by Delle Jacobs
"You treacherous heathen!" shouted Arienh, and her hand shot toward the sword's hilt.
The Viking's hand caught her rising wrist in a tight grip as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Nay, girl, we do you no harm. I merely mean to patch a roof."
He did not wait for her answer before he lifted the sword from her hand as easily as if she had merely handed it to him, then passed it to a red-bearded Viking behind him.
"Patch a roof? You have no such need. You lie." Her eyes darted about, surveying the horde of huge men who surrounded her. In seconds, she could be dead on the ground and her village overrun. She swallowed, determined to hide her terror.
Egil turned to answer the gaggle of foreign words from men who looked more anxious than murderous, then returned his attention to Arienh. "I mean to make a place to keep my brother until he is well enough to leave. Until then, he will stay beneath your roof under your care while we work."
"I should slit his throat, Viking."
She did not even see him move. The huge raider seized both of her wrists. His eyes turned stormy.
"You will do him no harm. Do not forget, girl, what we could do if we chose."
She knew, yet she sneered. "It would not surprise me if you left not even one babe to breathe."
"Never a babe alone to starve. I would not be so cruel. Make no mistake, girl, my brother is the dearest man alive to me. If you harm him, I will have my revenge."
The big man released his grip, and his eyes warned her he meant what he said. Arienh resisted the urge to rub her wrists, for she would not let him know his threat had been felt.
"So you lied to me," she said.
"Nay, that was a different thing."
"I see no difference. You will kill me if he dies, anyway. You would have, all along."
He fingered the hilt of his own sword as if considering what he would do with her head after he lopped it off. "Think what you will, but do not forget. You’ve taken good enough care of him thus far. See that he lives, girl."
With a wave of his hand and a flurry of incomprehensible words, the blond Viking led his men along the gentle slope and followed the swollen stream to the cottage that had belonged to her cousin Weylin.
Arienh unbuckled the useless scabbard and pitched it to the ground. Now what could she do? She had never meant that she might take the dark Viking’s life, for she had already learned such a thing was beyond her. Yet she dared not let them think her weak.
Never had there been an invasion like this one. What did these men want? Did they mean only to wait until dark and overpower everyone? Perhaps they feared the men of the village would come upon them suddenly and overrun them. Or perhaps they already knew there were no men except Old Ferris.
Aye. They knew. It also explained what the dark one, Ronan, had been doing up on the hill the day she had come upon him. As he had done, they had first spied out the village. No wonder they were in no hurry. No one feared a village of only women.
All he asked now was that she take care of his brother. She had no choice. She might risk herself, but not Liam and Birgit.
Would they ever be free of these Northmen?
CHAPTER FIVE
The Vikings invaded the marshes, slicing bundles of last year's osiers and hauling them back upslope to make huge piles by the tumble-down stone cottage they had confiscated. Offended water birds fled their new nesting sites, shrieking as they took to the air.
Arienh was no less offended. The cottage had once been the home of her cousin Weylin, who had vanished years before in a Viking raid, leaving behind a family who had died out one by one.
And the heathens simply walked in and took it over.
The giant blond called Egil twice hiked back up the hill to see the brother he called Ronan, meeting Arienh's murderous glare with only with his smug smile.
Ronan. She supposed she should take comfort in the obvious recovery of that darker fellow who still lay on her bed. The fever had diminished with striking speed as the day wore on, and he was already stronger. So perhaps his brother would soon cart him away and they would be troubled by the invaders no more.
Certainly. And the Devil danced on the head of a pin.
One by one, the women of the village emerged from the cavern, all eyes warily watching the men who swarmed like yellow bees over the rafters of her cousin's derelict home.
"What is this about, Arienh?" Mildread asked, her voice low and cautious. In her eyes was a look suspiciously like censure.
"I think the big one means to have a place to shelter his brother until he is well."
"His brother? Oh, that is what we need. I told you they would come for him. They will surely kill us for your folly."
