“We cannot lie here and drown!”
“But then I shall never have to be parted from you.”
“Alrek, that is a horrible thought.”
“What?” He pushed back to view her. “Being with me for an eternity?” He tried to look affronted but the twitch of his lips gave him away.
“Nay, drowning. You can be with me for an eternity without drowning!”
“Come then.” He separated them, pulled up his trews and rearranged her skirts before offering her a hand. “Let us live.”
“Together,” she added with a grin, jabbing an elbow in his ribs.
“Aye, together.” Alrek looped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into him. “Together.”
***
Alrek should have realised all would not stay so beautifully easy forever. Ilisa was a determined woman with a strong will. After several days of blissful lovemaking with a loving, doting woman, the fiery Ilisa had risen once more. He tried to keep the smile from his face as she snatched the basket of wool she intended to take to the village with jerky movements. He couldn’t help himself. He loved fiery Ilisa. Adored the passion in her eyes, the bright colour on her cheeks. The way she spat her words at him. All he wanted to do was kiss those tightly pursed lips into submission.
“I am going,” she declared, “and you are staying.”
“Ilisa, do you really believe you can stop me?”
She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. “If you know what is good for yourself, you will.”
“What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to travel to the village on your own?” he challenged.
“A wise one!” she snapped. “I have always done the journey on my own and have never come to harm.”
“Do not forget Galan threatened you a few sennights ago.”
“And he has not been seen since.”
He ran a hand across his beard. The foolish woman was determined to put herself in danger. “Because I am here!”
Her shoulders dropped and he heard her exhale. “I know you are concerned for me but I must barter this wool or we will starve before long. If you accompany me, I know not what will happen. The villagers will not take to you. You are still the enemy.”
“So I am to stay hidden away for the rest of my days? You are ashamed of me?”
“Nay, not ashamed. How dare you? I am scared for you!”
As fast as his hackles had risen, they dropped at her admission. Taking both her arms, he stared her down. “You are scared for me, and I am scared for you, hjarta mitt. What are we to do? But I am better able to protect myself. Let us go to the village and face whatever life brings together. You promised we would not be separated remember?”
Her chin trembled. “I do not know what I would do if something happened to you, Alrek.”
“And I you.” He kissed her gently. “But do not fear for me. Thor is on my side. He has blessed our union and I am not easily defeated. I have defended myself against angry Picts before.”
“Aye, that is what I fear,” she said softly.
“I have no intention of harming any of your people.”
She sighed. “I know. Sometimes though, I fear our culture will always separate us somehow.”
Alrek didn’t respond. How could he reassure her when he knew well how different they were? He was a marauding, vicious Norseman and she a quiet, hardworking Pict. His beautiful woman had been brought up to farm, not to fight, whereas blood had been on his hands before he had reached the age of twelve.
Instead, he took the basket from her and tucked her hands into his. “There will be no troubles, you shall see,” he assured her.
He wasn’t sure but he hoped that no sign of any Picts trying to drive him out of Ilisa’s home since Galan’s visit meant they had little interest in harming him or Ilisa. He didn’t wish to put her in danger but how could he be assured of her safety if he wasn’t with her? What if her countrymen decided to take revenge on her for harbouring the enemy and he wasn’t there to protect her? By the gods, he would die before letting anything happen to her.
They walked several miles before they reached the village. Set on a natural hill, wooden palisades surrounded it and a large roundhouse sat at the centre—the hall he presumed. The wooden huts that radiated from it, while not adorned with intricately carved wood, reminded him of home.
An old man paused to greet Ilisa as they entered the village. He looked over Alrek, brows rising before shuffling on. Ilisa’s palm grew clammy in his and he squeezed her hand. “All will be well,” he murmured. He skipped his gaze from side to side to see the villagers eyeing him with curiosity. Few carried weapons which reassured him a little.
