Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Josette, he abducted you.” Avril bestowed a frown upon her friend’s grinning captor. “That is hardly kind.”

  “Aye, of course, you are right,” Josette corrected herself, a hint of color in her cheeks. “But... he has been most chivalrous. And today Keldan has been showing me the town.”

  “Keldan has been showing you the town,” Avril echoed, surprised and a little concerned at the way her friend seemed so charmed by her handsome companion.

  “Aye, and when we stopped by your vaningshus—he has also been teaching me a few words—you were not there.”

  “I was out riding.”

  Josette nodded. “I thought you might be exploring.” She glanced at the man beside her, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Have you found a way for us to escape?”

  Avril hesitated. She had worried about frightening her friend with this news—but Josette seemed anything but frightened. And she needed to understand the situation. “Josette, from what I saw of the island, I do not think Gaston and his men will be able to help us. I think... I think we must depend on ourselves.”

  “Well, you will think of something. I know you will.”

  Before Avril could explain about Asgard’s lack of boats, Keldan interrupted.

  “Come see,” he said in heavily accented French, taking Josette’s elbow and gesturing down a side street. “Good place. Come see.”

  “He wants to show us something.” Avril regarded him warily.

  “Aye.” Josette exchanged a look with her, then shrugged. “I do not think any harm will come of it, do you? This truly is the prettiest town I have ever seen. It rather reminds me of some of the villages in Brittany.”

  “It does that,” Avril admitted reluctantly, thinking of the rugged coast and lush, green land dotted with sleepy villages. “Except that Brittany is not this warm.”

  “True.” Josette turned her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and sighing in a way that made Avril feel decidedly uneasy. “Nor is it this wealthy.”

  Avril kept a firm hold on her friend’s arm as Keldan led them down the side street. She noted that this was indeed a most prosperous hamlet—the cobbled streets neatly swept, the people dressed in fine, embroidered garments with gold and silver fastenings. Some of the dwellings had their shutters open to the ocean breeze, and she could see families at work and play within, amid polished furnishings and vivid tapestries.

  The merry revelers following at their heels attracted a great deal of attention, and at every turn, more inhabitants came out to greet them with what seemed like genuine warmth, their eyes curious and their gifts plentiful—especially those they presented to Avril.

  She finally gave up trying to decline. What had started with a bouquet of flowers and some fruit soon turned into a flood of foodstuffs, necklaces of sparkling beads, clothing, perfumes, lace, jewelry. When it all became too much for poor Ildfast to carry, someone fetched a cart.

  As they walked on, Avril noted that hunger did not seem to be any problem here. They passed by many animals in pens: flocks of chickens and ducks, shaggy-looking brown sheep that sported huge, curling horns, and a herd of... She blinked as they walked by that particular pen, staring at the creatures with placid faces and broad, felted horns. “Josette, is the sun playing tricks on my eyes, or are those—”

  “Reindeer.” Josette nodded. “Apparently they raise them for both meat and milk. I had some of the milk at breakfast, and it is very sweet—”

  “But reindeer are usually found only in the North.” Avril’s heart thudded. “Judging by the weather, I thought this island was located in the South or East.”

  “Mayhap you guessed wrong.”

  “Oh, Josette,” Avril said mournfully. “I do not have the first idea where we are.”

  “Do not despair. After walking about today, I have guessed something that might be useful to us.” Josette lowered her voice again. “I think these people may be Vikings.”

  “Aye.” Avril tried to keep the frustration from her voice. “Indeed they are. Hauk admitted it to me last night. They have been living here for centuries in hiding—and they are determined to keep this place secret. That is why they will not let us leave.”

  “Oh.”

  They fell silent as they followed Keldan into another part of town, one that played host to many flourishing craftsmen. As they walked along the rows of shops, Avril could recognize some from the implements hanging outside or the goods displayed in windows fitted with glass: jewelers, goldsmiths, a baker, a weaver, a tanner.

