by Lea Bronsen
Hedin cried out and scrambled for the knife with his free hand, but the more he fought, the more Alv pushed it farther in, to the hilt.
“Aaargh.” Hedin shook violently, face livid with shock, his eyes bulging. His hand clutched Alv’s wrist and tried to make him pull out the blade, but it was too late, the damage was done.
“I’m sorry,” Alv growled, his vision blurring. “You’re not giving me a choice.” As the glimmer in Hedin’s gaze faded, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on his pale lips. “I really did care about you.” It was a lot more than a slave could expect from his master.
He sat back on his heels and watched Hedin’s last struggles.
After another moment, the boy lay still, his eyes blank, lifeless. A long, raspy breath came out of his parted lips.
Alv swallowed hard and swept the quiet, empty village around him. It was a miracle no one had come out to see what all the noise was about.
His head spun, and a cold sweat broke out. He had killed. He’d become a murderer. Like Roeland.
Time to leave. Both of them had to flee. Now, while the villagers slept.
On high alert, he hurried to his dark house, lit an oil torch, and grabbed a few items he would need during a lengthy voyage on horseback. They couldn’t escape by boat. Neither he nor Roeland had strength to row all the way to Bjorgvin, and anyway, come morning, the warriors would be quick to look for them with their war ship.
His pulse beating wildly with angst, he stuffed everything into a bag, flung it over his shoulder, and uncovered a secret hole in the one of the walls where he’d hid the money he inherited from Father. The silver coins would be of good use when he needed to bribe the prison guard into giving him the keys to Roeland’s chain.
Ready.
For what had to be the last time, he glanced around his small home and memorized the details. He was giving everything up for Roeland, sacrificing the privileges he’d gotten as the son of a nobleman. Wasn’t that what the Christians preached? He gave open-heartedly, without expecting anything in return—for he couldn’t demand that Roeland loved him back—and truly, that was real love, the way Jesus practiced it.
He blew out the torch and opened the door to the dark night. To be honest, he didn’t mind leaving the village. He’d been born and raised here, and like everyone else, he belonged, but nobody liked him or respected him. They didn’t care if he disappeared. Except from Gorm, but the old medicine man would die soon.
That left Mother.
Well, she’d never really loved him either…
He would tell her a silent goodbye then when he snuck into her house and passed her bed to grab baby Ima in her crib.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was summer, so the sun rose early over the north-eastern horizon, painting the Folgefonna glacier’s everlasting snow a yellowish pink. The imposing scenery in the distance didn’t make Alv feel any better; on the contrary, it confirmed his gnawing presentiment that this was going to be a long and difficult journey.
He filled his lungs with crisp morning air and urged his strong, brown horse to trot faster through a richly green valley of high grass and woods. They needed to leave as much distance to the village as possible. When Torsten and his men realized he’d helped a prisoner escape, they would mobilize all forces to track them down.
Foxgloves adorned the sides of the trail, an earth path that’d been trampled hard and flat by centuries of travelers. The color of the flowers’ characteristic tubes varied from plum to dark purple. Eye-catching, but dangerous. He would always connect this plant to the murder he’d committed. A murder sparked by simple jealousy.
Before leaving, he’d woken Gorm to say goodbye. The old man had questioned the hurry. They’d always nurtured mutual trust and transparency, so Alv had admitted to taking someone’s life and stated he would never forgive himself. It didn’t help that he’d killed in self-defense. In the past, Gorm had told him, “One should always seek an alternative.” And now, Alv had taken a poor slave child into his household, only to slide a blade into his heart a year later!
Gorm hadn’t commented on the incident, but choked down tears and told Alv which route to take. Though Bjorgvin was situated north-west of Eðni, the only way on horseback was east, along the fjord and its steep mountainsides, across the southern part of the glacier, and, before reaching the Hardanger plateau, north alongside the coastline again. At the bottom of the fjord, they could finally turn west and follow the seaside back on a long, windy trail that crossed the Voss mountains and ended at their destination—Roeland’s hometown. It would take weeks, possibly months.
