by Kris Tualla
With their unsteady balance thus fortified, the men trudged up the hill together, into the courtyard of Hansen Hall, and approached the front door. Rydar grasped the heavy latch and pushed the carved wooden portal open.
They were met in the entry hall by both of their wives.
“I take it you were successful today?” Grier drawled in Norse. Her amused expression acknowledged his inebriated state.
Rydar straightened and met her eyes—both pairs of them. “Aye.”
Drew straightened as well and grinned at Eryn. “We caugh’ the bastards.”
Eryn approached her husband, her expression more severe than Rydar would have expected.
Then she pulled her hand back and walloped him.
Chapter Fifteen
June 14, 1359
Eryn carried a tray into the rooms where she and Drew were lodged at Hansen Hall. Her husband looked miserable, and she had to admit she found a bit of satisfaction in the fact. She set the tray on a table a little harder than was necessary, and threw open the curtains.
Drew moaned and rolled away from the light.
“I’ve brought your breakfast.” Eryn walked around the bed, trying to look her husband in the eye. “Will you eat?”
“Ne’er again,” he mumbled.
Eryn folded her arms across her chest, but resisted tapping her foot. “Will you tell me what happened yesterday that brought you and my cousin home in such a state?”
Drew hoisted one eyelid to half-mast. “We were heroes.”
“So you found the horses?”
The lid closed. “Aye,” he grunted.
“And the thieves?”
Another grunt, “Aye.”
She leaned closer. “Where are they?”
Drew heaved a shaky sigh. “A man took them to his home to lock them up until the ship comes.”
Eryn frowned. “What ship?”
Drew rolled onto his back. His eyes blinked open. “What has gotten into ye, woman? Can ye no’ see I’m unwell?”
Eryn lifted a brow. “It’s your own fault.”
“No, it’s the Viking’s fault.” Drew cleared his throat. “He’s the one who agreed.”
Eryn sat on the mattress. “You aren’t making any sense!”
“Because I’m still half plaistert.” Drew groaned again. His cheeks paled. “Get a basin.”
Eryn jumped from the bed, crossed the room, and grabbed the ewer from under the pitcher. She handed it to her husband just in time to catch the sour-smelling remnants being heaved from his belly.
In spite of her anger, she had to take pity on the poor man. She retrieved the ewer when he finished, then wet a towel and washed his pale face. He leaned back against the wooden headboard.
“Can you tell me the story now?” she asked quietly.
Drew glanced at the tray of food. “Is there bread?”
Eryn turned to the tray and tore a chunk from the loaf. “Butter? Cheese?”
He shook his head.
Eryn sat on the mattress again and watched him chew his bite of the dry, stomach-soothing food. She decided to wait until he finished his story before she confronted him with hers.
She drew a calming breath. “Tell me what happened.”
“Rydar tracked the horses and we found them tethered in a pasture. Right where he thought they might be.” Drew took another bite.
“We hid in the croft and waited for them,” he said around the bread.
“And?” Eryn prompted when he swallowed the bite.
“And there were three of them. Swedes.” Drew took another mouthful of bread.
“Swedes?” Eryn repeated, surprised. “What are they doing here?”
Drew gave her a funny look, the chunk of bread bulging one unshaven cheek. “Stealing horses.”
Eryn would have smacked him if wasn’t so pitiful at the moment. “Why Arendal?” she said slowly.
Drew shrugged and shifted the lump of bread to his other cheek. “We didna discuss it.”
Eryn brushed crumbs from the front of his shirt. “That explains the ship.”
“Aye. Someone will come back for them.” he pointed the last piece of the bread at her. “And we’ll be ready.”
Eryn chewed her lip, summoning the courage to delve into the topic which robbed her composure for most of yesterday.
Drew beat her to it. “Why’d ye wallop me?”
Eryn blinked. “Why?” she stalled.
“Aye. I don’t ever drink like that, and ye ken.” He rubbed the offended cheek, which sported a faint bruise under the black stubble of his beard. “Were ye that angry?”
