With the approach of spring and warmer weather the pain in his leg had started to ease, but no matter how much he tried to keep moving, he was stiff and sore in the mornings.
He bit back a grunt of pain and glanced at the men lying on the floor and sprawled across the tables to be sure that they had not been roused by the small noise he had made. Thankfully, none of them had moved, and the snores that rippled through the hall were unchanged in volume and cadence.
Drunk bastards.
Bersi stepped over another warrior and narrowly avoided stepping on the blade of an axe that protruded from the man’s belt. It would have been carefully concealed under his cloak while sitting at the table he was now stretched out beneath...
The Jarl might have insisted that all weapons be barred from the hall, but that certainly did not mean that any of them heeded those warnings.
Varin had hinted that there was something suspicious happening in the great hall, but Bersi could see nothing out of place. Banners draped over the walls kept out the worst of the winter winds that whistled through the cracks in the boards and beams, and the hay strewn over the floor was fresh, and clean enough for the likes of these men.
He stepped over another body and dodged around the edge of a table, but as he did so, his wounded leg buckled and he thrust out an arm to catch himself before he fell.
The red and black banner that covered the wall beside him was rough under his fingers. Woven wool, dyed with the Jarl’s colors—he shouldn’t have touched it, but he had no choice. If he crashed to the floor, he would have woken the sleeping men…
But instead of the solid planks of the wall, Bersi’s palm struck something curved as he fell against it. A muffled thud that he hoped only he could hear echoed in his ears. He froze in place, half-expecting the men to leap to their feet and demand an explanation for his presence.
But no one moved. No sound but the snores of the intoxicated warriors who remained in the great hall. He let out a slow breath and tested the strength of his leg. The unreliability of the damned thing irked him more than the scar or the limp.
His hip throbbed, but held his weight and he straightened up from the wall and looked curiously at the banner. From a distance it had looked as though it laid flat against the wall. But from where he stood, he could see irregular shapes beneath it.
Bersi pressed his hand against the banner again, this time purposefully, and felt the shape of what was beneath. Long, smooth, and solid. As tall as a man.
A spear. But not just one…
Bersi resisted the urge to pull back the banner to be sure. He glanced at the door of the great hall—every moment he was here was a moment more that he could be discovered and questioned.
He moved through the hall as quickly as he could, marking each banner that hid some weapon or other. Almost every one concealed a cache of weapons. Shields. Spears. Short axes…
Varin had been right.
Damn him.
“You there! What business do you have in the Jarl’s hall?”
The shout froze the blood in Bersi’s veins and he turned slowly to face whoever had stepped into the great hall. The sleeping men at his feet stirred and began to wake and Bersi hurried to step over them and made his way toward the doorway. The man’s face was in shadow, and Bersi blinked hard to force his eyes to adjust to the morning light.
“Answer me!” the man demanded.
Bersi ducked his head and avoided the man’s gaze. He’d learned the hard way not to make eye contact with the men of Skaro. If they did not remember him as a rebel he could avoid some aggravation. Slaves were easy to ignore.
“Tending the fire,” Bersi answered quickly. “The fire should not be allowed to—”
“I know the Jarl’s command well enough,” the man snapped. “But your business is with the hearth, nothing more.”
“As you say.” Bersi ducked past the man and strode back down the path toward the well to collect his buckets. He held his breath, hoping that the man would not stop him or demand to know who his master was. He would lie, in any case, but if he was not stopped, that would suit him better.
He didn’t look back and pushed through the pain in his leg to keep his gait steady. The limp would give him away if nothing else would. He reached the well without hearing a challenge and breathed a small sigh of relief as he pulled the buckets up from where he’d left them.
He had to tell Torunn what he’d seen. She needed to know that her brother was planning something… She wouldn’t believe him, but by Odin, he would find a way to make her see.
Chapter 2 ~ Bersi
“You’re late with that water,” the cook shouted as he walked through the gate and into the small courtyard that stood to the side of Torunn’s house. “Mistress is asking for bathwater and I have nothing to give her.” Bersi handed over his buckets and took the empty ones that were shoved at him. “You’re a curse on this village,” the woman spat. “Now, be quick about those ones!”
Bersi nodded and turned away. The woman’s rancor did not bother him, she was always angry, and her mistrust of him had never fully settled—it would probably never truly disappear. Her son had been killed in the attempted raid. Not by his hand, but, as far as she was concerned, he might as well have slit the boy’s throat while he was sleeping.
He walked quickly back to the well, but took a different route this time. Varin had promised not to stray far, and Bersi wanted to know what his friend thought of what he had seen.
Varin, however, seemed to have found something better to do with his time, and Bersi reached the well without seeing him. He filled the buckets as quickly as he could and kept his head down to avoid notice. A few of the women and other servants at the well stared at him, and he heard them whispering. It was nothing new. The women gossiped about Torunn constantly. They respected her, but she was the Jarl’s sister, and she should have been married long ago… They might not have known anything about Jarl Sigurd, but they knew enough to approve of the match.
