Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (34 page)

She suddenly laughed outright.

Bryda met her glance. “If you could have anything you wished, what would it be?”

“Honeyed nuts with cream.”

“I would have spiced plums.”

Arm in arm with Bryda, she roamed from booth to trestle to stall, admiring the fabrics, jewelry, weaponry and myriad other merchandise on display. Their first acquisition was a delicious meat pie they shared, laughing together as they licked the juices that ran over their fingers. The pie, of course, had to be followed with a flagon of mead. At the next table, Bryda found a large basket to contain the rest of their purchases. Before long, it brimmed with fresh meats, bread and cheese, fruit, spices and herbs, sweets and the special request of Turold, enough ale for at least one meal.

At Brandr’s behest, she bought oil to rub the weapons and ring shirts, while Bryda purchased a pair of boots for Oswulf.

“The pair he wears was old before we were sent away,” she said, when Lissa admired the new footwear. “Our journey has not done them further good. Did you notice his big toe sticking out of the right one?”

They laughed together, though Lissa was certain Oswulf found it of little humor.

Beneath the noontide sun, she bent at a display of silver jewelry to stare in disbelief at a silver crucifix identical to her own. Her fingers sought the familiar outline beneath the mantle of her headrail. She came upright and glanced across the open space of the green. She froze, and felt the blood leave her face. Walking down a path alongside a large, timber framed building was a tall, handsome, well-figured man. His dark head was bent in close attention to a young, beautiful woman, who gazed up at him, open adoration infusing her lovely face. Her clothing and bearing proclaimed her a noble. She said something and he laughed, his whole face lighting up as if a candle flame suddenly flared behind it.

Oh, foolish child I am! The delights of this place are a trap for the unwary!

She had forgotten Brandr’s warnings.

Coming toward her was Talon of Yriclea.

She prayed she would not faint.

She noticed for the first time that the lovely woman with him moved with a slight limp. Accompanying them was another man, clearly a noble, and a wealthy one, at that. The woman looked enough like him that she was certain of a close relationship between them.

Her gaze was drawn forcibly back to the Yriclea first marshal.

Talon…
laughing!
Talon never laughed. She had known him all her life, but though her mind rapidly supplied her with memories of Talon’s smiles, and now and again, his chuckles, not once could she remember seeing him laugh outright, as he was now! It was one reason she had refused his attentions.

Ah, but who was the woman to whom he offered that precious gift? Where and how had he met her?
When
had he met her? Why, he behaved toward her as would a lover!

This makes no sense! Why is he here, and with this woman? Does he still follow me, or seek the gold? Am I safe from him, and did not know it?

Anger, abrupt and cleansing, washed away her shock. She felt the pulse of blood in her cheeks. Almost, she so forgot herself as to think to rush over to him, to challenge and upbraid him for putting her—putting them all—through unnecessary flight. She caught back the unwise move just in time.

Talon, you ferret-eyed, broken-nosed, simple-minded…fool! I will put you to your own sword! How dare you frighten me so, and send me fleeing across the breadth of the kingdom, and for no purpose!

“Woman, be you
deaf?”

She blinked at the vexation in the vendor’s too loud question and shook her head. “What say you?”

“Is there aught you want here, woman? If not, move away from the booth. There be others who might be interested in my wares and you stand in the way.”

She glanced to her right. Where was Bryda? Brandr’s words at sup the previous night filled her thoughts, and with them, all in a rush, came panic. She whirled, her gaze frantically searching. Bryda had not disappeared, as she first feared, but had moved to a display four booths away. Her heart slowed its wild pace. She hurried over, and grabbing her arm, pulled her into the crowd.

“Lissa! What is wrong? You look as if a gást peers over your shoulder.”

“I believe one does! We must leave, now. It is Talon! He must not see me. Come!”

Bryda paled, but her lips firmed and she nodded. “I will lead the way. Hold tight to my hand, and keep your head down.”

They came nigh the gates without incident. Bryda gave her fingers a warning squeeze. “Slow down, Lissa. You rush as if you fear you are followed, and while that may be true, it will call attention we do not want, especially at the gates.”

