by Kris Tualla
Eryn’s blatant eagerness to know anything, even the smallest nugget, about the Hansen family tugged at Grier’s heart. Her own attachment to her clan back in Scotland made such a thing easy for Grier to understand.
One of the reasons she decided to follow Rydar to Norway was to try and put the pain of loss behind her, rather than be reminded of it daily as she passed by the crowded graveyard within the outer walls of Durness Castle.
I like Eryn.
Grier smiled as she slid off the mattress and padded across the room to the pitcher of water and basin. She washed and dried her face, then brushed her unruly hair, re-plaiting it tightly. After donning her gown from yesterday, and a pair of silk slippers, she left the chamber, chewing on a cedar stick to clean her teeth.
The sounds and smells of breakfast met her on the stairs, along with feminine conversation. Grier followed both into the kitchen.
Eryn was perched on a stool, watching the cook. She turned a happy smile toward Grier.
“Good morning.” Her eyes widened. “How is that said in Norse?”
“God morgen,” Grier replied. “What are ye doing?”
“God morgen, Grier,” Eryn echoed. “I wanted to see what sort of foods are common here. In Norway.”
Grier grinned. “Cooking lessons, then?”
“Only by watching I’m afraid.” She opened her palm toward the cook. “Alfdis doesn’t speak Engelsk.”
“Well, ye got that far.” Grier pulled another stool close to Eryn. “What do ye wish to know?”
Eryn pointed. “The bread is flat.”
“That’s lefse. We make it once the wheat is harvested and it lasts the season.”
“Like Drew’s oatcakes.”
Grier grinned. Like my oatcakes. “Aye. But when we are ready to eat them, we dip them in water and soak them between a damp cloth ‘til they’re soft.”
Eryn’s nose wrinkled. “The oatcakes would crumble if we did that.”
“Aye.”
She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. “What else do you eat?”
Grier shrugged. “We share the North Sea with Scotland, mind. So there is always fish.”
“Sheep?” Eryn asked. “Goats?”
“Aye. And red deer. Same as—” Startled, she realized she almost said home. What sort of unexpected emotions were Eryn and Drew’s familiar language and accents prompting? “—same as Scotland and England.”
Eryn nodded. “But no cows.”
“Aye. Very few.”
She sighed. “Not too awfully different, then, is it?”
Grier shook her head, remembering her own relief at that happy discovery. “No, not the food. Only the mountains. And the glaciers.” She chuckled. “And the winters.”
One of the maids stuck her head into the kitchen. “Pardon me, my lady,” she said in Norse. “But the men are waiting in the dining room.”
“Thank you.”
Eryn turned a curious gaze toward Grier.
“The men are waiting for us in the dining room,” Grier translated. “Shall we?”
Chapter Ten
“Ye left in a bit of a rush after supper,” Drew said once the two couples settled at the table with their selections of food from the sideboard. “Is aught amiss?”
Rydar’s gaze cut away. “Aye.”
“Is it anything I might help ye with?” he probed.
Rydar shook his head. “Ye are guest. Ye dinna come and work.”
Drew tamped down his irritation at his stubborn host’s response. “And I dinna come to sit on my arse, either.”
Rydar’s regard shot back to Drew’s. Judging by his expression, the man was considering those words.
“I have horse gone,” Rydar said carefully. He turned to Grier. “Hingsten Torden ble stjålet fra beite i går.”
Grier looked confused. “Our stallion, Torden, was stolen from the pasture yesterday?”
Drew straightened in his seat. “Does this happen often?”
“No,” Rydar grunted.
Grier faced Drew. “In the four years since I came here, I haven’t heard of any horses gone missing.”
“And now one of your stallions is gone?” Eryn’s brow lowered. “Might it have been wolves?”
Rydar shook his head and held up one stiff finger. “Our one, and good, stallion is gone,” he emphasized. “Ye ken?”
Eryn shifted her gaze to Grier. “Your best stallion? Your stud?”
