Edin's embrace (5 page)

Thoryn raised his brows in question, though he knew exactly what Rolf thought he was gloating about.

Besides that rusty-red hair and beard, Rolf sported a widespread, unrefined nose and the scar of an old gouge wound on his cheek. He was somewhat older, and a different kind of man from Thoryn altogether. He was, for one thing, much less serious-minded. Friendship, to Thoryn, was a matter of expedience, but if he possessed such a thing as a true friend, he supposed Rolf was it.

Right now the man's complexion was high, whipped by the wind. He said, "Whatever you told the woman seems to have scared her badly enough. She sits there like a hazelgrouse in the woods on hunting day. You've shown her who's boss."

Thoryn preserved his silence for a moment, then said, "Whatever I told her she well deserved. She needs to learn she's but a thrall."

"And at her master's mercy."

"Aye."

"And you are her master."

Thoryn's eyes grazed the soft curve of her shoulders. She looked tired and defeated. He said, "Aye, I am — for the time being. I was just considering whether I could get a better price for her in Hedeby."

Hedeby lay on the east coast of Jutland at the head of Schleifjord on the shores of the lagoon of Haddeby Noor —far from Dainjerfjord in Norway. Thoryn saw Rolf considering this. "We couldn't make that voyage until spring," he said. "Were you planning to keep her a maiden that long? Over the winter at Thorynsteading? With the men?"

"The men will leave her alone."

At just that moment Jamsgar Copper-eye squatted before the captives and pulled on the bare foot of the one with dark short curls. The girl woke with a start.

He smiled broadly, pointed to himself, and said, "Jamsgar. Jamsgar Copper-eye."

The girl giggled and pointed to herself, saying, "Juli—"

The maiden sat up straighter, threw her arms around the dark-haired wench, as if she were the girl's protector, and said, "Juliana, don't speak to him!"

Thoryn bellowed, "Jamsgar!"

The Copper-eye looked at his jarl and shrugged. With a grin, he went back to his room.

"The men will leave her alone?" Rolf said. "If you say so. But she's a tempting bit, axe-friend. Those lips, and that hair, and . . . have you ever seen a woman with green eyes before?" He sighed hugely. "She'll cause trouble. Winter is long, and there are days when the longhall feels like a corral and the men start acting like stallions."

Thoryn shrugged. "The profit I'd turn on her would justify a little trouble."

"Most likely; but truth be told, she would get you a good price even if she weren't
quite
a maiden."

"The men will leave her alone —or else."

"During the day when you have your eye on them, aye. But what about at night when you go to your own chamber and nothing but a curtain keeps the wolves from invading her good and fragrant pasture? If I were her master, I think I would see she was safely locked up at night. Preferably with me."

Thoryn saw the twinkle in his eye.

"Come, Thoryn, this talk of selling her! As if I'm not a man who knows men —more important, a man who knows you. The lass is beautiful — and she's yours! Since when were you so monkish? No one sells a thrall like that. The best a man keeps for himself. Take her to your bed and be happy. Then, when you've had enough of her, we'll talk of markets."

Thoryn exhaled through his nose. "You talk nonsense. She won't command eight half-marks if she isn't a maiden."

Rolf shrugged. "Mayhap you'll lose a few half-marks. It depends on how sorely you use her. And mayhap, after a time, you'll decide not to sell her at all. Think of it, brother!" He pretended to consider the woman. "Having her in your chamber, alone. She would probably be reluctant at first, being a maid. She would need training—much training—many a pleasant night's work, that. You would want to take her slowly the first time or two, so as not to frighten her. I know there are those who prefer a good scuffle, but this one—no doubt she's been brought up cautiously on a diet of piglet and lamb and fresh milk straight from the goat's udder. I don't think you would want to frighten her. No, take her slowly and teach her to shudder with—"

"You give me much helpful counsel, friend, none of it worth a horse's cast shoe." He glanced pointedly at Rolf's crotch. "I see your body has outgrown your brain again."

Rolf laughed. "When a man has been as long from a woman as I have, even a hole in a water keg seems inviting. I've been eyeing the younger men aboard for the past week. Now I have something better to eye."

