Still, Sindre’s slur against her was serious. For a woman to be found guilty of practicing magic for the purpose of inflicting harm was a crime, one that carried the penalty of death. Lissa was neither sorceress, nor seducer. He would insure the charge did not stand, not even among her Saxon companions.
His mood lightened. Satisfied he could eventually settle the matter with Sindre, he whistled as he returned to the cottage.
∞∞§∞∞
Sindre had not returned by the following morn. Lissa could not be sorry. His stance toward her was ever harsh, but the previous eve he had crossed a line. That he perceived her a threat was clear. Why, was not so plain. His actions had dampened the lighthearted enjoyment of the evening as surely as the rain moistened the ground. Even Turold’s songs were unable to restore it.
Alwin had stuck close to Lissa all night, and now his little face was limned with concern. “Will he come back? What if he meets soldiers? They might hurt him. Should you not go after him?”
Bewilderment and anxiety dimmed the gold in his eyes.
Saint’s bones! He has become attached to the big víkingr. Oh, Alwin.
She caught Brandr’s eye, and saw his thoughts echoed hers. He smiled and rested a hand on Alwin’s head. “He has done this before, gone away for a time to think. He has a great dislike of confinement such as we have been forced to endure in this small cottage. Do not fear. He will avoid meeting with others. If he is not back by the time we leave on the morrow, he will catch up with us. He knows where we go.”
Alwin was not happy with that pronouncement, but he nodded.
The morning passed slowly, and as expected the rain continued, though it slackened. Lissa understood Sindre’s need to be away. She was heartily sick of being cooped up. There was little to do and she was bored nigh to pounding the walls, though faint good that would do but add more bruises.
Early on, Oswulf had gone to check the meat smoking in the shed. When he came back inside, he sat by the fire, whittling a piece of ash wood. His humor was dark, but all the men were testy from the after effects of the ale. Her attempts at conversation were answered with terse grunts. Not long after, Turold, who should have been sleeping after keeping watch the last half of the night, disappeared, as did Brandr.
Her heart was cheered when Brandr’s tall form darkened the doorway shortly after noontide, and with him came the sun. She stood with him there, watching the slow dispersal of the clouds. A bright beam fell on his face, illuminating lines of weariness beneath the fading shades of healing bruises. None of them had slept well.
Oswulf shoved past them with Bryda. He caught up the axe leaning just inside the door. “We go to cut more wood for the fire.”
His tone was gruff, but the look Bryda threw her twinkled with an unmistakable gleam of anticipation.
Her hand flew to cover her answering grin. She might be unmarried, but she knew what that expression meant.
Brandr did as well. “If you do not return soon, should we be concerned and come seeking you?”
Oswulf’s threatening growl did not cease until the forest swallowed them. Brandr’s laughter rang through the clearing.
“They are happy together,” she said, “It is a good thing to see.”
He looked down at her. Mischief laughed from the blue gaze. He ducked into the cottage and returned a moment later, Alwin in tow, and with a blanket belonging to Turold over his shoulder.
“Come with me.”
She giggled. “If you plan to use that blanket for us to sit on, we may be certain Turold will be less than pleased this night when he discovers it is wet.”
Brandr grinned. “He is a skáld, as much accustomed to sleeping in discomfort in the wild, as between dry furs in a warm hall. He will survive.”
“You are heartless!” But she laughed, and he took her hand to guide her behind the cottage, Alwin tagging behind. A path, little more than a deer track, led into the forest. It wound a short way through the dripping woods until it opened onto a clearing with a rise in the center. It was another mound, considerably smaller than the one where they had sheltered before the outlaw attack. Sunlight sparked white fire off water droplets in the grass, but it was the arc of brilliant, striated hues splashed across the sky that brought them all to a dazzled halt.
Alwin forgot his unhappy musings, cavorting at the sight. “A bow of colors, leóf! Is that not a sign that all will be well, that Master Sindre will come safely back?”
Lissa knew a sudden vexation at Sindre for needlessly upsetting the boy. From the brief expression that crossed his face, a similar sentiment tugged at Brandr. He laid an arm around Alwin’s shoulders and squeezed. “Já, Alwin Brandr-thrall, a rainbow is a hopeful omen.” He glanced at Lissa. “For all of us.” He gestured to the mound. “We will go up. It is a simple climb and the sun will quickly dry the ground.”
The grassy slope was slippery, but they aided each other and made it to the top without mishap. Alwin stood to one side, staring at nature’s palette hung above their heads.
Brandr spread out the blanket and she surprised a grimace at the movement. “Your ribs still pain you?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Bryda wrapped them and that has helped, but I would be free for a time of their tight restraint. Help me remove my ring shirt and tunic.”
The garments were quickly shed and the cloth strips unbound. Brandr’s sigh of relief was so lusty it could have been heard back at the cottage. He grinned when he caught her staring at his chest.
“Cease your gawking at the manly grace before you, thrall, and examine the other wound, in my side. I would know it heals correctly.”
She started to frown, but saw that devilry danced in his eyes. Deep inside, wonder unfolded. This víkingr, this powerful, lethal warrior, was teasing her. He expected her to protest, perhaps hoped she would. The day grew immeasurably brighter.