  Keldan opened the door to one of the shops, and they left their flock of jolly followers behind. One of the townspeople tied Ildfast’s reins to a tall post carved in the shape of some sort of mythical wood sprite.

  “Like here?” Keldan asked in mangled French as he ushered them both inside and closed the door. “People nice here,” he said with an enthusiastic, hopeful smile.

  “Aye, they are,” Avril admitted, plucking a stray flower from her hair. She sneezed on sawdust. Keldan had found them refuge in an unoccupied carpenter’s shop.

  The scents of oil and fresh-cut pine stacked along the walls filled the air. Pieces of furniture in various stages of completion sat on counters and tabletops, and woodworking tools hung from the ceiling, glinting in the afternoon sun that poured through the glass windows.

  “Indeed, your people seem very nice,” Josette said politely. “But you must let us go home. We cannot stay here. Do you understand? We must return to France.”

  “France, France, France.” He sighed as if tired of hearing that word, nodded to indicate he understood what she meant when she said it. “Why?”

  Josette frowned. “What an odd question. Because it is our home, of course—”

  “Because you cannot simply go about kidnapping people and expect them to be happy about it,” Avril grumbled.

  “And because Avril has a daughter at home,” Josette continued, “and as I told your friend last night, the poor child will be an orphan if—”

  “What?” Avril sputtered. “What did you say to Hauk?”

  “I...” Josette coughed nervously and glanced away. “I was going to mention this to you. But I was not sure whether you—”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Oh, Avril, you must forgive me. I was only trying to help! I told him the truth about Gerard. I thought if he knew that Giselle’s father was dead, it might soften his heart and persuade him to set you free—”

  “Josette, how could you?” Avril cried. “Now he knows that I was lying to him. I already tried to soften his heart and I failed.”

  “I am sorry.” Josette dusted off a chair and sank down on it.

  “Saints’ breath, Josette, we have to help each other, not...” Avril lifted both hands and let them drop back to her sides, feeling even more frustrated and helpless than before. Turning away, she stared out the window. “I do not suppose it matters now. I had hoped he might trust me enough to set me free, but he will never trust me.” She shut her eyes. “And these men have no intention of setting us free.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended. Keldan disappeared into the back of the shop and came back a moment later. Avril turned just in time to watch him place a delicate, beautifully carved chair in front of Josette, with obvious pride. Josette gasped.

  “What?” Avril muttered in confusion. “What is it?”

  “Did you make this?” Josette asked him. “You are a carpenter?”

  He pointed from himself, to the shop, and then to the chair, nodding.

  “Oh, my oath.” Josette glanced at Avril. “This matches a chair he gave me last night. I... I smashed it against the wall.”

  “You smashed a chair against a wall?”

  “I was very angry. And I had no idea he had made it for me. Oh, now I feel terrible.”

  “You have no reason to feel terrible,” Avril pointed out. “This man abducted you. He brought you here against your will. He is your captor. He is...”

  Her friend wa
s not listening. She was looking up at Keldan, smiling shyly. “Thank you.”

  “Josette,” Avril said in exasperation. “Do you hear what you are saying? You cannot accept that. We do not want gifts from these people. We want our freedom. We want to escape.”

  Josette glanced from her to Keldan and back again. “I am sorry. You are right. It is just... it is rather hard for me to remember to be angry with people who are so kind.” She dropped her gaze to the sawdust-covered floor. “And this place is so lovely. The weather is perfect, the food abundant. And it seems so peaceful. Have you noticed?”

  “Aye.” Avril turned to look out the window again, studying the people gathered in the street. “Everyone seems happy and healthy—” Another quality they all seemed to have in common caught her attention. “And young. Josette, I do not see anyone beyond... two score years, at the most. Even the elders we saw last night did not look especially old.” She turned to study Keldan.

  He stood watching them with that hopeful, warm expression, his attention on Josette.

  Avril guessed him to be about thirty. The same age as Hauk.

