by Kris Tualla
Margoh was in attendance of course, dressed in a blue silk gown. She wore a snood sewn with pearls, and a narrow strand of pearls slid between her breasts drawing the eye of every man she spoke to. The jillet sidled up to Rydar whenever the Viking stood still.
“It was a lovely wedding, was it not?” Margoh’s voice dribbled over Grier’s shoulder. She turned to face the older woman.
“Aye. Truly lovely,” she concurred.
Margoh glanced toward the young couple. “They’ll be happy together.”
Grier nodded slowly, wondering what Margoh was about. “I’m certain of it.”
“Well… I shall bid you farewell.”
“So soon?” Grier considered the angle of the sun. “There are hours of celebration, yet.”
Margoh laughed, her expression smug. “Of course there are! And I shall stay to enjoy them. I meant that I’m leaving Durness on the morrow.”
That was unexpected. “Are ye?”
“I am. I’m sailing to Norway.” Margoh tilted her head toward Rydar. “With him.”
Grier whirled to face Rydar, no longer concerned with Margoh. She caught him staring at her. His expression was strained and he considered her with sadness and longing. When her shock-widened eyes met his, he frowned and his gaze shifted to Margoh.
She had seen Rydar angry before. Enraged even, when Drew challenged him after Lars’ accident. But the cold hatred that now dilated his green eyes to black terrified her beyond reason. She had to get away. She had to run before that hatred might chance to turn against her.
Grier ran into the keep, up the stone staircase and slammed her chamber door, locking it. She slid her back down the far wall of her room until she was on the floor, her knees up and thighs pressed against her chest.
She didn’t answer when someone beat on her door and tried her latch. The horrible truth thrummed through her veins and destroyed every hope she held.
Margoh was sailing to Norway.
Margoh was going with Rydar.
Now what would she do?
***
The sky dimmed. Sounds of revelry faded. Grier emerged from her chamber, knowing she must play her role this one last night. Because after hours of silent agony she came to the conclusion that her adamant heart gave her no other choice. The reasons that brought her to this point were still compelling her, confirming her decision. Tonight she would ask Rydar to please take her on his journey.
Margoh could go straight to hell, for all she cared. Even if Rydar married the bitch.
Grier avoided Rydar as she thanked the wedding guests for joining the celebration. She skirted around Margoh while she gave instructions to the various servants. She stayed away from the dancing, and instead chatted with Malise’s slightly plaistert father and weepy-eyed mother.
And after Logan and Malise were escorted to the master bedchamber amidst bawdy bellows, and all of the wine casks were emptied, and the last of the guests was tied onto his horse and slapped toward town, Grier went to make herself ready.
She stood before her mirror and scrutinized her reflection. This night, more than any other in her lifetime, she must be at her very best. Too much was at stake. She loosed her hair so it curled unencumbered to her waist. The summer sun had combed the red with gold, while underneath, winter’s darkness gave it depth.
A woman’s hair is her glory, her Da’s words whispered from long past.
Sapphire eyes stared back at her. Dark, wide, frightened. She lifted her chin; there was her determination. Keep your chin up. There was no need to pinch her cheeks. They were flushed with embarrassment and would doubtless stay so.
Grier adjusted her gown and drew a resolute breath. “Get on with it, then. It’ll no’ get better with the keeping,” she whispered.
In the hallway, she brushed her fingers along the wall to keep oriented. The rush of blood in her ears and the relentless pounding in her chest pulled her from reality. She was in a dream, lightheaded and lost. She knocked on Rydar’s door, surprised when her knuckles made a sound.
“Grier!” Rydar’s mouth worked, but he didn’t seem to know what else to say.
“A word?” Her voice seemed so distant.
“Aye. Come.” He stepped back and opened the portal, his face a map of confusion and something else. Hope? She was vaguely aware that he was not fully dressed.
“I’m sorry to disturb your sleep.”
