To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) (21 page)

Ella held out folded black clothes. “I have the clothes.”

“How you ask? With these for a start,” she said, taking the clothes from Ella. “Now both of you turn around. Ella, help me change my clothes.”

Gunnar obliged her request, but Emund didn’t. He planted both hands on his hips and pressed her.

“What’s your plan?” he asked testily. “As I see it the moon is less than an hour from midnight and the four of us are sorely outnumbered.”

Her breath came faster. Time was running out. New instruments joined the bone flutes, a sign Mabon’s celebration picked up speed. She untied her boots and toed them off. Ella picked them up, and Sestra stepped into the moonlight all the better to see what she was doing. Men had gawked at her with less than night to cover her skin.

In one fluid motion she dropped her cloak. “Ella will distract the guard.”

The slave girl nodded. “I can do that.”

Sestra whipped the tattered tunic over her head, adding, “When she does, you and Gunnar will walk out of the outbuilding with Brandr.”

Gunnar spoke over his shoulder. “A bold plan, but what happens when the guard finds his captive’s gone?”

She traded her tunic for trousers and pulled them up over her hips. Her bottom wiggled…such freedom in trousers. “He won’t.”

“You can’t be sure,” Emund said, watching her lace up the trousers. “He’ll raise the alarm—”

“When the alarm is sounded it’ll be too late,” she said and raised her arms for Ella to drop a roomy man’s tunic over her head. When her face cleared the neckline, she finished, “You’ll have taken Brandr far away from here. Gorm won’t be able to touch him.”

Gunnar turned to face her, the pitcher still in one hand and the drinking horns in the other. “Am I missing something?” He held up the pitcher. “I doubt this is enough ale to get the man drunk.”

“Ella, my boots.” Sestra crouched down and slipped one boot on and then the other. “The ale is enticement for the guard to sit with Ella.” she said, her fingers flying over the garters.

“What happens when the guard finds Brandr gone?” Emund asked his voice suspicious.

Sestra stood up and gathered her hair at her nape. “He won’t.”

Ella handed her a leather thong to bind her hair. Both men looked to the other, frowns writ on their faces.

“This is a bad idea,” Gunnar began.

“It’s the only idea.” Hair secured, she put on her cloak.

Emund lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “You want to take his place.”

He glared fiercely at her, his hand a manacle on her arm. Carrot-haired Emund appeared to have more bite than she’d first thought.

“I
will
take his place,” she said, her chin tipping high.

His sky blue eyes measured her before he let go. “We can’t promise that we’ll be able to save you.”

“I know.”

“What?” Gunnar stepped around Emund. “You can’t be serious. Don’t you want to live?”

Her chest rose and fell with labored breaths. She’d done no more than changed her clothes but the way her heart pounded she could’ve charged a steep hill. She had to wait until mead and Frankish wine flowed heavily inside the king’s hall. The celebrations would cloud their minds and slow reactions. For the all the revelry going on, the Dane would hold the sacrifices much later in the night. Music throbbed, louder with more instruments.

A lone warrior walked out from the shadows to the ancient tree. The man blew on Uppsala’s bronze lur, the long single note blast causing a roar to erupt inside the hall.

Emund’s face turned stony. “They’re sounding the call for war. With our own horn.”

“Doesn’t that make you want revenge for what they’ve done to Uppsala?” She said quietly.

“I do.” The feminine voice spoke up in the darkness.

All heads turned to Ella. Night’s pale light shined on glossy jet black hair. Her fragile profile was as soft and white as the moon. The welt showed a purple beside her ear as she glowered at Uppsala’s ruins.

“And we don’t have much time,” the sweet thrall said with all finality.

“I want to live,” Sestra said but her throat tight. “As much as I want Brandr to live.” “You have my vow that I will do everything I can to come back for you. I don’t know how, but I will,” Gunnar promised.

His glower reminded her of her fierce, tied up Viking.

“Thank you, but if something happens—” Her voice cracked and she cupped her mouth, holding back a cry.  “If something happens, please tell him that I want him to live to build his ships on Gotland.”

Ella rubbed her shoulder. “Shhh,” the maid cooed. “If they don’t tell your brave warrior, I will.”

Sestra didn’t want to die. Strange numbness came with the certainty of what she was about to do. She’d faced death on the island and won. Was it too much to hope she’d outsmart it again?

Clearing her throat, she stood tall. “We don’t have much time. Are we ready?”

Three pairs of eyes glittered back at her in darkness. Emund’s eyes glowed with newfound respect as did Gunnar’s. Ella, though, surprised her most of all. Sprite-blue eyes hardened like sapphire stones, a willing shield maiden in the face of death.

The walk to the barn was quiet. Acrid smells of singed wood filled the air. Thin curls of smoke twisted from the ruins of once proud longhouses. In the Dane’s effort to put on a fine feast for his Jutland friends, he ordered thralls to round up animals for the feast. With the herds already culled, food stores plundered, and fields neglected, winter would prove severe. Jogging to Uppsala’s farthest structures, she suspected King Gorm would ensure his Jutland friends ate while Uppsala’s people starved.

The outbuilding was ahead, wide gaps showing between wood slats. A lone warrior guarded the door, a nasty bearded axe tipped over his shoulder.