She stopped at a small hut that reeked of animal excrement. A pig pen at one side told him why. The animals shuffled and snorted while a few chickens ran around Alrek’s feet.
“You should probably wait here. Arlen is frail and would not take well to having a Viking in his home.” She hissed the word Viking and Alrek felt his nostrils flare.
He folded his arms and stationed himself outside the building, eyeing passers-by coldly. He might not be proud of his past but Ilisa seemed to forget that his culture was important to him. The Norse had fought hard to expand and bring their culture to other places. He had been brought up to be—above all—proud of being a Viking.
By the time Ilisa had bartered her wool for food, they had gained a small following of village children. Alrek thanked the gods it was only children. While the villagers observed them with distrust, they had shown no aggression. Hopefully they might even come to accept the Norseman in their midst one day. His heart dropped when they neared the gate. Galan and an elderly man—his father maybe, looking at the similarity between them—and two other armed men blocked the way.
“Galan, let us through,” Ilisa demanded. “We mean no harm.”
The father—the chief, Alrek remembered—stepped forward. “You bring shame on your people, Ilisa, by bringing that Viking here. Do you not remember the pain and death his people brought us?”
She thrust her chin up. “Are we to lay the blame of his people at his feet? If so, I can think of many atrocities the Picts have committed. Mayhap we should lay all those at your feet, my lord.”
“Step aside,” Alrek demanded and received a sharp look from Ilisa.
Galan pushed in front of his father and eyed Alrek. “I think perhaps you love her. And who could blame you? She is a fine woman indeed. But she is Pict and you are a Viking. You are a selfish man, Viking. You have put Ilisa in grave danger and you are tempering her heritage. Shall you ask her to worship your gods? To live as a Viking woman in her land? No one will ever accept you and before long, the people will rise against you—and her. You shall bring pain and suffering to her doorstep once more just as your people did in the past.”
Alrek narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired man and glared at him. But deep inside his gut churned and his mind reeled. He would not reveal as much to Galan however. A movement from one of the men caught his eye and he lunged for him, twisting the sword from his grasp and pulling the man into a tight grip. He held the sword out and snarled.
“Let us pass and no one shall be harmed.”
“Alrek!” Ilisa’s eyes were wide,fearful. “They have issued no threats. Release him!”
He saw himself then as she saw him. A wild snarling beast—no better than the wolves. He shoved the Pict away and threw down the blade, his breaths heavy with defeat. He shoved past the men and out of the gate without glancing back.
“Viking,” Galan called. “A ship has been spotted not a day away. They look to be landing soon. Mayhap you should return and be with your own kind. And warn them that if they make an attempt on our village they shall be met with force.”
He paused, drew in a breath and stomped on. Ilisa did not catch up with him until the village palisades were far behind him. She snatched his arm. “Where are you going, Alrek?” she asked breathlessly.
Alrek stopped and turned to f
ace her. “Home.”
“Our home?”
“Nay, my home.” Pain flickered in her gaze, tearing his heart. “Forgive me, Ilisa, I was wrong to think we could overcome our differences and be together. Galan is right. I am putting you in danger here.”
“Nay—”
He cradled her face. “Can you tell me you honestly believe they will let us live peacefully?”
“I—” Tears lined her eyes, ready to fall.
“I have fought and raided too, Ilisa. I cannot say how many innocent people I may have killed.” He gulped as she searched his gaze. “I do not deserve a woman such as you and the chief was right to lay the sins of my people at my feet. I am no better than them.”
Several breaths passed between them. His pulse pounded painfully in his head, his insides crumpled further.
“You are a good man.”
“You are a special woman. I shall never forget you.” He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She sobbed quietly but made no protests. She had to know as well as he did that they had always been doomed to fail. When he drew back, he realised the skies had darkened. He scowled and peered up at them. This was right, so why were the gods angry?
“Come, let us return before it rains. I shall need to keep an eye out for the ship.”
