Heart of a Viking (25 page)

He folded his arms and stationed himself outside the building, eyeing passers-by coldly. He might not be proud of his past but Ilisa seemed to forget that his culture was important to him. The Norse had fought hard to expand and bring their culture to other places. He had been brought up to be—above all—proud of being a Viking.

By the time Ilisa had bartered her wool for food, they had gained a small following of village children. Alrek thanked the gods it was only children. While the villagers observed them with distrust, they had shown no aggression. Hopefully they might even come to accept the Norseman in their midst one day. His heart dropped when they neared the gate. Galan and an elderly man—his father maybe, looking at the similarity between them—and two other armed men blocked the way.

“Galan, let us through,” Ilisa demanded. “We mean no harm.”

The father—the chief, Alrek remembered—stepped forward. “You bring shame on your people, Ilisa, by bringing that Viking here. Do you not remember the pain and death his people brought us?”

She thrust her chin up. “Are we to lay the blame of his people at his feet? If so, I can think of many atrocities the Picts have committed. Mayhap we should lay all those at your feet, my lord.”

“Step aside,” Alrek demanded and received a sharp look from Ilisa.

Galan pushed in front of his father and eyed Alrek. “I think perhaps you love her. And who could blame you? She is a fine woman indeed. But she is Pict and you are a Viking. You are a selfish man, Viking. You have put Ilisa in grave danger and you are tempering her heritage. Shall you ask her to worship your gods? To live as a Viking woman in her land? No one will ever accept you and before long, the people will rise against you—and her. You shall bring pain and suffering to her doorstep once more just as your people did in the past.”

Alrek narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired man and glared at him. But deep inside his gut churned and his mind reeled. He would not reveal as much to Galan however. A movement from one of the men caught his eye and he lunged for him, twisting the sword from his grasp and pulling the man into a tight grip. He held the sword out and snarled.

“Let us pass and no one shall be harmed.”

“Alrek!” Ilisa’s eyes were wide,fearful. “They have issued no threats. Release him!”

He saw himself then as she saw him. A wild snarling beast—no better than the wolves. He shoved the Pict away and threw down the blade, his breaths heavy with defeat. He shoved past the men and out of the gate without glancing back.

“Viking,” Galan called. “A ship has been spotted not a day away. They look to be landing soon. Mayhap you should return and be with your own kind. And warn them that if they make an attempt on our village they shall be met with force.”

He paused, drew in a breath and stomped on. Ilisa did not catch up with him until the village palisades were far behind him. She snatched his arm. “Where are you going, Alrek?” she asked breathlessly.

Alrek stopped and turned to face her. “Home.”

“Our home?”

“Nay, my home.” Pain flickered in her gaze, tearing his heart. “Forgive me, Ilisa, I was wrong to think we could overcome our differences and be together. Galan is right. I am putting you in danger here.”

“Nay—”

He cradled her face. “Can you tell me you honestly believe they will let us live peacefully?”

“I—” Tears lined her eyes, ready to fall.

“I have fought and raided too, Ilisa. I cannot say how many innocent people I may have killed.” He gulped as she searched his gaze. “I do not deserve a woman such as you and the chief was right to lay the sins of my people at my feet. I am no better than them.”

Several breaths passed between them. His pulse pounded painfully in his head, his insides crumpled further.

“You are a good man.”

“You are a special woman. I shall never forget you.” He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She sobbed quietly but made no protests. She had to know as well as he did that they had always been doomed to fail. When he drew back, he realised the skies had darkened. He scowled and peered up at them. This was right, so why were the gods angry?

“Come, let us return before it rains. I shall need to keep an eye out for the ship.”

She slipped her hand in his again, the movement so familiar and heart breaking. Never again would he hold her hand or touch her face, hear her voice or taste her lips. But he couldn’t stay. He was no better than his kin. Ilisa lived in a world that had almost eroded her culture. He couldn’t dilute it further and put her life at risk. Who knew who these Norsemen were? If it was his own crew he’d have no qualms about asking her to come with him, but these men might not take to a Pict woman aboard their ship.

