“Wonderful,” Freya griped. “Another cabin boy, only this one won’t understand a single order I give.”
“I’ll take him then,” Tyra offered and laughed when her friend huffed. Freya’s gruff exterior guarded a fragile heart that was much larger than she acknowledged.
Erik, Bjorn, Ivar, and Rangvald joined them, and when everyone got a closer look at the boy, they knew they had found a spy. His blond hair and fair skin declared his Norse heritage before he opened his mouth.
“Who is this?” Leif asked.
“We found him hiding in the stables. It seems Grímr sent him to spy on the prince’s household.”
When Freya stepped forward, the boy stood eye to eye with her. She smiled, and the boy’s eyes widened in surprise. Freya was a breath-taking at her worst, but she stole the boy’s breath when she smiled.
“Grímr must trust you a great deal to give you such a vital task. You must have proven yourself to be very brave and very intelligent.” Freya forced awe into her voice but was careful not to overdo it. She knew from Freund that a boy that age was transitioning into a skeptical phase where false praise would get her nowhere. Tyra stepped next to Freya, and the boy looked as though he might collapse. Tyra’s hair was a shade darker than Freya’s platinum locks, but the contrast only showed off both women’s unusual beauty.
“Were you with us in Scotland?” Gressa asked, stepping up to the other women.
Strian looked at his wife and friends, Gressa’s dark waves an even starker contrast against Freya and Tyra’s blonde heads. The women he and his friends had married were more than uncommonly attractive. Even pregnant, Sigrid was striking, but she hung back with Lorna and Lena. He forced himself to return his attention to the questions Gressa asked the boy.
“Yes, I was with you. I saw you with the other archers. You were amazing. After I saw you and the other archers, I wanted to come here to learn. When Grímr wanted one of us younger men to serve as a spy, I jumped at the chance.”
The group bit back their smiles when the boy referred to himself as a younger man. They had all been that age once, eager to prove themselves as warriors of merit.
“Then you must have proven yourself. Where are you from?” Strian asked.
“I’m one of the few from Hakin and Grímr’s tribe who have survived. I’m Inga’s son.”
Strian lifted the boy’s chin and his hair fell away. He was looking at a younger version of himself.
“You’re my cousin,” Strian offered, unsure of what the boy knew.
“Then you are Einar’s nephew.”
“You know that Grímr isn’t your father?” Strian was tentative, but he had to know.
“Everyone knows Einar was my father, but Grímr had no choice but to claim me since he and my mother were married.”
“You should have been raised in our tribe,” Ivar announced. “What’s your name?”
The boy backed away from the imposing figure and looked cautiously at the man who was clearly a jarl.
“Brynjar Grímrson.” The boy grimaced as he spoke his surname.
“Would you rather live with our tribe?” Ivar softened his tone “Your father was once one of my warriors, and your cousin is among my most trusted. He is like a son to me. His father was my closest friend. That makes you practically family.”
“Family to a jarl? A real one?”
Rangvald clapped the boy on the shoulder, and the Brynjar had to take a step forward to keep from being knocked to the ground.
“That will make you family to two jarls. Two real ones.”
Brynjar looked up at Rangvald and gasped.
“Yes, boy. I’m your Uncle Rangvald, your mother’s brother. If you would like to live with me, you are welcome. If you would rather live with Ivar’s clan, you are always welcome to visit.”
Brynjar looked back and forth between Strian and Rangvald, fearful of making the wrong choice.
“I—I— don’t know,” he stammered.
Lorna joined them, and once more Brynjar’s eyes became the size of saucers. Lorna made the other women, despite their own beauty, pale in comparison.
“This is your Aunt Lorna,” Rangvald leaned near his ear but did not lower his voice. “Get used to it, boy. The women in our family are more beautiful than any you will find in this land or ours. I have sailed around much of the Christian world and into a warm sea known as the Mediterranean where the women have brown skin and dark eyes. But none have the beauty of your aunt or the women you see here. We are a blessed lot of men.”
