Page 31 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)

Three pairs of eyes glittered back at her in darkness. Emund’s eyes glowed with newfound respect as did Gunnar’s. Ella, though, surprised her most of all. Sprite-blue eyes hardened like sapphire stones, a willing shield maiden in the face of death.

The walk to the barn was quiet. Acrid smells of singed wood filled the air.

Thin curls of smoke twisted from the ruins of once proud longhouses.

In the Dane’s effort to put on a fine feast for his Jutland friends, he ordered thralls to round up animals for the feast. With the herds already culled, food stores plundered, and fields neglected, winter would prove severe.

Jogging to Uppsala’s farthest structures, she suspected King Gorm would ensure his Jutland friends ate while Uppsala’s people starved.

The outbuilding was ahead, wide gaps showing between wood slats. A lone warrior guarded the door, a nasty bearded axe tipped over his shoulder.

Sestra tapped Emund’s shoulder, and whispered. “Ella will approach him. If all goes well, she will lead him to sit with her by the blacksmith’s forge.”

He nodded. “I see it.”

“You and Gunnar will come with me to the barn. Both of you will take Brandr away.”

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Gunnar asked. His features were tense and pleading. “Brandr will fight this when he sees us.”

“He won’t. The guards drugged him when they separated him from the other men to be sacrificed. He was causing too much trouble.”

Gunnar’s gaze shot to the huge blond guard standing wide-legged in front of the doorway. “You have black clothes but your hair…the red will give you away.”

She shook her head. “Brandr wears a hood. All the men to be sacrificed do. I’ll put it over my head and you can put my cloak on Brandr. No one will be the wiser.”

“You’re hardly the same size and shape as him,” he scoffed.

“It’s dark and there are no torches here. By the time it’s discovered I’m a woman, you’ll be long gone.”

A shiver like bony fingers traced her spine. The blot was for men only to be offered to Odin, not women. Woman or not, her fate was sealed when the Dane rode into Lord Hakan’s farm.

“Decide now if you’re in or not,” she said. “But don’t argue. This is my choice.”

“She’s right.” Emund’s face showed stern in the shadows.

“We don’t have any more time to argue. I’m ready.” Ella didn’t wait.

She padded off to the end of the alley, the pitcher in one hand, drinking horns grasped between thumb and forefinger of the other. The ebon haired thrall paused, straightened her spine, before putting one foot in front of the other.

Hips swaying, braid curved over her shoulder, Ella’s raven tresses shined in moonlight, her seductive saunter a garment she wore with ease.

She greeted the guard, her giggle infectious and sweet.

The Viking smiled back, fingering a wide bronze band clasped around the middle of his beard.

The guard didn’t stand a chance against Ella’s feminine assault.

The pair strolled to the blacksmith’s shop where Ella made sure the Viking’s back was to the outbuilding—all the better to see the road to the feast hall when men would come for the captive to be offered.

Sestra and the men scurried into the outbuilding. Brandr was the only chattel inside. Tied to the center post, his hands were bound behind his back. She ran to him, her heart filling her throat, and pulled the russet hood off his head.

One bruised eye fluttered half open as far as it would go. The other had swelled shut. “Sestra…” he stirred half-unconscious, mumbling her name.

“Shhhh.” She kissed him on the mouth. His lips were cracked and dry. All visible skin was bruised and battered. She kissed him again and spoke against the shell of his ear. “If you remember anything from tonight, know this. I love you.”

Blood caked his torn tunic to his chest. His less bruised eyelid quavered.

She touched the longer shaggy curl on his neck. “My rules say: You deserve a second chance.”

Emund sawed the ties binding his hands and when the last binding gave, Brandr moaned.

His hands flopped to his sides covered in dried blood.

“You tried to break free from your bindings, same as on the ship.” Her voice was brittle to her ears.

Brandr’s ribs expanded with shallow breaths. He raised a shaky hand but the effort must’ve been too much. His hand fell to his lap.

“Get him out of here,” she said, a lump growing in her throat.

Gunnar linked his arms around Brandr and hauled him up from behind. “Come with us. We can make it,” he said, looking down at her as she took her place against the post.

“Emund, tie my hands and put the hood on my head.”

Brandr’s head lolled forward and his legs were limp as rags. He was completely out.

“This is foolhardy,” Gunnar said, struggling to hold up Brandr.

She faced forward and put both hands behind her back. “If I go with you, the guard will return and see no one here. He’ll sound the alarm and all of Gorm’s men will scour the forest and capture us all.” She angled her head at Gunnar. “You know I’m right.”

Crouched beside her, Emund wound leather around her wrists. “The knots will be loose,” he said close to her ear. He set the hood on her head and waited. “When we get Brandr to safety, we will try to come for you. I don’t know how, but we will.”

“We will,” Gunnar said firmly.

“Keep this in your mouth.” Emund held up a dried mushroom. “If we don’t make it in time…” his words trailed off.

She eyed the tough as leather piece. “Put it in my mouth.”

Emund slipped it past her lips. Her tongue rolled the mushroom to the side of her mouth.

“It will deaden any pain and make you feel as if you’re floating in water.”

Floating in water. How perfect. Her closed-lipped smile stretched and she glanced at the hood. Emund tucked the wool under her chin. Through the weave, three forms struggled to move with stealth.

Had she dragged undeserving people into her desperate plan? Ella’s giggle carried on the wind. Footsteps trod the earthen floor, getting fainter, quieter, until she heard them no more.

Brandr was gone.

Head tipped back against the beam, her teeth ground the leathery mushroom in her mouth.

There was no reason to wait for the Dane’s wrath to find escape from pain.

Her eyes stung, and the harder she chewed the farther she sunk into a chasm of despair.

Emund and Gunnar wouldn’t come back. They couldn’t.

Emund accepted this, not Gunnar with his forceful protests.

One tear rolled down her cheek as she waited for the mushroom to take effect.

Not even an other-worldy shade would sit with her in this quest to save the man she loved.

She rested her head on the wooden beam and waited.

Rich music from the king’s hall played, the melody reaching a fevered pitch. The drums were about to begin.

She was alone, and she was going to die alone.