Thoryn snorted and looked away, out to the sea. "The woman doesn't tempt me half as much as does the idea of eight half-marks of pure gold. Besides, my father took a Saxon thrall to his bed, and later regretted it, as I recall."

Rolf was wise enough to let that pass. A moment slipped by. He stepped away to pull on a line of the striped sail, then came back and placed a hand on Thoryn's shoulder. "Beornwold is nearly gone. Hark to his gasping; he can hardly put one breath after another."

Thoryn nodded, keeping his eyes from where the dying Viking lay sprawled. Instead, he looked up at the bellying sail. "And what of my berserk?"

"That one will live —and live to cause you grief."

Thoryn lowered his eyes to the sea again, avoiding any glance at Sweyn, who was muttering from the corner of his spittle-flecked mouth. Thoryn should have killed him rather than condemned him to a life of uselessness.

That woman!

He said, "It must be in Odin's heart for Sweyn to cause me grief, for he has certainly done so often enough. Him with his berserk ways, stamping himself into fury, biting his shield rim, going around bellowing in the coldest air without a stitch on. He's made many a virtuoso performance of speed and brawn and complete brainlessness."

"He's fought for you without fear."

"He's fought for a leader of rank and means in return for good pieces of gold and the promise of meat in his belly all the winter long. True, he has no fear, but he has no care, either. Mayhap, when we reach home, I'll give him enough blood-money to buy a small steading and a few cattle, and be rid of him."

Mayhap, he thought privately, being his own steading master would give a cripple enough self-respect to make his life as worthwhile as it had been when he was a proper-shaped man. Thoryn felt he owed him that much, having made him useless as a warrior.

Rolf again moved to adjust one of the intricate system of clue lines that enabled them to reef the large sail. When he was finished he said, in a considering tone, "I would ask you a question, Thoryn Kirkynsson."

"Ask on, Rolf Kali, provided you don't want to know where the winds come from, or where the tides start, or what makes the moon round. I don't know those things."

"Why did you do it; why did you spare him? Beornwold will die only once, but you've condemned the Berserk to die daily. What did the woman say to you?"

A cold serpent twisted in Thoryn's vitals. He cast a glance at the Saxon —

— and met her eyes. They emptied his lungs. They were enough to fell a forest, to move a field, to drain a lake. The whole world could be dismantled and dropped into those green eyes, to sink without a trace.

By Odin, she was a woman to tempt a man!

Don't think of that.

He struggled to find his wits again, to achieve a semblance of solemnity. "Sweyn broke his oath to me; he disobeyed my order."

"I didn't ask why you challenged him—"

So easily did Rolf put that aside! He had no conception of the will Thoryn must summon up to get himself through such fierce and bloody tests of dominance.

" —I asked why, when once you bested him, you didn't finish it?"

"She said 'please' " he answered shortly.

Rolf frowned, unsatisfied.

"What's that look now? Say what's in your mind, without fear or favor"

"It makes no sense, Thoryn. She pleaded because she's a woman and can never understand that a lame fighting man is worthless to himself and everyone else. Or that giving and taking death well are two of the things a proud man does. Sweyn Elendsson lived by the axe and reckoned to die by it."

Thoryn grew irritated. "Call me a madman and pelt me with bones if you like, but I'm afraid you must take my unseemly answer anyway."

Rolf eyed him with a look that eased into affection. "Then . . . did you hope to gain her favor by it?"

"Aye, right after killing her bridegroom before her eyes and right before someone dropped his torch and so set her home afire. Considering how much was taken from her at one blow, I'm sure my sparing of Sweyn created a real lust of gratitude in her."

"If not her favor — "

Thoryn clicked his tongue. "This conversation tires me. Can you speak of naught but the thrall? By Odin, I swear you yourself would like to get into her secrets"

Rolf's look turned sly. "I won't answer that, Oh Hammer of Dainjerfjord. I prefer to keep my sword arm intact ."

Rolf left, and Thoryn fell to thinking about how he had killed the maiden's groom. He recalled how she'd crooned over the body, speaking senselessly about mending the boy's shirt. And he had been just a boy, hardly a man yet. Thoryn recalled a thinnish beard and a drooping mustache. But when Thoryn had seen in the maiden's eyes that there was someone behind him, it had been pure reflex to turn and swing his sword. Then, seeing the boy sliced open and in agony, he knew it only merciful to pierce the boy's heart so that his end would be swift.

