Loneliness reared its hideous head. Gisela’s throat thickened and she blinked against the tears forming along her lashes. “What of Martinga? She ran away that day too. She may well live.”
“Aye, she may. But how can you return? You belong to Thorvald now as I belong to Arni.” Bertrada patted Gisela’s hand. “He’s done much to keep you. He looks at you with yearning in his eyes.”
“Yearning?” Somehow the notion of Thorvald yearning for her struck Gisela as odd. It implied weakness. How horrified he would be to discover that’s what Bertrada saw in him.
“Aye. He yearns for the heart of a woman. Yours.”
“He may own me but he’ll never own my heart.”
“As you wish.” Bertrada shrugged. “Forgive my blunt words, mistress Gisela, but these Vikings are not as uncivilized as you think. You saw the quality of their wares when we walked through the market today. Too, their ships are sound and glide over the water like birds.”
Gisela heaved a sigh and nodded grudgingly. “Aye, their craftsmanship in many things is fine, but what right do they have to attack and plunder unprovoked? They’re brutes to others not of their own kind.”
“Again I say, don’t be so critical of what you do not understand. They’re not the monsters you believe them to be.”
Gisela’s throat again thickened with tears, and longing for the warm, welcoming walls of Falkenstead flooded through her.
She’d gladly taken on the responsibility of running it after her mother died. Briefly she touched the amber cross resting against her collar bone, remembering how it lay upon her mother’s bosom and pressed against Gisela’s cheek whenever they hugged.
Notwithstanding the grief at her mother’s death, Gisela had taken pride in making a home for her father and younger sister, covering the walls with woven hangings and scattering sweet smelling rushes on the floor, ensuring food filled the larder and a bubbling pot of soup always hung over the fire. Bertrada claimed the Vikings weren’t monsters, yet how could their homes compare to the haven Falkenstead had been?
“Look.” Bertrada pointed at the shadowed figures of two men passing through the gate of the ramparts, arms piled high with firewood. “Arni and Thorvald return.” She smoothed her skirts and patted her scarf before giving Gisela a sideways glance. “A pleasing smile would be welcomed. You must keep Thorvald on your side for you could do far worse.”
A conclusion Gisela already had come to, and she shuddered as she remembered the sordid Arab trader.
Her loneliness deepened even more when she saw the welcome between Arni and Bertrada. Bertrada curtsied and a chuckling Arni pulled her up, dropping a burly arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze before pushing her away.
Gisela’s worst fears had materialized far quicker than she anticipated. Bertrada was gone already, leaving her to fight on alone.
Her shoulders sagged.
“Are you unwell?” Thorvald’s voice broke through her haze of misery.
She shook her head and glowered at him. “Only unwell in that I sit in the camp of my heathen captor.” Pointedly she pulled aside her skirts as he squatted down beside her.
Guilt flashed through her as the shadows of betrayal ghosted across Thorvald’s face at her unkind action. She detested the little glimpses of humanity—it battered the hatred she clung to. However, hatred could be a cold companion. She wondered if Bertrada was right. Should Gisela forget Falkenstead? Should she instead embrace life with Thorvald and sell herself to him as a helpmate, not hindrance? As if to prove her worth, she leaned over and stirred the pot again.
“Serve me and my men first, then take a bowl and sit elsewhere. Your sour countenance ruins my appetite.”
“Gladly,” she muttered. She didn’t realize she frowned, and oddly, his words stung. She compressed her lips, then pursed them in an effort to wipe the frown from her mouth and stirred the pot again with a vengeance. It swung back and forth threatening to spill its contents until she steadied it with the spoon.
One by one the men came by—Arni, Halldor, Nasi, Jon, and the rest. They held out their empty bowls and she filled them, making sure each man had several chunks of fish and a heaping spoonful of cabbage. When Arni thanked her, she lifted her face and nodded, but for the others, she kept her gaze lowered and her skirts tucked modestly around her ankles. She had no desire to provoke in any manner, no matter how well intended, the men who would willingly see her gone.