He glanced behind at the black haired, tanned man on a second horse. Roeland studied the tiny baby girl cradled in his arms, wrapped in several layers of wool. Alv could only see her miniature face, and that alone gave his heart a painful pinch. Traveling with a newborn wouldn’t make the journey any easier. They would have to stop in each farm they passed to beg for cow or goat milk. She couldn’t survive on water.
Roeland looked up, but before he met Alv’s eyes, Alv turned back and gazed ahead. His chest tightened. He wanted to connect with him, needed to exchange a reassuring look or a smile. But he was so afraid Roeland might have pretended to enjoy the sex in the barn, he didn’t dare to seek contact and be disappointed. He’d given up everything for Roeland, ripped his own life from the roots and faced a highly uncertain future, but chances were he wouldn’t get a single thing back. Once—if—they arrived safely in Bjorgvin, he would wait for Roeland to settle, then go to the mountains and live alone somewhere. He wouldn’t be able to stay in town near a man he loved and desired, if that man didn’t return his feelings.
A distant sound of galloping hooves behind them shot alarm through him.
He jerked to a halt.
Had the warriors caught up so soon?
Coldness invaded him top to toe. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
He tugged at the leather reins, forced his mount to spin on the trail, and hurried over to Roeland, who had stopped to listen.
They exchanged their first look, one of urgency, of panic. They’d known this could happen, and Alv had thought on how to deal with it, but to actually live the nightmare…
Throat tight, he stopped his horse next to Roeland’s and extended his free hand. “Give me the baby.”
“What?” Roeland widened his eyes so their white showed.
“Go hide.” Alv leaned over, reached for the bundle in Roeland’s arms, and tore it from him. “Come on! If they catch you…”
Alv should run and hide, too, but it was more important to keep Roeland safe, and Alv could only ensure that by stalling the warriors. If he ran off with Roeland, the warriors would instantly follow both their traces.
With a gasp, Roeland gazed from his baby to the surroundings—a prairie flanked by a forest, and beyond, hillsides. He turned back to the baby. “God,” he croaked, and grimaced as if in pain. Of course, he didn’t want to leave her. Was this the last time they saw each other?
And was it the last time Alv saw Roeland? The stampede approached fast, a hard and threatening sound, like rolling thunder. No time to think.
“Come on!” Exasperated, vision filling with tears, Alv kicked the flank of Roeland’s mount twice, ordering it to get moving.
The big animal jerked forward with a surprised huff, and while its hooves hammered away on the hard earth path, Alv sat still on his saddle with the warm, sweet-smelling baby clutched close to his chest.
Ima.
The chubby thing weighed less than a cat. She had thick black hair and tiny, cherry pink lips. Opening and closing her hands, she looked up at him, or past him, at the white clouds in the sky perhaps, blank eyes unfocused.
He would protect her at any cost. Give his life, if need be.
I promise, Roeland.
Heart pounding, he waited, gaze riveted on a massive boulder on the side of the trail that concealed a turn. He breathed evenly through his parted lips and rocked the lit
tle girl. To calm himself more than her, surely. The warriors wouldn’t hurt her… But him? He had no idea what they’d do to him. At best, they would make him a slave. At worst, they would kill him for treason.
The galloping came closer. Alv held his breath and braced.
Now.
Like a whirlwind, a horse appeared from behind the boulder, carrying a tall, broad-shouldered Norseman with long brown hair and a beard.
Torsten. Not quite a surprise.
While he neared and slowed down to a trot, Alv waited for the others. How many would he have to face off?
But there came none.
Was it only him? Why?
Features tight, Torsten stopped his mount in front of Alv’s, its hooves sending dust in the air between them. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Though the question was frankly idiotic, Alv needed to buy time.
Torsten didn’t reply.
They stared at each other. Torsten, gaze tense, breathing fast, the sweaty horse blowing through its nostrils and thrashing the ground, and Alv seemingly calm, but chaotic inside. His life had lost much value in the past hours.
At least, Torsten didn’t pull his sword out or give any other sign of hostility. That was something. Odd, but Alv would take anything positive. He gazed past him. “Where are they?”
