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Ingunn came up behind him and set the blazing torch to the back of his head and his tunic. He whirled around, staring at her as if she were a vision from hell itself. Then he smelled the acrid odor, realizing then that he was on fire. He screamed and ran, slapping at his head.
Ingunn heard Orm yell, “Open the door quickly, you fool! I must get the woman. By the gods, she’ll pay for this! Open the door! It’s just a simple block of wood! Pull it out!”
Her smile deepened. “Orm . . .”
There was dead silence.
Then his voice came, calm and soothing. “Let me out, Ingunn. You shouldn’t have hit me, sweeting. I believe you cracked my head. I was coming to release you, coming to bring you to the longhouse and tend to your wounds myself. I didn’t want to hurt you so badly, but I had to punish you for what you’d done. But no more now, Ingunn, no more, ever again. You will be my wife and I will love you and protect you.”
“Will you truly, Orm?”
“Aye.”
She heard the confidence in his voice and smiled more widely. “You would marry me tomorrow?”
“Aye, open the door now, sweeting.”
“Soon, Orm, but first, you must be chilled, for the night air is crisp. It will be fall soon and then snows will come, but you won’t be here then.”
“Ingunn, what mean you? Come, don’t speak such nonsense. Open the door, else, I’ll—”
“You will what, Orm?” She set the torch to the wooden walls, but they didn’t catch fire easily. She raised her arm, moaning softly with the pain of it, and touched the flame to the thatch roof. It caught immediately, and sprang up, bright orange, the heat intense, the smoke billowing upward.
She knew the instant Orm realized what she’d done. There was panic in his voice. And fear. He shouted, “Open the door, you stupid woman! By Thor, I’ll make you pay for this, you bitch, I’ll—”
She interrupted him gently, but firmly, her voice chiding him as if he were a heedless child. “Be not so impatient, my love. In a little while, Orm, I’ll release you, but first I want to warm you. I want you to feel the same warmth you intended for Magnus and Zarabeth and all of Malek’s people when you set the torches to the longhouse. I shouldn’t have believed you, I shouldn’t have forgiven you for burning Malek, but I did. I accepted your word that it was an accident, something you hadn’t intended, something one of your men had done. I knew, of course, that you lied, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. If I had, I would have had to admit that I was a fool and naught but your dupe and a traitor to my own family.
“Do you feel the warmth yet, Orm? The thatch is burning nicely now. Soon, my love, soon now you will be so warm you will yell with it.”
Ah, yes, he knew now what she had done. She smiled as she listened to him yelling and cursing her, listened as he tore at the door and the walls of the hut. She listened as he struck the door and the walls with the tool with which she’d struck him. She wondered vaguely if he could possibly free himself. She didn’t think so. She moved back from the hut, for the flames were jumping outward now, and the heat was bright and intense. She saw the hut shudder, heard the low rumbling of the beams that supported the thatch on the roof.
She heard him scream as the roof crashed inward. Then there was madness.
Egill stood next to his father, his hand on his arm. He was content with the simple touch, knowing now that all was well. Lotti was on Zarabeth’s lap, sleeping soundly, her fingers stuffed into her mouth.
“Ingunn is alive, but I don’t know if she will regain her mind.”
Magnus nodded at Tostig’s words. Tostig was exhausted. He moved to a scarred wooden bench and sat down, leaning his elbows on the table. They’d killed those of Orm’s men who elected to fight. They’d simply released the others, who had thrown down their axes and swords. He looked down at the wooden table and saw layers of grease and bits of old food ground into the wood, rancid and rotten. The Saxons lived like animals.
Magnus’ sister was lying in a small back room, a torn and bruised woman with dull and empty eyes, her body as broken as her mind. He had hoped to see her die for all she had done. Now he wasn’t so certain. He shuddered, thinking of Orm Ottarsson’s death. When they’d come to the hut, Ingunn had been kneeling in front of it, the strange firelight casting madness itself onto her bruised face. She was speaking to Orm, saying soft love words, telling him that she would never leave him. They’d stood there even as his screaming had stopped.
Ingunn had looked up at Magnus and said, “Orm knew you would come. He enjoyed taunting you, ’twas a game that pleased him mightily. I am glad you’re here.” She had fallen silent. She’d said nothing more.
Zarabeth leaned over and kissed Lotti’s forehead. Then she looked up and smiled at Egill. “You saved her. Thank the gods you were there to pull her from the water, to press the water from her body. You saved her and then you protected her with your own life. I give you all the thanks in my heart. You are a brave boy, Egill.”
“She needs me,” Egill said. “She grows more certain of herself with each passing day, but she still needs me. She says many things, now, Zarabeth. I feared that she would give up when Orm caught us with Aunt Ingunn at the harbor, but she didn’t. She told me that we would be all right. She patted my hand. I was proud of her.”
Magnus could only marvel at the man-words coming from his son’s mouth. The changes the past months had brought stunned him. He supposed he had expected to find Egill just as he’d been the day he disappeared. But he hadn’t. He’d found a boy who was strong and responsible and caring. Magnus rose, grabbed Egill beneath the arms, and lifted him high. Then he lowered him and hugged him until Egill protested that his ribs were crushed. Magnus eased his hold and whispered against his son’s cheek, “By Thor, I have missed you. I will guard you more carefully in the future.”
Zarabeth laughed, then immediately sobered. She was looking puzzled. “How did she tell you, Egill, that you would be all right? I don’t understand.”
Egill showed her, speaking the words slowly, accompanying them by swift hand gestures.
Lotti stirred in Zarabeth’s arms, straightened, and yawned. She smiled sleepily, then said, her voice imperious, “Egill! Come here!”
The boy grinned at his father. “She becomes more the female by the day, Father.”
Magnus watched his son walk to Lotti. He watched him lightly stroke his palm over the child’s face. He heard him speak softly and distinctly to her, watched him make the quick hand and finger gestures. Then, to his surprise, Lotti nodded and eased back into Zarabeth’s arms. She was asleep within moments.
