Page 24 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)
S estra almost dropped his sword. “You’re a slave ?”
“Not anymore. This past year I served Hakan by choice as House Karl.”
“A freeman,” she said, needing the certainty of the word.
“Yes. Freed last summer.” Eyes downcast, he tightened his arm brace. “After saving my life, he suggested I serve him seven years or swim to land.”
“But you were in the middle of the sea,” she said her voice notching higher.
Brandr chuckled coldly. “Hakan can be very…persuasive.”
His face clouded as he tugged the brace’s leather thong.
Arm folded across his midsection, his other hand fumbled with the tie.
It was his way. Live alone, work alone. Shadows engulfed them despite the bright sun outside the ravine.
They could be sinking deeper into the earth.
The island’s waterfall tumbled its deafening noise, but Brandr’s pain roared loudest in her ears.
She set his word on a rock and touched his hand. “Let me.”
A black lock fell forward, grazing his whiskered jaw.
Brooding eyes searched her under hooded lids.
Brandr let her take his hand, and he watched her intently like a beast allowing a humble creature to care for his paw.
Long slabs of muscle framed the warrior scout, gave him power to prowl wild places with ease, but his heart proved fragile.
A woeful ache yawned inside her as she wedged his forearm under her breasts.
Uppsala could burn for all it mattered. Brandr deserved tender care, a lifetime of it, if she had her way.
The stream swirled around her hips as she tied the leather strings.
The task done, she couldn’t let go. His arm was solid against her, the same arm that had lifted her off the cliff and built the shelter that covered her last night.
She opened Brandr’s curled fist and kissed his palm. A minty fragrance clung to his thumb and forefinger. She sucked lightly on one and then the other.
He inhaled sharply above her head. “Sestra.”
His ragged voice lulled her. Brandr’s black brows pressed together, agony writ all over his face.
She cupped his cheek, gently brushing back the errant lock. “I will never forget this time on the island with you.”
Black lashes shuttered his eyes. The treasure, freedom, hers and Brandr’s, all braided together here.
It was a mystery she couldn’t divine nor would she try.
Ravens flew overhead, too many to count.
In her side vision, the dead Viking bobbled in the pool, most of his body yielding to his watery grave.
“I regret my harsh insults this past summer.” She paused and gave him a half-smile. “Well, not all of them.”
He laid a hand over hers on his cheek. “Most were richly deserved. I am a bad gambler.”
“One year as a freeman…that’s why you have little wealth.”
“Thralls don’t share in the spoils.” He grinned at her. “Hakan tried to give me some, but I refused. My seven years weren’t done.”
“Stubborn man,” she said under her breath.
He kissed her caressing hand. “I prefer to call it determination.”
“And don’t forget prideful,” she added, her thighs pressing his under water.
“It’s confidence.” He cosseted her hand between his.
“You always lived with the other House Karls.”
“It was Hakan’s decision. None objected when my bahadur skills saved their lives. Fight hard, show courage, men will respect you.”
“The Viking way,” she snorted.
“The way of a good man,” he corrected.
“I can think of other things that make a man good,” she said fiercely. “A good, kind heart for one.”
His smile hinted at tolerance, the kind one gave a spoiled child who had yet to learn the ways of the world. Her cold legs hurt, but she had so many questions and Brandr was tender-eyed and open.
Her gaze slid to Jormungand resting on the rock. “What about your sword? Surely Hakan didn’t give it to you. Even I know it’s costly.”
“I didn’t steal it. It was paid for with all the wealth from my first year of freedom.”
Her knees wobbled. “And you were going to give it to, to him—” Chin slanting at the dead warrior, her voice was contrite, “—to save me.”
“To save you.”
Her mouth opened but no words came. A man who had little was willing to sacrifice the one costly thing he owned to save her. He valued her that much?
“You’re getting cold.” Brandr’s thumb brushed her lower lip. “Why don’t we see what we can find of the treasure and get off this island?”
And now he was going to risk himself to recover as much of the treasure as possible. This wasn’t about saving Uppsala. This was about saving her.
She nodded numbly. “Yes.” To wanting this brusque warrior to warm her, to gaining her freedom, to a future with him.
His lazy smile spread in black whiskers. “Wait here.”