When they reached the farm, rain had begun to fall in fat heavy drops. He ushered Ilisa inside and eyed the cottage. At least he had helped her a little. Her roof no longer leaked and the stone wall was almost complete once more. It hardly felt enough to make up for his people having killed her family and for the pain he was going to leave her with, but better to hurt her a little than put her at risk.

Alrek gulped as she slid off her mantle and he spotted the shaking of her shoulders. Against his will, he curled his hands around her shoulders. “You must see this is for the best. I would rather die than see you harmed. If I am gone you will be safe.”

She nodded. “They will never accept you.” Ilisa turned to face him. “I understand that now and I have no wish to see you harmed, but I shall miss you forever.”

“I… I would take you if I could, but ‘tis too dangerous. I cannot risk your life. Mayhap when I am settled I can come back…?”

“My people need me. I—” A sob split her words. “I shall miss you forever.”

His eyes itched and he had to step away before he crumpled. He didn’t return her words though they rattled through his skull over and over. His throat remained tight and he didn’t trust himself to speak, but he knew he too would miss her for eternity.

Ilisa eyed Alrek through a mist of tears. Funny how perfect he looked in his foreign clothing. He suited his Viking garments far better than the Pictish ones. He had been right. They were not destined to stay together. By asking him to stay, she was asking him to forget his culture and put himself in danger. So she remained quiet and they watched the horizon for a sign of the ship. Red sails broke the rainy haze that drifted over the sea shortly before supper time. Though the grey clouds darkened the sky, nightfall remained a few hours away so she imagined the ship would land without any problems.

He straightened his jerkin and faced her. Breathing became impossible. Her fractured heart had shattered in her chest and destroyed her. It was for the best but her mind raged and pleaded with her to tell him to stay, to be selfish. Ilisa said nothing as he stepped forward and took her face in his hands. They engulfed her, rough and warm. She closed her eyes to fend off the tears. Alrek placed the sweetest kiss to her lips—so tender for a man so big.

“
Hjarta
mitt,
” he murmured.

Ilisa kept her eyes shut and tamped down the bubble of despair in her chest. His lips left her, his hands were gone. The door opened and closed and a sob escaped her. Ilisa dropped to the floor and clutched her hands around her legs, bent double, and cried until her throat was raw and her chest in agony. Should she have asked him to come back for her? But the idea of watching the horizon forever and hoping tore her apart.

Eventually she swiped her eyes and pulled herself to standing. “You survived before him,” she reminded herself. “You’ll survive again.”

Had the ship landed yet? She peered outside and saw the night had not yet come. If she stood on the headland she’d probably be able to see the ship leave but would that make it worse? Mayhap it was better this way.

A knock on the door made her jolt. A burst of excitement made her heart race. She ran to it and flung it open. Her stomach sank. “Galan.”

“The Viking is gone.” He stepped into the hut and surveyed the place.

“Aye, he is gone. I hope you are happy now.”

“Not yet, and neither are the villagers.” He curled a hand around her arm and tugged her out of the house. The pressure from his fingers made her arm tingle as she fought against his hold.

“Galan, release me,” she demanded. Ilisa gaped when she spied much of the village men surrounding her house. “I told you, he has gone!”

Galan’s lips twisted and his dark eyes took on a black, bottomless look. Ilisa shuddered. “Do it,” he ordered.

Before she realised what he meant, several lit torches were flung onto the roof of her home. Straw crackled and flames raced quickly across it in spite of the damp weather. The skies seemed to protest the villagers’ actions, grumbling and unleashing more water but the flames had taken hold.

“Nay,” she cried and tried again to pull away from Galan.

“This is what we do to traitors. You took in the enemy. If I let them, they will burn you too.”

