by Amy Faye
Until then, he'd just wait and watch the road pulling slowly away as the sun started to dip toward evening.
Fourteen
As soon as she saw the gleam in his eyes, Deirdre knew that she had a problem. If she were to let him run off and fight, it didn't much matter whether she won or lost. If she were freed now, alone, what would be the point?
She pushed aside the sting of being apart from Gunnar. She had more important concerns than love. How would she get back to her little hut? How could she? She'd be alone, and this far from home, it would take a week or more… if she ran into someone on the road, what would happen to her?
She didn't need to wonder. It wouldn't be pleasant, and there wouldn't be much avoiding it. Hitting a man over the head when his attention was divided, that was one thing. But could she really fight someone off if he were committed to hurting her?
She knew the answer without even having to think about it. She would be a dead woman, no doubt about it.
No, an escort would do very well. And if there was one thing that she knew, it was that if he weren't so damn obsessed with all this fighting and killing, Gunnar would have made a perfectly good escort.
He would protect her. He'd told her that, and she was surprised to find that she believed him, but that didn't count for much if he let her go alone.
If he won, and he didn't let her go, or even if she chose to stay, it was only a matter of time. Could she go back to his home country with him? Not a chance, she couldn't speak the language, had no place in his society. What would she do, living in some foreign land, near foreign cities?
Raise goats? Wait for him when he went raiding, hoping that he would be able to come back to her again this year? It was a hopeless idea, and it was immediately obvious how bad it was.
And what if he lost? That would be worse. One duel, Valdemar might let him live, might think that he could be cowed into submission. He might have mercy on the man who had led him into the position he was in now.
But not a second time, not when he realized that Gunnar was going to be a thorn in his side forever. Could she stomach the idea of letting Gunnar get himself killed? No, none of the options that she had at her disposal would work. Not one bit.
She let out a breath and gave it some more thought. What, then? The arguments came easily. He should bide his time, choose a better one. The night before a raid, no—but the morning before, that could work. And besides, you don't want to split the camp right before a day of fighting, do you?
He seemed to believe her, thankfully.
But then she had tried to stab him, to make the image work. How deep would be safe? How quickly could he recover? She had no way of knowing, never had a good idea and now it seemed to be accelerating.
It could slow back down, it could get faster—she had no way of saying. But she knew that it was dangerous to test it. She could kill him, if she pierced his heart. Or would that kill him? She had no way to be sure, but she certainly didn't want to take the risk.
If she didn't stab deep enough, he might heal from it long before anyone came to check on them, and make the whole thing a waste of time.
The dangers were too numerous, and the thought of hurting him, it all added up wrong. She couldn't afford the risk, that much was sure. She dropped the knife and sat back.
What was wrong with her? Deirdre had always been smarter than this. She thought things through, and she did what she had to do. It was all well and good that chickens were sweet little animals, but when she had to eat, she had to eat. Sweet animals be damned.
But somehow things were different now. When she had made the decision it felt as if a weight were lifted off her chest, and she sat back down, the knife laying there between them. She sucked in a breath and watched out the back.
If this was what it was like to care about someone, she didn't want it. She wanted back her stability, wanted to be able to think clearly. This, this inability to concentrate, and inability to do what she needed to do, it had to go.
After a long time, well after Gunnar had hidden the knife back behind her, the sun started to set on another day and the caravan slowed to a halt. Gunnar laid down, pretending to be asleep. He was as poor an actor as he had suggested. He looked less like a passed-out, injured man than he looked like an actor pretending to play a corpse.
So when a dark-haired Northman's head peeked inside to check on them, he took only a brief look before he turned to Deirdre with a bored look.
"Is he alright?"
She looked from the northerner to Gunnar and back, unsure how to respond. "He's still—"
The Northman stepped up into the wagon and took the opposite bench. "Don't lie. He's fine, aren't you?"
He nudged Gunnar's body with his foot, and Gunnar groaned too loudly and tried to roll away, but Deirdre could see that the illusion was broken. Everyone present knew exactly what was going on, there wouldn't be any fooling anyone.
"He can tell you're faking, Gunnar, just get up."
"Well," he answered gruffly. "I told you, I'm not very good at it."
Deirdre didn't respond, because the dark-haired man was already speaking, saying something in their language that she couldn't make out. She could hear Gunnar's name at least once, and Valdemar's, but beyond that she could only guess.
Then he turned to Deirdre. "Valdemar wants to see you. An update on how things are going with these three."
From the way that he had reacted to seeing Gunnar unharmed, and the look she'd seen on his face when the duel had been fought, she took a guess. "Should I mention Gunnar's condition?"
He raised his eyebrows and thought about it for a moment. "It would be bad if he realized you were lying. But worse things could happen. And besides, you never know. He might not be as fine as you think."
He smiled a dark smile, and she could see his hand on his knife. Her eyes darted from the knife to Gunnar, deciding what he meant. Would he seriously try to hurt him, or was this another plot to keep up appearances? His voice broke her reverie.
