“Hjarta mitt,” he murmured.
Ilisa kept her eyes shut and tamped down the bubble of despair in her chest. His lips left her, his hands were gone. The door opened and closed and a sob escaped her. Ilisa dropped to the floor and clutched her hands around her legs, bent double, and cried until her throat was raw and her chest in agony. Should she have asked him to come back for her? But the idea of watching the horizon forever and hoping tore her apart.
Eventually she swiped her eyes and pulled herself to standing. “You survived before him,” she reminded herself. “You’ll survive again.”
Had the ship landed yet? She peered outside and saw the night had not yet come. If she stood on the headland she’d probably be able to see the ship leave but would that make it worse? Mayhap it was better this way.
A knock on the door made her jolt. A burst of excitement made her heart race. She ran to it and flung it open. Her stomach sank. “Galan.”
“The Viking is gone.” He stepped into the hut and surveyed the place.
“Aye, he is gone. I hope you are happy now.”
“Not yet, and neither are the villagers.” He curled a hand around her arm and tugged her out of the house. The pressure from his fingers made her arm tingle as she fought against his hold.
“Galan, release me,” she demanded. Ilisa gaped when she spied much of the village men surrounding her house. “I told you, he has gone!”
Galan’s lips twisted and his dark eyes took on a black, bottomless look. Ilisa shuddered. “Do it,” he ordered.
Before she realised what he meant, several lit torches were flung onto the roof of her home. Straw crackled and flames raced quickly across it in spite of the damp weather. The skies seemed to protest the villagers’ actions, grumbling and unleashing more water but the flames had taken hold.
“Nay,” she cried and tried again to pull away from Galan.
“This is what we do to traitors. You took in the enemy. If I let them, they will burn you too.”
Ilisa stared around at her countrymen. It was true. Anger and hatred had eaten into them and now she was no better than a Viking in their eyes. “You would not let them!”
Galan’s grin stretched. “If you were my wife, you would have protection.”
“I have no farm now, why would you want me?” She twisted her arm and bit back a cry of pain as he squeezed tighter.
“I do not need your little cottage. I want your land and you, Ilisa. It shouldn’t have had to come to this.”
Under the grey, rolling skies, his expression grew savage. To think she’d once thought Alrek like that. Whatever Alrek had done in the past, there was not a chance he had the same deep-seated greed and anger that Galan did. Why had she given that up so easily?
Because if he’d have stayed, he would have been killed, she reminded herself. They would have burned him too. Alrek might have thought himself invincible but he would have stood no chance against a mob.
“I do not want you. I’d rather burn.” She lifted her chin. She didn’t want to die but a life without Alrek wasn’t worth much and she couldn’t give herself to Galan.
“You would prefer to betray your people, is that it?” he spat. “Prefer a barbaric Viking between your thighs?”
“Look around you, Galan, and tell me who the barbarians are? The time of the Picts is coming to an end. We should be trying to salvage what we can for the future generations, not fighting amongst each other.”
“You are no better than the other traitorous Pictish women,” Galan sneered. He released her arm and shoved her back toward the villagers. “They too have fled into the arms of Vikings, have left our lands and abandoned our people.”
Ilisa peeked over her shoulder and back at Galan. She edged away toward the cliff’s edge. Other women had gone with the Vikings? That meant other Picts would be in Iceland. They too would have Viking lovers. She wouldn’t be an outcast but the same as them. Should she have agreed to wait for him or have risked whatever dangers he thought she faced and gone?
She smirked and glanced around. There was nothing left for her now but was it too late? Shuffling closer to the edge of the cliff, she peered into the gloom, tried to penetrate it. Her stomach danced as she spied red coloured sails but how close were they? Or was Alrek already headed out to sea?
Galan stepped closer. “Are you intending to jump? You would kill yourself and sentence your soul to hell for him?”
She swung her gaze to him, to the villagers and back to the horizon. “Aye.” She jumped.
Her feet slipped on the thin ledge and she almost tumbled all the way down the cliff but for her grip on the foliage. Righting herself, she looked down the cliff face and thanked God she knew these cliffs so well. The strip of ground was narrow. It had begun to slip into the sea some two summers ago and she remembered the rumble as it did so, but it was enough to allow her to make her way down the cliffs to the beach.
She glanced up, saw no one had been brave enough follow her and picked her way down the cliff edge. Her shoes fell off and her skirts ripped. The cliff face seemed endless, a great grey wall that loomed both beneath and above her. Several times she nearly slipped and her heart remained in her throat until sand met her feet.