Grier nodded. “Aye. So likely it was no’ an accident.”
Rydar sat back in his chair. “And is more.”
Drew stared at Rydar, watching the shifts in the man’s expression. He could see every conflicting emotion his host was experiencing.
“What more?” Drew asked.
Now Rydar held up two fingers. “Is two more gone from other men.”
“Three horses have been stolen?” Grier yelped. “When?”
A third finger joined the first two. “Last three days.”
Grier leaned forward. “Who?”
“Sørensen’s good mare, and Johansen’s hoppeføll.”
“Filly,” Grier translated without moving her regard away from her husband.
Eryn’s eyes narrowed. “It sounds as though someone is planning to do some breeding.”
“And stop ye from doing so as well.” Drew met Rydar’s eyes. “Have ye any thoughts?”
“Must be men from other place. Is no’ possible to stay close and no’ be found.”
“What other place?”
One corner of Rydar’s mouth lifted. “Men in Arendal say ye come only now.”
“Me?” Drew barked. He pulled a breath that swelled his chest. “That’s ridiculous!”
Rydar chuckled. “Aye. Ye were no’ here. I say this.”
Drew’s fist hit the table. “I didna steal your horses because I wasna here?”
Rydar laughed out loud. “No! But is first thing to say.”
Eryn snickered. “Drew, don’t be foolish. Of course they would suspect us—until they realize it wasn’t possible.”
Drew sighed. His wife made a point. He pinned Rydar’s gaze. “Over land or sea?”
“Sea,” he answered without hesitation. “Land is too hard.”
“Did a ship come three days ago?”
“My stabil mester goes to dock and asks.”
Drew didn’t need those words translated. “And is still here.”
Rydar shrugged. “No’ needed. Can come back after.”
Grier ticked off the sequence on her fingers. “A ship docks. The horse thieves come ashore. They steal what they want. Then the ship comes back for them, aye?”
Rydar watched her mouth as she spoke the list slowly. “Aye.”
“The horses are hidden somewhere, then,” Eryn stated. “Just like the cattle we used to steal.”
Rydar looked at his cousin, clearly shocked by her casual confession.
“Back!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing furiously. “Steal back. After they were taken from us.”
Grier spoke Norsk softly to her husband.
His features eased. “Aye.”
Drew rubbed his palms together, the prospect of tracking down the horse thieves bringing an unexpected bump of excitement to the day. “We’ll go after them, then?”
Rydar considered him pensively. “Ye hunt?”
Drew hesitated. From what he remembered of the Norseman, Rydar spoke of tracking animals. A knight’s training didn’t generally include those particular skills, and Drew entered his apprenticeship in his mid-teens.
He made a dismissive gesture. “I hunt men.”
Rydar didn’t respond right away. He put a chunk of smoked salmon in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
Grier’s regard bounced between the two men. “Ye might work together and find the horses.”
“Ye ken I brought my sword,” Drew reminded his host. “If ye want me to hunt them alone, I will.”
Rydar huffed a dry laugh. “Ye dinna ken where to look.”
“Do you?”
Rydar gave slow nod. “Aye.”
Drew grinned. “Then let’s be about it.”
***
Rydar reined in his irritation and considered the skilled knight. Having a strong sword at his side might be helpful if they came face-to-face with the brigands. In addition, having Drew with him would give Rydar the chance to display both his superior tracking skills, and his knowledge of the rough terrain.
Rydar pointed at Drew’s clothing. “Ye must wear better clothes.”
Drew’s hand brushed over his purple velvet doublet. “Aye. I’ll not sully this garment in the woods, I assure ye.”
Rydar didn’t recognize sully but he guessed the meaning. “Do ye need aught?”
Drew looked at Eryn. “Do I have hunting clothes with me?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to need any.”
Rydar bit back a grin, thinking of which of his servants’ clothes might fit the knight. “I find some.”
Drew flashed a knowing look. “Thank ye.”
