Danr dragged his eyelids open, recognising the bumpy feel of the roots behind his head though not the view above. Instead of the grey sky and falling snow he remembered, there was a screen of branches, all packed together with twigs and moss and intertwined to form a kind of arch.
Was he dead? If he was, then he’d failed his brothers. That thought was horrifying enough, but the fact that he could remember everything was even worse—everything he’d done and felt over the past three years. Guilt, failure, self-loathing...all his familiar companions were still there, as devastating and lucid as ever. He tried sitting up to escape them and then fell back again, the world spinning sickeningly around him as his body was racked with shudders. No Valhalla for him, then. Not that he’d expected to deserve that either.
He heard a soft footfall approaching and tilted his head just in time to see the pale-eyed, spectral-looking woman from his dream slip under the archway. Although, it was less of an archway than a tunnel, he realised now, a makeshift shelter shielding his body from the elements and a skilfully made one, too... Had she done it? He clamped his brows together, trying to make sense of the scene. Maybe he wasn’t dead, after all. Or dreaming either. Though for a real woman she had a distinctly uncanny aspect, with a mass of untamed, white-gold hair half-obscuring her face as she crouched beside him. Was she Norse or Gael? She had a spiral-shaped torc around her neck, moulded from bronze and open at the throat, though there were no engravings to provide any clue about who she was...
‘Did you build this?’ He croaked the words out, relieved to find that he could finally speak again.
The woman didn’t even glance at his face, let alone answer. Instead, she simply bent over him, unravelling some kind of linen bandage and removing a piece of what looked like moss from his arm before leaning closer. He tensed, very aware of the warm tingle of her breath on his skin as she examined his wound for a few seconds and then covered it over again.
‘Is it still snowing out there?’ He tried a different question.
Nothing.
‘Who are you?’ He switched from Norse to Gaelic, but not as much as a flicker of recognition or interest crossed her features.
Danr lifted an eyebrow in surprise. Even if she couldn’t understand him, she was obviously aware of his lips moving, but she seemed simply not to care. It was bizarre. Considering the effort she’d apparently put into saving his life, such unresponsive behaviour was...odd.
‘Danr.’ He raised his good arm to his chest and said his name. ‘I’m Da—’
He broke off at the sight of one of the wolves at her back. It had followed her into the tunnel and now looked as if it were considering him as a possible meal. Instinctively, he reached for Bitterblade, but, as he watched, the woman turned and put her hand on the animal’s head, making a low humming sound in the back of her throat before leading it outside again.
He exhaled with relief, though his nerves had barely had a chance to recover before she was back again, a cup of some strange-smelling liquid in her hand. He recognised the aroma though he wasn’t conscious of having smelled it before, as if it had somehow been a part of his dreams. If ‘dreams’ was an appropriate word for what he’d gone through. Nightmares combined with horror-filled memories seemed a more appropriate description, all of them revolving around the same day three years ago.
The woman held the cup to his lips and he drank, glad of the distraction. The taste was bearable rather than pleasant, but it soothed his throat and made him feel more relaxed.
‘Thank you.’ He tried to catch her gaze as she pulled the cup away again, still hoping for some kind of response, but she refused to oblige. It unnerved him, being unable to communicate with her, not having any idea what she was thinking either. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored, especially by women. Most of them were usually more than eager to talk to him, but this one...she was a mystery, tending to his needs without as much as a look or murmur.
Who was she? It was the last thought in his mind before he drifted back to sleep.
* * *
What was happening to him now?
Danr stared up at the branches again, wondering what the noise was. This time he was reasonably certain he wasn’t dead, though he had the vague impression of having drifted in and out of consciousness over the past few hours...or perhaps days? He had no idea how long he’d been lying in the shelter, but at least he felt better, more like himself again, all except for the loud drumming sound in his ears.
He rolled on to his good side, trying to escape it, only to find the woman lying beside him, curled up beneath a fur with the back of her head only a few inches from his face. He stiffened with shock. Surely they hadn’t...? No. Both his mind and body rebelled at the idea. In his current state, he wouldn’t have been able to and, even if he had, he’d sworn a solemn oath after the massacre in Maerr. No woman would share his bed, not like that anyway, until he’d made amends to his brothers and earned their forgiveness, Brandt and Alarr especially. After he’d achieved that, well, maybe then he’d consider a bedmate again, but he’d never go back to the way he’d been before. He’d never treat sex as a mere sport again. He hadn’t even looked at a woman during the past three years, although he had to admit that the sight of the one lying beside him now was unexpectedly stirring.
What was she doing there?
He craned his neck to peer outside. Presumably it was morning, though it was hard to tell just by looking outside the tunnel. The world was a veil of slate grey, interspersed with the darker grey outlines of the forest. The snow seemed to have been replaced by a steady flow of rain, running in fast-flowing rivulets over the ground and pummelling the roof of the shelter like hailstones, which at least explained the drumming sound. He could see the doused remains of a small fire outside, too. That explained the woman’s presence. She must have taken shelter beside him, sharing the warmth of the fur and his body to survive. It was the sensible thing to do, although part of him wished that she hadn’t, a part that was growing larger and harder by the second. Not that that had anything to do with her, he told himself, willing the feeling to subside. She was far too flat-chested and wraith-like for his own personal tastes, not to mention uncommunicative. It was probably just her scent affecting him, slightly musky but with a hint of sweetness, making him want to move closer, to press his lips against the soft-looking curve of her neck and to nuzzle the delicate skin behind her ear...
