Defiant in the Viking's Bed. Joanna Fulford
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Название: Defiant in the Viking's Bed
Автор: Joanna Fulford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
Серия: Mills & Boon Historical
isbn: 9781472004123
isbn:
A servant returned with the blades. They were the type kept for clipping sheep, sharp-edged and with wicked points. He handed them to one of the men standing guard over Leif. Hakke nodded.
‘Crop his hair in the manner befitting a slave.’
The words were greeted with a mocking cheer that drowned out Astrid’s cry of protest. In rage and desperation Leif fought his bonds but they yielded not a whit. Seconds later his captors flung him face down on the floor and a boot between his shoulders held him there. A large hand grabbed hold of his hair, yanking his head back. Then the shears went to work. By the time they had finished all that remained of the flowing mane was an inch of golden stubble. The audience thumped the table in approval.
Hakke nodded. ‘Now the collar.’
‘No!’ Again Astrid’s voice was drowned out. She tried to rise but a strong hand on her shoulder pulled her back again. Through welling tears she watched as the thick leather collar was fitted around Leif’s neck and riveted shut.
Hakke rose from his chair and strolled across to his prisoner. For a moment or two he surveyed him in silence. Then, unhurriedly, he threw back his cloak and reached for the coiled whip at his belt, shaking it free. The onlookers whistled and cheered.
Astrid turned to her uncle. ‘Stop this, I beg you.’
He eyed her coldly. ‘I’ll do no such thing. His punishment is more than merited. Besides, it will help you to understand what it means to cross me.’
The whip descended, leaving a bloody welt across Leif’s naked back. He writhed but made no sound. Astrid’s knuckles whitened.
Hakke delivered a dozen more strokes and then paused, surveying the man at his feet. ‘If it were solely up to me I’d flog you until your bones showed through your flesh,’ he said. ‘However, Jarl Einar wants you fit for work tomorrow.’ He cast the whip aside and looked at the waiting men. ‘Chain him in the kennel with the other dogs.’
They hauled Leif to his feet and dragged him from the hall. Astrid looked on, her face ashen. Jarl Einar turned to the man behind her chair.
‘Take her to the women’s bower and put a guard on the place.’ Then he looked coldly at his niece. ‘I’ll deal with you later.’
* * *
Leif’s captors shackled his ankle to a great wooden stake and then departed, locking the gate behind them. Several large hounds growled at him but he ignored them, gritting his teeth against the pain in his back and ribs. The bruises on his face were tender now, and one eye was half closed. Cold struck up from the earthen floor where the stench of hound vied with urine and faeces. For a while anger held it at bay but as time passed the chill grew more pronounced, along with a growing sense of dread as the true extent of his predicament hit home. His men would be concerned by now. They would likely guess where he’d gone and why, but, even suspecting something had gone wrong, they couldn’t do anything to help him. Their numbers were too few. The longer they delayed the more precarious their own position would become. When Steingrim found the hall and farm abandoned he’d head for the anchorage. The only sensible choice for Leif’s crew was to sail without him. That way they could escape the intended slaughter and go to Agder to raise the force they needed. Of course, that would take time. Mentally he visualised it all. It would take weeks, perhaps months, to organise, and that was before they liaised with Finn and Erik, always assuming Finn and Erik were successful in their mission. If not... Leif let out a ragged breath. He ran a hand across his shorn head, feeling congealed blood among the stubble. Anger surged and his fingers closed on the rim of the leather collar. Exerting all his strength, he tried to force the ends apart. The rivets held fast. Eventually, with a curse he gave it up.
It occurred to him then that this was just a taster of what his enemies had in store for him. In his mind he could hear Hakke’s mocking voice: I wish you to live for a long time yet, and each day that you live you will think of me. He would do all in his power to prevent any chance of rescue. Nor would it be too hard. Hakke still had numerous allies, men who would be only too pleased to witness the downfall of an enemy. All he had to do was to move his captive elsewhere and keep on moving him at regular intervals so that the trail grew cold and was lost. Leif felt a chill in the pit of his stomach and for the first time experienced something close to fear.
He closed his eyes and suppressed the emotion. It wouldn’t help him. He had to think. His enemies had set a clever trap, but to do it they had needed information. How had they got it? Astrid’s image loomed large at the forefront of memory. Only the two of them had been privy to his plans, unless she had told someone else. Had the scene in the hall been an act on her part? The thought of possible duplicity in her cut like a blade. You mustn’t believe him, Leif. As though in response he saw Hakke’s mocking smile. And yet here we are. Someone was lying and, like it or not, all the evidence appeared to be pointing one way. Doubt flickered into being. Leif’s jaw tightened. In that moment he knew that, no matter what it took or how long, he was going to discover the truth. And if Astrid had been complicit in this there was going to be a reckoning.
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