by Lola Rebel
Yet… could she stay? She knew before she had to decide that she couldn't. She would be leaving behind Gunnar, leaving behind everything that had made her come back in the first place. She turned, looking to Gunnar for advice. He stood there, his hand outstretched to help her into the boat.
All of her things, though. All of her things, her home. Her place in the world. What did it mean?
She looked back over her shoulders. The man had started to speed up, seeing that they were loading onto the boat. They had only a moment, and if she was going to save them—she took his hand and got on board. The rope came off the dock, and they were away.
Two big men, clearly used to rowing, were at the oars. They took full strokes, and by the time the man reached the end of the dock they were already well on their way. Deirdre breathed a sigh of relief.
But she knew she would still have more trouble coming.
He could tell, even as the others rowed, that something was wrong. Deirdre was acting oddly. Off. She wasn't happy about something, but she hadn't told him what and he was no mind-reader. Perhaps she wasn't aware that other people lacked that particular ability, he thought. Smiled at the idea. No, she wasn't half so foolish as that.
But the idea tickled him in spite of that. They'd hung down a rope ladder to climb, and the injured had already needed helping, so when it came Deirdre's turn he couldn't help lifting her a little way out of the boat with his hands. Couldn't help the desire to touch her hips.
She climbed up, and he brought the little boat around back, where the men had dropped down a tow rope. He tied the boat off. They might need it, after all. No reason to just leave it behind. Then he dove into the water.
The weapons at his waist were heavy, pulled him down, but he had been swimming since he was knee-high. It wasn't going to hamper him much. The worse effect would come from the weight of his clothes. They would need to come off once he was on deck.
An easy reach up from the water, and he took the bottom rung of the rope ladder, pulled himself up, and then it was an easy climb back up. Eirik pointed him in the direction of where they'd taken Deirdre. The only separate bedroom they'd found in the place, he noted. Whatever that meant for how the men thought of her, or of him, he wasn't sure.
He pushed the door open to find her sitting in a well-made wooden chair. The chair alone would have been worth taking, if they could carry it. Well, now they could.
"What's wrong?"
She looked up at him and seemed to debate whether or not to tell him. That was a mistake on her part. She needed to tell him what she wanted, or he couldn't give it to her.
"I just misunderstood," she said softly.
"Did you not want to come back home with me?"
She sucked in a breath and balled up her fists. "I didn't want you to make me, Gunnar. Is this going to be your life, from now on? Going out? Killing people? For what?"
The words echoed his own thoughts. His own face twisted up in confusion. No, he hadn't planned on continuing to fight, but she was more right than she knew about what would happen back home. It would be one thing after another. At best, they had hope for a little farm by themselves, but he knew better than that.
It would be another raid, another reason to go off and fight. There was always another raid, another war, another knife in the dark. Gunnar frowned. "Go to bed, Deirdre. We'll talk about this later."
He closed the door behind him, leaving her to fume. She was thinking that he had dismissed the question entirely. That he was treating her as if she had no right. How wrong she was.
The men had already pulled up anchor, and now they lowered the sail. Ulf was behind the rudder, waiting for the speed to pick up. If anyone could navigate them back quickly, Gunnar thought, it would be him. They were lucky in that, at least.
As the men tied off the main sail, and speed picked up, Gunnar settled onto the floor, his back pressed against Deirdre's door. If things didn't go well, then what could they hope for? A life of fighting the English, seeing her on the off-season just long enough for Torstein to find another Jarl to fight back in Denmark?
No, that wasn't the life he wanted. Not any more. It wasn't what he envisioned when he closed my eyes. He didn't want that for himself, and he didn't want it for her.
The decision danced at the edge of his mind. He knew already what the right answer was, he knew. But it was too late. They were already on the way. Had been for an hour or more. Deirdre had stopped moving around the cabin, probably fallen into a restless sleep at some point.
No, they weren't too far out. They could get back, he realized. It wouldn't be too hard at all. He'd given them just the tools they needed. He stood up and turned, tried the door. He hadn't expected it to be locked.
If he pounded, then he would draw too much attention. They needed to stay quiet. Everyone was tired, and they would let it happen if he were quiet. But if he were to make noise, then he would need to explain himself. He'd need to justify leaving them to go back. He couldn't do that, not right now. Right now he just knew what he wanted, and that was all he could justify.
In the morning they could make their own justifications. They could find whatever explanation they wanted, as long as he was gone. He tried the door again. Knocked on the door as hard as he dared, and hoped that Deirdre would hear.
"What do you want?" The response was immediate. So she hadn't slept after all.
"Open the door, Deirdre."
"I'm staying in my room until we arrive."
"We're not going to arrive."
That got her to move, he thought. It made him smile. He heard the lock coming undone, but still she didn't open the door. He turned the handle and slipped inside.
The room was lit with an oil-lamp that halfway-illuminated it. Anyone who wanted to could see them through the port-holes, but with luck they wouldn't have much trouble with that. Still, someone walking by drew his attention. Just a movement outside, nobody watching.
"We're going to stay. That's what you wanted, right?"
She pursed her lips together. As if that weren't the answer she wanted.
