“You think them forgeries of some sort, then?” Declan said.
“Or mayhap they are just uneducated,” Gustav theorized. “And dinnae recall how to write in their own dialect properly as they have been gone too long from their homeland.”
“Or,” I countered, gripping the hilt of my blade more tightly, wishing I could slice it across his throat once and for all, “’tis someone trying to make those who come upon this think ‘twas the Norse.”
“Nay,” Gustav admonished. “Surelynot!”
When he looked at me sharply, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had seen a flash of alarm in his eyes or if I’d imagined it.
“How do you wish to handle this, my liege?” one of Alexander’s men asked, grim when he crouched and rested his hand on the arm of one of the slain. “Though there arenae many, none survived. ‘Twas a recent demise, too.” He shook his head. “There is lingering warmth.”
“They must receive a proper burial aboveground as ‘tis too cold to dig,” the king ordered, saying what I'd hoped he would. “And any sign of Nordic writing should be removed, however you need to go about it. ’Tis verra likely we are the first to come upon them, so we have a chance to get out ahead of the potential damage of what could verra well be a cruel ruse.” He shook his head. “What happened here willnae undo all the good Astrid has done until we ken more about those who did this.”
Though Gustav’s heavy frown made clear he disagreed with Alexander's decision, he was wise enough not to voice it when I wished he would. Whatever it took to reveal who he really was to his king and so-called friend.
Who he really was to a country struggling to find peace.
“And what if someone already passed through and saw this, my liege?” Gustav wondered. “Are we to admit to what we witnessed here if asked about it?”
“We claim nothing more than we came upon the slain.” He shook his head once sharply, making himself clear to all. “Nothing about the Nordic symbols for now.”
Nothing more was said about it as we saw to everything and gave the dead a proper burial above-ground, covering them with stones. We placed crosses made from sturdy sticks at the head of each site and recited prayers for the departed.
Declan and I exchanged several glances, yet didn’t let our gazes linger on each other under Gustav’s watchful gaze. Even so, I felt my husband's comforting presence in each stolen glance, just as I knew he felt mine at what had happened here.
Whoever the perpetrators were, it was nothing short of heartbreaking.
Yet when we eventually mounted up again and left the sad site behind, my instincts continued telling me this was not the work of my fellow Norsemen. I had fought enough fellow tribes to know, and said as much to Alexander as we made our way to the village.
“You saw me fight,” I reminded him. “So you know ‘tis not precisely like our fellow Scots, and what we saw back there was not Norse battling.” I shook my head. “Not the way we slice our blades.”
“Nay,” Alexander granted. “Yet they could have just as easily learned from fellow Scots.”
“This was a slaughter of helpless folk much like Viking raids of old,” Gustav exclaimed, no help at all, but that made sense of his true motives. “Surely you saw such in your days of battling, Astrid? Warriors who didnae always keep to doing things one way or another? There isnae always precision or even consistency in the heat of battle lust.”
“I have battled many,” I admitted. What else could I say? This was certainly not something I would lie about. “I never raided another’s territory, like my ancestors of old, though. I never committed such atrocities, nor have I ever witnessed a lack of consistency with a blade as I did back there.” I shook my head. “If ‘twas rogue Norse, ‘twould make more sense to fight and kill, or even slaughter, if you will, like Norsemen, to truly get one's message across.”
“Might it not be wiser for Astrid to change before we arrive at the next village, my king?” Declan cut in before the debate betwixt Gustav and me grew more heated, ever my advocate now, as he frowned at my Norse attire. “If rumor has reached the village of what just happened, might she not become a target before she has a chance to say a word?”
“A target protected by the King of Scotland,” Alexander reminded, shaking his head. “Nay, ‘tis best she appear every bit the shield-maiden, with kind, unifying words on her tongue, so that the people know I support peaceful Norse remaining.”
“And I agree,” I said firmly, shooting Declan a look that he need not worry about me. “’Tis best they see my strength combined with my kindness before all else.”
Nothing more was said about it as we continued, yet I didn't miss the concerned glances both he and Stewart gave me every so often, nor how watchful Oksana had become, as if sensing more trouble on the horizon.
By the time we rode into the village, the sun was setting, sending bursts of bright crimson and deep pink across the vast sky. Like most along the way, the quaint town was tucked between mountains alongside a loch with a host of thatch-covered cottages, a smithy, stables, an inn, and a relatively sizeable tavern compared to others we’d frequented in our travels. The chilly wind grew gustier, and a storm rumbled within distant, black-bellied clouds, likely to bring more snow.
Where we were typically well received, this time felt more of a tepid reception than what we’d encountered thus far. Even so, all welcomed the king warmly, making clear his popularity in these parts, whereas I, in turn, tended to receive more cautious, wary glances than usual.
“I dinnae see many Norse nor friendly faces here, lass,” Declan warned under his breath, his hand never straying far from the hilt of the blade sheathed at his waist. “So remain vigilant.”
Though it need not be said, I appreciated his concern, remaining grateful when he stayed closer than ever after the stable hands took our horses.
Meanwhile, when the local magistrate welcomed the king, Alexander took a moment aside to speak with him about what we had witnessed along the way. While Gustav remained close enough to me to satisfy the king’s request, I couldn't help but notice he wasn’t hovering uncomfortably close anymore. Curiously, it was almost as if he didn’t want to be seen with me when, truth told, this might have been precisely when Alexander wished it of him most.
“They didnae know yet,” the king confirmed softly upon rejoining us, much to my relief, before the magistrate walked over. A tall, thin reed of a man with a weather-worn face and kindly brown eyes, he welcomed us warmly enough, considering the news he had just received.
Giving us a knowing look, the magistrate gestured at the tavern. “I believe the group of fellow countrymen you seek is inside, as they brought word of rebellious Norse roaming these parts.”