He could still feel the iron going in, and how he'd leaned on it to drive it farther, and pushed his weight after it.
I think I felt the boy's last heartbeat.

"They're talking about you."

Juliana whispered what Edin knew well enough already. By their glances, she knew the two men beneath the curled tip of the stern were discussing her. Now and then she caught snatches of the jarl's deep, compelling voice. Was he telling the redheaded Rolf that soon he was going to throw her overboard? Oh, why hadn't she used her dagger on herself when she had the chance? Better that than. . . .

She looked at the darkening water and shuddered, then looked at the Viking once more. She saw no signs of clemency in his face.

Juliana whispered again: "The big one wants you."

Edin could have laughed.
Wanted
her! He only wanted to kill her.

"It's no shame on you, my lady. With your looks—"

"Juliana, please!"

The girl shrank back behind Arneld to sulk. The boy went on scribbling on the planks, using his finger as a pen and drops of sea water as paint. Edin was left to herself once more, left to consider her situation.

She had no defense; she felt dwarfed and helpless among these immense men, awed by their masculinity. She'd lived in gentle, pleasant household. Cedric had been manly in the way of a young gentleman, not in the harsh way of these warriors. Comparing him to these was like comparing the barnyard rooster to the hawk soaring overhead.

Cedric! She pressed her fettered wrists to her forehead, trying to block out the image. The dragon had thrust out its tongue, and poor Cedric was pierced through. Edin was caught anew by the horror of it.

Her eyes didn't tear, however; in fact, they were too dry. She blinked them hard. They burned. She was so weary. The food had only increased her craving for sleep.

Both Vikings were staring at her now. Their expressions made her feel naked. She had to look away.

Yet everywhere she looked she saw Vikings, some of them very near, near enough for her to hear the rustle of their clothes and see the gleam of their golden arm bracelets. One was sitting just above her on his sea chest. The dying light cast him in bronze. She could make out the individual hairs on his head and in his long, pale, silky beard which was flapping in the sea wind. He was wiping his sword, a gold-hilted malignancy with a calfskin scabbard.

Vikings! She was a captive of Vikings!

But not for long. What would happen to her people when she was drowned — Arneld and Udith and the others? Who would speak for them among these ruthless, wrathful, purely heathen barbarians? Who would advise them and buoy them up?

Oh, I don't want to die, not at the sea's hands. A dream, let this all be a dream, just a horrible dream!

***

For the hundredth time Edin jarred herself awake, a cry of terror poised in her throat. Her breath came hard and fast. Unable to sleep, unable to stay awake, she was near madness. The longship lay becalmed in a fog. The Vikings had put up roof-slats, then stretched a canvas over them to make a tent against the night. All up and down the deck they slept in their warm bags of unshorn sheepskin. They seemed not to mind living like ants in a dish, practically on top of one another, without room to move.

The captives had been given a few unsewn sheepskins as well. They were doing their best to sleep, and most were succeeding. Only Edin sat goading herself to wakefulness, not daring to sink into the oblivion her body begged for.

The night seemed endless, timeless. Minute after minute fell dead, never adding up to a passing hour, never bringing a change. It felt as though her eyelids were weighted with iron, and her head felt as if one of these warrior-monsters had buried his axe in it. How long had it been since she'd slept. Two days and two nights? The worst two days and nights of her life. She felt dizzy and disoriented and increasingly crazed.

Finally she came to a decision, and with it came relief, sharp and sweet. She rose and picked her way over the sleeping form of Udith. She took careful steps towards the prow, giving attention to where and how she put her feet. Slowly she made her way over the Vikings' sleeping bags and stooped out from beneath the tent.

Because of the mist, it took her a moment to spy her enemy on the prow platform by the head of his dragon. She paused. Remembered pain and panic rippled across her skin. Nonetheless, she went toward him, wobbly, but without hesitation. She almost felt herself drawn forward, as if by some formidable magnetic force.

She stopped at his feet and reached to tug the hem of his cloak with her bound hands. She was smiling, feeling euphorically pleased that soon her horror would be over.

