Loving the Norseman: Book 1: Rydar & Grier (The Hansen Series - Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  Love?

  Aye, there it was. With a painful wallop of her heart, Grier realized she loved the stubborn Norseman. And she loved him with all of her being.

  How long?

  Since she first saw him and pulled him from the North Sea. Once she acknowledged it, it became an irrevocable part of her, an inevitable shift of direction. Her life transformed in both form and purpose. Her chest warmed with relief and clotted with fear.

  Should she tell him? Might it make him stay? Judging his mood Grier approached Rydar slowly, a package gripped behind her. He turned at the sound of her steps.

  “Grier,” he whispered.

  “Happy birthday, Rydar.” She offered him the package. It was the biggest risk to any future she might yet have with him and she wondered if she was in truth a fool.

  He accepted the small bundle. “What this is?”

  Grier knelt close beside him on the ground. Her knees rested against his thigh. “Open it.”

  Rydar untied the twine and the cloth wrapping fell away. He lifted the circular instrument with a slow reverence usually reserved for the communion cup.

  “Is a kompass.” He looked at her with disbelief. “You give me a kompass?”

  “Aye.” Grier smiled past her burgeoning fear.

  Rydar’s brow twitched. He ran his hand through his hair. “I do no’ have words.”

  Grier lowered her lashes. “Do you require words?” she whispered. Then she raised her gaze to his again.

  Rydar set the compass on the ground with exceeding care, and then pulled Grier to him. Her arms circled his waist and she lifted her mouth to his. He tasted of ale and meat, and his beard tickled her chin. His tongue tousled with hers. His fingers twisted in her hair.

  Rydar kissed her with such tender longing that she wondered if he might discern her heart. When their kisses ended she leaned into him. His heart thudded in her ear and his chest swelled and shrank with slow, easy breaths. She rested, content in his arms and his gratitude, glad for this moment that he was hers alone.

  Should she tell him that she loved him?

  No. No’ yet.

  ***

  Merchants packed their unsold wares and took down their tents in deflating billows of color. An enormous fire was built at the north end of town closest to the sloping, sandy chyngell. Sinews of discordant tones echoed off the houses as musicians tuned their instruments.

  The sun burnished the remaining clouds in colors that echoed the celebratory flames, then dipped below the northwest horizon to begin her several-hour swim to the northeast side. Grier and Rydar walked together through the rowdy crowd. He took her hand and held it tight, keeping her close as he ambled with her through the deconstructed Mercat.

  “Is good day, Grier,” he said. “Very good day.”

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  Rydar paused. “Aye.”

  “Me, too.” She rested her head against his upper arm. Leaving the celebration behind, they continued to walk north toward the sea until they reached the sand. Grier stopped and turned to Rydar.

  He took her face in his hands. His lips lowered to hers. Soft at first, they soon asked more of her and she answered without hesitation. A small moan escaped her and she gave herself over to his mouth, his tongue, the forceful caress of his breath on her cheek. He rocked in a circle while he kissed her, spinning slowly, and she lost any sense of where she was. She held him close, her body pressed against his, savoring heady sensations that nothing else, and no one else, had ever caused her to feel before.

  When the kiss ended, she knew it was time to tell him of her love. She pulled a deep breath to bolster her courage. “Rydar?”

  “Aye?” His gaze wandered over her features.

  She paused and tried to think past the roar of her pulse. “I—”

  “What, Grier?” Rydar brushed his knuckles along her jaw. Then he looked beyond her. Confusion furrowed his brow. “What that is?”

  His eyes widened. He gripped Grier’s shoulders so hard that she winced. His stare touched hers, and then soared above her again.

  “Wh-what?” She looked over her shoulder. “The boat?”

  Rydar pushed past her and loped unevenly toward the dark structure. Hidden from the main thoroughfare behind a withering and abandoned house, the vessel sat poised just beyond the water’s reach.

  He called back to Grier as she stumbled after him. “Who is boat?”

