Ruthless by Sophia Johnson Page A

boy. She guessed his age as near twelve
years old but said he was smaller than most because he had little
enough food. He had been a newborn when dropped off at the village
in the dead of night, wrapped in a cloth still wet from the
birthing.
    The woman who took him in named him Gille.
She had died of a fever this past winter. Since then, the other
families fed him what they could, without starving their own
bairns. Magnus thanked her for her kindness and gave her a
coin.
    He promised the villagers wagons of thatch to
repair their roofs, a dozen chickens and a cow to replace the one
killed by a wayward axe. It did not take long to see things set to
rights.
    Still, he would not leave. One last duty
remained. 'Twas a deed that always caused Feradoch to shake his
head with disgust and call him a weakling for it. Magnus and his
men helped the villagers bury their dead, though Feradoch fumed at
the duty.
    Magnus never left a battle with slain men
above the ground who had fought honorably. He had no such qualms
about cowards. For them, he had the men haul their bodies with
ropes tied to their ankles deep into the woods.
    Soon after the noon hour, they left the
village. The boy Gille sat on Odin's haunches, his thin arms
clutching Magnus around the waist.
    o0o
    Frightened by Muriele's anguished screams,
forest creatures scurried away. Frantic, she ran around the
clearing looking for signs of her mother's body. Loud sobs tore at
her throat. Had wild animals already feasted on her loved one?
Would she find bones and pieces of her scattered around the forest?
She fell to her knees and rocked back and forth, keening. Time had
denied her this last act of kindness for a well-loved mother who
had given her the best of care.
    Grunda, gasping and stumbling, crashed
through the brush and stopped. Her gaze scanned the area looking
for the cause of such dire keening. Nothing threatened Muriele.
Puzzled, she knelt beside her and stroked the young woman's
hair.
    "What is it? Has some strange creature
threatened ye?"
    Never before had Muriele cried where anyone
could see her weakness. She had been stoic these past days, holding
back her grief until she was alone. Shaking her head, she put a
hand to her mouth and choked back a sob.
    "Nay. Mother's body. It's gone!"
    "Ye are sure this is the right spot?"
    "Aye." She pointed to a flattened area ten
paces ahead. The disturbed ground and darkened stains on the
crushed grass and leaves proved the louts had murdered her
there.
    After Grunda walked around the whole clearing
and searched beyond, she came back, shaking her head.
    "No signs of animals. Only horses and men
have been here. But they could be from when the patrol found
ye."
    "Aye." Muriele whimpered and gazed up at her
with grief-stricken eyes. "What can I do?"
    "Naught, child." Grunda held out her hand and
urged Muriele to her feet. "Come. Let us go to the bothy. Ye will
want Ragnhild's things about ye."
    Muriele nodded. She would collect her
mother's comb and brush, and the pewter clasp that swept her
mother's hair back from the sides of her face. After they fled
Blackbriar, Ragnhild had hidden two rings and a silver chain in a
small box in the ground beneath where she slept. Ragnhild's wedding
ring from Lord Colban was a silver band with twisted gold around
the rims and two gold trinity knots with a blood-red stone between
them. He'd said it symbolized his heart.
    The second ring was Lord Colban's given to
him by King David when he made him Baron of Blackbriar. 'Twas heavy
gold carved with Celtic designs and set with a large bloodstone
from Iona.
    Once Lord Baldor arrived at Blackbriar, her
mother had hidden the rings.
    Her only other treasure was the soap her
mother made because Muriele favored the scent of apple blossoms. On
the first sunrise of May, her mother had worked her spells beneath
the wild apple tree. It was in full bloom, its scent sweetening the
air. When Ragnhild made the soap, she'd added a hint of
spice-scented oil to the