Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1)

by Norris, Màiri

  “He did what?” Brandr only just managed to keep his wrathful response to a low roar as he lunged to his feet. His hand went to the hilt of Frækn. The curse he spit was virulent. “What was his thought? He knows I must be present for betrothal negotiations to be legal. To do otherwise is to give offense.” He frowned. “And the jarl’s response to the insult?”

  He sank back down as Nicolaus shrugged. “By all accounts, the old one did not see it as offense. When it was done, they heartily congratulated themselves and then drank themselves into a stupor. It would seem the two of them had previously spoken of it in private, and both agreed it was a good match. Father fully expected you to return from the raid with great riches and many slaves, enough to reward the jarl in an appropriate manner to erase any possible slight.” He grimaced, then leaned back and raised his arms to lock his fingers together behind his head. “When Karl returned with news of the failed raid, and you and Sindre both missing…well, the women took the children into hiding and the men sought to stay out of his way. He cursed you, Bjarki, and went about for two full days screeching he hoped you ended up in Hel. He has not spoken your name since.”

  His rubbed the back of his head with his palms and fell silent—a shared quiet that lasted through Brandr’s final swallow of bjórr.

  Brandr stirred. “I have gold, a fortune’s worth. It belonged to the thegn of Yriclea. We believe it was the reason for the raid of the warband that routed our warriors. Sindre carries it in a belt pouch around his waist. None but we two and Lissa know of it. Had she not told us where to find it, we would have left the village with naught but our lives.”

  “Ah, an explanation at last,” Nicolaus said. He pulled his sax from its sheath and cast it, point down, into the dirt. Over, and over he pitched it. Each time, the point sank deep in the ground.

  Brandr’s brows twitched. “For what?”

  Hakon grinned. “For how our uncle could have gotten so fat in so short a time.”

  Brandr chuckled.

  The silence stretched again.

  “Withhold some of the gold,” Hakon said. “You understand I speak as one who sees differently than others, otherwise, I would not make this suggestion.”

  Brandr raised his hand in negation. “I have already discussed it with Sindre. We will hold naught back from Father.”

  “You will receive none of it, then,” Nicolaus said, this time tossing the sax in the air to catch it as it dropped.

  “So be it! I will live my life with the knowledge he cannot fault me in this matter.” He shifted, impatient with the course of their talk. “Let us speak of more pleasant things.”

  “Já,” Nicolaus declared. He pinched his lips together and abruptly threw the sax with enough force to bury it halfway to the hilt in a rotting log at the edge of the camp. “And the first of those is our uncle! What is this that has happened with Sindre and this woman, Siv? A very comely female she is too, and possessed of curves it would take both arms to fill. Had he not so obviously laid claim to her, I might.”

  Brandr snorted. “Ha! As if you, Snurre, will ever be satisfied with but one female. Each time we meet, you are with a different woman.” He leered at his brother. “Could it be you grow weary of smorrebrod and now desire to find a wife and settle?”

  Nicolaus got to his feet and prowled over to recover his knife, then returned to drop back into his place. His delicate shudder was yet powerfully expressive. “Nei! You know me better than that. I am the fourth son. It is not so important I marry, and I have no intent to do so.”

  “It is strange, though,” Hakon said. “Sindre left Ljotness a lonely man and returns with a female and child in tow, to whom he appears unreasonably attached. It is unlike him.”

  “What is not normal is this mildness of manner he now displays.” Nicolaus’ eyes glittered as he opened them wide. “Had I not seen for myself how agreeable he has become, I would argue it impossible. Why, a cow is less placid than he. He has become an old man before his time!”

  “Make not the mistake of saying such to his face, brother,” Brandr said. “You would find him still willing to take off your head with Frithr.”

  The laughter they shared was accented with deep affection.

  Brandr leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. “Tell me of Signe.”

  Hakon’s tales of their baby sister’s exploits in the longhouse kept them all in quiet laughter until weariness, abetted by the stout liquor, took hold. Nicolaus threw himself across the ground and stretched out. He snored first, then Hakon’s words died into the night.