  “It belonged to Rabbie Campbell,” she said when she reached him. “He’s been dead these three years.”

  “Who is boat, now?” Rydar demanded. He wasn’t looking at her; he was pacing off the size of the boat and running his hand over her planks as he did so.

  “No one’s, I ween. He had no sons. No one’s touched it since he fell.” Grier’s growing unease had nothing to do with the prompted plague memories. Strangling fear began in her breast and twined up to her throat. Her knees went weak.

  “I build it, I finish it,” Rydar stated. His eyes glowed in the pale light. “Is my boat!”

  “Will you be a fisherman, like Rabbie?” Grier asked. Please God, let that be his new plan.

  He did not seem to hear her. “Twelve walks long and six wide,” he said. “That will do.” He leaned back and looked up at the mast. “Good.”

  He was climbing up the side, now. He straddled the edge and called down what he discovered. “Braces for top dekk, low dekk, and lagring in bottom. Only needs boards for dekks.”

  “Rydar?”

  He disappeared into the craft without answering. Grier heard the creak of straining rope and the rudder began to wag back and forth like the slow tail of an old hound. His cry of, “Works!” floated to the edge and spilled down on her.

  “Rydar!” Grier cried, frantic to reclaim his attention.

  His head reappeared and he grinned down at her. “My boat!”

  “Come down!” she urged.

  He threw his legs over the rim and lowered himself to arms’ length, then let go and dropped to the sand. He tumbled back and fell hard on his arse.

  “Ow!” he yelped.

  “Watch your leg and ye do no’ break it again!” Grier barked.

  He stood awkwardly and brushed sand from the back of his clothes.

  “Do ye plan to fish?” she asked again, trying to keep the panic from her tone.

  “What? No.” He stopped brushing off his clothes and his brow crinkled when he considered her. “Why you ask?”

  “The boat, Rydar! Why do you want the boat?” she demanded. Her tone sounded shrill, even to her own ears.

  He looked back over his shoulder at the half-finished structure, the ominous embodiment of her fear, and then faced her again. His levity evaporated. In the evening’s lavender light his eyes were colorless, their pupils dilated. His gaze fell to the sand at her feet. After a pace, it wandered up her form until his eyes met hers.

  Grier’s heart began to leap in protest, banging frantically against her chest. She couldn’t feel her legs. He looked at her so intently that she couldn’t breathe.

  She kent the answer before he said it and she felt her soul cleave apart.

  “I sail home, Grier. To Norway.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  There you are, Grier! And Rydar!” Logan’s voice called to them over the sound of crashing waves. Or maybe ‘twas the sound of her crashing hopes. “We wondered where you two got off to!”

  Grier forced herself to turn toward her cousin. Her head felt oddly heavy and she thought she might faint because her heart refused to keep a steady rhythm. Logan pulled a skipping Malise by one hand. The girl’s wide smile was echoed in Logan’s joyous expression.

  “We have news, Grier!” Logan said. The couple halted in front of her. “Do ye care to guess?”

  Grier wagged her head unevenly. Her mouth was dry as dead leaves and she wasn’t able to talk. Just as well. She couldn’t form a coherent sentence at that moment if her very life was dependent upon it. She sensed Rydar beside her but she couldn�
��t acknowledge him.

  “We are betrothed, of course!” Malise chirped. “We are to be wed!”

  “Can you believe it, Grier?” Logan laughed. “It happened so swift!”

  Grier knew she should speak now. It was expected. She levered her mouth open and hoped the appropriate words might tumble out on their own. They did not.

  Rydar stepped forward and held out his hand. “Good! Is very good, Logan!” Rydar said. The deep blade of his voice pricked Grier to speak.

  “Aye. God’s grace to you both,” she squeaked. It was hard to talk when she struggled just to keep breathing.

  “Thank you, Lady Grier. Sir Hansen.” Malise beamed at her intended. Logan looked inches taller and broader in his joy.

  “When?”

