Avelynn Page 9

  “A little,” I replied, my heart pounding at the fright from his sudden appearance.

  “Why?”

  “Thinking too much,” I said. He stood in profile to the fire, and I watched the shadows dance across his bold features. “Are you having trouble sleeping too?” I asked, trying to ignore the fact that he was breathtakingly close, and that we were completely alone—the trees, the moon, and stars our only witness.

  “Yes.” His voice was husky.

  My body stirred. “Thinking too much?”

  He sat down on the ground beside me. “Thinking about you.”

  I swallowed, my throat gone dry.

  “I want you.” He placed his hands on either side of my waist and leaned over top of me. His fierce gaze sent waves of heat and lightning coursing through my body. “But I will not force you. You may choose.” He leaned closer.

  When I didn’t object, he leaned closer still. I could feel the warmth from his breath on my cheek. He stopped, searched my face in the pale moonlight, and waited.

  I couldn’t speak. I nodded.

  He closed the gap. His lips, soft and full, brushed my cheek, and my lips quivered as his mouth covered mine. His beard tickled and brushed the smoothness of my skin as his kiss grew deeper. My body trembled. His tongue, eager and gentle, sought mine, and they met in the briefest of glances. I gasped and clutched the woolen blanket beneath me. Air became scarce, my breath fast and shallow.

  Drawing his lips from mine, he dropped his weight onto one elbow and gazed down at me. He released my braid, his fingers twining and combing through the long strands until my hair pooled around me. “You are beautiful,” he murmured. His finger followed the curve of my ear, trailed down the side of my neck and tucked just beneath the braided edge of my underdress. He continued his advance, sliding over my shoulder, and down to the rise of my breast. He hesitated, hovering. My breath hung suspended. I want this. I’ve wanted this all my life.

  I felt him pull away, the warmth of his body replaced by a gust of cold air.

  “Tollak,” he growled.

  “There’s trouble, Alrik.” Another Viking stood at the edge of the clearing, the full moon’s light bathing him in a silvery glow. The effect was unnerving—he could have been one of the fae people. “When you killed Ingolf this day, his brother Ingvar banded with several men. They tried to burn the ship.”

  Alrik was already putting on his mail coat. “Stay with her.” He pointed in my direction. “See that no harm comes to her in my absence.” He laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Of course.”

  Without another word, Alrik disappeared into the night.

  Tollak sat on Alrik’s bedroll. His hair was the color of freshly cut straw, and a tidy beard framed a full, bemused mouth. His clothes were well kept, and a gold brooch clasped the edges of his fur cloak. He was clearly of some importance. Other than this Viking and Alrik, the other members of the crew I’d seen looked more like an assembly of rabid dogs.

  He gestured to my bedroll. I shimmied under the covers and pulled the wool blankets up to my chin.

  “Peace,” he said in perfect English, his empty hands raised.

  I nodded.

  He took his sword from its scabbard and began oiling and sharpening the edges. After what seemed liked hours, I decided he wasn’t a threat and closed my eyes, the events of the day dragging me down into exhaustion.

  I didn’t know what to make of my torrent of feelings or this unfathomable situation. I was betrothed against my will to a brute, due to be married within the year, due to have an abysmal life of misery and inferiority, constantly wishing and hoping for some beauty, some passion in my life. And here it was, inexplicably before me—but with a Viking, the very scourge of England. It was an impossible, hopeless match.

  I was wading into treacherous waters, but that just made it all the more enticing.

  * * *

  Dawn broke cold and wet. A fat raindrop landed squarely in the middle of my brow, waking me from a fitful sleep. I rolled my head to the side, brushing my face on the rough woolen blankets that cocooned me. I’d had a horrible dream.

  I was falling through the air. There was blood everywhere. Ravens flew alongside me in hungry pursuit of the eyes of dead men on the battlefield. Off in the distance, shields clashed and men screamed.

  “Fly with me,” a raven called, gliding beside me, its wings outstretched wide as a man’s height.

  “I can’t,” I cried. “I’m not a bird!” I tried to stop my fatal fall, flapping my arms uselessly, but the ground approached fast, details emerging swiftly—a blanket of new snow, crisp edges of rocks, and divots of mud.