"They could have killed us already if they chose to. And why not take a cottage that needs no patching, if all they might do is evict and kill the dwellers? Would it not be easier?"
"They mean to trick us."
"They already have. If you don't like it, stay in the cavern where you will feel safe."
Mildread gave a coarse grunt and stalked off. She was no coward. Arienh knew it, and should have never implied so. But Mildread irritated her with her overbearing ways. It probably was a good thing that not many people listened to her.
This time, though, people were listening. No one agreed with Arienh's decision to help the Viking, even if she hadn't really had a choice.
Close to night, as new storm clouds emerged over the hills, Arienh wearied of watching the big men scurrying over the new thatch. She marched to her cottage and gave the door a shove.
Ronan sat at the edge of the raised bed, struggling with his leather jerkin. Birgit stood at her loom, her eyes focused fiercely on the Viking, her shuttle swishing, swishing. Hanging on his mother's skirts, Liam watched the Viking as intensely as his mother did.
"You should not rise yet." Arienh's voice sounded like a scold.
"I should not stay abed when I am well enough to rise."
He gave up on the jerkin, but Arienh was relieved to see that he had managed the leather breeches and embroidered tunic by himself. He swayed a little as he stood.
"You fool yourself," she said.
His wide grin told her she would not win the argument, and in truth, she would be glad to see him gone. But then he sat again. He laughed at her smirk. Perhaps it meant nothing to him that he was a sort of hostage under her roof. Yet if the brother came for him, she could not stop him from leaving, so it made little difference. The giant blond would make good his threat.
That was what she hated most. She was just as helpless as she would have been, had the attack been outright. Silently she picked up a wooden bowl and dipped out broth from the mutton that simmered in the pot on the hearth. She held it out to him.
He shook his head. "No more. I will have food now."
"This is good enough for us. It is good enough for your kind."
"Nay. I mean no disrespect, for you have been kind. But Egil is here, and he will bring us something."
He had no more refused her when the door burst open. The huge blond entered, ducking his head to avoid scraping the lentil. Behind him, clouds of the newest arriving storm menaced them. Across his shoulders swung a mixed brace of wildfowl. In one hand he carried a bow which he unstrung and set beside the door as casually as if he lived there, and in the other hand, a ham hock, shrunken and dark with smoke, its tantalizing salty sweetness drifting to her nostrils.
"Barbarian," said Birgit, almost spitting. "Can you not even knock before you beset us with your presence?"
"Knock on the door, Egil," said Ronan. "Please the harpy."
Egil shrugged his shoulders, and rapped his fist against the door, then slapped the ham and ducks on the table.
Arienh jumped. She had promised herself she would not do that. Egil's lips stretched thin across his teeth.
"I suppose you expect us to cook that for you," Birgit said, her voice like a snake's hiss.
"Do what you want with them. But you are women. I thought it fai
r to assume you would cook them first."
Egil's big hand pushed down against the table's corner and frowned at its wobble. "You did not fix this, Ronan?"
"I was going to get around to it."
Of course. From his sickbed. What sort of banter was this?
"Aye. Well, I'll look at it after the meal. And the roof has holes big enough to see the clouds. You are remiss, brother."
"Perhaps tomorrow. I've been occupied."
"You're not staying," Arienh said, hoping it sounded like a command.
"Cannot finish the thatch tonight," said Egil, almost as if he apologized. "The storm will break any moment. I'll sleep with my brother."
Arienh's gaze caught Birgit's, wide with indignant horror, then turned on Ronan who sat at the bed's edge, his mouth quirking, eyes sparkling.
"Come outside," she said, taking Birgit's arm by the elbow.
"Outside? I vow they'll have taken over our home before we come back in the door."
"Outside," Arienh insisted.
"Nay, I'll not let-"
"Out." For emphasis, Arienh grasped Liam's hand and tugged him out, away from the Vikings the boy found so intriguing, nearly shoving both him and his mother through the door.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Birgit whirled on her. "Arienh, you have toadied to that Viking long enough, and now this irksome brother of his. Do not think I will bow and scrape to the likes of them."
