Sunny and rich with daisies, mallow and a great many other flowers, the wood seemed to her like a fairie meadow. The grassy floor promised more comfortable seating than she had enjoyed in days. Butterflies and bees careened in flight from bloom to bloom, stuffed with nectar.
“This is beautiful, Brandr.” She stood in the middle of a sun-drenched patch. Face lifted to the warmth of the sun, she twirled round and round, hands held out to her sides.
He chuckled, and grabbed a hand as she turned, pulling her into his arms. As if they were alone, he wrapped himself around her. He slid a big hand into the hair at the back of her neck and wrapped his fingers around her head, holding her still.
The blue intensity of his gaze sent a quiver rolling down her spine. “I want you, Lissa Brandr-thrall.”
“Brandr.”
He shifted her, as if trying to bring her closer against his frame, then uttered a frustrated mutter and lifted her until her soft curves melded perfectly with the hard lines of his body. She should have protested, but the promise inherent in his whisper had unleashed a torrent of emotions culminating in anticipation of craving fulfilled.
What he did next wiped everything away, so that he was all that mattered. He drew her down into the fragrant green grass and settled her on his lap. Her head fell back into the crook of his arm as he lifted his knees to form a cradle for her hips. He nuzzled the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Her senses reeled at the musky, smoky man scent of him. Leashed power coiled in the arms that flexed and tightened around her, and she trembled at the cool skim of his lips when he nibbled at the sensitive skin below her ear. She muttered something, she neither knew nor cared what, as his mouth trailed kisses to the hollow of her throat. Only a short lift of his head was needed to raise that caress to the corner of her mouth.
Her hands roamed the wide plain of his chest, searching for a way past his tunic and ring shirt to the treasure of warm, bare skin beneath. “Brandr! Please!”
At the invitation, his chest rumbled in male satisfaction beneath her spread palms. His mouth settled fully on hers. The warmth of his palm slid to hedge her throat in sweet restraint. The kiss plundered, became urgent, demanding, delving deep.
Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers seeking the soft, tight curls at his nape. She tried to burrow into him, until….
Alwin cleared his throat beside them. Loudly.
“What is it, thrall?” Sheer frustration underscored Brandr’s breathless query, the words spoken against her mouth. He did not raise his head.
The smile started in Lissa’s heart and shifted upward to curve the lips he had just released.
“When my pa did that to my ma, she did not seem to like it much. Lissa does. Is that good?”
She giggled. From beneath her lashes, she watched as the focused ardor in his azure eyes slowly faded and was extinguished.
He dropped his forehead to rest on hers. “Children,” he muttered.
She started to laugh. Blue fire burned her as his eyes snapped open. He met her gaze, and suddenly they were both consumed with laughter. He cradled her head against the broad security of his chest as their bodies shook with the merriment. For the space of many heartbeats, the shared joy bound them, forging unseen chains. When both found their breath again, he lifted her to sit beside him in the grass.
He lifted his face to a worried Alwin. “Já, thrall, it is very good.”
∞∞§∞∞
Over supper, Brandr laid out Turold’s plan for the buying of supplies. Uneasy with the whole idea, he emphasized the dangers in an effort to discourage it, but the watery stew, which was all they had to eat, spoke louder than his fears. The consensus of the group was that Lissa and Bryda should attempt the scheme. Deeming it prudent to establish escape routes, vantage points and possible ambush sites before the morrow’s foray, Brandr sent Turold and Oswulf to scout the area around the town, Oswulf garbed in the tunic and braies Brandr had earlier filched in the rapid search of one of the cottages. The two returned before dark, confident the scheme would work.
Turold waved a hunk of meat in the air, greasy water dripping from his fingers. “Little appears to have changed in Basingum since I visited last, except it has grown, somewhat. But we are in luck! Market is held once a week here, as is normal in most towns, but in Basingum, twice a year, special markets are held, one in mid-summer and the other before winter sets in. The morrow is the mid-summer event. Many people come from leagues away, among them merchants, wealthy thegns and numerous small groups of well-to-do freemen. Scops and acrobatic troupes arrive to provide entertainment. The humor of the people is always festive. They are here to eat, drink, play and buy. It will be more crowded than any weekly market day. Our women will mingle with all the rest and become nigh invisible.”
