Page 8 of Bats Out of Hell (Vikings Rock #1)

K enna raced toward Tillicoulty. Her chest hurt, she’d run so fast, and her thighs were on fire with the effort.

There was no lookout on the watchtower. Likely, he was busy collecting firewood before it got dark. She rushed into the settlement, looking around at the scattering of people, searching for her father.

“Where is he?” she muttered, coming to a halt beside the well. She placed her hands on her hips and stooped, dragging in breath.

“Kenna, where’d you go?” Bryce asked, suddenly appearing from a small herd of sheep who stood in a covered pen eating hay.

She straightened, closed her eyes for a second, then blew out a breath. She looked at him. “I went down to the beach.”

“Why?” He folded his arms and shook his head. “We were worried. I thought you were right behind us.”

“I saw one of them.”

“You what?” His eyes widened.

“I saw one of the Norsemen. He was washed up on the waves.”

“Dead?”

“I thought so…but…”

“‘But’?” Bryce swallowed and glanced at the gate as if expecting a raid at any moment.

“But no, he wasn’t dead, because when I touched him—”

“Fuck! You touched him! Are you crazy? Do you have a death wish? In God’s name, Kenna.” He inspected her from head to foot, as though checking for signs of crazy.

“Of course not. He wasn’t breathing, but when I touched him he dragged in a breath and sat up coughing.”

“You should have stabbed him through the heart. While he was down.” He flapped his arms at the gate. “Because it’s only a matter of time before he marches through there to plunder our meager possessions and take whatever woman appeals to his warped mind.”

Kenna swallowed. Just the thought of the big brute marching into Tillicoulty and picking a woman to bed sent a shiver up her spine. What if he picked her? She’d be no match for his strength despite being a keen shot with an arrow and deft with her dagger.

“You have to tell your father. The toísech needs to know about this.”

“Why do you think I ran back so fast?” She frowned. “Of course I need to tell him. Where is he?”

“He called a gathering in the Great House the moment Hamish and I returned and told him what we had seen, but now…now your news makes this matter even more important.”

“I know. And we need a lookout on the watchtower. This is no time to be complacent.”

“I will see to it.”

“Good.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders, brushed down her skirt, then marched to the Great House, avoiding several deep puddles caused by melting snow. A fire basket was lit outside, sending smoke into the darkening sky—the light was leaking from the horizon and being replaced with bruised purples. Soon, it would be night.

“Father,” she said, bursting in then stopping when she saw the fifteen village elders sitting with her father all in stony silence.

“Kenna.” He frowned at her. “We are having a council meeting.”

“I can see that.” She cleared her throat and set back her shoulders. “But there is something I must tell you.”

“We are very busy.” He folded his arms and nodded at the doorway she’d just burst through. “We can speak at home.”

“No.” She stepped into the rough circle in which they all sat. “This cannot wait.”

“Kenna, I—”

“They’re here.” She flicked her hand in the direction of the coast. “They have landed. Or at least one of them has.” She was still panting. “Vikings. Here.”

Her father’s lips flattened and his eyebrows pulled low. “Hamish reported that the crew of the Viking boat you saw had perished.”

“They did.” Hamish folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. He was standing beside the fire holding a cup of ale.

“That is what we thought. The storm was fierce, the waves murderous. But it seems the ocean was unsuccessful in its mission and one of the crew survived.”

“How do you know this, Kenna?” Olaf, her father’s longtime friend and the village priest asked as he tugged on his long, white beard.

“Because I saw him.” She closed her eyes and was immediately haunted by the brute’s startling blue ones staring back at her.

“There were no bodies,” Hamish said.

“There was one. You and Bryce had run off when I saw it in the waves. Why do you think I have only just returned to Tillicoulty? I stayed behind to investigate.”

“You should have called us to come back.” Hamish shook his head and his jaw tensed the way it always did when he was cross or frustrated.

“You should have followed your brother.” Her father frowned deeper still.

Kenna paced to a table that held a jug of ale. She poured herself a mug then sipped. “If I hadn’t stayed to investigate, we would be sitting here without the knowledge that one of them is out there, no doubt plotting how to steal from us, murder us, and burn down our village. I’d say it’s a good job I stayed behind to investigate.”

The council were quiet as they caught one another’s gaze.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a body?” Olaf asked after a few moments.

“At first that is exactly what I thought.” She took another drink, thirsty after her run. “So I flipped him over and checked for a heartbeat. But then…”

“Then what?” Her father was fiddling with the cross at his neck.

“Then he opened his eyes and stared at me—stared right through me with the look of a devil. In fact, I do believe I witnessed the Devil, right there on the beach. Oh, yes, he’d come straight out of hell.”

There were a few gasps, and clicks of tongues.

“You were in mortal danger, child.” Olaf glanced at her father. “We should give thanks to God that you are home safe.”

