Viking Sword: A Fall of Yellow Fire: The Stranded One (Viking Brothers Saga Book 1) (21 page)

“Your thegn did this because you would not sleep with him?”

“Aye,” Bryda sighed. “I have been told by many that I am most comely, and I must take care not to become vain. I suppose that may be truth, but I have never found it a thing for which to give thanks, for it has ever been a curse. Were it not blasphemous, I could wish to have been born with a hideous disfigurement, or with ugliness as my only virtue.” She looked up at Lissa. “As we left the village, the priest, who came when he heard word of our plight, called out to me. He said our banishment was naught but God’s punishment for the sin of attempting to seduce the thegn. He cried loudly that all knew my guilt, and my husband’s guilt in not beating me into prayerful submission. He insisted that because God knew we would never repent, we were not to be allowed to prove innocence through the ordeal, but were instead fated to find a slower, more painful death, unshriven, in the wild.” She gave a little hiss and spit into the fire. “As if we did not know, the thegn spared me that torment because he did not wish that I should be scarred, and thus, his pleasure dimmed should I yield and come to him. But he was trapped by his own lust, for once the priest came, he could do naught but watch us leave, cursed by the Church.”

Silence descended in the room, broken only by the spattering rain and the constant drip of water from holes in the thatch roof. Lissa’s stomach rumbled at the appetizing smell of the stew.

Alwin, who had listened so quietly to Bryda’s tale they had nigh forgotten his presence, said, “What will you do?”

“I do not know. We must travel far from our home before we may seek a new place, but we have no coin, and naught to eat. Most we have met have not welcomed us. I fear we will die upon the way, as the priest said.”

Lissa shook her head. “Nay. You must join us. We travel to the east, beyond the lands of our king to that of the Nordmanna. I believe you would find refuge at some village along the way, or perhaps in Brandr’s home. He would see to it, if he agrees that you come with us. What is Oswulf’s occupation?”

Bryda grinned and held aloft the hare skins, the fur side visible. “He is a leatherworker. See you. These pelts will make warm boots for him this winter. The hares were healthy and young, their fur soft and thick. The scop believes the rain will continue for some days, and the young Dane agrees. He has said we are to remain here until it stops, so there is time for a simple tanning.”

Stepping to the door, she leaned out to rinse the carcasses. Soon, the meat joined the chopped greens, herbs and wild carrots in the stewpot that simmered above the fire pit. Picking up the pelts, she returned to the entrance and called to her husband. Oswulf, having no outer garment to protect him from the rain, had stayed nigh the cottage to keep watch on the women and Alwin. He worked at smoking meat in the shed, but came at her call. He took the skins and hastened back to his task.

Bryda rinsed her hands and began to dice a stack of onions.

Lissa threw off the fur and stood. “Too long have I lain abed. I must move about.” Then she threw out her hands, closed her good eye and waited for the room to cease its slow rolls. “But perhaps, not so quickly.”

Bryda chuckled at the wry comment. “A few turns around the firepit will not harm you. Alwin, keep watch for the young Dane, so Lissa might be given proper warning should he turn up unexpectedly.”

Alwin grinned and took up station at the door. Though he still moved with a certain care, he was recovering well from Captain Preed’s brutish treatment. Like Brandr, the colors of his face had changed to the rather lurid hues of healing bruises. Bryda had treated him—and the others—with the knitbone plasters she made from the herbs Lissa had gathered.

Lissa hazarded a step, and then another. “I will speak to Brandr on your behalf, Bryda, but I would warn you, he likes to claim as thralls those who come to him. If you and Oswulf do not wish to become slaves, you should leave at first chance.”

Bryda eyed her. “Your hair, and the collar you wear give away your status. Were you always unfree?”

“Not born so, no. My lady gave me my freedom four summers ago. She…she is dead now. Brandr said I could only accompany him on this journey if I become his thrall. I let him think I agreed.”

A conspiratorial grin lit Bryda’s face. “I do not believe my husband will submit to slavery, even if it might mean our death. You are welcome to join us when we leave. You as well, young Alwin.”

