Page 4 of Hungry Like a Wolf (Vikings Rock #3)

“T hrall, get here!”

Carmel turned to the church door. It was flung open and Orm stood there, his hands on his hips and his frame in silhouette.

“What?” She frowned at him.

“We are going to the beach. Our fallen warrior friend Egil is to be sent out to sea right now.”

“May God bless his soul.” Olaf crossed himself and sent his eyes heavenward.

“What are you doing?” she said to the old man. “He was a heathen and a murderer.”

“He died defending Tillicoulty and the good men, women, and children who live here. Egil deserves God’s mercy and eternal salvation.”

She huffed and pushed past him, making her way down the aisle in her strange, frustrating shuffle.

“Take these off,” she said, kicking her left leg up to shake her bonds. “How can I walk to the beach?” She glared at Orm. He’d covered the top half of his face entirely in black soot that made him look even more demonic.

He grinned. “Did you pray for them to come off?”

“Well… I… No… But I had other things to pray for, like you dropping dead.”

He laughed, showing big, white teeth that matched the whites of his eyes. “Well, I will be dead one day, so that prayer will be answered, but if you did not pray for your chains to be gone, then how can it happen? That is how your god works, right?”

“You have no idea.” She pursed her lips.

“Come. I will carry you.”

“No… Get off… I…”

But instead of throwing her over his shoulder, this time, he scooped her into his arms and she had no choice but to cling to his shoulder with one hand and wrap her arm around his neck.

Being so close to him was repulsive. He smelled of leather and soap and perhaps rosemary too.

A procession was heading toward the beach and they joined it. A lone gull called mournfully overhead and the briny scent of the ocean caught on a stiff breeze.

Haakon and his wife walked hand in hand, her scarlet gown long and made of quality material. His fur was thick and sumptuous and his hair braided tightly down the back of his head.

Beside them stood another couple, both with hair the color of the brightest orange sunset.

He leaned to speak to her as they walked, his hand touching the small of her back.

Carmel recognized him as the tall man she’d made good aim at with her spear and her as the woman who had been itching to kill her when she’d first been captured.

Perhaps she’d have been better off if she were dead rather than here.

As they walked along the small path through the dunes, wispy grass bending in the wind, she saw the horizon was heavy with blackening clouds. There’d be snow soon, she was sure of it, and the churned earth of the battlefield would freeze.

A small pier led out to sea, the waves frothing and fizzing against its timber supports.

On the left of it were two small fishing boats anchored with thick rope.

On the right was a wooden raft piled high with dry wood.

Atop it a body, Egil, and around him furs, mistletoe sprigs and armor set out neatly.

“What is that?” she asked Orm when he set her down on the beach.

“A burial pyre. Egil will need those things in his next life. His armor, his cloak and arm ring, his tankard for supping with the gods in the Great Hall.”

“It will all be burned?”

“ Ja , the flames will take it with him to Valhalla.” His hair lifted on the wind. “Sit. Sit beside me.” He dropped to the ground and folded his legs, picking up two sticks. He banged on a skin drum, quickly setting up a rhythm that vibrated through her like a heartbeat.

A gust of wind pressed her cape to her legs and nipped her cheeks. She sat, taking some shelter from his body. Kenna, the queen, lit iron baskets along the pier and they burst to life, adding color to the gray sky.

The crowd huddled closer, their faces somber, as Haakon lifted the flaming torch.

“Good people of Tillicoulty, today we honor our dead. Those in the churchyard and those, like Egil son of Daneson of Drangar, who take a different route to their eternal life.” He paused and surveyed the villagers.

“To die in battle is to die with honor. It is to die leaving a legacy on Earth that your memory will never fade. To die for a cause, a belief, is to die for a reason and there is no greater reason that freedom.” He shouted the last word.

A cheer went up.

“And as my friend, the priest Olaf, has committed Christian bodies to God, I now commit Egil to the gods who await him in Valhalla.” He raised his head, flashing his thick chin and neck tattoo. “Feast well, my friend. Feast well.” He held the torch aloft.

