“Lecturers from the local university. And those”—Hauk answered the next question before Keldan could ask it—”are Christian pilgrims, the ones in brown homespun wearing large crosses. They travel from city to city visiting cathedrals and the tombs of local saints.”
“What is a saint? And what is a university?”
“It will take too long to explain.” Hauk pushed him forward down the street. “Kel, you are supposed to be—”
“How much do you think these cost?” Keldan asked, moving forward only a few paces before he stopped at a booth selling exotic wooden sculptures. He finished the last of his eggs and licked his fingers.
“Never mind how much they cost. If you eat one more thing or buy one more souvenir, our ship will sink long before we reach home. You already have more boots, books, flasks, and food than you can carry. What you do not yet have is a woman. And may I point out,” Hauk added dryly, “you might find it difficult to carry one off with your arms full.”
“I cannot help it. I have never seen such... such...” Keldan paused, watching a troupe of acrobats go tumbling past.
“You have seen only the best of the city the past two days, Kel. Many of these people live in poverty, packed one atop the other. Fighting to survive. Killing each other on a whim.” As they walked on, he nodded to the many peasants and nobles around them who had missing limbs, blackened teeth, pox marks upon their skin. “Violence and illness are part of life in this place you are so busy admiring.”
Keldan stopped in his tracks and turned to face him, his expression suddenly serious. The crowd parted to flow around them in a noisy, jostling river. “We could help them.”
A pained grin curved Hauk’s mouth. Keldan sounded so earnest, as if he were the first man of Asgard to ever have that idea.
“Nei, my young friend, we could not.” Hauk shook his head. Keldan was still rather naive and softhearted. “We cannot take all of them with us. There are thousands of people in this city alone. And this is but one city. There are hundreds more like it scattered around the world.”
Keldan shook his head, as if he could not grasp even the idea of such a vast number of people. “But—”
“And we have a more pressing task before us, if you recall.” Hauk clapped a hand on Kel’s shoulder, pushing him forward once more. “You and the others are to steal the women at twilight. We are supposed to rendezvous back at the ship in little more than an hour.” He directed Keldan’s attention upward, to where the sun dipped low in the sky. “Everyone but you is ready. If you do not choose a female quickly, you will be returning home with naught more than boots and books to warm your bed.”
Keldan sighed, his gaze flitting from a pretty dairymaid to a blond silversmith’s daughter. “That is the problem. Choosing only one. I do not understand how the others could make their selections so easily. If only I could stay another day, or two or three...”
“Nei, we have been here two days already. We must leave tonight, under cover of darkness so that no one can follow. That is the law.”
“But, Hauk, are you not always saying that some of our laws should be changed?” Kel asked hopefully as he traded a smile with a passing gypsy girl.
“None of us can change that particular law,” Hauk replied with soft bitterness. They could not be away from Asgard for more than six days. “Now choose a female and be quick about it. What about the wench selling apples you spoke to near the wharf? She held your interest longer than most of the others.”
“Ja, she was fetching enough, but there was a dullness about her, no spark in her eyes.”
Hauk sidestepped around a waddling flock of squawking geese. “Then why not the one who served our midday meal in that tavern? You could hardly take your eyes from her, and she was lively enough.”
“Pleasing to the eye,” Keldan said thoughtfully, “but with the intelligence of a sheep.”
“Sparks, liveliness, intelligence,” Hauk grated out impatiently. “What does it matter? One woman is more or less like the next in bed. Choose one.”
“It matters to me,” Keldan snapped. “I want a woman who will stir my heart as well as my loins. Mayhap if I were more like you, if I did not care about anything but...” He stopped himself, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I am sorry, Hauk. I did not mean that.”
“Nei, it is true.” Hauk shrugged. “And I regret to tell you it is a lesson you will learn yourself eventually. When you are older. We all do.” He turned a corner into an adjoining street. “The less a man feels, the better off he—oof!”
