Page 3 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

K enna gathered up her heavy, woolen skirt and ran as though her life depended upon it. Truth was, her life did depend upon it!

Angering a mother boar had not been a sensible thing to do. And anger it, she had. Kenna had killed one of its offspring and had it tucked beneath her arm. The life had gone from it, thanks to her dagger, but still, the mother wanted it back.

She pushed through a patch of brambles, devoid of leaves and fruit but still sharp with thorns. A curse tore from her throat as she heard the ripping of material. Her mother would not be happy.

But her mother would be happy at the thought of a suckling this time of year. The sow had given birth late summer, the sun dipping in the sky. Not sensible when all around there were hungry humans and ravenous wolves. She’d be surprised if any of the litter survived to see the first snowdrop.

With a glance over her shoulder, Kenna took a track to her left, relying on the fact the mother boar had terrible eyesight and would run straight ahead. Well, until the scent of her offspring petered out, that was. Then she’d turn and come searching this way.

A pheasant took flight, releasing a shrill alarm call. It disturbed a branch laden with snow, which fell to the ground with a whump , just missing Kenna. She was breathing hard, her legs pounding. She couldn’t outrun the boar; she’d have to outwit it.

She threw a quick glance behind her, her hair whipping across her face. The boarlet was heavy, which was good for cooking, but not for carrying. She took another turn, toward the river. She’d cross it and her trail would disappear. She just had to get there.

Kenna could still hear the huge beast, grunting, snorting and its trotters thumping the earth. How far from its nest would it go?

On and on she ran. The boar was getting more distant now, but also more frantic. She could hear it crashing through the undergrowth, gnashing and squealing. The creature was clearly murderous, her maternal instinct well and truly activated.

The scent of the icy river filled Kenna’s nostrils, and she shifted her catch from one arm to the other, blood smearing over her gown.

To her right, she spotted wolf tracks and a shudder went through her. She hated wolves. A close call when she’d been checking traps with Hamish, years ago, had given her nightmares for an entire winter. But today, she didn’t have time to fear the wolf. For today, she’d been the predator and she had her prey.

The river was a bubbling mass of mountain water this time of year, but it wasn’t deep on this bend because it meandered unusually wide. So, gathering her gown higher, she began to wade. It wasn’t easy with already tired legs, but she forged forward, still occasionally glancing behind and praying to God she wouldn’t see the fierce face and glinting eyes of a wild boar.

At one point, she nearly dropped her treasure but quickly righted herself and stepped over the rock that had almost twisted her ankle. Soon, she reached the opposite bank. It was hard with frost and she threw the boarlet to the grass then heaved herself up using roots as handholds. Even if the boar did follow her now, it would never be able to climb the steep incline.

Finally, she stood, hands on hips, kill at her feet, and dragged-in breath. She’d made it. Home was not far from here. Her daring had paid off. Her kin would feast tonight and for many nights to come.

“Ah!” she said, bending forward at the waist and peering across the river. “There you are.”

She spied the boar that had been chasing her, but it couldn’t see her as it pushed under a fallen branch and pile of leaves on the other side of the river. It had been a close call, that was for sure. The boar would have happily mauled her as retribution.

“I am sorry,” Kenna said, “for taking from you, but God has provided and we must eat, as must you.”

The boar froze; its hearing was excellent. It turned its head, but not in Kenna’s direction. The rush of water was distorting sound.

She decided not to push her luck. The river had shallow banks farther downstream and if the boar was determined enough, she might continue her pursuit. Which wouldn’t be wise, as it had three other boarlets to care for that were currently at the mercy of whatever other beasts were roaming.

So Kenna stooped, sweat peppering her brow, and picked up her dinner. Within seconds, she’d slipped into the forest and onto a track she knew as well as the back of her hand.

The sun was sliding from the sky and golden shadows stretched like fingers over the frozen earth. She sped up when she’d reached the rock she and Hamish had played on as kids, not wanting to be out in the dark with only a dagger and smelling like a three-course meal to any passing wolf.

