Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (9 page)

“I do not like this,” he said, watching one of the vessels race before the wind. “If the Andskoti or the Hauss ran afoul of these….”

Sindre’s response to this evidence of the Saxon king’s vigilance was an unintelligible series of grunts and snarling comments. He was in a foul humor, and had been since waking. She tried to stay out of his way, for her weary steps seemed to infuriate him. When tears brought her stumbling to her knees over some obstacle, bringing them to a halt for the third time, he growled beneath his breath. When they ate midday meal on the move and her graceless fingers pitched part of it to the ground, he said things in his language she was grateful she could not understand. His ill nature only served to increase her clumsiness. By evening, she reeled from step to step, and begged Brandr to slow down. Sindre’s jaw tightened at the welling tears, and she cringed at his black look. He slid his hand to the small of his back and she nigh panicked, for she knew he fingered the hilt of the blade he carried there in its sheath.

Apart from a sharp word, Brandr ignored him, but she dared not. Fearing the big víkingr would cut her throat and make his excuses after, she marshaled what strength she retained and increased her effort to stay close behind Brandr. Once she trod on his heel. He glanced behind, eyebrows high, to silently question her action. Without turning her head, she used a sidewise flick of her eyes to indicate his uncle. Mirth lightened the lines of his face, but he looked at Sindre and made some rapid comment in their tongue.

After that, what was left of the day went easier. The endless weeping finally stemmed. Fatigue left no strength for the labor of tears. Brandr also seemed wearier than before. The blood loss from the wound had taken its toll.

Despite her weariness, or perhaps because of it, she slept fitfully that night. Sindre kept close guard throughout the dark hours. With his vigilance went any chance of escape, had she decided to seek it. Morn brought a lack of disappointment she found disturbing.

Brandr slept like one safe in his own bed. In a gesture surprising in its generosity, Sindre did not wake his companion to take over the watch until a short time before the dawn. Brandr woke from his full night’s sleep clearly refreshed. Though his own rest was short, Sindre rose in a better humor, and remained so, though their march was impeded when they had to move inland to detour around a bog in a depression that stretched farther than their eyes could see.

As before, Brandr set a taxing pace. She moved in a muddle of exhaustion. When he slowed without warning, she staggered into him.

Frowning, he steadied her. “What is wrong?”

She blinked at him through blurred vision. She shook her head, not comprehending his question.

“Why are you still weeping? Are you in pain? Have you injured yourself?”

Only then did she realize tears again dripped steadily from her chin. She lifted wondering fingers to wipe them away and stared at the wetness, then raised her face to him. It was the first acknowledgement he had made of her distress.

Brandr’s lips tightened to a white line. He looked at a restive Sindre. “Stay here.”

He pulled her far enough away to insure the other would not overhear, and framed her face with his big hands. He leaned close, as if he wished to make sure she could not fail to understand.

His voice was hard and the keen blue of his gaze unyielding. “I know you are tired, and you grieve, but you must keep up. Sindre is a man of little tolerance. He will try to kill you if you do not, and I might not be able to stop him. You have it in you to do this, and I promise you will be able to sleep on the ship this night, as long as you wish.” He used his sleeve to wipe her face. “Now, straighten your shoulders and lift your chin. Follow me, and….” He flicked a glance at Sindre, then whispered, “Stay close.”

He waited for her nod, gestured to his uncle and loped away.

Why, she could not say, but his belief in her gave her strength. She did not wish to disappoint him by failing in the task he gave her, a task that was, after all, not so very difficult. All she had to do was walk. Put one foot in front of the other. She set herself to keep pace. Shortly thereafter, though it was most strange, it seemed as if she broke through a fog. Her mind cleared and her step grew a little lighter.

They must have made better time than expected, because the sun hung not far past midday when they reached their destination. She crept with the men to the top of a hill covered with long grass and wildflowers, overlooking the sea. From its crest, it sloped sharply downward to the shore. Supply ships and warships plied the water nearby.

