Avril gasped, overcome with surprise. With hope.
“Well, do not stand their gaping.” Nina motioned for Avril to join her and started down the street. “We may have little time to spare. Let us be on our way.”
“You mean to take me there now? Tonight?”
“Aye, unless you prefer to take your chances in the western forest.” Turning, Nina planted her hands on her hips. “I for one have no desire to end my days as a wolf’s toothsome tidbit.”
Avril moved forward a step, then paused, looking back. She could still see the glow of the celebration that lit the night sky, could hear the distant strains of music and laughter.
Nina released an exasperated sound. “Do you wish to escape or not?”
“Aye,” Avril said, her voice wavering, before she repeated it more firmly. “Aye.”
“Then come along, my dear.” Nina turned to lead the way through the darkened streets. “If all goes well, you will be leaving Asgard tonight.”
~ ~ ~
“I do not believe I have ever seen you clean-shaven, Valbrand. Ja, that is what seems different about you.”
“Can a man not change one aspect of his appearance without half of Asgard making comment?” Hauk grumbled, wishing everyone would stop noticing.
Hamar, the ale maker, laughed heartily as he refilled Hauk’s cup. “Nei, not if he has worn a beard for as long as you have.” He scratched at his own thick red whiskers, winking. “But then, a married man must think of his wife, must he not? Ladies are so accursed reluctant to kiss a man with whiskers.”
Hauk muttered an oath into his cup while Hamar moved on with his jug of ale. His uncle Erik, standing beside him, chuckled.
Hauk took a long drink and slanted him a glance. “I am so glad I amuse you, Uncle.”
“So am I,” Erik replied, in an unusually light mood tonight. “I had forgotten how enjoyable an evening such as this could be.”
Hauk scowled, wishing he were having so pleasant a time. It had been torture to sit beside Avril during supper, burning for her while she remained cool and remote and resisted all his attempts at conversation.
If he had dared think he might eventually persuade her to accept her life here, she had disabused him of that notion today. She would never accept Asgard. Or him.
He had taken her away from her child, an innocent little girl who would grow up an orphan because of what he had done—and for that, she could never forgive him. Not that he could blame her.
“You cannot begrudge everyone being happy for you,” Erik commented. “You have lived a solitary life for far too long, out on the cliffs. Our people are surprised and pleased that you have brought a new bride to Asgard. That you might at last have a family of your own.”
Hauk did not reply, seeing no need to explain that there was little chance of that happening. He was not about to discuss the real reason behind his churlish humor tonight, not with his uncle.
Erik Valbrand was normally aloof, stoic, and a rare visitor to such festive events; he was present tonight only because he needed to introduce the English girl, Blythe, to the island’s unmarried men, so that she might choose a husband.
At the moment, Blythe stood beside Keldan’s bride, who was cheering Keldan on in the wrestling matches that had begun after the strength competitions.
Hauk took another swallow from his cup. “My mind has been on my duty tonight, Uncle, not on courting my wife. I should think that would please you.” All night he had been watching the crowd for Thorolf, concerned that the black-eyed knave might come here to cause trouble. But thus far there had been no sign of him.
His uncle turned to regard him with a more serious expression. “You and your new bride seemed to be getting along well enough during supper.”
“We managed to be civil,” Hauk said curtly. “We are not getting along.”
“Indeed? And when do you intend to remedy that?”
Hauk bit back an oath, which only would have been drowned out by the cheers and shouts that rose as Keldan pinned yet another opponent to the ground.
Hauk winced as his bruised and battered friend rose and immediately motioned for the next challenger. Kel was trying to exhaust himself into unconsciousness. Which, as Hauk had tried to point out, would not help at all.
He should know, he thought ruefully—he had tried all day to do the same.
Only Josette would be able to ease poor Keldan’s suffering.
“You must give your wife time,” Erik advised. “Show her care and gentleness. And affection.”
Hauk pierced his uncle with a glare. “That is strange advice, coming from you.”
Erik Valbrand had shown precious little care or gentleness or affection while Hauk was growing up. He had always been determined that Hauk should be strong enough and tough enough not to repeat his father’s mistakes.
Not to chase his father’s dreams.
“Men can change,” Erik said, meeting his accusing glare without flinching. “You can change. You must have a son one day. There must be another Valbrand to carry on the tradition—”
“By all the gods,” Hauk swore, “that word again.”
“Ja. Tradition. One day you may wish to turn your attention to other pursuits, and there must be another ready to take your place and serve as vokter.”
“Are you so dissatisfied with how I have carried out my duties, Uncle?”
“Nei, that is not what I meant.”
“I have no intention of abandoning my post,” Hauk said flatly. “I am not my father. And as for my wife—”
He glanced behind him, to where Avril had been standing the last time he saw her, visiting with Marta and her family.
But she was no longer there.
Turning, he looked around, alarm slicing through him.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 13
“How am I to know what Thorolf would be doing with a boat?” Nina said in an impatient voice. “Do we really care to pause and ask questions at this moment?”
Avril stood blinking in the moonlight, barely able to believe what lay before her on the rugged strip of shoreline. She stared, speechless, her heart soaring at her good fortune.