  The abruptness of Grier’s tone drew three puzzled pairs of eyes. She didn’t care. She needed to know how much time she had and she needed to know now.

  Logan cleared his throat. “In a month. We thought July twentieth.”

  “Aye. One month.” Grier didn’t recognize her own voice.

  “What are you doing over here by Rabbie’s boat, anyway?” Logan asked, as if he was suddenly aware that a world existed outside of his beloved’s smile.

  “I finish boat!” Rydar exclaimed.

  Logan nodded, and then frowned. “Why?”

  “I sail home. To Norway.”

  “Oh! Braw idea, Hansen! No one has touched the craft since Rabbie died. Most likely afeared of the plague, though it’s gone.” Logan gripped Malise’s elbow. “But come with us now, aye? Malise’s Da has brought out his best wines and the musicians are playing!”

  Logan and Malise turned and hurried toward the sounds of revelry, arms linked and heads together.

  “Grier?”

  Rydar’s voice sliced through any reserve Grier might have had. She jerked her chin up and met his worried gaze.

  “We go?” he asked.

  She bounced a nod. “Aye,” she growled. She stomped forward and didn’t care a wee bit if he followed or not.

  June 21, 1354

  Grier’s tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She blinked and squinted toward twin blades of sunlight that sliced in through her eyes, and out through her temples. Her bladder demanded to be emptied. Her stomach quivered dangerously.

  She rolled from her bed. The room tilted, the walls moved in and out, and the floor wobbled. Grier held one wall in place and squatted over the piss pot, all the while commanding her stomach to be still. It refused and she vomited sour wine onto the wood floor.

  “Shite,” she mumbled. She hadn’t the strength to clean it up. She crawled back to her bed and pulled a pillow over her face. Her forehead throbbed with her pulse.

  The last thing she remembered was convincing Logan to refill her wine goblet. She was still able to stand, she recalled, as long as she kept one hand on the table. She wasn’t drunk enough yet. She could still think. She could still feel. Her soul could still bleed.

  Oblivion finally arrived.

  Another memory swam through her befuddled mind: Rydar, carrying her up the stairs. How did he manage that with his leg?

  Must be better. Six—seven?—weeks. Aye.

  Then Grier remembered why. With a gasping sob, she sought the mindless solace of sleep once again.

  ***

  During last night’s celebration for Malise and Logan, Rydar met a young man speaking Norse. As he and the boy talked, possibilities bloomed.

  He was eighteen and had come to the Mercat with his sixteen-year-old brother and nineteen-year-old cousin. The three were fishermen from the Shetland Islands and they had come to Scotland to try and make their way. Rydar asked the young man to meet him at Rabbie’s boat this morning to discuss an arrangement that might suit all of them quite well.

  While he rode into Durness he thought of Grier. Logan’s announcement of his impending wedding had affected her much harder than Rydar would have expected. She was stunned to the point of speechlessness. True, Malise would soon be the lady of the castle; but Grier knew it was bound to happen. She told him as much.

  Then she purposefully tried to drink herself senseless, something he never expected of a woman like her. Even though Logan watered her wine, she was obviously not accustomed to drinking such a large amount. She managed to accomplish her goal in spite of her cousin’s efforts. When she could no longer stand, Rydar carried her to the cart and cradled her on the bumpy ride back to the keep. Then he bore her up the stairs and laid her in her bed.

  He stood over her, twisted her thick, disobedient hair out of the way, and stroked her cheek. Curled on her mattress she looked so small, so vulnerable. All her courage and determination seemed to have evaporated leaving behind a frightened woman, hurt and alone. Rydar longed to ease her pain and her fear, the way she helped to ease his. But how could he change her situation? With the serendipitous discovery of the boat, he was most definitely leaving Scotland.

  And leaving her.

  Rydar reined Salle to a stop. He didn’t move and barely breathed as the notion sprouted, grew and solidified.

  Take her with you.

  “I can’t ask Grier to leave everything she has ever known!” he blurted. Salle startled and sidestepped at his sudden and loud protestation. He patted her neck to reassure her.

