Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (31 page)

Heart in her mouth, Lissa spoke. Though it would do no good, she had to try. Her heart would never forgive her if she did not. “Brandr, you and Sindre should go on, but leave me at the cottage. Talon seeks only for me. He cares naught for any of you. If he finds me at the cottage, he will leave the rest of you alone.”

Brandr’s grip tightened painfully. He growled a sharp “nei.”

She raised a hand to his face, her fingers gently stroking the soft new growth of his beard, seeking to gentle his rejection of her demand. “You must leave me! It is no longer safe for any of you to remain with me. I will be fine. Brandr, you know this. Talon loves me. He will not hurt me, and he will care well for me. Oh, I could not bear it if any of you were hurt because of me. I can persuade him to let the rest of you pass. You must let me go!”

“Nei!” He covered her fingers with his hand, holding them still. “Nei. We have had this discussion before, thrall, and I will no more willingly hear it now, than the first time.”

From the darkness, unlooked for, came the rumble of Sindre’s agreement. “You will stay, Lissa Brandr-thrall. You belong with us.”

“That was never in question,” Brandr said. “If all are now in agreement…?”

He did not allow the question to dangle, but plunged into the river, tugging her along.

I have done what I could. Please let it not rebound to grief.

The current was stronger in this river than in the others and it dragged at her clothing, seeking to pull her under. She no longer had strength to hold up her skirts. Brandr forged ahead, his hold on her arm relentless, else she would have been lost. Mist hung above the water, swirling, caressing her face and arms with ghostlike fingers as scattered raindrops spattered the surface. Would this night never end?

Brandr counted them all again upon reaching the opposite bank. “A little further. Do not falter!”

On they tramped, until her mind was a haze of fatigue. The night around them slowly lightened. The dawn of a gray, rain-clad day was upon them when Brandr halted them along the brow of a hill. Beyond it there rolled a series of rises, all of varying heights, two of which formed, between them, a deep, bowl-like fold. Blanketed in thick wildwood, it offered the only shelter visible.

Turold came to stand beside her. He surveyed the lands all around, a frown creasing his forehead. “Brandr, you have led us true, but we have come a little too far north.”

Brandr’s gaze slid to her face. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then turned a rueful smile on the skáld. “In truth, I am grateful my instincts served me so well. I would not have been surprised had the light of morn proved I led us in circles.”

Turold’s tired face lightened and the corners of his mouth kicked up. “So confident, were you? Had I known, I might have kept a warier eye out for our pursuers!” He sobered. “I know this land. I have spent much time here. As it stands, our course will take us to Readingum. It was my thought you wished to pass closer to Basingum, but to do that, we must turn south.”

Brandr’s voice was husky with weariness. “Já, though for now, it makes little difference. We will stop here.”

For the first time since they left the mill, he let go her arm. She stared at the wooded refuge before them. It was only a little distance away. She glanced around at the others. Sindre still held Alwin, who slept, his small head lolling in the crook of the big víkingr’s neck. Oswulf was all but carrying Bryda. She wondered if she looked as bedraggled and half-dead as the other woman.

The refuge beckoned. Focused on that one spot in a soggy, chill, colorless landscape, she started down the hill toward it. Her feet tangled in the heavy hem of the cloak.

“Lissa!”

She heard him as from a distance.

How strange! The ground heaves.

It rose to slap her in the face.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“I can find no trace of them, leóf. They have slipped our net.”

Seated at the trestle table in the manor hall, Talon stared at his tracker. Wat looked wearier than he had ever seen him. Annoyance shimmered like a cold fire in his belly, curdling what had been a hearty sup. He rose from his seat at Thegn Heorulf’s right hand, but Ricel’s slender fingers caught his arm and gently squeezed in subtle sympathy. Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss to her fingertips, and pointed to the open window across from them. Soft evening light played upon green fields, wet with nature’s life-giving rain.

“My lady, the glow of your lovely countenance outshines the beauty of the gloaming.”

She blushed and offered a demure smile, but her beautiful eyes let him glimpse the passion in her nature—a passion reserved for him. His body tightened. Wedding this beauty, this desire of his heart, could not come too soon, yet all must be delayed so long as Lissa remained with the Danes.

