the souterrain .
“Auder, get out!” he roared, as he unsheathed the axe and swung hard.
They were going to kill him. She was sure of it. Auder didn’t know what power moved through her, but instead of obeying Gunnar, she ran for one of the torches near the ladder that led above to the cashel. If he couldn’t see, he couldn’t fight.
A scream tore from her throat as she raced with the torch, using it to illuminate the narrow passage. She saw the Norman soldiers, their swords drawn, as Gunnar defended the souterrain with his battleaxe and the shield he’d dropped earlier.
One of the soldiers tried to move past him, but Auder swung her torch, the fire nearly singeing the man’s beard. “Is this how you honor your lord’s alliance?” she demanded. “By sneaking into our cashel like thieving animals?”
The leader of the men met her gaze, his expression furious. “We could take this cashel by force within a few hours. Then there would be no need for an alliance.”
Gunnar shoved the point of his sword at the man’s throat. “Try it, and you’d be dead.”
Auder’s voice froze within her throat as the soldier dove away from the blade, slicing his sword at Gunnar’s stomach. At the last second, the man’s weapon bit into the wooden shield, and Gunnar slashed the battleaxe at the man’s face.
Auder watched in startled fascination as Gunnar unleashed the force of his rage, like one of the legendary berserkers. One of the Norman soldiers fell to the ground, and whether he was dead or alive, she didn’t know.
When she saw another soldier coming up from behind, she cried out a warning. Gunnar spun, and caught a shield against the side of his head. Blood poured from his temple, and God help her, she couldn’t let the soldiers harm him. Not when she held the power to stop it.
“Don’t,” she pleaded. “I am the woman betrothed to Lord Maraloch. Release Gunnar, and I will go with you back to your camp.”
She lifted the torch, meeting the leader’s gaze. “We will keep the alliance and avoid further bloodshed.” Swallowing hard, she stared at Gunnar. His expression was like stone, impenetrable and furious.
A movement from the souterrain exit caught their attention, and she saw Trahern arriving with half a dozen men. More of the Ó Reillys came from the ladder above, surrounding the Normans on both sides.
“Go back to Lord Maraloch,” Trahern ordered the soldiers. “And tell him that he will only have his bride if he honors our agreement for peace.” In the torchlight, the chieftain’s face was rigid with anger. “I will have words with him about this treachery.”
The Norman took a step backward, never taking his eyes off Auder. As they departed, they took the wounded soldier with them, and then they were gone.
Auder rushed to Gunnar’s side, touching the blood at his temple. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
Gunnar caught her wrist, his eyes burning into hers. “You’re not going to go through with this marriage, Auder.”
She didn’t answer him, for though it terrified her to be living among these men, worse was the thought of war between them and her clan. His blood stained her fingertips, and everything inside her clenched at the thought of Gunnar coming to harm.
“I don’t have a choice.”
Later that evening
The Bel fires blazed upon the hillsides, and the clouded sky held off its rain. As the night of Bealtaine began, the Dalrata tribe members mingled with the Ó Reilly clan. Trahern sat in the midst of everyone, preparing to entertain them all with his stories. After the attempted invasion earlier, the atmosphere among the people was strung tight. Both the Irish and the Norsemen took turns guarding the cashel, though it seemed the Normans had indeed gone.
Her mother Halma sat with Maeve Ó Reilly, a matron who loved to gossip. Maeve sent Auder a nod of approval and continued speaking with Halma. It was the first time in many weeks that she’d seen her mother
“Auder, get out!” he roared, as he unsheathed the axe and swung hard.
They were going to kill him. She was sure of it. Auder didn’t know what power moved through her, but instead of obeying Gunnar, she ran for one of the torches near the ladder that led above to the cashel. If he couldn’t see, he couldn’t fight.
A scream tore from her throat as she raced with the torch, using it to illuminate the narrow passage. She saw the Norman soldiers, their swords drawn, as Gunnar defended the souterrain with his battleaxe and the shield he’d dropped earlier.
One of the soldiers tried to move past him, but Auder swung her torch, the fire nearly singeing the man’s beard. “Is this how you honor your lord’s alliance?” she demanded. “By sneaking into our cashel like thieving animals?”
The leader of the men met her gaze, his expression furious. “We could take this cashel by force within a few hours. Then there would be no need for an alliance.”
Gunnar shoved the point of his sword at the man’s throat. “Try it, and you’d be dead.”
Auder’s voice froze within her throat as the soldier dove away from the blade, slicing his sword at Gunnar’s stomach. At the last second, the man’s weapon bit into the wooden shield, and Gunnar slashed the battleaxe at the man’s face.
Auder watched in startled fascination as Gunnar unleashed the force of his rage, like one of the legendary berserkers. One of the Norman soldiers fell to the ground, and whether he was dead or alive, she didn’t know.
When she saw another soldier coming up from behind, she cried out a warning. Gunnar spun, and caught a shield against the side of his head. Blood poured from his temple, and God help her, she couldn’t let the soldiers harm him. Not when she held the power to stop it.
“Don’t,” she pleaded. “I am the woman betrothed to Lord Maraloch. Release Gunnar, and I will go with you back to your camp.”
She lifted the torch, meeting the leader’s gaze. “We will keep the alliance and avoid further bloodshed.” Swallowing hard, she stared at Gunnar. His expression was like stone, impenetrable and furious.
A movement from the souterrain exit caught their attention, and she saw Trahern arriving with half a dozen men. More of the Ó Reillys came from the ladder above, surrounding the Normans on both sides.
“Go back to Lord Maraloch,” Trahern ordered the soldiers. “And tell him that he will only have his bride if he honors our agreement for peace.” In the torchlight, the chieftain’s face was rigid with anger. “I will have words with him about this treachery.”
The Norman took a step backward, never taking his eyes off Auder. As they departed, they took the wounded soldier with them, and then they were gone.
Auder rushed to Gunnar’s side, touching the blood at his temple. “Are you all right? Can you stand?”
Gunnar caught her wrist, his eyes burning into hers. “You’re not going to go through with this marriage, Auder.”
She didn’t answer him, for though it terrified her to be living among these men, worse was the thought of war between them and her clan. His blood stained her fingertips, and everything inside her clenched at the thought of Gunnar coming to harm.
“I don’t have a choice.”
Later that evening
The Bel fires blazed upon the hillsides, and the clouded sky held off its rain. As the night of Bealtaine began, the Dalrata tribe members mingled with the Ó Reilly clan. Trahern sat in the midst of everyone, preparing to entertain them all with his stories. After the attempted invasion earlier, the atmosphere among the people was strung tight. Both the Irish and the Norsemen took turns guarding the cashel, though it seemed the Normans had indeed gone.
Her mother Halma sat with Maeve Ó Reilly, a matron who loved to gossip. Maeve sent Auder a nod of approval and continued speaking with Halma. It was the first time in many weeks that she’d seen her mother
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