Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (11 page)

When they left their aerial road, Brandr set them moving east and north again. No more effort was made to erase their passage. They picked up speed until she was nigh to running and she huffed with each step.

She finally had enough, and stopped to catch her breath. “Are we…to run all the way…to the Sea…of Germania?”

She barely got the words out before Sindre, without breaking stride, swept her up, húdfat and all, and slung her over his great shoulder.

“Ahhh! Put me down! Brandr!”

Brandr’s voice, mirth-filled and unsympathetic, floated back to her. “Relax, thrall. You wished for a rest, now enjoy it.”

Fearing unpleasant retribution from an impatient Sindre if she fought the disgraceful position, she closed her eyes, wrapped her arms about his gold-strapped middle, and focused on not being sick from the dizziness that resulted from being bounced upside-down. She would never again complain about their pace.

Once Sindre set her back on her own feet—regrettably, not well rested—they continued the odd, silent game of ranging up and down hills, slipping through woodland, skirting inhabited areas, and fording yet another river, all the while keeping hidden as much as possible. She grew weary, and hungry as well, but said naught, leery of becoming once again an unwilling passenger on the huge víkingr’s shoulder. Sticking close on Brandr’s heels—with much of her forward view blocked by his shield and the broad shoulders she wished she could outline with her hands—she took in the landscape to either side and wondered what his home was like.

She decided naught would be gained by timidity. “Brandr?”

He cast a glance back at her as if surprised she still followed. “Hmm?”

“What is the name of your village?”

“Ljotness.”

“What is it like?”

“Much like any other town.”

“Is it large?”

“Nei.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

“A full cycle of the moon. Longer if we run into difficulties.”

“Have you other family there, besides Sindre?”

“Já.”

“Siblings?”

“Four brothers, one sister.”

“Does your mother live?”

“Já.”

“Is your father a merchant, or a soldier?”

“He is both. He is a jarl.”

“What is a jarl?”

He half-turned to glower at her though his pace never slowed. “Know you naught of my people?”

The intense blue of his eyes nigh made her stumble over her own feet. She dropped her gaze. “Not very much. Northmen have not come to Yriclea since I first came there.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was three summers. A tribe that sought slaves to sell raided the village of my birth. My mother was killed, but I am told she hid me in our storage pit, only the hiding place was discovered. I was later sold to Thegn Wolnoth, who ordered that I be taught household tasks so I might one day take over from an older slave.”

“Why were you given no mark?”

“My lady pleaded that I be spared. She later said she loved me right away, and wished to keep me close, as if I were her own child, for she had none.” She switched back to questioning. “I have heard Northmen are very fine merchants. You once said you traded during some summers. Is that why you came to Yriclea, to trade?”

This time he stopped completely and turned to face her, hands on hips. “Why would you ask that? You know we attacked Yriclea that morn, before the Saxon war band interfered. Had their number not been so many as to force our retreat, we would have done to your village what they did, except we would have taken everything of value and many thralls.”

The words hit her like a blast of storm wind. She stared at his impatient scowl, unable to utter a word in the face of his blunt statement. All the enjoyment of the day vanished like the sand manor she had once built on the shore as a child, overrun by an incoming wave.

His frown lines deepened, and impatience limned his tones. “Did you think Sindre and I sprang from nowhere? I led a
strándhogg
, a raiding party. We came in three ships to seek the treasure Yriclea was rumored to hide. We broke through the gates just as the Saxon war band attacked from the forest. My brother, Karl, was badly hurt. I stayed behind to protect his retreat. The last I saw of them, they were obeying my order to sail without me.” He glanced over her shoulder at his uncle. “All except Sindre, who foolishly decided he wanted more adventure.”

She found her voice. “I…I did not know.”

She blinked and stared at the sky to curb sudden tears. Blind, she had been. The man had nigh killed her, yet she had succumbed to the subtle lure of his physical attraction. He protected her now, but for how long? Wisdom counseled the withholding of her trust, and a return to planning escape.

She gathered her thoughts. “As I explained when first you came upon me, I was forced into hiding by my lady, and I saw naught of the battle. Saint’s bones. When you appeared so much later, I thought you scouts, come to seek trading partners.”