  Brandr slid into his customary place beside Lissa and took her in his arms. She snuffled, whispered his name and sighed. His eyes closed as his mind took the fragrance of her soft hair into sleep.

  ∞∞§∞∞

  Lissa, her eye on Brandr, picked up Sindre’s húdfat and handed it to one of Nicolaus’ men. Her love stood beside his brother’s warhorse, stroking the beast’s neck after giving it an inspection worthy of a Saxon stablemaster. He and Nicolaus grinned at each other.

  Turold came to stand beside her.

  She nodded toward them. “What do they say?”

  Turold smiled, and bent close to her ear as he translated. “Brandr says, ‘This horse is one of the finest I have seen.’“

  Brandr held the bridle, petting the horse’s soft nose.

  “Nicolaus agrees,” Turold continued. “He says he bought the beast from the king’s own stables. Now Brandr says, ‘I will yet have a stable full of these, you will see.’ And Nicolaus answers, ‘Já, and Guthrum would happily purchase more. He is richer than any man I know, and sees the wisdom of adopting the practice of the Saxon kings in employing the use of horses for mounted patrols and messengers. Sometimes, speed is critical, and horses provide it.’“

  Turold chuckled. “Now he says he will order one of his men to walk, so Brandr may practice his riding.”

  She sighed. “I will have to exert more effort to quickly learn their language.” She grinned up at the scop. “I do not wish to miss what they might say about me.”

  He chuckled and flicked her nose with a fond fingertip. “I doubt aught they say of you, fair maid, would be aught but complimentary.” His eyes lit as he listened further. “Now Nicolaus is saying that although he patrols, his orders are such he may interpret them as he pleases, to go east or west. He chooses to escort us home to Ljotness.”

  “Oh, I am glad! That will please Brandr. One thing more, and then I will cease to plague you with questions. What meaning have the names he calls them?”

  “Snurre and Gríss, you mean?”

  “Yes, and they name him Bjarki. Are they nicknames from childhood?”

  “Aye. Snurre means ‘unruly one’. Gríss is ‘piglet’ and Bjarki is ‘bear’.

  She giggled. “I have heard tales of these ‘bear’ creatures. It is said they are large, ferocious and furry. The name is fitting, for he is certainly big and fierce, and furry animals can be cuddly, which he can also….”

  Her words trailed off. Turold’s bark of laughter sent a wave of acute heat rising in her face. “Forgive me, my friend. I should not have said such a thing.”

  He controlled his mirth and gave her a quick hug. “Ah, but we are friends, and may, on occasion, remark of things we feel without fear of censure. Worry not, fair maid. None shall hear of your…indiscretion, from me.”

  He offered a bow of his head and left her.

  Shortly after, Brandr strode to her. “What did you say, lítill blóm, that so amused the skáld and brought such lovely pink to these fair cheeks?”

  He bent to place a kiss upon each one.

  “You saw that?”

  His brows spiked. “You wish I had not?” He grinned. “You are blushing again. You will explain!”

  “I would rather not!”

  “You have as much to learn about wifely obedience as you did about being a dutiful thrall.” His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “Not that you ever achieved it as a thrall. Come, what is
so mortifying you cannot share it with your future husband?”

  She saw no way around it. His stubbornness would never relent until she told him. She might as well get it over with. “I said you were cuddly.”

  His face blanked. “Cuddly? You believe I am cuddly?”

  She winced and dropped her gaze to his chest, not wanting to see the anger that must be building in those so very blue eyes. “It is because of your nickname, you see. I have heard bears are furry, and many furry animals, like cats, are cuddly, and so, well….”

  “Cuddly.” He sounded strangled. “I do not believe I have ever been named such, not even by my mother.”

  “I am sorry, Brandr. If it helps, I also agreed you were very large and fierce.”

  “I see.”

  Something in his tone alerted her. She found her courage and raised her gaze. Though the lines of his face were somber, she knew him sufficiently by now to recognize that particular light in the azure depths. He was laughing at her.

