But she was no longer there.
Turning, he looked around, alarm slicing through him.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 13
“How am I to know what Thorolf would be doing with a boat?” Nina said in an impatient voice. “Do we really care to pause and ask questions at this moment?”
Avril stood blinking in the moonlight, barely able to believe what lay before her on the rugged strip of shoreline. She stared, speechless, her heart soaring at her good fortune.
Nina continued throwing aside branches and underbrush to reveal a small sailing vessel—single-masted, shallow-keeled, with a curving prow and stern. Mayhap a fishing boat, or a pleasure craft meant for rivers and lakes. It was about twenty paces long, sitting partly in the water. And it looked new.
“Mayhap Thorolf wished to take up fishing. He is always searching for some new way to amuse himself.” Nina found a heavy anchor stone that had been used to keep the boat from drifting out with the tide. “My friend sometimes comes to this secluded stretch of beach with her”—she flicked a look at Avril—”favorite companion, and she mentioned that the two of them saw Thorolf here late last night.”
As Avril moved closer, Nina started tugging at the rope knotted around the stone. “My friend said that Thorolf kept looking around nervously, as if afraid someone might see him. She could not think of what a man like him would be doing sneaking about the shore at such an hour, unless he was breaking one of our laws—”
“Such as the one against leaving Asgard.” Avril pulled back a length of canvas flung over the stern, uncovering a jumble of supplies. “Look at all of these barrels and chests, and baskets of food and...” She opened the lid of one trunk, to find it gleaming with jewels and coins. “He has a king’s ransom in riches here.”
“Is there drinking water?”
Avril uncorked a flask. “Aye. But what could he—”
“Good. That is all you will need for your voyage.” Nina tossed the anchor rope aside and placed both hands on the stern. “You must promise me you will not tell anyone about Asgard, little utlending, or ever try to return here. You must keep our secret.”
“Aye, of course, you have my word. But I cannot go tonight.” Avril was paralyzed by fear as she looked out across the black sea, toward the distant fog and those towering rocks that stood ready to block her way. “I will leave in the daylight, on the morrow—”
“The boat could be gone by the morrow. There is no telling when Thorolf might move it. Whatever his purpose, he would not risk leaving it here for long—”
“But I would have to be mad to try to sail through those rocks in the dark!”
“The moon and stars are bright enough to guide you. And there is an easy passage at this part of the shoreline—just there.” Nina pointed to a towering pair of twin stones that poked up through the mist. “Aim for that spot and you will be free in a trice.”
Avril’s pulse seemed to roar in her ears, louder than the surf. Free. From the moment she had first awakened in Hauk’s bed, she had hoped and planned for this moment—but now the ocean and the jagged fangs of rock looked impossibly huge, and the boat so small.
She glanced up at the deserted cliffs high above her. She and Nina had been careful to slip out through the back streets, but their walk from town had taken less than half an hour. And Hauk was no doubt looking for her already. If he came this way—
“Utlending, there is no time for second thoughts,” Nina said emphatically. “You may never get another chance like this.”
Taking a deep breath, Avril turned and planted both hands on the port side of the stern.
“Finally.” Nina huffed. “Now push, little utlending. Push!”
“Aye aye, mon capitaine,” Avril muttered under her breath. Every muscle in her arms and shoulders and back hurt as she threw all her weight against the boat. Slowly she felt it sliding across the sand, one inch at a time. Straining with all their might, side by side, she and Nina managed to shove the small craft farther out into the water.
It slid forward, bobbing on the waves. Scrambling to keep her grip on the side, Avril sloshed through the shallows, grabbed the railing, and pulled herself up and over. She landed with a wet splat on the flat wooden thwarts that served as seats. “Nina”—she looked back over the railing—”in which direction am I to sail? Which way is it to the continent?”
“Southeast, of course.” Nina gave the boat one last shove. “You should reach your homeland in three days.”
Avril would have to trust that she was telling the truth about the direction, since she was telling the truth about the distance. “Thank you.” Sitting up, Avril took hold of the tiller, her heart thrumming with anxiety and excitement and gratitude and the first real hope she had felt in days. “I know you are breaking your laws by helping me.”
“Do not worry for me, utlending.” Nina almost had to shout to be heard over the crashing waves. “No one will know that I had aught to do with this. My friends are not about to hand me over to the council of elders.” Her smile flashed in the moonlight. “And in a few days, after Hauk accepts that you have truly escaped, I will go and console him. Now off with you. Quickly.” After a moment, she added, “The gods be with you and carry you safely to your daughter.”
Nina picked up her wet, ruined silk skirts with regal grace and hurried back toward shore.
Avril turned her attention forward, shivering from the icy water that soaked her gown, her stomach bobbing as violently as the boat. She had sailed often in her youth—but never alone on a three-day journey across the open sea. She had counted on having a crew of other women to help her.
She had counted on Josette.
Swallowing hard, she snatched up a rope and lashed the tiller to the railing to keep the ship on a steady course. She did not need anyone’s help. She would manage alone.
Quickly, one last time, she looked back, anguished that she had not even had a chance to bid her friend farewell. “Adieu, Josette,” she whispered. “Be happy.” Closing her eyes, she offered a quick prayer for her.