The azure fire in his eyes began at the top of her head and left a sizzling trail to her feet and back up. She shivered. Mirth, layered with gentle mockery and a hunger she recognized from Talon’s gaze, left her in no doubt of his thoughts. He uttered a short, hard laugh and his tone deepened. “Not traders. Nei. But had we been, I would still have taken you for myself, Lissa Brandr-Thrall.”

She feared her skin would catch fire from the heat of his measure, but she refused to look away. Though he laughed at her, and she felt more lacking in wit than ever, she would not cower.

“No more questions?”

She made no answer.

A look of what might have been respect skipped over his face, but he merely said, “Good.” He glanced at Sindre and gestured toward the western horizon. “Daylight flees.” His head lifted and he sniffed. “I smell water. Likely, there is a brook nearby. We will seek shelter and rest until the moon rises. Then we will go again into the water to further confuse our trail.”

∞∞§∞∞

Brandr followed his nose to a hillcrest overlooking a thickly wooded valley. At the far end, a single mud and wattle hut was visible in a tiny clearing. Naught of animal or human moved nigh it, and no shifting shadow rose from the smoke-hole in the thatched roof. An air of neglect sat upon it.

Sindre came beside him. “It looks deserted.”

“Já, and the water would be down there, and maybe fish to be had.”

“And if we are wrong, and it is not so empty as it seems?”

“We pass it by.”

“Then let us hope Odinn has led us to a place abandoned, and let us also hope the water is more than a rill. The day has been unseasonably warm, and I have been too long without a decent wash.”

“As have we all.”

He found a sheep track leading downward. They soon passed from sparse, sunny woodland into the cool gloom of the valley’s green canopy.

Sindre called softly, “Hold, Músa! I will go to determine if we are alone.”

“No bloodshed, Sindre!”

“Have no fear. If any inhabit the place, they will never know I was there.”

Brandr turned to find Lissa staring at him. He raised one brow. “What is it?”

She shook her head and leaned against the bole of a tree.

He had not liked the stunned disillusionment in her eyes when she realized he had come, not to trade, as she believed, but to despoil her village. He liked it less she seemed now to view him as less than a man of honor, as one who followed not the laws and warrior’s code of his people.

Anger at himself for allowing her opinion to matter sharpened his voice. “You sulk like a child.”

“I do not. Must I speak when I have naught to say?”

“If I command it, já.”

“Then tell me what would you have me say.”

“I have a better idea. Come here.”

Eyes the brownish gold of leaves in autumn slewed toward him. She stiffened. “Why? What is it you want?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Have you forgotten so soon my warning? A thrall has no rights. A thrall is not allowed to question. A thrall obeys instantly or suffers punishment. Come here.”

Alarm flashed in her expression and she swallowed.

He thought she would refuse. A part of him hoped she would, for her small rebellion kindled a familiar need to conquer, to bend her to his will.

Her movements lacking their usual grace, she sidled toward him as if deeming dissent unwise, but wishing otherwise. She stopped an arm’s length away.

“Closer.”

Her lips pursed, but she took one small step forward.

His vexation drained away and he almost smiled. She looked like a wary fawn confronted by a large and unknown animal. He touched the sun-pinkened tip of her nose with a fingertip, fascinated by the way it tilted up ever so slightly. Then his gaze dropped to the enticing curves of her mouth. Desire sparked with a suddenness that tore at his breath. Everything vanished except a surge of primal heat. His hands settled on her shoulders and drew her near, and nearer still until his arms closed to sweep her into the embrace he had wanted from the moment he first saw her.

Her face grew flushed and she gasped. He felt the inhalation against his chest and closed his eyes. The heady scent of woman engulfed his senses, igniting the spark into sheets of roaring flame, billowing, cascading, burning. He trembled with the unexpected need that rioted through his veins.

One hand tangled in her shorn tresses as he cupped her head in his palm. He could not stop staring at the parted fullness of her lips. Their softness beckoned. His head bent in slow descent until their breaths mingled. Flesh touched. She quivered. He slowly rubbed his lips back and forth against hers in the barest of strokes. She panted. He nuzzled her. She leaned into him, the movement restless, uncertain. His palm stroked her back from neck to hips.