“I cannot,” Alwin said, turning to face them, his back to the open doorway. “I
did
agree to stay with master Brandr. I gave him my bond. But I will help Lissa get away, if she wishes it.” A shy smile touched his mouth. “But I do not think she truly wishes it, though he does not always treat her well. She cares for him.”

“Alwin!” Lissa’s face burned as she met the gaze of the other woman, but she saw there naught but a gentle sympathy.

“You should not say such things, young one,” Bryda said. She dumped the onions into the pot with the rest.

“It is but truth. She loves him.”

“Even so, to tell it without her consent is not kind, nor would it be wise for the others to know of it.”

Alwin frowned. “But, love is good.”

“Aye, it is. But it can also be used as a weapon by one person to compel another to do their will.”

Alwin’s eyes bugged. “Truly?” He blinked. “You believe master Brandr would do that to our Lissa?”

“I do not know. With men, it is oft difficult to guess what they will do. It is best you do not speak of this to any other.”

The expression he turned on Lissa was solemn. “Do not be afraid, Lissa. I will say naught, even should they torture me. I swear it!”

So fierce was his tone she dared not laugh. “Your discretion honors me, Alwin.”

Brandr appeared at the door, dripping rain. “What discretion?”

Alwin jumped like one goaded. “Leóf!”

∞∞§∞∞

Brandr shrugged off the cape he wore, wincing at the lance of pain in his hand and ribs, and hung it from a rotting peg, hoping the thing would hold. It did. He looked around at the three of them, wondering why they all looked…guilty. Stepping as close as he could get to the firepit threshold, he held out his hands to its welcome warmth. “Answer my question, Alwin—and why have you once again disobeyed my command, Lissa Brandr-thrall?”

Alwin frowned. “What means this word, ‘discretion’?”

Lissa answered the query. “It means to take care with the secrets of others.” To Brandr, she said, “We spoke of the reason Oswulf and Bryda left their home.” She did not meet his eyes. “I grew restless. Also, if Bryda will aid me, I have need of privy time.”

He gave her a keen glance through narrowed eyes. Certain she skirted the truth, he started to question her further, then thought better of it. She was still pale, and one eye remained swollen shut, while both were discolored. It could wait.

“Bryda’s hands are full. Come, I will take you.”

A rosy flush emphasized the dark smudges on her face, enchanting despite the marks. She edged toward the entrance. “No! I mean, if Bryda is too busy, I can manage.”

He slid in front of her.

“‘No’?” The repetition was soft. He put a hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Thralls may not deny their masters.”

Temper flashed in the golden gaze, but she dropped her lashes and did not respond.

Disappointment swelled, surprising him. When had he begun to
enjoy
their small squabbles? He waited for this new evidence of her influence over him to spark his own annoyance, as it would have but a few days past. It did not. Which surprised him even more. Perhaps, it was only that he was becoming accustomed to her ways.

He draped his cloak over her shoulders and tugged her behind him, leading her to a private place among the trees before moving far enough away to spare her blushes.

Back in the cottage, he insisted she return to her pallet. Reaching for a three-legged stool, the only one in the cottage, he set it against the wall and sat, stretching out his legs. “That stew smells good,” he said to Bryda. “A taste?”

She smiled. “It is said patience is good for a man’s soul, leóf.”

He grinned. “I am rebuked.”

“The others will be here soon. You have not long to wait.”

“It is well. Lissa, I traveled some distance along our back trail this day. There is no sign of your Talon. Think you he still follows?”

A look he now recognized as displeasure crossed her face. “He is not
my
Talon, and I think it doubtful he has given up, though maybe, he has guessed we will continue eastward and has gone ahead to set a trap. It would be his way.”

“Já, that it also my thought.” He leaned his head against the wall. “I would guess some place nigh Basingum, unless he thinks we pass closer to Wintanceastre.” He crossed his arms over his chest and thought about it for a moment. “Though he cannot know our journey’s end, he will by now suppose we head for the lands of my king, and thus we must go north of Lundenwic. We are now passing through Hamtunscir. East of Wintanceastre there is a range of high ridges, and another some leagues north. Between them lies an area of gentle swells, much easier to traverse, which will take us to Basingum. Would he expect us to take the more difficult way, over the ridges, or the less challenging path between?”