Torunn would not have cared, but he could not stop himself from bristling as he heard their whispers and hushed laughter. If they knew what their Jarl was planning, they would not be talking in such a way. They would never believe it…
He lifted the buckets and strode away through the streets toward his mistress’ house. He had to tell her what was happening, though he did not know the truth himself. He knew enough.
“Bersi, slow down. I didn’t know cripples could walk so fast.”
Varin’s chuckle made Bersi frown. “Watch your mouth, old man. I’ll knock you down and give you a limp of your own.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
The old warrior fell into step beside him and Bersi nodded briefly to acknowledge his presence.
“Did you see?”
“I did,” Bersi replied softly. “But what does it mean?”
They dodged around a woman with a basket braced on one hip and a child on the other. She glared at them and continued down the street and Varin chuckled. “I wish I knew for certain,” he said as they resumed their pace. “But there’s only one thing a hall full of weapons means when there are guests expected.”
“An ambush.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Varin nod, but his friend said nothing more… which meant that he was right. The thought was not a pleasant one.
“Will she believe you if you tell her?” Varin asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I have to tell her. She cannot go into this blind.”
“They have plans to take Jarl Sigurd’s lands and trade alliances for themselves… I can smell it,” Varin snarled.
“Do you know for sure?”
“No, of course not. But I hear talk. I know these men…”
Bersi stopped and glared at the old warrior. “That is not enough. I cannot go to Torunn with whispers.”
Varin stepped close and stabbed his finger into Bersi’s chest. “Maybe it will be enough for her to be on her guard. You want that for her, do you n
ot?”
Bersi’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Then have a care for her safety and tell her.”
“She won’t believe me.”
“You have to try.”
“Why do you care so much?” Bersi countered.
“Those dogs murdered my Jarl,” Varin growled. “I would see them dragged behind their ships in the dead of winter if I could.”
Varin’s voice shook with anger, but Bersi did not know how much risk he wanted to open himself up to. He was already risking too much. He could feel it.
Bersi tightened his grip on the buckets and met Varin’s hard gaze. “Fine. But I make no promises.”
“I would expect no less from a slave,” Varin snorted.
“Careful.”
He turned away and strode away from the old warrior as quickly as he could. The cook would have more hard words for him, but his only concern was for how he would reveal what he had learned to his mistress. Torunn had been in a sharp mood for weeks, especially when the snow that covered the trees around Skaro began to melt away.
She wanted nothing to do with Jarl Sigurd, but it was clear that how she felt did not matter to her brothers. Her father might have cared, but they certainly did not.
Torunn sighed languidly as she slid down into her bath. The wooden tub was heated by hot rocks and she had tasked him with keeping the fire lit and the water steaming.
“What kept you from your chores this morning,” she asked as he set down another armload of firewood.
She would stay in the bath for hours at a time, teasing and tormenting him with glimpses of her body as she moved through the water. He did his best to keep his eyes averted, but she insisted on speaking to him, and he could not look away when she did that.
“I was not kept from my chores,” he replied.
“Do not lie to me,” she snapped. “Helvi complained that you were absent from your duties. She should not have to complain to me about your behavior. I could see you whipped.”
“Will you wield the whip yourself?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Torunn laughed and the sound flowed over him like liquid honey. “Be careful, rebel.”
“I was delayed by Varin,” Bersi said as she looked away. He placed another log on the fire as she turned her dark gaze back to him.
She leaned on the edge of the wooden tub and winced as her shoulder flexed. He frowned. She had not been to the healer recently to speak about how her wound was healing. She was stubborn.
“Varin? He is a trouble-maker,” she said, but he could see interest flickering in the depths of her eyes.
“He is,” Bersi chuckled.
“More suspicious talk,” she said. “You should not allow him to keep you from your work. I could have him sent away. I have no doubt that my brothers would relish his absence.”
“No doubt,” Bersi agreed. “Has the Jarl spoken to you about Jarl Sigurd’s arrival?”
Torunn made a face and reached for the cup of honeyed mead that Helvi had placed there for her. Bersi dragged his eyes away from the sight of her breasts as she rose up out of the water. He picked up the cup and held it out to her to keep from staring. She snatched it from his grasp, and her eyes held his as she drank deeply from the carved wooden cup.
She wiped her mouth with a wet hand and her eyebrow rose slightly. “They have said enough.”
“Have they told you of their plans to welcome the Jarl and his sons?”
Torunn’s eyes narrowed. “Spit out whatever it is you have to say,” she snapped. “I have no time for these guessing games.”
Bersi set another log on the fire and stared into the flames.
“Varin has suspicions—”
“I know all about Varin’s suspicions,” Torunn interrupted him. “If you have nothing new to tell me, then shut your mouth.”
“I have been to the great hall, I have seen weapons.”
“There are no weapons allowed in the great hall. It was my father’s command, and his father’s command… The great hall is a place of fellowship and brotherhood.” She said the words firmly, but did not sound convinced of them.
