Page 54 of Her Rogue Viking
One of her guards, the first to have fallen, lay motionless, face down in the dirt. The other was just managing to struggle to his feet.
“Thor’s fucking hammer,” he murmured. “You felled eight of them, just like that.”
“Not all eight, you and Erlend took care of several. But my weapon did enough to scare them away. For now. Quick, we must take Erlend with us…” Fiona leapt from the horse, intending to sling the injured man over her saddle and lead the animal back to Skarthveit.
“Aye, but we shall take our horses too.” The guard pointed to where the other two mounts and Njal’s pony grazed quietly a hundred yards from where they stood. “Do you think you can round them up, lady, as I fear I am seeing rather more beasts than I know to be there.”
“Oh, yes, of course…” She remounted and cantered off in the direction of the horses, while the guard dragged his comrade from the ground.
By the time Fiona returned with the three mounts in tow the unconscious guard was moaning softly as his companion supported him in a position not far off upright. Between them they managed to get the more badly injured man onto a horse.
“If any of these others still live we should take them as prisoners,” the man pointed out. “OurJarlwill wish to question them.”
Fiona considered that an excellent point. “Yes, we shall do that.”
The closest of her victims lay prone on the ground. The man was young, a lad really. His unseeing eyes were wide open, as though even in death he could not bear to shut out the final rays of light. The centre of his forehead bore the pink mark where her stone had struck him. “This one is dead,” she announced unnecessarily.
She should have felt more regret at having taken lives, but she knew full well that had these raiders prevailed none of her party would have survived. Her instinct had been to protect Njal, and she had done what she must. She moved on to examine another man.
He lay on his side, groaning and holding his hand to his temple. Blood seeped between his fingers. She had no way of knowing how badly he was injured, but would not be tarrying here to find out. “Help me to sling this one over the pony,” she called to the guard. “Njal can share with me.”
“Where is the lad, lady?” Her companion scanned the surrounding moorland, only now realising that Fiona had returned alone.
“Hiding. We shall collect him on the way. Hurry, we need to be gone before these bandits regain their courage and attack us again.”
“Not bandits, lady. These were Bjarkessons. I recognised several of their faces.”
The group clattered into Skarthveit shortly after, and the people of the settlement came running. Feeling distinctly lightheaded now that the danger was passed, Fiona clung on until she caught sight of her Viking as he charged toward her from the direction of the harbour. Only then did she slither from her mount and collapse in his arms.
“I have madematters much worse then.” Later, safe in their longhouse, Fiona was tearful as she regarded Ulfric’s solemn features. “They have even more reason now to hate us.”
Ulfric shook his head. “It is not your fault that one of the men you killed was Olaf’s youngest brother. Ivarr was but fifteen summers old and his jarl should have either curbed his hot-headedness or trained him better.”
“Fifteen? Oh… oh, no.”
“Old enough to wield a sword and attack women and children who he believed to be defenceless, so old enough to face the consequences. Again, little Celt, the harm is not of your doing. I would rather it was the Bjarkesson pup lying dead out there and not you or my son. If you had done as Ranulf suggested and left your guards to hold them off, you and Njal might have made it back to Skarthveit but I would have lost two fine men.”
“Erlend will survive, then?”
“Probably, provided his wounds do not become infected. And Ranulf will have a sore head for the next few days at least. They, and I, owe you our gratitude, and our admiration.” He smiled at her, his pride evident. “I understand your aim was true.”
“I have been practising. I thought perhaps my skill would prove useful.”
“It did, and your sling is an effective weapon. Perhaps you can share your talents with others here.”
“I would be pleased to, if it will help.” She hesitated, then, “Do you think they will attack Skarthveit?”
His mouth flattened in grim acknowledgement. “Aye, I cannot imagine otherwise. I have sent to Gunnarsholm seeking my brother’s aid and we must hope reinforcements arrive intime. The Bjarkessons are a large family, and if they summon their followers and supporters they can probably muster over a hundred men.”
“And we have…?” She paused to tally the numbers in her head.
“Thirty-two. Perhaps that could stretch to forty if some of the old ones can manage to swing an axe. Gunnar has two dozen. Our men are the more skilled in battle, but the numbers are not in our favour.”
“When will they come?”
He shrugged. “I have lookouts posted to the north, south, and east. An attack from the sea is unlikely as it is not possible to land a longship here, and the Bjarkessons are but mediocre raiders.”
“How long before we might expect aid from your brother?”