Brynjar could only nod.
“Dafydd confessed that he hid his wealth among the ruins of the Angelsey monastery,” Gressa spoke up. “We found out that’s where he hid what he collected over the years for his daughters’ hands in marriage. He has already spent what Grímr gave him. He tried to buy his allies, and Grímr promised him more once they defeated us. Dafydd allowed his political ambitions and greed that matched Grímr’s to lead him to his downfall.”
“Angelsey is where Grímr said he would meet me. He plans to stop there to search for that treasure. Grímr learned of it somehow, I think when he drank with Rhys. He thought to pay Dafydd with Dafydd’s own coins to avoid having to find more when he used the last of my mother’s money,” Brynjar spoke up.
“How do we know you are telling us the truth? You are a spy, after all,” Bjorn questioned.
“Because what have I to gain from being loyal to Grímr? I carry his name, but he’s rejected me as the youngest and because he knows I’m a bastard. My older brothers can fight for him and have died for him, but he says I’m too small. He hated my mother and said horrible things about her in front of me and my brothers. He sent me here alone most likely hoping I would die despite the information he hoped I would gather. I owe him nothing.” Brynjar spat on the ground.
“Then our final battle shall be on Angelsey.” Rangvald pulled the boy against his side. “And you shall lead the way.”
Twenty-Nine
The Highlanders had occupied themselves with arranging the villagers into those they would leave behind and those who agreed to fight against Grímr. They also aided the villagers from letting the fire that destroyed the keep spread to the homes of the innocent.
“Let her stay here with her children,” Gressa jutted her chin towards Enfys. “Her son inherits the land his father ruled, but he is too young to lead. She will do it, and she will end up having to marry one of the princes Dafydd intended to subjugate. She will become the wife of a lesser prince. Losing status will be its own punishment.”
The Highland lairds and the jarls’ families stood together as they watched Welsh warriors being loaded into the longboats. The Welsh language was so far from the Highlanders’ Gaelic and Norse that the only effective communication were hand signals and various grunts.
“We shall have the fight we have waited for,” Tormod Mackenzie spoke up.
“The morning tide will carry us out of the harbor, but we will need our oarsmen to do much of the work crossing the strait to Angelsey,” Andrew MacLeod looked at Tyra, almost challenging her to speak against the word of a MacLeod, the Highland’s best sailors. Tyra shrugged and looked to Bjorn.
“If you have a plan in place, then you don’t need us,” Tyra tossed over her shoulder as she pushed Bjorn toward their boat. It was not long before the newlyweds were running to Tyra’s longboat. Their laughter floating back to the group as they ducked into their cabin.
“Tyra seems content to relinquish her title as Queen of the Sea now that she is the queen of Bjorn’s heart,” Erik laughed.
“How romantic you can be. Perhaps you should remind me.” Freya stood on her toes to whisper something else in Erik’s ear. He lifted his wife over his shoulder and marched to their own cabin.
“Is tupping all ye people think of before a battle? Lusty for blood and bedding,” Kenneth Sutherland looked about, his eyes lingering on several Norse women.
“Aye, we are,” Lorna chimed in. “Ye lads find yersel
ves a way to stay warm tonight. Tomorrow shall show us our fate.”
It was rare that Lorna spoke of life and death like a Norsewoman would. Similar to Gressa who had not relinquished her pagan gods for the Christian one despite the years spent living among Christians, Lorna had never relinquished her Christian god despite more than thirty years among the Norse. She simply did not talk about it, but she understood the faith of her husband’s and children’s people. She could see the truth in some of their beliefs.
The night was too brief for everyone. Couples found places to bed down, privacy was limited but enough, so they could make love one last time before the next day’s battle. Strian and Gressa found a storeroom where hay was being stored, but they offered it to Leif and Sigrid, so their expecting friend could try to find some comfort. However, Leif and Sigrid had already claimed a cottage within the keep walls that seemed to no longer have occupants. Gressa spread Strian’s cloak over the hay, trying to prevent the itchy stalks from scratching them throughout the night. Strian returned from his ship with a blanket and some provisions. They sat cross legged as they ate in silence.