She slipped her hand in his again, the movement so familiar and heart breaking. Never again would he hold her hand or touch her face, hear her voice or taste her lips. But he couldn’t stay. He was no better than his kin. Ilisa lived in a world that had almost eroded her culture. He couldn’t dilute it further and put her life at risk. Who knew who these Norsemen were? If it was his own crew he’d have no qualms about asking her to come with him, but these men might not take to a Pict woman aboard their ship.
When they reached the farm, rain had begun to fall in fat heavy drops. He ushered Ilisa inside and eyed the cottage. At least he had helped her a little. Her roof no longer leaked and the stone wall was almost complete once more. It hardly felt enough to make up for his people having killed her family and for the pain he was going to leave her with, but better to hurt her a little than put her at risk.
Alrek gulped as she slid off her mantle and he spotted the shaking of her shoulders. Against his will, he curled his hands around her shoulders. “You must see this is for the best. I would rather die than see you harmed. If I am gone you will be safe.”
She nodded. “They will never accept you.” Ilisa turned to face him. “I understand that now and I have no wish to see you harmed, but I shall miss you forever.”
“I… I would take you if I could, but ‘tis too dangerous. I cannot risk your life. Mayhap when I am settled I can come back…?”
“My people need me. I—” A sob split her words. “I shall miss you forever.”
His eyes itched and he had to step away before he crumpled. He didn’t return her words though they rattled through his skull over and over. His throat remained tight and he didn’t trust himself to speak, but he knew he too would miss her for eternity.
Chapter Nine
Ilisa eyed Alrek through a mist of tears. Funny how perfect he looked in his foreign clothing. He suited his Viking garments far better than the Pictish ones. He had been right. They were not destined to stay together. By asking him to stay, she was asking him to forget his culture and put himself in danger. So she remained quiet and they watched the horizon for a sign of the ship. Red sails broke the rainy haze that drifted over the sea shortly before supper time. Though the grey clouds darkened the sky, nightfall remained a few hours away so she imagined the ship would land without any problems.
He straightened his jerkin and faced her. Breathing became impossible. Her fractured heart had shattered in her chest and destroyed her. It was for the best but her mind raged and pleaded with her to tell him to stay, to be selfish. Ilisa said nothing as he stepped forward and took her face in his hands. They engulfed her, rough and warm. She closed her eyes to fend off the tears. Alrek placed the sweetest kiss to her lips—so tender for a man so big.
“Hjarta mitt,” he murmured.
Ilisa kept her eyes shut and tamped down the bubble of despair in her chest. His lips left her, his hands were gone. The door opened and closed and a sob escaped her. Ilisa dropped to the floor and clutched her hands around her legs, bent double, and cried until her throat was raw and her chest in agony. Should she have asked him to come back for her? But the idea of watching the horizon forever and hoping tore her apart.
Eventually she swiped her eyes and pulled herself to standing. “You survived before him,” she reminded herself. “You’ll survive again.”
Had the ship landed yet? She peered outside and saw the night had not yet come. If she stood on the headland she’d probably be able to see the ship leave but would that make it worse? Mayhap it was better this way.
A knock on the door made her jolt. A burst of excitement made her heart race. She ran to it and flung it open. Her stomach sank. “Galan.”
“The Viking is gone.” He stepped into the hut and surveyed the place.
“Aye, he is gone. I hope you are happy now.”
“Not yet, and neither are the villagers.” He curled a hand around her arm and tugged her out of the house. The pressure from his fingers made her arm tingle as she fought against his hold.
“Galan, release me,” she demanded. Ilisa gaped when she spied much of the village men surrounding her house. “I told you, he has gone!”
Galan’s lips twisted and his dark eyes took on a black, bottomless look. Ilisa shuddered. “Do it,” he ordered.
Before she realised what he meant, several lit torches were flung onto the roof of her home. Straw crackled and flames raced quickly across it in spite of the damp weather. The skies seemed to protest the villagers’ actions, grumbling and unleashing more water but the flames had taken hold.
