God's Eye (The Northwomen Sagas #1) (8 page)

Tired of feeling helpless, tired of feeling frustrated, Vali decided there was little to lose in full speech. Never mind patience and stealth. “Brenna. You feel it, too, this pull between us.”

When she moved to stand, he shot his arm out and grabbed her knee. The pain mattered not at all compared to the need he felt to make something happen. Unable to chase her, he would have to hold her. “Run from me no more. I want to be with you. If you don’t feel as I do, then say it.”

Her stunning eyes went wide and dark as their black centers flared open. He held them with his own. “I don’t understand you,” she whispered.

That was hardly a rejection, not with his challenge in the air between them.

He smiled and released her knee. “So you say. Here I lie, open to you. Let me help you understand.”

Brenna hated the castle. The stone walls and floors held the cold no matter how large a fire was built, and the many rooms and heavy doors isolated each person from the others, and blocked out the world, as if they’d all been imprisoned. Though she had lived a life without friends or even true companions, she had only been alone when she’d sought it out—and then, she’d been surrounded by the world.

Here, in these stark stone cells, she felt more alone than ever she had before. The ceilings were tall and the rooms vast, yet she felt hemmed in, so much so that she woke gasping most nights, when she could sleep at all, clutching her chest as if the walls had fallen in on her.

The low wooden halls and houses of home, filled with people and animals, were warm and snug. No one was ever really alone in a longhouse.

As had become usual in the few weeks of their residence here, long before dawn, Brenna gave up the fight to rest in her tapestry-covered dungeon. She pulled her sleeping shift—an item of clothing she’d found, along with many others, in a heavy chest in one of the rooms—over her head and dropped it on her pillows. Then she bound her breasts and dressed in leather breeches and a heavy woolen tunic. The unyielding and bone-deep cold of winter hadn’t arrived yet, but nights had lately begun to greet the morning with a kiss of frost.

After she pulled her boots on, she worked her tangled mass of blonde waves into one thick, simple braid, snug against her scalp, then trailing down her back. Before she left the room, she picked up her belt and slid the scabbard of her shortsword from it, leaving her dirk as her only weapon. She would need no greater protection. After an early fight that had resulted in the deaths of all of the prince’s remaining soldiers and of two more of their own, these weeks had been quiet, and she didn’t mean to leave the castle grounds. She needed only to see the sky, to feel the air.

Before she lifted the heavy iron handle that would release the hasp and let her pull the door open, she picked up a fur throw and settled it over her shoulders. Once in the corridor, she moved quietly, but even the sound of her breath seemed to echo off the stone walls. Stealth was nearly impossible in a place like this, with massive doors creaking open on iron hinges and stone surfaces returning even the softest sounds.

Along the corridor and down the sweeping, dark stairs she went, completely alone all the way. An enormous edifice, the castle had housed only the prince, his small family, and their servants. When the raiders had combed through it, collecting the treasure, they had come upon room after room that had been richly appointed but obviously unused.

So much space, so many riches, and the people who lived outside the castle had less than the poorest farmer at home. Less even than some slaves. Olga had explained that the prince had taken all of their harvest and rationed back to them food they themselves had grown. Their rations had been meager. Each year, while they’d merely subsisted, they had watched carts full of crops rolling away from them, toward the nearest town, to be sold and enrich the prince.

After the ships had left, laden with gold and silver and jewels, Leif and Brenna and the others had set back the stores they would need for the winter and then opened the bounty that remained to the villagers. That decision had turned the tide of sentiment toward the raiders, who could now roam the nearby countryside and be greeted with waves and nods.

They were under no delusion that their settlement would remain peaceful forever, of course. Prince Vladimir surely had allies, and they would answer his death and try to reclaim his lands. But they had not yet, and, as she stepped out into the night and her breath plumed up in a thick puff of white, Brenna guessed it would be a long while before any foe took up a siege.

Orm and Knut had watch. They sat at the fire in the middle of the grounds, relaxed and talking amiably. Both looked up when she came out of the castle, and both returned her nod, but neither invited her to join them. Just as well—she wouldn’t have known how to have a casual conversation. Aside from her parents, the only person she’d ever spoken to about anything other than plans, strategy, and tactics was Vali.

Vali. He’d been on his feet for almost two weeks, and he was almost as strong again as she’d ever seen him. He was a marvel of a man. Four days after he’d taken what should have been a mortal wound, three days after an infection had laid him lower, he’d mounted a horse and ridden for hours. The ride had nearly killed him again—and then mere days later he’d been back on his feet. For the past week, he’d been on full duty.

Brenna had been more comfortable with him when he was abed and she could leave him behind when she felt awkward or strange around him. He said he was open to her, but still she didn’t understand him. He said he wanted to be with her, but why? To what end? She had spent a good portion of the days since he’d been out of bed devising reasons not to be around him.

But she felt lonely when she wasn’t around him. She liked him very much. More than that, she admired him. He was strong of body and mind. He was forthright. He was goodhearted. The reason he had been so badly wounded was that, in the heat of battle, he’d taken the time to put a horse out of its misery. And he seemed to sincerely like her. Her. Brenna. He looked her in her eyes and held there. He didn’t call her ‘God’s-Eye.’ He talked to her.

