Page 32 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)

W olfish ice blue eyes peered into hers. Her stomach heaved, but she didn’t retch.

Big hands pulled up her eyelids. “She’s alive.”

The big hands grabbed her by the waist. A large man tossed her over his shoulder, and her head flopped loosely from the jolt.

Long legs ranged forward and she bobbed with each step the man made.

Darkness and flames everywhere. Her eyes tried to open.

She moaned. A wall of heat hit her face. Uppsala was burning.

She tried to move but a big arm clamped hard over her thighs. “Don’t move. It’s better that way.”

Her cracked lips refused to cooperate. Wool could be stuffed inside her mouth for all the dryness there. She tried to move her tongue but it stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Don’t talk either. All you need to know is my wife required me to move heaven and earth to get you.”

She squinted but her grainy eyes couldn’t focus. The voice…familiar but a haze closed in on all sides of her vision until she saw no more.

Sunlight pierced her eyes. She narrowed them to thin slits, the brightness too much to take. A sleeping fur, smelling of Brandr tickled her nose. The eiderdown bed…

No. This bed rocked.

Brandr. Deep ache welled up in her chest. Wind brushed her cheeks as if to dry waiting tears. The cry rolled through her body and passed through parted lips. She was alone. Chin quivering, she was alone.

“Oh Sestra. You’re awake.” A warm hand folded over hers. The gentle voice spoke Norse but with a Frankish lilt.

“Helena?”

“It is I.” Helena angled her head, blocking out the sun. “Is that better?”

She nodded and touched her temple. “Hammers bang inside my head.”

“The effects of the mushroom Emund gave you. You’ll have tiredness, and your head will ache. Emotions may overwhelm you.”

Her thick tongue filled her mouth. Of course the apothecary’s daughter would know these things.

“W-water?”

“Yes.” Helena dribbled wetness from a water pouch on the corner of her mouth. “Not too much or your stomach will heave it back up again.”

The sweet trickle flooded her tongue. Her eyes opened wider. “Brandr?”

It hurt to say his name, but if she lived, he must’ve survived.

The warrior likely took the first boat to his new life on Gotland.

One day their paths would cross. He’d be angry but grateful for what she did, and the fast, hot love she’d seen in his eyes will have faded with his newfound wealth. And his wife.

She winced.

“What’s wrong?” Helena leaned in, wiping a cool cloth to her head.

Sestra shook her head, a bare nudge since she didn’t want to move. The world around her lurched, and she set her hand on the plank beside her. Seagulls flew overhead.

“Boat?”

“Yes. We’re on a fishing boat headed for Gotland. We’re almost there.”

She burrowed deeper in the sleeping fur. Briny air filled her lungs. Slapping sounds touched her ear, water tapping the side of the boat.

Helena kept up her tender ministration, wiping her cheeks and forehead. “You are the bravest woman I know. Your advice saved my life.”

Her brows knit. Flashes of the past jarred her aching head…of them sitting in Cherbourg, waiting as slaves to be purchased. Helena, at least, became treasured wife of a chieftain.

“Don’t you remember?” Helena asked. “‘Those that fight don’t live long.’ You were right. I didn’t fight the path laid before me. I embraced it.” Dark blue eyes sparkled. “With some troubles along the way.”

She rested on the fur. When she was better, she’d ask about Brandr. For now, her weak body gave over to Helena’s care.

The damp cloth stopped. “I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you this before, but I bought you from Lady Henrikkson.

She’d just sent you to help Mardred.” Helena’s face clouded.

“I was on my way to the meet Hakan at Halsten and Mardred’s farm when the Aland warriors attacked. He didn’t know I’d bought you.”

Her eyes flew open. Helena leaned close, her long chestnut locks flowing unbound. Helena put the water pouch to Sestra’s lips. The cool, healing trickle felt good.

“I did it to set you free.”

Her tongue flicked over dry lips, wetting them with the water. “Free?”

“Yes. You’re welcome to live on Hakan’s Gotland ringed fort…as a freewoman.”

“Let me see,” she said her voice a hoarse croak. “I offer advice; you buy me to set me free.” She laughed softly. “Not a balanced trade.”

“Then you’re not angry with me for not telling you when I saw you at Mardred’s farm?”

“When the Aland warrior held a knife to your neck? You had other things on your mind, such as your tied up husband.”