“Who?” Torsten retorted, tilting his head. After a moment, he pulled on one of the reins, made a smacking sound with his tongue, and had his horse step sideways.
The motion revealed a smaller person seated behind him. A very young woman, cheeks rosy, with a cascade of curly black hair covering her fur clad shoulders—Elke!
Alv gaped and, incredulous, locked eyes with his beautiful ex wife-to-be, who gave him and the baby in his arms a sad smile. What on earth was going on?
“Where’s Roeland?” Torsten insisted.
Alv blinked to shake himself from his surprise, and turned to sweep the vast landscape.
No one. Far off in the distance, the majestic Folgefonna loomed, its snow turning a striking white against the blue sky.
Hopefully, Roeland followed the scene from his hiding place and would return.
Torsten continued, “I want him to know I’m going to take good care of his sister.”
Not exactly news. Alv turned back slowly. “Is that why you came here? To tell us that?”
“I’m going to make her my wife and raise her child.”
Elke shifted on the horse’s back and told Alv, sadness bubbling in her black-diamond eyes, “You didn’t say goodbye.”
He wanted to counter with, “You were supposed to marry me, but chose someone else.” He contained the sarcasm, wasn’t out of trouble yet. He’d killed a man and helped a prisoner escape, remember? Besides, he hadn’t been too thrilled by the idea of marrying her, so it wasn’t like he suffered a big loss. It was more a general disappointment with how people regarded him and behaved around him. They’d always made connections and arrangements between themselves, and left him, the weird one, out. He was used to it, but the deceit still stung.
Torsten cleared his throat. “I also wanted to tell him he’s a free man.”
Now, that was news, big news! Alv blinked again. “He’s free?”
“Yes. If I understand well, you’ve forgiven him for what he did to your brother. And I spoke with your mother this morning. She said she supported that decision. She was in tears, by the way.” Torsten gave him a pointed look. “She would’ve wanted you to stay. You’re her son.”
Alv’s chest squeezed tight. He bit his lower lip. He hadn’t expected Mother to express feelings for him. Taking a deep, soothing breath, he asked, “Roeland can go anywhere he wants?”
“He’s about to become my brother-in-law, so I’d rather not have bad blood between us. If he wants to go back to Bjorgvin, then…” he sent a glance behind him, at Elke, and she nodded. “Then he will.”
“That’s good.” Alv wanted to throw in a little politics while they were on the subject. “It would be wise to release the other prisoners from Bjorgvin, too. Or else, I’m afraid the whole Dutch navy will attack you and—”
“I know. I’m aware of the danger.” Torsten hardened his gaze, telling him he was likely to be elected leader of Eðni, not Alv. “I’ll consider it. Now, where is he?”
Alv shrugged, and it was the truth. “I don’t know.” He directed his attention to Elke, whose black eyes shimmered with tears.
Her young life had taken a severe blow with the rape. Now she was pregnant, far from home, alone since her brother fled, and marrying a much older Norse warrior. Would she find happiness in his village?
The sound of trotting hooves broke the silence. From behind. His heart jumped.
Is it you…? Sizzling, he spun in the saddle.
Yes, it was Roeland coming back on the trail, his mount kicking up dust. The handsome man’s face held an indescribable expression.
With a small cry, Elke slid off the horseback and ran toward her brother, arms spread, her long black hair flying.
EPILOGUE
Weeks later
“So this is where it happened.” Alv stood behind a gable-wall house contemplating a spot on the ground where his brother had been caught abusing Elke. Where he’d been beheaded.
“Yes.” Roeland nodded at his side, voice low.
No trace from the incident. No blood splatter, no nail clawing mark in the ground, no hair ripped from a scalp. Nothing to indicate that a rape, then a murder, had been committed. A lone yellow daisy stood straight and proud from a patch of earth along the wall. Life had moved on, didn’t have time for humans to grieve.
