slug of ale then rested the base of the mug on his thigh and sat back. He spun his gaze around the room, shadows flicking over his face. Then he pushed his hand through his hair, shoving it back over his head. One black strand fell forward, licking beside his right temple.

Kenna didn’t know how he could exude such confidence in a strange land around strange people who clearly didn’t want him there.

But he did. He had confidence in bucket-loads.

“Go on.” Noah scowled at Haakon and sat, his cane between his legs and both hands curled over the top.

“We’ve decided to stay.” Haakon held Noah’s gaze. “Here. In your village.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” Bryce said, withdrawing his long dagger and stepping forward, holding it menacingly in Haakon’s direction. “You’ve pushed your luck coming this far. Had I been village leader, you would have been dead just for looking upon our home.”

In a sudden flurry of movement, the biggest of all the Vikings was in front of Bryce, his weapon also drawn and his eyes—partly hidden beneath thick eyebrows—flashing with menace and excitement. He said something sharp and guttural in a foreign language.

Haakon stood. He rested his hand on the shoulder of his companion. “Sit, Gunner. We agreed to negotiate.”

Gunner, tall and bearded, didn’t move.

“I said, sit ,” Haakon said again, gruffer this time.

Gunner hesitated then sat heavily on a straw bale. He didn’t take his angry gaze from Bryce as he gnawed on a hunk of bread and chewed with his mouth open.

“You can’t stay in our village.” Noah’s lips pursed. “This is our home, not yours.”

“I never said it couldn’t be your home.” Haakon raised his eyebrows. “I am simply saying it will be ours too.”

“But… But why?” Olaf said.

“Go back to your own land, where you belong.” Hamish jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “All of you.” He’d directed the last words at the woman, Astrid.

“We don’t want to.” She shrugged. “And I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

“Or you can’t .” Hamish raised his eyebrows at her. “Now that you don’t have a boat and you don’t know how to build one.”

“It is complicated,” Haakon said. “For my father is king.”

“And he does not want his son at his side?” Noah asked, raising his eyebrows.

“He does not want all of his sons at his side.” Kohl-Faced Viking clasped his fist down on a walnut, smashing it and sending bits of shell skittering off the table.

“You should explain,” Noah said, swallowing loudly then brushing a splinter of shell from his sleeve.

“I do not have to, old man.” Haakon took another slug of ale, seeming to drain his mug. “But I will.” He cleared his throat and once again surveyed his rapt audience. “My father is king. My twin brother and I were both in line for the throne. We both wanted the throne. So we did the only thing that seemed fair: we fought for it.”

“And you lost,” Bryce said with a note of pleasure in his voice. “You lost the crown.” He chuckled.

“’Haps you are right.” Haakon held his mug out for more ale.

The carpenter’s wife quickly filled it.

“Or it is simply the path the gods have planned for me,” Haakon went on. “All-seeing Odin works in mysterious ways and I saw his raven on my way here, just today.” He lowered his voice. “I believe the gods took the crown from me so that I would move onto better lands, with fertile soil, generous seasons. My destiny is so much bigger than my brother Ravn’s. More prosperous, more satisfying, more of everything.” He stood as though warming to his subject. “I will wear the crown of a superior land. I will be richer.” He paused and laughed suddenly. “And fatter—and so will my crew.” He held his belly and thrust his hips forward.

Kenna’s eyes widened.

Gunner stopped glaring at Bryce and suddenly laughed. He spoke in his native tongue and his friends chuckled.

“You think we are your destiny?” Noah asked, holding his brow as though his head ached. “Tillicoulty?”

“ Ja , it makes sense. My life was spared not once but twice during a battle with my brother and then at sea. And then…then I wash up on a beach, believing myself to be dead and what do I see?” He bit on his bottom lip and looked around, his eyes searching.

The room seemed to hold its breath as one.

Kenna’s heart clattered up against her ribcage. She pressed deeper into the shadows.

“I will tell you what I saw.” Haakon took a step away from his group. Past her father, past Olaf and Hamish, and looked straight at the seal skins. He nodded slowly, his mouth tipping into a hint of a smile. “As I lay there thinking of the Great Hall in Valhalla and the feasts the divine chef Andhrímnir would prepare me each day, I saw my Valkyrie. She had come to take me to the next realm.”

He took a step closer to Kenna and she clasped her hands beneath her chin. “God help me.”

“Except…” Haakon went on. “She was no Valkyrie. No vision. No dream. She was real, as real as the day I was born and the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon.” He came close still, until he was but a few feet from her.

“Mother,” she gasped as his eye contact glued onto hers.

“Oh, heaven help us.” Her mother crossed herself.

“So beautiful that I could not breathe,” he went on, “that my heart stopped and then started again, started again with only her in it.” He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. “She is whom I’ve waited my whole life for.”

Kenna whimpered. This couldn’t have been happening. This was sheer madness. Insanity. A devilish trick.

But then in one quick movement, Haakon reached for Kenna’s hand, and with a strong grip, he pulled her from the dark edge of the Great House.

“Oh! Please. No,” she cried.

“I saw in that moment,” he boomed over her protesting voice, “that my destiny was here. I saw the woman who will become my wife. Even if you already have a husband, I will kill him so I can claim you.” He paused. “Do you have a husband?”

“She does not,” someone in the crowd called out.

Kenna glared at the meddling old woman who had added to her predicament.

“Good.” Haakon grinned. “And so, this woman, this beautiful woman will bear the fruits of my seed from her womb and give me many heirs to my new land.”

He yanked her closer still so that she was forced to clutch his arm for balance.

“Your wife?” Noah stood and banged his cane on the floor. “That is my daughter. She will not bear you heirs. She will not bear heathen children. I forbid it.”

“No, please, no.” Kenna’s mother rushed forward. “I beg you. She is but a child.”

“‘A child’?” Haakon caught Kenna’s chin in his hand and stared into her face. “A child of more than twenty summers, I’d bet.”

“Get the hell off me.” She twisted from him, but he kept his arm wound around her waist, dragging her body close to his.

“And I think you should think twice before forbidding me anything that I desire,” Haakon said, focusing on Noah. “Because one word from me and my men will kill your entire village with barely a scratch landing on their flesh.”