  “Fly with me,” it urged.

  I continued my acrobatic writhing, my weightless dance, arms and legs flailing in vain. “I’m not a bird.”

  The ground approached with brutal finality.

  There was no longer any uncertainty. War was coming. I sat bolt upright, remembering Alrik. I searched the campsite, but both Alrik and Tollak were gone. Alrik’s bedding was rolled and leaning against his satchel, so he couldn’t be far.

  The fire had been relit. Raindrops sizzled as they burst on the blistering wood. I breathed in the fresh morning air and stretched. The ache of lying on cold ground grumbled in my cramped legs. I shrugged deeper into Alrik’s cloak and rolled up my bedding, placing it beside his. Thirsty and wishing to wash my face, I wandered off in search of water.

  Not far from camp, I heard a creek’s gentle sloshing and followed the sound. I pushed through a clump of billowy reeds and froze. Alrik stood in the middle of the stream, rushing water up to his knees, his back to me. Sunlight gilded his naked body.

  I stood transfixed, afraid to make a sound. I felt the full weight of his nakedness and drank it in. His body was firm, etched, rippling in hills and valleys. Shadows and hollows highlighted taut muscles that hugged his body like leather wrapped around hard steel.

  He bent over to splash water on his face, granting me a most striking view of his behind. It was tight and wonderfully sculpted. He rose, shaking water like a wet dog from his blond hair, and turned in profile. I gasped. His manhood hung in plain view, resting against his thigh, and I found it difficult to avert my eyes.

  He waded back to his clothes on the other side of the stream, where he stepped into a pair of tight brown breeches and slid socked feet into worn leather boots. Over his head, he pulled a crimson tunic trimmed at the neck, wrists, and hem with an embroidered pattern of animals and beasts in vivid colors. He secured his leather sword belt around his waist and pulled on a fine blue coat that fastened across his chest with strips, buttoned to either side. The cuffs of his coat he cinched with polished silver clasps. Sitting on a large boulder, he brought out a bone comb and brushed his hair, tying a new braid on the right side. With the end of a green hazel twig, he scooped out some paste from a small clay jar. After brushing his teeth with the pasted stick, he rubbed them thoroughly with a linen cloth and set about cleaning the dirt from underneath his fingernails.

  I watched in fascination. Tales of heathen barbarians, filthy with the reek of dried Saxon blood on their ragged beards and yellow, broken teeth, contrasted sharply with this vision of Alrik. He looked more like a king than a vagabond pirate. And perhaps he was; after all, the Norsemen had kings and jarls—men like our earls—noblemen of great wealth and power. In order to command a ship and crew, Alrik must be well endowed with both wealth and power.

  There was a fallen log spanning the brook, and he vaulted across it, making his way back to where I crouched in the reeds. My breath froze.

  “Good morning, Seiðkana.” He bent down, separating the thin stalks that had stood as my cover. A wide grin was plastered on his face. A florid blush covered mine.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” I stammered. “I merely came to the water to wash.” I stood and pushed back through the rushes, but his hand on my arm stilled my escape. He crooked a finger, coaxing me closer, and the look in h
is eyes made my body stir.

  Before I could move, he froze; his body tensed, alert. His grip on my arm tightened, warning me not to budge. A held breath later, he pulled me down, his body protectively covering mine.

  “What—” His hand covered my mouth, and he brought his finger to his lips. I nodded, and he removed his hand. He tilted his head, listening. I tried to discern what he heard, but my heart pounding in my ears made it impossible to hear much.

  “Alrik?” Tollak’s voice drifted through the tall stands of grass.

  Alrik pulled me to my feet. “Now what?”

  “Ingvar,” Tollak said.

  Tollak stood only a few yards away. How was it I hadn’t heard him approach?

  “What about him?”

  “He has killed Ohthere.”

  Alrik roared. “I spared the dog’s life and this is how he repays me?” He opened his hand. “Give me Widow Maker.”

  Tollak handed Alrik his axe.

  He turned on me. “Your gods mock me!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I spilled blood during your ceremony, and they have whispered words of battle in my men’s ears, turning their minds against me.”

