North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  She was at an impasse. If Ulrich and the others attacked Dunholm, they might win; but then William’s army would come. If they lost, she needed something else, something to turn the power status in her favor - or at least equalize it. She needed Eric.

  Julia blew out a shaky breath. For the two days she had spent in her dead brother’s chambers she had been unsuccessful at pulling her thoughts away from Vandalsson. Before he left, she would have said that she had interest in the man. He would be an excellent guard for the island and his men would strengthen their arms and their population. He also had potential to be a fine husband. Hot tears pricked at her eyes. She had held them off until now, but in the darkness before dawn she couldn’t hold back anymore.

  She would have married him. She had teased him about courting her, but she would have married him. She even thought they might have had a love match, after a time. She liked him. Not many noble women could say that about their husbands, but she honestly liked him with his dry humor and his staunch honor code. She could have asked him to stay. If she wasn’t so prideful she would have told him to wait until spring to retrieve his back pay from Norway and take home the other men. Instead she had hired him as an employer, taken his oath as his new liege, when she actually wanted to be so much more. She admitted that to herself with a quiet sob. Julia would not have ever told anyone that she would willingly give herself over to a man. But that man, she would have made her lord.

  Instead, she would get up. She would make herself as presentable as possible. And when the sun rose she would open the door and greet Dunholm at the table in the Hall and offer him a seat at her side. She would call the Abbot to marry them and leave the island as soon as possible with her new husband. She would protect the islanders from him, and hide her own shame and unhappiness from the people she loved. All because Eric had left, and it was clear he was not coming back.

  A scraping, muffled grinding sound broke into her sobs and made her remember what had woken her. She sat up in bed. The heavy pressure of wood rubbing on stone made a drawn-out grating echo in the room. Julia grabbed her dirk from its place beside her pillow. The small knife felt insignificant in her hand, and her heart beat wildly in her chest. The passageway! How could he know? What did he do to Simon! She knelt among the tangled covers and pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing.

  With a sigh and a burst of dust and salty air the wooden paneling next to the bed split open to reveal the ancient passage behind it. She fell backwards, her legs sprawling out in front of her, blade still gripped tightly. Julia’s eyes squinted against the sudden bright light of a torch.

  “That is not an effective weapon against a trained warrior.”

  “Eric?” she whispered. She blinked against the light, her eyes finally adjusting to the flickering fire. Towering at the side of the bed was Vandalsson. He was dusty and his clothes and hands were smeared with mud and a mossy slime. His hair was longer than when he had left; windblown and unkempt, it tangled across his forehead and over his ears. His twin axes were strapped to his belt. One hand was braced against the secret door while the other held a torch. For a moment, Julia had the absurd thought that his name, Bringer of Darkness, was not at all appropriate.

  “I have returned,” he said simply. Whatever he would have said next, Julia did not wait to hear. She launched herself at him, her dirk abandoned among the bedclothes. She did not notice that she was still crying until she felt his tunic grow wet under her cheek. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the far-off twinge of embarrassment in favor of the absolute relief of having him real and solid before her. He returned her embrace with one hand, leaving the door to close against his shoulder. She felt his face press against her head and he whispered into her hair, “It is all right.”

  Less than a half hour later, with Aelfreic’s old cloak wrapped around her and a bundle of clothes in hand, she followed Eric into the passage. He closed and locked the door behind them, muttering about a good blacksmith. They had only gone a few steps before she painfully stubbed her toe on a fallen chunk of rock. His stern expression when he assessed her bare feet made her shake back her hair defiantly.

  “I lost a shoe. There is no point in only wearing one.” His sigh sounded more than a little condescending, but Julia had no time to point that out as he handed her the torch and scooped her up. She stifled a yelp, conscious of his instructions to remain as quiet as possible. She was pressed against him from shoulder to thigh. His right arm tucked under her knees, making her very conscious of the short tunic she was wearing under her cloak. The coarse hair on his forearm prickled against the soft skin on the back of her legs. The calluses on his palms and fingers, developed from years of rowing and wielding his weapons, sent bolts of sensation straight to her core. His left arm wrapped around her back. His hand on her ribcage made her intensely aware of her breasts.