"Hush. Use your head, Birgit. They are teasing us."
"Teasing. If you have not noticed, they have moved in."
"And there isn't a lot we can do about it, short of growing huge muscles on great, hairy arms. Ignore their goading, Birgit, or it will get worse. The dark one has gotten much better since this morning, and he is likely to live. That is good. I would not want the other one taking out his anger on us if his brother dies. I have never seen a man so big."
"I am not afraid of him."
She wasn't. Birgit feared nothing unless it threatened someone else. That was part of the problem.
"I do not want to take chances. Perhaps if we just let them have their little jokes, they will go away when the dark one is well. Whatever you do, don't make them mad."
"Don't make them mad. 'Tis you who are mad, Arienh."
Arienh felt her blood growing hot. Sometimes she grew weary of everyone's constant expectation that she solve all their problems. "Very well, then, Birgit, tell me what you would have me do."
"Get rid of them."
"That's not good enough, as I am trying. Tell me how to get rid of them. Would you like for me to challenge them to a sword fight? Perhaps I could persuade them to let me take them one at a time, all twenty of them."
Birgit bit her lips together. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
Arienh felt the sudden sting of guilt for her temper. "I am sorry. I know how hard it is for you, Birgit. But we only have the two of them in our house. At least we can manage them, as they are trying to be agreeable."
"Agreeable." Birgit sneered.
"Aye. For their kind, anyway. Do you see them ordering us about, or throwing us down on our beds?"
Both women glanced suddenly at Liam, and the boy flinched. Sometimes they forgot just how aware he was of his origins. How could he not be, in these harsh times? Even at his young age, he had seen women raped and murdered. Arienh was instantly sorry for her bluntness. She put her arm around his shoulder.
"Aye. It is a simple matter," she said to Birgit. "The big one would already have taken his brother away if he could have. If we help them get out of here, they will leave sooner. And he has brought food, Birgit. Think of the ham. We have not even seen a live pig in two years. And ducks. Come, we can set water to boiling and have them plucked for tomorrow's meal."
"I just cannot stand the sight of them, Arienh. But I am sorry. Come, I can at least pluck ducks. Liam can help."
Arienh smiled, relieved. Now if she could just get the brothers to behave themselves. But from what she'd already seen of them, she had about as much chance of that as she did of setting those dead ducks back to flying.
She watched the two men raise eyebrows at each other as the women passed through the cottage door. Birgit, for once not glaring at the strangers, busied herself with slicing up the last of the roots for cooking. Arienh lifted two wooden buckets and opened the door. A sudden flash of lightning startled her.
"I'll go," said Egil, and she was more than glad to let him.
Liam pulled at his mother's skirts. "Mama, can I go?"
"Nay."
"He can help me." But Egil, faced down by the icy green fury in Birgit's eyes, grimaced and went out the door alone. Arienh laughed to herself. Perhaps not even a fierce Viking was a match for a mother’s protective ire.
Liam's face screwed up into a pout. It had been a long time since he had been around men. She hoped his curiosity would not grow too great, yet how could it not? Liam could not be separated from his insatiable lust for knowledge. One more reason she hoped the Vikings would be gone soon.
Egil returned along with the storm, with rumbling thunder behind him, and rivulets running down his hair and into his soaked jerkin. He yanked off the garment, then the smock beneath it, whooshing it over the wet tangles of his hair.
The dark Viking spoke to his brother in the nonsense sounds of their heathen tongue. The big man chuckled, glanced at Birgit, then strutted to his brother's side, where they continued their alien conversation.
He was an attractive man, though not so much as his brother. She doubted even Birgit would deny that. Across a powerful muscular chest, a fleece of golden, springy curls spread. His damp leather breeches clung tightly to his thighs, tightly enough that when he turned she understood immediately the nature of the men's joke. The man was visibly aroused, and it was Birgit who had his attention. Arienh's grip tightened on the knife.
