by Bobbi Smith
“Yes, my lord.”
Dynna was pleased when she left the room and Sir Edmund remained behind to speak with his father. She hurried back up the steps to the chamber where Sir Thomas and a fierce-looking guard stood outside the door.
She immediately informed Sir Thomas of Lord Alfrick’s dictate. “I will be taking all of my meals here,” she told him. “Also, I will need food and drink for the captive. We cannot allow him to grow any weaker.”
“I will speak to the servants right away.”
Sir Thomas opened the door for her, and they went inside together to find that Brage was asleep.
“What of your safety, Lady Dynna? Shall I remain in here with you to protect you from him? Or will Sir Edmund be returning to stay by your side?”
Dynna grimaced inwardly at the thought of Edmund’s constant presence. She glanced from the sick Viking to Sir Thomas. “There is no reason for you to fear for my wellbeing. Matilda will be with me, and your man will be right outside the door. If you feel safer, you can lock the door from the outside to make certain he does not escape, but I believe we have nothing to fear from him.”
“Do not be so sure. Never forget he is a warrior first.”
“He will not harm me,” she replied with certainty. “Matilda and I will be safe with him.”
“Very well, but I will tell my man to stay alert.”
“I appreciate your concern for us.” She touched the older man’s arm in a gesture of genuine friendship. It seemed no one else in the whole world cared about her safety except her parents, and they were far away and would never know of her desperation.
“You are my lady,” he answered, feeling honored that she looked so benevolently upon him. She was one of the kindest, most unselfish people he knew.
“Since my husband died you have been my one true friend here. My life here would have been totally barren without you and your strength and goodness.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was almost a whisper, and she forced herself to look away from the tall, powerful man who had become her self-appointed protector.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“No. The most important thing is seeing that our captive lives through the night.”
“My man will be near should you need him, and if you need me, just send word.”
With that he left her.
Dynna returned to Brage’s bedside and touched his arm again. The heat was still burning within him.
“Matilda, bring me a bucket of cold water and a cloth. I am going to bathe him again and attempt to get his fever down.”
Matilda brought her the water and rag begrudgingly. “Why are you so concerned with saving this one’s life? He is a warrior who would have slain all those in the tower had he not been struck down during the battle.”
“I know you are probably right, Matilda, but . . .” Dynna paused, realizing the question was valid. She was not there solely because she had been ordered so by Lord Alfrick. She was there because she was truly worried about this man called the Black Hawk . . . this man who was known far and wide as the most fearless Norse raider to ever set sail.
“Why do you care so much about what happens to him?”
Dynna fell silent for a moment as she tried to put into words what she was feeling. When she finally spoke, Matilda could hear the confusion in her voice.
“I am not sure, Matilda, but ever since I first saw him when we were trying to escape, I have known he was special. He is a powerful man, but it is not his power that intrigues me. My father is a powerful man and so was Warren. And while he is handsome, Warren, too, was very appealing. No, this is different . . . There is something about him, Matilda . . . something exceptional. I cannot let him die.”
Matilda was frowning. “Take care not to let Sir Edmund know how you feel, or he will not allow him to survive to be ransomed back to his family.”
“We will have to keep careful watch over him. Will you help me?”
“I will do whatever I can for you.”
Dynna’s eyes met hers. “Thank you. This night will be a long one. I do not know if he will live through it.”
“He has you to nurse him. He will live.”
Dynna looked down at the feverish Viking and prayed that her gifts were powerful enough to save him.
Seven
Time passed slowly for Dynna and Matilda as they took turns bathing Brage with cool water. They would start at his neck and, taking care to avoid his injured shoulder, would work their way down his back to the edge of the sheet at his waist. It was near midnight when Dynna realized Matilda could barely keep her eyes open.
“Go ahead to bed. You can sleep on the cot,” Dynna encouraged.
“No, my lady. I cannot sleep when I know you are exhausted, too.”
“One of us must rest while we can.”
“Are you sure?”
Dynna nodded. “He is quiet. I will wake you if I need you. Now I have to keep watch over him. I will sleep later, I promise.”
Matilda did as she was told, and she quickly fell asleep.
Dynna stayed beside the Viking’s bed. She was exhausted but she did not have time to worry about herself. It was Brage who worried her. All her efforts to cool him had proven of little value. His fever was raging even higher now.
Putting a hand to his brow, Dynna felt the dry, consuming heat and knew she should bathe him again. She got up with her empty bowl and went to the water bucket near the door. As she was dipping some out to take back to the bedside with her, she heard Brage moan and rushed back to his side.
“Traitor . . .” he mumbled, his eyes still closed, his tone slurred in his delirium. “They knew . . .”
“Shh . . . Easy . . . It will be all right,” Dynna whispered, stroking his back with long, easy soothing strokes of the wet cloth she’d dipped in the water.
He seemed unaffected by her ministrations, and he did not seem to hear her words.
“Find them . . . I must find them . . .”
He began to move restlessly on the bed, and Dynna feared that he might dislodge the poultice.
“Easy, my Viking,” she repeated softly. “Later, you can find whoever it is you seek. Right now, you must stay still and get well.”