"You should go, she-witch. Valdemar is not the most patient man in our camp. He will appreciate if you go quickly." He bent down and loosened the loop that tied her rope to the bench support. "And don't get any ideas about running. Too many people would see you, you wouldn't get far."
But, she was surprised to find, she didn't have any ideas about that at all. She had ideas about something else entirely.
The field of flowers that the camp had decided to plant themselves in made a good distraction. No questions to bother with, no thoughts of what was going on when he wasn't around. No thoughts that he couldn't protect her if he couldn't see her. None of that.
All Gunnar had to do was look out at the field of flowers and see the bright yellows and blues and reds that all mixed into the green of the grass and plants around them.
He wasn't surprised that Leif had stayed here. He wasn't as talkative as Eirik, but he had always been prone to making his presence known when he wanted to know something, or wanted someone else to know it.
Yet he waited a long time for Gunnar to turn and regard him. There must have been something wrong, because he was never this quiet. Never this patient. Finally Gunnar decided he'd waited long enough.
"What is it?"
"You'd better not let anyone else realize you're better. I don't think he'll let you take it back. He's too ambitious. Wants it too badly."
"You think he has the support to stop me? Or split up the men?"
"He has his supporters."
"But would it split them up if I challenged him?"
"Depends on if he lived, I guess. It might."
Gunnar leaned back against the canvas wall and considered that. He was right, of course. The only answer was to get rid of Valdemar permanently, but it wasn't something he was particularly looking forward to.
No, he'd much rather not do that. But it had to be done. "How bad would it be to let him keep it?"
Leif looked at him, an eyebrow cocked. "Let him keep it? Yo
u're getting old, Gunnar."
"Not forever, or even very long. You don't think he's too dangerous, though, do you? Too arrogant?"
"Will he get anyone killed, do you mean?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
"No, not so far. We'll have to see. He doesn't exactly go running off in the middle of fights, either."
The comment stung, but he deserved it. "I don't want to leave anyone to be put at risk. He's too arrogant, too aggressive. Always looking to fight. Valdemar doesn't like to take rests, doesn't like to wait. If he could fight from now until he collapsed from exhaustion, he'd do it," Gunnar said.
The flowers were distractingly beautiful. Haunting. They made him think. What was the point of any of this? Why was he here, why had he brought his men here? So that they could all work hard to destroy places like this?
And yet… he shook his head softly and tried to push the thoughts away.
"Well, if you're planning on making your move, I would suggest that you do it after tomorrow morning's raid. He can't exactly protest, can he?"
"Are we that close? I can't see anything out of this damned cart."
Leif nodded pensively. "A few miles outside. Maybe an hour's march into town, I'd say."
The raven-haired man stepped down from the back of the wagon and nodded to Gunnar. "Tomorrow, we'll fight, and then you can make your move. If you wait too long, I think you'll find fewer and fewer men want to take orders from someone who's been lollygagging in the back of a cart. Even—especially if it was with a girl like the one you're with."
Gunnar smiled at the comment. Yes, especially with a girl like Deirdre. That was very much right. He watched the flowers, but now that he was alone the questions came back. What was she doing in there? What took so long? If she were giving a simple report, she would be out and back shortly. She certainly wasn't in Valdemar's tent trying to figure out how to cure his immortality.
He immediately tried to push away the sting he felt at the thought. She could do whatever she wanted to do, and more than likely it had nothing to do with wanting. If she was doing… that, then she was doing it because she was doing what she had to do.
But couldn't she have come to him for help? Couldn't she have asked him to solve her problems for her? He was as strong a warrior as any he had ever known, and certainly among the strongest she knew.
Perhaps it was his failing as a warrior that had sent her away, but he doubted it. Even still, he didn't want to think too hard about it. Every thought that he had only seemed to lead to further frustration.
When he heard footsteps coming around the back of the wagon, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Finally she was back. Would he ask what had happened, or would he pretend that he wasn't worried about it? Neither seemed particularly ideal.
If he brought it up, then he looked pushy, even demanding, and she already clearly badly enough of him, whether she was attracted to him or not. He would do well not to make his situation any worse than it already was.
Yet, the question burned inside him just the same. He had to know, even though it was nothing. Even though she had just been told to go report, and she had gone as ordered.
He'd made up his mind just in time for her to climb up into the back of the wagon, accompanied by another one of the men. One of Valdemar's, he reasoned, and it made good sense that he would be.
Then another came, and another, until there were five men standing outside, and the one tying Deirdre's hands back down. Gunnar realized what was happening a moment too late as the man tying Deirdre turned and clipped him on the ear with an elbow.
Gunnar's head was spinning, and the young viking took the opportunity to grab him round the waist and throw Gunnar from the wagon. His arms, still tied down, twisted wickedly and pulled agonizingly, threatening at any moment to pop out sickeningly.