The short time he had spent with the thegn had been productive. During their nightly conferences before retiring to their pallets, he had spoken much with Ricel’s father. Already a friendship based on mutual respect, and irrespective of his love for Ricel, prospered between them. The thegn was a leader to whom he could gladly vow not only loyalty, as he had proffered Thegn Wolnoth, but high esteem, as man to man. Ricel’s dower was substantial, and included land. While not extensive, that land was situated nigh the river, and fertile. He had only to build upon it, and one day, when his service to Heorulf was finished, another would take his place as first marshal and he would move there with Ricel. He was well set for the future, as much as a man could hope for in these troubled times, and more than he would ever have gained had Yriclea not been attacked. Aye, a man could live a lifetime and never achieve all he now held within his hand.

As if all that were not enough, the thegn had kindly granted permission for him to wed with Ricel before he set off to avenge the death of Thegn Wolnoth. It was an unexpected and much appreciated boon, but it was as far as Heorulf, or he himself, would go. There would be no wedding until Lissa was safely recovered.

He turned back to a patiently waiting Wat. “Reports from the scouts agree with your conclusion. The Northmen and their captives are gone.” For a single heartbeat, his anger at the cursed invaders slipped his control. His teeth gnashed and a deep rumble issued from his throat. He glanced at the wide-eyed beauty beside him and found strength.

His scowl eased. He looked at his tracker. “Do not think I hold you responsible, Wat. No one expected the Northmen to have gained a knife-throwing ceorl as an ally, much less a skilled warrior scop. I cannot imagine what possessed our people to fall in with them.”

Wat shuffled, his stance uneasy. “There is more, Captain. It concerns Lissa.”

“Go on.”

The tracker flicked a wary look at the Thegn Heorulf, whose brows lifted. He gestured toward the sleeping chambers at the far end of the hall. “Ricel, if you will excuse us, my dear?”

“Of course, Father.” She nodded her head and took her leave, the green folds of her gown swirling around her feet.

Talon watched her cross the room, enjoying every sweet, feminine sway of her hips. He could not fathom how rational men could be deterred from her side by the slight limp she could not quite disguise. For her sake, he was angered by their cruelty, but for himself, he rejoiced. Their blind rejection was his greatest attainment. She was perfection. He glanced at the thegn, who watched him watch Ricel.

The eyes of his future father-by-law smiled in tacit acknowledgement of his desire.

“I love my daughter, Talon of Andeferas,” he said. “I have chosen well for her.”

Pride and satisfaction washed through him like a tide, but he kept it from his countenance.

Heorulf gestured to Wat. “Please continue, tracker.”

Wat’s gaze came back to Talon, who gave an infinitesimal nod.

“She refused to come with me.”

Talon stiffened and felt his expression blank. “I do not understand. Exactly what do you mean?”

“Leóf, she would not come. The men we hired did as ordered. They engaged the fighters to allow her to escape. I was there, my hand held out to her, but three arm lengths away. She did not move. She did not speak. I could not get to her. The ceorl protected her. Yet, she could have broken free, had she wished. She only stared at me with fear and horror in her eyes. Then our men went down. I had no choice but to leave without her. She would not come.”

Talon realized he gaped, and closed his mouth. “Are you saying she was somehow prevented from leaving?”

“Nay, leóf, she
refused
.”

He could not seem to catch his breath. Why would Lissa refuse to flee to the safety of his arms? She could not know he had found another, and would still believe he waited for her, and meant to marry her.

Why did she refuse to come to me? She knows I would never abandon her to make her way alone.

“Captain, perhaps she….”

He raised a hand. “She is afraid, of course. That is why she did not act. As we know well, she is a gentle maid, and unaccustomed to violence. She has but recently lost all she ever knew or loved. The savagery she has seen has unnerved her, or perhaps, temporarily unhinged her mind.”

The thegn cleared his throat. “There is another possible explanation. I have no wish to be crude, but she has seen many days in the Northmen’s hands. They are not known for their temperance where lovely, young females are concerned.”