And added a plea that she herself would reach home and Giselle safely.
Then she stood and picked her way forward across the thwarts to take up the oars. Sitting amidships, she slid each oar into its pivot and started pulling on the smooth wooden handles.
But the tide was so strong, it felt as if she were trying to move a full-size warship all by herself. Her arms and back ached and her bare hands stung after only a few strokes. She kept at it, hauling on the oars, teeth clenched.
Yet all her work scarcely moved the boat forward a dozen yards.
She stopped trying to row, hanging her head, panting for breath. The boat was too large for a woman to manage alone. Too heavy to make any headway against the surf. She shut her eyes, unwilling to believe she had come this far only to be halted by the very ship that should be carrying her home.
Home to Giselle.
Her petite papillon, her sweet little butterfly... who might be crying herself to sleep even now, praying that her maman would return to her.
Avril lifted her head, flooded with determination. She would not let anything keep her from her little girl. Raising the oars, she pulled them back into the boat. Then she hurried aft, to the supplies Thorolf had stowed aboard.
He had lashed them in place. She yanked on the ropes and started dumping the chests and sacks and barrels over the side. One after another they hit the surface and sank. She was careful to keep the food and drinking water, but sent his riches and all the rest to the bottom of the bay.
The boat sat higher on the waves by the time she finished. When she reclaimed her place at the oars, she discovered to her relief that the lightened ship moved much faster over the water. Rowing still made her muscles painfully sore, but she began to gain distance from the beach.
With every rhythmic splash of the wooden poles against the water, Asgard faded into the night behind her, the island becoming naught but a dim shadow as
she left it behind.
Left him behind.
She would never see Hauk Valbrand again.
Instead of bringing relief or happiness, that thought left her feeling strangely hollow inside. The idea of never again seeing one of Hauk’s slow, reluctant smiles, or hearing his husky voice, or being surprised by his gentleness, or losing herself in the heat of his kiss filled her with a confusing tangle of emotions.
She would miss him. It made no sense at all, but she would miss the man who had brought her here against her will and held her captive.
Glancing over her shoulder, she refused to think on it further. She was halfway between the shore and the fog-enshrouded rocks now. It was time to let out the sail. After taking in the oars, she leaped up and took a firm hold on the leech lines, yanking them free. The rectangular sail unfurled with a smooth snap and caught the wind.
Avril ducked under the foot of the sail as it swung around. The boat heeled hard onto its port beam, the rail dipping toward the sea. Struggling to keep her balance, she grabbed one of the halyards and made her way aft. She untied the rope she had knotted around the tiller and took a seat, using the halyard to hold the sail in place while grasping the tiller with her other hand.
Salty air and splashing, icy spray chilled her face and hands. The wind felt much colder this far out—and stronger. For a moment, she regretted throwing all of Thorolf’s belongings overboard. She should have thought to look for a cloak and gloves. She did not want to escape the island only to die of exposure.
It was hard to remember that it was autumn everywhere else, after experiencing the summery warmth of Asgard.
But she could not regret the speed she had gained. In full sail, the lightened boat glided over the waves as fast as a skate over the ice. And it was not as hard as she had expected to control both the sail and the tiller. She guided the boat toward the twin rocks Nina had pointed out.
With the sea breeze tangling her hair and the island now far behind her, Avril felt a rush of confidence.
Then the first tendrils of fog curled around the boat.
And the circle of dark, giant rocks loomed ahead of her all at once—much faster than she had anticipated. With a stab of alarm, she suddenly realized her mistake.
Dumping Thorolf’s supplies had helped her escape the pull of the tide, but without the extra ballast, the shallow-keeled boat was moving so fast that she would not have time to plot a safe path through the fog and the rocks, into the open passage.
She lunged for the sheets and leech lines to take up the sail. But before she could reach them, the wind shifted abruptly, sending the ship heeling over onto its opposite beam. Avril cried out, tumbling, the lines torn from her grip. The fog closed in, as swift and thick as a January blizzard. It blotted out the moon and stars. Left her in darkness.
Another gust of wind howled through the rocks and the boat skipped sideways, like a stone tossed over the waves by a mischievous child. She grabbed the rudder and held on with both hands. It fought her grasp like a living thing.
A fierce, cold draft blew in from leeward and she heard the sail rip. Looked up to see a towering wall of stone looming out of the mist off her starboard rail. A terrified oath tore from her. She threw her full weight against the tiller.
But she could not change course fast enough.
“Mercy of God!”
The boat’s side sheared along the rock. She felt the entire vessel shudder with the impact. Heard wood scraping. Splintering. And still the treacherous winds forced the battered craft onward.
Avril could barely see through the cloak of fog—but she felt water sloshing around her feet.
Water bubbling in through a hole in the boat’s side.
Stark terror drenched her. She relinquished her hold on the tiller, ran forward, and tore a gaping section of the sail’s canvas free from the snarl of lines. She stuffed it in the breach, desperately trying to staunch the flow of the sea into the boat’s wounded side.