He lifted his eyes. His gaze first clashed with, then captured hers. Passion blazed, innocent, but heated and powerful, within those golden depths. He stroked her again, and watched the desire build.

She wants me!

The realization shook him to his core. He thought of the open hunger in her look as she had gazed at his bared chest the first morning after the raid. The haze that locked him in its grip deepened. He shuddered with the effort it took to keep from dragging her to the ground and ravishing her now, on the moment. He fought for control. Then the tip of her tongue swept in rapid caress over her lips. Fire flashed. Thought dissolved. Control fled. He groaned, took her mouth and plundered her sweetness with all the hunger raging through his body. She tasted like all the fleshly dreams of a warrior’s heart.

His arms tightened. She moaned and rose to her toes, her softness pressing, clinging to his frame. The inferno spiraled.

Her small hands lifted to clasp at his nape, then slid upward into his hair, increasing the contact of her curves with his hard lines. His palm settled low on the small of her back to gather her closer still. She urged him on with little cries that somehow escaped his rampage.

Triumph and possession soared at her surrender. The hand at her back slid around to come between them, seeking the soft fullness crushed to his chest.

“Now is not the time for this, Músa. Unless, of course, you intend to invite me to share.”

The sneer in his uncle’s voice crashed through the enchantment like the thunder of Thorr’s hammer.

He jerked, and broke the kiss, but when Lissa gave a low cry and tried to pull away, he would not let her go. His arms enfolded her, and he buried his face in the tender curve of her neck, trying to catch his breath, to understand what had just happened. He was no stranger to passion, but never, not once in all his days, had he ever lost control so completely as he had with her. Another powerful shudder swept him.

She had gone very still. He lifted his head. Her golden eyes were dark, the desire now tempered by fear.

Freyja’s tears! If the maelstrom had nigh overwhelmed him, a man experienced in the ways of love, how much more had it ravaged this maiden?

With all the gentleness he could muster, he stroked her cheek, hoping she failed to notice how his hand still trembled. “Do not fear, lítill blóm. I have never taken a woman against her will.”

Sindre guffawed. “From what I saw, she was aught but reluctant. She nigh crawled into your skin.”

Lissa flinched, but glowed with a fiery blush.

Brandr pulled her heated face against his chest and threw a scowl at his uncle, who held in his hand a small stewpot covered with a tattered piece of fabric. “Report!”

“Have it your way, Músa, but only a fool would refuse to take what she is so pleased to give. Think you I saw not that look she gave you earlier? She wants you. Nei,” he said, and held up his hand at Brandr’s start of protest. “I have finished my say on the matter.

“As we thought, the cottage is abandoned, though I think not long past. Three graves lie behind it, the dirt still mounded beneath the rocks that protect from scavengers. Whoever buried the dead does not appear to have lingered. I found evidence of a charcoal maker’s bonfire.”

“Which explains the isolation of the hut.”

“Já. There are signs the place has been used by travelers who, like us, stayed but a night. I found naught of value except this.” He held up the stewpot, and removed the covering cloth. It was filled with dried apples. “I ate one. It was sweet and good. Also, a brook flows through the valley. It passes by the hut. At this end there is a glade, perfect for our needs.” He grinned. “We will have good bathing and fishing, if we make time.”

Thinking of Lissa, Brandr agreed. He set her from him but slid his hand down her arm to clasp her hand. She tugged against his hold, but his fingers entwined with hers, tightening the grip. She made no protest as, following Sindre, he towed her along behind him.

∞∞§∞∞

Talon spit gristle to the ground. With his teeth, he tore another bite from the still sizzling partridge breast. His men, except for the guard, lingered around the fire, satisfied to fill their bellies with bread, meat and ale. He had moved a little distance away, to ponder their next move.

As expected, the quarry had turned inland, but if Wat was right, they had somehow learned they were followed. The track had been clear and easily detected up to the point where they spied on the island. His suspicion they had meant to meet there with their ship companions appeared to be confirmed, but they had not known of the watchtower King Alfred had ordered built. There was evidence they had lingered at the spot for a short time, probably discussing options, but then they had set out north and east, in the general direction of the borders of Guthrum’s kingdom. From that point on, their trail became less apparent. Wat assured him he would have no difficulty tracking them, but had admitted their progress would be slowed.