“Nevertheless,” Brandr said, “should either Lissa or Bryda be spotted by Wat or Talon, the very mass of people would make capturing Lissa simple for a determined man.” He did not wish to dampen the high spirits of his flock, for Thorr knew they, like any soldier, needed a respite from the constant tension, but he could not shake a foreboding of disaster.
He turned a stern gaze on both women. “Hear me! You are to keep your headrails on and pulled forward over your faces at all times. You will not forget yourselves or where you are, or the task you are there to complete. Do not make eye contact with any but the vendors, or linger longer than is needful to complete the task. I will give you hack-silver for your purchases. Display only the amount needed to purchase an item. Purchase only what would be expected of two ceorls sent into town to buy items for a household.
“Lissa, if you see any of your people from Yriclea, do not wait. Cease what you are doing immediately and leave the town. Turold and Oswulf will keep watch from the hill and meet you.” He caught and held her gaze, seeking to impress upon her the urgency of his command. “If you are taken, do not fret. We will come for you. I wish to avoid that confrontation, to evade the necessity of battle that would most likely end in deaths you would regret, but we will not be denied.” He sighed at the sobering of her expression and softened his tone. “I do not say you should not revel in your chance to see the town and enjoy the market. I do say, exercise care!”
“I am not a child, Brandr. I will do naught foolish.”
By word and tone, she showed her displeasure with his orders, but if it increased her caution, he did not care how vexed she became. The hair on the back of his neck had not stopped prickling since Turold suggested the plan.
He took more silver dirhams from the pouch and proceeded to hack them into slivers. All he wanted was this cursed visit to the market over and done, and his thrall safely back in his arms.
∞∞§∞∞
Talon met Wat in a pool of darkness outside the doors of the mead hall in Basingum. He kept his voice low. “On the morrow, if any of those we seek should come into the city, do not apprehend them. Before noontide, I will wander the market with Thegn Heorulf and the Lady Ricel. If I am seen, it will matter not, for only Lissa knows my face. Should she see me with Ricel, it will serve as a diversion for you. When they leave, follow them until you are certain no one else can come behind them and obscure their trail. Return to me. The thegn, our men and the fighters I have hired will then join the hunt as you track them down. In the night, we will come upon them and take them by surprise. By morn, the Danes will be dead and Lissa will finally be safe.”
He fell into a waiting silence. As was usual, his tracker asked no questions. They had worked together for a very long time. Wat knew what to do.
“Go then.”
He sensed rather than saw Wat salute, then silent as a gást, he was gone.
∞∞§∞∞
“Have you ever been in a town such as this, Bryda? It is so big! There must be two hundred people living here.”
“Aye, more than that, if you count those who live outside the walls.”
Scrubbed clean from an early bath in the pond, and garbed in their ‘new’ cyr
tels, syrces and headrails, Lissa walked with Bryda toward the gate in the first palisade wall. So happy was she, her steps nigh bounced. Before leaving them a few moments earlier at the top of the hill near the road into town, Turold, a twinkle in his eye, had confided that Brandr had left three slivers of silver to pay for the clothing. The comment had further brightened the glow in her heart that had begun with Brandr’s kiss the day before. She was sure now he loved her, for why else would a man make such a fuss about paying for something he thought he had a right to steal, but end up leaving more than she had asked? He had admitted he wanted her, which must be surely be the first step to declaring his love. Her lady had once said sometimes men had trouble speaking words of caring out loud, even if they felt them in their hearts. She could wait.
“I have visited a city before, as a child,” Bryda was saying, though Lissa had almost forgotten what she had asked of her friend. “I remember it well, for I was almost as excited as you are now.”