He half-turned, saw her, and turned to look down at her fully. Her gaze lifted from his legs to his harshly hewn features. She flinched and swayed on her heels as if she'd been physically struck, for even in her mad euphoria, she felt uneasy under the relentless gaze of those cool eyes.

He said softly, so as not to wake the others, "What have you come to ask me this time, Saxon?"

"Two things."

His heavy-lidded gaze slid to her lips. "Speak out, in clear words; I'm unafraid — mayhap because I can't recall a time when a kitten leapt at my throat and I couldn't save myself."

He wasn't afraid of anything, not even God. But of course, of God in the Christian sense, these Vikings would have no conception. She'd heard that they worshipped many gods. Who? And what did they demand of these warriors?

He was waiting, and she remembered what she'd come to say: "They shouted 'Jarl Thoryn' —is that your name?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I've watched your face for so many hours, I know I'll never forget it; but I want to make sure I have your name right as well, so that I'll always be sure to know you."

"Why should you need to know me? Are you to bring my end upon me, little bedraggled woman-slave that you are?"

"Yes," she said evenly, "if I can "

The corners of his mouth crisped — the nearest thing to a smile he seemed to own. "Many a time I've heard of doomsters —we call them shieldmaidens — but never have I seen one before. According to what they say, a true shieldmaiden has a voice like splintering icicles, or like the swish a gannet makes when it falls out of a cold sky. She wears a winged helmet and carries a shield" His gaze skimmed down her. "You don't fit the description. Isn't that your underwear you're shivering in? And your voice —well, it's not like splintering icicles, not at all."

She lost patience with his game. She was giddy and having trouble keeping her stance, even though the ship was barely rocking. "I asked you, is your name Jarl Thoryn?"

"I am a jarl and my name is Thoryn. Thoryn Kirkynsson."

She nodded, satisfied. "If I can, I will seek you from beyond, Thoryn Kirkynsson. You will live to regret all you have done to me and mine, but too late."

He squatted down to her level, as if to see her better through the grey mist. She felt his presence, restless, dynamic, surging with energy. She also felt his anger, but somehow kept herself from stepping back from it.

"What is your second question?" he snapped.

She faltered, then said, "I ask you to do it now."

What followed was a ghastly silence. She dared not look at the black water. Her heart pounded as he stepped down before her. Now he positively radiated crude power. She was more afraid in that moment than ever before.

"Now?" he said. His expression became darker and more ominous as each second passed.

"Yes!" she hissed. She dared not look into his face anymore; she knew there was no smile there, and no mercy.

He took her waist in his hands. She didn't resist. As his grip tightened and he lifted her off her toes, she only closed her eyes. His fingers bit into her waist so hard she thought he would pulverize her. In the darkness behind her eyelids she saw butterflies in brilliant profusion . . . yet she was quiet. She could feel that splendid chest flexing—then felt his beard brush her cheek and heard his voice in her ear: "Now doesn't suit me, Saxon. You're weak, so weary you can hardly stand, too weary to afford me the pleasure of watching you struggle."

She opened her eyes. His face was a mere inch from her own. Even in the dark she could see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, those shuttered grey eyes that could no doubt simply congeal an enemy in mid-attack.

I wish it were a dream.

He said, "Go back to your place and sleep without anymore jolting'up. I grant you my word that I'll not grab you this night."

She couldn't keep the sob out of her voice. "No! I can't bear this waiting anymore! Do it now!"

He gave her a shake. "Don't be so thrallish-minded! I'm offering you rest, Saxon. And in the morning I'll see you have a good breakfast set before you, so you can make your journey to the bottom of the sea on a full stomach."

"No!" She writhed half out of his hands, twisting toward the gunwales. He caught her and tightened his hold again. She squirmed futilely in his iron embrace. "Jarl of the sties! Jarl of the pigs! Jarl of the midden — do it now!
Do it now!
"

She was hysterical, and only half-understood what he meant when he said, "Little joy lies in ending this sweet spectacle in such a way, but what is a chieftan to do if he wants the respect of his shipmen?"

She was vaguely aware that she'd awakened them, of the lifting of large male faces with heavy beards and staring eyes. "Do it now!" she cried piteously, plucking at his hard arms. "I can't bear it —the waiting —I can't bear it!"

He said, not harshly, "I understand, Shieldmaiden, and mean to put an end to this foolishness, with all generosity."