She continued to bathe him, trying to think of him only as someone who was hurt and in need of her help. But as she touched him again and again, running her hands over his hard-muscled flesh, she could not fail to notice the masculine beauty in the lean, sculpted power of his back and shoulders. He was strongly built, and though she was used to clean-shaven men, she found him handsome, even with his heavy beard. She wondered how he would look without the beard and decided that as soon as he was past this crisis she would see him cleaned up even more—with a shave and a trim of his hair.
“Ulf!”
The name was a shout coming from him, and Dynna was startled from her reverie.
“Again he protects my back . . .” It was half laugh, half harsh cry. “It is hot . . . Too hot . . . Kristoffer! No!”
In a fit of feverish panic, Brage tried to rise, his eyes wide and wild. Dynna was immediately at his side, speaking to him calmly, pressing him back down as she began to caress him again with her cooling massage.
Brage looked up at the woman who stood over him. In the semidarkness of the candlelit room, she looked ethereal . . . dream-like. She was a vision, floating gently before him in the mist of his fever. She was beautiful—her dark hair, her flowing gown, her lovely features. He managed a twisted smile as he tried to ignore his pain.
“Ah, Valkyrie . . . So, you have come for me at last.”
“I am no Valkyrie. I have no wish to see you in Valhalla, Viking. Drink this.” Dynna pressed a cup to his lips filled with a potion she hoped would help him.
Brage drank what he could, then collapsed back down on the bed, his eyes closed once more. “The legends are true,” he said in a groan. “The Valkyries are t
he most beautiful of women . . .”
Dynna found she was trembling when he finally fell into his feverish slumber again. She feared that his delirium would worsen and he might reinjure himself by thrashing around. For a moment, she thought of restraining him, but was immediately repelled by the idea. He had been chained long enough. Besides, she reasoned, he had quieted when she had spoken to him. She prayed he would continue to listen to her, for he was a very strong man, and if he decided to get up, she doubted she would have the strength to stop him, even as sick as he was.
For two days and two nights, Dynna remained by Brage’s side, fighting death. His condition worsened instead of improving, and his burning fever tested her healing abilities to the limits. She slept little, dozing only occasionally in the chair.
Dynna suffered through Sir Edmund’s daily visits. Every time she saw him she was reminded that each passing day brought her that much closer to marrying him. The thought destroyed what little peace she had.
It was near midnight of the third night that Dynna and Matilda sat together in the room that had become a torture chamber for them.
“Will he live the night?” Matilda asked.
“I do not know,” Dynna answered truthfully, lifting her worried gaze to her maid’s. “He has not had anything to drink for hours.”
“There is nothing more you can do, my lady. You have tried everything.”
“All there is left for us to do is pray,” she said solemnly as she gazed down at his flushed features.
Brage smiled. He was home with his father and brothers, hunting, riding, and enjoying life. The mountains were snowcapped, and the waters were cool and inviting. Home . . .
A myriad of images played through his thoughts. In the distance, he could see the lovely Inger waving to him and calling his name. He thought of the sweet good-bye the blond beauty had given him. Her kisses had promised much for his return, and he knew she would be waiting. Odd that the knowledge did not excite him, for he knew his father would be most pleased if they were to wed.
Suddenly, he felt hot. Strangely so. He longed to be higher up in the mountains where the air was cold and pure. Heat pulsed through him, throbbing and burning. Brage shifted, seeking the coolness of the mountain breeze, wanting the chill of it to sweep over him, but there was no relief. He began to move restlessly, needing to escape the smothering, oppressive heat.
He tried to rise, but pain shot through him, shattering the images of home and the bliss of being with his family. There was only pain and fire and agony throughout his body. He groaned, unable to suffer in silence and deny the torment any longer.
“Quiet, my Viking,” a soft, feminine voice called to him through the mist of his consciousness. “Lie still, let me help you.”
“Help me?” he repeated, his tone deep and hoarse from lack of use.
It was quiet for a moment, and then the cooling motions started. He was vaguely aware that there was an almost sensuous rhythm to the cool water being stroked upon him. It chilled him and he shivered.
“That is better,” the woman said. “Much better.”
The caressing continued, each touch of the wet cloth dampening the fire that consumed him.
Brage fought his way up from the pain-seared depths, and he finally managed to open his eyes. Above him was a beautiful woman. He thought she seemed familiar, but he could not recall where he had met her.
“You are still here . . .”
“I will not leave you until your fever has broken.” She touched his shoulder.
Her hand upon him was cool, and he closed his eyes again. Peace was close. If only he could find it . . .
His mind wandered to memories of the battle. The peace he had sought vanished as a vision of his dead men haunted him.
“Ulf! Beware! They know . . . Who could have told Lord Alfrick? Why would anyone have betrayed us?”
“Do not worry so, Viking. It is all past. Just rest and let your body heal,” the woman called to him through the haze of his pain.
“Cannot forget . . .” he mumbled, knowing there was a traitor in his father’s midst, knowing he had to find him and reveal him before he cost more Vikings their lives. The traitor had to be punished for his unfaithfulness. “Will not forget.”