  “Something is not right here,” she said uneasily, glancing out at the street again. She could see people of her own age, and younger, and a few women who seemed to be in their middle years, with wrinkles etched by time and gray in their hair. But most of Asgard’s inhabitants were surprisingly youthful. “What do they do with all their older people? And if everyone is so healthy and happy on this island, why abduct us? Why have they brought us here?”

  Josette shrugged. “Mayhap they simply want to share this lovely place with others.”

  Avril gave her a pained look. “Josette, that is a most charitable thought. But if that were true, kidnapping would not be necessary. An invitation would suffice. And no matter how ‘nice’ this place is, I will never accept being held captive.” Facing the window, she folded her arms. “I must return home to Giselle. I will not let anyone or anything keep me from her.”

  “I am sorry, Avril. Of course, you are right.” Josette rose to stand beside her. “But how are we to escape? We are in the middle of the ocean somewhere. We do not even know in which direction home lies—”

  “We are not going to let that stop us. We grew up in Brittany, after all. On the seashore. We know a brace from a bowline and a cog from a clinker. We might even...” Avril hesitated, looking over at Keldan, but he clearly could not follow what they were saying. “We might even be able to build some kind of seaworthy craft, somewhere in secret.” She glanced at the ceiling. “With the right tools.”

  “Mayhap some of the other captives will want to join us,” Josette said uncertainly.

  “Aye. That is a good idea. If we all work together, we can succeed.” She touched Josette’s arm. “I will need your help, Josette.”

  Josette looked from her to Keldan and back again before she said, softly, “Of course I will help.”

  “Thank you.” Avril hugged her. “I believe I have an ideal task for you. We will need information about where this island is located. How far it is back to the continent, and in which direction we must sail to get home. Since you and he”— she gave Keldan a smile—”are on somewhat cordial terms, you may have the best chance of finding out what we need to know.”

  “I will try.”

  “Good. I know you can do it, Josette.” Avril felt her spirits lift for the first time all day. “Now, I think I will go and try to find some of the other captives. You stay here with your carpenter and seek information. Try to be subtle.”

  “That should be easy, since we each hardly understand a word the other is saying.”

  “Just be careful, Josette.” Avril waved farewell to Keldan and headed for the door, leaving her friend to consort with the enemy.

  Hoping Josette would not forget that he was, in fact, the enemy.

  Chapter 8

  Rain pattered against the shutters of Hauk’s keep, a steady downpour that had started before daybreak and only strengthened as the hours slipped past. Sighing in frustration, Avril stood at an open window, gazing up at the gray clouds that blotted out the afternoon sun. Thunder rumbled overhead. Another slash of lightning stabbed at the roiling sea. The storm showed no sign of abating.

  She drummed her fingers against the wooden sill of the window. Her successful, stealthy meetings with the other captives yesterday made her impatient to put her plan of escape into action—but tromping about in the rain would only earn her a good soaking and make her ill.

  If she intended to lead a half-dozen women on a dangerous sea voyage, she would need all her health and strength.

  Only the Moorish girl had been too fearful to even consider trying to escape. And Avril had not yet been able to speak to the English girl alone, for she had been under the escort and watchful eye of the chief elder, the one who looked like he was Hauk’s relative.

  And then there was the worrisome matter of the Italian girl.

  Closing her eyes, Avril offered another prayer that the sharp-tongued signorina was all right. The Italian would no doubt prove to be the most daring and strong-hearted sister-in-arms... but she had not been seen since her captor carried her away from the althing ceremony kicking and screaming.

  The two of them had disappeared somewhere.

  Avril shivered as cold raindrops spattered against her face, not wanting to imagine what the woman might be enduring even now.

  Her stomach in knots, she turned away from the window, closing the shutters against the gathering wind. She would have to wait until the morrow to venture out and look for a suitable, secret place to begin building their boat. Mayhap by then the signorina would be found safe and well.