An unexpected impact knocked the breath from him as he collided with someone coming around the corner in the opposite direction. The blow knocked him backward a pace and knocked the woman—for the rushing whirl of skirts and soft curves that had hit him was clearly a woman—on her derriere in the dirt.
He bent to assist her, unnerved by an odd, dizzying sensation, as if the earth itself had tilted beneath his boots. She declined his offered hand and got to her feet without help. His head spinning, he scooped up a small object she had dropped.
“My apologies,” she sputtered, brushing filth from her skirts. “The fault was mine. I should have been watching where I was going, but it took so long to find the toymaker and...”
As she glanced up at him, she seemed to forget the rest of her sentence.
Hauk could not draw a breath, could not tell whether it was from the collision, the unfamiliar sensation wreaking havoc with his mind and body—or the fact that he was gazing down at the most strikingly lovely and utterly unkempt lady he had seen in...
In his entire memory. A silky riot of curls the color of ginger and nutmeg almost concealed a flawless, heart-shaped face, cheeks flushed with excitement, eyes a bright, vivid green. She looked as if she had just tumbled from a man’s bed. His heart missed a beat, then started to pound.
The direct way she stared up at him was not in the least ladylike, though her fine velvet garments clearly marked her as a noblewoman. And though it seemed impossible, she even smelled of those same precious spices; he distinctly caught the scent of ginger.
He could not reclaim his balance. Nei, the unnerving, breathless feeling only became more intense as she returned his gaze.
Even the air around him—between them—seemed to shimmer with a heat, a brightness, as if the sun suddenly blazed hotter in this place where they stood so close together.
She held out one slender hand, her eyes never leaving his. “I... I will need that back.”
Her voice matched her face and figure, infinitely soft and feminine, yet strong at the same time. Hauk could not coax his tongue to form words.
Keldan—curse him—offered no help at all.
The lady tilted her head to the side and a single spice-colored lock of hair dipped engagingly over one eye. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” she asked him in German. “Parla l’italiano? Spreekt u flamande—”
“I do indeed speak those languages, demoiselle,” he replied at last in fluent French. “But I speak yours as well.”
For some reason, his voice seemed to render her mute. Her lips parted soundlessly and she reached out to her right, as if expecting to find something solid to steady her rather than empty air.
Hauk took her hand in his, surprised by his own gallantry, even more surprised by the unexpected heat that seared through him, a feeling like desire yet far more powerful. Consuming. It startled him like a bolt from above.
She withdrew her hand quickly, lips forming an O of shock, as if she too had felt something startling. She stepped back from him a pace, her gaze moving over his features, his eyes... almost as if she recognized him. “A-are you one of the wedding guests at Baron Ponthieu’s chateau, sirrah?”
“Wedding?” Hauk could not persuade his brain to supply aught more than that one word.
“I feel as if we have met before,” she said breathlessly.
“Nay, that is”—he willed his heart to slow down—“impossible. I would—”
“Remember you,”
they both said at the same time.
The lady shook her head abruptly, as if awakening from a dream. Looking down, she held out her palm once more. “I-I would like that back, please.”
When he did not comply, she shifted her other hand in a subtle movement, resting it on the lush curve of her hip—near a knife she wore sheathed at her waist.
Hauk blinked down at her, bemusement cutting through the other feelings crowding his senses. Did she actually think to threaten him? The idea that this slip of a female, who barely came to his chin, who could be no more than two and twenty, thought to pose any danger to a man of his size... What a bold little Valkyrie!
Opening his fingers, he glanced down at the object in his hand: a small toy. A brightly colored spinning top.
His brow knit in puzzlement, he held it out toward her. She plucked it from his palm, her fingertips just grazing his skin this time.
“Th-thank you,” she said uneasily, stepping back another pace, her eyes searching his once more. “I am sorry for the trouble.” Tucking the little toy into the coin purse on her belt, she hurried past him into the crowd.
