Her Heart's Desire by Allison Merritt Page B

the floor with a wet splat. Her eyes widened and her mouth split into a wide smile. She sprang toward him, then squeezed him in an embrace. “Eoghann!”
    Though hugging his chainmail couldn't have given her any pleasure, she continued to grasp him.
    “I'm filthy, Idunna.”
    “But alive and...” She stepped back to look him over. After a moment, she nodded and touched his face. “You seem well. Except for a bruise and a scrape. And on your own feet.”
    “Nothing to concern yourself with.” He craved her touch and the nearness of her body. “Free me from the chainmail?”
    Hair spilled over her shoulders, nearly covering her breasts. She tossed it back before she reached for the tightly woven metal links. The strength with which she pulled at them surprised him. For such a petite woman, she had a fierce grip.
    He bowed his head to allow her to lift the chainmail over his head and then pain exploded in his temple.
    “Eoghann?”
    A palm smashed across his face.
    He blinked. The harsh tangs of blood, smoke, and death filled his nostrils as his vision cleared. Coldness gripped his muscles. Hope fled like a shadow at midday.
    Erland crouched over him, soot-streaked, sweaty, and pale. “Týr's spear, I thought you were dead when your legs went out. The bastard who hit you looked like a giant. I stabbed him clean through. He's no threat now.” He drew in a breath. “Get up. They're retreating to the hall.”
    A buzz rattled in Eoghann's head, but he found his feet with the use of Erland's arm. The young warrior retrieved Eoghann's helm and sword.
    “You'd have a nice dent in your head but for that helm. Careful. It seemed as though Idunna wanted you to return home.” Erland grinned. He jerked his chin toward the main longhouse. “Hella and the others are on their way to confront Ofbradh. Nefr's men say he's holed up inside. Coward.” He spat on the half-frozen ground.
    “Let's go.” Helmet in place over the tender lump on his temple and sword in hand, Eoghann staggered down the street. The village was eerily silent but for a few terrified shouts of people attempting to put out flames ravaging some of the thatches.
    “Who set the fires?”
    “Men who didn't want us sacking their homes.” Erland held his sword at the ready. “None of our own or those traveling with us.”
    Clan wars were no unusual thing. Homes and businesses burned all the time because of petty fighting, but in the dead of winter, such loss meant the difference between life and death. To burn one's own home... He clenched his teeth. Had those men any idea what they sentenced their families to?
    Upon entering Ofan, the warriors had met little resistance made by defending Norsemen. The village was unnaturally empty.
    They turned a corner in the street and ran into a burly man with a blond beard. The man lifted his hands to show he held no weapon. He coughed, a wet sound that ended with him spitting up a glob of mucus. “Don't kill us.”
    Behind him a woman with graying hair held two small children. Three more clung to one another at her side. Their faces were thin and sweaty as though they were ill.
    “We've come for Ofbradh's head. Go back inside,” Eoghann snapped.
    “Can't. Our house is burning because the neighbor set his roof ablaze.” The man's skin bore a greenish tint.
    “Then run until the smoke dies. Staying in the open is a poor choice.” Erland brushed past the man. “Let's go.”
    A battle cry reached Eoghann's ears.
    Erland grinned. “My father.” He broke into a run and sent out a call of his own.
    Eoghann followed, though the noise and jostling made his head throb. They raced for the longhouse, which appeared unprotected. Perhaps a small army of men gathered inside, around Ofbradh's chamber, ready to die for him.
    Hella, Erik, Bjorn, Nefr, Tyrfingr, and Falgierr gathered in the courtyard with other warriors.
    “Not dead yet, Saxon?” Erik shoved his elbow into Eoghann's chainmail clad ribs. Fresh blood dripped from