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‘No, he’ll be from somewhere else. Until we know for certain, we give him the benefit of the doubt.’
Merri nodded, accepting her word. ‘I’m not frightened of him. He has a kind chin.’
‘Kindness comes from deeds not looks.’ The instant the words left her throat, Alwynn heard her mother’s voice. She’d always vowed she’d be different and here she was spouting meaningless phrases. Her mother had been a master of that—say something witty and seemingly profound while expecting everyone else to do the hard work.
Merri’s face adopted her stubborn look. ‘I still think he is one of the most beautiful warriors I have ever seen.’
Alwynn gave Merri a no-nonsense look. ‘Right now, we save his life. And we keep quiet about it. We take him to Gode’s cottage. With any luck, he’ll be gone before she returns.’
‘Who do you think he is? Could he be a prince?’
‘I’ve no idea, but he is a person of consequence. A simple seafarer would not be wearing gold rings.’
‘If you save his life, he’ll reward you and then we won’t have to worry any more about the debts my father built up. He’ll fall instantly in love with you, too.’
‘I’ve little time for your stories today, Merri.’ Alwynn glanced over her shoulder. The sun had risen higher in the sky, warming her back and neck. Soon the beach would be flooded with treasure seekers and other scavengers. ‘The sooner we’re off this beach, the better.’
‘What about our basket of sea coal? We can’t carry both.’
‘People are more important than things. Always.’
Alwynn put one arm about the warrior’s shoulders and pulled him to standing. His body buckled and a deal of seawater spewed out.
‘Better out than in,’ she muttered as her knees threatened to give way from the sheer weight of him. ‘Get on the other side. Help me to balance. Dropping him would not do either of us any good.’
Merri ran quickly to the other side and wrapped an arm about his waist. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
Giving a nod, Alwynn started forward. The man’s feet dragged a bit, but the movement seemed to rouse him. His deep brown gaze held her again.
‘Walk,’ she commanded. ‘Walk or die.’
* * *
Valdar jolted from the comfort of swirling blackness into piercing light. The sunlight on the yellow sand hurt his eyes, nearly blinding him.
The woman’s insistent tone had called him from the cocoon of darkness which had held him in its embrace since he had heaved his body on to the sand.
He knew a few things.
First, he was alive and intended to stay that way. The lad’s mother had been right about the Norns deciding when men died.
Second, his lungs were on fire and his belly was heaving from the amount of salt water he’d drunk in that desperate swim. As it was, a few more feet of water and he’d never have made it out of the surf alive. But he knew the perils of half-drowning. His elder brother had died of it. Dragged from the harbour after his boat overturned, seemingly fine, only to collapse a few hours later. He needed fresh water to replace the seawater which he’d inhaled.
Third, and potentially most troubling, he knew that he was in Northumbria. The accent was incredibly distinctive. He’d heard it several times in various markets over the years. And Northumbria was the last place he wanted to be. The Northumbrian king had declared that all Northmen were to be killed. No Northumbrian was supposed to trade with a Northman.
The Lindisfarne raid might have garnered gold for the detested Viken, but it had made trading more difficult for everyone else.
In fact, it had been partly responsible for the mutiny. Frozen out of their usual markets, Girmir had demanded they raid Northumbria and get gold like the Viken. Horik had objected as he had no quarrel with the Northumbrians and he’d heard of what had happened to another Viken raiding party last year—butchered.
Horik had wanted to find new markets to the south, something Valdar agreed with, but Girmir feared travelling off the end of the earth.
He needed to be north of here. His friend and fellow countryman Ash Hringson had planned to attend the market in Orkney this autumn with his young son. He would be able to get passage home from there. Then he could expose Girmir as an oath-breaker.
But before that, he had to recover and recuperate away from danger. The Picts, or possibly the Gaels, might be more amenable than the Northumbrians...if he could make it there.
He glanced at the older of the women who now held him upright. She was not in the first blush of youth but there was something about the way her green eyes flashed and her chin was set which took his breath away. She was the personification of a Valkyrie.
The floral scent of her hair filled his nostrils, replacing the fishy tang of the shore. He knew that her shaking him earlier had wakened him from the shadowlands. But beauty could turn treacherous and he had no reason to think she’d protect him, particularly once she knew his true identity. No, she was off limits. He’d learnt his lesson about women along ago and Kara had proved herself no different.
He had loved her too much and she had used him. He was never going to be used again. And he was never going to be the one to love more than the woman again.
‘Water?’ he asked, but the word came out as a guttural groan. He tried again. ‘Water. I need water. Please.’
His stomach heaved again and he knew that the sands of time were slipping away from him. The memory of his brother’s drowned face haunted him.
‘You understand? Water?’
The woman cocked her head to one side, resembling an inquisitive bird. Her brow knitted. He tried to mimic drinking.
She gave a slow nod. ‘When we get somewhere safe, I’ll get you something to drink. But now we walk.’
He tried to form the words to explain and the effort caused the skin about his mouth to crack. The dried salt caused it to sting as if it had been attacked by a thousand needles.
Valdar’s body ached as if a thousand frost giants had stomped on it. His mouth tasted of the sea. He tentatively risked a breath. Another splutter of air mixed with seawater. Valdar attempted to ignore it, but his chest continued to heave.
‘I need water now or I die.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t understand what you are saying.’
‘Water or death,’ he yelled. ‘Your choice.’
She cringed. ‘There is no need to shout.’
He put up his hands in a gesture of supplication. ‘My throat. Too much seawater. Fresh water or I die.’
She nodded and said something to the young girl, who quickly went and fetched a large jug of water from beside a basket. The woman held it out. ‘Here you go. Drink. Then walk.’