For an instant, she thought of shouting for help—but knew she was too far from the island. The shore was deserted. No one would hear her.
And nay, she would not give up! Not while there was even a chance she might escape. She could do this!
For Giselle’s sake, she could—
Before she even completed the thought, a huge wave snatched the boat up like a toy, tossing it high and letting it fall. Avril felt herself dropping with the boat, heard her own scream fill the darkness.
A rock shattered the hull in two and Avril felt pain explode through her body. She hit the water, plunging into the depths with the broken remains of her ship. Stunned by the impact, she floated downward. Then panic made her fight the icy blackness.
She clawed her way to the surface. Broke above the waves and gasped one breath of salty air and fog and water before the merciless ocean overpowered her and pushed her under again.
Dear God, help me! She grabbed a piece of wood, bobbed upward, but her muscles felt limp. Her body blazed with agony. She could not hang on. Her gown was too heavy, dragging her downward, the water so cold, her arms too weak from rowing.
From somewhere deep inside her, a panicked, desperate plea filled her mind and heart and soul. Hauk, help me!
Hauk jerked Ildfast to a halt so suddenly that the startled destrier reared and danced sideways.
By Thor’s hammer, what was that? It had sounded like Avril’s voice.
As clear as if she were riding beside him. Breathing hard, he looked around in the darkness, saw only the silent cliffs, the sea far below. Heard only the wind and the distant sounds of the celebration in the night air.
But he swore he had heard Avril calling him.
Calling for help.
The fury and annoyance that had gripped him from the moment he found her missing abruptly shifted. To a far more disturbing, unfamiliar feeling.
Fear.
He dug his heels into the stallion’s flanks, set off at a gallop along the cliff’s edge, back toward town. He had checked his vaningshus, thinking she had simply gone home without him. Josette had suggested that as the most likely possibility when he questioned her.
But Hauk had not found his troublesome bride there. Or on the beach below.
And now another possibility lanced through him: Thorolf.
Hauk had not seen the knave at the celebration. Could not imagine him walking up and snatching Avril from the middle of the crowd. She would have screamed. Someone would have noticed. Everyone would have noticed. He would have noticed. He had been keeping close watch over her until he had been drawn into arguing with his uncle.
Avril would never have gone with Thorolf willingly. But if the whoreson had gotten his hands on her somehow, if he had hurt—
Hauk, help me.
Choking out a curse, Hauk yanked Ildfast to a halt again, his heart beating violently, his pulse thundering in his ears.
That was no trick of the wind! He had heard her clearly.
Not only heard her but... felt her. Felt a crashing wave of pain and icy terror and helplessness that washed over him—and vanished just as suddenly.
Shaken, trembling in the grip of those feelings, he could not pause to question where in the name of all the gods the unnerving sensation had come from. Or how it was possible.
Because in that moment, he felt—knew—where she was.
His gaze was drawn to the fog-cloaked sea, to a distant point off the coast, north of town.
She was not with Thorolf.
She was out there. Alone. Helpless. Hurt.
He swore viciously and struck his boots against Ildfast’s sides, sending the destrier leaping forward into a headlong, rock-spewing gallop. Hauk did not follow the road back to town, did not veer from the cliffs. Did not take his eyes from that spot offshore.
And did not hear her again.
He felt an icy numbness fill his veins and could not tell if the feeling was hers or his own. Racing along the cliffs at a lethally fast speed, he found an ancient footpath. He pull
ed hard on Ildfast’s reins, threw himself from the saddle, and ran down the steep trail in the darkness until he reached the shore.
In the moonlight, he could see fresh footprints—two pairs. They led him to a jumble of underbrush, tree branches. And an abandoned anchor stone. A boat of some kind had been scraped across the sand.
What boat? How had she—
It did not matter now. She was out there, in trouble.
She might already be dead.
He kicked off his boots, looking out at the distant, fog-enshrouded rocks. It was too far. Too far to swim in the icy water. Especially at night. If fatigue did not finish him, the cold would. If he did not become confused in the darkness and drown first.
He threw his belt and weapons to the sand, ran for the water, and dove in.
With all his strength, he stroked through the waves, heading straight out from the place where the boat had been launched. Ignoring the cold that seeped into his bones, ignoring the powerful pull of the tide, he aimed himself at the rocks like an arrow.
Halfway to the wreath of fog, several hundred yards from shore, he began encountering wreckage. Chunks of shattered oak planking. A broken oar. The curving top of the prow.
“Avril!” he shouted, talons of fear sinking into him. “Avril! Where are you?”
There was no answer from the darkness. No way to know where the ship had foundered.
Or if she had survived.
He forced that possibility to the back of his mind. Kept swimming. Slashing through the cold depths. Faster. Farther out, where the wind picked up, the surf became brutal. Waves pushed him back until he was exhausted from fighting them and cold air stole every breath he gasped. By the time he reached the fog, his lungs burned and his strength was nearly spent.
“Avril!”
He did not hear—or feel—any response. Could not see her anywhere. Could not see at all as he kept going, swimming deeper into the fog that choked all light from the moon and stars. The savage winds here gave him as much trouble as the treacherous current.
Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set Page 28
