Loki's Daughters (7 page)

"Is it? It seems to be mine now."

"Where did you get it?"

"Perhaps I took it from your brother."

Blue eyes scrutinized her. "We do not come to harm you, girl. We have come for him. Is he dead? If he is dead, show me where his body is, so we may take it away, for his mother mourns him. I will pay you."

"We have no use for your geld, Viking."

"What will you have, then? I will give you whatever you ask."

Did he mean what he said? Did he think she would trust him? A Viking? What would he think, or do, once he learned she was the cause of his brother's injury? If he should change his mind, she could only hope he would limit his vengeance to her.

"Leave us in peace, Viking."

"Aye, we will do that. I seek only my brother's body. I will give you a reward for that, be there only a little of him left. What will you ask, girl?"

"A plow," she said. She stifled a gasp. Why had she asked anything at all?

The Viking's bright eyes glowed with shrewdness as he quickly assessed both her and the unplowed fields behind her. She felt stripped bare, all the way to her thoughts.

"A plow? You have none?"

"It is broken."

"And oxen, too? I see none."

She chewed at her lip. The man who lay inside the cottage had been too weak to come out and discover how near to extinction her people were. But this one was accumulating the evidence rapidly.

"They are sickly. It would not hurt." Sickly unto death, but she dared not say.

"A team then, too. Where is he? Have you buried him?"

"You mourn too soon. He is not dead yet. You may come with me, but leave the others where they are."

Arienh turned her back to the marauder and his band of villains across the stream. With deliberate, manlike strides she walked up the narrow path, keeping her ears attuned to the heavy footfalls and creaking leather behind her. She pressed downward on the sword's hilt to lever the tip of the scabbard over the stones in the path.

The man maintained a discreet distance behind her of about the length of two men, his pace almost exactly matching hers. Although she knew he could capture her in the space of three big strides if he chose, she held her shoulders square and her head high, pretending that fact was beneath her notice. Boldly, she strode up to her cottage.

"Birgit, unbar the door," she called.

But when the door swung open, it was her Viking who stood, gasping and feverish, clasping the door frame for support. Anxiously she sought out Birgit and Liam, and saw them unharmed.

"Ronan." shouted the huge blond man as he rushed past her and wrapped his big arms around her Viking.

"Aye, Egil, I knew you'd come."

"'Tis a fever you've got."

"And a wound."

"He must lie down," said Arienh.

Ronan. A Celtic name. She had never asked him his name, for she had assumed he would die.

Ronan's legs buckled as the bigger man shifted his arm to support him. "Aye, she's right, Ronan. You must get back to the bed."

The tenderness between them was like an odd parody of a mother and child. Before, she had never even thought of Vikings even as speaking creatures. Then, to find two who seemed possessed of intelligence, kindness, and tenderness toward each other? But they would love their own kind, wouldn't they? Or perhaps there was enough Celtic blood in them to make them human. Her Viking had said his mother was a Celt.

Wrapped in their own concerns, speaking their heathen tongue, the two men seemed to have forgotten the Celts around them. But there were more of their kind down by the stream, and who knew what they might do, once they had accomplished their ends? Arienh flashed a wary look at Birgit and nodded her head toward the door. They left the two men alone in the cottage.

"While they are occupied," she said to her sister, "and while the other marauders wait so patiently across the stream, join the others in the cave."

"I'll not leave you."

"This is different, Birgit. I cannot tell if they mean to trick us or not. But even if they do, they might leave me in peace if there is only me."

"Nay."

"If I must defend you and Liam, too, I will surely die. Go."

Birgit glared. Setting her jaw, she whirled around, snatched Liam's hand, and set out toward the cavern.

***

Egil had come. Ronan had known he would, for his brother was the most dependable man in the world.

"What have you done, brother?" Egil asked, carefully easing Ronan into the bed as he spoke. "I have never seen you so weak."

"A gut wound."

"I told you not to come alone."

Egil lifted the Celtic tunic to study the wound, then lowered it as if he saw nothing to fear. But Ronan knew his younger brother well, and was not fooled. He was still fevered and far from recovered. Perhaps would not at all, and Egil would know it.