“Strian, the sun won’t set for a while longer. I want to take you there now. There may not be time in the morning, and we may never return here.” Gressa forced the words around the lump in her throat.
Strian looked up and gazed at Gressa for a long moment before nodding. Gressa led them through the same small gate that they had used earlier in the day. She was not sure how Strian would react, nervous that he would shut her out, but he held her hand as they walked towards a Christian cemetery. Gressa walked towards a small headstone that stood on its own, in a corner far from the others.
Gressa had spent so many hours laying along the grave, that the earth had become compacted and the grass did not grow as tall as in other parts. She dropped to her knees and ran her hand over the small mound, just as she had done thousands of times during the ten years she had visited the cemetery. She knew nothing about the other graves, having no interest in them. She knew her tiny corner where the Welsh laid her son against her wishes. Gressa looked up when Strian did not come closer. She almost wished she had not. Strian’s stricken face would haunt her nightmares just like the day fate separated her from Strian and the day their son was born and died. She reached out a hand, but Strian did not seem to see it. Gressa rose to her feet and was about to step next to him, but Strian shook his head, backing away. He rushed to the tree that grew near the tiny grave. He heaved over and over as the contents of his stomach sprayed across the exposed roots. Gressa did not know what to do. She was torn between giving him his space and trying to comfort him. For the first time since she could remember, she did not know how Strian felt or what to do for him. She was unprepared for the accusation that filled his eyes when he lifted his head to look at her.
“You haven’t bled since I found you. When were you going to tell me?” Strian’s voice clawed open wounds Gressa thought had healed. She had not allowed herself to think about having more children with Strian, at least not beyond the most general of terms.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t realized how long it had been. After,” she waved her hand in the grave's direction, “my courses were never the same. They are not predictable.”
“You were willing to enter another battle carrying our child,” Strian accused. “You would have us lose another babe.”
Gressa gasped and stumbled backwards. She shook her head as she looked at Strian as though he were a stranger.
“How could you say that,” no sound escaping her moving lips.
“Because you could die this time!” Strian bellowed. “You could both die this time.”
Gressa felt as if he had knocked the wind from her. She watched as the strongest man she had ever known, the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had ever desired, seemed to deflate in front of her. He returned to the grave and sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking as they had when she first told him of the child they lost. Gressa understood his fear and understood it drove the words that struck her like blades piercing her heart and mind, but that understanding did not diminish the pain.
“I can’t live without you, Gressa. I don’t want to. What if this time, I not only lose a child but you, too? What then? What’s left for me? What if I can’t find you in Valhalla?” Strian choked out the words that voiced his deepest fears since the first time he feared Gressa had died.
Gressa lowered herself next to Strian. She pried one of his hands free and wove her fingers through his.
“I don’t know that I am carrying yet, my love. It’s far too soon for me to know. My courses don’t always come every month or sometimes they last far longer than the sennight they should. The midwife here told me it was from the deep wound that cut through my back. She said it may have nicked my womb. Strian, I don’t even know for sure that I can have any more children.” Gressa swallowed. “What if I can’t? You deserve sons. You deserve a home filled with your children, your legacy.”
Strian looked at Gressa and saw his fears mirrored in her eyes, but it was there for a very different reason.
“What are you saying, Gressa? Do you think I will set you aside? Will you push me towards another woman who could bear me children? How can you think these things? I can’t overcome my fear of living without you again, and you think I won’t want you if you can’t have more children. Gressa, don’t you understand? I don’t want to live if it’s without you. I’ve been at best half a man while you were gone.”
“Do you not want me to fight? Do you want me to remain aboard your boat? Stay with Sigrid?”