Soon, Tillicoulty, a small, wooden fortified village perched upon a hill, came into view. Home. Always had been and always would be. Torches were set on either side of the one entrance and a villager stood on the watchtower above it. Smoke rose from many dwellings, including from the chimney of the Great House at the center. And a black flag depicting the red images of a horse hoof and a fish flapped in the easterly wind.

She drew nearer. A dog barked. An ironmonger hammered.

“What you got there, Kenna?”

Bryce, tall and dark-haired, approached, pushing at his tasseled hood. He held an axe; likely, he’d been chopping firewood.

She grinned and held up the boarlet. “Dinner. Taken fresh just minutes ago.”

“‘Fresh’? You find a farrowing nest?”

“Aye, on the yonder side of the river. Like taking a blanket from a bairn.” She laughed.

“And the mother?”

“She was nearby.” Kenna shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance for the daring act she’d committed.

He shook his head. “Bit bloody risky.” His attention drifted down to her toes and back up again. “And it looks like she caught you.”

“Ha, you think I’d be here to tell the tale if she had?” She brushed at her dirty, wet gown. “I’m skilled in hunting. She didn’t catch me, much as she wanted to.”

He examined the animal. “It’s a good size. Want me to carry it?”

“No, I’ve made it this far.” She stepped around him. “I’m taking it to my mother. She’ll be pleased.”

“As will the toísech .”

“Aye, my father has a fondness for suckling.” She almost skipped away, renewed energy in her step despite her big chase. It was good to remind the young men of the village that women could also hunt, run, and outwit dangerous beasts. They spent their time puffing up their chests, firing arrows, and setting traps, yet she could do all of those things and more.

“Mother, look what I have for you.” She entered their roundhouse, pausing for a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light of the tallow candles.

“In heaven’s name, Kenna, what have you done to your gown?” She wiped her hands on her own pale-green gown and then tucked her long, graying hair over her ears.

“Oh…aye, that. Sorry. But here. Look.” She held forward the boarlet. “We will eat well tonight.”

Her mother’s expression, cast in shadows, went from extreme irritation to delight and then flushed with anger. “Dear Lord above, where have you been all alone to find such a thing?”

“Over the river, toward the coast.”

“ Toward the coast! I told you not to go there. Norsemen have been spotted in the distance, on their longboats. Can you imagine if they landed on our shores and found a beautiful young woman like you?” She paused, shuddered, then crossed herself. “They are heathens, with no morals, no faith, and no conscience.” She took the boar. “Just wait until your father hears about this.”

“Until I hear about what?”

Kenna turned at the sound of her father’s deep voice. He’d stepped into their home with Hamish at his side. Hamish was taller than her father now, having had a growth spurt during the summer.

“Your daughter, Noah, has been over the river, alone, without even telling me where she was going.”

“You wouldn’t have let me go,” Kenna said, frustrated that the spoils of her bravery were not being admired.

“Of course I wouldn’t’ve.” Her mother slapped the boarlet onto a wooden table and picked up a seax: a long, steel knife with a fat, wooden handle.

“It’s too dangerous,” her father said, “and you are the daughter of the toísech , you must set an example for the other young women in the village. Show them the way.”

“ Show them the way .” Kenna slammed her bloody hands on her hips. “I am showing them the way. The way to be strong and independent. To fend for themselves, feed themselves, and—”

“I saw wolf tracks on the other side of the river,” Hamish said, folding his arms and rocking back on his heels the way her father did when asserting authority.

“Wolf tracks? Oh, Lord, give me strength.” Her mother hacked more furiously at a leg.

“Did you see any wolf tracks, Kenna?” Noah asked. “Today?”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I would have come straight home if I had.” Which was kind of the truth. She had run for home when she’d seen wolf tracks on the other side of the river.

Hamish cocked his head and she glared at him, daring her brother to question her. Though in truth he knew her better than anyone and likely knew she was fibbing.