Bersi shook his head. “The great hall will be a slaughterhouse,” he said. “Weapons are hidden behind the Jarl’s banners… beneath the straw. His warriors are armed.”
Torunn let out a frustrated noise and drained her cup. She held it out to be refilled and Bersi rose to do her bidding. He grabbed for the jug of mead and tipped the contents into her cup. Her forehead creased with concern and her gaze was focused on a faraway point and not at him.
She pulled the cup away before he had finished filling it and held it to her lips. “It cannot be so,” she said softly before taking a drink. Bersi gritted his teeth and set down the jug.
“I swear it,” he said. “I would not bring you false news—”
She held up a hand to stop him. “You have nothing to gain from lying to me,” she said. “And Varin—”
“Varin would not,” he blurted out. “His loyalty is to your father!”
“Dangerous words,” she said softly.
“They are only dangerous if they are ignored,” Bersi said boldly. Her gaze snapped to his and he immediately regretted what he had said.
She smiled slowly and rose up higher out of the steaming water so that her torso was exposed. Her scars were plainly visible on her ribs and he tried to keep his focus there. “And what would Varin have me do,” she purred.
Careful.
He looked up into her eyes and swallowed thickly. She knew what she was doing. She enjoyed toying with him and he could do nothing about it. It would be easy to pull her from the tub and throw her down on the furs that had been spread over the wooden floor. She would be beneath him, writhing and crying out in pleasure as he moved over her— No.
“He would have you be warned, mistress,” he choked out. “To have a care for your own safety.”
“I thought that was your duty,” she said softly.
“It is. But you should not be caught unawares by treachery.”
Torunn drank deeply, threw her empty cup at Bersi, and sighed heavily as she sank back down into the water.
He caught the cup awkwardly and stumbled backward against the pile of firewood. He caught his balance before Torunn noticed and set the cup back down upon the table beside the jug of mead. He refilled it quickly and hoped that she would not notice the frustration in his face. How would she react? Would she tell her brothers? Confront them? They would want to know where she had heard the rumor—for that was what it would be until she could see for herself. He had put his life in danger for a rumor.
He cursed himself inwardly. He should have taken her to the great hall and let her discover the weapons for herself.
He swore under his breath and Torunn moved in the tub.
“What?”
“Nothing, mistress,” he replied without looking up. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking. He wanted to know what she would do with the information he had given her—
A fist hammered against the wooden door of the bathhouse and Torunn whipped around. “What!”
Bersi ducked his head and smiled quickly. He could hear the anger and frustration in her voice. If she was angry, that meant that she was thinking about what he had said. At least, that was what he hoped.
“Torunn, I need to speak to you!”
Iri. He had not been allowed in Torunn’s presence for several weeks. She was angry with him. Every servant knew it, which meant that he had snuck into the house unnoticed. Bersi looked at Torunn quickly.
“Should I—”
“No,” she snapped. She knew very well that he was completely capable of marching Iri out of the house by his face if need be. He would enjoy it, too. He did not like the Jarl’s advisor, but more than that, he didn’t trust the man.
“Come,” she shouted. She slid back into the water. “More rocks.”
Bersi hurried to obey her command and he pulled a fresh rock from the ashes
beneath the fire to add to her bathwater. The water already steamed in the chill air, but she would not be satisfied until her skin was red and throbbing with the heat of the water.
The door opened slowly and Iri Hundolffson stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His eyes narrowed as he saw Bersi on the other side of the tub, but he said nothing.
“What do you want, Iri?” Torunn asked in a bored tone. “You are not welcome here.”
“I know,” he said stiffly. “I have come to beg your forgiveness.”
“For what?” she replied.
“For—” Iri looked down at his hands and then back at her. Torunn still hadn’t turned to look at him, he would be apologizing to her back.
“I’m waiting,” she snapped.
“I should have spoken to you sooner,” he said in a rush. “I have been—” he paused briefly and his hands tightened into fists. “I have been too concerned for my own safety. It was foolish of me. My loyalty lies with your father. And with you.”
“And what if your Jarl should learn of this?” Torunn asked in a dangerously sweet voice.
“I do not care,” Iri replied boldly. Bersi was not certain if anything the Jarl’s advisor said could be trusted, but he was risking a great deal to be here. “I have suspicions.”
“So many suspicious minds in Skaro,” Torunn sighed. “And what is it that you fear, Iri?”
“I— I am not afraid,” he said defensively. “I cannot allow another day to pass by without telling you what I have seen.”
“And what might that be? What have you seen that you believe I should care about so deeply that you would put yourself in danger? That you would betray the oath you made to the Jarl, my brother?”
“I have seen weapons,” he said. “In the great hall. They are hidden from sight, but I have seen Jarl Hallvard’s men place them there with secret smiles and whispered exchanges.”
“What are they whispering about?” Torunn asked.
She gave no sign that Iri was confirming everything that Varin and Bersi had already told her, but it gave Bersi some hope that she would believe him, and that she might not dismiss his words.
Sword of Vengeance: A Medieval Viking Historical Romance (Warrior's Claim Book 2) Page 2