Keldan, who had remained silent through the entire exchange, started to chuckle. “I believe we have room in the longboat for her, Hauk. For that one, we could most assuredly make room—”
“Nei.” Surprised to find himself speaking in a whisper, Hauk repeated the word more firmly. “Nei. I have no need... I do not want...” Someone brushing past them dropped a coin in his upturned palm, and he abruptly realized he was still holding his hand out in front of him.
Annoyed with himself, he tossed the coin aside and clenched his fist. “I told you before, I am only here to watch over you and the others—”
“Ja, that is what you said. But a man does not trip over a lady like that every day. Sparks, liveliness, intelligence... I think she merits a second look. Hurry, before she gets away from you.”
Before Hauk could gather his scattered wits, Keldan was running off in the direction the green-eyed demoiselle had gone.
Spitting curses, Hauk chased after him, catching up at the end of a broad lane full of merchants. The crowds were thinning as the tradesmen closed their stalls for the day, folding down awnings and fastening shutters while the sun’s light began fading in a blaze of twilight.
His friend stood staring at a booth on the opposite side of the street, an awestruck smile on his face. “Look at her, Hauk. Just look at her.”
“I have already seen her close enough. I have the bruises to prove it. You—”
“Nei, not that one. That one.”
Hauk turned to see what had so captivated his friend: a petite brunette standing at one of the merchant’s stalls, her hands moving animatedly as she chatted with the proprietor and her fellow customers. The girl’s sparkling laugh carried over the noise of the crowd.
“A voice like music and the body of a goddess,” Keldan whispered as if barely daring to say the words aloud for fear she would vanish. “And her laughter... her sweet face. She is charming. She is perfect.”
“She is well protected. Or did you not notice the armed guard beside her? Trying to carry that lady off would only win you a blade in the belly.”
Keldan blinked at the guard as if he truly had not noticed before. Frowning, he set his many souvenirs at his feet. “There must be a way... but wait. What is this?”
He elbowed Hauk in the ribs as the green-eyed demoiselle came into view, appearing beside the brunette.
“Look! It appears that my lady and yours are friends.” Keldan’s smile returned. “Do you not agree now that we must have them? Surely Odin himself has guided us here.” He glanced up at the deepening sky. “The sun is almost down. We could take them both and—”
“I do not want that demoiselle or any other. Have you not heard a word I have said? You have never seen what a sword can do to a man. I have. It is too dangerous, Kel. Forget her.”
“Nei, you told me to choose and I have chosen. That is the woman I want.”
Hauk caught him by the shoulder, tried to turn him away. “You will find another.”
“Nei, Hauk, I—by Thor’s hammer!”
The alarm in his voice made Hauk look over at the stall just in time to see a familiar, hulking figure heading straight for the girl Keldan admired.
Keldan swore vividly. “Thorolf!”
~ ~ ~
Josette felt a shadow fall over her, blocking what little daylight was left. She had been listening intently to Avril, who was upset about some misadventure she had had in the street—but they both turned, gasping, as a towering, dark-haired man appeared suddenly from behind them.
Josette guessed him to be a trader of some sort from his simple clothes. But his eyes, the blackest she had ever seen, fastened on her in a way that chilled her blood.
“Sirrah?” She cringed away, trying to step out of his path only to come up against the hard wooden counter of the booth.
“What is it you want?” Avril demanded.
Their guard stepped forward, his tone challenging. “Be off with you—”
Josette screamed in fear as the stranger shoved the guardsman aside and grabbed her.
He tossed her over his shoulder, the impact and his rough hold knocking the breath from her. Panic seized her. She heard Avril cry out in alarm. Saw the guard leaping forward to defend her—but the stranger drew a sword and dispatched him with a single thrust. The crowd in the street shouted in terror and scrambled for safety.
A scream of shrill terror rose in Josette’s throat as the man brandished his sword at any who would dare challenge him and started to carry her away.
~ ~ ~
Shocked and furious, Avril snatched her knife from its sheath. Barely even aware of what she was doing, she launched herself forward to help her friend.