“I’ll see to it while you men make your plans.” Grier turned to Eryn. “Ye might give me a hand.”
Rydar slid his glance to his wife. Clearly she suspected him of doing exactly as he planned with Drew’s borrowed apparel, and she just out maneuvered him
When she considered him again, one of her brows lifted ever so slightly.
“Takk du, Grier,” he acquiesced. After all, he should have many more chances to put the knight in his place in the coming weeks. “Is good.”
When the meal was finished, Drew followed Rydar into the great hall. Rydar opened a tall cupboard and pulled out a map, which he unrolled on a side table.
“This is Arendal and lands,” he explained.
Drew bent over the large inked drawing on parchment. “What are these?”
“Mountains.”
Drew nodded and moved his finger across the map. “This?”
“Is lake.”
Drew looked up at him. “Do any lakes connect with the fjord?”
Rydar shook his head. “No rivers. No boats.”
“So the thief must take the horses to the dock.”
“Aye. And here,” Rydar tapped the map, “is only dock in fifty miles.”
Drew straightened. “The horses must be hidden nearby, then.”
Rydar tapped the map again. “Here.”
He pointed at a spot which was the most likely hiding place for the stolen horses. The cove bordered on a pond about a mile or so northeast of Arendal. The little farm, for whose land the pond provided fresh water, was owned by the Songe family before the Death claimed all but the youngest daughter. Now the property was deserted.
“Is no one living, now. Farm is…” Ryder swiped the air with his palm.
“Deserted.” Drew ran a finger across his upper lip. “Does the house yet stand?”
“Aye. And is more reason to think horses are there.” Rydar chewed his upper lip and searched for the next English words. “People are fearing spöken.”
“Spöken?” Drew frowned. “Spooks? Ghosts?”
Rydar nodded. “Dead not buried.”
Drew’s expression shifted.
Rydar realized that—as the knight rode through Scotland assessing its condition over five years ago—Drew must have discovered his share of plague victims left to rot in their homes simply for the lack of survivors able to bury them.
“I ken.” The man’s guarded glance confirmed Rydar’s suspicions. “There canna be much left of them.”
“No. Animals…”
“Aye.”
Both men drew deep breaths.
“I agree with ye,” Drew said. “If there is shelter, and people avoid it, it’s the perfect place.”
Rydar traced a path on the map. “Can bring horses this way at night. Get on boat. No one sees—all are sleeping.”
Drew nodded. “And it’s no’ completely dark this time of year. The thieves can see what they are doing.”
“Aye.”
Drew faced Rydar. The glimmer of excitement in his eyes made Rydar smile in spite of his dislike for the knight. A dislike which was diminishing, he realized of a sudden.
Drew grinned in response. “When do we go?”
Rydar re-rolled the map. “And ye have the good clothes.”
Chapter Eleven
Drew scratched his shoulder again and wondered if he was the only creature living inside the rough, aromatic, and borrowed tunic. Surely Eryn would have made certain that the clothes he was given were free of lice.
Fleas could be harder to spot, however.
He scratched again.
Rydar nudged him. He tapped his head. “Stop. Is here.”
“Tell that to my skin,” Drew muttered.
Rydar made a face. “Fleas no like horses.”
Drew stopped mid-scratch and stared at Rydar. “Aye. And so?”
Rydar heaved an impatient sigh. “Is why I give you tunic from stabil mester. No fleas.”
Drew heaved a sigh of his own.
Lice then.
“And no lice.” Rydar’s lips quirked. “But might be spiders.”
If the two men weren’t currently crammed in the rafters of the Songe’s abandoned croft, Drew would have thrown off the garment and remained shirtless for the duration of their mission. The problem was they had very little room to move.
From their vantage point in the rafters, the two men could see through a gap at the apex of the roof—left to vent smoke from the little cabin—and had a clear view of the path leading up to it. The pilfered horses were grazing peacefully nearby, tethered to trees with enough room to move comfortably.
