The flickering glow from an oil lamp revealed the vertical bars keeping him inside moments before the woman appeared. He recognised the wench from the tavern immediately. She wore the same violet cloak as before, only the hood was pushed down so it lay on her back. The tavern’s light had been dim at best, revealing what he had thought to be highlights of russet in her hair, but with the full light of the lamp upon it, he could see that she was auburn haired. The tresses were nearly as bright as the flame.
The moments before he had been hit were a blur and he hadn’t been certain if the memory of her walking to join the men had been a true one. He had a particular dislike of liars. He had been surrounded by liars his entire life. His own father was one of the best he had ever known, never telling his twin sons the truth of their birthright, that King Feann was indeed their uncle. He’d had to learn that bit of information from King Feann himself after confronting him about the massacre. In the years since the wedding, Rurik had added betrayers to his list of dislikes. To arrive as a friend only to wreak destruction was a cowardly act.
This woman was both a liar and a betrayer. She had pretended to be a seductress to lure him outside all while she had been plotting his destruction. She had known his attackers. She had moved to join their ranks just before their leader had delivered the blow that had sent him hurtling into darkness.
‘I am glad to see you awake,’ the woman said, with no hint of her earlier friendliness.
‘You might have ordered your men not to bash my head if you wanted me awake.’ His voice was low and hardly able to contain his anger. She gave a slight wince at his words, but it might just as easily have been an effect of the flickering light.
‘It was necessary to get you here,’ she said.
A quick survey revealed that he was surrounded by stones on three sides. The width was barely enough to allow him to lie down. The iron bars made up the fourth side and they were placed close together so he had no hope of ever squeezing through them. The ceiling was so low that had he been any taller he would have had to stoop to stand upright. It was a cage for an animal and he was the animal trapped inside.
‘How long have I been here?’ Low-burning fury gave his voice a smoky rasp that fairly trembled with his effort to keep it under control.
‘Not very long. It’s not yet morning.’ Her voice was strong as her gaze held his. She seemed unaffected by the anger in his.
He hoped the fact that he was nearly recovered meant his head injury was not severe. ‘You would do well to let me go.’
‘If you answer my questions truthfully, then perhaps I will have no reason to keep you.’
He stalked closer to the bars, hoping to intimidate her by his larger size. ‘You don’t think I’ve come alone, do you? My men will know that you have taken me. They will come for me.’
It was not even remotely true. His misguided pride had sent him out on this quest alone and now he was paying the price for such a brash decision. King Feann had offered to send men with him in an effort to assuage his own guilt for his part in the massacre. Rurik had not been prepared to accept his help. The sting of Sigurd’s impulsiveness running in his blood had never been felt as strongly as it did now.
She shrugged, appearing unconcerned. ‘Your men are not a problem.’
Changing tactics, he asked, ‘Where am I?’
‘Mulcasterhas.’ Giving him a little smile, she added, ‘Isn’t that where you wanted to be? I’m told you were asking many questions about my home.’
Mulcasterhas was the home of Wilfrid, the Lord of Glannoventa. Rurik and Alarr had spent the past months in Éireann, getting close to King Feann of Killcobar to question him about leading the attack on their family. While the King had admitted his part—that he had gone to Maerr to avenge his sister who had been taken years ago by Sigurd—he had not been the one to deliver the death blow to their father. His confession had revealed that this man named Wilfrid had been involved. Alarr had stayed behind in Éireann with his new wife, Feann’s foster daughter, while Rurik had come alone to seek vengeance against Wilfrid, a man he did not know but already despised immensely.
‘You are Annis.’ Since arriving earlier that day, he had learned from the villagers that Wilfrid’s only son had long been dead, but that he had a daughter.
‘Lady Annis.’
It might have been unintentional, but her chin moved up a notch and her eyes flashed with indignation. Her eyes were dark and striking against her pale skin. With finely arched cheekbones and a delicate chin, she was as lovely as he had thought her to be at the tavern, but now she seemed to have a thread of iron running through her, where before she had been more yielding. A ruse, no doubt, to lure him in for her scheme. She was anything but yielding.
Anger simmered to the surface at the look she gave him. How dare she appear so arrogant when her own father had likely been the one to kill his father? ‘I have no trouble with you, Lady Annis. My trouble is with your father. Send him to me!’ It was impossible to keep his voice from rising on that last demand.
‘Wilfrid is my father-in-law and I will not simply turn him over to you. You are a prisoner and are in no position to make demands, Norseman.’ Her voice cracked like a whip through the heavy air.
The chain bound to his right arm stopped him from
