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6
HE WAS LEANING over her, so close to her that she could feel his breath hot on her face and smell the stale wine he’d drunk.
She wasn’t afraid at first, no, just confused, for it was the dead of night, and she’d been sleeping soundly and who would want to come into her chamber in the dead of night to see her? His face was very close now, she could hear his breathing, and she forced her eyes to open to stare up at him, and in the dim light. She saw him clearly, and what she saw sent bile into her throat. For an instant she was frozen with fear. She wanted to scream, but there was naught but desert dryness in her throat. His hands were on her then, rough hands, and it jolted her. She reared up, trying to jerk away from him, to run, but his hands were hard around her arms now, holding her down, his fingers digging so deeply into her flesh she felt the pain to her bones. He was grinning at her, and she realized this wasn’t a dream or someone’s jest and that this man was here to hurt her.
Taby!
He’d been lying beside her, his child’s restless nature having sent him into her chamber, and she’d held him close and soothed him and sung to him of the valiant deeds of his uncle and his father until he’d fallen asleep again.
“Aye,” the man said, “I’ve got her.”
Fighting him now would gain her nothing. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she forced herself to go limp. To her unspeakable relief, the man’s hands eased and he grunted, “I think the little girl fainted from fright.”
Another man said, “She saw your ugly face. It’s good she fainted. I was told she’s wild as a wolf. I have the child. He’s no larger than a loaf of flatbread. Tie her arms and legs, then bring her. There are too many guards about for my liking, more than promised. Not close, but still, I want to finish this quickly.”
She waited another moment, forcing herself to be utterly slack, just for a brief instant. She counted slowly, each second, feeling the terror cramp her muscles, feeling her throat close, wanting to suck in air, but she didn’t dare, not yet. Finally the other man had moved off with Taby. She grabbed the bronze candle holder beside her bed, lifted it, and smashed it against the man’s head. He yowled, hurtling away from her. She was on her feet then, and she was kicking him in his belly and his legs, striking him again and again, sending him to his knees. She saw blood gush from a blow against the side of his head. Then the other man whirled about, stared in astonishment at the scene, and came running back and she knew she had no chance against the two of them. He dropped Taby on the bed, then turned to her, his hands out toward her. She leapt back away from both of them, hurled back her head and screamed as loud as she could, screamed and screamed . . .
But they were both on her now, their hands digging into her flesh, making her screams real cries of pain, and it wouldn’t stop for they were violent with anger and still she screamed and screamed. The man struck her hard in the jaw, but still she cried out until the blackness covered her mind, and she wondered even as all thought slipped away from her: Why hasn’t anyone come to help us?
“Damnation, wake up!”
The scream broke off, dissolving into a deep moan. Merrik dropped his sword and knife and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up!” he shouted in her face.
“Don’t you hurt my sister!”
Taby was suddenly on Merrik’s back, beating his fists against his shoulders, jerking at his hair. Laren awoke fully, saw the man over her and screamed again. She raised her fists to strike at him. No, no, wait, wait . . . It was Merrik and Taby was on his back, yelling at him, hitting him, all the while sobbing, tears streaming down his thin cheeks, sounds so ragged she wanted to howl with the pain it brought her.
Now she’d terrified him with her stupid screams, illusion screams that had no meaning, that had naught to do with anything save her fear from that long-ago night. She felt the humiliation of it go deep inside her, that and her anger at herself for succumbing and crying out like a fool. It had been months since she’d dreamed of that night, but it had come again, more intense this time, but still she was used to it, should be used to it enough that she wouldn’t squeal like a stoat. Aye, she should be used to the terror it brought her, terror still as fresh in her mind as the night it had been real. Only this time she’d awakened Merrik and frightened her little brother. She drew a deep breath, tried to make her voice calm, and said, “Taby, it’s all right, sweeting. No, don’t hit Merrik. He was trying to wake me up. I had a nightmare and it was so very real, but it’s over now. Come on, Taby, it’s all right. Come to me.”
Merrik hadn’t moved. He simply waited until she had the child in her arms, unaware until that moment that he had been straddling her, his bare thighs locked against her sides. No wonder Taby thought he was attacking his sister.
Slowly he eased off her and came down on his side to look at her in the dim light of dawn. She was facing him, holding Taby against her, rocking him, and singing to him, her face buried in the child’s neck. She sensed him looking at her, and gazed over at him.
“Tell me,” he said.
She ducked her head down and continued to rock Taby. The child pulled away from her, and came up on his knees beside her. He leaned down and touched his fingers to her face. “Was it the bad men again?”
“Aye, but still just a dream, Taby, just a dream.”
“What bad men?” Merrik said.
“It was only a dream, a dream that comes to me when I’m very tired. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m a fool. But it was just a silly dream, nothing more, Merrik.”
“I see,” he said, and stood. He looked down at her in the pale light, saw that chin of hers go up so high that by all rights she should be forced to stare at the top of the tent, then left her.
She heard the men grumble when Merrik shouted at them to wake up. She hugged Taby tightly against her, then said, “You mustn’t say anything to Merrik about that other time. Besides, you don’t remember it very well. He wouldn’t understand. It was a long time ago, Taby, a very long time ago.”
“Why do you still have bad dreams about it?”
A child, she thought as she kissed his cheek, always went directly to the hidden core. “It was a bad time,” she said honestly. “A very bad time, but we are safe now.”
“Merrik will take care of us.”
She hated the confidence in his voice, his child’s utter certainty. She also hated having to rely on a ma
n, particularly this man who was a Viking, surely one of the most ruthless and vicious of men on this benighted earth. Aye, she didn’t want to rely on him, not for her safety, not for all her needs and Taby’s needs. During the past two years, she’d learned men were vicious and brutal, not to be trusted, taking what they wanted, feeling no remorse, having no conscience. Also she’d learned that to trust in anything or in anyone could leave one dead or worse, though at the moment she couldn’t think of anything worse than death. She remembered Thrasco’s beating. That had been close. She unconsciously flexed her shoulders as she stood, and leaned first to the right and then to the left. There was only a little pulling, nothing to draw her down into that choking pain.
She said to Taby, “I don’t want him to take care of us.” Her voice was too sharp and Taby flinched back from her. “Nay, sweeting, it isn’t Merrik’s responsibility to care for us. He is a man and men don’t feel comfortable about caring for those who aren’t part of their blood family. He’s caring for us just for now, that’s all. Then I will take care of both of us. We are still a long way from home, but soon, perhaps very soon, we will return.”