  “You saved me from being raped or killed … or both. The Goddess wouldn’t condemn you for that.” How could I possibly appease him? Convince him there was nothing sinister at work here? His own words “blood” and “ceremony” gave me an idea. “I think I can help. Let me make an offering.”

  Some of the tension left his body.

  “Let me speak to your men. Bring them here to this stream, and bring the body of the dead man.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “What do you have in mind?”

  * * *

  My mother and I had sacrificed many animals to the Goddess. Rabbits, sheep, chickens, a pig. Surely a man wouldn’t be any different? All that was needed was an invocation, a plea to the Goddess for her benefaction, and the sacrifice itself. I was confident the offering would be acceptable, but my performance needed to convince a group of Northmen of the Goddess’s powers—and my ability to commune with her. I needed to appeal to their sense of superstition. This particular ritual would benefit from a little something extra, a sense of the otherworldly.

  By the time I had hunted down a hare and bled it into an emptied wine flask, Alrik had assembled his men on the opposite side of the creek.

  “Völva!” Alrik called.

  Since I wasn’t really a witch, I wasn’t capable of real magic, but his men didn’t know that. I upended the contents of the flask on my head and stepped forward. Blood ran in rivulets down my neck and shoulders, my dress stained red. I climbed on top of a large boulder and raised my arms. Crimson droplets fell onto the rock’s marbled face.

  A few men touched talismans that hung about their necks.

  “You dare summon me?” I crouched low on the rock. “You have angered the gods!”

  I scrambled off the rock and crawled on hands and knees to the water’s edge. I stood and took a step into the stream. Every man stepped back.

  I pointed to the corpse. “That maggot dared to defile me, a daughter of the gods. He must be sacrificed to Badb, the Goddess of Death, the Washer at the Ford.” I took another step. Several men stepped back. “Take planks of alder and make a raft, then gather a garland of primrose. His body must be set to drift.” Alrik had sailed with sixty men, and I held several terrified eyes in turn. “Badb, ruler of the underworld, Battle’s Hooded Crow, will accept your gift and take his soul as payment. If you refuse, your journey across the sea will be cursed.”

  The air was still. Not a single breath was exhaled.

  “Go!”

  They scattered. Some ran back to the ship to get rope, others scavenged for flowers, a few cut down trees. When all was assembled, they placed the body on the raft.

  “Ingolf has offended the gods. Is there any man amongst you who disputes this charge?”

  No one spoke.

  I raised my arms into the sky. “Goddess, Badb, ruler of oceans and rivers, gatekeeper to the Underworld, accept this sacrifice—a warrior’s blood to appease your thirst. Release Alrik the Bloodaxe and his men from their bonds. With this offering, their debt is paid. As I will it, so shall it be.” At that exact moment, the wind picked up and trees bent beneath the gale. A crack of thunder rolled overhead. I jumped. The water around my feet began to ripple, the wind churning the quiet surface. The few men who had waded into the stream with the body darted to shore. I looked at Alrik. His brows knitted together, concern on his face. Another bellow of thunder roared directly above us. A bolt of lightning flashed, a shattering crack filled the air. The bough of a large tree split, crashing into the water, pitching Ingolf’s raft forward, pushing it into the current of deeper water so that it flowed downstream out of sight.

  Common sense filtered into my addled brain, and I crept out of the water as the wind lashed and thunder rolled. The sky had turned a menacing black. Alrik’s men seemed near panic, each having backed away from the water’s edge. They huddled close together, fear etched on their faces, all eyes staring at me, pleading to end the onslaught.

  Somehow I found my voice. It wavered at first, but I lifted it high. “Badb, destroyer, bringer of death, terror of men, still your anger. Accept this offering. Release Alrik and his men from your judgment, spare them your wrath. As your daughter and faithful servant, I beg you, hear my plea.” I looked anxiously at the sky. The wind seemed to settle, the clouds continuing their brisk pace to the east. Thunder grumbled several more times, and distant lightning flashed as the storm moved on. My body trembled as if the ground beneath my feet quaked. I didn’t know what had just happened—if the storm was merely coincidence, or the timing divinely auspicious. Either way, the effect was startling.