Skirts in hand, she shouted Alrek’s name but the wind carried it away. The rain fell heavily now, plastering her hair to her skin and obscuring her view of the ship. She prayed it had not left yet or she hadn’t been deceived as to how close to the shore it was.
“Alrek,” she screamed again.
Up ahead, a figure appeared, not far from the sea edge. Her legs threatened to give out from beneath her as overwhelming joy washed through her. She froze when she spied the heart stopping expression on his face—one of anguish and despair. In front of him, several Vikings stood, axes ready. Ilisa frowned. They looked to be at a standoff.
“Run, Ilisa. Return to your people,” he called to her. “Warn them that the Vikings are coming.”
Her scowl deepened and she flicked her gaze from the Vikings to Alrek and back again. “Nay! I wish to go with you.” Finally her stiff legs responded and she sprinted to his side.
An arm met her chest, held her back and shoved her behind him. “Run, Ilisa, or you shall die here,” he hissed over his shoulder.
The Vikings shouted something, their words sounding nothing like the beautiful Norse words that sometimes spilled from Alrek’s lips. Aggression rang clear in their voices. They were here to raid, she realised. And Alrek… Alrek was intending to stop them. She counted the Vikings—eight in total. Eight against an unarmed man and woman. They would die for sure.
“My people are ready,” she told him. “They are on the cliffs. They burned my home,” she spilled out on a sob, not even intending to tell him as much.
“Curses.” He turned his attention back to the Vikings and spoke again, motioning to the cliff tops. “Hrafnarnir munu hafa þik!”
The lead Viking, a man easily as large as Alrek, replied but his words meant nothing to her.
“They mean to kill us if we do not step aside,” Alrek explained.
Ilisa gripped his arm, torn between letting the Vikings ravage her homeland or standing their ground and being killed. She no longer held any affection for her people, not after how they had turned their backs on her but she couldn’t let these men harm the innocent women and children. What the two of them could do, she knew not, but she would not step aside.
“If we die in battle, we go to Valhalla, do we not?” Her voice wavered.
“Aye, we do.” Alrek offered her a tight smile and took her hand.
The leader nodded and issued a command of some kind. “Vegið!”
Ilisa gulped, the pounding in her head threatened to deafen her and her skin grew hot. A shout from the men made her tremble and Alrek squeezed her hand tightly. The leader took a step forward and Ilisa let out a cry as he tripped. He fell to the ground, sand billowing around him and Alrek tugged Ilisa back behind the protection of his body.
Th
e other Vikings lowered their weapons and eyed their leader, confusion on their faces. A man stepped from behind them and only when he pulled the axe from the leader’s back, did Ilisa realise the man had been slain.
“Óðins skegg!” Alrek exclaimed. “Gardarr! Eric!”
Ilisa watched as the men appeared to turn on each other. A mass of swinging axes and brawling limbs seemed to break out. Alrek lunged forward, kicked a man aside and snatched the fallen man’s weapon. A Viking swung at him and Ilisa screamed a warning. Alrek spun around and dodged the blow before bringing the head of the axe into his enemy’s stomach and slicing across his vulnerable back as he bent double.
Unarmed and frozen in fear, Ilisa watched the blood stain the sand until a Viking broke away and came after her. His braided beard, tarnished with red, swung from side to side as he ran towards her. Ilisa turned, fell into a sprint and Alrek calling her name rattled her ears. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Viking behind her and Alrek fighting to get free of the battle to come after her.
Alrek would not reach her in time. Her thighs burned. How was she meant to outrun such a man? She headed for the rocks. Mayhap he would slip and fall. She knew them better than anyone after all. She only prayed she did not do the same.
Picking her way across the slippery rocks, she made for where they met the sea. The Viking had slowed but she heard his angry curses as he navigated the sharp landscape. Rain splattered into the sea, kicking up a mist. Hope lit in her chest. Mayhap if she went far enough, she could hide. The awful weather might prove to work in her favour after all.
She slipped into the water and gasped. The tide was higher than when she normally braved the rocks and it reached her waist. A peek over her shoulder saw the Viking slipping and flailing his arms but he managed to right himself. His axe glinted under the briefest flash of sunlight.
“Keep moving, Ilisa,” she urged herself and waded forward, trying to ignore the shake in her voice.