“You are mistaken, Brandr. I was but looking at the wrap marks left by the bindings, naught more. As for the wound, I can easily see it has no further need of care.”
“Will you never learn? A thrall does not correct her master, and have I not told you I require honesty at all times?” He caught her chin in his hand. “I know it was not the bind marks you admired. Come. The truth. You like what you see. Say it.”
Alwin’s head whipped around to peer at them. He rolled his eyes in youthful disdain before plopping on one corner of the blanket, his back to them. He drew up his knees and stretched his forearms across them. In exasperated tones, he uttered a single word that might have been ‘grown-ups’.
Brandr laughed and sat, pulling her down beside him. The necklace and the two pendants he wore swung across his chest with the movement. She made no protest as his arm slipped around her waist. He tucked her against his warmth and took her mouth in a slow, sweet union.
“For now, I will allow a delay in the obedience to my command, but do not think I will forget.” The mirth in his eyes abruptly died, leaving behind an azure fire that provoked an answering heat within her. “I want you, Lissa Brandr-thrall, and you desire me. One day, you will yield to my embrace, and I will give you joy.”
Warmth touched her cheeks. Hoping Alwin had not heard, she glanced at the youngling’s slim shoulders, but his attention was riveted on the sinuous undulations of a brown, multi-legged insect crawling down his leg. He paid them no mind.
She clasped her hands in her lap, though she would have preferred to wrap them around Brandr’s neck and surrender to the seductive call of his body to hers. With an eye to Alwin, she lowered her voice. “It is not seemly you should say such things.”
“You are my thrall. I can say aught I wish to you.” He cocked his head and peered at her. “It is but more of the truth. I think it pleases you.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Think you I do not see the warmth of your affection for me, Lissa? You care for me, and I….”
He paused. The blue of his eyes darkened, the look within becoming distant, unseeing. It was as if he left her, tho
ugh the stroke of his fingers along the line of her cheek never ceased. Her heartbeat raced. The little hairs on her arms stood up as all her womanly senses went on alert. He hovered on the verge of something momentous—something pivotal.
His focus snapped back. His awareness, like a living thing, enveloped her. Ardor blazed. She thought she would melt beneath the fierceness of its heat. She forgot to breathe.
“Lissa, I….” He paused again, blinked, and his gaze flicked to a point beyond her shoulder. Tiny crevasses formed between his brows. Though he did not move, in some indefinable way, he withdrew.
Six slow beats of blood pulsed through her veins before he straightened and smiled.
His gaze came back to her, but the azure fire was tamed, and held in check. “You are important to me.”
The moment had passed. His words did not echo his earlier thoughts. She knew it. Sadness ground a slow path through her heart. Cowardice did not sit well on him. For her heart’s sake, she must still hide the depth of her feelings.
Alwin suddenly jumped up and ran down the mound. At the edge of the tree line, he dropped to his knees.
Her eyes on the boy, she eased away from Brandr’s side. “If you wish to receive honesty, you should also give it.”
She could not see what had drawn Alwin to the trees, but was grateful he was now at a discreet distance.
Brandr’s hand fell away, but he seemed to realize his misstep. “Is it not enough that I desire you, Lissa, that I want you in my arms?”
“You demand much of me, but offer little in return.”
“You are my thrall. It is my right to demand everything you have to give.”
“No. You may command obedience and deference, but no man may command the heart.”
“You speak as a woman.” His voice deepened and anger laced its timbre. “You know naught of that which defines a man.”
“What I know is of no importance. It is truth that lingers in question between us. You have not spoken it.”
He lunged to his considerable height. Hands on hips, he towered over her. “Females! Always you plague a man for more than he should give, and when he offers what he can, you remain unsatisfied. It seems if I want peace, I must say words designed to appease. Very well. I have become fond of you. Now, ask no more!”
She met his gaze. “As you command.”
She forced a smile, and leaned back on her elbows. Let him prevaricate. She would enjoy the sun on her face.
Brandr’s earlier prediction the sun would quickly dry the ground proved correct. The warmth had set the ground to steaming. Little ghostly puffs of vapor rose around them. A warm, humid breeze swirled, gentle as the breath of a sleeping dragon. The grasses waved, dry for the first time in days.
He put his back to her and called to Alwin, who had crawled some distance from his original position. “What have you found, youngling?”
Alwin threw a grin over his shoulder and reached into the grass, coming up with a long, sluggishly twisting length of black-barred brown in his hands.
Lissa grimaced. She did not like snakes.
“Bring it here, lad,” Brandr said. “I wish to see this great trophy you have captured.”
His clothing mud-streaked, Alwin climbed up the mound. He pointed to the oversized bulge in the snake’s middle. “See you, leóf! It has eaten.”
A goodly time passed while the man and the boy examined the prize and discussed, in nauseating detail, what creature the meal might be, how it was eaten and other things of equal fascination to the male gender. Lissa found other, more agreeable sights to dwell on.
Then Alwin expressed a desire to cut open the animal to discover what it had eaten. Unwilling to watch, she rose to return to the cottage.