“I’m not sleeping.” In truth, candles lit the bedside table. A parchment waited there, the quill leaking ink over the words. He followed her gaze then hurried to set the quill aright. He folded the ruined document in half and tossed it into the banked fire. It flamed up, a burst of passion in the dull hearth, then curled, defeated, to gray ash. He came back to her, so close she could feel the heat of him against her cheeks
“What you want?” he whispered.
Her throat closed. She looked into his eyes, those impossibly green eyes, unable to speak.
His knuckles, cool and smooth, stroked her face. His voice bubbled softly from his chest. “Why you are crying?”
“Am I?” Grier gasped, and wiped away the offending moisture. She stepped deeper into the room, unable to be near to him and still coherently speak her mind. “I—I do no’ know.”
He turned to face her, his back to the fire. She could see the outline of his body through his linen nightshirt. Long, lean limbs, firmly muscled. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong buttocks. Heart rendering perfection.
“I’ve come to say—that is to ask—if I might… If you’ll allow me to, um.” Her words failed. How many times had she said it in her room? Practiced, until it rolled off her tongue, clear and confident? Where was that confidence now? Her fists clenched. “Shite.”
“Grier?”
She lifted her chin. There was no other way around it but balls-on. “Might there be room on your boat for me?”
Rydar stared at her. “My boat? You come to Norway?”
She drew a deep breath and held it. “Aye.”
Rydar felt behind him for the chair, his eyes never leaving hers. He dropped on its edge and slid back in the seat. His knuckles moved across his lip several times. He was obviously surprised by her request. Shocked perhaps. Could he not have known her heart after all?
“Why?”
Grier opened her mouth, then closed it again. She folded her arms over her waist and crossed to stand alongside the fireplace. She kent he must be able to hear her heart beating from across the room. She could hear nothing but.
“Logan has married Malise. She’s mistress of the castle now. I’m supplanted,” Grier’s tone was unintentionally resentful. “That’s how it goes, aye?”
“Aye.” Rydar blinked slowly, his eyes shifted aside.
“The truth is I’ve no prospects here but to serve my cousin’s fifteen-year old wife.” Shame pushed her face toward the floor. “It’s not the life I envisioned, nor is it the life I wish to lead.”
Rydar was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Is that only reason?”
Grier frowned. “I do no’ understand.”
He repeated the question with exaggerated patience. “Is only reason you wish for Norway? Because you have nothing here?”
Grier chewed her tongue. Nay, you foolish man! It’s because I can no’ live without you! She whirled to face the fire, afraid her true feelings would spill from her mouth and flood the room, drowning them both.
“Do ye need another reason, afore you’ll agree to my passage?” she whispered. Part of her hoped he would say yes, forcing her to declare her love.
Rydar was quiet for so long, Grier wondered if he had fallen asleep in the chair. She looked over her shoulder and met an angry intensity that frightened her.
“I do no’ need another reason…”
Something she couldn’t name lurked in his tone. His beard rippled over his jaw muscles. He rubbed his face. Pushing up from his chair, he approached her once more.
Rydar stood over her, his vibrating masculin
ity just inches from her. She grasped the edges of her gown to keep herself from pulling him close and surrendering to him, uninvited. She lifted her face and stared into the depths of her own soul.
His eyes never wavered. He leaned down until his mouth hung over her lips and his unblinking green gaze held hers. She felt his breath caress her cheek.
“You come with me to Norway.”
Did he speak? Or did she dream? Grier blinked. “Aye?”
One brow lifted. “Aye,” he said sarcastically.
“Th-thank you.” Grier backed away from him. She spun and ran to the door, needing to be gone before shame broke her beyond recovery.
“Grier!”
She halted and looked back at him. He swallowed audibly, his hands dangled awkwardly at his side.
“We leave on morning tide.”
She nodded and pulled the door solidly closed behind her. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she struggled to hold back her sobs until she was behind her own door. Once there, she bawled into her pillow, her last night in Scotland spent in deeper misery than she could ever have imagined.