The affectionate indulgence in her tone drew forth a giggle from Lissa. “I do not mean to be witless, but I have dreamed of visiting such a place since I first heard my Lady Eadgida’s tales of them. Look at the tents! Are they not lovely, so colorful and bright? Look there! Are those tumblers? I hope we will see them perform in the market later.”
They passed through the first gate under the watchful eyes of the guards, who merely nodded and waved them on. Lissa marveled at the depth of the trench separating the two walls. Why, this place must be as well fortified as the king’s own manor in Wintanceastre! If only Yriclea had been so well protected—but then, she might never have met Brandr.
Am I horrible to think such a thought? Oh, I would have my lady and my home back safe, if I could, but to never have known Brandr would be grievous.
She stepped through the second gate and stopped, for she had passed into a world of sight and sound like none she had ever imagined. Someone bumped into her from behind and an annoyed male voice barked at her to move out of the way of her betters. She hardly heard him. Bryda caught her arm and pulled her off to the side.
“There now,” Bryda said, “you may gape all you like.”
Her face heated, but she flashed a smile at her companion. “It is…it is….”
“I know. It is overwhelming, the first time. Look at me! I have seen a city like this before, but I am also amazed at the variety. Come, Lissa, let us take a moment to look around before we visit the market stalls. We might never again see such sights. I do not wish to miss anything. But ‘ware thieves,” she said as they were jostled by a group of unruly youths.
The sheer number of buildings was astonishing. Timber framed, daub and wattle and one large structure of stone, they seemed to be laid out in orderly rows around still another palisade. This inner wall circled the base of an incline upon which was built a massive mead hall. There were trees everywhere, and between the houses, vegetable gardens grew and livestock was penned behind wattle fences.
Everywhere they looked, people, crowds of them, gaily and colorfully dressed, pushed their way along the paths. Children darted in and out among the adults, and along the front walls of the houses, between bright flowerbeds, elders sat chatting and watching the commotion from the safety of their benches. Little groups of laughing women moved here and there, just as Turold had said. The clamor was great. It seemed everyone talked at once, and mingled with the din were the noises of many types of animals. Music floated through the air, and even from here, she could hear merchants crying their wares. From somewhere nearby came the clear call of a trumpet, announcing the arrival of a noble entourage.
Her head whipped around and she started to laugh at the sight of an angry looking man with an axe, who chased a hissing, uncooperative goose. “Oh, Bryda, I will have a painful knot in my neck by the noontide from looking at everything.”
“I think we both will.”
They hurried past an alehouse overflowing with a boisterous throng and abruptly, spread out before them, was the market. Enticing odors immediately wiped away memory of the dry, leathery meat she had forced herself to chew to break her fast.
She raised her nose and sniffed the air. “I am going to eat something wonderful before I leave this place today. I am famished!”
She glanced at her companion.
Are my own eyes as bright, and does my face reflect the same wonder?
She suddenly laughed outright.
Bryda met her glance. “If you could have anything you wished, what would it be?”
“Honeyed nuts with cream.”
“I would have spiced plums.”
Arm in arm with Bryda, she roamed from booth to trestle to stall, admiring the fabrics, jewelry, weaponry and myriad other merchandise on display. Their first acquisition was a delicious meat pie they shared, laughing together as they licked the juices that ran over their fingers. The pie, of course, had to be followed with a flagon of mead. At the next table, Bryda found a large basket to contain the rest of their purchases. Before long, it brimmed with fresh meats, bread and cheese, fruit, spices and herbs, sweets and the special request of Turold, enough ale for at least one meal.
At Brandr’s behest, she bought oil to rub the weapons and ring shirts, while Bryda purchased a pair of boots for Oswulf.
“The pair he wears was old before we were sent away,” she said, when Lissa admired the new footwear. “Our journey has not done them further good. Did you notice his big toe sticking out of the right one?”
They laughed together, though Lissa was certain Oswulf found it of little humor.