  “Stop squirming,” he murmured. She frowned at him, hoping her blush was not noticeable in the torchlight. She settled her bundle of clothes in the crook of her lap and awkwardly looped the arm closest to him around his neck. It took almost an hour to reach the cave. Several times, Eric set her down to navigate broken steps or patches of moss before lifting her over the obstacles and continuing down. They did not speak again. He had told her while she gathered her things that Simon believed the passage to be connected to the keep in several places. Sound could carry along the stone and reach ears they would rather it did not.

  She caught sight of the ship as they made the second turn in the passage. It was smaller than MØrket, but more heavily carved. “Raskdød,” Eric whispered in her ear, as though he knew the question she meant to ask. . The three men waiting at the bottom of the stairs straightened, looking relieved. Bjorn even sent a small wave their way. Julia’s hands were occupied, so she smiled as brightly as she could, hoping it would serve as greeting and thanks. Bjorn took her torch and extinguished it in the water with a nod and a smile. Eric climbed into the ship without letting go of her, and then continued to hold her in his lap while the men followed them in.

  He passed the key to Bjorn and murmured instructions which sent him and four others out of the ship and up the stone stairs. She made to stand on her own and ask why he was sending men into the keep, but he ignored her and only held tighter. She was embarrassed and fidgeted with her position, even trying to lean away from Eric. Then the men set their oars in the water. Raskdød exited the cave and her discomposure evaporated.

  A frigid wind whipped out of the north, scouring the cliff face and blowing stiff peaks across the sea. Thick snow fell, almost horizontally, and the cold took her breath away. She pressed as close as she could to Eric. The heat radiating from his body was a welcome distraction from the sting of icy flakes hitting her cheek. He pulled her hood over her face, tucking the cloth around her so all she could see was the fabric of his tunic and the tanned column of his throat. Her breath quickly warmed the air around her and she felt a little guilty about his bare arms and face, until she recalled that at least one of his hands would be well protected from the weather where it was tucked under her cloak and against her knees.

  The men did not speak as they rowed. They needed no direction from Eric. Julia relaxed against his chest and listened to the slap of waves against the hull and the occasional grunt of the rowers. The steady thump of Eric’s heart began to drown out the sounds of the outside world. In his warm embrace, Julia felt the fear that had been growing in her since Dunholm arrived begin to fade. Marrying the traitor was no longer her only option. She would still have to find a way to deal with Dunholm without inciting violence, but it could wait until morning. Vandalsson had returned.

  Reunion

  Eric dried his hands and face and sat at the table in Mary Ellery’s cottage. Sarah had warmed a pot of soup before returning with Simon to the monastery. The monk had wanted to wake his sister and examine her for injuries, but Eric refused. He had taken note of her swollen, slightly bruised lower lip, but if she had any othe
r injuries, they were nothing that had been noticeable under torchlight - it could wait until she woke. Mary Ellery was sleeping deeply when Eric laid Julia down beside her. In the shadows cast by the fire he could make out deep purple smudges under her eyes. Her cheeks looked thinner than he remembered, but under the tangled mass of dark hair and the ridiculously large cloak she slept peacefully. Eric pulled an extra blanket over her and Abjorn drew the curtains around the bed.

  Marginally cleaner, Eric consumed three bowls of soup and shared a loaf of bread with Abjorn before Mary Ellery awoke at the quiet mewling of one of her babies. She emerged from behind the curtain to pick up an infant from the cradle near the fire and settled into a chair near the hearth. Eric turned his face politely while she settled in to feed her child.

  “It is good to see you again, Vandalsson,” she said quietly. He nodded and carried both his and Abjorn’s bowls to a wash basin while the other man took charge of the second baby. “I feared...my babies would have died without my Lady’s help. When she did not return to look in on them the next morning, I feared the worst.” Eric did not respond, but rinsed out the dishes and replaced them on the shelf with the others. “You swore allegiance to my Lady before you left. Do you mean to honor that pledge?”