Suddenly, the woman with flame-red hair sprang forward and snatched the torch from him. A frown slashed over her brow and she stepped up to the pyre, holding it at the ready.

The king scowled and marched up to her. An argument ensued.

Carmel was too far away to hear what they were saying.

But what she couldn’t understand was why a king was letting a woman create such a scene—more than a scene.

After a few minutes, she appeared to win the argument and Haakon stepped back.

She held the torch over the raft, the wind whipping her hair around her face.

“Hail to the gods. Hail to the dead! Hail to the kinsmen, the family, the shields, and the swords. Long may Egil’s memory live in the minds of the living and his bravery and wisdom by rejoiced as he sits in the mighty halls of Valhalla. ”

She tossed the torch onto the body.

Instantly, the mistletoe leaped into flame. Three others who could only be Norsemen released the ropes and gave the raft a shove out into the tide.

The current caught it immediately, bobbing it this way and that as flames licked upward, eager to devour their feast.

“Look!” The queen stepped forward, pointing east of the pyre raft. “Someone is coming our way.”

Carmel peered forward—it seemed everybody’s attention went to the horizon.

Orm beat the drum faster, the boom deafening, as though he were excited by the sudden appearance of a boat.

It was a Viking longboat; she’d seen enough of them to know that.

The curled bow was unmistakable and this one appeared to have been carved like a serpent with a long, forked tongue.

A tall, bearded man stood at the prow, arm curled around the serpent’s neck as he shielded his eyes, peering forward.

Suddenly, Orm threw his drumsticks to the sand.

He then leaped up and ran toward the pier.

The crowd parted to let him through—if they hadn’t, he’d have run straight through them.

“Thor’s thunder rumbles around a crown!” he shouted.

“It rumbles and it strikes with lightning…and here is the lightning.”

Carmel had no idea what was going on. As Egil’s body drifted out to sea ablaze and with all of his worldly possessions, another boat was making dock against the pier. What she did know was that whoever it was, it had shocked Orm, the king, and the woman with the red hair.

Who could it be?

The new arrival leaped off, his white fur cloak flying out behind him. His hair was long but plaited neatly against his head and his beard was thick and shiny and dotted with beads. His boots landed with a whump .

Orm was practically dancing around him, his arms waving in the air as he let out whoops of anticipation.

Carmel stood and glanced at the dunes. Should she make a run for it now that everyone was distracted by this new and unexpected visitor? From here, she wouldn’t have the fort walls or the watchman to contend with.

Just the wolves.

And the bloody battlefield complete with heads on stakes.

A shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Who could it be?” a woman, petite and with dark-brown hair, said at Carmel’s side.

“You tell me. You live here,” Carmel snapped.

“I have never seen him before. This is only the second Norse ship to come to our shores. Usually, they go straight past us, to richer lands. We have little to raid here.”

“I have noticed.”

The woman smiled. “I am Anna. My father is Hywel, the carpenter. You might have seen him helping build the funeral pyre.”

“No, I didn’t see. I was praying.”

“As would I in your position.”

Carmel peered closer at the young woman. Perhaps she would be sympathetic, help her escape and provide her with the tools she’d need to survive. “Prayers are all I can rely on.” She paused. “I have a monster controlling me, the devil himself.”

She laughed. “Orm is not the devil.”

“Are we looking at the same man?” Carmel asked incredulously as she flung her hand in his direction.

“Oh, he’s excitable and he thinks differently to other people, but he has a good heart.”

“You call this having a good heart?” She raised her gown to show the chain between her ankles.

“Well, at least he isn’t planning on spreading your legs.” Anna raised her eyebrows.

“What? I…” Carmel shook her head to rid the image of Orm forcing himself on her, taking her maidenhood. Just the thought made her stomach churn.

“Come on. Let us go and see what is happening.” Anna held out her arm. “I will help you walk.”