He tried, at least. She struggled to know what to say and had never been able to offer him more than the most perfunctory answer to a question he’d asked, and she didn’t know what things to ask of him. Conversation was simply beyond her. If there was a muscle somewhere in her that had to be flexed in order to chat with another person, that muscle had atrophied long ago.

They would both be better off if she continued to avoid him.

After taking her fill of the night air and sky, she crossed to the stables and went in. Here, she felt more at home; the smells of straw and wood and animal were familiar. The rustling sounds of the sleeping horses gave her calm. The calm brought a pleasant sleepiness that eluded her in the castle.

Not all of the horses were sleeping, she saw. The big golden head and rich creamy mane of the mare she’d taken for her own dropped over a stall door. She turned in Brenna’s direction and nickered softly. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to these late-night visits.

“Freya. No rest for you, either?” Brenna went to her and rubbed her soft nose. Freya pushed past the caress and nosed at Brenna’s furs. “Forgive me, love. I have no sweets for you tonight.”

The mare huffed as if she understood and was disappointed. Estlander horses were similar to the horses of home—massive, densely-furred beasts with broad chests, thick legs and wide hooves. This was the most beautiful of any horse she’d ever seen, with a coat so golden it seemed to glow and a mane so pure and creamy one might think it would taste sweet. Brenna supposed she was as much a slave to beauty as any other, because she’d seen the mare and fallen in love straightaway.

Perhaps that had something to do with why she could not dig Vali out of her head. He was not beautiful; that was the wrong word. Perhaps he wasn’t even handsome. His features seemed too rough for that word as well. But he was…compelling. His huge, heavily muscled body. His straight nose and heavy brow, like his face had been carved from stone. His rich, dark beard. His serious blue eyes.

At night, while she fought to find rest in her luxurious stone cell, her mind would conjure him and make her all the more restless.

Freya had dropped off to sleep with her nose snug between Brenna’s arm and side. Brenna leaned her head against the mare’s face, feeling sleep finally move over her as well. She opened the stall and stepped in, making Freya chuff a protest as she backed her up.

In the stall, she went to the far corner and settled herself into the fragrant straw, wrapping her furs around her. Freya came over and nudged her gently, and Brenna rubbed her nose again.

Then they both slept.

~oOo~

The next morning, Brenna, Leif, and Vali sat in the hall with any of the other raiders who were free and inclined to be part of the discussion. Not everyone was interested in planning. Many preferred to live and work and be pointed in the proper direction when it was time to fight. Thus, of twenty-nine raiders who’d stayed behind and survived, thirteen were assembled around the heavy table that had, the first time they’d seen it, held the heads of their young scouts.

Even weeks after that day, Leif always scowled when he looked down at the dark wood.

Olga, their former captive and now in charge of the servants who’d stayed, sat across from Leif. Next to her was Jaan, a young farmer from the village. Everyone had focused intently on the end of the table, where Tord, Sigvalde, and Viger were giving their report of what they’d found in the world beyond. Despite the fate of Einar and Halvar, they had had no choice but to send scouts out again. They needed to know exactly how far away trouble might be. If such could be known at all.

They already knew that the central town in this region was a day’s journey by horse and cart. They also knew that that town and its market hosted the people and trade of two other princedoms. That much, Olga and other villagers, with Olga’s interpreting help, had been able to tell them, as well as the names of these other royals: Ivan and Toomas. What none of the peasants seemed to know, however, was exactly where these princes dwelt and what threat they might be. The scouts had ridden out to learn.

“The farthest is a hard day’s ride northeast,” Viger offered. “A blue flag with a white beast flies.”

Olga spoke in her native tongue to Jaan, who nodded and turned to Leif. “Toomas.” He brought up his fists in a pantomime of fighting. “He…” he turned to Olga and spoke; then Olga turned to Leif.

“Toomas make much war here. Jaan say in town men know to be…apart them?” She held up her arms and widened the distance between her hands. The men here knew to avoid Toomas’s men.

“He was an enemy of Vladimir?” Brenna asked. Jaan’s head jerked in her direction. The men of Estland did not expect women to do anything that Brenna or Astrid did. After weeks here, the villagers were still more shocked by women who wore breeches and bore arms than any of them seemed to be about Brenna’s strange eye.

After that moment of shock, as Olga nodded and spoke a word, Jaan nodded, too, and answered Brenna with his eyes on Leif. “Yes. No…friend here.”

“That is not encouraging,” Vali said. “He wants this holding and is likely to be prepared for war already, then.”

Sigvalde answered him. “The castle was quiet. There was no war in the air there—but there was light snowfall already. If they plan to strike, we do not think it will be until summer.”

Leif stroked his beard. “And the other? Ivan?”

“Due south,” Sigvalde responded. “The holding is small and poor. We could advance on it and take it, too. This Toomas is the threat.”

“Please,” Olga interjected, and the others gave her their attention. She might have been their slave for a brief time, but she had become integral to their peaceful settlement here. Although Leif was attempting to learn the Estland tongue, no one else had yet tried, and they relied heavily on Olga to bridge the gap between them and her people. Realizing how much trust they’d already given her, upon her agreement to stay and assist them, they’d made her free just more than a week after they’d moved to the castle.

She was the only of the raid’s captives at camp who’d remained alive. Calder had ordered all of the others killed before he’d set sail. He would have had Olga killed, too, but that Leif had asserted their need of her.