“But for how long will home be safe?” Hamish asked, his hand going to the handle of the seax on his belt.

“Aye, he could be marching here now, following your footsteps,” her father said.

“No, he seemed pretty messed up by the ocean.” But even as she spoke, Kenna glanced at the door.

“Were there any others?” Olaf asked. “Or just him?”

“I only saw him, though to tell you the truth, I didn’t hang around.”

“There were no others,” Hamish said. “Bryce and I would have seen them.”

“Mmm,” her father said, sitting bent over as though he needed all of his energy to think. “You’re sure there’s only one?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Then God may have had mercy on us if that is the case.”

“It is the case, and I would bet coins that we will not see him tonight,” Kenna said. “He was almost dead. It will take him time to regain strength. But I think on the morrow or the day after, he will appear, not least because I am sure he will be a good tracker.”

“They are known for skill on sea and land,” Hamish said, nodding seriously.

“So we must be ready,” her father said. “With round-the-clock sentries on the gate and watchtower, all farmers in the confines of the village unless doing essential work.”

“Which can be put on hold this time of year,” Olaf said. “Mostly.”

There was a murmur of agreement and general nodding.

“Hunting can go on, checking of traps, fishing and foraging,” Olaf said. “That is essential and those men will have weapons with them. That will be our new law.”

“Should we kill him on sight?” Hamish asked, the right side of his mouth curling up in a snarl.

Her father was quiet, head tipped, then, “No, I should like to know why he is here, how he found our wee corner in this land of Scots. Was it by accident or were we his destination?”

“By accident, I’d say,” Hamish huffed. “His boat sank. Caught on the rocks at Clam Bay.”

“Which means he’s trapped on land,” Kenna said. “Unless he faces the mountains in the east, which is unlikely, he will have to pass our village… No, he will have to go practically through our village. It is the only route to the low lands of the west.”

A hush fell over the room. What she’d said was true. Unless God had other ideas and the castaway died of exposure overnight, they’d be seeing him soon.

*

Kenna slept fitfully, plagued by dreams of the monster on the beach. His muscles had been so thick and solid, his weight dense when she’d moved him. The swirling tattoos from his jawline to his throat had been dark and intricate, and in her dream, the boar fang pendant had become a full set of gnashing jaws.

She tossed and turned, unable to get rid of the sense of being watched… seen …right to her core. He’d looked surprised. Behind the madness in his eyes, behind the evil, there had been a strange calmness.

That had unnerved her the most. The chillingly serene stare of a dead man looking into her soul.

“Kenna. Kenna. Wake up.”

“Mmm?” She sat and blinked open her eyes to the dimly lit room.

Her mother stood before her. “Come and help me make bread.”

“I have traps to check.”

“Not today. Hamish and Bryce are doing them.”

“But some of the traps are mine.” She frowned and pushed back the covers, the cool air wrapping around her legs. “The catch will belong to me.” Quickly, she pulled on pants, not caring that her mother would berate her for looking like a boy. It was cold and her gown was dirty. Next, she drew a short cloak around her shoulders, adding an extra layer over her woolen tunic, and pinned it with a round, silver brooch her grandmother had left her when she’d died. She pulled the hood up tightly.

“Feed the animals. There’s swill there for the pigs,” her mother said, frowning at her outfit but thankfully not commenting. “And once the fire is restocked, we’ll cook eggs. Give us some strength before all that kneading, eh.”

Kenna held back a retort. It was clear she’d been banned from leaving the village today. Much as it irked her, she’d been lucky not to get into more trouble for going on the beach and poking a Viking.

A few hours later, the fire had warmed the air and their small home smelled of baking bread and herby boar stew cooked in a broth thick with onions and turnips. They’d eat that later.

“The sentries have been doubled,” her mother said, “because of your Viking.”

“He’s not my Viking.”

“Your Norseman, then.”

“No.” Kenna set down the socks she was mending. “Whatever you want to call him, he’s not mine.”

“But you saw him.” Her mother licked the end of her darn then studied the eye of a needle as she threaded. “It was only you who saw him.”

“Don’t you believe me? Don’t you believe I saw a Viking?”

“Of course I do.” She picked up a tunic that had lost its buttons. “I just remember when you said you’d seen a bear at the well that time.”

“ Mother !” Kenna stared at her, wide-eyed.

“And there wasn’t one; you caused quite the fuss. The whole village was worried.”

“I was eight years old, and Father had been filling my head with stories of bears. I wanted to see one.”

Her mother didn’t reply.

“I swear on the Holy Cross, yesterday, he was there on the beach, larger than life. A huge man, wet, covered in seaweed and sand. His hair was long and his neck…painted.”

“‘Painted’?”

“Aye, dark ink, black ink.” She stroked her throat.

Her mother shuddered. “I hope I never see him.”

“I wish for that too, Mother, for your sake.”