“Oh! Yes, you are right.” She forced her features into what she hoped was a pleasant,
naught-is-wrong
expression and moved to pace beside Bryda. No one challenged them. Soon after, they were explaining their hurried exit to Turold and Oswulf.

Turold frowned and turned to scan the road behind them. “Did he see you, Lissa?”

“I do not know. I fear I forgot to keep my eyes lowered, but while I stared at him, he looked at someone else, so I do not think so. Besides, I wonder if he still seeks me.”

Turold stared at her. “Of course, he does. Why would you say otherwise?”

“Because he was with a woman, a wealthy noble, and he seemed to be… to… well, to treat her as one betrothed! I would swear, by the look on his face, he cares much for her. Why would he still follow if he has found another woman to love?”

“I cannot answer your question, Lissa. Much may have happened we know naught of, but the battle at the mill in Andeferas puts your theory to sore test.” He studied the road again. “I see no one who looks to be following, or coming nigh this way, but I prefer to take no chances. We will return to the coppice.”

Her hopeful spirits fell. Turold was right about the battle at the mill. Her víkingrs were still in danger. Though her gaze returned again and again to the path behind, she saw naught.

Turold led. Oswulf, bow in hand, kept watch on their rearward way, and assured her they were alone. Still, not until she was safe once more in Brandr’s embrace did the trembling in her limbs finally cease.

∞∞§∞∞

Deepening shadows crept in slow motion along the line of trees in which Wat of Yriclea hid. He watched as the younger Northman banked the fire by the coppice pond. A slow smile tugged at his mouth as the Dane stood and under the guise of stretching, let his gaze wander the trees lining the woodbank.

His respect for the warrior increased. No witless child was this víkingr. He sensed the observation, but took pains to hide it. So well did he succeed that only one such as himself, who knew well the tactic, would guess at it.

He pulled away from the trunk of the half grown alder against which he slouched and slid behind it, using its bulk to conceal his withdrawal. When the others in his party slept, the Dane would come searching.

Wat did not intend to be found.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Curled in Brandr’s húdfat, Lissa sighed and rolled over for…well, she had lost count of how many times. After he had banked the fire for the night she, with the others, had sought her grassy bed, but had woken soon after from a fretful sleep filled with formless, unpleasant dreams. She had been on edge since returning from Basingum. Brandr had taken first watch. That he was also uneasy, she knew, and his disquiet fed hers. Since sup, he had not ceased to prowl the camp, then the woodbank, then the camp again. Finally, he had disappeared for a time, only to return a while later. He crouched beside the fire like a warrior of the old tales, the set of his shoulders tense and the gleam of his eyes visible in the faint glow of the coals.

He watched her…she could
feel
his gaze upon her. Sensitized by his unblinking watchfulness, her skin felt as if countless tiny swords pricked it from within, for the look he turned upon her was not the familiar one of desire. Rather, it seemed as if he willed her to find a hidden place, and crawl inside.

Abruptly unable to remain immobile, she threw aside the fold of the sleep sack and came to her feet.

Though he made no visible move, it seemed to her he jerked. “What do you do?”

“I go into the bushes. I have need of privacy.”

He rose, the whole powerful, menacing, agitated length of him unwinding in one lithe motion. “I will come with you.”

“Brandr, no. I will be just there, beyond the light. You will still be able to see my shadow.”

His head lowered. The fierce intensity of his look stole her breath. Her pulse beat a score of times before he spoke. “Be quick.”

Her skin crawled. The weight of his gaze was heavy upon her as she stepped toward the camp boundary. His voice, low and deep, vibrated across the space between them. “That is far enough.”

She turned. “Brandr, you can still see me.”

“Já. Do what you must do.”

“Not while you watch!”

She did not have to see him clearly to know his jaw clenched. “Go a little farther, but do not leave my sight! Stop when I say.”

Again, she started toward the large bush that was her goal. “Stop.”

“Brandr!” His tension made her want to scream, but she had to go. “I must have privacy…and I need it soon! At least, allow me to move behind the bush.”

His growl rumbled all the way to where she waited. “The bush, then. Not a step farther. Be quick!”