Sestra tapped Emund’s shoulder, and whispered. “Ella will approach him. If all goes well, she will lead him to sit with her by the blacksmith’s forge.”

He nodded. “I see it.”

“You and Gunnar will come with me to the barn. Both of you will take Brandr away.”

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Gunnar asked. His features were tense and pleading. “Brandr will fight this when he sees us.”

“He won’t. The guards drugged him when they separated him from the other men to be sacrificed. He was causing too much trouble.”

Gunnar’s gaze shot to the huge blond guard standing wide-legged in front of the doorway. “You have black clothes but your hair…the red will give you away.”

She shook her head. “Brandr wears a hood. All the men to be sacrificed do. I’ll put it over my head and you can put my cloak on Brandr. No one will be the wiser.”

“You’re hardly the same size and shape as him,” he scoffed.

“It’s dark and there are no torches here. By the time it’s discovered I’m a woman, you’ll be long gone.”

A shiver like bony fingers traced her spine. The blot was for men only to be offered to Odin, not women. Woman or not, her fate was sealed when the Dane rode into Lord Hakan’s farm.

“Decide now if you’re in or not,” she said. “But don’t argue. This is my choice.”

“She’s right.” Emund’s face showed stern in the shadows.

“We don’t have any more time to argue. I’m ready.” Ella didn’t wait.

She padded off to the end of the alley, the pitcher in one hand, drinking horns grasped between thumb and forefinger of the other. The ebon haired thrall paused, straightened her spine, before putting one foot in front of the other.

Hips swaying, braid curved over her shoulder, Ella’s raven tresses shined in moonlight, her seductive saunter a garment she wore with ease. She greeted the guard, her giggle infectious and sweet. The Viking smiled back, fingering a wide bronze band clasped around the middle of his beard. The guard didn’t stand a chance against Ella’s feminine assault.

The pair strolled to the blacksmith’s shop where Ella made sure the Viking’s back was to the outbuilding—all the better to see the road to the feast hall when men would come for the captive to be offered.

Sestra and the men scurried into the outbuilding. Brandr was the only chattel inside. Tied to the center post, his hands were bound behind his back. She ran to him, her heart filling her throat, and pulled the russet hood off his head.

One bruised eye fluttered half open as far as it would go. The other had swelled shut. “Sestra…” he stirred half-unconscious, mumbling her name.

“Shhhh.” She kissed him on the mouth. His lips were cracked and dry. All visible skin was bruised and battered. She kissed him again and spoke against the shell of his ear. “If you remember anything from tonight, know this. I love you.”

Blood caked his torn tunic to his chest. His less bruised eyelid quavered.

She touched the longer shaggy curl on his neck. “My rules say: You deserve a second chance.”

Emund sawed the ties binding his hands and when the last binding gave, Brandr moaned.

His hands flopped to his sides covered in dried blood.

“You tried to break free from your bindings, same as on the ship.” Her voice was brittle to her ears.

Brandr’s ribs expanded with shallow breaths. He raised a shaky hand but the effort must’ve been too much. His hand fell to his lap.

“Get him out of here,” she said, a lump growing in her throat.

Gunnar linked his arms around Brandr and hauled him up from behind. “Come with us. We can make it,” he said, looking down at her as she took her place against the post.

“Emund, tie my hands and put the hood on my head.”

Brandr’s head lolled forward and his legs were limp as rags. He was completely out.

“This is foolhardy,” Gunnar said, struggling to hold up Brandr.

She faced forward and put both hands behind her back. “If I go with you, the guard will return and see no one here. He’ll sound the alarm and all of Gorm’s men will scour the forest and capture us all.” She angled her head at Gunnar. “You know I’m right.”

Crouched beside her, Emund wound leather around her wrists. “The knots will be loose,” he said close to her ear. He set the hood on her head and waited. “When we get Brandr to safety, we will try to come for you. I don’t know how, but we will.”

“We will,” Gunnar said firmly.

“Keep this in your mouth.” Emund held up a dried mushroom. “If we don’t make it in time…” his words trailed off.

She eyed the tough as leather piece. “Put it in my mouth.”

Emund slipped it past her lips. Her tongue rolled the mushroom to the side of her mouth.

“It will deaden any pain and make you feel as if you’re floating in water.”

Floating in water.
How perfect. Her closed-lipped smile stretched and she glanced at the hood. Emund tucked the wool under her chin. Through the weave, three forms struggled to move with stealth.

Had she dragged undeserving people into her desperate plan? Ella’s giggle carried on the wind. Footsteps trod the earthen floor, getting fainter, quieter, until she heard them no more.

Brandr was gone.

Head tipped back against the beam, her teeth ground the leathery mushroom in her mouth. There was no reason to wait for the Dane’s wrath to find escape from pain. Her eyes stung, and the harder she chewed the farther she sunk into a chasm of despair. Emund and Gunnar wouldn’t come back. They couldn’t. Emund accepted this, not Gunnar with his forceful protests.

One tear rolled down her cheek as she waited for the mushroom to take effect. Not even an other-worldy shade would sit with her in this quest to save the man she loved. She rested her head on the wooden beam and waited. Rich music from the king’s hall played, the melody reaching a fevered pitch. The drums were about to begin.

She was alone, and she was going to die alone.

Chapter Sixteen

Wolfish 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.