  Abjorn frowned and spoke softly in Norse, “Do not ask such things.” Mary Ellery ignored him and stared at Eric. He dried his hands and turned slowly. The wind had died down again, although he could tell by the murky light beginning to filter through the shutters that dawn was trying to break through the heavy snowfall.

  “I will not leave again.” None asked if he spoke of the island, or the Lady, and Eric didn’t elaborate.

  “Good then.” Mary Ellery straightened her dress and eased herself out of her chair, resettling the baby in the cradle. “No doubt she’ll want a bath when she wakes.” She opened a chest and removed a bag which she filled with the bundle of clothes Julia had brought with her from the keep before handing it to Eric. “I’m sure you’ll want to take your own clothes with you as well. There are torches, bathing supplies, and flint and tinder at the bathhouse. The door locks from the inside; you know how to heat the water?” At Eric’s short nod she continued, “I’ll watch her and make sure she eats when she wakes. If you need to do something, do it now.” She waited for his confirmation before taking the second baby from Abjorn and shooing them both out the door. “I doubt any will be down from the keep in this weather. Be careful anyhow, idiot,” she said it softly, and Eric noted that her eyes softened when she looked at the giant Finn. “And you,” she pointed a warning finger at Eric, but kept her voice low, “the bath is to get her clean and feeling better, nothing else, got it?”

  Abjorn chuckled but Eric managed to nod without a smile. As the men walked through the accumulating snow to Jens’ cottage, Eric let out a deep breath. She was safe. She was whole. Dunholm had not gotten her, not in any permanent way. He would give the men instructions and set a plan in motion to secure the keep. Once she woke and ate, he would escort her to the bathhouse outside of the village and check her lip to make certain the injury was healing. He almost smiled. The satisfaction of knowing she would be with him and that she would welcome him beside her soothed all but a few stubborn embers of his rage. He would not leave her side. And if he saw the opportunity, he would make sure Dunholm would never look at Julia again.

  Julia awoke to the comforting sound of a lullaby and a crackling fire. She blinked at the smoke-stained beams above her and the underside of a thatched roof. For a few blissful moments, she wasn’t thinking, but feeling warm and comfortable and drowsy. A brief baby’s cry, quickly shushed, brought her more fully awake. She sat up with a grimace and took in her surroundings. Grey light filtered through a crack in the shutters over the small window near the foot of the bed. The thin waxed skin that covered the opening was protected on the outside by wooden slats. The interior shutters had not been closed property and allowed the light to marginally brighten the room. The curtains had been drawn around the bed. From the bedding and the fine candles mounted on the wall Julia ascertained that she was in Mary Ellery’s house.

  Awareness of all that had happened and all that lay before her crashed down on her shoulders. Dunholm was still in her keep, and thus still threatened her people. As much as she would have liked to stay in bed and ignore the world she pushed off the blankets. She was greeted with the realization that she was still wearing the short under tunic she put on the day her friend went into labor. Slung about her shoulders was a worn cloak that Aelfreic had left behind when he went to war. She gathered the material around her to preserve her modesty, in case the chandler had guests, and drew the curtains aside.

  Mary Ellery stood beside the hearth. A small fire crackled and on the warm stones above it a covered dish of rising bread reminded Julia that she had not eaten in some time. Her hunger returned with a vengeance and she stumbled on the hard packed dirt floor.

  “My Lady,” Mary Ellery exclaimed. She set down the baby she was cuddling and hurried to Julia’s side. “Please sit, let me get you something to eat.” She offered an arm, which Julia took reluctantly.

  “Thank you, but you should be resting, not waiting on me. After the birth-”

  “Nonsense, it has been three days. My babes and I are fine and healthy - thanks to you, my Lady.” She gently pushed Julia onto the bench at the table and poured her a cup of calda. The warm water was barely flavored with a sweet wine, but it quenched her thirst and Julia thanked her hostess. “Pft, it is nothing. Let me get you some food. You must be starving.”