Carmel said nothing, but she did take the offered support and together, they made their way over the sand to the pier. When they drew closer, she could hear the conversation between the king and the new arrival.

“Ravn, I didn’t expect to see you again in this life.” Haakon tipped his chin and puffed up his chest.

The tall stranger withdrew his sword from his belt and it glinted against the steely sky. He then lay it down with a flourish and held up his palms. “I have not come to wield weapons, brother. I have come in peace.”

“Is that so?” Haakon placed his hands on his hips, spreading his cloak out like wings and showcasing the sword, axe, and dagger on his belt. He made no move to lay down arms.

“Aye, I am here to make amends.” Ravn’s voice was deep and hoarse, as though the salt from the ocean had scratched his throat after many days of traveling.

The woman with the red hair slapped her thigh and laughed, but not with humor. “ Amends ! You are too late. Those bridges are burned.”

“Astrid.” He stepped forward, hand held out, fist tight. “This is for you.”

With a frown, she took it. “What is it?”

“Look.”

She opened her hand then snatched it closed again. She drew the object to her chest.

Carmel couldn’t see what it was, but it had certainly had an effect on the woman they called “Astrid.” Her mouth flattened and she turned away to face the tall man with one arm in a sling.

His face was deathly serious as he studied first her and then directed his attention at the newcomer. “What did you give her?”

“It is what was in our father’s hand when I found him dead in his bed at the beginning of a new moon.”

“‘Dead’?” Haakon echoed with a frown. “Our father is dead?”

Kenna put her hand on her husband’s upper arm, a soothing gesture.

“You’re lying,” Orm said, flapping around. “Lies spill from your mouth.”

“I am telling the truth,” Ravn said. “He went to the gods without battle and without a goodbye.” He paused. “His heart broke without you all. I was not enough.”

Astrid seemed to slump. It was the first time Carmel had seen her looking anything other than fierce and battle-ready.

The man at her side wrapped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close, murmuring something in her ear. She softened against him, her face hidden.

“I think it is the king’s brother,” Anna said quietly, “who has arrived on our shores.”

Carmel was still studying the newcomer. His sudden presence had certainly caused a stir and Orm was more fractious than ever.

Ravn looked around. His attention settled on the three Vikings standing on the pier glowering at him. “I am sorry for your loss. Egil was a good man.”

“He was,” the tallest muttered. “And now he sups with the gods and beds as many virgins as he wishes.”

“What happened to him?” Ravn turned to Haakon.

“The Valkyrie came for him.”

“He died in battle?”

“ Ja .”

“What battle?”

“Come, get your men from the boat.” Haakon looked down at the weapons. “If you have truly come peacefully, I will feed you before you go on your way.” He gave a last look out to sea. The pyre was way out in the distance, only a small glow now, and he raised one hand before turning away from it.

“Thrall. Thrall. Come with me.”

Suddenly, Orm was before her, bouncing like an excited puppy. “You have much work to do. You must serve the king and his brother, also a king. You are indeed privileged to have such a duty.”

“I will send my thanks to God,” she muttered.

“Anna,” Orm said, reaching for Anna’s hand and drawing her knuckles to his mouth.

“My sweet Anna, will you ensure my thrall goes to the Great House and then show her where the heather ale and the ham are? We will feast and regale each other with sagas of battles and of our father until late into the night.”

“I am sorry,” Anna said. “About your father, Orm.” A line formed between her eyebrows.

“Do not be sorry. He lived a good long life and now is with the gods, who always looked upon him favorably. Well, they did until I refused to be a sacrifice at Uppsalla.” He cackled.

“But who is laughing now? I am here to feast in our new kingdom and he is not.” He clapped and spun around, racing back to his brothers and sister with sand kicking up behind him.

“I have never met anyone like him,” Carmel said with a frown.

“Neither have I.” Anna sighed. “Come, the snow is about to fall.”

As she’d spoken, a fat, white flake floated down. It matched the new arrival’s cloak and a tremble went through her as she thought of the size and strength of his Viking body beneath those layers of clothes.