The island, which lay some little distance offshore, was not large. Shaped vaguely like a spearhead, it boasted a tree-covered interior surrounded by an irregular strip of narrow beach. It swarmed with soldiers building some sort of fortification.

No one said aught for a long while, then Sindre gave a resigned chuckle. “It would seem we will not be meeting up with Tosti today, Músa.”

“No, and perhaps this explains the ships.” Brandr’s tone held no expression, but his eyes had narrowed.

Lissa pressed aside a section of grass that tickled her nose. “It would seem my king has claimed new property.”

He glanced at her. “I hope you are growing accustomed to sleeping on the ground and eating cold food. You will have much of both in days to come. We will have to travel overland.”

I will also have more time to make my escape, should I find my missing wits and the backbone to do so.

“Will not this man Tosti wait for us farther on?”

“No.”

Both men watched her. She studied first one, then the other. As they seemed to be waiting for it, she asked the obvious. “Why will he not wait?”

They looked at each other over her head. Brandr’s lips twitched. He returned his gaze to the industrious troops. “It is not safe. The farther east they go along this coast, the chances increase that your king’s troops will stumble upon them wherever they may put ashore. Not until they sail past the mouth of the great river—
Temese,
in your tongue—where begins our king’s land will they stop, but between here and there live many of your people. Nor would Sindre and I would find the welcome favorable. We cannot follow the coast for the same reason. It is too open.” He drew a deep breath. “So. We move inland. We will circle west of Dornwaraceaster and move north toward Sceptesberie and then east, beyond Wintanceastre, though we will need to go quickly and take care as we pass nigh the Saxon king’s capital. If we follow the woodlands we will find cover.”

Her feet throbbed in sympathy with her silent groan. Brandr had been relentless in his drive to reach the island and she could feel the earlier fatigue creeping upon her again. She had never been on a ship, but the hope of getting some sleep had rendered the prospect less frightening, and had kept her going. Now she wanted to curl up right where she was and sleep until morrow’s first light.

Instead, she said, “How is it you know of these places?”

“I have seen maps of this land. My father was here with the army of King Guthrum before the agreement with King Alfred.”

“Is not this Wintanceastre you speak of very far away? Where do we go?”

“You weary us with questions, thrall!” Sindre snapped. “You will see where we go when we arrive.”

Brandr backed away from the crown of the hill and stood up. “Our destination lies on the coast of the Sea of Germania.”

She gaped. How could they hope to travel such a distance? Brandr started down the hill, and she followed, Sindre close behind.

Once inside the safety of the trees, Brandr said, “Our food runs low. From now on, we must hunt and fish. Lissa, you will seek berries and edible plants. You know of such things?”

She flushed. “I am not ignorant. I was taught many things by my lady.”

Mirth flashed in his brilliant eyes. “Our children know many things, but we do not know what knowledge Saxon daughters are given. Why do you insist on speaking of your mother as your lady? Do thegn’s daughters not speak of their parents as do other children?”

“Lady Eadgida was not my mother, nor the thegn my father.”

His ire spiked. She saw it clearly.

“Are you such a liar, then, Lissa Brandr-thrall?”

“I speak no lie! It was you who first assumed I was a slave, then changed your mind and decided I was the thegn’s daughter. I did not say I was either.”

“Then you are deliberately evasive! What do you hide? What was your position in that household?” He suddenly scowled. When he spoke again, he sounded as if he wished to do violence. “Thralls are shorn of their hair to signify their status, but so are whores. Is that it? Were you the thegn’s concubine, then?”

Her mouth fell open. No one had ever accused her of anything so vile. Heat rose from her neck to sear her face. “You insult me! First you accuse me of lying and now of, of….”

She could not get the shameful word out.

With a single step he towered over her, so close his ring-shirt brushed the fabric of her syrce. His jaw was clenched and a muscle above it seemed to twitch in time with her suddenly stuttering heartbeat. Her step away was involuntary, but he cupped her chin with his hand and pulled her sharply back. The grip of his fingers tightened and she shivered, as if winter had returned, at the blue fury in his eyes.

