LITMIR.BIZ

      Convent of the Blessed Virgin Caithness, Scotland

      Margriet sat on the steps leading up to the small chapel and held her hands over her ears. If another of the holy sisters began to wail, she would—God forgive her—be tempted to strangle her. Granted they were only novices and young at that, but already Sister Madeline and Sister Mary were caterwauling as loudly as she’d ever heard anyone scream. Sister Suisan had fainted again, so at least her crying had stopped.

      The reverend mother, Mother Ingrid, overwhelmed at the sight of the warriors at their gates, promptly ran to the church, fell to her knees in prayer and would not respond to any questions or requests. Although Mother’s manner was usually one of calm and control, Margriet guessed that when confronted with such a formidable group of outsiders anyone’s calm could be disturbed. That left Margriet, as was their usual custom in recent days, in charge of the others and she was uncertain what to do.

      “Lady?” a soft voice broke into her quiet cone of thoughtfulness.

      Margriet looked up and realized it was Sister Sigridis and she was not whispering but shouting at her. She dropped her hands. “What is it, Sister?”

      “He is calling for ye again.”

      “Yes, Sister. He has been doing that for two days now.”

      “Do ye think that mayhap ye should answer him? He sounds angrier than before.”

      Margriet took in a deep breath and let it out before standing. Each time the warrior yelled out her name, the youngest of the nuns began their hysterics again. Lifting her long braid and tossing it back over her shoulder, she strode off toward the main gate and… him. Tugging on the thick brown gown as she walked, she prayed he would relent this time and leave them, and her, in peace. The stubborn set of his jaw in each encounter so far told her otherwise.

      Truly, if it had been in a different situation, she might find him appealing. He was certainly fit and the strength in his arms—as he banged hard enough on the wooden gate to nearly shatter it—would provide strong protection to those in his care. His head, though it appeared that his custom had been to shave it of hair, was now covered with a downy layer of pale hair. Instead of marring or softening his appearance, it both gave him a dangerous look and made her palms itch to touch it and test its softness. It was the only thing soft about him for even his deep voice made her heart pound in terror at its fierceness.

      Since she was the person he sought, Margriet felt mostly irritation at his behavior and his methods of attempting to gain her compliance. Sister Sigridis dropped away from her side and stood a distance from the gate as she climbed up into the guard’s tower to look over the wall.

      “I asked you to stop terrifying the good sisters, sir.”

      The words certainly sounded brave to her ears and she waited for his response. Margriet took a small step forward so she could look down at him. The man backed away a few paces, intent on looking up at her. With the nun’s habit on her, she knew he could glimpse only a small part of her face and not much more. The bulky robes covered her from feet to shoulders and the wimple and long veil covered everything else.

      “And I asked Lady Margriet to present herself for escort home, Sister. One will surely follow the other,” he called out to her. When he stopped shouting, his voice could be quite pleasant…for a barbarian.

      “Lady Margriet has taken vows…of silence…” she answered, thinking it an excellent reason for not talking to him, “and she fears for her soul if she breaks that.”

      Guffaws from all the men below filled the air. Apparently the men did not think a woman capable of silence.

      “Present the girl now!” He was back to yelling and banging and she feared the gate would give way soon to his strength.

      “A short respite, please, sir. Let me see if I can convince her to see you,” Margriet offered.

      There was a buzz of conversation below among all the men there and then an answer. “An hour, good sister. You have one hour to convince the girl to speak to me or I will burn this convent to the ground and remove her myself.”

      She knew for a certainty the result that would occur because of his threat and her left eye and the brow above it began to twitch in anticipation. Scrunching her eye shut, she gritted her teeth the moment it began.

      Loud, hysterical screaming and wailing began in the chapel and spread out as the novices there, as well as a few of the lay women, joined in the horrible chorus. The few men who worked there, tending the fields and doing the heavy labor that women could not, looked at her nervously. They could not defend the convent against this warrior’s attack. Other than a few knives and a bow and quiver of arrows for hunting, they had no weapons but for some farming tools.

      Margriet climbed down quickly and waved to Sister Sigridis, who shook her head. The daft girl probably thought she meant to send her out to answer his demands. “Sister, please tell the reverend mother that I will speak to this Rurik and see if I can convince him to leave me here.”

      “Are ye certain, lady? He might take ye by force if ye leave the safety of the walls.”

      Although Sister Sigridis’s intention was to offer some consolation, Margriet sensed a feeling of relief in the girl at not having to speak to the man. She did not blame the sister for not wanting to do so, but she knew now that only she could work out a compromise and end this siege before

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