Throughout, Thorvald watched her, a tawny haired wolf claiming its prey. Her hands shook a little under his close scrutiny but she kept her manner circumspect.
As much as she hated to admit it, Bertrada spoke true about Gisela’s situation. She had no choice but to appease Thorvald. For now, she reminded herself.
He came over at last and held out his bowl. “It smells good, fresh food is always welcome.”
“Aye.” Gisela nodded as she ladled out his portion.
She lifted her head to find a smile on his lips, and his eyes closed as he held the bowl to his nose and inhaled, not once but several times. He looked like a little boy about to eat his favorite meal and sudden understanding cascaded through her, bringing warmth to her cheeks. He would have been a child once, innocent, trusting, but through no fault of his own, his upbringing turned him into a Viking warrior. If he had been born elsewhere, even Frisia, he would have taken on that life, a different life, perhaps even following the Christian god.
She contemplated him anew. Life’s events formed a man, but didn’t that also mean further events could form him in another way? If he had the desire to change?
He dipped his spoon in and tasted the stew, smacking his lips in appreciation. “It seems you can do more than weave.”
“I can do many things, if but given the chance.”
His eyes darkened and his gaze dropped to her breasts. “Aye, I am certain you can.”
She blushed at his blatant meaning and flustered, she pointed to Bertrada. “May we eat now?” At his nod, she filled two bowls and got to her feet.
“Give your woman her meal, then sit here.” Thorvald pointed to the ground between him and Arni.
“I thought you wanted me to leave.”
“Not anymore. The meal pleases me, and you no longer scowl as if you sit on a patch of thorns.”
She obliged, stepping around the fire to hand Bertrada her bowl before returning to sink to her knees. Her mouth watered and, suddenly, she couldn’t spoon the food in fast enough. From the corner of her eye, she watched Thorvald. The meal must have pleased him, for he ran a finger around the inside of his bowl to scoop up the last bits of stew then licked it clean.
“Delicious,” he said.
“Thank you.” She grinned. “But anything would be delicious after weeks of nothing but dried fish and sour ale.”
He grinned back and it left her breathless. His warm gaze caught hers, drawing her in and bringing forth the memory of their kiss. Her lips tingled in remembrance, and she lifted her hand to her mouth to still the sensation. Avidly, he followed the movement as if he would snatch her hand and clasp it to his chest. He spoke only when she dropped her hand.
“Tomorrow we leave.”
“Are we sailing back to Frisia? Do you mean to attack more innocent people to get your gold?” She regretted the barb as soon as she said it, for certainly it would destroy the pleasant moment they shared.
Eyes narrowed, he glanced at her, then looked away into the embers of the fire. He must have chosen to overlook her unruly tongue, for he answered with a bland voice as if he too loathed breaking the pleasant moment they shared.
“Nay”. He shook his head. “We sail north, to my homeland. I’ve thought about what you said. About proving my innocence. I intend to do just that.”
Arni shifted closer and leaned over. “What you don’t know is it could mean his death,” he growled in her ear. “He’ll have to fight for his honor, as I doubt Wormtongue will admit to his part in the deception.”
A chill flooded Gisela;
her hands turned to ice. If Thorvald were to die, she would be alone in Agdir with no one but perhaps Bertrada and Arni to look out for her. Thorvald may be a Norseman, but he showed kindness and thoughtfulness for others in his care. Like giving her the sable robe she now slept under at night, and the antler comb. Too, he’d allowed her to bury Alda, and retrieved Bertrada for Arni.
To her surprise, he’d taken heed of her words and now sought to regain his good name by forcing the truth from Karl Wormtongue. If what Arni said was true, doing so could also very well mean Thorvald’s death. Then his death would be on her conscience.
He’s no stranger to death. Why does that concern me?
But it did. Only because what happened to him affected her directly, she reassured herself.
Certainly not because of any shift in her regard for him.