Torden tossed his head and nickered when he saw Rydar approaching. The Norseman walked straight toward the animal and slipped him a small apple from his pocket. That simple act of affection made Drew miss his own faithful destrier. As a knight without his horse, he knew how it felt to be hobbled.
“Is good they are good,” Rydar said, indicating the generous length of rope.
“They aren’t stupid,” Drew observed. “They are seeing to the welfare of the horses.”
Rydar shrugged his agreement. “Canna breed dead ones.”
The men approached the house carefully, though there were no outward signs of activity. Once inside, a quick assessment provided Drew with a plan.
“Let’s hide up there,” he said pointing at the few horizontal planks across the trusses overhead. “We’ll drop on them when they come in.”
And that was how they came to be crouched in the small space, waiting for who knew how much longer. Drew resolved not to scratch anymore, and focused his attention on the scene outside.
He had to admit, Rydar’s skills had been impressive. Rather than simply head for the abandoned farm, he insisted they visit his own pasture first. In part, because he wanted to assure himself that no additional horses were missing. The other reason was to look for the thieves’ tracks.
He found the stallion’s hoof prints easily enough; even Drew saw those clearly. But when Rydar said there were two men, one larger, one smaller, Drew was forced to ask how he knew.
“Here.” Rydar pointed at the ground. “One step is deep. And here.” He pointed at a broken branch, and then his own head. “Is tall.”
Drew peered at the faint footprints, which were nearly indiscernible in the forest floor. Once Rydar pointed them out, however, Drew was able to see the differences.
“Are they headed the way we expected?” he asked, disoriented by the lack of direct sun in the midst of the tall trees.
“Aye.”
Rydar resumed walking, assuming Drew would follow.
Drew’s jeweled scabbard now lay across boards beside him as he and Rydar huddled below the roof. His fingers stroked the hilt without him thinking about it. Rydar had his axe’s handle gripped in his hand, its heavy head resting beside the man’s large feet.
The smell of male sweat permeated the stuffy space. Not only was
the day warm, but both Drew and Rydar were tense, on edge, and looking for a fight.
***
Eryn sat in the Hansen Hall courtyard, enjoying the sea breeze and the shade of several large pine trees. Grier ordered ale, and the women sat in companionable silence watching Arne play with a pair of carved wooden horses.
“I miss my boys,” Eryn said. “They are a handful, true, but I’m so glad to have them.”
“Twins,” Grier shook her head. “That is a lot to manage.”
Eryn smiled softly. “Twins run in Drew’s family. His sister has two sets.”
Grier’s jaw dropped before she laughed. “Ye’re lucky to only have the two, then.”
Eryn felt her cheeks warming. “We’ve been preventing another pregnancy,” she confessed. “I didn’t feel ready to go through that again.”
“Sheaths?” Grier asked.
“Yes.”
Grier rubbed her abdomen and watched her son. “We’ve lost two since Arne. Both born far too soon.”
“Oh, Grier. I’m so sorry.” Eryn laid her hand over Grier’s and gave it a squeeze. “Not this one though.”
Grier shifted in her chair and pressed a spot under her ribs. “No. This one is strong and healthy. If he doesna break my ribs afore he’s born, I’ll be lucky.”
Eryn considered the ruddy four-year old. “Red hair again, I’ll wager.”
Grier chuckled. “Aye. What do your boys look like?”
“They have dark hair like their father. Not black, but very dark brown.” Eryn grinned at the thought of her pair of identical and handsome sons. “But their eyes are green. Not so pale as mine, but striking even so.”
Grier looked wistful. “Rydar’s eyes were the first thing that drew me to him.”
Eryn leaned forward. “Tell me about him.”
“Well…” Grier pulled breath and shifted in her seat again. “Ye ken his boat crashed on my chyngell. His friend who sailed with him, Arne, had his neck broken.”
Eryn glanced at the boy and his horses. “You named him after Rydar’s friend.”