The time had come.
Eryn hesitated, wondering how best to start. “Why did you lie to me?” seemed as good a place as any.
“Lie to ye?” Drew wagged his head slowly. “When did I lie to ye?”
Eryn leaned forward, pinning his golden gaze. “You never told me about you and Grier.”
A wash of understanding flushed Drew’s face. “I didna lie,” he clarified. “I just didna mention it.”
“And don’t you believe you should have?” she yelped.
He winced. “I didna see a reason.”
“No reason?” Eryn was incredulous. “You asked her to marry you, she turns you down, and then you bring your second choice under her roof?”
Drew pushed himself up to sit straighter. “Ye were never second choice, Eryn. Ye ken that.”
“I don’t know what I ken,” she grumbled.
Drew reached for her. “She wasna truly suited for me. But if I hadn’t considered marriage when I did, I might not have worked so hard to win ye.”
Eryn leaned back, out of his reach. “You still should have told me.”
Her husband’s hands fell to his lap and his brow wrinkled. “And why was Grier talking about it?”
“I asked her why you and Rydar don’t—well, didn’t—like each other.” Eryn sat a little stiffer. “First, she said you suspected him of being a spy.”
Drew huffed. “Ye should have seen the man, Eryn. He was nothing but a scraggy mess!”
That caught her attention. “What do you mean?”
Drew popped the last bite of bread in his mouth and spoke between chews. “He was thin, ragged, and he didna speak English. Grier said he was educated, but there was no way to judge.”
“He was worthless in your eyes.” Eryn pressed her lips together, Grier’s claim that Drew was dismissive of the Norseman ringing in her ears. She considered her next words with care. “So when Grier chose him over you, your pride must have been mightily stung.”
“She didna say that was the reason,” he confessed. “But I had those thoughts on my own.”
Eryn net Drew’s gaze. “Did you love her?”
“No.” Drew wagged his head slowly. ”After I met ye, I kent what love was. No’ before.”
She allowed a small smile. “That’s a good answer, Lord Drummond.”
He tipped his head. His gaze warmed. “Forgiven, then?”
“Not yet.”
“Ah.” Drew nodded and leaned forward. “Eryn, my dearest love. I am truly sorry I didna tell ye of this. I should have done so.”
“Is there anything else?” she prompted.
He looked contrite. “Aye. I’m sorry ye had to learn of it from Grier.”
“Do you have any other secrets you are keeping from me?”
Drew fell back against the headboard. “If my head was functioning, and no’ threatening to fall off my shoulders, I might think of something. But at the moment, no.”
Eryn sighed. “Forgiven then.”
A corner of his mouth curved. “I’d kiss ye lass, if my mouth didna taste like the floor of a crowded stable.”
She chuckled. “More bread?”
“Aye. Thank ye.”
Eryn got up to get him another chunk of bread.
When she gave it to him, he took hold of her hand. “I promise ye, I’ll no’ keep anything from ye again.”
“I was so embarras
sed,” she admitted. “And Grier? She was so distraught, I felt terrible for her as well.”
Drew blanched. “I suppose I must apologize to her, then.”
“That would be a kindness,” Eryn agreed. “And it would certainly clear the air for the remainder of our stay.”
Drew nodded and slumped down onto the pillows. “Might I have a wee bit of rest afore hand?”
Eryn brushed his thick black hair from his brow. “I’ll close the drapes and come back for you in a couple hours.”
Drew kissed the hand he still held. “I love ye, Eryndal Drummond.”
She smiled at her handsome husband. “And I love you, ye sodden Scot.”
Chapter Sixteen
June 17, 1359
The ship returned three days later. Rydar saw it from the bluff, resting at a distance, partially hidden behind an outcropping in the fjord. While he watched for any sort of indication as to what the boat’s captain intended, he heard footsteps approaching from behind him.
Rydar turned to his right.
