Chapter 21

The world was all-consuming black, an endless expanse of shadow that never shifted met Rangvald's eyes wherever he looked. He knew not how many days he'd endured this darkness. Hour by hour, hope slipped away.

Some movement outside stirred his senses, but when he pressed his eye to the tiny gap beneath the woodshed's lock, he saw only darkness beyond

Who would visit me at this time and with what purpose?

Has the time come for me to meet my fate?

Instinctively, he pressed his back to the wall, bracing himself there as the bolt slid back and the door swung outward. The cool night entered, softly silvered by moonlight, and a voice he didn't recognize spoke his name.

Elin?

His heart leapt, wanting with all his being for it to be her—alive and well and coming for him at last, knowing that it had all been a mistake, and forgiving him, holding out her hand to claim him.

"Rangvald." The woman's voice came again.

Nay, ‘tis not Elin!

Disappointment tore at his chest. Of course, it couldn't be she, for the woman who'd called to his soul was surely dead, slain by the blade he'd wielded.

I did that. He fell to his knees as he accepted the truth.

A third time, the voice called to him. ‘Twasn't the sullen wench, for sure, who usually brought him water but some kindlier soul, beckoning him from his cell. The island's women must know of his violence and had learned to fear him. Why would one come so covertly, under secrecy of night, to free him?

"Come with me." A small, cloaked figure, her face obscured by a hood, came briefly into view, then disappeared.

Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, following his unknown savior past the threshold into fresh air and freedom. Stretching his limbs, he looked upward to the stars, filled with rushing gratitude to behold their shining wonder once more.

"Quickly!" The woman whispered low. "We haven't much time, for I must return you afore long."

"Who are you?" He caught her arm, and as her hood fell back, he recognized the silvered hair and wizened face as those of the old woman who'd been summoned on that terrible day.

"Do you not recall? I am Bothild." She shook her head with a sigh.

Tugging back her sleeve, she was already setting off again, obliging him to hurry after.

"And why have you freed me?" Rangvald's confusion only grew, for he could think of no reason she would take pity on him.

"There are matters to settle." Bothild glanced back. "For good or ill, Elin is pained at the loss of you. You must speak, though I cannot vouch for how she'll respond to seeing you."

"Elin! She lives?" He'd been so sure the gods had taken her.

The old woman scowled a little. "Aye, she does. Though no thanks to you and the mess you made."

Relief washed over him. Elin was alive, and she wished to see him—or at least, Bothild must believe so, or she'd hardly be taking him to her now.

Bothild gestured as they approached Elin's hut. "I shall wait here. Speak from your heart while you have this chance."

Rangvald did not need to be told again.

He didn't care why Bothild had chosen to intervene. Perhaps the gods had steered her course, or mayhap she only cared for Elin's welfare? Either way, he would take the opportunity he'd been given.

Stepping inside, his gaze traveled to the place Elin rested, her cheek illuminated by the low embers of the fire. He'd closed half the distance before she stirred.

"Rangvald?" Her eyes widened at his approach. "How are you here?"

"Bothild." He motioned to the door. "I…" His words died in his throat as he surveyed her. "I'm wretched at what I've done." He dropped beside the bed. "I never meant you harm."

"I know." Her smile was weak, but it gave him hope.

"I thought you were dead." His tears welled as he looked upon her beautiful face. "That I'd lost you! How is the wound? Is the damage great?"

"I'm healing." There was resolve in her voice, but a flicker of pain crossed her face as she shifted on the bed.

"Thank the gods!" He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hands, conscious of Bothild's warning that their time was limited. "I do not deserve forgiveness, but you must… that is, I hope…"

Her fingers were hesitant as they grazed his. "I know your anger was not directed at me."

"You heard… the argument between myself and my jarl?" He'd feared it must be. He'd replayed every word of that exchange, knowing how damning it would sound to Elin's ears, yet she was reaching for him with the tenderness she'd always shown.

Her brows knitted. "You murdered your father."

"Aye." He'd no wish to deny it. Elin deserved to hear the truth—even if she hated him for it. "With a powder of poisonous mushrooms added to his mead." His blood surged hot, thinking of that day.

She cast her eyes down for some moments, pausing before lifting them again. "For what he did to your mother?"

He speared her with his gaze, willing her to understand. "The man was a monster. Mayhap I was, too, for what I did, but I cannot regret it."

"I do not condone his killing, but yes…" She drew a jagged breath. "I see why you sought his end."

Her fingertips still touched his. A feeling of great warmth swelled in his chest, and he had no words. He rested his hand over hers.

"I also heard what you said about wanting to stay here…" Her voice trembled.

