Page 3 of Hungry Like a Wolf (Vikings Rock #3)
She didn’t pause. The church was only a few steps away. It was a refuge, a house of safety. At least in her mind, it felt that way.
“I will return for you here. Do not try and escape. The good people of Tillicoulty will not allow you through the fort entrance, but if you did slip through, know that the wolves would eat you alive. The scent of blood on the battlefield has brought them from the forest, salivating, stomachs rumbling, hunting for leftover guts and brains. Your god will not save you from their jaws and you have no hope of running away from them.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed into the small, dark church and dashed at the tears slipping wetly down her cheeks.
The silence wrapped around her like a heavy cloak and she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
A single tallow candle was lit on a table beneath the cross window. Next to it, a crude, wooden cross sat on a piece of clean linen. There was no Bible to read, no gold or incense. It was a truly humble church with little of the spoils of wealth she’d heard filled the house of God in Rome.
But it was a church, and she was alone for the first time in days.
She moved past the pews, rubbing her hands together against the cold, then came to a halt at the altar. A small, dusty red rug was on the floor and she folded down onto it, hands in prayer, eyes closed.
Her father’s face was the first thing that came to mind and she thanked God it was an image of him smiling and not beheaded. But still, the tears fell. Still, her heart broke.
She thought of her mother. She wouldn’t know her husband’s fate yet. That she was a widow, a queen without a king. It would take days for any survivors of the battle to journey west with news. And poor Alfred, her young brother, he was now fatherless and a king at such a young age.
And then, she prayed, rescue would come. Surely, her mother would gather a group of brave soldiers to rescue her only daughter from the heinous Vikings who had invaded their land.
“God Almighty, please hear my prayers and deliver me from this barbaric monster. Either save me and send me swiftly home or take me in my sleep before he rapes and murders me.” She paused to sniff and swipe her upper lip. “I trust in you. My faith is unwavering, oh, mighty—”
“They are not all bad, you know.”
She startled and spun around.
An older man with a long, white beard stood in the entrance. He held what appeared to be a Bible.
“Who are you?”
“I am Olaf of Tillicoulty.”
“Are you the priest?”
“I am the nearest thing our community has.” He smiled and walked forward. “When the Irish priest left, he entrusted me with the Holy Book and the souls of our village.”
“A great responsibility.” She stood, wary of a local who had become convinced that letting a Viking king rule was acceptable.
“One that I am honored to receive.” He came closer and crossed himself before the candle.
“How can you…?” She gestured at the door. “How can you all just let them settle here? They have more than put their heathen feet beneath the table, they have deigned it appropriate to rule and you have let them.” She shook her head.
“They didn’t give us much choice, if you must know.”
“There is always choice.”
“Not if you want to live.” He looked her up and down. “Surely, you must understand that, given your current predicament.”
She scowled and folded her arms. “He is a madman, the one who thinks I am some kind of possession he can just take.”
Olaf nodded slowly. “Orm is…interesting.”
She huffed. “Interesting, if you consider that word to mean crazed, volatile, dogmatic, and blasphemous .”
“It is true, he is all of those things.” He shrugged and his mouth downturned.
“And his face.” Again, she wiped at her damp cheeks. “He makes himself look all the crazier with the kohl beneath his eyes.”
“It is his way. I have become used to it. He has never hurt anyone in the village, even when he did not agree with his brother becoming Christian.”
“So it is true.”
“That King Haakon is one of the Good Lord’s flock? Aye, it is.”
“Good, for that means he will have to answer at the gates of heaven, to Saint Peter himself, about the cruel end he bestowed upon my father.”
“Aye, that could have been more dignified.”
She stared at him, mouth open.
“I guess our king was simply making a point. That Tillicoulty is a new kingdom and not one to be poked.”
“‘ Poked ’? How can you stand it? These people have taken over.”
“And for the better. For now, we do not have to pay unjust taxes. Now we can farm and work our land and keep the fruits of our labor. Your father worked not a day in our fields. Why should he be rewarded?”
“It is the way of the world.” Again, she bristled with an uneasy feeling floating in her stomach. Was it right just because it had always been? She wasn’t sure.
“It is not the way of our world anymore.” Olaf stood and came close, gently resting his arthritic hand on her shoulder.
“You should accept, Princess Carmel, that your life has changed drastically. It is turned upon its head. No longer are you a free woman of privilege. You are a captive of the Vikings. But…” He paused.
“Play the game well and you could have a happier future.”
“I doubt it.” She glared at him. “And when my mother, the queen, sends help my way you will not be spared, Priest, for you are in cahoots with the Norsemen. You have been weak and traitorous allowing them to pitch here, sleep with your women, control your borders. You will not be spared.”
“That may be.” He smiled, just a little. “But your rescuers will have to get past our defenses first. As you may have noticed, they are quite impressive.”
Carmel resisted stamping her foot. “We’ll have to wait and see who is right, Priest.”