She watched him through a golden-brown eye. “I have known Talon all my life. He is a very good first marshal, but I have heard Thegn Wolnoth speak of his weakness. He is predictable. He will believe the worst of you, that you have forced me to tell all I might know of his actions in regards to you, and that includes that he tracks you. I think he will believe you seek to reach the lands of your king as swiftly as possible, to outrun him, so he will expect you to follow the least strenuous, and thus quickest, road. I do not think it would occur to him you might seek to outwit him by going over the ridges. I cannot say this conclusion is certain, only that it is most likely.”

“If I am correct in my counting, the morrow is the first day of the month Sólmánudur. It is the day of Midsummer. Since the rains make travel difficult, I have decided it is good we remain here. This eve, we will celebrate. The day after, if it continues to rain, we will prepare to resume our journey.” He glanced at Bryda. “Decisions must be made before then, and not only about our route.”

Bryda rose. “If you will excuse me, leóf? I have a task outside I must see to. Alwin, I have need of your help.”

Brandr nodded, and watched the two leave. Bryda was a very beautiful woman, but to his mind, not so lovely as his Lissa. The woman was canny as well, correctly perceiving he wished to speak privately with his thrall. He turned back to find the object of his musings peering at him. An unexpected self-consciousness overtook him, and he had to restrain himself from squirming. He spoke more brusquely than was his intent. “Now we are alone, you will explain, thrall, why you ran from me last eve.”

Her one eye widened. “You really do not know?”

He frowned at the astonishment in her tone. “I do not, but I would chastise you for disobedience, did I not think you punished enough. Why do you look at me that way?”

“You are not a stupid man. Can you not at least guess?”

“Take care, thrall, your words are again insolent. I suppose you think I was too harsh. But have I not explained that as my thrall, you must obey in all things and if you do not, it is my duty to correct you? I will accept teasing, Lissa, and some small disagreement, but I will not tolerate disrespect!”

Her jaw tightened. The action must have hurt her sore mouth, but she only turned her head away. As he rose, he tried not to notice the single tear that slid from the corner of her eye. “I will be outside, not far. Have you need of aught, you have only to call out.”

Given her humor—that tear was from anger—he suspected she would choke before she would ask for his aid. The rain continued unabated, so he reached for his cloak, settling it about himself as he stepped out outside.

Turold, soaked to the skin despite his own oiled cape, but grinning from ear to ear, appeared just then from the trees beyond the clearing. A sack over one shoulder kept company with his precious lyre and hylsung.

Brandr called a greeting. “Hale, skáld. You have been gone long this day. What have you there?”

“A happy surprise for us all, I foresee.” His brown eyes twinkled. “Come. I will show you.” He led the way back into the cottage and lowered the sack to the hearth. “I made my way to that village south of us. It was farther away than I believed, a distance I fear my legs did not approve given the short time I had to traverse it. Howbeit, I think it worth the discomfort.”

He began to pull wrapped items from the bag. The smell of fresh bread wafted from one, and of cheese from another. “The people prepare for the Midsummer festivities and were in a most pleasant frame of mind. I met there a genial alewife and her husband. I told them I traveled to Hildmere, a town some leagues north of Wintanceastre, for the festival, and was in need of fresh supplies for the remainder of my journey.” He grinned. “I offered great praise to their fine establishment and complimented the wife on the excellent smells coming from her kitchen. They were pleased to listen long to my humble songs while they prepared for the night’s feasting. Afterwards—with also, I confess, a bit of silver persuasion—they sent me off with almost more than I could carry of food and drink. See here, I have bread, cheese, honey, pickled eggs, a small roast of boar, a baked chicken, sweet cake, porridge for the breaking of our fast in the morn, and most wondrous of all,” and he pulled out a goodly sized crock, “ale! We shall eat tonight, as I have not feasted since leaving the larcenous employ of Aldwulf of Searesbyrig. Perhaps better, for Aldwulf had no soul, and his table reflected that lack.”

“Did you say sweet cake?” Lissa’s voice was wistful.

“Aye, fair maid, with cherries, and enough for us all. The alewife’s husband declared only good fortune could come to those who blessed a scop. He nigh knocked me into the mud when he slapped my back to send me on my way, but the fare-you-well was offered with many good wishes.”