  She was, of course, but Julia tried not to drool or faint when a heaping plate of fresh bread, dried fruit, honey, smoked fish, and cheese was placed in front of her. She knew Mary Ellery did quite well with her candles, but the variety and amount of food was more than most of the villagers would have for breakfast. “This is too much, please, I could never eat all of this,” she said. She didn’t want to offend her friend, but even with her hunger she knew the bread and cheese would be more than enough.

  “Nonsense. You’ll eat as much as you can, and what you don’t one of those men you’ve taken on will clean up. Lord knows Abjorn eats enough for two people; I’m sure that man Vandalsson left at my door would be happy for a second breakfast.”

  “At your door?” she asked. Julia tried to be as delicate as possible, but she groaned in pleasure when the honeyed bread hit her tongue. Mary Ellery grinned and the Lady gave up pretense and ate as quickly as possible without choking or dropping anything.

  “Vandalsson and that idiot,” Julia noticed that she referred to Abjorn with a new fondness that belied her nickname for him, “left after they had their breakfast. They’ve gone to talk to Jens and see what to do with the English that were in the village.”

  “They haven’t hurt them, have they?”

  “And what if they have?” Mary Ellery bristled. “Those curs deserve it!” she softened. “But don’t you worry, my Lady. I heard Torvald say that the men weren’t allowed to use them for bait, so I’m sure they are fine.” Bait? Julia thought, but she let it go for now, too distracted by the glorious feeling of a full stomach. “Brother Simon was here when Vandalsson brought you in. He went back to the monastery with Sarah, but he said if the snow let up they would come back after midday to speak with you.” Belly finally full, Julia pushed away her plate, less than half empty, and cradled her cup of warm wine.

  “And what of Abjorn?” Julia glanced meaningfully at the pallet and blankets neatly stacked in a corner of the room. “Have you decided his candle was up to your standards?” Mary Ellery blushed darkly and Julia, reflecting on her own words, followed suit.

  “My Lady,” she managed in a strangled voice. “I- I- I can’t have him here, but he won’t leave!”

  “He has forced attentions on you?” Julia frowned. Abjorn didn’t seem like the sort, especially not a woman so recently in the child bed.

  “No!” Mary Ellery sounded horrified. “He has been nothing but helpful. He
has taken care of my stores, and brought Sarah to help with the babies when you did not return.” They both looked away in an uncomfortable silence.

  “Then what is the problem? You seem to like him. I thought I saw you...well, he is not unattractive?”

  “He is very attractive!” Mary Ellery burst out. She sighed, suddenly deflating and sitting at the table. “I do like him. I liked him even before...before I knew my husband would not return.” She turned pleading eyes on Julia. “Is that not wrong, my Lady? To lust after a man while I carry my husband’s babies - believing he will return to me?”

  “There is nothing wrong with admiring a man, Mary Ellery. I doubt very much the Abbot would condemn you to hell for that. You are a good woman.” She leaned across the table and patted the chandler’s arm. “Now you know your husband will not return. Now that you have grieved, there is nothing wrong with trying to move on. You have a life ahead of you - three lives.”

  “But not with him!” Mary Ellery almost wailed. Julia frowned in confusion. “He has a wife and children in Finnland! Vandalsson told me so when they first arrived! How can I make a life with a man who already has one?” Mary Ellery looked miserable.

  “I wouldn’t have believed Vandalsson would let one of his men...if he has a family...perhaps this is a misunderstanding?” They both sat in silence for a few moments before Julia asked after the twins, and the conversation quickly shifted as Mary Ellery lit with a maternal glow. The drink was nearly gone and Mary Ellery had settled in to feed her children when the men returned. Abjorn led the way. Julia’s heart warmed a little when his eyes sought the chandler and the babies first before he took a seat at the table, and following that emotion was outrage on her friend’s behalf. Abjorn seemed to care deeply for Mary Ellery and her children, but if he was betraying a wife elsewhere, Julia would make certain he regretted it. Eric followed, his big body blocking the light and snow from entering the cottage. He closed the door behind him and Julia was very conscious of his eyes on her face and body. He frowned when he noticed her plate.