“She just disappeared, Strian. It’s like she blew apart in the wind,” Tyra’s voice wobbled as she spoke.
“We saw her run from your home with her bow and quiver and followed her through the gate. We watched her enter the forest and even kept up with her for a while, but she weaved in and out of the trees, and then was just gone.”
“Did you look in the branches?” Strian barked.
“No. We didn’t think to.”
“You learned nothing about the Welsh then. Their bowmen sit in the trees waiting. She didn’t disappear. She outsmarted you both.” Strian’s words were one accusation after another.
“We weren’t the arse who yet again accused our wife of cheating. We weren’t the arse who demands everything from her while giving only part of himself. I’m surprised it took her so long to leave you by choice.” Freya snarled. “You reap what you sow.”
Freya pushed past Strian, Tyra on her heels glaring at him. Strian knew they were right, but it was of little consequence if he did not find Gressa in time. If their sentry already found three spies, there were bound to be others. He charged through the gate and sprinted into the woods. He looked for any signs of tracks and picked up three sets of footprints small enough to be a woman’s. He followed them until two came to an abrupt end, and the third blended in with fallen pine needles. Strian tilted his head back and looked among the branches. He edged past one tree after another until he came to one he was sure sheltered something far larger than a squirrel. He hoisted himself onto the lowest branch and began to climb.
“I warned you not to follow me,” Gressa seethed, tempted to kick him from the tree when he was in reach. “I have nothing to say to you that I can’t take back.”
“Then maybe you’ll just listen.”
“No.” It was a simple but emphatic answer.
“Then we are once again at a stalemate because you may not want to hear what I have to say, but I have no intention of staying quiet.”
Strian was unprepared to see Gressa step out on a branch and balance while moving towards the branches of a neighboring tree. She leaped and grasped the limb of the nearby tree before scampering through the fir needles and branches. He watched her in awe of her graceful movement through the trees. He remembered she had enjoyed climbing trees when they were younger, but this was a skill she had learned from the Welsh archers. Strian had no choice but to climb down before he could chase after her once more.
“Squirrel,” Strian called up to the tree he was sure Gressa rested in. “I was trying to apologize.”
“Don’t want to hear it,” came a voice two trees behind the one Strian stood beneath.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll be talking to myself. I’m angry but not at you. I’m angry at fate for stealing ten years from us, for creating one obstacle after another than makes you feel you have to protect me. I’m angry that fate stole that time and forced you to have a life that didn’t include me. Every time something comes up that reminds me of what I had taken from me, I lash out. But it’s not you I blame or accuse. It’s fate. I couldn’t blame you if you moved on after ten years of thinking you would never see me again. I wouldn’t want you to be alone when you still have so much of your life to live.”
“But isn’t that exactly what you planned for yourself? To remain alone. Why shouldn’t I want the same for you, for you to move one? The real difference is I don’t keep accusing you.”
“Because you’re here with me. There’s nothing I can hide when you can see it for yourself.”
“If hiding my past were my true motivation, then why would I agree to you coming to Wales with me? Why would I bring you to a place only to leave you for another man?”
“Everything you say is reasonable. I just have a great deal of anger and bitterness to overcome. Fate has no mercy, and I begrudge it for what it’s taken from us.”
Gressa swung down from the branches where she hid. Strian reached up and caught her as she dropped from the last one. She cupped his cheeks as she rubbed her nose against his.
“I understand. I’m hurt each time you have so little faith in me, but I’m angry and bitter with fate, too. If it were a person, I would run it through with my sword before hacking it to bits. I wish we could both release those feelings once and for all, but it will take time. But you can’t blame me every time you’re heartsore. I’m on your side.”
“I know. We have come a long way in our reconciliation in a very short amount of time. There are things from our time apart that we must learn about one another, and things that come out may hurt us, but I won’t live a life without you ever again.” Strian kissed her deeply as she opened to him, her mouth warm satin that his tongue caressed. She sucked lightly, hinting at what she enjoyed doing with his length in her mouth rather than his tongue.
“Take me home, Strian.”
Gressa had barely gotten out the words before the hair on her arms stuck straight up. She shoved all her weight against Strian, catching him off guard and off-balance seconds before an arrow embedded in the ground where he had been standing. Gressa whipped her bow off her shoulder and knocked an arrow. She scanned the trees and found her target. She shot off three arrows in quick succession as an arrow flew past her, aimed only at Strian. Her third arrow found a home before a body tumbled from the branches. Gressa did not take the time to see if she recognized her first victim. She launched another series of arrows where she believed their attackers hid. She used her instincts and her experience to find her targets, one after another body falling from the trees until the arrows flying towards her and Strian ceased. Only after waiting several minutes did Gressa look towards Strian, relieved to see him unharmed, then her eyes swung to the bodies that did not move beneath trees close to where she had been hiding herself. She stepped forward with caution and an arrow at the ready. She toed the shoulder of the first man and recognized him as a man who trained with her, but she did not know well. The next body made her heart squeeze as though in a vice. The unseeing eyes seemed to look beyond her until she pressed the lids closed. She murmured a prayer to her gods regardless of whether the man accepted them.