Chapter Thirty
July 21, 1354
Grier lifted her two laden leather satchels to Kristofer on the rope ladder, who in turn handed them up to Gavin on the middle deck. Next was her freshly stocked basket of healing supplies. In the false bottom alongside her sharpest dagger was a small leather pouch cradling fifteen gold coins, given to her in secret by her dying father.
“Tis all I have,” he rasped with his last breaths. “Make your way with it.”
“I never thought ‘twould be this sort of way,” she mumbled. Her tears finished and her determination unquenchable, Grier peered up at the vessel that was about to carry her on an unknown adventure to an unfamiliar country.
Kristofer climbed down the dangling rope ladder and helped her up. Gavin handed her onto the deck.
“Your cabin is here, Lady,” he said leading her to one of two small doors tucked under the overhanging edge of the top rear deck.
“And the other?” she asked.
Gavin’s face twisted a little. “Lady Margoh.”
Startled, Grier realized she had put the young man out of his bed. “But where will you sleep?”
Gavin shrugged. “Kristofer and Lars and I sleep below. Sir Hansen sleeps in the forward cabin.”
“I had no intention of putting you out!” Grier exclaimed. “I can sleep below.”
A broad grin lightened Gavin’s expression. “No, Lady Grier. It’s bad for you but no’ bad for us. It’s only one week and we slept there all month. After Arendal, I get the cabin back, aye?”
“Arendal?”
“Sir Hansen’s home.”
“Oh.” Grier hadn’t thought of their destination as being other than the rather vague country of Norway. To have a place name—Arendal—made the voyage less intimidating. “He wasn’t at the keep when I woke. Is he here?”
“He was. He’ll be back. Then we sail.” Gavin offered no further explanation. He bowed a little and then disappeared down the hole in the mid-deck.
Grier climbed the ladder to the top deck. She faced the northeastern sunrise and wondered what Nor—Arendal—would be like. The sun glowed through an orange bank of early morning clouds. A sea breeze blew against her back and pushed her hair forward. It was the same breeze that would push the boat forward.
Grier had wondered what Logan would think of the note she slipped under his door. She never expected him to throw the door open and grab her in the roughest hug of her life. He gripped her face with both hands and smacked a wet kiss on her forehead.
“Thank God, Grier! Thank God!” he cried.
“Are ye daft, Logan?” she gasped.
“Nay! But I’ve known ye loved Rydar for sae long! And he’s admitted the same to you?”
Grier jumped back. “No! He has no’!”
Surprise washed Logan’s countenance and left it assured. “And he will Grier. Have patience.”
Grier shook her head. “He will no’… He’s asked Margoh to go with him.”
Logan’s lips pressed to a thoughtful line and his eyes narrowed. “Still. He does no’ feel for her what he feels for you.”
“How can you know this?” Her heart thudded. “Has he said so?”
“No’ with words.”
Malise appeared beside her new husband, wrapped in a cloak. Her wide eyes were dark in the pre-dawn light. “Are ye leaving, Lady Grier?” There was panic in her voice.
Grier smiled at the young woman. “I am. I’m no’ needed here and you’ll do fine as mistress.”
Logan hugged his wife to his side. “We’ll miss you, Grier. Godspeed.”
“And I, you.” Grier’s throat tightened. “May God bless you with many strong sons.”
“What are you doing here?”
Margoh’s exclamation destroyed Grier’s reverie. She turned to look down at the older woman, glad to know that Margoh had no idea she would be here. Anything that gave her an advantage over the Old Aunt was desirable as far as she was concerned.
Rydar tossed two satchels onto the deck then he sank below the railing. A large chest surged upward and tumbled end-over-end onto the boards.
Margoh shouted something in clipped Norse. Rydar reappeared and scowled at the woman. He barked a response. Gavin and Kristofer popped up from below and dragged the bulging objects into the cabin beside Grier’s. Margoh and Rydar gazed up at her and neither looked particularly happy.
Was this a mistake?
She was suddenly quite eager to sail before she could think too hard on it.