At that, his heart sank. In the heat of the moment, he'd spoken rashly.

"My pride had the better of me. I wanted to hurt Eldberg, for him to see I'm more than he gives me credit for. I want to be more! The truth is, you are the reason for my yearning to stay."

"Me?" She gave a hollow laugh, shaking her head, but there were tears in her eyes.

"Yes, little Elin." He lifted her hand to his lips and held it there, pressing the skin with a soft kiss. "I'm neither god nor hero, but you stir something in me. You do something no other woman has ever achieved."

"And what's that?" she sniffed.

"You make me want to be a better man." He smiled at her stunned expression, realizing he, too, was surprised at the admission, but his every word was true. "All this time locked away… it's given me the opportunity to think."

She gripped his hand tighter.

"I like the man I want to become for you." He edged closer on his knees. "I want to be a man you can love."

Elin's heart pounded.

He wanted to be worthy of her, to earn her love. Did that mean… he loved her in return?

If it were so, she had to be honest.

He'd told her of his mother and the terrible retribution he'd made upon his father. He'd laid himself bare. But there was still so much she'd kept from him. He thought he wanted to remain here on H?y, but he might feel differently if…

Not just differently about this place, but about her, too?

Dare she tell him?

Tentatively, she drew back her hand. "If we're to be equals, you must hear more from me than I've told you. You have a right to know…"

"Nothing will alter how I feel." A fierceness entered his expression. "Your husband was good to you, but I can love you, too. It doesn't matter what went before." His voice rose. "There is only you and I now, and you must see… I cannot be without you, Elin. I cannot!"

"Hush." However ready she was to believe, he had to know all. Only then, if he could declare his love, would she feel certain.

"I was scared to tell you, but I must." She fixed her eyes upon her hands, now clasped in her lap. She was determined to say what she must, and she couldn't look at him while she did so. To see the longing in his eyes might weaken her resolve.

"You know our men departed, but you don't know why. When you do, you may wish to leave as well, to forget you ever came here, and I shan't hold it against you."

"Nay!" Rangvald's reply was vehement.

Elin held up her hand, begging him to let her speak.

"Our men had many rituals and places they traveled to when those special times came, on the far side of the island, I believe. Always they were secretive and would come back not quite as they had been… not just my Bj?rn, but the others, too. It's hard to explain, but they were shorter of temper, somehow, or just plain distracted."

The crease in Rangvald's brow deepened, but he encouraged her to continue.

"‘Twas as if Bj?rn's mind was clouded. He would forget things I'd said or deny his own words. We argued because of it…" Elin sighed. She wanted to remember her husband as he'd always been, loving and patient, not as he'd ended, poisoned by something she could not understand. Moreover, it felt like a betrayal to speak of him thus.

"It worsened with time. I came to dread the men taking to their boats, not knowing how Bj?rn's mood would be upon his return. When the day came for my little Ulrick to join them, I pleaded that he was not yet old enough to go, but, of course, Ulrick was excited to be with the other boys, knowing the ways of our men. I was helpless to stop it. And then…"

Rangvald squeezed her hand. "Do not speak of what pains you." His expression was filled with concern.

"Nay. You must know!" Elin closed her eyes. However hard she fought the memory, she was haunted by Ulrick's face as he'd been on that final, terrible day—no longer her carefree boy but so wan and pale, weak from vomiting and struggling for each breath.

Steadily, Elin related each detail as best as she could recall.

"Bj?rn hadn't seemed so bad, but the nausea grew until he could keep nothing inside. When they eventually grew quiet, I thought they were sleeping, and I was glad, but the morning light showed the truth!"

Her sorrow flowed, hot and wretched, torn in great sobs. She'd been helpless to save them. They were gone, and nothing could bring them back.

"Oh, my love!" Rangvald's arms were immediately about her. Holding her gently, he rocked her against his shoulder, and she clung there, comforted by the solid warmth of his body.

"‘Twas not your fault, little one." Rangvald stroked her hair and murmured soft words. "What the gods decree, we cannot counter, no matter how we rage against it."

I thought myself blessed in the ‘time before,' then all was taken, and I was alone. Now, this man has come, and I want to love him. Perhaps the gods have sent him to me, but I know in my heart, he doesn't belong here. If he wants to remain, he has to know the danger, to make the decision for himself.

By force of will, Elin composed herself to speak again, though her throat ached from crying.

"Ulrick and Bj?rn were not the only ones... You cannot imagine how it was. Over the coming days, we helped each other, doing what had to be done. By silent agreement, we never speak of what followed, for the memories are too hideous—of carrying our loved ones to the beach, making pyres." She took a shuddering breath.