The waves tugged her gown, swirled it around her legs. Ahead the gap in the cliffs emerged—the Devil’s Doorway. Ilisa’s insides twisted with dread but she continued forwards, the sound of splashing footsteps sending a tremor up her spine. The Viking was taller and stronger. For him, the ocean likely did little to hold him back.
Water swirled around the arching rock and the sound echoed off the stone. She didn’t even know what was on the other side. She’d never braved going through the doorway. She only hoped there would be some hiding place or that the Viking would be put off by the rock formation’s sinister appearance.
When she got closer, the pull of the sea grew stronger. It churned and frothed against the rocks and waves began to splatter her face. She gripped the stone and stepped under the huge arch. Her feet almost slipped out from under her as the waves pulled her out and then pushed, slamming her into the rock. Ilisa cried out and salt water rushed into her mouth. Spluttering, she gripped the rock tighter and waded forward.
A roaring sound echoed against the rocks and Ilisa braced herself for an axe in her back then realised the sound wasn’t the Viking but a great wave. It struck her with such force that her head bounced off the rocks. Pain jarred her skull and her vision went white. The wave receded, dragged her with it. She scrabbled for a hold but her head spun and her footing went. She slipped under the water and found herself hauled toward the other side of the doorway.
Sea water invaded her mouth and nostrils, and she fought to surface. It was no longer clear where the sky was and where the rocks and seabed were. Her head spun, her lungs hurt. She broke the surface briefly and gasped in a breath only to be smashed against the rocks and dragged under once more.
She was almost grateful when the relentless pound of the waves eased and released her from the rocks. She felt herself being drawn further into the ocean. Her limbs had become useless, her mind a muddle. She was drowning but she had no strength to fight it any longer. Ilisa’s body begged her to draw in a breath. She fought the impulse for a long time but it was too great. Water rushed in and scalded her lungs. Agony consumed her body.
***
A creaking sound. A rocking motion. Ilisa swatted away the hand touching her brow. She became aware of the pounding ache in her skull, then the rest of her body. She cricked open an eye, letting the thinnest slit of light in and groaned. Above her a great sail billowed. Was she travelling to Valhalla? She rolled her head around and forced open her other eye.
“You are dead too?” Her voice came out no more than a croak.
“Nay, Ilisa, I am not dead,” Alrek responded. She heard amusement in his tone.
“I am dead?”
“Nay, you are not dead. Though ‘twas a close thing. You had swallowed much water when I scooped you out of the sea.” His palm came to her forehead again and this time the warmth soothed rather than aggravated.
She forced herself to focus on his handsome features. “We are alive.”
“Aye.” He grinned and offered his aid as she struggled to sit.
Ilisa winced. “My head hurts.”
“You hit it hard and much of your body. You shall have many bruises, I think.”
Through the pain, she saw his concerned expression. She put a hand to his cheek. “But you saved me.”
“Aye, now we are even.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and urged her to lean against him.
Ilisa snuggled into his chest and glanced around at the ship. Two men—the men who had triggered the brawl—were sailing the vessel. “You know these men?”
“Aye, they were part of my crew. The other Norsemen picked them out of the sea on their way around the coastline. Gardarr and Eric asked them to stop where our ship had sunk on the way back home to see if there was any news of other survivors but their leader, Magnus, wanted to raid too.”
“But you defeated them?”
“They will not raid again.” Alrek smoothed a hand up and down her arm.
“Where are we going?”
“To Iceland, hjarta mitt.” He cupped her chin and twisted to stare into her eyes. “I hope you will not miss your homeland.”
“I have no place in my homeland anymore, Alrek. My place is by your side.”
A self-satisfied grin stretched across his lips. “And mine at yours. We shall create a new life together on new land.”
“I should like that very much, hjarta mitt.” She replied with a smile.
Alrek chuckled at her ill pronunciation and lowered his mouth to hers. As his lips brushed hers, hope bloomed in her chest. The time of the Picts might be at an end, but for the first time in years, the future excited her. With her Viking at her side and a new land to explore, they would carve a new life together, one that brought together the best of their cultures. She opened her mouth to him, kissed him fervently—the heat threatening to drown her in the most pleasant way—and thanked the Viking gods for bringing them together.
Sun broke the clouds and warmed her skin as they both glanced up at the clearing skies. “It seems we have the gods’ blessing,” she said with a smile.
Alrek held her tighter and dropped a kiss to her nose. “It seems we do.”
THE END
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Heart of a Viking Page 24