"You're right. If I go back, I can't promise that it'll be any different than you think. If we stay… maybe things will be different. We'll take the rowboat. It's only a little way off the coast now. A couple hours rowing. We could be back on land by breakfast."
She didn't look pleased, but she nodded. "Then let's get going."
"Go grab the row rope, bring the boat in close. If Ulf asks what you're doing, tell him I told you to."
Deirdre nodded. He had to lower the rope ladder, to help her down to it. The noise of the wooden rungs slapping the side of the boat seemed magnified by the nighttime stillness. But as he stood back up, preparing to meet Deirdre, he heard her voice call out.
"It's gone!"
She shouldn't have yelled, but if there was any reason to then that was a good one. He ran to the aft railing. It wasn't attached. He scanned the horizon. It couldn't have slipped the knot. He repeated it to himself. Couldn't have. He had tied it properly. Then he saw it. No more than four hundred yards. Someone was at the oars, but it was too dark to make out their face.
They needed that boat. The waves were high, and the swim might not be all that safe. He looked from the boat to Deirdre's face, and then back at the boat.
He was over the rail and into the water before she could stop him.
Thirty-Nine
The splash below sent a deep shock through her. Sitting in a boat wasn't so bad. She could just be careful. She could try not to rock it too much. A boat this big, it just rocked gently. She could just stay a step or two back from the edge. But the idea of swimming? Out there?
She swallowed hard. Ulf was already there, his arm starting to hold her back as he called something out behind her. He looked behind, and she could see no one was coming fast enough. He looked at her, then moved over to the rudder controls. She wasn't going to have another chance to go. She sucked in a deep breath and fought down the urge to scream
as she jumped.
The fall seemed to take forever, and she was thankful for that. Because the minute that they hit water, she was going to have to swim, and that wasn't going to happen. She was lucky if she managed not to sink like a stone straight to the bottom of the sea. They'd never find any part of her.
A thought rang out in her mind. The tow rope. She tried to turn in the air, to get a view of it. Only a few feet to her left. If she was lucky, then it wouldn't be too big a problem to get to it. Her feet hit the water hard enough to make her knees buckle under her, and then the water was wrapped around her, all the way up to her head.
She tried to scream, but all that came out were some burbles. She tried to fight her way to the surface, but it seemed as if no matter how hard she pulled herself up nothing was working. Her clothes, soaked through in an instant, felt as if they were dragging her down to the bottom. She kicked her boots off, and it seemed to help.
With a powerful jerk she broke free of the water, sucking in a deep breath of water with more than a little salty sea water filling her mouth. A few easy feet. She could make it.
She scrambled. Her body was so heavy. She couldn't possibly stay up. Her body wasn't listening to her. She knew what she was supposed to do. Paddle through the water. Pull herself in the direction she wanted to go. But her body just wasn't listening, in spite of her efforts.
A few short feet. A few easy feet. It could have been a mile. She wasn't moving, no matter what she tried, and the time that she managed to keep her head out of the water seemed to be shorter and shorter each time. With a startling, terrified realization, she saw that it wasn't a few short feet, though. The boat had gone another hundred yards in the time that she'd bobbed there.
A strong arm wrapped around her, under her shoulders. Pulled her backwards through the water. Gunnar had her. She sucked in breath, kicking her feet to try to help keep them awake, but they tangled with his. She tried to turn, to grab him, so that he would have both arms.
She could feel her heart beating. Could feel the panic, threatening to overwhelm her. Her body still refused to move the way she wanted it to. A few deep breaths, and then her nose dipped below the water. She hadn't wanted to admit it. After all, she trusted Gunnar. Knew that he would save her, would protect her. He had already saved her, after all.
But they were miles out from the shore. He couldn't carry them both, and now, though she hated to admit it, they were sinking. It was only a matter of time. She grabbed tight 'round his neck, felt them come back out of the water again. She let out a breath and sucked in another as fast as her lungs were able. This time when they dipped it went over her eyes.
She tried to fight down the panic. She wasn't helping him. She was making things harder. He needed her to calm down. Needed her to relax. She forced herself to stillness. Breathed in deep and held it as they dipped back under the water. She opened her eyes back up, scanning the horizon for the boat. But she couldn't see it.
The ship was sailing on, seeming to get further with every second, and at the same time the little boat that Valdemar had stolen had disappeared. Gunnar was fighting below her, coming back to the surface to breathe, holding them for a few seconds at a time. Long enough to take two, perhaps three long, slow breaths before she had to suck in a last one that would last her until they came back out.
But she knew that they would drown, alone in the sea. There was no way they were going to make it out now. Gunnar stopped fighting it below her. His legs kicked slowly, but he had stopped moving his arms. Was he already too tired to continue? Was it because he had to carry both of them?
She tried to copy his movements, to paddle them both back toward the surface of the water. It was close enough that with her arm outstretched she could feel the open night air.
Just a little bit would be enough to give them both another breath of life. Would save them for another minute or two. Long enough for Ulf to turn the ship around, and bring it around to them. But her strokes did nothing for them. They sunk more, the dark of the sea slowly wrapping around them.