Drew stepped up next to him, his eyes on the water. “Are ye thinking that might be the Swedes—the svensker?”
Rydar nodded, appreciating the knight’s attempt at Norsk. “Aye. The boat sits and doesna come to the dock.”
“There must be a signal,” Drew posited. “A way for the captain to know it’s time to dock.”
Rydar shaded his eyes and squinted at the distant ship. “We go talk to svensker and ask.
Drew snorted. “And ye think they will tell ye?”
Rydar faced the knight. “They want to live.”
“Ye still plan to sail them to Áslo?” Drew clearly doubted the wisdom of that possibility.
“Aye.” He planned to make a gift of the Swedish boat to King Haakon. The king could decide whether to return the ship to his father’s kingdom, or add it to his own fleet.
Either way, the Hansens of Arendal would be viewed with favor by the occupants of Akershus Castle.
Rydar turned away from the bluff. “Come get horses.”
***
Johansen’s property was a mile and a half east of the center of Arendal, and also bordered on the water. Rydar and Drew rode up to the large granite and log house—one that sported a thick sod roof. While Hansen Hall was built of stone during Viking raids, Johansen’s estate was modern and constructed during more peaceful times.
The men dismounted. Drew stayed with the horses while Rydar strode up the granite steps and pounded on the door.
Johansen appeared in the portal. “Ah, Hansen. So you’ve come for the thieves.”
Rydar shook his head. “Only to talk to them at the moment. I believe their ship is in the fjord, but won’t approach until a signal is given.”
“And you’ve come to get that signal from them.” Johansen shrugged. “Come. I’ll take you to them.”
Johansen barked an order and a young boy came forward to hold Rydar and Drew’s horses. The three men walked toward the barn—also made of stone and logs with a sod roof. The survival of the animals required protection from Norway’s winter elements, just as much as their human owners did.
“I’m afraid you will only find two men here,” Johansen said carefully.
“Two men?” Rydar said in English for Drew’s sake. “Why? Hvorfor?”
“The one with the bashed-in head died yesterday.”
Rydar translated the words to English before he asked, “And the body?”
Johansen jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Buried at sea.”
Rydar turned to Drew but the knight held up a hand. “I understood that.”
Inside the barn Rydar smelled blood—and the sickening hint of rot. He guessed correctly that the man with the gash in his thigh was not doing well.
With a quick glance at Drew, Rydar addressed the pair of thieves. Swedish was similar to Norsk, so if he spoke slowly and used small words he expected to be understood.
“Your boat is in the fjord.”
The man Rydar hobbled sneered up at him. “What boat?”
Rydar rested his hands on his hips and gave the thief a patient look. “Do you want to die here as well?”
“No.” The second thief shifted in his spot on the barn floor and winced. His pale face gleamed dully with a thin layer of sweat. “I don’t.”
Rydar shifted his gaze to that man’s. “Then tell me the signal.”
“What signal?” the first man challenged.
Rydar didn’t look at him, but kept his eyes pinned to the sick man. “To let them know they should meet you.”
His gaze cut to the hobbled man. A shiver shook through his body. “Oli, I might die. We already lost Dag.”
Oli spat on the dirt floor.
The thief faced Rydar again. “Two torches. East of town, where the horses can walk into the water. At two hours past sunset.”
Rydar’s mind walked the shoreline until he found the spot. He had not considered the possibility when he was talking to the harbor master, but if the boat came close enough, the horses could swim out to meet it and be hoisted aboard. The plan was brilliant.
He nodded. “We will come back for you after we take the boat.”
“What then?” The thief looked desperate.
“We sail you and your boat to Áslo.” A pang of empathy prompted Rydar to add, “My wife is skilled at healing. I will have her look at your wounds.”
Relief washed over the man’s expression. “Thank you.”
***
“Did ye ask if the ship signals back?” Drew handed Rydar a torch once their fire was started.
Rydar looked up from the little flames and his brow creased in concern. “No.”