‘Thank you.’
Valdar downed it, revelling in the sweet taste. Not water, but cooled mint tea. ‘More.’
She shook her head. ‘You’ll be sick. Soon.’
He swallowed. Some of the sea taste had gone, but he still felt parched. ‘Need more. You will get me more.’
‘Soon, first you walk.’
He shrugged off her arm. ‘I will try.’
She gave him a questioning look, but he stood straighter. She moved away from him. Cool air rushed in where her warm body had been. ‘Merri, let him stand.’
He attempted to move forward, but his knees threatened to buckle. He was weaker than a newborn colt. He took a step and the world swayed and the enveloping darkness beckoned once again. ‘Please.’
She came and put her arm about his waist. Her dark head barely reached his shoulder. And she had green eyes shot with silver. ‘Next time, maybe you listen.’
He shrugged her off, put his hands on his knees and tried to draw in deep breaths. Each time he tried, he found himself gasping for air. ‘Leave me. Let me breathe. Bring water.’
‘Time is running out. We need to get off this beach.’ She used her fingers to mimic walking.
Valdar shook his head. Her accent was pleasant and he found if he concentrated, he could understand her well enough. However, the effort made his head spin. ‘Where there is more to drink.’
‘You do speak my language.’
‘I have travelled far. Across many seas.’ He grabbed his throat. ‘After the drink, my mind clears. I can speak best...better.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘And you are from...?’
‘A place so tiny and far from here you will not have heard of it. Trust me.’
He waited to see if she’d accept his word. If he said from a North country, she might get the wrong idea. Northumbrians didn’t distinguish between the North countries. He hated that he was dependant on her. But the gods had spared him for a purpose.
‘Where?’
‘Sand, Raumerike.’
‘You are right.’ A smile hovered on her mouth. ‘I’ve no idea where that is.’
‘How far do you need me to walk?’
Her neat teeth worried her bottom lip, turning it deep red. ‘Off the beach and into the long grass. We can shelter there until all danger is passed.’
The long grass was a lifetime away. ‘What are you afraid of? What is on this beach?’
She glanced over her shoulder, watching shadows. ‘I have my reasons. Trust me.’
Their gazes locked. What choice did he have but to trust her? He hated relying on anyone.
‘After that water and shelter,’ he said. Instantly her brow darkened so he added, ‘Not for long. I...I wish to go home in peace. Peace, you understand?’
She tapped her fingers together.
‘Please.’
Her brow cleared. ‘I know of a vacant cottage where you can rest...before you continue your journey.’
Relief washed over him. His luck had changed. The gods had spared him for a reason. ‘You won’t regret it.’
‘I had better not.’
The sun had dried his sea-soaked tunic to complete stiffness. It rubbed salt into his raw back with every move he made, but that was nothing to the way his legs ached. About the best he could say was that they remained attached to his body. He did not know how long he had swum for and how far the tide had carried him. Then there were the rocks where the waves had dashed him. He could hear them pounding, pounding, pounding and knew he had barely got out alive.
A great shaking racked his body.
He put out an arm, trying to balance, trying to keep the life-giving liquid down.
‘Help me...please.’
She sighed and grabbed him about the waist. The simple touch did much to steady him. ‘People are coming to scavenge for sea coal. Neither of us wants to meet them.’
‘Slow, yes.’ Even though some of the words were unfamiliar, he understood the urgency in her voice.
He nodded and started to shuffle forward, forcing his feet to lift and his body to stay upright. The third step sent him tumbling to his knees. A cry escaped his lips.
Silently he cursed for showing weakness to a woman.
The girl made a face and grabbed his arm, steadying him. ‘Stumbling will make things worse.’
‘Your daughter?’ he asked.
‘Stepdaughter. Merewynn. I’m Alwynn of Yoden.’ She paused and frowned with intense concentration. ‘A place so tiny that you will not have heard of it either.’
He stared at the grass-covered dunes. What sort of man sent a woman out on the beach, where he knew danger was? Where these scavengers lurked?
‘Your husband?’
‘Dead,’ she answered, keeping her gaze away from him.
Her answer explained everything and nothing. Widows must find it as difficult to keep property in Northumbria as they did in Raumerike. Someone had turned her out of the hall. And now they were forced to search for washed-up items on the beach. The Northumbrians bleated that the Northmen were barbarians for attacking Lindisfarne, but they were barbarians not to look after their women better.
‘But you must live somewhere,’ he persisted. Women this lovely were not without a protector for long.
‘Keep going. Don’t stop. We’re nearly to a spot where we can shelter. I mean to keep you alive.’
He stopped and looked down at her face. A faint sheen of sweat shone on her forehead. She appeared as if a strong wind might blow her over, but he could sense the steel underneath.
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t kill creatures who wash up on these shores. I wait to see if they are innocent or not first.’
* * *
Alwynn concentrated on putting her feet down, rather than looking up at the dune. Every time she looked, it seemed they had barely gone a few steps, but her gown was now plastered to her back from the exertion. The warrior had closed his eyes and once again appeared insensible to their surroundings. With each step they took, he leant more on Merri and her. Typically male. She’d learnt the hard way.
‘He’s very heavy,’ Merri complained, stopping for the third time in as many steps. ‘Can’t we rest?’
‘He requires more liquid. Small beer might be best,’ she said instead. ‘He has had too much salt water. You saw how the fisherman’s youngest recovered once he had small beer last March. It will be easier to fetch some when we are at Gode’s.’
‘Where do you think he is from? I’d never heard of the place he said. Raume, was that what he said? Is it north or south of here?’