Nina continued throwing aside branches and underbrush to reveal a small sailing vessel—single-masted, shallow-keeled, with a curving prow and stern. Mayhap a fishing boat, or a pleasure craft meant for rivers and lakes. It was about twenty paces long, sitting partly in the water. And it looked new.
“Mayhap Thorolf wished to take up fishing. He is always searching for some new way to amuse himself.” Nina found a heavy anchor stone that had been used to keep the boat from drifting out with the tide. “My friend sometimes comes to this secluded stretch of beach with her”—she flicked a look at Avril—”favorite companion, and she mentioned that the two of them saw Thorolf here late last night.”
As Avril moved closer, Nina started tugging at the rope knotted around the stone. “My friend said that Thorolf kept looking around nervously, as if afraid someone might see him. She could not think of what a man like him would be doing sneaking about the shore at such an hour, unless he was breaking one of our laws—”
“Such as the one against leaving Asgard.” Avril pulled back a length of canvas flung over the stern, uncovering a jumble of supplies. “Look at all of these barrels and chests, and baskets of food and...” She opened the lid of one trunk, to find it gleaming with jewels and coins. “He has a king’s ransom in riches here.”
“Is there drinking water?”
Avril uncorked a flask. “Aye. But what could he—”
“Good. That is all you will need for your voyage.” Nina tossed the anchor rope aside and placed both hands on the stern. “You must promise me you will not tell anyone about Asgard, little utlending, or ever try to return here. You must keep our secret.”
“Aye, of course, you have my word. But I cannot go tonight.” Avril was paralyzed by fear as she looked out across the black sea, toward the distant fog and those
towering rocks that stood ready to block her way. “I will leave in the daylight, on the morrow—”
“The boat could be gone by the morrow. There is no telling when Thorolf might move it. Whatever his purpose, he would not risk leaving it here for long—”
“But I would have to be mad to try to sail through those rocks in the dark!”
“The moon and stars are bright enough to guide you. And there is an easy passage at this part of the shoreline—just there.” Nina pointed to a towering pair of twin stones that poked up through the mist. “Aim for that spot and you will be free in a trice.”
Avril’s pulse seemed to roar in her ears, louder than the surf. Free. From the moment she had first awakened in Hauk’s bed, she had hoped and planned for this moment—but now the ocean and the jagged fangs of rock looked impossibly huge, and the boat so small.
She glanced up at the deserted cliffs high above her. She and Nina had been careful to slip out through the back streets, but their walk from town had taken less than half an hour. And Hauk was no doubt looking for her already. If he came this way—
“Utlending, there is no time for second thoughts,” Nina said emphatically. “You may never get another chance like this.”
Taking a deep breath, Avril turned and planted both hands on the port side of the stern.
“Finally.” Nina huffed. “Now push, little utlending. Push!”
“Aye aye, mon capitaine,” Avril muttered under her breath. Every muscle in her arms and shoulders and back hurt as she threw all her weight against the boat. Slowly she felt it sliding across the sand, one inch at a time. Straining with all their might, side by side, she and Nina managed to shove the small craft farther out into the water.
It slid forward, bobbing on the waves. Scrambling to keep her grip on the side, Avril sloshed through the shallows, grabbed the railing, and pulled herself up and over. She landed with a wet splat on the flat wooden thwarts that served as seats. “Nina”—she looked back over the railing—”in which direction am I to sail? Which way is it to the continent?”
“Southeast, of course.” Nina gave the boat one last shove. “You should reach your homeland in three days.”
Avril would have to trust that she was telling the truth about the direction, since she was telling the truth about the distance. “Thank you.” Sitting up, Avril took hold of the tiller, her heart thrumming with anxiety and excitement and gratitude and the first real hope she had felt in days. “I know you are breaking your laws by helping me.”
“Do not worry for me, utlending.” Nina almost had to shout to be heard over the crashing waves. “No one will know that I had aught to do with this. My friends are not about to hand me over to the council of elders.” Her smile flashed in the moonlight. “And in a few days, after Hauk accepts that you have truly escaped, I will go and console him. Now off with you. Quickly.” After a moment, she added, “The gods be with you and carry you safely to your daughter.”
Nina picked up her wet, ruined silk skirts with regal grace and hurried back toward shore.
Avril turned her attention forward, shivering from the icy water that soaked her gown, her stomach bobbing as violently as the boat. She had sailed often in her youth—but never alone on a three-day journey across the open sea. She had counted on having a crew of other women to help her.
She had counted on Josette.
Swallowing hard, she snatched up a rope and lashed the tiller to the railing to keep the ship on a steady course. She did not need anyone’s help. She would manage alone.
Quickly, one last time, she looked back, anguished that she had not even had a chance to bid her friend farewell. “Adieu, Josette,” she whispered. “Be happy.” Closing her eyes, she offered a quick prayer for her.
And added a plea that she herself would reach home and Giselle safely.
Then she stood and picked her way forward across the thwarts to take up the oars. Sitting amidships, she slid each oar into its pivot and started pulling on the smooth wooden handles.