Drew shrugged. “They want to be rescued. They would have mentioned that, if it was required.”
“Aye.” Rydar blew on the fire and held the tip of his torch into its center.
Drew ran his fingers over the jeweled hilt of his blade. Rydar was armed as well—with the Scottish long sword the Viking carried away from Durness Castle. Both men had daggers tucked into their boots, and each had a bow and arrows.
At Hansen Hall they donned simple garb similar to what the thieves wore, and their bare-backed horses stood nearby as bait. Drew had suggested they trick the sailors into coming as close to the steep shoreline as possible before launching their attack.
Rydar agreed, and provided the additional weaponry.
Their plan was to meet the little boat which would be sent from the ship. But instead of the thieves boarding and swimming the horses out to the ship, he and Rydar would remove the sailor and row back to claim the vessel by force.
Drew expected that the surprise of their appearance would work in their favor, allowing the two men to quickly subdue the crew. After observing Rydar’s skill in hunting and fighting, Drew claimed the Norseman would make a fine knight—and then toasted the fact.
At least, he thought he did. That night’s celebration was still a bit fuzzy in his memory.
Rydar stood up, his torch blazing in the dusky air.
Drew lowered his brand into the fire. “Are ye ready, Viking?”
Rydar’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “Aye.”
The men placed themselves about ten feet apart and raised their torches over their heads. And then they waited.
In the not-quite-darkness of the Norwegian summer night, Drew could see the boat begin to move forward. A dozen oars stuck out of her sides, and soon the soft and rhythmic splash of synchronized rowing wafted over the water to them.
Drew nodded to Rydar and they held the torches high until the rowing stopped. The ship dropped anchor less than a hundred yards from shore. A small skiff with a single passenger was lowered into the fjord.
Drew and Rydar doused their torches, lest the light of the flames reveal their true identities. To make their ruse more believable, each man led their horse toward the water’s edge.
The skiff glided toward them, the sailor’s back facing land as he rowed. Rydar pulled an arro
w from his quiver and raised his bow. Nocking the arrow, he pulled back the string and aimed.
“Now,” Drew whispered.
Rydar’s arrow shot forward and plunged into the base of the sailor’s skull killing him instantly and silently. As he slumped forward, Drew and Rydar waded down the steep incline into the fjord. They pulled the body out, and left it in the water, before they turned the little boat around and climbed in.
Each man grabbed an oar and started rowing. The skiff skipped over the calm, cold water as the distance to the ship shrank quickly. With their backs to the ship, Drew expected they wouldn’t be recognized until they climbed the ropes and appeared on deck.
When they bumped into the boat’s side, Rydar immediately dropped his oar and hoisted himself onto the roped web hanging from the ship’s railing. Drew followed, scrambling up the ropes as fast as he could. Both men kept their heads down so their faces couldn’t be seen.
A man above them shouted something that Drew couldn’t understand. He wondered which would be the better choice: answer and risk detection, or remain quiet and rouse suspicion. Rydar didn’t reply at first, but when the words were repeated, he did.
“Han er død!” Rydar grunted.
There was a pause. Drew held his breath.
“Död? Hur?” came the delayed reply. The words were not exactly the same, but close enough that Drew exhaled his relief.
Rydar reached the top and heaved himself over the railing a split second before Drew did the same.
For a moment, no one moved as the surprised sailors stared at the unexpected pair.
Then Drew unsheathed his sword.
Chapter Seventeen
“You are discovered!” Rydar bellowed as he brandished his sword. “We claim this ship in the name of King Haakon of Norway!”
Drew’s sword pierced the first man to come at him; blood spurted from the man’s chest wound and he sank to his knees.
“Lay down your weapons!” Rydar demanded, his stance at the ready. “You are our prisoners!”
Another man rushed forward. Rydar’s blade came down on his neck, nearly separating his head from his body. That man flopped face-first to the deck as his life spilled out in a dark and widening puddle.