  He had nothing to promise Grier. He didn’t know if he even had a home. A family. A position. An income.

  How could he, in good conscience, ask Grier to leave the only home she had ever known and follow him into definite uncertainty, probable danger and possible ruin? Ridiculous! Why would she even consider it?

  “No sane woman would do such a thing!” he declared. “Even for love!”

  Love?

  Again that possibility prodded him. Did he love Grier?

  “What is love anyway, Salle?” he grumbled to the mare, avoiding his own question. Her ears flicked back to him and her head bobbed. He knew he needed to answer that question first. Because if he didn’t love Grier, then he would simply thank her for all she did for him and sail away.

  But if he did love her, he must decide whether it was better to leave her behind, safe in her life’s home, or take her on his perilous journey to the country of his birth. And if he asked her to come with him, shouldn’t he offer marriage first? Wasn’t that necessary to preserve her reputation and assure her of his sincere motives?

  “I better settle my own course first, Salle.” Rydar nudged the mare forward. “But if today turns out as I hope, I’ll be in a promising position. Then, if Grier ever declares her love for me, I will surely ask her to consider joining me!”

  Grier must speak her love first, Rydar decided as he entered Durness. Only then would he be sufficiently certain of her feelings to present the possibility of her accompanying him; both into marriage, and into the precarious Norse unknown.

  ***

  Kristofer, a lanky, blond eighteen-year-old with a thick reddish beard, was waiting beside the boat, sitting in its shade. He scrambled to his feet as Rydar approached, looking inordinately relieved. He waved. Rydar halted Salle and dismounted.

  “Where are the other two?” Rydar asked. He tethered Salle to a sea-smoothed stump poking crookedly from the sand.

  Kristofer pounded his fist against the side of the boat. The banging of boot soles on wood preceded two bodies clambering over the edge of the craft. They dropped to the sand beside Kristofer and straightened, flanking him.

  “This is my brother, Lars,” Kristofer began. “He is sixteen and very strong.”

  Rydar nodded and extended his hand. “Rydar Hansen.”

  A stockier copy of his older brother, Lars gripped Rydar’s fist with the obvious intent of displaying his strength. “Sir.”

  Rydar suppressed both his grin and his grimace. The boy was strong indeed.

  “And this is our cousin, Gavin,” Kristofer continued. Gavin was darker than his cousins and a little taller. Rydar shook his hand as well, relieved not to be subjected to a second display of youth
ful manliness.

  “Has Kristofer explained to you what we discussed yester eve?” Rydar asked.

  The trio nodded in unison.

  “And are the terms amenable?”

  Gavin stepped forward. “I beg your pardon, sir, but am I to understand that all you require of us is to help you finish constructing this vessel and make her seaworthy?”

  “Yes. And then you sail with me to Norway as my crew when she’s completed.”

  Gavin glanced at Lars, then met Rydar’s eyes. “And once we have reached Norway, you will stay there and—”

  “And the boat belongs to you three. Yes.” Rydar smiled. “I’ll have no further use for her. She will be yours in exchange for your labors.”

  Relieved grins spilt the youthful faces.

  “I’ll arrange to purchase lumber from the carpenter today. We’ll begin to work tomorrow. And every third day, I’ll need to hunt in order to pay for supplies. You boys will work without me those days,” Rydar explained. “I plan to sail in a month or less. Is that satisfactory?”

  “Yes, sir!” Lars exclaimed.

  “One more thing, sir?” Kristofer shifted uneasily and glanced at the other two.

  “Yes?”

  “Sir, might we sleep in the boat?”

  Realization washed through Rydar. “You have no home here, have you?”

  Kristofer shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “But we can fish!” Gavin insisted. “And cook over a fire. All we need is a place to lay our heads.”

  Rydar nodded. “It might be quite prudent to have you sleeping here. Keep any mischievous ruffians away, eh? Yes. That’s a very wise plan.”