Ilisa stared around at her countrymen. It was true. Anger and hatred had eaten into them and now she was no better than a Viking in their eyes. “You would not let them!”

Galan’s grin stretched. “If you were my wife, you would have protection.”

“I have no farm now, why would you want me?”  She twisted her arm and bit back a cry of pain as he squeezed tighter.

“I do not need your little cottage. I want your land and you, Ilisa. It shouldn’t have had to come to this.”

Under the grey, rolling skies, his expression grew savage. To think she’d once thought Alrek like that. Whatever Alrek had done in the past, there was not a chance he had the same deep-seated greed and anger that Galan did. Why had she given that up so easily?

Because if he’d have stayed, he would have been killed
, she reminded herself. They would have burned him too. Alrek might have thought himself invincible but he would have stood no chance against a mob.

“I do not want you. I’d rather burn.” She lifted her chin. She didn’t want to die but a life without Alrek wasn’t worth much and she couldn’t give herself to Galan.

“You would prefer to betray your people, is that it?” he spat. “Prefer a barbaric Viking between your thighs?”

“Look around you, Galan, and tell me who the barbarians are? The time of the Picts is coming to an end. We should be trying to salvage what we can for the future generations, not fighting amongst each other.”

“You are no better than the other traitorous Pictish women,” Galan sneered. He released her arm and shoved her back toward the villagers. “They too have fled into the arms of Vikings, have left our lands and abandoned our people.”

Ilisa peeked over her shoulder and back at Galan. She edged away toward the cliff’s edge. Other women had gone with the Vikings? That meant other Picts would be in Iceland. They too would have Viking lovers. She wouldn’t be an outcast but the same as them. Should she have agreed to wait for him or have risked whatever dangers he thought she faced and gone?

She smirked and glanced around. There was nothing left for her now but was it too late? Shuffling closer to the edge of the cliff, she peered into the gloom, tried to penetrate it. Her stomach danced as she spied red coloured sails but how close were they? Or was Alrek already headed out to sea?

Galan stepped closer. “Are you intending to jump? You would kill yourself and sentence your soul to hell for him?”

She swung her gaze to him, to the villagers and back to the horizon. “Aye.” She jumped.

Her feet slipped on the thin ledge and she almost tumbled all the way down the cliff but for her grip on the foliage. Righting herself, she looked down the cliff face and thanked God she knew these cliffs so well. The strip of ground was narrow. It had begun to slip into the sea some two summers ago and she remembered the rumble as it did so, but it was enough to allow her to make her way down the cliffs to the beach.

She glanced up, saw no one had been brave enough follow her and picked her way down the cliff edge. Her shoes fell off and her skirts ripped. The cliff face seemed endless, a great grey wall that loomed both beneath and above her. Several times she nearly slipped and her heart remained in her throat until sand met her feet.

Skirts in hand, she shouted Alrek’s name but the wind carried it away. The rain fell heavily now, plastering her hair to her skin and obscuring her view of the ship. She prayed it had not left yet or she hadn’t been deceived as to how close to the shore it was.

“Alrek,” she screamed again.

Up ahead, a figure appeared, not far from the sea edge. Her legs threatened to give out from beneath her as overwhelming joy washed through her. She froze when she spied the heart stopping expression on his face—one of anguish and despair. In front of him, several Vikings stood, axes ready. Ilisa frowned. They looked to be at a standoff.

“Run, Ilisa. Return to your people,” he called to her. “Warn them that the Vikings are coming.”

Her scowl deepened and she flicked her gaze from the Vikings to Alrek and back again. “Nay! I wish to go with you.” Finally her stiff legs responded and she sprinted to his side.

An arm met her chest, held her back and shoved her behind him. “Run, Ilisa, or you shall die here,” he hissed over his shoulder.