Brandr caught her hand. “Wait.”
He touched the snake’s head and grinned when it dodged away. “Do you wish to eat it, Alwin?”
“Eat it? Nay!”
“Has it bitten you, or threatened you in any way.”
“Nay.”
“I see. You wish to torture it, then?”
Alwin frowned and scratched his head. “Nay.”
“Come, I will aid you. We will begin by skinning it alive, then we will slice slits in its belly from neck to tail and splay it open. I do not know if such creatures feel pain as we do, but it should provide much amusement to watch it twist and writhe, and seek to escape until it dies.”
Alwin swallowed and went pale.
“Do you not wish to join in this fun, Alwin?”
Lissa waited. Alwin glanced from Brandr, to her and back. He gave a slow shake of his head.
Brandr sat back. “Hmmm. Another day, perhaps. Let it go.”
Alwin gulped and nodded. He wasted no time in releasing the snake where he found it.
She let her gaze trace Brandr’s profile as he watched the boy.
He is not given to needless cruelty. I am glad.
He caught and held her gaze. “Alwin has expressed a wish to become a warrior. I have given permission for Sindre to teach him. He will learn to shed blood, soon enough. For now, it does him no harm to think before he kills.”
Just like you.
Brandr pulled from a fold in his tunic a dry, hollow reed. “Come here, thrall.”
Alwin scampered to his side.
“Sit.” With the tip of his sax, Brandr began to carve a hole nigh one end in the hollow tube.
“You make a flute!”
“Já. Do you know how to play?”
Alwin shook his head. “My ma could, though.”
Brandr whittled three more holes in the opposite end of the reed, spacing them at equal widths. His knife soon fashioned smooth finger holds over the openings. With deft flicks and nicks of the blade, a design began to take form along the length, knots and grooves with interlaced whorls. At right angles to each end, he carved double grooves to complement the rest of the pattern.
Lissa watched the flute take shape with no little admiration. The whole process was complete in a remarkably short time. Even Old Beric, a ceorl too ancient to do much of anything else, but who had a knack for woodcarving, was not so accomplished.
Brandr blew away the dust and handed it to Alwin. “It is a simple instrument, easy to learn. Blow into the end, here, while your fingertips rest over the holes.” He fit the boy’s fingers along the tube in a basic position. “If you work at it, vary the blowing of your breath, and try different combinations with the finger holds, you will begin to learn the sounds each make. Then you will discover songs you already know, or make new ones of your own. Just not now!” He grinned as Alwin began to blow a tuneless, teeth-clenching noise. “Until you become proficient, see that you practice where no one else must listen to your mistakes.”
“Thank you, leóf!” Alwin’s tone was just short of adoration. “Never have I had such a gift.”
Brandr ruffled his hair. “See you learn it well, thrall. One day, I may wish for you to entertain my guests.”
Lissa felt a little adoration of her own.
In such a way, would he behave toward his own son. Would that I….
She stopped her thoughts short. It was not wise to give name to such hopes. So then, they would speak of lesser things. “How many summers have you, Brandr?”
“Winters. We say ‘winters’, and I have three and twenty.”
“Were you fostered when you were a boy?”
He slid her an indulgent glance. “For a time, já, then I returned home and Sindre became my instructor. There are few who can best him.”
“He is very large, leóf,” Alwin piped up. “Will I learn to fight as he does?”
“You will have to ask him.”
With a little scoot, Lissa drew closer to Brandr. Her elbow made subtle contact with his, sending tingles along her skin. “Of what do you dream when you are alone, Brandr?”
Her ploy had no effect. He stared at her as if she had asked something utterly absurd.
“Do not give me that look,” she said.
&nb
sp; He lifted one brow. When she refused to back down, he said, “What ‘look’ is that?”
“The one men get when they know of what I speak, but wish to pretend they do not.
He started to laugh again. “You imagine things.”
“Then I will ask something else. Why did you risk death-duel with Sindre to defend me?”
His face blanked. He did not immediately answer her, but raised his gaze to the sky.
She waited. Alwin watched, too, his golden brown eyes bright.
Brandr seemed very far away.
He cannot say the words. I had hoped, after his earlier withdrawal, he might admit this much. Is it truly so hard to explain? Perhaps he but needs time. I must be patient.
She opened her mouth, prepared to release him from what was too obviously a dilemma, but was forestalled by a voice behind them.
“Answer the question, Músa. I, too, would know your reasoning.”
Alwin leapt to his feet with a happy shout. “You are back!”
She turned more slowly, but Brandr never flinched. He only smiled.
The big víkingr stood behind them at the base of the mound.
She hid a shiver. He could move like the gástas of the old tales. Yet, Brandr had known his uncle approached.
Sindre’s gaze rested briefly on her face, then dismissed her. “A large troop of Alfred’s soldiers travels little more than a league from here. I have trailed them for half this day. They search, though for what, I was unable to discover. Outlaws. Runaway slaves. Us.” He shrugged. “Our friend Captain Preed kept his oath not to follow, but he might have sent word of our passage to the local garrison.” He paused. “We should have killed him.”
Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) Page 19