Tears rushing to his eyes, Alv squatted and set a knee on the hard ground. He’d vowed to avenge Joar and done what he could to fulfill the promise. He’d tracked down his killer, scarred him, brought him to Eðni, and imprisoned him. Then he’d found it in his heart to forgive him, love him, help him escape, and bring him back to his home. He was at peace with his conscience.
What more do you want me to do, brother?
“Be happy,” his inner voice replied.
Easier said than done!
At least, it wasn’t going to happen in Bjorgvin. He didn’t want to stay. That much, he’d learned since arriving here a few days ago. The European settlers, who’d recently been released by Torsten, regarded Alv with the same amusement and suspicion as his fellow Norsemen in Eðni did. No matter the cultural differences between civilizations, people were fundamentally identical.
No, he didn’t fit in anywhere, didn’t belong to any one place. Worse, the past weeks of extensive traveling and settling Roeland and his baby in a pillaged town had taken an emotional toll. Each day, he’d learned to know him better. Each day, he’d loved him more. The infatuation wouldn’t end, his feelings refused to give him a damn break.
He broke into tears and hunched over his knee, face in his hands, above the ground where it all started. He cried for his dead father and brother—the pain of losing them remained vivid. He cried for the vicious act of abuse his brother had committed, for the trauma Elke had experienced, for the uprooting of Roeland’s family and the death of his wife, and for the terrible guilt Roeland still carried to this day, the one Alv too carried after taking a young life, like a simple criminal.
And he cried for his shattered heart. He couldn’t stop sobbing. It hurt too much. He was so lonely, his load too heavy to bear.
* * *
Roeland’s stomach coiled as the horrific memories bombarded him. He winced from the hurt, but had deemed crucial that Alv saw the site of the murder. For both of their sakes. Alv had forgiven him, but Roeland hadn’t forgiven himself. Probably never would. Rape didn’t excuse what he’d done. His overreaction had propelled two families into a succession of problems and pain.
Seeing the young man cry so sorely on this spot increased his despair tenfold. He’d never wanted to hurt anyone, much less a person who cared for him as much as Alv did!
Thank God his daughter wasn’t here now, so t
he two men could have a moment alone together. A kind neighbor nursing her three-months-old baby had agreed to feed Ima milk, too. Roeland would fetch her later.
He squatted so his knees encircled Alv’s and caressed his long, soft, white-blond hair. “I’m so very sorry. If I could take anything back…”
Alv sniffed but didn’t reply. He didn’t look up either.
Ever since they’d left Eðni, he’d been distant and refused to meet Roeland’s gaze. This had lasted weeks. Roeland had attempted to catch his attention countless times, told him things, asked questions, involved him in the caring of Ima…but Alv had kept to himself and only communicated a strict minimum.
Of course, he had the right to be moody considering he’d killed his slave. Roeland knew how badly that sort of guilt could hurt. But it didn’t mean Alv had to shut him completely from his life. Especially since they’d shared something incredible on the sexual level. No, his rejection seemed more personal—as though Alv blamed him. Roeland just couldn’t figure out what it was. If only Alv would speak!
This confusing behavior had to stop. “Hey.” He reached for the young man’s hands and pried them away from his tear-stricken face. “Look at me.” Alv refused to obey, so he cupped his wet cheek with a palm and forced him to lift his head. “Come on, you can’t continue to avoid me. You’ve avoided me for weeks.” It was the first time he brought up the subject.
Alv looked at him then, really looked him in the eyes, his long-lashed stare so poignant Roeland felt like a sharp arrowhead slowly dug into his heart.
The air was squeezed out of his lungs. “What is it?” he whispered, throat choking.
They were so close, Alv’s gaze darted between Roeland’s, vibrating with a wealth of battling emotions.
Maybe he was too pained to speak—had Roeland considered that?
In an attempt to help him open, Roeland leaned closer, tilted his face slightly, and kissed him. Just like that. With his hand cupping Alv’s cheek, he kissed him, his mouth applying soft pressure on Alv’s full, warm lips, nibbling gently over and over. He closed his eyes, wanted to savor the connection and make the moment last. It felt too good, too right. It wasn’t sexual, but a sensual declaration of feelings.