  Holding fast to that hope, she tiptoed around the piles of goods bestowed upon her by the people in town, and reclaimed her place on the floor, amid a stack of dusty books. She lit another candle to ward off the gloom and huddled over the text she had been studying since midday.

  To her surprise, she had discovered scores of ancient volumes while searching through the trunks and chests that cluttered Hauk’s chamber. While the Norse runes were little more than tangled squiggles to her eyes, some of the cracked, yellowed pages contained drawings—a night sky, trees, the island’s rocky shoreline. If she could make sense of the writing, find a description of this place or a map of some kind, it might help in the escape.

  She kept turning pages, listening to the rain pounding on the tree-bark roof, trying not to feel guilty for having rifled through Hauk’s belongings.

  Belongings that were clearly personal. And most unexpected.

  The things on display in his keep—or vaningshus, or whatever they called these odd, long houses—suited a Viking warrior, from the weapons and hunting trophies on the walls, to the dark paneling with its runic carving, to the massive bed topped by those ferocious, dragon-headed posts.

  But in the trunks, she had found possessions that bespoke a much softer side to the man: a delicate length of Damascus silk, carefully folded around an ivory hair comb. A pair of ice skates made of bone. Board games. A wooden statue of what might have been a Christian saint, its paint chipped away by time. A small velvet bag filled with seashells.

  And most unexpected of all, the large number of books. Aristotle’s philosophies in Greek, painstakingly copied and illuminated by some long-dead monk. Texts on hunting and astronomy in Latin. An entertaining rendition of the Arthurian legends in French.

  If given only the contents of the trunks to judge by, she might have guessed Hauk to be a man of gentle, even scholarly inclinations.

  For some reason, that brought a lump to her throat. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the troubling feeling. Turning another page, she kept her mind on returning to Giselle as quickly as possible.

  A soft, solid object bumped against her back, interrupting her concentration—and almost knocking her over.

  “Not again,” she complained lightly, glancing over her shoulder. “Do you wish to find yourself outside in the rain?”
>
  The reindeer calf bleated at her, its voice somewhere between the honking of a goose and the bawl of a sheep.

  “Oh, by all the saints.” She gave in reluctantly and scratched behind the animal’s oversized ears, undone by the forlorn look in its large, liquid brown eyes. “You should not be in here at all, you know.”

  The gangly newborn made happy, snuffling sounds. All legs and downy gray fur, it was too small to be away from its mother—which was how it had come to be in her care.

  Since her appearance in the village yesterday, a steady stream of townspeople had arrived at the door, offering her greetings and gifts. Every table and trunk in Hauk’s vaningshus now groaned under piles of foodstuffs and furs, blankets and baskets, clothes and cookpots, goods of every description.

  This morn, in the rain, a girl of about ten had shown up with the baby reindeer in her arms, a drooping red bow around the animal’s neck. Her elder brother had accompanied her, a lad of about sixteen who spoke just enough French to make the gift understood: Apparently, the calf had been born a sickly runt, its mother had rejected it, and the girl’s father planned to put the animal out of its misery.

  But if Avril would accept the little reindeer as a gift, the girl promised to visit often enough to take care of him. She had already named him: Floyel. Which meant “velvet,” the boy said.

  Looking down into the girl’s hopeful face and teary eyes, Avril had not been able to refuse. And when the child had hugged her with gratitude and joy, she had felt her own heart breaking.

  Sweet Mary, how she longed to feel Giselle’s arms around her so tight.

  Blinking hard, she reached out now and stroked Floyel’s velvety nose. “Do not grow accustomed to being in my care,” she advised him, her voice wavering. “I will not be here for long. My little girl needs me, and no ocean, no Viking warrior, and no helpless reindeer will keep me from her.”

  The animal nibbled at the wide sleeve of Avril’s garnet-colored gown—another pretty gift—before clopping off to the corner. Avril had used straw from Ildfast’s stall and a few of her new blankets to make a bed for him near the hearth.