Page 6 of To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse #2)

S kalds claimed Odin fashioned the earth from the remains of defeated giants. He tossed their broken bones aside, the fragments forming islands. This morning the Norse god dressed Uppsala and her islands in thick, white mist, an innocent color when blood would spill and homes would burn.

The swirling fog kissed Sestra’s skin and messed with her curls, the damp air friendlier than her companion. She faced a churlish Brandr in a tiny boat cluttered with nets and baskets.

They were out to fish should anyone ask.

The Viking had showed up at sunrise with Lord Hakan at the Fyris River and swore an oath to protect her on this quest for stolen treasure for none doubted Gorm had stolen it.

They were to deliver the hoard to Lord Hakan’s farm further upriver where someone would wait for them.

Yet, all through the stealthy journey, Brandr hardly spared a word nor did he give reason for staying.

“You missed the ship to Gotland,” she said, uncoiling her braid.

“I know.”

Their little vessel sliced through water, powered by muscle and sinew rippling under his tunic.

The boat hugged a shoreline dense with ancient trees and mist, vigilant guards hiding sacred Viking burial mounds.

Water gurgled past two weathered posts marking the Haga River, entrance to the healer’s forest. Passing the mouth of the Haga, Brandr smoothly steered their boat toward open water.

She’d finger combed the wavy mass falling to her waist, the red vivid against her new black cloak. “I thought you wanted to get away from here, seek your new life on Gotland.”

He shrugged, focusing beyond her. “I’ll take another boat.”

“If there’s one to be found.” Head tipped sideways, she braided her hair with practiced ease. “Don’t forget you said this wasn’t your fight.”

The corner of his jaw ticked. “I remember what I said.”

“Then why are you here?”

He squinted at her as though she’d gone soft in the head. “Because I’m looking for the treasure with you.”

With you .

Her hands curled around her braid. Two words changed everything, bound them together and made them partners in this hunt.

But more went on than his curt explanation gave.

Brandr pulled long and hard on the oars, searching the distance, his hawkish eyes reading the mist the way others read runes.

He avoided eye contact, a feat considering their knees almost touched from facing each other in the small boat.

She cast a nervous glance over the side rail. The size of their vessel on open water didn’t help her confidence.

“Is that how you want this to be?” she asked, tying the bottom of her braid. “We work around each other instead of with each other?”

“I lead, you follow. That’s how it’ll be.”

She nodded sagely at his edict, refusing to let him get under skin. “Well, you’re not in this for the silver and gold. I saw your face when Lord Hakan offered the reward. You were just as surprised as I was.”

“I didn’t stay for the reward, but I’ll take a palm of silver coins.” Brandr’s voice was stone rasping stone.

A palm, the Viking measurement used in trade, equaled a handful.

Lord Hakan had told them upon the treasure’s safe return, they could both take one palm as reward.

She cupped her hand. Would she grab twenty coins?

Or thirty? Under her lashes she studied Brandr’s big hands wrapped around the oak oars. He’d grasp twice as much as her.

“You surprise me.” Her fingers skimmed morning’s vapor crowding the boat. “I’m beginning to think you are a man of honor.”

Water swished from Brandr’s long, determined strokes. His body flowed back and forth, a rhythm that was as calming as it was…agitating.

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth curling up. No doubt last night’s conversation crossed his mind. “Don’t confuse me for a hero. Gunnar volunteered first.”

“Did he? Then why are you here and not him?”

Brandr checked one side of the boat and levered the oar’s tip on a half-submerged tree. “Never send a boy to do a man’s job.”

“Gunnar’s hardly a boy.”

“He’s a whelp.” He steered them around the fallen tree, his shoulder and back muscles bunching under black wool.

How was it Vikings were so big? Brandr settled the oar back in place, his gaze crossing hers with banked intensity. Warmth flushed inside her. He was muscle upon muscle, strength and bone with wet, black curls clinging to his neck.

Hard and soft.

One curl hung longer than the others. The uneven line had to be the work of the warrior cutting his own hair. Did no one take care of him?

“The whelp looked old enough to me,” she said, eyeing the curl. “You expect me to believe this is about doing a good job?”

“Doesn’t matter what you believe.”

She leaned forward, folding her arms about her midsection. Her knees bumped the plank seat between Brandr’s legs, and his warrior’s thighs snapped together, a reflex she was sure, but she’d make her point. The Viking couldn’t escape.