He tried to get up, but gentle hands settled him back down.
“Do not resist me. Rest for now. There will be time later for your battles, but this is not the hour.”
Brage wanted to rise and seek out the man who had brought death and destruction to him and his men. His rage was as hot as his fever.
“You have no strength, warrior. What good would you be in a fight? You do not have the power to lift your sword. Rest. Get your strength back. You risk your own life when you move so violently.”
The voice and hands that quieted him worked on his body, but all the wisdom and kindness in the world could not ease the torment that filled him. His men had died, and, as their leader, he was responsible.
“Drink this.”
Brage felt a cup pressed to his lips, and, at the woman’s urging, he drank thirstily of the bitter brew. Moments after he lay back down, forgetfulness began to edge his mind. A short time later he was once again asleep, the medicinal tonic having given him at least that much peace.
The sighting of Brage’s longships by Anslak’s lookout was heralded by the sounding of the horns. The haunting call echoed through the fjords and announced to the people of Anslak’s village that some of their own were returning from their ventures afar.
As always when a ship came home, the people hurried to watch. They had expected another of their men, one of the traders who had been gone to the east for many months.
Anslak had been riding the fields, encouraging those who tended the crops, when he heard the call. Pleased that one of his men had returned, he put his heels to his mount and raced for the water’s edge. He thought it would be a trader, and he was eager to see what riches they were bringing back from their travels and to hear tales of their adventures.
When Anslak reached the summit of the hill overlooking the fjord, he reined in abruptly. There, far below, he could see the ships pulling in, and he went still as he saw the sail of the Black Hawk. Brage was back . . .
The Viking leader was elated by his son’s quick return. He believed it meant that their raid had met with success. They must have attacked and looted quickly and then made their escape. He was proud of his son, and he urged his horse down the hillside toward the longships, eager to hear all about the raid.
Tove, Anslak’s second wife and Kristoffer’s mother, heard the call and hurried to join the others in welcome. She, too, was surprised to find Brage’s ships had returned so soon. They had been gone less than two weeks. She stood with the villagers expecting wonderful news.
Anslak reached the welcoming group and, seeing his wife among them, left his horse and went to her.
“No one fights like the Black Hawk’s warriors.” He was near to bursting with pride. “I am sure they lived up to their reputations. Why else would they be back already?”
“Can you see Kristoffer?” Tove stared hard at the closing crafts, searching for some sign of her only son.
Anslak lifted a hand to shield the sun from his eyes as he studied the lead ship, trying to recognize the men onboard. “I see Ulf . . .”
Tove waited excitedly for him to say more.
“And our son,” he finished.
She smiled. “He returns safely. That is good. I had begun to miss him already.”
“And to think you are a Viking’s wife . . .” Anslak teased her. She never seemed to grow accustomed to Kristoffer’s going raiding. Even though he was a man full grown, she still doted on him as if he were a babe.
“I miss you, too, when you are gone. I am always thrilled when you return,” she told him, slipping an arm about his waist.
“I know,” he said with a sensuous chuckle that brought a blush to her cheeks.
He turned his attention back to the ships and wa
tched as they were brought in. As the men started to come ashore, a cheer went up to celebrate their return. But the cheering waned as many of those expecting loved ones did not see their men among the warriors.
“Where is my Seger?” Marta, his wife, asked the woman standing next to her.
“I do not see him or my Neils, either. And where is Brage? Usually the Black Hawk is the first one ashore.”
Ulf and Kristoffer climbed from Brage’s lead ship and walked toward the waiting crowd. Their expressions were somber, reflecting the grave news they brought.
“Kristoffer . . . Ulf . . . Where is Brage?” Anslak asked immediately, his expression growing worried as he glanced from them, back to the ship.
“The news is not good, Father,” Kristoffer offered. He had been dreading this moment throughout the whole voyage. How could they tell their father that Brage was gone . . . dead . . .
“What happened?” he demanded. “And where is Brage? It is not like him not to come ashore right away.”
The onlookers crowded closer to hear what was being said. Those who saw their relatives ran to meet them. Those who missed their kin wanted to know what had happened to them.
“There was an ambush on the way to Lord Alfrick’s tower. It was as if the Saxons had known ahead of time that we were coming. Many men were lost . . .” Ulf explained, his eyes were dark with pain.
“And Brage? What of Brage?” Anslak demanded, his expression hardening as he anticipated what was about to be told him. “Where is my son?”
“He is dead, Father.” Kristoffer said. “He was killed in the fighting.”
Cries of horror went up from all who heard the news.
“Brage is dead?” Anslak was shocked.
Kristoffer explained all that had led to this tragedy.
“He was so certain he would surprise Lord Alfrick,” Anslak said this as statement. “How could this have happened?”
Ulf and Kristoffer shared a look. Then Ulf answered, “We can only think the Saxons somehow knew of our plans. Their numbers were great and they were fully armed. It was as if they had prepared for our attack.”
“How many were lost?” Anslak asked, his gaze sweeping over those coming ashore.