Shivers started up her legs. Standing in cold water took its toll, but truth would not be stopped. It cropped up at the most unexpected times, as solid as the man slicing upstream.
Water crept higher up his broad back until only his head was visible.
At the pool, Brandr dove underwater near the jagged rocks.
The dead Viking’s body, mostly underwater, floated to the middle of the pool.
The falls thundered. Ravens swooped off the cliff, their wings flapping an awful noise in the ravine.
Two birds shot up to a high pine tree edging the waterfall.
The rest flew downstream, a black trail against the vibrant blue sky.
She picked up Jormungand and hugged the sword against her chest. Her lips began to quiver from standing so long in the stream.
Where was he? How long could the Viking stay underwater?
“Brandr,” she yelled, a useless thing since he couldn’t hear her, yet she called again louder, “Brandr?” Her voice echoed off the ravine.
This was foolish. Even if he needed saving, she couldn’t help him. But she could try. Grabbing hold of a boulder, she stretched one leg forward. He was underwater too long. Her other leg shook before finding firm ground on a rock.
“Brandr.” This close the waterfall drowned out her voice.
His head poked up from the water and he swiped water from his eyes. “I don’t have it.”
“Bran—”
He ducked under again, his boots frothing up the pool.
Water rippled outward in a wide circle, and the dead Viking’s body drifted downstream.
She took two more steps forward and planted a steadying hand on another boulder.
Neck stretched, she peered at darker water.
Water bubbled up where he had to be deep under the surface.
A hard object tapped her elbow.
She hissed, slamming into a rock. The dead man’s booted foot bumped her. His cloak snagged on large stones on the other side of the stream.
“Ewww.” Grimacing, she nudged his foot away with the tip of Brandr’s sword.
Brandr shot up from the pool, his fist raised with the torn leather bag. “I have some of the treasure,” he shouted. “I can get more.”
“Wait.” Her cry was in vain. He set the bag on a flat boulder and dove under again.
Silver coins winked from the bag. Was this freedom?
Water dripped from her lashes as she followed the dead man’s body veering downstream, feet first. His cloak wrapped around the rock like discarded laundry, holding him in place.
Would she be ready to move on?
Ripples circled wide across the pool’s surface.
A woman’s face reflected back, red tendrils stuck to damp skin and large brown eyes the color of river rocks below.
The stones were hard, but she was soft and knowing and better off for coming here.
She’d stood up to the Viking warriors in Lady Mardred’s longhouse.
They didn’t deserve her help, but she gave it, the same as letting the treasure go.
These were acts of will. Her will. The wish to live and thrive blossomed strong, and the first thing to do was release a dead man.
“I can do it.” She sucked in a deep breath, repeating firmly, “I can .”
Her hands trembled with cold, rattling Jormungand against her. She dare not use it. If she dropped his prized possession and it fell into the pool…
“You have a knife of your own,” she reasoned through chattering teeth.
She’d need to learn to defend herself. Viking women settled for nothing less.
She set Jormungand on a dry boulder and set her foot on a rock.
Reaching down, she grabbed her knife handle tucked into her boot.
Loose saffron threads drifted in the water from her bodice.
The sharp blade came free, and she held it up to the blue sky.
This is what happens when courage demanded action.
The pair of ravens watching from the pine tree cawed as if giving their approval. Wading across the stream, she ignored the bloated Viking and his pasty skin. Her small blade sliced easily through brown wool. The cloth gave and the dead man floated downstream, taking her fears with him.
She wouldn’t live in the shadow of death.
Behind her, Brandr broke the surface again, both hands pumping the air. “We did it,” he called out, his smile bright white in black whiskers. Fistfuls of silver shards and bronze arms rings shined in his hands.
Raising both arms in victory, her laughter echoed in the chasm. “No, you did it.”
Brandr dumped the treasure in the bag, the water roiling around his body as his legs churned under the surface. He clutched the bag in one hand and swam toward her
When Brandr stood safely on the river rocks, she tucked the knife away. “Now we can get out of the water.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and twirled her in the stream. “Now you can be free.”
Full of glee, they trudged hard, the water pushing their backs, driving them, she hoped, to be together on Gotland. One question stood in the way.
Who had bought her?