She flashed a glare at Ronan, and the grin vanished from his face. He tossed to his brother her father’s old woolen tunic that he had been wearing, along with more of the gibberish they spoke between them. Egil nodded and pulled the shirt over his damp torso, concealing his offending member.
Liam, his bright eyes shining wide with fear, stepped in front of the yellow-haired man, his fists in tight little balls as he tried to stand tall and look the man in the eyes. Arienh edged closer, prepared to snatch him away.
"Are you a Viking?" the boy demanded in a squeaky voice.
Bemused, Egil put his hands to his hips. "I'm a Northman, Liam, not a Viking."
"'Tis the same," said Birgit. "Come back here, Liam."
The boy stood his ground, eyes flashing.
"Nay, 'tis not," said Egil. "I am no marauder, nor have I ever been. But my folk come from the North."
"Blood will tell," said Birgit. "He is a Viking."
"I won't let you hurt my Mama."
Solemnly, the man squatted down to Liam's level, placing his large hand on the boy's shoulder. "I am glad you will not, Liam. You are a brave lad, and you will make a fine man someday. And you must always protect your mother. But I give you my word, I will never harm her, nor you, nor your aunt."
"You promise?"
"I do."
"Oh. What do you do in your longship, then?"
"Sometimes we fish."
Arienh noticed the table no longer wobbled. She carved thin slices off the ham hock and laid them out on the board as if she had ham to cut every day.
Gentleness lit the blond one’s eyes, as if he had a liking for the boy. "The ship belongs to my brother, Ronan," Egil added. "He built it himself, and has taken it to many places in the world to trade. Some of the fine things he has brought with us. He has a fur from a great white bear of the Far North."
"Really?" Liam asked, suddenly eager.
"Aye. They are giants, those great white bears. Ronan has real glass, too, made into fine jugs. Have you ever seen glass?"
Liam shook his head.
"Then he must show it to you, for you have helped to take such goo
d care of him."
"Mama, can I please?"
Birgit glared. "They are not staying, Liam. Come away from them. Now."
Liam's eyes flashed to his mother and back to the blond Viking, assessing his chance for defiance. He didn't move.
"Did you go, too?" he asked.
"Nay. I have always lived on the Green Isle, until now. Do as your mother says."
A long pout settled on Liam's face as he returned to his mother's side. Arienh knew what the boy was thinking, for he was at an age to test his mother. These men had openly ignored the demands of the two women, and perhaps he hoped they might support him in doing the same.
With the fever gone, the darker Viking regained his appetite. By the hour, his skin took on a healthier color, and his eyes lost their feverish look. He no longer shook from weakness as he sat, propped against the wall, bantering quietly with his brother in their harsh tongue.
Arienh hid her irritation at their foreign words, and tried to ignore them altogether, yet her eyes homed back to the man who had been her obsession as he hovered so close to death. Again and again her gaze tangled with his, as if he never looked away. She did, often, quickly.
Soon, she slid into the bed beside Birgit and prayed the men would take the hint. She prayed for more than that.
Egil banked the fire and joined his brother in the bed where Arienh usually slept.
For hours, Arienh pretended to sleep, rigid, still, beside her sister.
The storm no longer roared. Its rage had torn at the thatch for most of the night and whipped back that thin rawhide that draped over the cottage's only window. Arienh had twice risen to check the dark Viking for fever and found none. But a simmering darkness in his eyes replaced his usual affable smile. As she touched his brow, he raised his hand to caress across her cheek. She jerked back out of his reach, and hurried back to lie down beside Birgit.
The blond one avoided her gaze, but several times she caught him watching Birgit. And Birgit did nothing but watch the Vikings. Twice had Egil risen to stir and bank the fire, then lay down beside his brother. Each time, he had not taken his eyes off Birgit.