“Release her!” she cried, attacking the black-haired knave, dodging beneath his sword as it sliced toward her head. Slashing out, she wounded his arm.
With a sharp curse of pain and surprise, he lost his grip on his weapon. It clattered to the ground. He let go of Josette to fend off Avril, snarling at her in a language she did not know.
“Run, Josette! Run!” Avril danced backward, trying to hold his attention but stay out of reach, her knife raised in front of her.
Suddenly a second dark-haired man appeared—the companion of the blond trader she had run into only moments ago. Her heart leaped that this good Samaritan would rush to their aid.
But in that second that she was distracted, the hulking stranger smashed her across the face with his fist. Pain exploded through her jaw as she spun and fell to the ground, her weapon flying from her hand. Dazed with pain, her ears ringing, she could not believe what she saw as she lay sprawled in the dirt, blood in her mouth.
The “good Samaritan” was not rushing to their aid. He was carrying Josette away over his shoulder!
The knave who had attacked them roared something in that odd language, clearly furious at losing his prize. Then he turned on her, fury blazing in his black eyes as he grabbed his sword from the ground, the blade dripping scarlet.
Numb with terror, Avril tried to scramble backward but her limbs would not obey her. The world turned hazy in her vision. The ringing in her ears became a buzz that blocked out all else.
She was defenseless, her knife gone. He lifted his blade to slice her in two. She shut her eyes, a single word filling her mind and heart. Giselle.
But before he could touch her, someone grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet. A muscular arm circled her waist. She felt herself pulled backward against a hard, male chest. Her rescuer shouted something in that guttural language—the same words twice, his tone clearly threatening as he brandished a sword at her attacker.
Then the pain in her jaw pulled her down into a fog that darkened her vision, and she went limp in his arms.
~ ~ ~
Silence hung over the longboat as they left Antwerp and its violence behind. The coast was naught more than a slim, da
rk line in the distance now, a strong wind carrying them swiftly out to sea, beyond the reach of those who had tried to stop them. The only sound came from the lapping of the waves.
And the last, labored breaths of the man who lay dying.
“It could have been worse,” Thorolf said with a growl, sitting amidships.
“Worse?” Hauk pierced him with an icy glare. “Worse than almost starting a riot? Worse than a dozen men chasing us all the way to the wharf? Worse than having one of our companions killed and another mortally wounded?”
Thorolf fell into a sullen silence. Hauk looked down at Bjarn, frustrated that the young man’s life was slipping away and he could do naught to stop it. He offered what comfort he could but knew words would not be enough to ease the wounded man’s suffering—or that of the young raiders gathered around their fallen comrades in the ship’s bow, their faces grim and etched with disbelief.
“Will we reach Asgard in time?” Keldan asked desperately, glancing from Bjarn to the other man’s still form, covered by a blanket. “Will he recover?”
“Nei, Kel,” Hauk said quietly.
Keldan’s expression became stricken.
Coughing, Bjarn opened his eyes, gripping Hauk’s forearm. “She is... beautiful, ja?”
“Ja, that she is,” Hauk replied, knowing the young man was referring to the red-haired English girl he had chosen. Even wounded, Bjarn had managed to carry her safely aboard.
“Would have made... a fine... wife.” His mouth curving in a peaceful smile, the young raider breathed his last, his eyes on the stars.
“Nei,” Keldan whispered. “Nei, this cannot be!”
Jaw clenched, Hauk gently closed Bjarn’s eyes and pulled a blanket over him. “It will not help to keep watch,” he said gruffly, addressing Keldan and the others who remained huddled around the two friends they had lost. “They will not awaken again. See to your women.”
For a long moment, the raiders seemed unable to move. One whispered a prayer to Tyr, the god of war. Another cursed. Then, one by one, the silent, anguished men of Asgard moved to starboard and port and into the stern, returning to the brides they had won at such great cost.
His Captive Bride Page 3