  Alrik smiled broadly. I presented him with a wary one in return.

  * * *

  “You have done me a great service.” Alrik bowed low before me.

  “My pleasure.” I still didn’t know if I had actually done anything to cause the storm, but I liked the idea of pleasing him.

  After the thunder and lightning passed, the sky had opened and the rain had fallen in sheets. His men had hastily returned to their ship, each murmuring a prayer to Thor. But the weather had calmed as fast as it had railed, and the sun peeked through the racing clouds overhead.

  “You are a formidable witch.” He kissed the furrow between my eyes.

  I smiled.

  He pulled me close. “I must go.”

  “I know.”

  We stood together in silence.

  “Bertram?” I asked.

  “He waits for you. I gave you my word.”

  I nodded and stayed with him a moment more before he pulled away. He lifted my chin in his hand and sought my eyes with his own. “I will come back in a month’s time … on the next full moon. Be here when I return, and I will know you come to me of your own free will. But know I will have waited over a month for another taste of you.” His gaze burned straight through me. “If we meet again, there will be no more disruptions. I will have all of you. Do you understand?”

  I nodded. Words lodged in my throat.

  He kissed me softly. “Until then,” he said, placing the hilt of his knife into my hands. The cross guard was studded with garnets, just like his sword, the leather scabbard worn and smooth.

  “Be safe,” he said, and disappeared into the trees.

  “You too,” I whispered.

  I put out the fire and waded into the stream, keeping an eye out for any strange or otherworldly ripples. Satisfied, I dunked my head several times. The water was frigid. Brushing my fingers through the stubborn tangles, I tried to dislodge the encrusted hare’s blood. In time my hair softened, but I could do nothing about my bloodstained underdress. I tore two strips from the bottom and then took the garment off, leaving it in a sodden puddle by the bank. Using the fabric, I tied Alrik’s knife to my thigh—no one need discover his gift—and wrapped his cloak around me.
My leather belt held the thick wool firmly in place.

  I followed the stream, knowing it would lead me back to the ocean. When I finally emerged onto the soft sand, the Viking ship had turned and was on her way out to sea. I raced down the beach in search of Bertram and found him sitting on a rock waiting for me. I ran, stumbling into his arms, and scanned him for any sign of harm.

  He shushed me. “I’m fine, pet. The Viking said you would come; I need only wait.” He pulled away and looked me over warily. “He assured me you were unharmed.”

  “Bertram, I’m so grateful to see you, to hear your voice again. Yes, I’m fine. The Viking, Alrik, he didn’t hurt me.” I hugged him fiercely. “Thank the gods you’re all right.”

  We were silent for some time. After everything that had transpired, being here safe again, with Bertram at my side, felt like a dream.

  The Vikings had left everything the way they had found it. Our horses, our bags … they had touched nothing, taken nothing. I changed into my kirtle and tucked Alrik’s knife into my satchel. When I returned home, I would hide it away in one of my locked chests. His cloak I rolled up in my bedroll. The weaving wasn’t any different from what a Saxon would wear, but my wolf-pelt cloak was much warmer.

  We gathered our belongings and made ready to leave, both of us eager to get back home. But before we departed, I walked out onto the beach and stared at the gray-blue water, small whitecaps frothing against the shore.

  A month’s time.

  How could I even entertain the notion of being here when he returned? He was a Viking. Yet I knew him only as the man who had saved me, and kissed me. My lips tingled at the memory. He was powerful—yes, dangerous—without a doubt, but there was much more to Alrik than met the eye.

  Bertram appeared at my side, studying me closely. “The last time I saw a look like that, Avelynn, your mother was being carried away by your father.”

  EIGHT

  It had been six days since the equinox. I didn’t know what to do about Alrik and tried my best to put the encounter out of my mind. Even the offering of Ingolf faded to incredulity. I had awakened to raindrops the day of the storm. Clearly, I just hadn’t noticed the thunderclouds roiling overhead. While it was fortuitous that the storm happened when it did, I had no reason to believe that I had caused it, or that the Goddess had somehow presided over the event; I wasn’t that arrogant.