What would she taste like?
Stars! He swallowed a groan. Three years without a woman were clearly taking their toll.
He tore his gaze away, forcing himself to remember the last time he’d lain with a woman. He hadn’t known her name and her face was little more than a blur in his memory, which was particularly ironic considering how attractive he’d found her at the time. Their coupling had been fierce and energetic, and so loud that he’d only become aware of shouts and screams in the distance afterwards. Too late he’d wrenched his clothes back on and charged outside, but the assassins had already done their worst. His home had looked like something out of a nightmare, a burning, wrecked shell of a village... The woman herself had seemed unsurprised by the scene, though by the time the thought had occurred to him, she’d been long gone and no one else had remembered even seeing her. It had been as though she’d simply walked into Maerr with the sole intention of seducing him, which in all likelihood she had, arriving and leaving with the assassins and playing her part to perfection. Not that he’d made it a challenge. A pair of swaying hips and a few provocative looks and he’d followed her out to a barn on the edge of the village like a hound with its tongue hanging out.
You inherited all the very worst traits of your father...
Hilda’s scornful words floated back into his mind. She’d never made any secret of her contempt for his womanising and now he had to admit she’d been right to judge him. He had been less of a man than his brothers. If his behaviour hadn’t been so notorious, then the a
ssassins wouldn’t have been able to trick him so easily. If he hadn’t allowed himself to be lured away, then he would have been at the wedding and his father, Ingrid and Gilla might still be alive. At the very least he would have died trying to defend them. Instead he had to live with the shame of having survived.
His companion coughed in her sleep and rolled over, stretching her arms above her head like a cat before opening her eyes and looking straight at him. He looked back, experiencing a flash of recognition as if their eyes had met once before—although for the life of him he couldn’t remember when—while her own looked surprised and then...nothing, as if she’d just deliberately wiped her expression clean.
But he’d seen her surprise. For the briefest of moments her lips had parted, too, as if she’d been about to say something. Which meant that she could speak, just like she could understand him. He was suddenly certain of it.
He opened his own mouth and then closed it again. All the usual things he might have said to a woman he’d just woken up beside didn’t seem quite appropriate somehow. The whole situation felt familiar and yet brand new at the same time. So he waited, gazing into her face while her pale, silvery-grey eyes stared back. It was a curiously intimate feeling, lying side by side with somebody, their breaths intermingling with only the sound of the rain between them, as if time itself were slowing down. He wasn’t sure he’d ever looked, really looked, at a woman’s face before, but now he found himself examining every individual feature as if they might each reveal something new about her. Her forehead was narrow, her chin slightly pointed and her eyes small, with sharply arched brows a shade darker than the rest of her hair, which was the same colour as a wheat field gilded with sunshine. There were still patches of grey on her cheeks, too, and he had to resist the temptation to reach a hand out and wipe them clean. Beneath the smudges and wild tangle of hair, she was...not pretty, exactly, but interesting. Unique. Distinctive. He let his eyes drift lower. Her lips were the most distinctive of all—larger than the rest of her features, with the top one almost as full as the bottom. Somehow just looking at them made his own turn dry.
He didn’t know how many moments passed before she sat up abruptly, crawling her way towards the end of the tunnel and curling her legs up beneath her to look out. The rain was so heavy now that it seemed more like small pellets than drips falling out of the sky.
‘A good day for sleeping.’ Danr heaved himself upright. To his surprise, he managed the feat quite easily. In truth, he felt ten times better now than he had even when he’d woken up, as if just looking at her had somehow helped him. With the obvious exception of his injured arm and some stiffness, his body felt almost completely restored. Whatever she’d done for him, it had obviously worked. He shuffled forward, coming to sit beside her when she didn’t answer.
‘I hate rain like this. It makes you feel cold and damp just by looking at it, then the clouds hang in the air for days.’ He peered out at the grey sky between the trees. ‘Although I’m glad to be alive to see it.’
Nothing.
‘How long was I asleep?’
Nothing.
‘You’re a healer.’ This time it wasn’t a question. ‘I’m indebted to you for saving me.’
He stole a sidelong glance at her face when there was still no response. Now that they were no longer lying side by side, he found that he missed looking at her. ‘I’d like to repay you.’
Nothing.
‘Although it would help if I knew your name?’ He lifted an eyebrow hopefully.
Nothing.
‘I suppose I could just pick one.’ He used the idea as an excuse to lean further forward, trying to catch her eye again. ‘Yrsa? Lofn? Gunilla? Astrid? No, I knew an Astrid once. Definitely not Astrid. Marta? Lofn? Ingri—?’ He bit his tongue. ‘No, not Ingrid. That was the name of my brother’s wife, but she...’ He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence, but when he looked back, he found her face had turned slightly towards him. Not by much, just enough to suggest she was paying more attention than her continued silence implied. ‘What about Bersa?’ he carried on, trying not to show that he’d noticed. ‘I’ve never met a Bersa before.’