Strian shook his head then nodded before shaking it again.
“I don’t know, Gressa. I know you have as much right to see Grímr breathe his last as any of us, perhaps more than most of us, but I’m afraid.”
Gressa rested her head against Strian’s shoulder. There was nothing more to say. They knew they shared the same fear and the same uncertainty of what the following day would bring. As the sun set, Strian stretched out along the tiny mound where Gressa had so many times before. He had brought his cloak when they left the storeroom, so he wrapped it around them, and Gressa nestled into his embrace. They fell asleep with their fingers once more entwined, resting on the tiny mound that completed their family.
Strian and Gressa awoke feeling as though they had only just shut their eyes. They stared at the grave until there was little time left for them to meet the others at the boats.
“Gressa, go ahead. I will be there in a moment. I need some time here. I need to speak to my son.”
Gressa nodded before walking towards the docks. She looked back once to see Strian kneeling exactly as she had countless times.
“Son, little Strian, I’m sorry I did not protect you and your mama better. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there on the day of your birth. I’m sure your mama has told you how much she loves you; I know she even told you how much I would have loved you. I would have you hear it from me. I love you, son. You will always be my first born. Know that I wanted you as much as I know your mama wanted you.” Strian looked around before he began to dig with his bare hands and a rock he found nearby. “I pray your mama understands what I’m doing, why I’m disturbing you. Your mama and I dreamed of the day you would join our family. You belong with us.”
Strian dug until his fingers brushed against a swath of fabric that had thinned over the years in the ground. He pushed the last of the dirt away until a tiny shroud lay before him. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders before lifting the form from the grave. He wrapped it in his cloak, leaving a gap just as he would for a living baby who would need to draw a breath. He stood and kicked some dirt back in place.
“They had no right to disobey your mama’s wishes, to ignore our gods. We will see your spirit set free, but you may need to wait a little longer, baby Strian.”
Strian choked on a sob as he spoke his son’s name aloud, the name they shared.
Gressa awaited him when
he arrived at his ship. She looked at the bundle he carried, and tears streamed down her cheeks, she nodded once before spinning around and stepping onto the deck. She waited for Strian by the tiller. When he joined her, she raised her arms, and he placed the cloak and its precious cargo in her embrace. He tucked Gressa against his chest, and the couple stood together, grieving, as the fleet of boats pushed away from the shore. Both Gressa and Strian knew they would never return. They no longer had a reason to.
Dawn passed into morning as they neared the coast of Angelsey. Gressa had already informed Tyra about where the ruins lay and of the land surrounding it. She had traveled on pilgrimages with Enfys to the ruins many times over the years. She explained to Tyra the most likely place for Grímr to anchor, guided by the remaining Welshmen even if they had no way to speak to one another. When their captors took her and Strian to Grímr’s camp, she had noticed that they seemed to have managed without her.
Tyra navigated them into a natural cover where many of the boats could hide. Only a few had to sail further down the coast to find a safe place to weigh anchor. There were no signs that Grímr was on Angelsey, but they had not passed him either. They went ashore, scouting the best place to ambush Grímr.
“He hasn’t arrived yet, so that means he must have found Highlanders to come back with him. He told me that would be the only thing that would delay him. I was to meet him here with news from the royal home.” Brynjar explained as he stood with Gressa and Strian. The boy had sensed not to ask about what looked like a babe that Gressa held but never moved.
“Is he expecting you to be waiting for him?” Skepticism filled Strian’s voice.
“I think so,” Brynjar looked towards the shore.
“You’re not going to the meeting point alone,” Strian’s voice left no room for the boy to argue.
“He’s not going at all,” Gressa broke in. “It’s not safe, and you are not yet ready to fight in a battle like this. You must help Freund and the other barrel men guard the boats. Several of the warriors will stay with you. Brynjar, your job is among the most important. If anything happens to the fleet, we will be trapped here. And there is one more thing that I need you to guard.”
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 22
