“You are home. You will be safe. And you are not going back to Wales!” He was nearly yelling by the time he finished.
“Then my death will be on your hands because I promise you, I was safer in Wales. Damn it, I was safer fighting in Scotland.”
“With Gr--” Strian did not have a chance to finish because it was their turn to disembark, and he could see Jarl Ivar and Frú Lena approaching. They had already greeted the others, and now it was his turn. He tugged Gressa along beside him until they were both on the dock.
“Strian, it is good---” Ivar’s eyes widened as he took in the slender figure standing next to Strian. “Gressa?”
“Yes, Jarl Ivar. It’s me.” Gressa raised her chin, and the defiance was clear to everyone.
“We thought you were dead. I made Strian--- I mean, I forced--- Dear gods, child. I’m sorry. I should have listened to Strian.” Almighty jarl’s loss of words frightened Gressa more than any threat he might have lobbed. “Dear gods. Strian--”
Ivar Sorensen’s shock was garnering attention that made both Strian and Gressa uncomfortable. The man was just as tall and as well muscled as Strian, who was more than twenty years his junior. It was disconcerting to see their leader so befuddled, and his face had lost all its usual ruddy color.
“Gressa,” Lena intervened. “It fills my heart with happiness to see you return. Life has not been as sunny without you.”
Coming from anyone else, Gressa would have felt Lena’s words were a barb, but she had known the woman her entire life. She was the only one in the homestead who had been willing to attend her birth, and even though Gressa’s mother did not survive the delivery, it was Lena who ensured Gressa had a place within their tribe. Lena brought Gressa into the jarl’s longhouse when it was obvious that her own father would not provide for her. When the older woman opened her arms, it was the invitation she needed. Gressa lurched forward and allowed Lena to enfold her in an embrace that felt like home.
Strian watched as Gressa willingly allowed Lena to hold her, and the jealousy and pain from being excluded burned a gaping hole in his heart. Gressa had not welcomed him as she did Lena.
“I think you have much to tell us,” Lena smiled as the two women backed apart.
“She has nothing to say that any of us want to hear,” called out Freya as she walked past. “She is a traitor, and she would have made Strian one, too. We should have left her where we found her. As Grímr’s woman.”
Freya’s last three words, “as Grímr’s woman,” had the exact intended effect. Strian pulled Gressa behind him and put his hand on his sword hilt. He challenged anyone to speak or come near him or Gressa. The crowd on the dock morphed from excited to vengeful with those three words.
“Come to the longhouse. I think you have much to explain,” Ivar boomed. His lack of anger reassured Strian, but as Gressa clung to the back of his fur cloak, he knew she was unconvinced of her safety. As Strian looked around, he was certain she was right to fear the others.
“Jarl,” Caution drove Strian’s choice of words. “There is plenty to tell and plenty to hear, but the others can do just as good a job as I can. Besides, Tyra and Bjorn are to marry tomorrow. I heard the announcement before I even left my ship. I think it would be better if we didn’t appear in the great hall.”
“Nonsense. That will only make it look like you have something to hide.” Ivar murmured. “Nothing will happen to Gressa. Anyone foolish enough to try, will answer to me.”
The others left Strian on the dock with Gressa still clinging to him. He reached behind him and gently pulled her to stand beside him.
“He’s wrong, Strian. I know it. You shouldn’t have brought me here. I’m not safe.” Gressa looked around and saw that they were alone at last. She let the tears fall that she had been swallowing for days.
Strian wrapped his arms around her loosely, and when she did not shy away, he pulled her to his chest. She burrowed into the familiar warmth and sobbed. She had fought her own will and Strian’s for the past fortnight, and exhaustion overcame her she was exhausted. She knew she would regret accepting this comfort, but she needed it as much as she needed her next breath. Strian ran his hands over her hair as his other arm wrapped around her waist, and his thumb drew circles on her ribs.
“You may not want it, you may not accept, you may not even believe you need it, but you will always have my protection, Gressa. Always.” Strian kissed the crown of her head, and he felt her tense before her entire body went lax. He was quick to catch her before she dropped to the ground. “Gressa?”
She made a soft sound like a wounded animal then her eyes fluttered open.
“Gressa, you’ve eaten so little since I found you. You insisted upon taking your turn at the oar, and you don’t have enough clothes for this far north. You will make yourself ill.” Strian paused for a moment as a thought came to him. “Is that what you’re trying to do? Are you trying to make yourself sick enough to die? Do you want away from me that badly?”
Gressa looked tiny as she curled further into the warmth of Strian’s body. She tried to shake her head, but the effort was too much.
“No. I love you.” Those were the last words she spoke before she succumbed to blackness.
Strian looked around, but there was no one else on the dock. He lifted Gressa into his arms and walked to his longhouse.
Two
Strian struggled to open the door with Gressa still in his arms, but he pushed against the wood until it gave way. He walked into the place he had called home for most of his life. He had been born in this home, and he had lived there with his parents until they were both dead. There had been several years when he lived with his aunt and uncle, but their house was never home. Even when his aunt and uncle were still alive, he always came back to this building when he needed to feel connected to his family. Since his uncle’s death, he had returned to his parents’ home. His aunt and cousins were already dead, and his uncle’s shame blighted that longhouse. Here, he could still hear the voices of the people he loved and missed most. He walked across the center room until he came to the doorway that led to his chamber. He looked down at Gressa, her eyes closed and the blue veins shining through translucent skin, then pushed open the door. He pulled back the covers to his bed as best he could before laying Gressa on the mattress. He pulled her boots off and pulled the covers over her. He went to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out more blankets. There was one left at the bottom. It was a blanket he thought of often but refused to look at or touch. It had lived at the bottom of the chest since he returned from a raid ten years ago without his father or his wife.
Strian looked at Gressa once more and remembered the smile on Gressa’s face when she presented the blanket to him as a gift. He ran his fingers over the stitches that represented them coming together as one. He had no more time to reminisce because Gressa called out to him.
“Strian?” Gressa’s eyes were closed, and her voice craggy as though she had not used it in days. “Strian, don’t leave! I’m over here! Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Why can’t you hear me?”
Strian realized she was dreaming. Or rather, she was having a nightmare of the day fate separated them.