He’d given up expecting any response so he was taken aback when she twisted her body sideways abruptly, leaning across him to remove the bandage and study his injury again. He froze at the contact. Her face was pressed so close that he could feel the tangled mass of her hair skimming gently against his bicep. It barely counted as a touch, but the feeling made all his muscles clench simultaneously.
‘Bersa it is, then.’ He cleared his throat, trying to focus on something else. ‘I suppose you’re wondering how I ended up like this. It was a mistake. I acted foolishly. I rushed into an argument when I shouldn’t have and—’
He sucked in a breath as her fingers brushed against the undamaged skin beneath his wound, infinitely softly but enough to send a torrent of heat coursing through his veins. No, not coursing—roaring, as heavy as a waterfall after a flood. It was so unexpected that for a moment he could hardly think straight. Three years had definitely been too long if the mere touch of a woman could arouse him so easily, especially the touch of this silent and strange-looking wraith.
She was on her feet so quickly that he was half-afraid he’d said the words out loud. One moment she was retying the bandage around his arm, the next she was pulling a cloak over her head and striding away through the trees, the two wolves following at her heels.
‘Where are you going?’ he called after her, wondering what had just happened and whether he’d somehow offended her. He hadn’t said anything, he was sure of it, and yet something had caused her to shoot up and leave...
What had just happened?
It was several hours before he realised she wasn’t coming back.
Chapter Four
Sissa fitted an arrow to her bow, drew back the string, aimed and let go. There was a faint whooshing sound followed by a thud as it slammed into a tree behind the deer, who immediately took off in the opposite direction. Stars! She rolled her eyes at her own lack of focus. It had been an easy shot, but she hadn’t been able to hunt during the past few days while she’d been nursing the stranger and her own rumbling stomach had distracted her.
That was the only reason for her distraction, she told herself. Hunger. That was all. It definitely had nothing to do with an injured warrior with thick, shoulder-length, blond hair and arm muscles the same width as her waist...
She shook her head, wading through the damp undergrowth towards the river, relieved to find that one of her nets had been successful. At least she’d have something substantial to eat tonight. Deftly, she emptied the contents and then made her way back to her roundhouse in the forest clearing, singing an old, half-remembered tune as she went. Being in the company of the warrior—Danr, he’d called himself—seemed to have loosened her tongue somehow, making her want to sing again. It felt strange, but surprisingly good, to fill her lungs with fresh mountain air that tasted even better after the rain, clean and fresh and restorative somehow.
She dropped the salmon beside the fire pit and went into her roundhouse for a cauldron, then along to the stream on the mountainside for some water, still singing. Idly, she wondered where the warrior was now. She’d left him his sword as well as a few supplies so that he’d be free to leave the shelter as soon as he felt well enough—which would probably be soon if he hadn’t gone already. He’d been much stronger when she’d left him that morning and there had been nothing wrong with his legs. Or with his mouth either. She hadn’t heard so many words put together in years. The people who came to her needing help or medicine never said any more than was necessary, as if her silence were somehow contagious, and it was an arrangement that suited her. Silence was her best protection. It made people afraid of her and people who were afraid left her in peace. That was the way she wanted and needed it to be. She would help them and heal them, but that was al
l. She would never live with or be one of them again. Her old life was over and there was no going back.
But then he’d come along. The warrior had talked to her as if he wasn’t afraid of her, as if he’d seen her as some kind of normal woman. She’d thought him good looking enough when he was unconscious, but awake there was a kind of mesmerising quality about him that drew the eye and held it. The way he’d looked at her when she’d woken up after taking shelter from the rain had made her feel uncharacteristically breathless and dazed, too. It had been a new, almost pleasurable sensation, but one she couldn’t and wouldn’t allow. It was too unnerving. He was too unnerving. And so she’d left, checking his wound one last time before walking away without a backward glance.
At least she was home and safe again now, she thought with a sigh, hooking the metal cauldron on to a tripod above the fire pit, then cutting up a few turnips and adding them to the water. Some wild garlic might be good for her stew, too, she decided, half-turning towards her roundhouse and then stiffening at the sound of Tove’s growl. Instantly she whipped around, following the direction of the wolf’s gaze towards the trees. Branches were rustling and swaying as if something large were coming towards them, though whatever it was, it didn’t seem to have the slightest idea about stealth.
Quickly, she reached for the spear she always kept close at hand and drew her arm back ready to throw. It could be a bear or a rival wolf or...him?
She almost dropped the spear again, forgetting to guard her expression for a few seconds as she gaped at the warrior with surprise, closely followed by horror. He’d fastened his sword belt back on and the fur she’d left him was draped around his shoulders, exacerbating his rugged, hirsute appearance. But most bizarre of all was the smile spreading over his face, making his teeth flash white against his sun-bronzed skin, as if he were genuinely pleased to see her again. What was he doing there? Why hadn’t he left? How had he found her?
Redeeming Her Viking Warrior Page 3