Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘All right.’ She nodded her head finally. ‘You can stay until your arm heals, but you do what I say, you build your own shelter and you keep out of my roundhouse.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And when you leave, you don’t mention anything about this or me to anyone. You don’t make me regret helping you.’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Then we have an agreement, Danr Sigurdsson.’

  ‘And you have my thanks.’

  She gave an infinitesimal nod of the head. ‘In that case, you need your rest. You can bring the rest of the logs tomorrow.’

  ‘I can do it tonight.’

  ‘No. You promised to do whatever I said and I’m telling you to rest and heal.’ Her eyes narrowed again. ‘The sooner you do that, the sooner you can leave me alone.’

  ‘Then your wish is my command.’ He felt curiously touched by the words. ‘Thank you, lady.’

  Chapter Seven

  Sissa tied a knot of yarn to the shaft of her drop spindle and started to spin, looking up every so often as Danr stirred yet more ingredients into the cauldron beside him. They’d had a busy day. She’d done some weaving on a hand loom while he’d taken the rest of the logs to the cave, then washed some clothes and completed half-a-dozen other tasks she’d given him. She’d deliberately made no allowances for his arm, yet he’d done everything without complaint, even entertaining her while they’d carded wool with a story about a dragon and a beautiful maiden who was rescued by a brave warrior.

  The time had passed quickly since it was hard to imagine a skald telling it better. After such a long day, she would have expected him to be surly and exhausted, but he seemed to have endless reserves of energy and good humour. The more he’d talked, the more words had started coming back to her, too, as if some long-dormant part of herself had awoken again. She’d wanted to applaud when his story was over, although she hadn’t since that might have implied she was actually enjoying his company. None the less, she had to admit he was nothing like she’d expected a warrior to be. He was also more than a handsome face—funny, charming and apparently interested in cooking. She’d never seen so much fuss over what was, as far as she could tell, essentially just nettle soup. At that moment, he wasn’t even talking, utterly engrossed in the cauldron in front of him.

  ‘How many more ingredients can it possibly need?’ she asked finally. ‘How long until we can actually eat it?’

  ‘Patience, Erika-Bersa. It’ll be ready when it’s ready.’ He clucked his tongue, dipping his spoon into the bubbling liquid and then winking across the fire pit. ‘Now it’s ready.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’ She dropped her gaze, alarmed by a swooping sensation in her abdomen. It had happened that morning when he’d winked at her, too, although she had no idea why. Not that it was unpleasant, but it seemed to add an atmosphere of tension to the air around them. Or maybe she was the only one who felt it?

  ‘It just needs to cool for a little while.’ He removed the cauldron from the tripod and set it aside, swatting at a small, winged insect as he sat down again. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

  ‘Ravenous. Here.’ She put her spindle aside and reached into her basket, tossing him a small bundle that he caught in mid-air.

  ‘Bog myrtle?’

  ‘It helps to keep insects away. Tuck it behind your ear or they’ll go for your neck.’

  ‘You want me to put plants in my hair?’ He looked sceptical for a moment and then did as she suggested. ‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose. I’m tired of being eaten.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘At least I know you won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Very funny.’ She fought to repress a smile. With a green sprig behind his ear he looked even less like a warrior. ‘Do you really like cooking?’

  ‘Yes. I like good food, good clothes and good f—’ He bit his tongue abruptly. ‘A few other things.’

  ‘Fighting?’ She pursed her lips, trying to remind herself that he was still a warrior. ‘How many battles have you been in, Norseman?’

  ‘Danr, and more than I care to remember.’

  ‘Do you like fighting?’

  ‘I like wielding a sword. I like the discipline, the skill...’

  ‘The killing?’

  ‘No.’ His expression darkened. ‘I never enjoy that. Some men might, but I don’t.’

  ‘Then why do it? Power? Land?’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘There are lots of reasons for fighting, some better than others. Sometimes it’s a matter of survival, sometimes honour, sometimes it’s to hold on to what’s yours, but to take another man’s life...it’s a terrible thing.’

  ‘What about women? Families?’

  ‘No!’ A muscle clenched in his jaw. ‘I would never harm innocents.’

  ‘Some warriors do.’

  ‘Then maybe I am a different kind of warrior after all.’

  She held on to his gaze for a few seconds and then reached for her bowl. The tone of his voice was angry, as if he really meant what he was saying. As if some warriors were different, as if he really was... She took a mouthful of soup and then blinked.

  ‘This is delicious.’

  ‘You needn’t sound so surprised. You’ve enjoyed everything else I’ve cooked, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but this is nettle soup. I’ve made it a hundred times, but it’s never tasted like this.’ She tipped her head to one side, regarding him as if he were some kind of new species. ‘How did you learn to cook like this?’

  ‘There was an old woman who lived with us when I was a boy. I was talkative even back then, but she listened to me. One day I asked her to teach me, so she did.’ He shrugged. ‘I used to cook for my mother. It was one of the few ways I could please her.’

  ‘Your mother?’ She couldn’t resist asking. He’d said something about being a bastard... ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘She was in Maerr, but she died. Sixteen years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She paused briefly before curiosity got the better of her again. ‘What was she like?’