"Some of our men yet clung to life. We nursed them and kept a vigil of prayer and libations, begging Freyja for her intervention. Three days later, we were rewarded. Twelve men survived, and a handful of the boy-children. We thought the worst was over, but more pain was to come. As soon as they were fit, the men gathered again, and their thoughts were dark. Men turned against their wives, against their mothers even. ‘Twas us they blamed for what had befallen them."

Rangvald hissed between his teeth. "Ungrateful churls! As if you'd any part in it!"

"Their minds were turned—by the illness or by fear alone." Elin shook her head. "We watched in disbelief as they raged against us. ‘Twas a relief, almost, when they loaded a longship and took their leave. The grief of that came later when we realized they would not be returning…"

Rangvald frowned. "Revere the memory of your husband and son, but those others do not deserve your sympathy. Leave this in the past, an unpleasant time to be forgotten."

"But… what if it's not over?" Elin pressed on. "I know it sounds fantastical, but do not the sagas tell us of many strange things? Our men were struck down, and I know not the cause. ‘Twas almost as if the very island turned against them. What if it's true… and you're in the same danger? I cannot bear to think it!"

Rangvald brought his palm to her cheek, smoothing away the tears still wet there. His expression was intense as he held her gaze.

"There is much we cannot fathom. The innocent and good suffer as readily as the wicked… more so, I'm inclined to think. Perhaps ‘tis the whim of the gods or the malicious bent of the ancient Norns as they weave the threads of our destiny. All the more reason to seize our happiness. ‘Tis what I want, Elin—to hold fast to this joy we feel when we're together. I care not who defies us; I shall ever fight for you. While I breathe, you are mine, and none shall break our bond."

Elin brought her hand to cover his. She wanted the same—not because she needed the protection of a man, nor the status of being a wife, not even to sate her desire. Her lust was not purely for his body and the pleasure he brought her. The yearning went far deeper. With Rangvald, she felt seen, accepted, and cherished. He was master of her, in mind and body, and she believed in his devotion as surely as she knew her own. If they were to build a future, it would not be without struggle, but she was ready to fight for him, whether they remained on the island or departed to Skálavík.

Still, she was torn. Rangvald had made clear he'd no wish to return to his home, yet if he stayed upon H?y, what peril might await? Could she bear to lose him as she had Ulrick and Bj?rn? She felt sick at that.

As if reading her thoughts, Rangvald rested his forehead upon hers.

"Stop this worrying, little Elin, and have faith. We shall weather whatever comes. As for the other men of Skálavík, they don't need to know. Soon, they'll be gone, and nothing here may have power over them. As for myself, my love for you is all I need."

Rangvald's mouth met hers, brushing softly, and Elin surrendered to the stroke of his tongue and the gentle tug as he pulled on her lower lip. Cupping the back of her head, he held her, murmuring endearments as he melted her with his kiss.

How easily he had her awash with desire so that Elin was oblivious to all else, wanting only for his arms to be about her again, for the world to drift away and leave them be.

Only the creak of the door and Bothild's loud clearing of her throat brought Elin back to herself.

"‘Tis time." Bothild spoke firmly. "He must return to where he is being held."

"Nay, do not go." Elin clutched at Rangvald's arm as he drew back.

"You know I must." His expression was wretched. "But I love you, sweet one. We shall find a way. Be patient and believe."

He loves me!

Was it the first time he'd said the words? Elin thought it was. He'd shown her in a hundred ways, though she hadn't always understood. Even when they'd fought with one another, in her heart, she'd already claimed him as her own.

He was master of her soul.

"Come now!" Bothild was urging.

Elin darted one final kiss to Rangvald's lips.

"I love you, Meistari. I'll be waiting."

Great elation filled his eyes, intermingled with the torture of parting.

"Enough!" Bothild was tugging at his sleeve. "I shall do my best to arrange another meeting for you soon. Now, be sensible!"

Rangvald cast her a last, lingering look, and Elin saw there all she needed to know.

He was hers, just as she was his—and nothing would keep them apart.

Freyja, help me. This is my vow!

Elin lay long awake through the following hours of the night, and though she was alone beneath the furs, her heart was warm.

She had faith. Their time would come.

Read on, as this series continues, to discover how Elin and Rangvald's journey of love progresses.

Is the island to become his home?

What sort of future awaits these lovers?

And what of Viggo and Signy?

Robbed of his sight, can Viggo be the man Signy needs?

Discover their story in ‘Claimed by the Viking'

(read on, for a little glimpse of what is to come…)