Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘It looks that way.’ She stopped in her doorway and shrugged. ‘If you don’t like it, you know what you can do.’

  * * *

  ‘I need logs.’ Sissa dropped an axe on to the ground beside the warrior Danr’s head. It landed with a satisfyingly loud thump, startling him awake.

  ‘What? What’s happening?’ He shot upright, reaching for his absent sword, and then groaned at the manoeuvre.

  ‘Logs,’ she repeated, refusing to show any sign of sympathy. If he really wanted to stay then she had no intention of making life easy for him. Quite the opposite, in fact, no matter how handsome he looked, with his blond hair sticking out at wild angles around his ridiculously sculpted cheekbones. And how was it possible to have eyes quite so blue and piercing? ‘See that pile of branches over there? They need chopping into logs. Do you think you can manage that?’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ He blinked a few times, as if he were still trying to wake up. ‘It might take me a little longer than usual, but I’ll get it done.’

  ‘Good, but first you can wash. You smell terrible.’

  ‘And good morning to you, too...’ he lifted his left shoulder and sniffed ‘...although you might have a point.’

  ‘I’m surprised Halvar could bear to sleep so close to you.’ She glared at the wolf who only stood up, yawned and stretched.

  ‘Is that what you call him, Halvar?’

  ‘Yes. It means guardian of the rock. He came down from the mountain a year ago, so it seemed fitting.’

  ‘Well, I might smell, but he’s loud.’ Danr chuckled. ‘I never knew that wolves snored.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of him?’ She looked between the pair of them curiously. ‘Most people are terrified by his size.’

  ‘So was I to begin with, but I decided that if he was going to eat me then he would probably have done it by now.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not hungry yet.’

  ‘Ah, well, time will tell, I suppose.’

  She lifted an eyebrow, irritated by his cheeriness. ‘You know, he’s only using you to make a point.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked interested. ‘What point?’

  ‘That he’s only here under protest. Tove is his mate. If he had his way, they’d go off into the forest together.’

  Hearing her name, the female wolf emerged from the roundhouse, looked around suspiciously for a few moments, then trotted across the clearing to nuzzle Halvar’s nose.

  ‘I see what you mean.’ Danr grinned. ‘Why won’t she go with him?’

  ‘Because I raised her from a cub and she’s loyal to me. She knows I’d be all alone if she left.’ Sissa bit her lip on the last words. They were more revealing than she’d intended.

  ‘So he’s jealous of you?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She tossed her head. ‘But mostly he’s sulking. That’s the only reason he stayed with you last night. It’s probably why he didn’t eat you either.’

  Danr reached out and placed a hand tentatively on Halvar’s neck, tickling him behind his ears. ‘Well, never mind that, we can still be friends, can’t we, boy?’

  Sissa clenched her jaw, annoyed that the wolf wasn’t ripping his arm off. Halvar didn’t often let her touch him, let alone anyone else, but now his eyes were half-closed as if he were actually enjoying the attention.

  ‘Why is your hair wet?’ Danr asked suddenly, as if he’d only just noticed her appearance.

  ‘Because I’ve been bathing. There’s a gorge through those trees where several streams run together.’

  ‘Isn’t the water cold?’

  ‘It’s come down from the mountain. Of course it’s cold.’ She threw him a withering look along with a blanket. ‘Use this to dry yourself afterwards and hang it up when you’re finished.’ She pointed towards a length of cord tied between two trees. ‘You’ll need to wash your clothes, too.’

  ‘I would.’ He glanced up at the sky dubiously. ‘Only I doubt they’ll dry in this weather and I don’t have anything else to wear. I dropped my pack somewhere in the forest.’ He made a face. ‘I’m afraid it’s either a bad smell or the sight of me chopping wood naked, which I’m disinclined to do with an injured arm. Mistakes could be made.’

  ‘Oh, by the stars...’