“Who was he to you?” Strian wondered. He was careful not to accuse but to inquire.
“He was a lot like Ivar in many ways. He was the closest thing to a father I had in Wales. He trained all the archers. When he discovered my skills with a bow and arrow, he took me under his wing, allowing me to train with the men. He encouraged me to continue training even when the men scoffed at me, convinced I could never be equal to them. And now I have killed him.”
“Before he killed you,” Strian’s hushed tones still felt as though he screamed in Gressa’s ears. “He was shooting at us just as the others were or he would have stopped them.”
Gressa shook her head as she looked up at Strian.
“None of them were aiming at me. They were trying to kill you not me. I feel sad for the death of one of my only true friends, yet I cannot overlook that he was willing to murder my husband. They had to have heard us, seen us. They all knew who you were to me. They intended to take me alive to Grímr and Rhys, but they would have killed you had I not had my bow.”
Strian opened his arms, and she leaned against his solid frame, using it to hold her up. Exhaustion threatened to overcome her as her two worlds crashed together once more, always necessitating she save Strian’s life.
“We should return home. Let me take care of you after you protected me. Again. I’ll run you a hot bath and prepare something for you to eat.”
Gressa shook her head against his chest before leaning back.
“We can’t. They were too close to the homestead again. We have to find out who else is nearby, how many are close to our people.”
It was the first time since returning to the Trondelag that Gressa called the tribe her people. Neither of them missed it, and Strian looked into the distance as he weighed their options. He wanted to carry her home, kicking and screaming if necessary, but he had to honor her right
as a shield maiden to defend their tribe.
“You know we are more likely to be captured than to discover anything we can report back.”
“You’re probably right,” Gressa answered as she swung the bow back onto her shoulder after it slid down her arm while Strian embraced her. “But we have a duty.”
“But we would be wiser to go back and gather the others to come with us.”
“True, but they will have disappeared by then.”
“Who?” Strian scanned the trees again, but nothing unusual seemed to lurk in the branches.
“They’re not here, but when the men don’t return, others will come searching for them. Those are the men I want to find. I think I know who they will send, and if I’m right, we can learn more than any of our spies ever could.”
Strian nodded, refusing to question her knowledge of people she believed she belonged to not so long ago. They slipped further into the trees as they traveled in silence, their footsteps as soft as a forest animal’s.
They walked for an hour before Gressa held up her fist. Strian froze mid stride and watched Gressa as she silently pulled an arrow from her bow. She glanced at him and tilted her head slightly away from him, indicating she wanted him to get behind her. He had no intention of hiding behind his petite wife. He returned her gesture with a scowl. Strian was sure Gressa would have huffed if she were not aware of danger. She knocked the arrow and took sliding steps forward not risking stepping on a twig. Once more she tilted her head, but this time she indicated Strian should follow.
It was only moments later that five bowmen dropped from the trees surrounding Strian and Gressa. She released the arrow she had at the ready and felled one of them. Strian drew his sword, but he was no match for an arrow. The archers would kill him before he could get within reach.
“Beth ydych chi eisiau?” Gressa asked them what they wanted. It was clear from their clothing they were Welsh. The length of their bows and their unique arrows confirmed it. Gressa strained to see their faces in the dim light of the forest. She suspected she knew who stood before her.
“Dydych chi ddim yn adnabod eich darpar ŵr?” One man stepped forward, causing Gressa to step back. She knew the man who asked if she recognized her future husband.
Strian watched as Gressa’s body language went from being on alert to rigid and defensive. He could not understand their words, but he understood his wife. He took a step forward, but an arrow landed at his feet as a warning. Gressa whipped her head around and bit out what sounded like an order.
“I recognize my husband just fine. I did the first time we saw each other at the Ross keep.”
“So, your Norse man has survived all these years. I suppose that’s him.” The man Gressa recognized as Rhys jutted his chin in Strian’s direction. “Such as shame you will be a widow and a bride in such a short time, or perhaps it is a blessing that I still want you.”
There was no response Gressa could give that would not make the situation worse. She would not lie and give Rhys a false sense of success, but she also could not tell him that she would die before marrying him as it would only encourage a violent reaction from a man she had avoided for years. Gressa had seen him at his most charming when he tried to seduce her, but she had also seen him when he did not know she was present. She had seen him mistreat more than one woman and abuse many slaves assigned to the royal home.
“My husband isn’t going anywhere and isn’t to have a hair on his head touched. Rhys, you know as long as we are in this country, Grímr will not let you have me. Killing my husband serves no purpose when I’m not yours to take, anyway.”
“Obviously we are not letting you get away, so are you turning your husband over as a prisoner?”
“Of course not. He’s an informant.” Gressa forced herself not to wince at the lie. She disgraced Strian’s honor by telling such a falsehood, but she feared it was the only way to keep him alive. “He has already agreed to move back to Wales with me. He is ready to be one of us.”