“You can try and sound as uncaring as you want, but I know better.”

Brandr grunted, and she scooted back on her narrow seat.

He’d waded all night through chill waters, loading the three waiting vessels in the river.

During the night, many came to the river’s edge pleading for a place on the ships.

News had spread quickly. Gorm was burning Uppsala with plans to set fire to all the ships.

Soon no one would be able to leave.

Come sunrise, Brandr quietly surrendered his spot to an old man.

She’d surprised both men, emerging from the root cellar during their exchange.

The old man raced to the ship as Brandr’s silver stare challenged her to say something.

Between the heavy vegetable basket in her arms and the frantic calls of Lady Mardred, she couldn’t.

Now he sat with her, a riddle to unfold. And there was the reward, an unexpected boon. Like Brandr, she’d take it. Would her new lord allow her to purchase her freedom?

If they returned safely with the treasure.

She huddled on her seat. Water rippled harmlessly, darkening here, the depth too great to see the earth below. Morning would be better if the air cleared, but Brandr navigated like a man born to wind and water. She’d already described to him which island they sought when they started.

Light scraping noises brushed the boat as three gulls squawked overhead. Brandr paused to study the birds and the treetops poking through fog. A cluster of islands rose from the mist.

“Have you decided what you’ll do with your gold?” she asked.

Lines framing his mouth deepened his scowl. “Do you always talk this much?”

The scraping got louder under the soles of her boots. Brandr sculled the water in long smooth strokes, checking the boat’s wake.

“Yes. When I’m nervous,” she said, checking the floor.

“Then you must be nervous all the time because you’re always talking.”

“That’s different. I’m supposed to make guests comfortable at my lady’s table.”

The seam of his mouth tightened. “Especially the men.”

She was about to give him a tongue lashing when the boat lurched violently. Heart in her throat, she gripped the side rails. “I don’t know how to swim!”

“We bumped a fallen log. That’s all.” He dropped an oar and cosseted her shoulder. “Shhh. See there.” Brandr pointed one long-boned arm at the water.

She stretched her neck for a better look, her nails digging into the boat’s wood slats. The tree lay in its watery grave, a thick, green-slimed branch reaching under their vessel.

Her fast thumping heart slowed, and she let go of the rails. “Thank you for not turning that into a jest.”

“You’ve nothing to fear. I’ll take care of you.”

Of course he would. He’d vowed as much to Lord Hakan. Watching over her was the Viking’s final labor before he departed for better places. She couldn’t let ideas about him get in her head. This surprising kindness was no different than what he did for the old man at dawn.

She hugged herself against the cold, tasting the watery air in her mouth. “I should’ve told you I don’t like boats and deep water.”

“No. You should’ve told me you don’t swim.”

Her lips wobbled with a half-smile. How like Brandr to slice the matter to its core. She’d convinced herself with fog hiding the open water, she’d be fine, but Brandr made her feel safe the moment she set foot inside the boat, his presence the lifeline she needed.

Still, her gaze skittered over the boat rail.

Brandr sliced the oars through water…back and forth, his body’s motion hypnotic and smooth. “Go ahead. Talk to me.”

The Viking could be a mystical warrior dressed in black against waning fog, his graveled voice working a kind of silken magic. Sun shined through clouds, the pearled orb anointing his head. Perhaps Odin did send Brandr to save the day.

Wraiths rose up from the channel as if to push them along. Did the Norse gods want them to succeed? She didn’t believe in Odin and his Valkyries, but the stories Vikings spun at night entranced her.

“You could tell me what you’ll do with your reward,” she said.

He snorted. “I said you could talk to me. Not the other way around.”

“That’s not how it works. People take turns talking and listening to each other. It’s called conversation.” She angled her head coyly. “Vikings can do it. I’ve seen it happen.”

Brandr squinted at tree tops rising above the mist. “Never been much for talk.”

“Your mouth never stops when trading jibes with me.”

His chuckle was raspy and low. “You have a way of loosening my tongue.”

To her shame, his laugh cut a scorching path through her body and her legs fell open under her skirts. Her knees were heavy, and she left them open.

“You’re a warrior long in service to Lord Hakan. Surely you’ll get a bigger reward than a handful of coins?”

His tarnished silver eyes pinned her. “Maybe I get you.”