Eric unsheathed the blade Hrafn had given him. The bone handle was balanced, and the edge appeared deadly. He touched his thumb to the edge and blood welled from it. The sting of pain was real, as was the blood.
Dreams usually didn’t bring pain. Or blood.
He cleaned the blade and tucked it back into his belt, but inwardly, he was troubled. The people stared at him as he passed, though he was now dressed like one of them. Some murmured words of welcome, while other men stared at him in disbelief.
On the far side of the settlement, he saw a man wearing black, leaning on a carved staff. The man wore a wooden cross around his neck, and his head was shaved in a tonsure, like a monk’s.
“Meddling priest,” Hrafn muttered. “His name is Father Anais, and he arrived a short time ago.”
Eric eyed the old man. “He appears harmless.”
“He should return to Rome and take his teachings with him,” Hrafn countered. He started to walk away, but Eric paused in front of the priest. He had been raised to be polite to members of the clergy.
“Good day to you, Father.”
The priest lowered his head in greeting. “May the peace of Christ go with you.”
Eric realized that the man was younger than he’d originally believed, perhaps in his forties. “Your travels must have brought you a long way, have they not?”
The priest appeared surprised at the question. However, Eric has his own reasons for asking.
“Why, yes, I have journeyed far over the past few years.”
“And when did you leave Rome?”
The priest thought a moment. “It was in the spring. In the Year of Our Lord, eight hundred and eight.”
Although Eric nodded, shielding his reaction, inwardly, his thoughts had turned to ice. Was it possibly true? Had he traveled back in time?
If so, how could he ever return home again?
Katarina spied Leif outside his dwelling, gathering firewood. He had nothrall, and his home was smaller than hers, but that had never mattered. She didn’t mind living a simple life, so long as she had a home of her own.
He had sailed here a little over a year ago. From the moment he’d arrived, he had sought out her father—almost as if he had known Lars somehow. He had been kind to her sister and had tried to befriend Hrafn. But for some reason, her brother had remained distant. It was likely because he thought no man was good enough for his sister.
Leif’s broad shoulders flexed as he hefted his ax and split a log in half. His body was heavily muscled and so broad, she could not span his torso with both arms. He trained every day for fighting, and few men tried to oppose him.
She had no doubt at all that Leif would protect her from all harm…and yet, often she worried about what it would mean to share a marriage bed with him. Her instincts made her shy away from any physical affection, and she feared that the dark memories of the attack might trespass on their wedding night.
You are still a virgin,she reminded herself.It will be all right.
And yet, the thought of succumbing to his touch terrified her. She steeled herself, trying to push back the fear. As her husband, he would have the right to claim her body. Surely he would be gentle.
She clung to that hope and stepped forward to speak with him. “Hello, Leif.”
He turned at her greeting, and a smile crossed his face. “Katarina. You are a welcome surprise. I had not expected to see you this early.” He nodded toward the fallen pile of wood. “Will you come and help me?” Then Leif dismissed Astrid, saying, “Your mistress is safe with me. You may wait for her over there.” Thethrallobeyed, seemingly eager to depart.
She did, picking up several small logs. Leif gathered the rest of the wood, and she followed him inside his house. The interior was dark and smelled of last night’s meal. A few bones were scattered upon the floor, and when she stepped inside, his dog snarled at her. Though she had tried to be kind to the animal in the past, she knew better than to approach it. The hair was standing up on the dog’s back, and she froze in place.
Leif only shook his head and nudged the dog outside with one leg. “Do not mind him. Build a fire, and you can join me for a morning meal.”
Katarina started to say that she’d already eaten but decided that there was no harm in sitting with him while he ate. He set down the logs, stacking six of them in a neat pile before arranging the others. She added her own wood to the fire, but before she could add tinder, Leif stopped her.
“Wait a moment.” He removed every piece of wood she’d brought and pointed toward his own arrangement. “There is a better way to stack them.” He rearranged the first two pieces of wood, although she couldn’t tell why his method was any different. Then he reminded her, “There is less smoke if you place them this way.”
She didn’t know why he cared so much about the way firewood was stacked, but saw no reason to voice an argument. “I did not think it would make any difference.”
At that, Leif reached out to take her hand. “The smoke can be heavy, and I would not want you to ever feel uncomfortable in my home.”