“You are getting better.” Helena laughed. “You’re humor’s back.

“On second thought, my advice landed you a husband. A privileged one at that.”

“Men are not all there is to life.” Helena’s dimple showed in at the corner of her mouth. “But they are a welcome boon. Perhaps, you will find a husband soon?”

She tugged the fur up higher. Her heart was too raw. The organ pumped her blood, its steady rhythm going strong in her chest. Yet, she’d swear that part of her chest wound up into a tight, fierce ball, refusing to uncoil.

“Men will flock to you, Sestra. They always do. You can have your pick of them in Gotland.”

Brandr.

She wanted the man who made a fine shelter out of sticks in a forest. The rough-hewn Viking who whispered tender Persian words when he ravaged her body. The man who read the ground, the trees, and water the way scribes read parchment.

“Did he survive his wounds?” She curled her hands in his fur. “And did he make it safely out of Uppsala?”

“He did.” Helena smiled and pushed off her seat. She balanced a hand on the ship’s rail, crouching on the balls of her feet. “Since you’re feeling better, why don’t you ask him about his wounds?”

“He’s an angry beast most of the time.”

“It takes a strong woman to tame a man like him.”

“I’m not sure…” She fidgeted, longing for the comfort of sleep. “I will bide my time before I see him on Gotland.”

Helena rose to her feet. “You don’t have to wait for Gotland. He’s here.”

She gasped.

Helena stepped over a chest, saying loud enough for all to hear, “He’s been waiting to talk to you.”

Sunlight blinded her eyes again but with Helena out of the way, black wool outlined broad shoulders rowing in long, gingered strokes.

She blinked and shaded her eyes. One tarnished silver eye looked back at her.

The other eye was swollen shut and purple.

Strips of Brandr’s shredded tunic fluttered in the breeze.

Eight men rowed the fishing boat. With no mast, the vessel wasn’t meant to cross from Uppsala to Gotland, but these were desperate times.

Brandr’s one-eyed gaze latched onto her.

Tenderness glowed from his eye as did wariness.

His Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat as he rose from his seat.

Stepping with care, he came to her side, folding his big body close to hers.

One rough hand stroked red curls flying across her face. He brushed them back only to have errant sea breezes blow them right back. His patient hand stroked her skin. She could be a treasured piece of finery.

“I promise I won’t break,” she teased.

“You nearly did.” Voice breaking, his good eye flinched.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Her arm reached out from the hudfat. She sought any part of him to touch and got his boot-covered calf.

“Thanks to you.” His thumb grazed the fat freckle at the side of her mouth.

They stayed that way, him caressing her face and her stroking his boot. Simple things made this dear: sun shining on his black hair, the well-traveled iron amulet swinging over her head, and the fact that he could move at all after the abuse he took.

Her Viking bahadur’s face showed awe. Regret. Sorrow. He wanted to speak. She knew it in her bones, but a man like Brandr needed time. When he shared his thoughts they were more precious than silver.

His words would come. She’d wait.

The man-sized tunic she wore rode up under her chin, and she wriggled awkwardly, tugging it down.

“Problem with your clothes?” Brandr’s brilliant smile broke wide.

A hiccup of laughter rolled through her. She cupped his jaw, covered with dried blood and new black whiskers. “Is that something you can help with?”

Pain flashed over his features. “Is that something you want me to help with?”

“Yes. For the rest of my life,” she whispered.

“I’d rather keep you naked in my sleeping fur.”

“You’re talking to a free woman now. No man will get me in his sleeping furs unless I say so.”

His dry chuckle was a beautiful sound. Brandr’s good eye softened at the corner. “You are the bravest woman I know. You’ve saved my life. Twice.”

“It was the least I could do since you saved mine once.” She tried to keep her words light and playful, but she turned her face, gulping back the grief.

“Sestra,” he murmured. “I love you. I was wrong.”

She stared at the wood planks inches from her nose. “Wrong to want something better?”

“ You are my something better,” he said fiercely. “You are.”

“What about all your fine forests?”

“Nothing compares to you. Nothing. Be my wife and we’ll find our way together.”

She caressed his whiskers, coaxing him close. “Two former slaves forging their way in the world.” His cut mouth hovered over hers. “Sounds dangerous.”

He kissed her softly and spoke against her lips, “ Doost-et daaram, my flame-haired Sif . You are my greatest treasure.”