Page 58 of The Blue Viking

“Not that we are prone to mistruths, mind you. But a wee fib might slip out on occasion.” Vagn was blinking his eyes at him with innocence. Vagn glanced at his brother, who nodded enthusiastically in concurrence.

“And what would you do if there was some… shrinkage?”

The twins exchanged alarmed looks.

“Mayhap the witch knows a spell for… stretch-age?” Toste inquired hopefully.

Actually, she does, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let her work her magic on either of these two.

“Yea, that would do the trick,” Vagn said.

“Methinks I have landed in a barmy bin,” Rurik concluded, grabbing Toste by the upper arm and pulling him toward the stairwell. “Come with me, and tell me what’s been happening. Vagn, you stay and guard Maire.”

They had reached the bottom of the stairs and were about to enter the great hall when Toste held him back. “There is some news you should be aware of.” When Rurik stopped, Toste informed him of a series of events that had transpired during the night involving three cattle and four sheep. That in itself should have been of no concern. Scotsmen loved reiving, and it was a part of their lifestyle to steal from each other routinely. He told Toste so.

Toste shook his head. “This was different. Not only were the animals killed and their carcasses left to rot, but the creatures had been tortured beforehand and mutilated. Heads lopped off. Eyes gouged out. A ram’s testicles stuck in its own mouth.”

Rurik tasted bile rising up to his throat. “A warning, then. The MacNabs are leaving a warning … not just that they can enter Campbell lands, undeterred, but that they are prepared to inflict torture on innocent parties.”

“That is my opinion on the matter, and Stigand’s and Bolthor’s, too.”

“Why didst you not call for me as soon as you heard?”

Toste shrugged. “We only discovered the perfidy within the hour. Actually, that was why I was in the hallway outside your bedchamber. I had just come up to get you.”

“I do not like this waiting, like a sitting boar inviting the hunter’s lance. Every good soldier knows ’tis better to be on the offense than the defense.”

“That is something we need to discuss. Everyone is waiting for you below.”

“Is the castle secure for now?”

“Yea, ’tis.”

A sudden thought occurred to Rurik, and he gasped. “The boy … Maire’s son … go immediately and bring him into the castle. I care not what his mother says …’tis not safe for him out in the forests when the MacNabs can move about so freely. Take one of the Campbell men with you and direct him to tell you where this hidden cave is located.”

“I had not considered that possibility, but you are correct. The boy must be brought under the protection of your shield. The MacNabs would not be above torturing a child,” Toste said.

“Or the mother, if the child were used for ransom.” Rurik’s blood ran cold at the prospect of Maire being so endangered. After all, a man who would place a woman in a cage would not be above other unspeakable acts.

“Uh, Rurik, there is one other thing.”

Rurik tilted his head in question.

“There’s a bite imprint on your neck.” Toste’s lips twitched with mirth.

Rurik put a hand to the right side of his neck. He did not doubt there was a mark. In truth, he could recall in detail the circumstances under which Maire had cried out in passion and nipped him there. Still, Toste pushed the bounds of friendship by commenting on such.

“Surely you want to be told these things, Rurik,” Toste said, noticing his displeasure. “After all, a Viking never lies.”

He reached out to swat the laughing rogue aside the head, but Toste danced away out of reach. As they entered the hall, Toste, still laughing, motioned for Young John to come forward. After a brief explanation, the two of them were off and out the front door of the keep. Rurik began to make his way through the hall then, and toward the kitchen. Rain still pounded incessantly on the rooftops; many of Maire’s housecarls and cotters were indoors … cleaning and honing weapons; weaving and mending. All of them sat in strategic places to avoid the leaks from the roof, which had not yet been repaired.

All eyes turned to Rurik. It was the first the clan had seen of him since the night before. He noticed wariness and questioning looks on the faces of some of Maire’s people; not surprising, since he’d been holed up in a bedchamber with their mistress for a full day. But then he caught the eye of Old John, who winked at him. Why were Maire’s people not outraged on her behalf, or fretting over their mistress’s fate at the lusty hands of her Viking captor? Instead, they seemed to approve. He should be worried about that fact, Rurik decided, but he had enough other worries for now… like the MacNabs. He would save that particular worry for later.

He saw Stigand at one of the lower tables, where he was showing Murdoc and several of the boys how to whittle arrows out of a slab of hardwood. The first thing out of Stigand’s mouth was, “Did you or-gaz her?”

“Aaarrgh!”

“Do not be grousing at me. You’re the one that failed in the bed arts with the maid. ’Twas a logical question, if you ask me. I was only concerned about you, after all.” The mirth in Stigand’s dancing eyes belied his great concern. “And why are you holding your neck?”