Her father sighed. “Well, can we just agree you will not leave the village alone again?”

“Not leave the village? I can’t agree to that.” The thought was unbearable. She’d die of boredom.

“I didn’t say not leave the village at all, I said alone .” Noah raised his gray eyebrows at her then reached for a jug of heather ale.

“So I have to take Hamish with me every time?”

“Your brother is a fine fighter and protector, Kenna. So yes, you can go with him, or Bryce, or me, or—”

“I am also a fine fighter. I can hunt and trap and—”

“I am well aware of your skills.” Her father set his hands on her shoulders. “But you are also precious and beautiful, and I am not prepared to risk harm coming to you in any shape or form. We need you here, with us, not inside the belly of a wolf or floating down an icy river.” He glanced at her gown. “Which it looks like you have been doing, as you’re wet through.”

“Oh, dear child, go and change before the chill gets your bones,” her mother said, looking up from her butchery. “And put that gown to be washed; it smells like boar dung.”

Two hours later, Kenna was sitting in a clean gown tucking into a hearty meat stew laden with thyme. Her mother was still working and her father had gone to discuss village business with council.

“Mother said the Norsemen have been spotted off the coast,” she said quietly to Hamish.

He nodded and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. His green eyes flashed in the candlelight. “Twice in the last month. Their boats are so long, and they stay afloat whatever the weather, no matter how high the waves.” He leaned closer. “It is as if they are a devilish magic.”

“‘Magic’?”

“Aye, for they navigate when the mists come in, and when the sun does not show itself? They dare to go right out to sea, whatever the weather. How do they do it?”

“I don’t know.” She tore at bread. “But if I ever meet one, I will ask him for you.”

“I hope you never meet one. They are savages, raping and pillaging good Christians and leaving destruction in their wake.” He closed his eyes and crossed himself.

Kenna had heard this many times before. “Why do you think they’re like that? Surely, they have families, people they care for.”

“That is exactly it. They care for no one but themselves.”

“Not even God?”

He huffed. “Mother says they have no knowledge of God, but they will, on judgment day.”

Kenna was quiet, wondering what it would be like to have no knowledge of God’s existence. It would be strange, empty, like a gaping hole inside, like tumbling from a cliff with nothing to break the fall.

“Where do you think they’re going? When they sail past Scottish shores?”

“Who knows? Ireland ’haps, the home of the missionaries, or searching for seals and whales. Maybe for Irish churches to raid.”

“They wouldn’t do that.” Her eyes widened. “Not a church.”

“They would and they have.” He raised his eyebrows at her and shoveled in a spoonful of stew.

“They will get struck down, surely. For if they know not of God, they do not need his treasures.” The very thought shocked and saddened her.

“Heathens take what they want. We know that much from the tales wanderers have brought with them.”

Kenna was quiet for a moment, thinking about the one time she’d seen a longboat in the distance. The red, billowing sails were hoisted high and the waves being cut by a bow curled like a dragon’s long neck.

Hamish set his empty bowl aside then threw a log onto the fire at the center of the room. “You must heed Father, Kenna.”

“About what?”

“Going alone, out of the village. It is not safe for a girl.”

“I’m twenty-one summers now. I’m a woman, and one with skills. I am perfectly fine alone.”

“That might be so, but if something happened to you, it would break our family. Mother and Father would be torn in two with grief.”

“And you?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You are infuriating and stubborn and at times sarcastic, but aye, I would miss you.” He nudged her with his elbow. “So if you want to go wandering, holler at me, and I’ll come with you. Or you could always ask Bryce. He’d like that.”

She drank the last bit of broth from her bowl then sighed. “I will agree, for the winter at least.”

“Good.”

“But can we go tomorrow? To collect hazelnuts.”

“What?”

“We could get samphire too, from the edge of Clam Bay.”

“I have to chop logs then clean out the coop, but aye. Then we will go foraging.”

“That will give me time to mend my gown.” She groaned. “Mother is not happy about the damage done to it.”