Page 4 of Once Upon A Haunted Castle
“I am so sorry.”
“’Tis not your fault.”
She shook her head. “That is the thing…’tis my fault. I summoned him.” Eyes wide, she jerked her gaze away from the bed and met Beiste’s eyes. “Ye’re all in danger. They are coming.”
“Who is coming?”
“My mother’s family. Vikings.”
“What?” Beiste moved quickly, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her within inches of him so he could stare into her eyes.
She flinched, but kept her gaze on him when anyone else might have closed their eyes to ward off his ire.
“Explain.”
“They attacked several days ago. Killed my father. They stoned my mother in the bailey, naming her a traitor. I hid my brother from them, but it is only a matter of time before he is found. They will kill me. They will kill ye.”
Beiste saw red. His father had been killed by Vikings? Summoned into a fray by this slip of a lass?
“His death is on your head.”
“I didna know they would kill him…”
“Aye, ye did. For did they not kill your own?”
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought he’d bring a legion of men. I warned him of what had happened…”
“Ye thought wrong,” Beiste growled.
His grip still tight around her arm, he dragged her from the room and up a level where his own chamber was. He flung open the door to the chamber attached to his own and thrust her inside.
“What are ye doing?” she asked.
Beiste fought to catch his ragged breath. He felt as though a fire had been lit in his lungs, his throat. “Taking ye prisoner.” He glowered down at her, fresh anger gutting him. “Dinna attempt to escape.”
“Wait,” she called, arms outstretched as he slammed the door closed, stabbing the key into the lock.
She banged against the door. “Please! Ye must help my people. My brother, Erik, he is still there!”
Beiste ignored her wails as he retreated, charging down the stairs to the great hall. There was no time to think about her pleas. Nor could he think about his father’s oath, his promise, his vow to protect them for saving his life, not when his own had been forfeit in an attempt to help. A promise wasn’t linked to blood was it? Och, but Beiste knew it was. He’d have to honor it, simply because his father would have wanted him to.
“Gunnar,” Beiste called.
His master of the gate stood at attention.
“Vikings are coming. They are is who killed my father.”
“How?”
“We’ve had a visitor. She told me.”
Gunnar raised a brow, perhaps questioning the ale he’d drunk. “A woman.”
“Aye.”
But then the men let out a resigned sigh. “The guard came in to give ye this. She carried it with her. The guard found it on her horse.” Gunnar held out a weighty claymore, the iron hilt carved with thistles and roses, and embedded with a large emerald at the very top. “Thought ye’d recognize it.”
“That is my father’s sword. It went missing when I was a lad.”
