“You …”
A wicked smile spanned his face. He bowed, appreciating the moment’s reprieve from sorrow.
“You understand English?” Her jaw tensed.
He should have talked to her sooner. “If a man can’t understand his enemies, how can he outmaneuver his foes?”
That explanation didn’t seem to satisfy her. She looked hurt and confused, and stepped back.
Foreseeing her next move, he rested his hands on her shoulders to keep her from running. “Be still.” The decision was made. Rachelle Fiennes would travel with him as far as the coast.
A Norseman speakingfluent English was the last thing Rachelle expected to find. He understood every bloody word she’d said from the start. Did he do it for protection or to trick her? She shouldn’t care. But he differed so greatly from the ferocious Vikings described in childhood legends. He exuded confidence and exercised mercy—she suspected that’s why she still breathed. They shared a common bond. Both mourned the loss of a loved one.
A tepid north wind caught her face as she stared in the direction the soldiers had ridden. If only they carried news about her uncle. She would follow them to the ends of the earth to hear it. Deep inside, she believed her uncle was dead. Whenever Rachelle loved someone, they abandoned her or died. It was an undeniable fact. This left only one person in the world she could love and trust—her closest friend Mercia. But Rachelle wouldn’t burden her. Mercia’s family had no money to help.
Trapped between her sorrow and the need to leave years of suffering behind, she considered her future. Having waited for a sign from God nearly all her life, each day had been filled with nothing more than tentative happiness. Little by little her uncle convinced her to live again, to smile and laugh. Not wanting to disappoint him, she’d conditioned herself. Yet underneath, anguish thrived. That was the sum of her life.
Her heart quickened at a crazy notion. Could this man be the answer to her childhood prayer? There was something about him that made the earth move under her feet. Or was that fear? She still considered it. What if her bitter portions had suddenly run out?
The Viking exhaled and snatched her hand. “It’s time to go.”
“Before we do anything, I want to know why you were playing dead on this field.” Her gaze flicked up, meeting his.
“You can ask as many questions as you like, I won’t answer. I’m not in the habit of discussing personal matters withSaxons.”
His gaze slid shamelessly down her body as he muttered, “Why are you so bold and beautiful?”
Rachelle didn’t know if she was meant to hear those words. It baffled her.
As if snapped back into the moment, he asked, “Why wereyouexamining an unconsecrated corpse?”
“Am I expected to answer your inquiries after you completely disregarded mine?” She needed to argue to feel alive again.
“Listen to me.” He gave her a gentle shake. “By morning, this field will be crawling with soldiers. I have no choice but to leave you behind. If you hide until daylight, you’ll be safe.”
His words jolted her. She didn’t want to stay alone in the dark. Just a moment ago, he’d announced it was time to go. Assuming he meant both of them, she tried to make sense of it. “What will you do with your brother’s body?”
“I’ll finish what I started.”
Willing to endanger his life for the sake of a funeral proved he was comprised of more than beastly instinct. It deepened her desire for a family of her own. The giant unhanded her, then returned to his brother’s side. He dropped on one knee.
“Lo, gjør Det jeg ser min Far, og Lo, gjør det jeg se min mor, og Lo, gjør Det jeg ser mine brødre og mine søstre og Lo, gjør Det jeg ser mitt folk tilbake til begynnelsen, og Lo de gjør kaller meg, og byd meg ta min plass blant dem i haller av Valhalla, Hvor modig vil leve evig…”
His ardent entreaty raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “What does it mean?”
“Lo, there do I see my Father, and Lo, there do I see my Mother, and Lo, there do I see my Brothers and my Sisters andLo, there do I see my people back to the beginning, and Lo they do call to me, and bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave will live forever…”
She wanted to believe his gods would grant his request.
Miraculously, it began to drizzle. She tipped her head, letting raindrops fall on her face. After months of drought, this was like manna from heaven. Wishing it would wash away the evidence of the battle, she froze when she saw the Viking arranging the body on the pyre. After crossing a sword and shield over his brother’s chest, he kissed his cheeks. Finished with his preparations, the Norseman took a square piece of metal and flint stone from his belt. Misery and regret had silenced him altogether now.
She edged closer, standing at a respectable distance. Nothing could ever strip this memory from her mind. The tenderness this man displayed, the heavyheartedness that showed on his face made her heart skip a beat. Knowing firsthand what it felt like to lose someone, her own tragic memories came flooding back. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She’d cried more over the last two days then she had in years.
Not even the light rain could keep the flames from licking higher. Her body tensed. Men should be buried, not burned. Standing on the opposite side of the pyre, the fire illuminated every hard detail of the Vikings form. Pain and exhaustion were etched on his face. His broad shoulders drooped as if he’d been whipped.
Knowing if they delayed their departure any longer, he risked being captured. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Rachelle didn’t care who or what he was, she never wanted to see death again.
At first, Tyrthought it would be a good idea to take the girl with him. But after she demanded answers he wasn’t willing to give,he quickly changed his mind. A swift escape and time alone with his thoughts is what he wanted, not a cackling moorhen trailing him everywhere. After walking briskly for three hours, the girl caught up once he slowed down. He’d rather have Loki on his heels.