  ‘Raven-haired and beautiful.’ His expression warmed though there was a faint look of anguish in his eyes, too. ‘Her name was Saorla and she was the sister of an Irish king—or so we recently discovered. My father met her when he was a young man and carried her away with him when he left. Of course he promised her everything, his love and devotion as well as a life of comfort and riches in his kingdom of Maerr. What he didn’t tell her was that he already had a wife.’

  ‘You mean he lied to her?’

  ‘Blatantly, yes.’ His jaw muscles tightened again. ‘So having shamed and humiliated her, he made her his concubine instead.’ He reached down and picked up a twig, using it to draw a pattern in the dirt. ‘My father was a great warrior and Jarl, but where women were concerned, he wasn’t a good man. He only thought of himself. My mother learnt that the hard way.’

  ‘Why didn’t she go back to Eireann?’

  ‘At first because she had no way to get there. Then my brother Rurik and I were born and we bound her to Maerr for ever.’ He threw the twig away with a grimace. ‘So she made the best of a bad situation.’

  She blinked. ‘That seems a strange way to think of yourself.’

  ‘It’s only the truth. She did her best for us, but she was never happy. As for our father, she loved and hated him, I think, and who could blame her? Most of the time they just argued.’

  ‘You weren’t close to her, then?’

  ‘Rurik was always closer to her in looks and appearance, whereas I...well, I took after our father. It made things difficult. In any case, she died of a fever when Rurik and I were eight and after that we moved into our father’s hall.’

  ‘Rurik...’ The name was familiar. ‘You spoke of him before.’

  ‘What?’ His brows snapped together. ‘When?’

  ‘When you were unconsc
ious. You said other names, too, but he was the one you mentioned the most.’

  ‘He’s my twin. We have three half-brothers we’re close to as well, but with Rurik it’s different.’ He reached for his soup with a frown. ‘Was different.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He married last winter. Now he lives in Glannoventa and thinks the sun rises and sets in his wife’s eyes.’

  ‘Is that so bad?’

  ‘No. He and Annis are perfect for each other and they deserve to be happy after everything they’ve been through. It’s just hard not to be...’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘No!’ he answered too quickly and then pulled a face. ‘Maybe a little. Rurik was the one person I could always talk to about anything. He was the only one who understood what it was like to not really belong either. Our father recognised us as his sons, but we were still bastards. Neither of our parents particularly wanted us. Now Rurik’s found a place where he can belong—someone else to belong with, too. I suppose a part of me is jealous.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not proud of the fact.’

  ‘At least you know he’s safe and happy. When you love someone, that’s the most important thing, surely?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He looked up from his soup, studying her so intently for a moment that she found herself dipping her head to avoid his gaze.

  ‘So you moved into your father’s hall when you were eight and that was the end of cooking?’ She hastened to change the subject.

  ‘Yes. Jarls’ sons don’t become cooks.’ He sounded matter of fact about it. ‘Or skalds for that matter. So I learned to become a warrior instead. A good one.’ He glanced down at his arm. ‘Most of the time anyway. This was a mistake. I was foolish and let emotion get the better of me. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Maybe you just shouldn’t fight again.’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘I didn’t save your life so you could go and get yourself killed afterwards—or kill someone else, for that matter.’

  ‘I don’t want to kill anyone, believe me, but I still need answers.’

  ‘Then maybe you should think of another way to get them.’

  They lapsed into silence while they ate, the skies gradually darkening around them until finally Danr leaned back, rolled his shoulders and sighed.

  ‘Do you know what we need? A game.’

  ‘What?’ She finished her last spoonful of soup. ‘What kind of game?’

  ‘Tafl?’ He gestured in the direction of the cave. ‘Do you have a board stored away somewhere?’

  ‘No. Who would I play with?’

  ‘Good point. All right, then, we’ll improvise.’ He reached down and picked up some twigs. ‘Knuckle bones. Or knuckle sticks in this case.’

  He threw the twigs up into the air, watching as they fell and then catching as many as he could on the back of his hand.

  ‘Four.’ He made a disparaging face. ‘I haven’t played in a while. It works better with bones.’

  ‘I used to play it like this.’ She found a smooth, grey stone, tossing it up and then picking up as many twigs as she could from the ground before catching the stone again. ‘Nine.’ She threw him a look of triumph.

  ‘All right.’ He did the same thing. ‘Ha! Nine as well. We’re even.’

  ‘Not until I’ve had another turn.’

  ‘Then let’s make this interesting, shall we? Ten turns each. The winner gets a prize.’

  ‘What kind of a prize?’ She folded her arms suspiciously.

  ‘That depends. If I win, you have to tell me something about yourself.’

  ‘I said you could only stay if you didn’t ask me questions.’

  ‘But this is a game. It’s different. And if you win, you get something you want. The only condition is that you have to use your left hand, too. That’s only fair.’

  ‘All right...’ She pursed her lips, considering her prize. ‘Another story.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked pleased. ‘You enjoyed my story before?’

