A Viking's Rage

Chapter 10

Northumbria

"My lord, it has been nearly two months since the attack," Lady Hemming implored, her tone sharp with frustration. "Surely it is time to act. We can not linger like this forever."

Hemming barely heard his wife’s words. His mind was not on the ruins of his castle or the lands now defiled by heathen hands. His thoughts circled one thing: Aiya. The slave girl who had caused him nothing but trouble from the day he acquired her.

"Wretch," he muttered under his breath.

He clenched his fists. She had better be alive. Her fate was his to decide, and he would ensure she paid for her defiance.

The people of York despised him, and he knew it. They whispered of his cowardice, of his failure to defend his lands during the Viking raid. The attack had left the village decimated. The Northmen had plundered everything of value—food, gold, even their daughters—before disappearing into the horizon. Hemming had done little to aid his people in their time of need. Instead, they buried their dead, rebuilt their homes, and mourned their losses without his help. Now, they quietly cursed his name, some even wishing him dead.

Hemming stood at the window of his high chambers, peering down at the peasants below. The sight filled him with contempt—and unease. He needed to reassert his control. He needed to remind them of his power.

“Tomas!” he called sharply.

The Captain of the Guard entered, standing rigidly at attention. “Yes, my lord?”

“That man,” Hemming said, pointing to a tall figure among the villagers below. “The one by the carts. Who is he?”

The Captain squinted before answering. “That would be Ainsley Garrick, my lord. He is the father of the boy you... dealt with before the attack.”

“Bring him to me,” Hemming ordered, his tone cold.

Tomas hesitated but nodded. “At once, my lord.”

---

Ainsley Garrick had waited a long time for this moment. He was not afraid to be summoned to the castle; he had expected it. Hemming’s grudge against Aiya had festered for years, and Ainsley knew the Jarl would not stop until he uncovered her fate. Ainsley mourned her as he mourned his own son, Noah. Aiya had been like a daughter to him, and now both she and Noah were lost to the world.

The guard escorting him shoved him forward roughly. “Move,” the man growled.

Ainsley stumbled as the heavy doors to Hemming’s chamber were thrown open. He fell hard onto the cold stone floor at Hemming’s feet.

“Stand him up, Captain,” Hemming said, his voice unnervingly calm.

The Captain hauled Ainsley to his feet. Hemming stepped closer, a hand resting theatrically on his chest.

“Ainsley,” he began, “let me express my condolences for the loss of your son. He was a strapping young man, and his death was regrettable.” His tone was smooth, almost kind.

Ainsley glared at him, unmoved by the empty words.

“But,” Hemming continued, “your son was a criminal. He aided a known fugitive, disobeyed my laws, and by extension, the laws of Northumbria. To defy me is to defy the King himself.” His voice hardened, the faux sympathy vanishing. “His punishment was just, and may our Lord forgive his sins.”

Hemming turned and seated himself on his elaborate wooden chair, a gaudy mockery of a royal throne.

“My son was no criminal,” Ainsley growled. “Nor was the girl he helped.”

The Captain struck him hard across the face. “You dare call our lord a liar?”

“Enough, Captain,” Hemming said, raising a hand. “Ainsley is grieving. Grief clouds a man’s reason.”

Ainsley clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain silent.

“Tis not your son, I wish to discuss,” Hemming continued. “It is the girl. Aiya.” His sharp gaze locked onto Ainsley’s. “Where is she?”

Ainsley’s heart pounded. He could not betray her, not even if it meant his own life. If Aiya was still alive, she deserved her chance at freedom—far from Hemming’s grasp.

“She is dead, my lord,” he said, his voice steady. “Slaughtered by the Vikings.”

Hemming’s composure shattered. He erupted into a fit of rage, sweeping goblets and candlesticks from the table in front of him. “Lies!” he bellowed. “You think me a fool?”

The Captain stepped forward, his hand on his sword hilt. “Shall I punish him, my lord?”

Hemming waved him off. “No. Not yet. Take him to the dungeons. Let him stew until he remembers where his loyalties lie.”

Ainsley was dragged backward, his boots scraping against the stone floor. He did not fight. He had done what he could to protect Aiya, and if Hemming sought to torture the truth from him, so be it.

Hemming stood alone in the chamber, his chest heaving with anger. Ainsley was lying. He was sure of it. Aiya was alive, and he would find her. Whatever it took, he would have her back under his control—and this time, she would not escape his wrath.,