***
The linen sheet caught the wind and the boat galloped over the waves, her bow pointing toward the sun. Grier had never sailed beyond the bay before. As land moved farther from their little vessel she grew anxious. She stood on her toes, gripped the rail of the middle deck, and strained to keep Scotland in sight.
When it melted completely away, and the tiny craft was surrounded by nothing but endless waves and sky, panic nearly drowned her. Her breath came in uneven gasps and she fell to her knees. Sobs tore her throat and the wind chilled her tear-soaked cheeks.
“Rydar!” she screamed.
He was beside her in a blink. “What, Grier? What is amiss?”
“I can no’ see Scotland!” she gasped. “I can no’ see my home!”
Rydar straightened and his expression stilled like granite; his tone just as hard. “Ye want I take ye back?”
Grier looked up into his eyes, pale and intent. His cheeks twitched as the muscles under his sun-bronzed skin flexed. He was so beautiful. How could she leave him?
“No,” she breathed.
“We sail and I can no’ take ye back another day,” he pressed.
She nodded slowly as her gaze moved to the endless water encompassing them. “I ken.”
His tone eased. “All is good?”
“Are we going to die?” she squeaked, her throat constricted by fear.
“No. No’ die! Why you ask me this?” He was clearly puzzled.
“The boat is sae wee. And the sea!”—she waved her arm in a frantic circle—“Is sae huge!”
“Aye. But you safe!”
“How can ye find your way?” she pressed. “There’s no land!”
A smile lifted one corner of Rydar’s mouth. His eyes glowed emerald in the cloud-filtered sunlight. “Come.”
He clasped her elbow with strong fingers and led her into the forward cabin. The map of the North Sea that she pinned in his room was here, unrolled on a small table.
Rydar showed Grier the compass she gave him for his birthday and carefully explained in chopped English where they were, where they were going, and how they would know they were headed in the right direction.
“Norway is sae big.” Rydar’s fingertip traced the long, jagged coastline. “We sail to morning sun and we find it, aye?”
Looking at the map, that seemed likely. “Aye…” she conceded.
Rydar lau
ghed. “We can no’ miss it, Grier. Trust me.”
She tilted her head back and gave him a wan smile. “I do trust you, Rydar. I’ve put my life in your hands, have I no’?”
His brow twitched and his smile faded. “Aye. Ye have.”
An insistent knock on the door frame made Grier jump. Rydar leaned toward her and rested his palms on her shoulders.
“Do no’ frighten,” he murmured. He squinted and shook her a little. “I keep you safe.”
Margoh’s intrusive voice was loud in the small space. “Jeg har alltid vært interessert i sjøreising!”
Grier had to smile her rueful acknowledgement. In their contest for Rydar’s heart, Margoh had gotten the better of her by speaking in Norse.
“One battle still does no’ win a war,” Grier whispered.
“What?” Rydar asked her.
“Nothing.” Grier waved one hand toward the haughty widow. “Please show Margoh why she has no reason to fear the journey, will you?”
Grier crossed the cabin as gracefully as she could on the rocking craft and stood at the door until Margoh was forced to step back and allow her to leave. Then she lifted a brow and considered the older woman. “I found it quite fascinating.”
Grier staggered to her cabin, trying desperately to walk the rolling deck with dignity. Unused to the constant movement, which was even more pronounced when she was closeted with Rydar in the airless forward cabin, she felt rather unwell. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes.
But that didn’t help.
Nor did it help the next day.
And it didn’t help the next day, either. Dizziness made her queasy and miserable every single moment she was awake. At the least, it kept her mind off the realization she would probably never see Scotland or Logan or little Durness Castle ever again. That was a mercy.
“You are good soon,” Rydar assured her. He rubbed her back as she hung over the railing of the boat, but his words were hard to believe as the last of her noon meal became fish bait. Her spirits sank like the bits of food. Worse, she was humiliated in front of the Old Aunt who seemed unaffected by the unrelenting rise and fall of the horizon.