  “Oh, you!”

  The amusement burst forth in gales. Those around them glanced at them with curious smiles. He took her in his arms and hugged her with all the ferocity of his namesake. When he could speak again, he told her to finish making ready to travel.

  “As you see, all wait upon us,” he said as he made a sweeping gesture to the waiting, grinning party.

  She blushed again.

  He sent her off with a proprietary swat to her backside.

  A short while later she was seated in front of him on one of the horses, clinging to him with both hands. Never had she been this close to an animal so large, much less atop one. The ground was at least a league below their perch.

  He was surprisingly adept at riding, and soon put her at ease.

  She peered over her shoulder at him. “Where did you learn to ride?”

  “I have been interested in horses since childhood. When Father displaced the Saxon thegn in Ljotness, he took possession of his stable, and then purchased more. We were all taught to ride. Father cares naught for the horses themselves. His pride in them—and in the ability of his sons to ride well—stems from his view of horses as symbols of his wealth and status as a jarl. His sons, however, find the beasts themselves worthy of attention.”

  Brandr?”

  “Já?”

  “I do not think I like your father very much.”

  The pressure of his hand at her waist tightened. “Neither do we, lítill blóm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  As Brandr, and now Nicolaus, as well, led the group east, heavy forest began to give way to open woodland and scattered areas of marshland, which they skirted by catching the old Roman road from Lundenwic to Colneceaster. A great many of Guthrum’s troops were garrisoned in Colneceaster, including Nicolaus and his war band. No more than a day and half’s ride from their current position, the fortress was a strong one, well fortified behind ancient stone walls. It was also important to regional economics, for it was the hub of many trade routes, linked as it was to the rest of Guthrum’s kingdom by the ancient road and the River Cólne with its access to the sea.

  Riding alongside Hakon a few paces back from the head of their odd column, their horses held to a walk, Brandr glanced at a sky that had grown progressively darker since morn. “Am I correct, Gríss, in thinking we have but another four or five days of travel before we arrive in Ljotness?”

  “Já, if we do not have to stop for the weather.” Like Brandr, he eyed the clouds. “But I think if we do not soon find shelter, we will get wet. You know I have a powerful aversion to being rained upon.”

  Brandr tried not to sigh. So close, they were! To have to stop for rain ate at his restraint. If it were not for the women and Alwin, he would ride on until he came to the longhouse of his family, and turn a deaf ear to Hakon’s complaints.

  This is part of what it means to marry, to become responsible for the needs of others, and not only myself. It is a strange feeling. No longer can I follow only my own path, without thought for Lissa or my children.

  He thought about it for a while, and a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  I believe I can accept this new duty, though it be set for the length of my life. Já, this task holds no terrors, and more, it offers compensations for the loss of the freedom to call my life, my own.

  He thought of Lissa in his bed every night, and decided some ‘freedoms’ were worth losing.

  Hakon cast him a curious look. “What has you so restive? You behave as if you sit upon thorns.”

  Unbelievably, he felt the touch of heat rise in his face, which his brother eyed with growing amusement.

  “Never mind. I suspect the answer to that question walks not far behind us.” He laughed outright. “So. I will be the first then, to offer my approval of your wedding to the lovely Lissa.” He sobered. “The others but need time, Bjarki. They will come around. As always, we will stand between you and Father, and we will watch out for the safety of this woman you love. It is the way of it, with us, is it not?”

  Brandr met the warmth of his brother’s gaze. No words were needed. Hakon reached to lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, then grinned and tightened his reins to fall back. “Go talk to Snurre about shelter, for ‘food and warmth the traveler craves who has wandered the rimy fell’. If I get wet, I will see to it you take a dip in the next river—with your clothes on!”

  Brandr chuckled as his mount responded to his touch and trotted forward to come alongside Nicolaus. He waved a hand in a vague skyward motion. “Already Gríss murmurs about the rain that has yet to begin. I have been threatened with the usual dire fate if we do not find cover before it falls.”