But the tide was so strong, it felt as if she were trying to move a full-size warship all by herself. Her arms and back ached and her bare hands stung after only a few strokes. She kept at it, hauling on the oars, teeth clenched.
Yet all her work scarcely moved the boat forward a dozen yards.
She stopped trying to row, hanging her head, panting for breath. The boat was too large for a woman to manage alone. Too heavy to make any headway against the surf. She shut her eyes, unwilling to believe she had come this far only to be halted by the very ship that should be carrying her home.
Home to Giselle.
Her petite papillon, her sweet little butterfly... who might be crying herself to sleep even now, praying that her maman would return to her.
Avril lifted her head, flooded with determination. She would not let anything keep her from her little girl. Raising the oars, she pulled them back into the boat. Then she hurried aft, to the supplies Thorolf had stowed aboard.
He had lashed them in place. She yanked on the ropes and started dumping the chests and sacks and barrels over the side. One after another they hit the surface and sank. She was careful to keep the food and drinking water, but sent his riches and all the rest to the bottom of the bay.
The boat sat higher on the waves by the time she finished. When she reclaimed her place at the oars, she discovered to her relief that the lightened ship moved much faster over the water. Rowing still made her muscles painfully sore, but she began to gain distance from the beach.
With every rhythmic splash of the wooden poles against the water, Asgard faded into the night behind her, the island becoming naught but a dim shadow as she left it behind.
Left him behind.
She would never see Hauk Valbrand again.
Instead of bringing relief or happiness, that thought left her feeling strangely hollow inside. The idea of never again seeing one of Hauk’s slow, reluctant smiles, or hearing his husky voice, or being surprised by his gentleness, or losing herself in the heat of his kiss filled her with a confusing tangle of emotions.
She would miss him. It made no sense at all, but she would miss the man who had brought her here against her will and held her captive.
Glancing over her shoulder, she refused to think on it further. She was halfway between the shore and the fog-enshrouded rocks now. It was time to let out the sail. After taking in the oars, she leaped up and took a firm hold on the leech lines, yanking them free. The rectangular sail unfurled with a smooth snap and caught the wind.
Avril ducked under the foot of the sail as it swung around. The boat heeled hard onto its port beam, the rail dipping toward the sea. Struggling to keep her balance, she grabbed one of the halyards and made her way aft. She untied the rope she had knotted around the tiller and took a seat, using the halyard to hold the sail in place while grasping the tiller with her other hand.
Salty air and splashing, icy spray chilled her face and hands. The wind felt much colder this far out—and stronger. For a moment, she regretted throwing all of Thorolf’s belongings overboard. She should have thought to look for a cloak and gloves. She did not want to escape the island only to die of exposure.
It was hard to remember that it was autumn everywhere else, after experiencing the summery warmth of Asgard.
But she could not regret the speed she had gained. In full sail, the lightened boat glided over the waves as fast as a skate over the ice. And it was not as hard as she had expected to control both the sail and the tiller. She guided the boat toward the twin rocks Nina had pointed out.
With the sea breeze tangling her hair and the island now far behind her, Avril felt a rush of confidence.
Then the first tendrils of fog curled around the boat.
And the circle of dark, giant rocks loomed ahead of her all at once—much faster than she had anticipated. With a stab of alarm, she suddenly realized her mistake.
Dumping Thorolf’s supplies had helped her escape the pull of the tide, but witho
ut the extra ballast, the shallow-keeled boat was moving so fast that she would not have time to plot a safe path through the fog and the rocks, into the open passage.
She lunged for the sheets and leech lines to take up the sail. But before she could reach them, the wind shifted abruptly, sending the ship heeling over onto its opposite beam. Avril cried out, tumbling, the lines torn from her grip. The fog closed in, as swift and thick as a January blizzard. It blotted out the moon and stars. Left her in darkness.
Another gust of wind howled through the rocks and the boat skipped sideways, like a stone tossed over the waves by a mischievous child. She grabbed the rudder and held on with both hands. It fought her grasp like a living thing.
A fierce, cold draft blew in from leeward and she heard the sail rip. Looked up to see a towering wall of stone looming out of the mist off her starboard rail. A terrified oath tore from her. She threw her full weight against the tiller.
But she could not change course fast enough.
“Mercy of God!”
The boat’s side sheared along the rock. She felt the entire vessel shudder with the impact. Heard wood scraping. Splintering. And still the treacherous winds forced the battered craft onward.
Avril could barely see through the cloak of fog—but she felt water sloshing around her feet.
Water bubbling in through a hole in the boat’s side.
Stark terror drenched her. She relinquished her hold on the tiller, ran forward, and tore a gaping section of the sail’s canvas free from the snarl of lines. She stuffed it in the breach, desperately trying to staunch the flow of the sea into the boat’s wounded side.
For an instant, she thought of shouting for help—but knew she was too far from the island. The shore was deserted. No one would hear her.
And nay, she would not give up! Not while there was even a chance she might escape. She could do this!
For Giselle’s sake, she could—
His Captive Bride Page 17