  Sissa rolled her eyes and went back inside the roundhouse, rummaging in one of her coffers until she found an old pair of trousers and tunic. They hadn’t been worn in so long that the wool smelt faintly musty, but it was still a better alternative than smelling him. As for seeing him naked... She shook her head before her imagination ran riot.

  ‘Here.’ She carried the clothes back outside and dropped them in front of him. ‘You can wear these. They belonged to someone I once knew,’ she added when he looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘I see.’ He looked as if he were stopping himself from asking more. ‘In that case, I appreciate your letting me borrow them.’

  ‘Hmm. Try not to get your shoulder wet.’

  ‘Whatever you say. Wash, change, hang clothes, chop wood.’ He gave her a hopeful look. ‘Does this mean I can stay for a while?’

  ‘It means you can stay for today. And when you’re finished with all that, you can collect some more branches, but not from around here. Go deeper into the forest.’ She picked up a basket and reached for her spear. ‘I’ll be back later with food. You can cook again.’

  ‘With pleasure.’ He threw his fur blanket aside and stood up. ‘What about the wolves?’

  ‘They go wherever they want.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘But that won’t bother you, will it? Since you’re such good friends now...’

  ‘So we are.’ He tipped his head, acknowledging the hit.

  ‘But you can have your sword back.’ She gestured to where she’d left his sword belt outside the roundhouse. ‘Since there are other dangers in the forest. Just know that if you use a weapon on one of my wolves, I’ll kill you myself.’

  ‘Understood.’ He nodded. ‘Although you still haven’t told me your name...?’

  She hesitated, her gaze latching on to his for a few seconds. He was smiling the same lopsided smile he’d worn yesterday. It made her chest feel oddly tight and tremulous, as if just the sight of it had some power to constrict her breathing, although something about it struck her as a little too practised. She had the feeling that he knew exactly what effect it caused. The sight of his bare chest where his tunic hung open wasn’t exactly helping either. It would have been easier if either his face or physique had been a little less eye-catching, but they were both equally impressive. Even with an arm’s length between them she was altogether too aware of him, of his broad shoulders, his musky scent, his powerful abdominal muscles, the sprinkling of pale hair over his chest... But he’d asked her a question, hadn’t he? Something about her name?

  No, she hadn’t told him her name. She hadn’t heard it spoken aloud for so long that it seemed to belong to another lifetime. The last person who’d called her by her name had been her mother, her beautiful, grey-eyed mother who’d held her close and then told her to run just minutes before a warrior had cut her down in cold blood... A warrior! The tremulous feeling faded, replaced by a block of cold stone.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She turned towards the forest. ‘Pick one. I don’t care.’

  Chapter Six

  ‘Erika!’ Danr rubbed the small of his back, aiming another of his lop-sided grins at the woman when she returned to the clearing a few hours later. The sun was a long way past its zenith and he’d been starting to wonder whether something had happened to her. Other than that concern, however, he’d had an unexpectedly enjoyable day—in an exhausting kind of way. It hadn’t been easy, but it had made a refreshing change. Most of the time these days, his mind was consumed with thoughts of revenge and retribution, but today the fresh air and physical activity had distracted him. It had felt good to take his mind off Hilda and Joarr for a w
hile. It had actually felt good to be alive, too. It was the first time in three years that he’d thought so—another reason that he hoped the woman would let him stay longer. It was surprising how much he wanted to...

  ‘Erika?’ She tipped her head to one side with a confused expression.

  ‘That’s what I’ve decided to call you. Don’t you like it? Because I’m still toying with Bersa.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She made a face and dropped a pair of trout on to the ground. ‘Dinner.’

  ‘Ah, fish are my specialty. What’s all that?’ He peered into her basket, intrigued to see an assorted collection of plants and fungus. ‘Food or medicine?’

  ‘A little of both. Now where are my logs?’

  ‘Over there.’ He gestured proudly towards a stack of wood so high it was almost teetering, pleased to see her look of surprise.

  ‘That’s more than I expected.’

  ‘Good.’ Because he’d almost broken his other arm trying to prove how useful he could be. ‘Do I get a smile as a reward?’