He bent his head until they were nose-to-nose. Each word he spoke was uttered with a clipped deliberation. “Speak again with such disrespect and I will thrash you. You are my thrall. I can insult you, beat you or do to you anything else I choose and
you may not argue or resist
. To do so will bring upon you worse punishment, even unto death. Do you understand?”

She felt as if every bone in her body had dissolved. Her legs would no longer support her and she would have sunk to the ground had his other hand not caught and held her.

“Answer me, Lissa. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

Her submission appeared to satisfy him, for he released her and nodded.

“Now, you will tell me. What were you to the thegn?”

Sindre cleared his throat. “Brandr, this is not….”

“Silence, Sindre! I will have an answer.”

“I was naught to Thegn Wolnoth. I was companion and friend to the Lady Eadgida. It is true in my youth I was her slave, but the lady honored my service and granted my freedom when I was four and ten.”

She expected the anger lines in his face to ease. Instead, they sharpened. Doubt glinted from his eyes. “You were a freewoman? Why then did you agree to become my thrall? No free man with wits about him
chooses
to become a slave.”

From the corner of her eyes, she glanced at Sindre, hulking beside her. “I believed you would kill me if I refused. I did not wish to die. Saxons do not fear death, but we are not fools to court it if it might be avoided.”

“You preferred slavery to death.”

“Yes.”

The disappointment in his voice startled her. Did he think her a coward, and thus find her wanting? Again, she rued her failure to tell him of Talon and her hope for a new home. But what he thought of her was of no importance, for it was time to offer the truth, and she feared it would not further endear her to either man. She took a deep breath and spoke before she could lose her nerve. “There is that which you must know.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

“Those men who came to Yriclea as we left? They will follow us. In truth, I believe they are already on our trail.”

He moved not a muscle, nor did his expression change, but she felt the inner charge of his senses like the tingle of lightning that struck too close. The hair on her nape stood up.

She did not see Sindre move, but he suddenly loomed closer, a distinct menace. “What game is this you play, thrall?”

“How can you know what those men would do?” The quiet steel in Brandr’s voice nigh rendered her mute.

She swallowed. “Because I…I recognized their voices. They were a patrol of Thegn Wolnoth’s hearth companions. They had a tracker with them. You see, this was not the first attack by the war band. Our men had been gone from Yriclea for many days, seeking the identity of the thegn who commanded the band. I had not expected them to return so soon. Their leader is First Marshal Talon. He is the only other person who knew of the gold and the bolthole. It is possible he would assume the war band took the gold, but he is thorough. He would discover the hidden door was barred from without, and know I was the only one who could have used it. He is loyal, and determined. It is possible he might choose to go after the attackers, but I think it more likely he would come after us.”

Azure fire kindled in Brandr’s eyes. “Why would he do that? You said he would believe the others took the gold. If he is as loyal as you say, would he not think it his first duty to demand payment of wergild, or else exact vengeance upon those who killed his lord and stole the treasure?”

“Yes.”

He caught her shoulders in his hands and leaned so their noses nigh touched. “Then explain why he would do otherwise, and speak the truth. I will know if you lie.”

The inside of her mouth felt as it had the morn after her first, and only, experience at drinking too much mead. She tried to swallow but could not. Keen blue eyes probed hers as if he could dig the truth from her. She had the horrible feeling that naught she said surprised him. Could he have discovered she lied by her silence? But how?

“He would come for
me
.” She could not keep the wariness out of her tone.

Brandr slowly straightened and his hands dropped away. “I see. Were you betrothed?”

“No. But Wat, their tracker, might convince him we have the gold. He would wish to recover it.”

“But you do not believe that to be the only reason.”

She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “No.”

“So there is another, more compelling. What is it?”

Oh, but he is attractive, in a fierce, untamed sort of way, though his face is pale beneath the sun’s browning. He is in pain, but refuses to show it. Such strength. What would it be like to be held, as one loved, in those powerful arms?