“Nay,” she cried and tried again to pull away from Galan.
“This is what we do to traitors. You took in the enemy. If I let them, they will burn you too.”
Ilisa stared around at her countrymen. It was true. Anger and hatred had eaten into them and now she was no better than a Viking in their eyes. “You would not let them!”
Galan’s grin stretched. “If you were my wife, you would have protection.”
“I have no farm now, why would you want me?” She twisted her arm and bit back a cry of pain as he squeezed tighter.
“I do not need your little cottage. I want your land and you, Ilisa. It shouldn’t have had to come to this.”
Under the grey, rolling skies, his expression grew savage. To think she’d once thought Alrek like that. Whatever Alrek had done in the past, there was not a chance he had the same deep-seated greed and anger that Galan did. Why had she given that up so easily?
Because if he’d have stayed, he would have been killed, she reminded herself. They would have burned him too. Alrek might have thought himself invincible but he would have stood no chance against a mob.
“I do not want you. I’d rather burn.” She lifted her chin. She didn’t want to die but a life without Alrek wasn’t worth much and she couldn’t give herself to Galan.
“You would prefer to betray your people, is that it?” he spat. “Prefer a barbaric Viking between your thighs?”
“Look around you, Galan, and tell me who the barbarians are? The time of the Picts is coming to an end. We should be trying to salvage what we can for the future generations, not fighting amongst each other.”
“You are no better than the other traitorous Pictish women,” Galan sneered. He released her arm and shoved her back toward the villagers. “They too have fled into the arms of Vikings, have left our lands and abandoned our people.”
Ilisa peeked over her shoulder and back at Galan. She edged away toward the cliff’s edge. Other women had gone with the Vikings? That meant other Picts would be in Iceland. They too would have Viking lovers. She wouldn’t be an outcast but the same as them. Should she have agreed to wait for
him or have risked whatever dangers he thought she faced and gone?
She smirked and glanced around. There was nothing left for her now but was it too late? Shuffling closer to the edge of the cliff, she peered into the gloom, tried to penetrate it. Her stomach danced as she spied red coloured sails but how close were they? Or was Alrek already headed out to sea?
Galan stepped closer. “Are you intending to jump? You would kill yourself and sentence your soul to hell for him?”
She swung her gaze to him, to the villagers and back to the horizon. “Aye.” She jumped.
Her feet slipped on the thin ledge and she almost tumbled all the way down the cliff but for her grip on the foliage. Righting herself, she looked down the cliff face and thanked God she knew these cliffs so well. The strip of ground was narrow. It had begun to slip into the sea some two summers ago and she remembered the rumble as it did so, but it was enough to allow her to make her way down the cliffs to the beach.
She glanced up, saw no one had been brave enough follow her and picked her way down the cliff edge. Her shoes fell off and her skirts ripped. The cliff face seemed endless, a great grey wall that loomed both beneath and above her. Several times she nearly slipped and her heart remained in her throat until sand met her feet.
Skirts in hand, she shouted Alrek’s name but the wind carried it away. The rain fell heavily now, plastering her hair to her skin and obscuring her view of the ship. She prayed it had not left yet or she hadn’t been deceived as to how close to the shore it was.
“Alrek,” she screamed again.
Up ahead, a figure appeared, not far from the sea edge. Her legs threatened to give out from beneath her as overwhelming joy washed through her. She froze when she spied the heart stopping expression on his face—one of anguish and despair. In front of him, several Vikings stood, axes ready. Ilisa frowned. They looked to be at a standoff.
“Run, Ilisa. Return to your people,” he called to her. “Warn them that the Vikings are coming.”
Her scowl deepened and she flicked her gaze from the Vikings to Alrek and back again. “Nay! I wish to go with you.” Finally her stiff legs responded and she sprinted to his side.
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