It was a short time later that the flotilla was underway, leaving the Scottish coast and sailing much farther south than most of the Norsemen and any of the Highlanders had ever been.
Twenty-Six
The sun beat down overhead as the armada sailed towards the natural harbor Gressa recognized as the major port and home of Dafydd and Enfys. Tyra continued to navigate, but Strian’s boat pulled ahead, ensuring Gressa would be one of the first to step foot in Wales. She stood next to Strian as docks came into sight. The leaders had agreed that bringing all the ships into port would only set off warning bells and make their soon-to-be hosts assume the worst. They did not want to meet at sword point.
Gressa felt the tension rising within her as her shoulders crept closer to her ears. She threaded her arm through Strian’s, in need of his comfort and relishing his size when he pulled her against his side. It was as if the mountain of a man next to her could block out any of the ensuing turmoil. As they drew nearer, Gressa recognized several of the warriors coming to greet them, and by that, their swords were drawn.
“I have to say something before they launch their own attack.” Gressa murmured.
Gressa went to stand at the prow with Strian following her, a shield on his arm. He did not trust the renowned bowmen not to shoot first and ask questions later. He would protect Gressa at all costs. She attempted to climb onto the dragonhead, but Strian drew the limit at purposely making herself a target.
“They need to see and hear me,” she argued.
“And I need my wife to stay alive.” Strian’s tone and hard stare told Gressa she would not have time to change his mind as his words sounded etched in stone.
“Fine,” she huffed before taking a deep breath to prepare to yell.
“Rydyn ni yma i weld y tywysog. Dychwelaf mewn heddwch,” she called out letting the people on the dock know that she wanted to see the prince and that she returned in peace.
“If you are returning and in peace, then why do you bring so many warriors to our shores?” a fisherman called out.
“These are the people of my homeland. The ones the Norseman pursues. We bring news to the prince and princess of their brothers.” Gressa had not planned to share that piece of information so soon, but the hostility in the crowd forced her. It was one of the few things, short of saying she had married Rhys, that would guarantee her safe passage beyond the dock.
“What news have you?” called a booming voice that Gressa recognized. “You are on a boat that doesn’t belong to the right man. That is not the right man who stands at your side.”
“Prince Dafydd,” Gressa dipped her head. “The right man stands at my side as he’s my husband.”
“The long lost one and the one to avoid the men you belong to?”
Gressa sucked in air and clenched her teeth to keep from saying the first words that came to mind. Strian was watching her, feeling how her body tensed then went rigid at the last thing the man said.
“You made me a free woman. I belonged to neither of those men despite your bargaining me away. The only man I have ever belonged to stands beside me. He’s the one they stole me from.”
“And you thought to bring him here? You thought to return with an enemy I was paid to fight?” Dafydd’s voice held the tone of command, and those on the dock recognized it as one that meant the man was on the verge of erupting.
“I brought you news of your brothers and those of the princess.” Gressa prayed she was not giving up her hand too soon.
Dafydd approached the boats and cast a wary and assessing gaze over them. He took in the men, Ivar and Rangvald in particular, obvious that they were men in positions of authority. Then his gaze swept the women, his eyebrows rising as he noticed how many women travelled among the crews.
“I see now that you were not exaggerating when you said your people believe women should fight.” Dafydd shielded his eyes from the sun as he tilted his head from side to side as he attempted to see the birlinns that floated beyond the longboats. “You brought Scots with you, too. You came prepared for a fight.”
“I wouldn’t call them Scots to their faces. They are Highlanders. And we came end this battle with Grímr. He has failed in his attempts to seize my jarl’s land, he has failed to bring the glory and wealth he promised you, and he failed to protect your brothers as he swore.” Gressa took a leap of faith and leaped to the dock with Strian following. He landed so close that the toes of his boots grazed the heels of Gressa’s. He held the arm with his shield bent, ready to thrust it in front of Gressa if he felt they threatened her.
“Your man is awfully protective of a woman who has always claimed not to need a man.”
“Can you blame him after waiting for ten years? Whether I need him doesn’t matter since I want him.”
“So you have decided after all these years to once more be a Norsewoman. You gave up trying to leave us early in your time here. Now suddenly, you abandon the people you claimed were yours?”
“You know why I stayed. You forced me.”
“We did no such thing,” came a woman’s voice that set Gressa’s nerves even more on edge. Enfys appeared from behind Dafydd, and her tone matched the one she had greeted Gressa with all those years ago. It was no longer the lilting one Gressa had heard so many times when she believed Enfys was her friend and greatest confidante. “We ensured your babe would not be trapped in the fires of hell as a heathen. We cared for your child’s soul more than you did with your pagan ways.”
Gressa opened her mouth, but a murder of crows squawked in a circle overhead. A collective gasp traveled among the Norse longboats.
“I would heed my warning, Princess. These crows are Odin’s pets. The great god is near, and I doubt he appreciates your disparaging our ways in front of him.” Gressa could not believe her good fortune that the All Father chose to leave Valhalla to watch over them. She glanced back at Strian who was just as much in awe as she was sure the others were. “Huginn and Muninn lead those ravens. Huginn, known as thought, and Muninn, thought of as memory, are Odin’s favorites and bring him messages of those on Midgard.”
“What is this Midgard?” Dafydd demanded as he looked up to watch the black birds continue to circle above his and Enfys’s heads.