  ‘No.’ She gave him a narrow-eyed look instead. ‘We’d better store them somewhere dry while we can.’

  ‘In the roundhouse?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t explain, just took her basket inside and came back with a leather hide. As he watched, she placed a few of the logs on top, then folded the ends over and dragged it behind her through the trees.

  Perplexed, Danr scooped a few more logs under his good arm and followed, Tove and Halvar scampering ahead towards the craggy edge of the mountain. Despite the recent snow, the weather had warmed up during the day, making the air feel almost balmy by comparison. There were signs of impending winter everywhere and yet he could almost have believed it was summer again. The late afternoon sky was turning from blue to orange, burnishing the tops of the trees with gold so it seemed as though they glowed. Now that he looked closer he could see lots of different kinds growing together—pine, mostly, as well as birch and alder and a few oak. They looked beautiful, less stark and menacing now than when he’d first found himself lost in the forest. The atmosphere was reassuringly peaceful, too, the silence disturbed only by the chirruping of birds, the whistle of the breeze in the canopy and the sound of logs being dragged in front of him. At that moment, he could almost forget why he’d come to Skíð in the first place.

  They walked uphill for several minutes before the woman stopped and started wrenching at what looked like undergrowth, but turned out to be a screen made of interwoven branches and bracken covering a gap in the mountainside.

  ‘I store the things I can’t keep in the roundhouse here,’ she told him, ducking under a rocky overhang and disappearing into the darkness.

  ‘Impressive.’ Danr ducked, too, and then stood up beside her, his voice echoing around a large granite chamber. He stared in amazement, a few more gaps in the rock higher up allowing in just enough light to illuminate a range of objects stacked around the walls. Piles of furs and leathers, pots and pans...even a pair of chests and a peg loom in one corner. He wondered where she’d got it all from, living alone in the wilderness. Had she stolen it? Or were they family heirlooms?

  She’d said that the clothes he was wearing had belonged to someone she once knew and the fact that she could speak suggested she’d spent some of her life around people. Norse people, too, since her accent was that of a native. What had happened to them? Why was she on her own now? The more he knew about her, the more of a mystery she seemed to become.

  ‘Are all of these things yours?’

  ‘Yes.’ She dragged the logs to one corner and tipped them out on to the ground. To his dismay there was already a sizeable amount of firewood. So much for making himself indispensable. She already seemed well equipped for winter. It was becoming increasingly obvious that she could manage perfectly well without him.

  ‘So you just leave everything here?’ He noticed several swords and shields propped against one wall. They were definitely Norse. ‘Aren’t you worried about someone finding it all?’

  ‘No. The entrance is hidden and most people don’t come up the mountain. They’re afraid of Tove and Halvar.’ She straightened up, rubbing her hands together briskly before walking slowly towards him. ‘And me.’

  ‘You?’ He held her gaze in the half-darkness. ‘Are you dangerous then?’

  ‘Some people think so. They say that I can make storms when the mood is upon me.’ She stopped in front of him. ‘Maybe you should listen to them and be afraid of me, too.’

  ‘Maybe I should, but I was always too reckless to know what was good for me.’ He tried to sound nonchalant, though he had to admit there was something elemental about her appearance at that moment. Her pale hair seemed to shimmer in the faint light, as if it might shoot out silvery sparks at any moment. She was standing so close that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to—and he wanted to, he realised with a jolt.

  ‘Other people just think I’m mad,’ she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Maybe they’re right and I am mad. How would I know if I was?’

  Danr drew in a deep breath, taken aback by the intensity of her expression. She looked as if she genuinely wanted an answer, as if she were relying on him to give her one, too, but how could he? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know if it was even possible to know her. She was more inscrutable and mysterious than any woman he’d ever met before. But she was still looking at him...

  ‘Maybe you wouldn’t know. Maybe none of us really know ourselves,’ he answered, rubbing a hand over his chin before gesturing around the cave. ‘Personally, however, I think you’re too well organised to be mad.’

