Hrafn’s gaze shifted from the flowers to her, and she tried to behave as if the gift meant nothing at all. Instead, she feared that her brother had seen too much.
“Let us go.” Her brother allowed Arik to leave first, but before she could follow, he reached out and squeezed her hand in silent warning.
Katarina tightened her palm in answer. She knew, too well, not to let herself believe in dreams that would never be.
A large group of men and women gathered in the center of the settlement. Several outdoor fires flickered in the darkness, and the atmosphere was one of drunken celebration.
Eric moved to the outskirts of the crowd. Someone lifted a roasted fowl from one of the fires, and it was passed around the people. His stomach rumbled at the sight of the meat, but he remained in place. On the far side, he saw men drinking ale and gambling with dice. A few others were involved in wrestling matches, openly fighting, and no one seemed to care.
Someone grabbed his wrist, handed him a cup of ale, and cheered. “Thejarlhas returned!”
He had no idea what to say, but a nod and a smile seemed to be the best response. He was not the leader of these people, but it seemed that they wanted him to be. Men clapped him on the back, greeting him by name. One of the larger Vikings punched his shoulder, nearly knocking him over. Grimly, Eric realized again that he was at a severe physical disadvantage. These men were hardened warriors, and he lacked the strength to retaliate. If he did remain in this place, he would have to train among them. The thought was strangely appealing. All his life, he’d been trapped in the genteel life of a future duke. And now, he’d been dropped into a world of barbaric warriors. He wondered if it was possible to earn their respect.
You cannot stay,his conscience reminded him. And yes, that was true, but he rather wondered what it would be like. There were days when he’d longed to stab something, after spending hours reading ledgers. A smile played at his mouth, just imagining it.
He studied the people around him and realized that there were many similarities to the people of his time. There were mothers trying to calm overexcited children, young boys chasing one another and wrestling, and shy women standing off to the side. One brazen women with a large bosom and long hair that curled past her hips sent him a brilliant smile—revealing the loss of both her front teeth.
Eric repressed a shudder and crossed through the crowd, finishing his ale while he searched the sea of faces. He was looking for Katarina. After her earlier fears, he wanted to know who had threatened her—and he could only learn that by watching.
Another cup of ale was pressed into his hand. He took a sip before he finally saw Katarina seated off to the side. A giant of a man stood behind her, likely Leif. The moment the man saw Eric, his expression hardened. He put both hands upon Katarina’s shoulders in a blatant show of possession. The man’s message was crystal clear.
He wasn’t surprised, but Katarina appeared uncomfortable. And that didn’t sit well with him. Although she’d said that Leif had never harmed her, Katarina did not appear glad to see him.
Eric finished another round of ale and Hrafn greeted him. “Come and join us, Thorgrim. The men want to hear about the shipwreck.”
He followed Hrafn to one of the outdoor fires. A young girl offered him a roasted capon breast, and he took it, biting into the juicy meat. The capon was flavored with salt and herbs, and he hadn’t tasted anything so good in weeks. It didn’t seem to matter that he lacked a plate or silver to eat with. He was so hungry, it was a simple matter to fall into atrocious table manners.
Eric sat down with the men, listening to their stories. His mind drifted a few moments, and he caught flashes of memory that belonged to Arik Thorgrim. He saw visions of these men as adolescents, and he recalled fighting with them. He also remembered Katarina standing nearby to watch. She had watched him with fascination, smiling in hopes of gaining his attention.
But now, when he looked at her, he saw a woman whose dreams had been broken. He didn’t like that at all.
“Tell us what happened when your ship sank,” one of the men bade him.
He began telling his own tale, but all the while, he continued to watch over Katarina. Though Leif seemed to be protective of her, she did not join the other women or share in the celebration. It appeared as if she was hiding within his shadow, except for the moments when she fetched him a cup of ale or gave him food.
“The moon was the color of blood,” he told them, continuing to weave the story. Silence descended over the men, and a few of the children came closer to listen. One shivered against his mother when Eric mentioned the voice he had heard. But it was Katarina who captured his attention now. She was still sitting near Leif, but her eyes were locked upon his. The night wind blew strands of her long blond hair back from her face. She wore a silver circlet across her forehead, and the fire cast a glow upon her skin.
He hardly heard a word of his own storytelling. All he could perceive was her face staring at him.
If she had been a lady within a ballroom, he would have asked her to dance. He might have spoken with her parents or even paid a call upon her.
But not in a place like this. Here, there was a more visceral side to life. Leif’s hands were upon her shoulders, staking a physical claim though vows had not yet bound them. It shouldn’t matter to Eric…and yet it did.
Thevolvarose from her place when he had finished his tale and spoke. “Arik Thorgrim was chosen to return from Valhalla. The gods healed him of his wounds.”
There was an intake of surprise from the crowd of people. One little girl’s mouth dropped open, and she began whispering to her mother, asking if he was a spirit.
But when he turned back to thevolva,the old woman’s expression was deadly serious.You have one moon remaining,her gaze seemed to say. For what purpose? One month to search for his father’s estate in England? Or one month to dwell among these people?
She was probably a superstitious woman who cast spells with frog legs and spider webs, he told himself. What did she know about how much time was remaining?
He glanced up at the moon, and a cold chill pressed over him. There was no denying the supernatural forces that had brought him here, nor the fact that he was speaking an ancient language as if he were born to it.
It’s not real.
But though he wanted to close his eyes and ignore the truth, he could no longer deny it. Eric drained another cup of mead, wanting the sensation of forgetfulness. He started to cross through the people toward Katarina but was stopped by one of the Vikings.
The man was tall with a shaved head, and it appeared that runes had been tattooed upon his arm. He wore a fur cloak over his tunic and leggings, and his strength was undeniable. To Eric, he demanded, “Do you have the luck of the gods, Thorgrim?” He pulled out a leather sack from his belt and poured out several bronze figures into his palm.