Then he was free and fell to the ground, rewarded with a stiff boot to the head, and another to his gut in a one-two rhythm. Another hit him, and another, the blows coming one after the other.
The pain exploded behind his eyes, his mind starting to go blank as the hits kept coming. A normal man might have been dead by now, he thought. It was only because of his particularly unique ability to withstand abuse that he was even still able to breathe, that his entire ribcage hadn't been broken.
He tried to fight back, for a moment. Wrapped his arms around one of their legs as it came kicking into his chest. He turned over, pulling the man to the ground, and then brought down his heavy hands, still tied together, on the boy's head. His nose exploded in bright red blood, streaming down his face.
Gunnar ignored it and tried to bring his hands down again like twin hammers, but a stiff boot to the skull sent him sprawling back to the ground, and before he could grab another the boy was on his feet again, continuing the beating with blood continuing to streak down his face.
He could feel his bones cracking, could feel his consciousness slip away. What was happening? Why? And what would happen to Deirdre?
The last question echoed in his mind as he tried to grit his teeth through the pain. What was he doing just leaving her there with them? Why wasn't he fighting any more?
And then the world was black.
Fifteen
Deirdre sucked in a breath and tried to calm herself down. There was nothing to be worried about. Valdemar had called her in, but that didn't mean anything. He was probably just hoping for an update on the injured.
The question, and the reason that she was starting to panic, was whether or not to tell him that Gunnar was healed up. If he were to win and Gunnar lost again, then all eyes would be on her to answer some very tough questions about why she hadn't thought to mention what he was planning.
If he lost, though, it wouldn't be hard to let the little detail slip to Gunnar, and that was the last thing that she wanted. That left her in between a rock and a hard place, especially since she knew that letting Gunnar continue the way he had been going was dangerous.
As she came into the tent the idea hit her like a shot. She wouldn't be able to get Gunnar to take her away right now. If she were to ask him, he would have laughed in her face. He had other concerns, concerns like commanding his raiding band and being a big damn hero.
If he was able to take control again, that is. If he wasn't—the thought kept running through her head, how easy it would be for Valdemar to kill him. She'd already told him how to find and use poison that would put him down for days at a time.
How could she avoid a fight between them, though? It would be easy. She slipped in and was surprised to find that Valdemar, unlike Gunnar, had already acquired chairs, and even a table, that looked to have been stolen during a previous raid. It made a stark contrast to the bare tent of the former leader.
"Sit down," he said, gesturing to an empty seat.
She did, not wanting to say anything too soon. She had to do this just right, or it could all turn around on her. "You called for me?"
"I did," he said, sitting back and looking her over. She was intensely aware of his eyes on her, similar to the feeling of Gunnar looking, but something set her on edge about it. She squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. "How are the men? Will they live?"
She tried to decide how much detail he wanted, and decided that he probably didn't want particularly much. "Yes, they'll live. The other two might not wake more than a few minutes at a time for… I don't know. Some time. But they'll live."
"Are you saying that Gunnar is different somehow?"
"He's less injured than he might have seemed at first."
Valdemar steepled his hands and nodded. "Good. Thank you for telling me. You may go."
That wasn't remotely what she had wanted. She'd wanted to drop that hint, and to have him ask her for her opinion. That was the risk that she had faced in trying to imply the danger rather than state it outright, though. Some people would always misunderstand, and the risk had always been there.
She stood up, struggling to decide wheth
er or not to abandon her plans. Gunnar would be ready to go any time, and if she stuck with him, he might be able to protect her, like he had promised to already. She didn't have any trouble believing that he wanted to, that he was thinking about her.
But what did that mean? What did it matter if he was thinking about her best interests if he didn't know what her best interests even were?
The decision was already made, but she was too afraid to admit it to herself. She clenched her teeth together and stopped before she could get out. She had to do it now, or she wasn't going to do it at all.
"I think he's planning something," she said. Her voice sounded strange. Afraid. She hadn't thought that she felt afraid of anything, but now that she was there, saying the words, she realized what she was afraid of.
There wasn't any way to go back from this decision. She was betraying Gunnar. She'd have to live with that for the rest of whatever life she'd live, and hope to heaven that he was going to do what she wanted.
If he were to realize what had happened, to realize that it was her that had betrayed him, the consequences could be dire.
But then—what else would he think? She had gone away, and then Valdemar suddenly decided that he was worth dealing with? She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, between being trapped and selling him out for a second time. Now that she was faced with the hardness of the stone she started to doubt, but the right decision was the right decision.
"What do you think he's planning?"
"I think, if you let him stay here, with medical attention and time to wait, it's only a matter of time before he's healed up completely, and he takes command back from you."
There were a thousand ways that Deirdre wanted to make herself more convincing. She wanted to seem confident, seem like she was doing this all because she was so interested in Valdemar, but she wasn't, and she couldn't make herself act that way, no matter how she tried.
