Page 29 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)
“ Y ou still don’t know who bought you?” Ella dragged a pitcher through ale.
“You think I’m concerned with who bought me?” Sestra hissed under her breath. “When Brandr’s about to face that ?” She nodded at a table draped with white linen stretched before the king’s chair, a freshly forged knife gleaming in the middle. “I won’t let it happen.”
The king’s great hall hummed with House Karls and shield maidens, highborn men and women, their children nestled close. The hall’s oak doors were thrown wide to show a small green field lit by blazing torches. An ancient gnarled tree reigned; its tangled branches spread high and wide.
Inside the Dane held court, having spared nothing for Mabon, a minor blot for Vikings, but for him the grand pronouncement, he was King of Svea.
Gorm sat on the king’s ornately carved chair with two Norse hammers crossed at the handles on the wall above his head. Beside him, stiff as the ice-queen many claimed her to be, was Lady Astrid of Uppsala, former wife of Lord Hakan.
Lord Hakan. Sestra’s mouth twisted bitterly as she filled more pitchers with ale.
Brandr had done everything in his power to fulfill his oath to the chieftain.
And his reward? Gorm’s men dragged Brandr away to live one more day in an outbuilding in Uppsala, separated from others because he was Lord Hakan’s prized scout.
At midnight, Brandr would be sacrificed on the pristine table, and his body taken to hang upside down on Uppsala’s great tree.
Ella set a calming hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just as frightened as you by all that’s happened.”
Frightened? Fear mingled with nerve-rattling anger. Despite her servitude today, the woman who kept her mouth and stayed out of the way was long gone. A heavy weight lodged in her stomach. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink because her mind was consumed with how to save Brandr.
She refused to sink into despair. The Viking bahadur wouldn’t have. He’d patiently work a solution.
Elle wiped her eyes, a red welt blooming on her cheek. The young thrall was alone and scared. Lady Henrikkson had fled Uppsala, and now Ella was under the rule of an unkind matron from Hedeby.
Sestra wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to frighten you.”
“These are frightening times,” Ella said bravely. “I want to help.”
“I can’t ask that of you.” She eyed the shield maidens sitting shoulder to shoulder with the men. Thralls bustled around tables set end to end around the longhouse. Hundreds of feasting revelers crammed the hall.
The midnight sacrifice was a few hours away.
Ella squared her shoulders and tossed back her black braid. “Someone has already asked me to help.” She ducked her head close. “I have a message from Emund, Lord Hakan’s warrior.”
Sestra’s head turned sharply. “What? Where is he?”
“He grabbed me when I went outside to gather more fire wood. He’s waiting for you in the trees behind the feasting hall.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now,” Ella hissed, jerking her head at the back door.
Her breaths came fast and shallow. She rubbed high on her chest where hope blossomed painfully. There’d been too many horrible disappointments. She was ready to take matters into her own hands.
“Finally the chieftain’s here,” she muttered.
“And you will let me help.” Ella set a firm hand on Sestra’s arm, her blue eyes brittle. “Even if it means death.”
“I’ve a plan,” she said snatching her cloak off a peg on the wall. “And you won’t have to die for it.”
Ella glared at the tables where boisterous laughter rose. “Anything to rid Uppsala of these invaders.”
“Good. Can you get men’s trousers and a tunic? Both in black? Bring them to me behind the feasting hall with a pitcher of ale and two drinking horns.”
“What if Emund wants to take you to safety? Will you flee?”
“Not until Brandr’s safe.” Her mouth firmed.
Sestra raised the black wool hood high on her head. Three rips in the cloak were all that remained of Brandr using it as a weapon on the island. Another thing she’d learned from the Viking bahadur: everything was a weapon for the mind smart enough to see the possibility.
Now it was her turn to use her cunning.
Ella donned her cloak. “You do love him. But you’re no warrior. You’ve never touched a sword a day in your life.”
She smiled grimly at the throne. “There’s more than one to win a fight.”
If the plan didn’t work…she set a quelling hand on her belly. She wouldn’t think of that. She’d take her chances on this last hope. It was all she had left.