  Nicolaus slid a glance at him from the corner of his eye. “We will soon approach a track leading off the road. It goes south. If we follow it, we will come shortly to a village. A goodly mix of Saxon and Danski live together there, in peace. The innkeeper, Beornred, is a friend—more than that, he owes me his life and his livelihood. He will make room for us as long as we have need. I had intended to stop there for the night, but we will have to pick up the pace if we are to keep our brother dry! How fast can these pilgrims of yours run?”

  “Only the woman, Bryda, would have difficulty. She is with child.”

  His brother’s head snapped in his direction. “You have journeyed the breadth of Westseaxna ríce with a pregnant female? Thorr’s blood, Bjarki! You are a braver man than I. What about the youngling?”

  “Sindre will make sure he gets there.”

  Nicolaus stopped and swiveled in the saddle. “Ho!” At his call, the whole company halted. “We run for shelter. It is not far. The women will ride.”

  “Nei,” Siv called. “My legs are long and strong. I will run, and I will not tire.”

  “Well and good. Sindre, she is your task. See to her, and the boy.” He watched as Bryda and Lissa were raised to the saddle. “Onward!”

  Brandr listened with brotherly tolerance as Hakon, immediately behind him, loudly made much of the fact that the first raindrops were falling before they made it to the settlement.

  When they reached the inn, an old structure with whitewashed walls, sturdily constructed in the timber frame style, about which eight cottages were scattered in haphazard fashion, Brandr dismounted and lifted Lissa to the ground. He called Oswulf and Sindre, who refused to get nigh a horse, to his side. “Take the women and Alwin inside and let the innkeeper know we are here. Make mention of Nicolaus.”

  “Aye, leóf,” Oswulf said. He hastened to the door and vanished within. The women and Alwin went next, followed by Sindre.

  Satisfied his uncle’s presence would quell any potential trouble from the patrons, he trailed after Nicolaus to the back of the building. His eyes widened at sight of the stable, which shared the inn’s back wall. It was exceptionally large and substantial. All two and ten of the horses fit in the stalls with room to spare, a fact he found astonishing. Inns were not known for providing good shelter for horses. Of course,
oft they did not provide such for people, either. He made mention of it to his brothers.

  “This is one reason I always make for this inn when I am in the area,” Nicolaus said, as they stripped the gear from the animals and brushed them down for the night. The innkeeper’s son moved among them, insuring each beast had fresh water and oats. “Beornred is a shrewd man. With so much traffic on the main road, much of it by king’s men and wealthy merchants who travel by horseback and with heavy wagons, he deemed it wise to invest in a good stable. There is always fresh hay and plenty of fodder, and the roof does not leak, though I cannot say the same for the inn’s common room. He takes better care of the animals than of his patrons, a detail every good horseman appreciates.”

  “I am impressed.”

  “So you should be, Bjarki. The man has fared well enough to purchase a horse of his own,” he pointed to a far stall where a draft animal stood, its head down, apparently asleep, “which he rents—for an exorbitant fee—to any who has need and can pay.”

  Brandr grinned. “I begin to like this innkeeper.”

  “As do I,” Hakon agreed from the other side of Nicolaus.

  Nicolaus gave his animal a final pat. The horse snuffled, but did not raise its head from the grain bin. “For all that he is Saxon, Beornred is as enterprising as any of our people.”

  Outside, the sprinkles burgeoned into a deluge, but a back door opened to the inn’s kitchen, through which they tramped to reach the common room.

  “Ahhh,” Hakon said on a sigh. “I remain dry, Bjarki, so no unwilling swims for you.”

  “And I am hungry,” Nicolaus said, “and it smells good in here.” He stopped to flirt briefly with the innkeeper’s wife, calling her by name. She flushed at the outrageous compliments he made, and shooed him away, saying the stew would burn and it would be his fault.

  Brandr entered the common room, his eyes automatically searching for Lissa. He found her, still standing, waiting for him.