Beneath the noontide sun, she bent at a display of silver jewelry to stare in disbelief at a silver crucifix identical to her own. Her fingers sought the familiar outline beneath the mantle of her headrail. She came upright and glanced across the open space of the green. She froze, and felt the blood leave her face. Walking down a path alongside a large, timber framed building was a tall, handsome, well-figured man. His dark head was bent in close attention to a young, beautiful woman, who gazed up at him, open adoration infusing her lovely face. Her clothing and bearing proclaimed her a noble. She said something and he laughed, his whole face lighting up as if a candle flame suddenly flared behind it.
Oh, foolish child I am! The delights of this place are a trap for the unwary!
She had forgotten Brandr’s warnings.
Coming toward her was Talon of Yriclea.
She prayed she would not faint.
She noticed for the first time that the lovely woman with him moved with a slight limp. Accompanying them was another man, clearly a noble, and a wealthy one, at that. The woman looked enough like him that she was certain of a close relationship between them.
Her gaze was drawn forcibly back to the Yriclea first marshal.
Talon…laughing! Talon never laughed. She had known him all her life, but though her mind rapidly supplied her with memories of Talon’s smiles, and now and again, his chuckles, not once could she remember seeing him laugh outright, as he was now! It was one reason she had refused his attentions.
Ah, but who was the woman to whom he offered that precious gift? Where and how had he met her? When had he met her? Why, he behaved toward her as would a lover!
This makes no sense! Why is he here, and with this woman? Does he still follow me, or seek the gold? Am I safe from him, and did not know it?
Anger, abrupt and cleansing, washed away her shock. She felt the pulse of blood in her cheeks. Almost, she so forgot herself as to think to rush over to him, to challenge and upbraid him for putting her—putting them all—through unnecessary flight. She caught back the unwise move just in time.
Talon, you ferret-eyed, broken-nosed, simple-minded…fool! I will put you to your own sword! How dare you frighten me so, and send me fleeing across the breadth of the kingdom, and for no purpose!
“Woman, be you deaf?”
She blinked at the vexation in the vendor’s too loud question and shook her head. “What say you?”
“Is the
re aught you want here, woman? If not, move away from the booth. There be others who might be interested in my wares and you stand in the way.”
She glanced to her right. Where was Bryda? Brandr’s words at sup the previous night filled her thoughts, and with them, all in a rush, came panic. She whirled, her gaze frantically searching. Bryda had not disappeared, as she first feared, but had moved to a display four booths away. Her heart slowed its wild pace. She hurried over, and grabbing her arm, pulled her into the crowd.
“Lissa! What is wrong? You look as if a gást peers over your shoulder.”
“I believe one does! We must leave, now. It is Talon! He must not see me. Come!”
Bryda paled, but her lips firmed and she nodded. “I will lead the way. Hold tight to my hand, and keep your head down.”
They came nigh the gates without incident. Bryda gave her fingers a warning squeeze. “Slow down, Lissa. You rush as if you fear you are followed, and while that may be true, it will call attention we do not want, especially at the gates.”
“Oh! Yes, you are right.” She forced her features into what she hoped was a pleasant, naught-is-wrong expression and moved to pace beside Bryda. No one challenged them. Soon after, they were explaining their hurried exit to Turold and Oswulf.
Turold frowned and turned to scan the road behind them. “Did he see you, Lissa?”
“I do not know. I fear I forgot to keep my eyes lowered, but while I stared at him, he looked at someone else, so I do not think so. Besides, I wonder if he still seeks me.”
Turold stared at her. “Of course, he does. Why would you say otherwise?”
“Because he was with a woman, a wealthy noble, and he seemed to be… to… well, to treat her as one betrothed! I would swear, by the look on his face, he cares much for her. Why would he still follow if he has found another woman to love?”
“I cannot answer your question, Lissa. Much may have happened we know naught of, but the battle at the mill in Andeferas puts your theory to sore test.” He studied the road again. “I see no one who looks to be following, or coming nigh this way, but I prefer to take no chances. We will return to the coppice.”
Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) Page 26