She nigh ran the rest of the way to the offending shrubbery. As she circled around behind it, she threw a glance over her shoulder. Brandr had not moved except to lift that disconcerting gaze to the surrounding woodbank.

She followed his line of sight, shuddered and put her back to him, thinking how frightening it would be, lost among the trees at night. The forest was dreadful when one was alone, outside the safety of walls. The darkness twisted everything, transforming ordinary objects into ravening monsters. It teased the mind with real and imagined terrors. Like now, for instance. She was certain she heard a stealthy footfall nearby. Her skin prickled. Her eyes flitted from one shadow to another. Did one of them move, or did her overwrought mind imagine it? She rushed to finish her business. All at once, she was terrified. She had to get back to Brandr.

She had taken a single step back to camp when she sensed the presence behind her. She froze. A large, calloused hand clamped over her mouth. Locked against a hard male body by a brawny arm wrapped around her waist, she was lifted and carried into the darkness. She struggled, but his hold was too powerful. The whole thing happened so fast there was no time to call a warning.

“Lissa!” Brandr’s roar filled the coppice and echoed through the forest all around.

Pandemonium broke out in the direction of the camp. Weapons clashed. Bryda screamed, but the cry was abruptly cut off.

It drove her nigh witless with fear for all of them, but especially for the víkingrs. She prayed Alwin would have sense enough to stay down. Bucking and kicking, she clawed the arm that shackled her, but the warrior held her fast. She jerked her head backward and hit his chin. He growled a curse. His hold tightened. When she sought to bite the soft flesh of his palm, he shifted his hand to cover her nose, as well. Unable to breathe, she had no choice but to cease fighting. He moved his hand again, and she gulped air. He did not take her far before he stopped. She hoped he would release her, but he did not move, only waited.

If only she could speak! She would tell this warrior of her love for Brandr and her desire to go with him. She would beg him to let her talk to Talon. Then, perhaps, this nightmare would end.

As quickly as it began, the clash of battle ceased.

Oh, merciful saints! What was happening? She had to know. A memory rose and she acted without thought, letting her body go utterly limp. The warrior grunted. He seemed to wait, as if uncertain what to do with her, then laid her at his feet. He took a step toward the camp, then another. She sensed he listened. She waited. He took a third step, and another. She launched herself from the ground into the surrounding darkness. The sharp oath he uttered was not one she recognized. That he followed so closely frightened her so much she recklessly threw herself along, seeking only to elude him. It seemed almost that she flew. How she managed not to careen into a tree, or trip over a root and slam head first into the ground, she never after knew.

The metallic clang of weapons broke out anew, but it came from her right. She swerved toward it. It sounded as if only two combatants engaged, sword against sword. Still harried by her captor, she never slowed until she broke into the camp clearing. The warrior nearly plowed her down when she stopped without warning. He confined her so that both her arms were secured above the elbow, and he again clamped her mouth. He dragged her back into the shadows, but this time, did not haul her away from the scene. She could clearly see all that happened.

Someone had kindled the fire into a blaze, and torches were set into the ground around the camp’s perimeter. The illumination revealed Brandr and Talon, swords drawn, circling like rival wolves preparing to fight for leadership of the pack. Talon made a sudden feint to the right and she jerked in response. Brandr easily deflected the blow and stepped out of reach.

Why does he not engage?

Fear blazed for both her friend and the man she loved. It was maddening to feel so helpless! She fought again to free herself.

Saint’s bones! Why will this great, witless fool not let me speak? This could be ended now, before either is hurt, if only he would remove his hand.

As before, her struggles only caged her more tightly in his grip, though not once, despite that she had to have hurt him with her scuffles, had he harmed her. He simply constrained her.

A rapid glance further around the camp revealed Sindre lying on his back. Even from across the clearing, she could feel the waves of rage that rolled off him, but he was helpless. Two men guarded him. One pressed the edge of his sword across Sindre’s throat, while the other rested the tip of his weapon against his privates. Nearby, Turold lay unmoving. Whether or not he still lived, she could not tell. There was no sign of Alwin, Bryda or Oswulf.