name and both Charis and Devin turned to see the leader of the raid, the one without a helmet, but with a long, red-rimmed sword that dripped with the blood of their friends and kinsmen. “Khar-iss!”
Devin stepped roughly in front of her, pushing her aside with one arm and raising his own sword with the other. “Away, if you can!”
“I can’t leave you! I love you!”
His brief glance over his shoulder was filled with his own feelings, though he didn’t have time to voice them.
The braided man growled as he struck at Devin. Devin countered, steel ringing on steel, and his blade slid down the raider’s. With an abrupt motion, Devin jerked it free and sliced at the leader’s unprotected head. The other man moved, but not quickly enough. Devin’s sword split skin and flesh, letting the blood run free and red on the invader’s cheek and jaw.
The surprise on the blond man’s face shocked Charis, but she didn’t use the moment her husband had purchased for her. It was a costly moment. The Northman took advantage of Devin’s temporary lack of balance after the attack missed its mark. The barbarian brought his own sword around, down, and up at an angle, meeting Devin’s naked ribs and parting flesh and bone in a powerful, sickening arc.
“Devin!” Charis screamed, her heart and lungs trying to leave her body. “No!”
“Khar-iss. Come,” her captor demanded. That he’d spoken the command in Gaeilge didn’t mean anything to her at the time. He apparently ignored the wound to his face and tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain.
Charis couldn’t quit staring at Devin’s bleeding body. His fingers twitched and she knew—she knew!—that if she could go to him, she would be able to fix him. She would !
“Let me go! That’s my husband!” Flailing, kicking, screaming, she still made no impression on the Northman.
Someone else did.
“Charis!”
Hope surged in her again, for just a beat of her heart. “Devlin!”
Flung aside by the barbarian, Charis was torn with love for both her men. Devin needed her, but Devlin was facing the barbarous invader now. It was all her fault.
“No, run!” she begged him. “He’s already—” Another Northman pulled her to her feet. He made some comment that had his companions laughing roughly around her as they watched the leader square off with Devlin. Charis couldn’t take it in. Why were there still raiders in her village? Why hadn’t they all died?
As Devlin and the braided man circled one another, Charis stared, open-mouthed, around her. She could hear the moans now of the wounded. The pitiful cries of the dying. The oaths sworn in Gaeilge and the harsh barbarian tongue of the invaders. There were only ten of the Northmen still standing, but her people were melting away, if they weren’t being tied to one another.
She hoped Aislinn had kept the young ones below ground.
Again a rough hand fondled her body. A brusque command from the Northman leader stopped it. Charis gritted her teeth against the rising of her gorge as Devlin took advantage of the braided man’s inattention and thrust for a gut wound.
It didn’t pierce the attacker’s mail shirt. He brought his sword down on Devlin’s exposed arm. The blade sliced to the bone so that Devlin hissed and slid away on the blood-soaked earth.
Charis wanted to scream, to cry, to go to him and bind his wounds. Hands restrained her and she was forced to watch as the Northman pressed his advantage and wore Devlin down.
She saw her husband’s eyes close as he died. The world went dark around her. The ocean seemed to roar her horrible guilt in her ears, and she saw no more.
Chapter 6
Agnarr wiped his sword off on his opponent’s patterned garment. “You fought well,” he conceded to the dead man. “I won’t forget.”
What was it the captive had said? The healer—a kvinn medisin —had two husbands? Chiefs of their people? Judging by how the woman had reacted, Agnarr decided
Devin stepped roughly in front of her, pushing her aside with one arm and raising his own sword with the other. “Away, if you can!”
“I can’t leave you! I love you!”
His brief glance over his shoulder was filled with his own feelings, though he didn’t have time to voice them.
The braided man growled as he struck at Devin. Devin countered, steel ringing on steel, and his blade slid down the raider’s. With an abrupt motion, Devin jerked it free and sliced at the leader’s unprotected head. The other man moved, but not quickly enough. Devin’s sword split skin and flesh, letting the blood run free and red on the invader’s cheek and jaw.
The surprise on the blond man’s face shocked Charis, but she didn’t use the moment her husband had purchased for her. It was a costly moment. The Northman took advantage of Devin’s temporary lack of balance after the attack missed its mark. The barbarian brought his own sword around, down, and up at an angle, meeting Devin’s naked ribs and parting flesh and bone in a powerful, sickening arc.
“Devin!” Charis screamed, her heart and lungs trying to leave her body. “No!”
“Khar-iss. Come,” her captor demanded. That he’d spoken the command in Gaeilge didn’t mean anything to her at the time. He apparently ignored the wound to his face and tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain.
Charis couldn’t quit staring at Devin’s bleeding body. His fingers twitched and she knew—she knew!—that if she could go to him, she would be able to fix him. She would !
“Let me go! That’s my husband!” Flailing, kicking, screaming, she still made no impression on the Northman.
Someone else did.
“Charis!”
Hope surged in her again, for just a beat of her heart. “Devlin!”
Flung aside by the barbarian, Charis was torn with love for both her men. Devin needed her, but Devlin was facing the barbarous invader now. It was all her fault.
“No, run!” she begged him. “He’s already—” Another Northman pulled her to her feet. He made some comment that had his companions laughing roughly around her as they watched the leader square off with Devlin. Charis couldn’t take it in. Why were there still raiders in her village? Why hadn’t they all died?
As Devlin and the braided man circled one another, Charis stared, open-mouthed, around her. She could hear the moans now of the wounded. The pitiful cries of the dying. The oaths sworn in Gaeilge and the harsh barbarian tongue of the invaders. There were only ten of the Northmen still standing, but her people were melting away, if they weren’t being tied to one another.
She hoped Aislinn had kept the young ones below ground.
Again a rough hand fondled her body. A brusque command from the Northman leader stopped it. Charis gritted her teeth against the rising of her gorge as Devlin took advantage of the braided man’s inattention and thrust for a gut wound.
It didn’t pierce the attacker’s mail shirt. He brought his sword down on Devlin’s exposed arm. The blade sliced to the bone so that Devlin hissed and slid away on the blood-soaked earth.
Charis wanted to scream, to cry, to go to him and bind his wounds. Hands restrained her and she was forced to watch as the Northman pressed his advantage and wore Devlin down.
She saw her husband’s eyes close as he died. The world went dark around her. The ocean seemed to roar her horrible guilt in her ears, and she saw no more.
Chapter 6
Agnarr wiped his sword off on his opponent’s patterned garment. “You fought well,” he conceded to the dead man. “I won’t forget.”
What was it the captive had said? The healer—a kvinn medisin —had two husbands? Chiefs of their people? Judging by how the woman had reacted, Agnarr decided
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