Read Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] for Free Online

who could teach him those survival skills. Who would instruct these half-men? The one-armed warrior? Or the half-blind one?
    Who were these ragtag warriors? What did they want of him?
    Ah, well, ’tis none of my concern
. He shook his head to rid himself of unwelcome thoughts.
    “Are you Rurik the Viking?”
    Rurik stood and pulled his sword from its scabbard, just in case. “Yea. Who is it that asks?”
    “I be John. Old John,” the leader said. “And this be Young John.” He motioned with his head toward the half-blind man beside him. “And Murdoc,” he added, pointing to the homely one; “Callum,” the twitcher; “and Rob,” the mutterer.
    Oh, good Lord!
    “We are of the Campbell clan,” Old John said, concluding his introductions. “Campbells?” Rurik spat out. “Aye, Lady Maire is our mistress.”
    He was suddenly alert with interest. “Is this the selfsame person as Maire the Witch?”
    Old John’s eyes went wide; then he exchanged amused glances with his comrades. Their reaction to his calling Maire a witch was the same as the MacNab’s.
Hmmm
. But Rurik had no time to study on the matter more, for Old John was speaking again.
    Smiling crookedly, Old John asked, “Wouldst like to locate the witch’s lair?”
    Now that was a lackwit question … after five years of bearing the witch’s mark, three years of which had been wasted searching for her. He put one fist on a hip, trying to appear casual. “And if I do?”
    “Mayhap we can help ye.”
    “Why would you help us? We have firsthand knowledge of how much you Scotsmen love us Vikings.” Rurik looked pointedly at the bodies that still lay strewn about the gully.
    “Might those be MacNabs?” Old John inquired hopefully as he leaned forward to get a better look. Young John squinted his good eye to see better, too. Murdoc scratched his missing ear as he contemplated the question. Callum kept jerking his head toward the dead soldiers. And Rob muttered over and over, something about “dead-as-dung MacNabs.”
    “Do dragons roar and Saxons stink?” Rurik answered.
    Old John smiled widely then. If there was one thing the Scots and Vikings had in common, it was dislike of the Saxons. “Praise God! Ye mus’ be the answers to our prayers.”
    “Me? Me? The answer to someone’s prayers?” Rurik was not amused. “I think not.”
    “Ah, but mayhap you will change your mind. We come to offer you a proposition, Viking.”
    “A proposition? From a Highlander? Hah! I must inform you that I mistrust Scotsmen mightily.”
    “Then we are on even ground, because I mistrust Norsemen as well.”
    Rurik cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Then why would you offer me a… what did you call it… proposition?”
    Old John shrugged. “Desperation.”
    Rurik had to give the man credit for honesty.
    “Lead our clan to victory, Viking. That is all we ask. Deliver us from the pestilence that has overtaken our Campbell lands. If ye will pledge us that, we will deliver ye forthwith to our mistress, Maire of the Moors.”
    Rurik arched an eyebrow at that unexpected offer. “And might that pestilence bear the name MacNab?”
    “It might,” Old John admitted.
    Rurik frowned with confusion as he recalled the MacNab’s last words to him … something about wanting to marry Maire. As far as he knew, Maire had been wed these past five years. “Why does Maire’s husband not protect her clan?”
    “Kenneth MacNab died three months ago.”
    “MacNab? Maire was married to a MacNab?”
    Old John nodded, his face flushing with anger. “Yea, and a miserable cur he was, too. The youngest brother of Duncan … younger by fifteen years, I would guess.”
    Rurik had other questions he’d like to ask, but they could come later. For now, there was one that was foremost in his mind. “Who is your laird, then? Nay,do not tell me it is your mistress, Maire the Witch?” He refused to give her that gentler appellation, Maire of the Moors.
    All the Campbell men