Page 93 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3

Her head jerked up, her eyes staring beyond him.

“In the forest! Find her!”

14

Sweyn

October 31st, 960AD

The hall was full—people lounging on the long benches, joking, and laughing. An arm wrestling contest had begun at the central tables. Slabs of beef were already searing on the roasting griddles, the calf having been promptly butchered. The rich scent of stew carried over the fire’s smoke.

Sweyn sidled up to where the wench was supervising the opening of a new barrel of mead. He tugged on her sleeve. “The jarl has asked for you. He’s waiting.” She seemed not to hear him above the merriment around them, so he jerked his head, mouthing the word clearly. “Outside.”

Elswyth frowned. “Isn’t he coming? They’re all waiting for him.”

Sweyn glanced about. As far as he could see, no one was waiting for anything—except more mead.

“You’re to come with me.” Sweyn placed his hand under her elbow, guiding her from the barrel.

Warily, she let him lead her onward.

Across the room, Sigrid caught his eye and glowered. She’d become sourer by the day, displaced, and disgruntled. Before Sweyn had gotten Elswyth to the door, Sigrid had intercepted them.

“She has things to do here. We all have. Where’s she going?” Sigrid barked her question, grasping Elswyth by the other arm.

“Jarl’s orders.” Sweyn shrugged. “She’s to join him on the headland. Some part of the ritual he wants her to take part in—favoured as she is.” He gave a sickly smile, knowing the request would rile Sigrid.

“More of the same! And when we need all the help!” Sigrid spat her retort. “Go on then.” Her lips rose in a sneer, squeezing the girl’s elbow sufficiently to make her wince. “Perhaps it’s your blood he wants, my dear—a more powerfulblótfor the dark ones.”

“Nothing like that, I’m sure.” Sweyn cursed Sigrid for her cruel tongue. He’d seen the jarl striding into the trees rather than following him down, but he didn’t know how long it would be until Eldberg joined them. If his plan were to work, Sweyn needed Elswyth to come quickly.

“I’m hardly dressed…” She indicated her gown—a flimsy thing of bright blue silk, worn over a simple shift of white. It was better suited to the summer months gone, but it grew hot in the hall when so many came together. The men would have their chests bare before the night was out.

“We’ll not be long.” Sweyn tugged her again. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

Sigrid gave a final scowl as he bustled Elswyth outside.

There was definitely colder weather blowing in, spits of rain falling persistently. The guard of two passed on their perimeter walk, shoulders hunched against the wind, and Sweyn called them over. “You’re to go in and get yourselves a cup of mead. The jarl bids you well. Come out as soon as you’ve drunk it, mind!”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Sweyn breathed easier. He just needed to get her to the treeline, and they’d be out of sight.

“My cloak!” Elswyth tried to pull back. “I’ll fetch it.”

Sweyn cursed again. “Nay. ’Tis not cold enough for that—and the thing is scorched. ’Twould shame you to wear it for what the jarl has in mind.”

She seemed to consider. Thoryn had returned the cape in the days after Thirka’s accident, and Sigrid had turned up her nose, the inside now blackened from the flames. Eldberg had promised Sigrid a new cape of fur once the hunting season began, and the same for Elswyth—to Sigrid’s disgust.

Sweyn could see the girl thinking. She’d been wearing it the night Sweyn had abducted her. She seemed suddenly to grow aware of how tightly he held her arm, how persistently he was dragging her farther from the door.

“Stop! I don’t want to go. This isn’t right. I don’t believe you!”

In a single motion, Sweyn struck her forehead with his own. She crumpled immediately and, with a last look about him, he hefted her onto his shoulder. Even with her rounded belly, she was an easy weight to lift.

He skirted the edge of the longhouse and made for the forest’s edge.

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