Page 2 of Viking in Love

Momentarily silent, they all stared down at the body of Oswald, earl of Havenshire. Except for one sister, who was huddled in a chair in the far corner, whimpering as she held a possibly broken arm against her chest. Ofttimes referred to as Vana the White because of her Icelandic white-blonde hair, she had more than earned that title today with her fair, deadly white skin contrasted against a blackened eye and a cracked lip, seeping blood. The finger marks about her neck, old and new, resembled a black and blue and yellow torque. Vana was the wife of the late Oswald…late as of five minutes ago.

Breanne’s back went rigid with anger. Truly, she would gladly kill the brute all over again for what he had done to her gentle sister. She could only imagine what a nightmare Vana’s one-year marriage had been. If only they had left the Norselands earlier to visit her in her Saxon home!

There was a light knock on the door.

Everyone stiffened with alarm.

They must needs dispose of the body, but Breanne had no idea how they could manage the feat in a keep filled with housecarls and servants, all loyal to the beastly nobleman. Now it was too late.

Breanne stood and motioned for Vana to step forth. Despite her condition, Vana would have to answer. Limping toward her, Vana stood bravely and faced the closed door. “Who is it?”

“Rashid.”

Five sets of shoulders sagged with relief. Rashid was the assistant to Adam the Healer, a physician, Breanne’s sister Tyra’s husband. With a snort of disgust, Tyra—who was extremely tall for a woman and very strong, having once been a warrior—jerked the door open, grabbed Rashid by the arm, and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him.

Breanne had the good sense to lock it.

“What are you doing here? Following me?” demanded Tyra, hands on hips.

“Allah be praised, it is good to see you, too, Tyra.”

Rashid spoke in heavily accented English, and he still, after all these years, wore the traditional Arab garb of hooded robe with rope belt, over Saxon tunic and braies. “Your husband asked me to follow and see what you were up to…I mean, to offer you protection in the event of…” He slapped a hand over his heart as he noticed the nobly clad body lying in a pool of blood on the stone-flagged floor. “For the love of a camel! What have you done?”

“When we arrived for a visit unannounced, we found the spineless lout beating our sister with his fists and a whip,” Tyra explained. “When I broke his whip, he came at me with a knife, which I turned on him.”

They all glanced at the knife, which still protruded from his belly.

Some of the sisters began to weep.

Oh, good gods! Not the tears again! Breanne stepped between Tyra and Rashid. “It wasn’t just Tyra. We all played a part. I, for one, hit him over the head with a poker when Tyra’s knife thrust did not immediately fell him.”

“And I kicked him when he was down,” Ingrith said on a sniffle, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. So hard was she shaking her head that strands of golden-blonde hair were coming loose from her long braids.

“I kicked him, too. In the head. Just to make sure he was bloody well dead.” Drifa paused. “Is he dead?”

Rashid went down on one knee and put his fingertips to a certain spot on the earl’s neck. “Dead as a fly on a cobra’s tongue.”

Rashid always had a way with words, especially proverbs, one of which he spouted now as he stood to his full height, wiping his hand on his robe with distaste. “Death is a black camel that lies down at every door. Sooner or later every man must ride the camel. Like yon earl.”

“We are in big trouble, since we brought that camel. The earl is a member of the king’s Witan. He has friends in high places,” Breanne disclosed.

“But you had just cause,” Rashid said. “They only have to look at Lady Havenshire’s battered body to understand how this came about.”

“That does not signify.” Vana surprised everyone by speaking up, and with such vehemence. “Dost think they care? His housecarls and servants, friends and foe, all knew good and well how my lord’s temper could be set off at the least thing. He blamed me for not yet breeding him a son, but any excuse would do for his fist or whip. A missing comb. A broken bowl. My monthly courses.”

“Still,” Rashid argued, “there are laws.”

All the women shook their heads. The wergild for a woman was ofttimes barely higher than a cow, and less than a horse.

“Well, then, we must make haste to hide the body,” Rashid said, lifting his hands with resignation.

Finally, someone is using their head for thinking and not leaking tears.

“How are we going to hide the body? And where?” Ingrith asked, wringing her hands. And weeping.

“’Tis impossible,” Drifa said. “We are doomed.” More tears.

“The difficult is done at once, but the impossible merely takes a little longer.”