"Nay, it was the best way," Ronan said. "This is it, Egil. This is the valley."

Egil's eyes lit, mirroring his own excitement. "And the girl?"

"Aye, the same. I told you she would be a beauty."

"Aye, she is, and the flame-haired one, too. Save that one for me."

"You're the fool, then, Egil," Ronan said with a puny laugh. "She hates us."

"They all do at first, brother."

"She, more than most."

Egil gave a low, assessing hum. "The boy is hers. A Northman's child, you think?"

"Aye. They will not talk of it."

 
"A boy needs a father."

Ronan could see the speculation in his brother's eyes. He would be hard to discourage. But to his mind, the strange-eyed Birgit was unworthy of his brother. "She has an evil tongue. She is not worth it."

"We shall see. This place-there are no men here, Ronan.
 
Perhaps it is even better than you hoped."

"None? I saw none, either, but I thought they must be away."

"None. The women are struggling with men's work. Most of the fields are unplowed. The girl said their plow is broken, and I suspect her cattle are dead, but she would not say it."

"Aye. It must be so."

Egil's eyes slanted suspiciously at him. "But if there are no men, then who stabbed you?"

He groaned. He had known it would come to this. But he had never been able to hide anything from Egil.

"The girl."

"The girl. You let a girl stab you?"

"I did not know she had a knife. I did not think of her as an enemy."

Egil laughed. "You thought she'd welcome you with open arms? A Celt?"

If he lived to have great-grandchildren, he'd never live this down. "Don't blame her, Egil. I startled her, and myself. It was sort of accidental."

"Accidental. Well, whatever the cause, she has kept you alive. Now we must be sure you stay that way."

"Have you brought everyone?"

"In the estuary. I have only to give the signal."

"Do it, then. But say nothing to these women."

Egil nodded solemnly. His hand went once again to Ronan's forehead. "Your fever cools, I think. It must be that I have come."

"It is the willow bark. Your beloved Birgit just forced it on me. Go, now."

"Aye. And may Freyr watch over you."

"Don't let mother hear you say that."

Egil flipped his eyebrows wickedly. But Ronan knew his brother would be cautious. He would not tease their Christian mother with their pagan gods. Not too much.

***

Arienh stood in the sunshine, feeling as if she could absorb from it the strength and courage she needed. It flowed into her, penetrating deeply, as if it reached all the way to her bones. She had not felt such warmth since the leaves had left the trees the previous fall. The tip of the heavy Viking sword rested on a flat stone, and she leaned her weight against it.

From where she stood vigil, she could see in all directions, from the door of the cottage where the big Viking remained with his brother to the group of restless raiders by the river. She scanned the low hills about the valley and the cavern where the other villagers waited. If the big Viking betrayed his promise, at least the others would be safe.

The door creaked open on its leather hinges, and the big Viking called Egil ducked his head to pass. His arms swung easily at his side, almost a contradiction to his purposeful stride toward her. Arienh folded her arms, waiting.

The Viking fixed narrow, assessing eyes on her. "He says you stabbed him."

"Aye."

The Viking's bushy yellow eyebrows raised in pointed arches. "He is a skilled warrior. How did you do it?"

"I stabbed. He fell." She met his gaze like swords clashing.

"Then why do you tend him?"

"It was his idea, I think."

"You lie. He would have died without your help."

"Perhaps. It was a very cold storm and I do not wish anyone ill. We only wish to be left alone, so please go."

"He cannot go yet. I will stay with him, and send the others for the plow I promised you."

"Nay. We do not want you."

"Doubtless, but he is my brother and I cannot leave him. You would not leave your sister."

"My sister would never invade another's land."

A hint of glee flickered on his solemn eyes. "That empty cottage," he said, pointing down the hill. "Is it usable? I could take him there."

"Nay, the thatch leaks badly. It would take too much time to patch it."

The Viking's blue eyes gleamed, and the corners of his mouth danced. He raised an arm and beckoned the restless men near the stream. The Vikings raised a whoop, dashed across the water and up the hill.

"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."