Chapter Fourteen
A jumble of sullen faces turned towards Thorvald the next morning when he stepped from his tent. He glanced around, a frisson of disquiet tickling his spine. Nasi, Jon, and the rest of his crew glared at him in the weak dawn light. Only Arni and Halldor hung back, Arni with an apologetic look on his face and Halldor a calculating one, as if he waited to see what happened before choosing sides.
“Does she come with us to Agdir?” Nasi stepped forward and pointed towards Gisela’s tent. “A few days ago, the Sea Queen almost sank with her and her women on board. Don’t you remember that?”
“But it didn’t, so why do you worry about that now?” Thorvald made his voice reasonable, not wishing to stir further unrest.
“If she comes, we’ll leave you here and find our own way from Hedeby.”
“You’ve wanted to return home, now we are. We’re only days of travel away. We’ll be in sight of land the whole time. What is there to fear?”
“What if Aegir still wants her? Then it doesn’t matter how close to land we sail for we trespass on his sea.”
“Aegir doesn’t want her. He let us pass before.”
“We’re not willing to take that chance.” Nasi gestured to the men standing with him. “You must leave her behind or we’ll not man your ship.”
“The Sea Queen has always proved her worth and she will continue to do so.”
“Nay. You’re a fool to risk the journey with the slave. We’ll not be part of it.”
Huzzahs of agreement met Nasi’s words and he surveyed the men standing around him, nodding all the while. Smugness oozed like greasy muck from his very pores, putting Thorvald’s teeth on edge.
“You fear a slave woman? What fine warriors you’ve become.” Scorn filled Thorvald’s voice and irritation curled his lip. “I leave as soon as we strike camp. You have until then to make your choice.” His right fist clenched. If only he had Silver Tooth, he could enforce his command over his men and no one would dare to rebel.
He turned away, back rigid and seemingly unconcerned. Inside, anger seethed. He welcomed the anger; it kept dejection at bay. The Sea Queen, a battle ship, needed thirty men to row. Even with her sail hoisted, he required the full number to maneuver the vessel through the waves.
How could he find men to serve as crew when he had not a coin to his name?
“What do you want to do?” Arni sidled over and gestured Halldor to join them. “Halldor sides with us. He misses his wife.” He jabbed Halldor in the ribs with an elbow and guffawed. Halldor shoved him back, sending the much shorter Arni sprawling to the ground.
“Pack up.” Thorvald flipped back the flap of his tent and grabbed the furs making up his bed.
Arni got to his feet. “You know I’m not talking about that. We can’t set sail with only the three of us and two slave women.”
“Women can wield an oar as easily as a man.” He rolled up the furs and tied them with a leather thong.
“And you man the tiller, so that leaves four of us for the oars.”
“Don’t forget the two we left to guard the ship.”
“Six then. It still isn’t enough.”
Thorvald turned. “Be still, Arni. I know we’re in a tough situation but I’ll not let them,” he gestured with his chin to the few men still standing around Nasi, the rest having drifted off once the hoped for altercation didn’t come to pass, “see our distress. We return to the Sea Queen as planned.”
“I hope you have some idea as to what we’re going to do,” muttered Arni, “because I don’t. I don’t know why you don’t sell her, get what you can for her and be done with this.”
Thorvald didn’t answer, instead continued dismantling his tent. A solution to his dilemma with the Sea Queen tickled his conscience, but he hadn’t the fortitude to meet it head on—it meant yet again giving up something he held dear.
Instead, why didn’t he sell Gisela as Arni suggested?
He faced the truth: because she intrigued him, baffled him, attracted him. Because the more he spent time with her, the less he knew about her. Because she was different and he didn’t know if a Viking woman would suit him after his time away.
But mostly because she was a challenge that, once crested, would be magnificent.
Enough. He shook his head. Enough on Gisela.
First, he decided, he would leave Hedeby behind. It had not been the pleasant, profitable diversion for him as hoped.
Then he would deal with how to get home with an undermanned longship while at the same time keeping Gisela from harm.