  ‘It passed the time.’

  ‘Ah... Well then, I’m glad I could help. Now do we have a challenge?’

  ‘We do.’ She nodded and flexed her fingers. ‘I’ll go first.’

  They played for several minutes, keeping a tally with marks on the ground, Sissa leading at first, then Danr, until it all came down to the final round.

  ‘And the Norseman wins!’ Danr whooped in celebration as he beat her by two twigs.

  ‘All right.’ She chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly anxious about what she’d agreed to. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Mmm.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully, prolonging the moment. ‘Your roundhouse, it’s not built in a style I recognise. Did you build it?’

  Was that it? She almost sagged with relief at the question, glad it wasn’t anything more personal.

  ‘No, it’s an old Pictish design. It was here when I came, though I’ve made repairs over the years.’

  ‘So it was empty when you found it?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated briefly. ‘I was found. You aren’t the only one who was rescued from the forest.’

  ‘You were rescued?’ He sounded intrigued. ‘What happened?’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ve had your question.’

  ‘But it led to another one. Do I need to challenge you again?’

  ‘No.’ She yawned. ‘I’m too tired.’

  ‘Then you leave me no choice but to make it up.’ He sat down on the tree stump, drumming his fingers on his knees until he snapped them together abruptly. ‘I’ve got it. You were found by a powerful sorceress who bound you to silence. The spell could only be broken by the arrival of a hand—’

  ‘Handsome warrior?’ she finished for him. ‘Do all your stories involve handsome warriors?’

  ‘Not all...’ he gave his lopsided grin ‘...but most of them, yes.’

  ‘Stars!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Stop doing that!’

  ‘What? I thought you said you liked my stories.’

  ‘I said they passed the time, but I meant stop smiling like that.’

  He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You want me to stop smiling?’

  ‘No, just stop smiling like that. It looks as if you’re trying to persuade me to do something.’

  ‘I am. I want you to tell me who found you in the forest.’

  ‘Just smile normally. Be yourself.’

  He blinked as if the idea were new to him, then looked her straight in the eye and curved his lips. ‘Like this?’

  ‘Much better.’ She nodded with approval.

  ‘Good enough for you to tell me who found you?’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Her lips twitched despite herself. ‘Her name was Coblaith, but she was no sorceress. She was a Gael, a healer, and after she rescued me she brought me to live here. We spoke different languages, so we communicated through gestures instead. I suppose I got out of the habit of talking, but she still taught me all about herbs and how to use them. If it hadn’t been for her, I would probably have died.’

  ‘So she found you all alone in the forest?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Completely alone?’ He was silent for a moment. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She was already old when she found me. Already weakening, too, I think. Then one morning she started up the mountain on her own without a cloak or a stick or anything. I went to go with her, but she just gestured for me to stay. She gave me this.’ She touched her fingers to the torc around her neck. ‘I don’t know how she found the strength to climb up there, but she did. I never saw her again after that.’

  ‘And you’ve lived here ever since?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been five winters since she found me. Three since she left.’

  ‘Three winters on your own?’

  She nodded and lapsed into silence, surprised
by her own words. She’d just told him more about herself than she’d ever intended to, but something about him encouraged confidence. Even so, it had to stop now. He hadn’t asked what had happened to her family, but she could sense the question hovering in the air between them.

  ‘Where’s your shelter?’

  ‘Mmm?’ He gave a small start, as if she’d just interrupted some chain of thought. ‘Oh, over there.’ He pointed towards a corner of the clearing.

  ‘Where?’ She peered closer at a pile of branches she’d assumed he’d gathered together for firewood. ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Yes. In my defence, I didn’t have much time.’

  ‘Obviously.’ She tried to keep a straight face and couldn’t, a peal of laughter bubbling up before she could stop it. Danr paused in the act of reaching for the cauldron to look at her, his expression arrested, before he laughed, too, his blue eyes sparkling into hers.

  ‘I’m glad my efforts amuse you.’ He spoke in a tone of mock indignation.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s a good start, but...’

  ‘It’s terrible?’

  ‘Yes!’ Another burst of giggles erupted.

  ‘I think this is the first time I’ve seen you smile.’ He put a hand up quickly. ‘That doesn’t mean you have to stop.’

  ‘But I do.’ She put a hand on her stomach. ‘It hurts. Wait here...’ She went into her roundhouse and came back again with a leather pelt. ‘You can drape this on top. It should keep off the worst of the drizzle as long as there’s no wind.’

  ‘You think it’s going to rain?’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘It doesn’t look like it to me.’

  ‘Trust me, it’ll rain before morning. Maybe not much, but there’ll be another downpour again soon. You’ll need to build something more substantial beforehand.’

  ‘Maybe you could give me some advice?’

  ‘Maybe. Here.’ She held out the pelt and then inhaled sharply as their fingers inadvertently brushed against, then wrapped around each other at the same moment as their eyes met and held, a hot searing sensation like a flash of lightning passing between them. Warmth coiled in her stomach and her heart gave a sudden, unexpected lurch before she jerked away.