  ‘Perhaps I ought to summon a storm to convince you.’

  ‘Ah, but you already did that, remember? You summoned a snowstorm when you first found me. I know that was you...’ He swayed slightly towards her, lowering his voice to an undertone. ‘You might be a mystery, Erika or Bersa or whatever you want me to call you, but you’re not mad. I think you’re just very good at pretending.’

  Her eyes widened for a moment, flickering over him as if she were seeing him properly for the first time.

  ‘Danr Sigurdsson...’ She said his name softly, yet in a way that seemed to echo all around the cave. ‘You’re not like other warriors.’

  ‘No?’ The words came too close for comfort. ‘Do you know so many then?’

  The question made her gaze dip briefly. ‘I may live alone, but I have eyes and ears and I know the way they behave.’

  ‘You mean the Norse in the village or the Gaels?’

  ‘The Gaels have moved inland. There’s only Norse on this side of the island now.’

  ‘And only one Norse village in this part of the island.’

  ‘True. You look like them, but you’re different.’

  ‘Maybe because I’m a warrior who can’t fight, for a few weeks anyway. I don’t know what that makes me.’ He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, trying to make light of it. ‘Except for your servant and cook.’

  ‘No...’ She didn’t react to the gesture, only studying him a bit longer. ‘I think you must always have been different.’

  The smile fell from his face. Different. An outsider. A bastard son to a king with three good, strong, legitimate sons... The old pang of bitterness hit him harder than usual. Even though he’d had Rurik, he’d always been aware of the difference between them and their half-brothers, having to fight for every scrap of their father’s attention, having to prove they were worthy to be in his hall alongside warriors like Brandt and Alarr. He’d done his best to bury and hide his feelings, to conceal his sense of not belonging behind a careless, mocking exterior, yet somehow this woman had seen straight through him, right through to his core. It was a disconcerting sensation. Women were rarely interested in anything more than his face.

  ‘I just talk more than most warriors.’ He forced a smile back to his lips. ‘My brothers alw
ays said so.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Her gaze turned inwards. ‘It feels strange to talk again. It’s been so long.’

  ‘How long have you been alone?’ He quirked an eyebrow, glad of the change in subject.

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘Without anyone to talk to?’ It was hard to believe that a person would choose to live that way. ‘It sounds lonely.’

  ‘Sometimes it is.’

  ‘Don’t you get frightened, living out here with only animals for company? Why not go to one of the villages? Surely the people there would value a healer?’

  ‘Because they aren’t the people I want to be with.’ Her eyes shot back to his, brighter than before. ‘Those people are gone and I don’t want anything to do with any others. Villages aren’t safe either. I’ve seen men behave much worse than animals. People are dangerous. They can’t be trusted. Warriors especially.’

  ‘You mean your village wa—?’

  ‘So, Danr Sigurdsson,’ she interrupted before he could finish his question, ‘you come to Skíð on your own, you almost get yourself killed, then you refuse to leave. Either you’re the one who’s mad or you’re just stubborn. Which is it?’

  ‘A little of both, maybe.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘All I know is that I came here for a purpose and I’m going to fulfil it, no matter what.’

  She moved even closer, until they were standing toe to toe and chest to chest, leaving only a sliver of air between them. ‘Does it mean so much to you, this truth you came here to find?’

  ‘It’s all I care about now.’

  ‘More than your life?’

  ‘My life...’ He knitted his brows together. This wasn’t a subject he wanted to talk about, especially not to a stranger—a woman!—but the words seemed to be coming of their own accord. ‘My life never had much meaning. Doing what I came here for is the only thing that might give it some value.’

  There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence while she stared up at him, so intently he had the feeling she was trying to see all the way to the back of his skull. He had the unnerving suspicion she might actually be able to do it, too. For a woman who’d barely looked him in the eye to begin with, she had an extremely disconcerting stare. He felt as if he were being stripped naked.