“And why would you tell him he could when you know a man awaits you?”
“And why do you insist upon something that can never happen?”
“It can if he’s dead.”
“We’re going in circles. Take us to the camp, and we will tell you what we know.”
Rhys observed her for a long moment before he nodded his head to the other men. They remained in a circle around the couple as they continued to walk through the trees.
“You’ll be furious with the deal I brokered.” Gressa spoke out of the side of her mouth. She knew the Welshmen could hear her, but it was not loud enough to sound like a conversation.
“I’m angry that man looks at you like he’s ready to strip you bare and bed you in front of me.”
“He probably would if he could, but he knows I’d kill him first. You’ve just met Rhys. The man who’s convinced he will marry me.”
“Wonderful. Another one of your secrets that comes out at the worst moment.”
Gressa looked towards Strian, but she had nothing to say.
“Did you plan for us to show up in Wales where a man is waiting to make you his bride? Did you not think that might complicate things?”
“It was one complication to returning to Dafydd’s court. It was one of many. I just didn’t name them all.”
“Woman, you test my patience beyond all resolve. It’s a good thing I love you.”
“I still haven’t told you the worst part.” Gressa tried to infuse her smile with some cheer, but she feared it was more of a grimace. “The only way to keep you alive is to make you sound useful. I told them we intend to return to Wales. Together. I told them you’re an informant.”
Gressa really did grimace when Strian turned to look at her, his face a thundercloud waiting to release its might.
“Before you say anything, Strian, listen to me. We don’t have to tell them anything that is true. They won’t know. We have their spies who got the best look at the homestead chained to the pillory post. Dead men don’t talk. Besides the spies never mentioned Rangvald. They don’t know the combined forces are there. We feed Grímr and Rhys misinformation.”
“You’ve left us with little choice. Neither of us should have been foolish enough to wander so far into the woods or to think we could spy any better than the men our tribe caught. What about Grímr’s threats to me? It seems Rhys has relented and won’t see me dead by nightfall, but what of Grímr?”
“I don't know.” Gressa’s stomach churned with fear that the only way to keep Strian might require her to once again sell herself in exchange.
“Don’t even consider it. I’ll kill myself before I force you to give your favors to that man, any man.”
“Don’t even consider that either. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
The curious glances and Rhys’s glare warned them that talking any longer would not do them any good.
Seventeen
Gressa and Strian arrived in the camp that supported a mixture of Norsemen, Highland mercenaries, and Welsh bowmen. The flow of conversations created a level of noise that disoriented both of them. Their captors forced them to a stop outside a tent that Gressa recognized as Grímr’s. Her stomach churned, and her mouth went dry.
“Grímr?” Strian whispered.
Gressa nodded. They had managed to come to a stop standing close enough that their arms brush together. They linked their pinkies together as they awaited their fate.
A man with a grizzled face and a pronounced limp pushed back the flap and stepped outside. He sized up Strian before his gaze jumped to Gressa. What had been an assessing and defensive expression morphed into a lascivious one. His grin pulled his lips taught over yellowed and broken teeth. He swept his tongue over them as he reached out to grasp Gressa’s breast. He squeezed mercilessly. She refused to make a sound, not granting Grímr the pleasure he sought. Strian swallowed the growl that rose in his throat, understanding that coming to Gressa’s defense would only put them both in more danger.
“I see the little dove has returned to the coop to nest. I’ve missed you at night. It’s been very lonely without your company.” Grímr continued to grope Gressa, but he stared at Strian as he spoke, testing the man’s resolve not to intervene. Grímr spoke in Norse, so Rhys and the other Welshmen could not understand, but Strian caught every smug word flung his way. When Grímr’s hand attempted to travel lower, Gressa grasped his wrist.
“We come with information you might want to know.”
“And why would you do that? Why would the man who sits at Jarl Ivar’s table come to my aid?”
“We intend to make our home in Wales.” Gressa responded.
“You act as though that explains everything.” Grímr pinched her nipple. Gressa gritted her teeth to keep from wincing.
“It explains why we would look for the other Welshmen. If we are to travel back with them, then we must be of use to you first.”
Grímr squinted at her as though narrowing his eyes would help him see better into her mind. Gressa had expected his skepticism, but she had failed during the march to devise a plan for overcoming it.
“A man who stood beside the jarl as a favored warrior and best friend to the heir doesn’t come over to the enemy. What could be enough for that?”
“A woman,” Strian interrupted. “A woman you are touching but doesn’t belong to you.”
Grímr cackled. It was the only way to describe the sound that choked free of his throat.
“You are not in much of a position to claim anything let alone the woman who has such a talented mouth.”
“If you would like to keep your cock attached and not bitten off, then you would do well to treat your informant with some respect.” Gressa hissed, ripping his hand from her breast.
“Leave Gressa alone, and I will tell you everything you wish to know.”
“And how do I know you’re not lying? Trying to fool me.”
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 12
