“You will tell us all you know, eh, stupid Scot? Who killed my friend.”
His friend, had Hulda’s brother been?
Not giving Quarrie much time to answer, the Norseman struck him in the face. It was a hard blow that bounced his head off the mast and made him see shooting lights.
So it begins,he thought before the man struck him again. Again. Face. Head. Body. Quarrie fought the desire to vomit and sought to keep his senses. Set himself to endure. This was just the start.
The battering—for it could not truly be called a questioning—went on for some time. Ivor—if it was indeed his name—did ask a few questions.Who killed Jute? How many are your warriors?But his clear intention was to work out his aggravation.
The rain washed the blood from Quarrie’s face and down his tunic. The other Norsemen did not take part in the battery but stood and watched.
Quarrie did not speak. He did his best not to grunt when the blows landed. He spat and swallowed blood, raised his gaze to the skyline and tried to imagine himself home.
When Ivor grew tired and pulled a knife, one of the other men stepped forward. They began to argue in their own tongue, an argument not difficult to follow. Ivor wanted to cut him. The other man, younger, objected and at length went so far as to spread his arms in front of Quarrie in a gesture of protection.
Ivor turned away in disgust.
The deck rose and fell. Quarrie fought down his sickness and thought about the fact that he was not going to die—yet. How long would Hulda be gone?
Would whomever she spoke with at home bargain for his release? This had not gone at all the way he had intended.
What if Da, in turn, gave himself over? Those at home still did not know the Norse claim of six ships was a ruse. Da would want him released.
Nay, this had not gone the way he’d meant, at all.
After a time, the rain slackened. Even here in Scotland, among the isles, it could not continue so forever. Quarrie shivered as a wind blew across the deck and found him. The skin around his eyes swelled. He ached.
The Norse settled down to argue some more, to play at draughts, and eat. Though they directed glances at Quarrie, they did not approach him again, not until the young man who had forbidden Ivor from cutting him came and hunkered down with a cup in his hands.
He let his gaze slide over Quarrie doubtfully before he jerked his thumb at himself and said, “Garik.”
Quarrie nodded.
Garik held out the cup. “Drink?” He clearly possessed very little Gaelic. What he did have was rough.
The liquid in the cup could well be poisoned. Yet…this fellow had defended him.
“Aye.”
The man held the cup to Quarrie’s battered mouth. It contained sour ale. It stung, but Quarrie gulped it down anyway.
The kindness performed, the young man rose and left. Quarrie closed his eyes and prayed.
Funny, how quick the prayers came in such circumstances. Before a battle or, indeed, during one when a man stood knee-high in the water fighting off intruders—or when, as now, his life teetered on a knife’s edge—he tended to try to bargain.Only let my strength hold out. Let me be quick enough. Let me live.
Only now, he did not know for what to bargain. His end here would not be good. But the last thing he wanted was to see his father hauled up over that rail and put in his place.
And still Hulda did not come. She did not come.
*
Hulda stood knee-deepin the surf, arguing with a member of Quarrie MacMurtray’s guard. A line of them had gathered, but one of them spoke, a tall, rangy young man with light-colored hair and a veiled expression. He did not want to let them land the færing.
Not even to negotiate.
Stubborn these people were, and apparently thick as an oak plank. That was, Quarrie MacMurtray did not appear to be stupid, despite the fact that she’d succeeded in deceiving him over the number of her ships. Stubborn? Mayhap.
Right now, aggravation had her longing to kill them all. The day wore on. She was getting nowhere. And her crew—that was,Ivor—could be doing anything to MacMurtray in her absence.Any cruel and vicious thing, to afford some amusement. MacMurtray could be dead by now.