They went back to darning quietly. The black-and-white dog, Lass, slept beside the fire and in the corner of the room one of the cats stalked a mouse.

Kenna let her mind wander. She thought how frightening it must have been to be aboard the vessel in the storm. How deafening it would have been when the hull had dragged and scraped on the razor-sharp rocks in Clam Bay.

Clam Bay was notorious. The people of Tillicoulty never launched from there—it was good only for collecting seafood. Just to the north was Eliah Bay, which was much easier to navigate from should the need to trade in one of the islands around Orc arise, though it didn’t often. They had everything they needed here.

Lass pricked up her ears, then lifted her head. Her attention was set firmly on the doorway.

“What is it?” Kenna asked, continuing to stitch. “What can you hear?”

Lass barked.

The tabby cat darted behind a store of grain.

“Shh.” Her mother looked up, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Kenna strained to hear. Aye. In the distance, there was a commotion. Shouting. A drum banged over and over. A warning.

Kenna’s heartbeat rocketed. Her chest tightened and a rush of energy pulsed into her blood. “It’s time,” she said. “He’s here.”

“Lord have mercy.” Her mother crossed herself then stood, the tunic falling to the floor.

Kenna stashed the sock aside and stood. “Should we go?”

“Aye. We need to be prepared.” Her mother grabbed a pitchfork that was set beside a bale of hay. “We need to be prepared to battle for our lives if necessary. And remember, keep your legs closed and gauge out his eyes if you need to. God will forgive.”

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that. One of him and a village full of strong farming men. We will be victorious.”

“I have heard of their superhuman strength and wily ways.”

Kenna checked her dagger was on her belt then followed her mother out into the gray winter’s day with Lass at her feet.

There was a tumult around the closed gate. A group of women held torches and pitchforks, their bodies steeled for an invasion.

“I’m going up to see what’s going on,” Kenna said, nodding at the ladder to the narrow rampart and watchtower. “See what the men are doing.”

“No! What if he has a bow and arrow?”

“He doesn’t, Mother. I saw him, remember?”

Kenna took off at a run, the dog at her heels. He’d arrived, as she’d known he would.

As she quickly climbed the ladder, she could make out men’s deep voices. Tense. Irritated. Stern.

But they were all speaking in her language.

Perhaps it wasn’t him.

Maybe King Athol had paid them a surprise visit.

She moved quickly to the watchtower with its small-pitched wooden roof and peered down.

It wasn’t the king.

“Oh, dear Lord.” She gripped the wooden rail. “He’s not alone. There’re more of them.”

Standing grouped with their backs to each other were not one, but seven Vikings—six huge men and one flamed-haired woman who held a battered, round shield.

They were surrounded by village men who wielded pikes and pitchforks, but they looked small compared to the new arrivals. The farmers’ eyes flashed with fear and uncertainty as they took in the Viking’s long, sharp daggers, which thankfully were still safely attached to their belts.

“Who is your king?” A deep, accented voice.

“I am the village leader.” Her father stepped forward, looking more hunched than usual despite his chin being tilted up bravely. “And who are you stepping onto on our land?”

“I am Haakon Rhalson, son of King Urd Rhalson of Drangar.”

Kenna gasped and covered her mouth. It was him. And the brute she had seen on the beach, he was their leader.

“I suggest, Haakon Rhalson, that you continue on your way.” Her father pointed west. “As you can see, we are not accustomed to unannounced visits and we have nothing to offer you.”

Haakon shrugged and she saw the corners of his mouth tilt into a roguish smile as his eyes narrowed. “That’s not very friendly, now, is it?”

“I’m not feeling friendly today,” her father said. “It is the bleak depths of midwinter. We are surviving, nothing more.”

“So how about a trade to brighten the gray?” Haakon said, pulling a small bag from his tunic pocket. “I have amber, lots of amber. We could do with food and mead and are willing to trade.”

“‘Trade’?” Her father shook his head in obvious confusion. “I thought the likes of you just took what you wanted.”

Haakon threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep guffaw that seemed to shake the very walls of the fort.

Kenna gripped the wooden struts tighter and her toes curled in her boots. What was going on?

“Oh, I do,” Haakon said, breaking out of the safety of his circle and ignoring the sharp pikes and pitches jabbing his way. He clasped her father’s shoulder, his hand massive. “I do just take what I want.”

Suddenly, he looked up.

His attention landed on Kenna.

She sucked in a breath. Frozen to the spot. He was staring at her with the same intensity he had the day before. His startling, blue eyes were otherworldly, keen, all-knowing.

But, for some reason, he too appeared frozen as the entire crowd watched him warily.

Then his lips curled into a slow smile again, and without breaking eye contact with her, he spoke. “But today, I am feeling generous and I am willing to trade peacefully with you good people. Because…well…let’s just say there is something I want here that will require a little more delicate negotiation.”