She saw his fist and knew he going to hit her with it, and she had only an instant to be grateful: She would drown without knowing. She felt the blow to her cheekbone like a hammer striking from across the sea —and then felt and saw and knew no more.

Until she woke under the canvas shelter at dawn. She sat up bonelessly. The motion of the ship made her head nod on her neck like an unopened lily bud on its stem. Her sleep had been deep and dreamless, and now her headache was gone. But in its place, the side of her face felt sore. She lifted her bound hands and found her cheekbone swollen.

She also discovered that she had a fine cloak wrapped about her, and beneath it, she was wearing a huge woolen jerkin, a man's garment. She considered these sleepily, as if they were all there was in the world for her to consider just now. She wondered without urgency how she could have come to be wearing them. Her hands would have to be untied to be put through the armholes —but her hands were tied now. So someone had untied her, dressed her in the jerkin, tied her again, then wrapped her in the cloak.

"She's awake!"

Edin looked at Juliana's glossy black hair and blue eyes, still a little dumbly, still disorganized, still mostly self-absorbed. The girl said, "He gave his cloak to you, my lady. He carried you in his arms and laid you down here like a lover wrapped in his own cloak!"

A sharp, delicate chill soaked through the pores of Edin's skin.

"I told you he wanted you." The girl giggled.

"
Hist!
" whispered Udith.

But Juliana could not be repressed. "Did he ravish you, my lady?"

Ravish. The girl said it as if she thought it a delicious word.

"Did he?"

Edin was fully awake now. "None such as him shall ever abuse me that way!" She paused, bestowing thought to the jerkin, the cloak. "At least, I don't think he did." She turned to Udith. "Would I know —if I were knocked senseless, I mean?" Her hands went to her cheek again. "He hit me, and I don't remember anything after that."

The two servant women exchanged glances. Juliana giggled again and said, "You feel no soreness?"

"It's very sore. I'm sure he blacked my eye." She fingered the swelling gingerly, trying to recall. . . .

She'd been hysterical. And he'd hit her. But the bruise didn't seem overlarge, considering her memory of the size of that fist coming at her. It seemed he'd hit her just hard enough, and no more.

"No soreness
elsewhere?
" Udith asked.

Edin realized what they meant, and lowered her eyelashes. "No."

Udith sighed deeply and crossed herself, while Juliana seemed a little disappointed. Edin took a new look at her. She was a plump creature of sixteen with a wide, inviting mouth and broad hips made for childbearing. It came home to Edin why the Vikings had decided to bring her, when they'd rejected others who were more skilled.

At that moment the Vikings were lifting the top-cover, and Edin saw that the morning had broken as clear and as cool as a crystal. A flurry of birds swept about the longship's mast, and a gentle breeze just wrinkled the tops of the long green swells. She searched for the jarl, and her eyes found a large form in a sleeping bag near the prow. Evidently he'd finally given in to a need for rest himself.

He didn't wake till noon. By then the day was much different. Dark clouds had built a fortress on the starboard side, and a grim wind had come up, whipping salt spume into any face lifted above the level of the gunwales. Though the sky was still blue directly overhead, the huge banks of black and threatening clouds moved along the horizon.

As the jarl took command, the wind began to whip the sea into a froth. Terrified, Edin took young Arneld into the Viking's commodious cloak with her. Nonetheless, after another hour, she and the boy were both weeping. The water got more turbulent by the minute.

With astonishing swiftness, a squall of rain closed down. As well as she could, Edin kept her eyes on the jarl. She watched him go aft and give some order to an older, very fair-haired man who was struggling at the steerboard. The jarl shouted to make himself understood against the wind. He took the steering oar himself and heaved on it with all his vast brawn while the other man lashed it to the ship's side.

When the bulk of the dark clouds reached them and lowered down, it was as if the whole world had plunged into darkness. The full force of the storm hit, tossing the longship like a straw. The wind shrieked through the rigging and blew white spray off the tops of the waves. The jarl shouted orders, and men shuttered the oarports that pierced the sides of the ship below the rails and lashed the two wounded Vikings to their places. As the waves continued to rise, every man was in a frenzy to lash and stow his gear and plunder. The jarl moved among them, lending a hand here and there.