Talon hid a wince as a bitter savor filled his mouth. “You believe she is ashamed, and no longer believes herself worthy of rescue.” He considered the matter. This was a contingency he had not anticipated. “Aye, it is true a woman of her virtuous dictates would be inclined to think such a thing. She might wish to escape, but fear rejection, or worse, persecution upon her return.”

That is certainly the cause for her behavior. Never would she choose to reject my protection or care, never willingly stay with barbarians, unless she felt she had no other choice.

The thought warmed and settled him. She might no longer be
his
Lissa, but she was a good woman. Whatever evil had befallen her, she did not deserve to be left in the hands of barbarians.

“What will you do?” Heorulf peered at him. “How will you find them when none knows where they have gone?”

“Since leaving Yriclea, they have followed the course I anticipated. I do not believe they will alter it now. They go to Basingum, or at the least, they will pass it close by. Howbeit, they must be in great need of supplies. I think they must risk going into town. On foot, they cannot traverse the distance in aught less than a day and a half, and more likely, two days.” He smiled. “It will be market day in Basingum then. They will think to hide in the crowds as they make their purchases. But while they must walk the distance, we will take to the river. We can be in place, waiting, well before they arrive.” He looked at Wat. “Make ready, my friend. We leave first thing in the morn, as soon as preparations can be made. Should we, perchance, miss them in town, we will make new plans at that time.”

“As you say, leóf.” Wat bowed and made his way from the hall.

Heorulf stood. “I am for bed, but first, I would make a request.”

“Of course. Anything, my lord.”

“It is long since Ricel has been out of Andeferas. She would enjoy the trip to Basingum, as would I.”

“I believe it will be safe, and I welcome the company.”

“Then I bid you a good night.”

He made his bow to the thegn, and glanced up the stairs. Come the morn, he would make short work of recovering Lissa, and then he would be free to wed Ricel.

∞∞§∞∞

Roots of Yggdrasil!

Brandr halted Lissa’s plunge down the hill by the simple measure of straddling her hips with his feet. Frowning, he carefully turned her onto her back. She had taken quite a tumble and had not tried to break her fall, and had landed face first. Thank all the gods she had impacted a grassy hummock, soft from the rain. He knelt beside her and brushed away bits of grass from an abrasion on her forehead. A single drop of blood welled and rolled from a scrape on the smooth skin of her left cheekbone.

“Lissa?” He shook her gently, but she made no sound. He feared she was stunned, but decided, from her even, untroubled breathing, she was merely deeply asleep. He closed his eyes, thankful she seemed uninjured, then sighed, picked her up, and started down the hill.

A glance over his shoulder revealed his whole weary flock stared after them. “What do you wait for? Keep moving!”

Their arrival in the small fold in the hills was remarkable only in that once a fire was going, and all outer clothing was draped across bushes or over limbs to dry, every one of them, save for himself, dropped to the ground and were quickly fast asleep. He took first watch, and kept himself awake by making endless rounds of the camp, while he gave thought to the next stage of their flight. He waited until the sun was nigh Undorn to wake Turold. By that time, he was stumbling over his own feet.

“I am sorry, Turold,” he said, shaking the skáld by the shoulder, “Though my eyes be open, I am already asleep. I must rest, or I will be of no use as guard or leader.”

Turold rolled over and groaned, his eyes bleary, but he nodded and rose. “It is well. I cannot say I am happy to rise, but I will survive.”

“Wake me by Mithr Aptann.”

“Aye, Brandr.”

He threw himself on the fur beside Lissa, gently hauled her still unresponsive body into his arms, and thought hazily how right it felt. Odd, how comforting was her warmth.
Comfort
had never before been at the forefront of his thoughts when he held a beautiful woman in his arms. What was different with Lissa? Was this part of what it meant to love a woman?
Did
he love her?

The question was too difficult to ponder in his exhausted state. He drew a deep, slow breath, relaxed and was immediately asleep.

“Brandr! It is nigh the hour of evening.” It was Oswulf’s voice. Someone, presumably the ceorl, shook him until he blinked and growled.