Then Gunnar surged back powerfully. Deirdre felt the belt wrapped around his waist come undone and slip off. They crested out of the water hard. Deirdre sucked in water. The effort to stop panicking was gone now. She couldn't stop herself any more.
She felt like laughing. Felt like crying. The knowledge that she was going to die, and that there was nothing they could do about it, brought a strange freedom. What did it matter what she did now? She could panic. She could have anything she wanted.
Brigid didn't matter any more. Answers didn't matter. Gunnar's fighting didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She was going to die here, and that was that. Easy. No need to untangle anything. No need to understand. Gunnar fought below her to keep them afloat. But it was pointless. They were never going to make it to shore, and she had doomed them both by jumping in after him.
Now both boats were too far to reach. She tried to look for them, but her eyes wouldn't focus. She could barely see her the back of Gunnar's head, inches in front of her face.
They dipped below the surface again. Deirdre couldn't hold her breath. Couldn't stop laughing long enough. It didn't matter. She sucked in a breath that was half-way salt water and she closed her eyes as they were engulfed in water. It was just a matter of time now. They might as well stop fighting.
Something from below, from deep in the sea, reached and grabbed her round the waist and pulled her. Or was it from above? She couldn't tell.
She came free of the water and was laid out on the seats of the rowboat, still laughing as the tears streamed down her face.
Gunnar felt someone lifting Deirdre off him, but he was too exhausted to figure what it was. He hadn't expected her to follow him in, and he especially hadn't figured on her panicking the way that she had. He surged back to the surface with a last bit of effort, floated on his back as best he could. Took the opportunity to take in a few slow breaths and regain his composure.
There was a hand, shoved into his face. He took it. Whatever was going on, he'd get out of this water. The boat tipped a little as he was pulled on, then it straightened and Gunnar was lying on the seats of the little row-boat that Valdemar had stolen. Deirdre lay beside him, her panicked laughing cut in with sobs. He frowned. That wasn't how he liked to see her. Not one bit.
Gunnar laid his head back. He still had to catch his breath. That was the only thing he could do for her at the moment. Once he was breathing again, he could see to her, he could get her on land. Then she'd be alright. But until then, he was sorry to say, she would have to wait.
He played through the last few minutes in his mind. He hadn't let himself think at all, the whole time. Just kept moving, conserving what strength he could. Carrying another in the water was hard, but it was nothing compared to carrying someone while they tried their damned best to drown in a panic.
He pulled himself upright. Valdemar was rowing them down the way, decidedly not looking at them. His eyes were on the horizon, and Gunnar and Deirdre were just in the way of the deep dark he stared out into. Gunnar was thankful for that much.
He turned to the woman beside him, soaked straight through to the bone. She was coughing hard, between being racked with sobs. But that was the best that he could hope for, he reminded himself. It could have been so much worse.
She'd breathed in some water, and her body wasn't getting rid of it properly. More than that, she was losing color in her face fast. Gunnar reached a finger into her mouth and tried to clear her throat of any obstructions, then breathed in. He had to do something. He turned her over and tried to squeeze the air out.
She coughed harder over his shoulder, then promptly pulled herself loose and heaved over the side, then sicked into the water. She pushed herself back into the seat beside him. She looked more tired than he'd ever seen her. Small and defeated, nothing like the rebellious, fiery woman he had seen when he first looked at her.
Gunnar stood up to move to take the oars, and saw her stiffen.
/> "It's okay. You're okay. We're safe." He tried to keep his voice, usually gruff, as soft as he could. She was scared. She let out another sob of laughter before she could stop herself. He could see it bothered her from the way she balled up her fists at her sides. But he couldn't help that.
Gunnar took the other set of oars and started working with Valdemar. They'd have words, and saving Deirdre was enough to cross out the betrayal, but Gunnar's pride still hurt from the loss, and he knew that Valdemar didn't think their rivalry was over, either.
They'd been on a collision course the entire time, and it was only when the English took them that they were forced to put it aside. Just long enough to get free. They couldn't fight it out on the little boat, so they would have to row.
Gunnar let himself settle into the rhythm of the movement and let his mind be still. He could never tell Deirdre, never in a thousand lifetimes, how close they had come to dying.
She could think what she wanted to think, but he couldn't let her realize that he thought they had come to the point where he was just putting off the inevitable. That little comfort would have to be enough for her.
And he could never let Valdemar know, either. Every one of them knew what had happened, but Gunnar wouldn't talk about it. Not ever.
The sun was beginning to peak over the sky when they hit land. Gunnar was surprised how quickly the time had gone. It felt as if it had only been a few minutes, but it must have been hours. His muscles and joints ached with the strain of rowing. It was as if he'd fallen asleep rowing and his body had just kept moving.
The land seemed to jerk Deirdre awake, as well. She crawled out of the boat and laid on her back, looking up at the sky and feeling the stony beach on her back. Gunnar stood and stepped off, unsure whether or not Valdemar would follow.
Perhaps he planned to go up the coast somewhere. His entire reasoning for taking it, they'd never questioned. Nor, Gunnar thought, would he ask now. But Valdemar followed them onto land, the only one of the three with dry clothes.