* * *
The journey west back to the Sea Queen passed much quicker than the journey east to Hedeby. Despite their late start due to dismantling camp, without the men on foot to slow them down, they crossed the peninsula in good time. The sun just began to set as they arrived, a brilliant blaze painting the clouds with bands of orange and scarlet.
Puzzlement framed the weathered faces of Bork and Magnus, the two left behind, as Thorvald and his small group pulled up to the beached ship.
“Where are the others?” Bork peered around Thorvald, as if he could find the rest of the crew hidden behind him. Obviously he suspected Thorvald of foul play, for he backed away a few steps, his thin frame stiff with suspicion.
“They’re not coming. They decided the delights of Hedeby were worthy of several more days. But we,” Thorvald slid off his horse, handing the reins to Arni, “are returning to Agdir.”
“How? We can’t sail with our small number,” Magnus piped up, voice hoarse and eyes bloodshot as if he had spent the last few days consuming nothing but ale and wine.
Which he probably had, surmised Thorvald. The beach had few attractions. So much the better, for it would mean the two would be bored and anxious to leave and therefore more inclined to go along with him. “I think we can.”
Bork frowned and grabbed his knife. “You toy with us.” He looked to Magnus, who put his fist on the hilt of the knife tucked in his belt before nodding in agreement.
“I’ll return the horses to the hostler,” said Arni, as if sensing a disagreeable discussion coming up.
“Do that.” Thorvald nodded. “Don’t let the man trick you with demands for further payment. We agreed upon a set sum at the time of hiring and he is paid.”
Arni waved to Halldor. “Bring up the ox cart.” He trotted off towards the hostler’s hut with its corral of woven saplings, holding all three horses by the reins.
“I have the means to get us back to Agdir.” Thorvald pulled out his own knife and made a great show of running his finger down its shiny blade before looking at Bork. “Have I failed you in the past?” He must convince Bork, for where Bork trod, Magnus followed.
“Nay.” Bork agreed.
“Do you not have a chest full of coins and other fine things to bring home with you?”
“Aye.” Bork agreed again, resentment showing in the set of his olive green eyes as he began to understand where Thorvald’s questions led him.
“Would you prefer to stay here?” Thorvald swept both arms to encompass the dunes and the beach. “As you can see, there is a woman behind every tree, just begging for your atte
ntion.”
Magnus guffawed, barrel belly shaking with the force of it. “Woman behind every tree? There are no trees.”
Thorvald chuckled. “Nothing escapes you, my friend.”
“I don’t see how the few we are will manage to take the Sea Queen home. How do you mean to hire men? There aren’t enough here to fill every oar.” Bork remained bullish.
“True.” Of course, Bork and Magnus had no idea of what had passed in Hedeby and that Thorvald couldn’t hire men, even if he had the wherewithal to do so.
“What sorcery do you have in mind to make it so?”
“Wait and see.”
Thorvald’s cryptic answer didn’t satisfy Bork. His eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted and he swept Thorvald up and down with a searching glance.
“If you think you can find another way home, do it.” Thorvald shrugged as if he had no care what Bork and Magnus chose to do. The seconds ticked by but Thorvald kept his face blank. No need to let them know how much he actually relied on their compliance. They’d already earned enough riches, the promise of more wasn’t necessary. He could only hope they were ready to go home and would consent with his idea to get there.
“Very well.” Bork nodded and Magnus, after a sideways glance at Bork, began to nod too, jowls shaking with the force of it. “We’ll stay with you. But no tricks, or you’ll have my axe to answer to.”
“No tricks.” Thorvald turned and walked away, relief turning his stomach to mush. Now he could deal with his plan for the Sea Queen. Not one he cared to follow, but losing his crew left him with no choice.
* * *
At Halldor’s curt nod, Gisela and Bertrada tumbled from the cart. They stood there, stretching the stiffness and discomfort of the journey from their muscles while they watched the cart lurch away, with Halldor urging the ox on with a well placed kick every now and again when the beast slowed.
“I’ve had enough of travels,” said a weary Bertrada. “I welcome the day I can sit by the fire and tend to my mending.”
A Heart Enslaved Page 11