The Vikings shouted something, their words sounding nothing like the beautiful Norse words that sometimes spilled from Alrek’s lips. Aggression rang clear in their voices. They were here to raid, she realised. And Alrek… Alrek was intending to stop them. She counted the Vikings—eight in total. Eight against an unarmed man and woman. They would die for sure.

“My people are ready,” she told him. “They are on the cliffs. They burned my home,” she spilled out on a sob, not even intending to tell him as much.

“Curses.” He turned his attention back to the Vikings and spoke again, motioning to the cliff tops. “
Hrafnarnir munu hafa þik!”

The lead Viking, a man easily as large as Alrek, replied but his words meant nothing to her.

“They mean to kill us if we do not step aside,” Alrek explained.

Ilisa gripped his arm, torn between letting the Vikings ravage her homeland or standing their ground and being killed. She no longer held any affection for her people, not after how they had turned their backs on her but she couldn’t let these men harm the innocent women and children. What the two of them could do, she knew not, but she would not step aside.

“If we die in battle, we go to Valhalla, do we not?” Her voice wavered.

“Aye, we do.” Alrek offered her a tight smile and took her hand.

The leader nodded and issued a command of some kind. “
Vegið!”

Ilisa gulped, the pounding in her head threatened to deafen her and her skin grew hot. A shout from the men made her tremble and Alrek squeezed her hand tightly. The leader took a step forward and Ilisa let out a cry as he tripped. He fell to the ground, sand billowing around him and Alrek tugged Ilisa back behind the protection of his body.

The other Vikings lowered their weapons and eyed their leader, confusion on their faces. A man stepped from behind them and only when he pulled the axe from the leader’s back, did Ilisa realise the man had been slain.

“
Óðins skegg!
” Alrek exclaimed. “Gardarr! Eric!”

Ilisa watched as the men appeared to turn on each other. A mass of swinging axes and brawling limbs seemed to break out. Alrek lunged forward, kicked a man aside and snatched the fallen man’s weapon. A Viking swung at him and Ilisa screamed a warning. Alrek spun around and dodged the blow before bringing the head of the axe into his enemy’s stomach and slicing across his vulnerable back as he bent double.

Unarmed and frozen in fear, Ilisa watched the blood stain the sand until a Viking broke away and came after her. His braided beard, tarnished with red, swung from side to side as he ran towards her. Ilisa turned, fell into a sprint and Alrek calling her name rattled her ears. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Viking behind her and Alrek fighting to get free of the battle to come after her.

Alrek would not reach her in time. Her thighs burned. How was she meant to outrun such a man? She headed for the rocks. Mayhap he would slip and fall. She knew them better than anyone after all. She only prayed she did not do the same.

Picking her way across the slippery rocks, she made for where they met the sea. The Viking had slowed but she heard his angry curses as he navigated the sharp landscape. Rain splattered into the sea, kicking up a mist. Hope lit in her chest. Mayhap if she went far enough, she could hide. The awful weather might prove to work in her favour after all.

She slipped into the water and gasped. The tide was higher than when she normally braved the rocks and it reached her waist. A peek over her shoulder saw the Viking slipping and flailing his arms but he managed to right himself. His axe glinted under the briefest flash of sunlight.

“Keep moving, Ilisa,” she urged herself and waded forward, trying to ignore the shake in her voice.

The waves tugged her gown, swirled it around her legs. Ahead the gap in the cliffs emerged—the Devil’s Doorway. Ilisa’s insides twisted with dread but she continued forwards, the sound of splashing footsteps sending a tremor up her spine. The Viking was taller and stronger. For him, the ocean likely did little to hold him back.

Water swirled around the arching rock and the sound echoed off the stone. She didn’t even know what was on the other side. She’d never braved going through the doorway. She only hoped there would be some hiding place or that the Viking would be put off by the rock formation’s sinister appearance.

When she got closer, the pull of the sea grew stronger. It churned and frothed against the rocks and waves began to splatter her face. She gripped the stone and stepped under the huge arch. Her feet almost slipped out from under her as the waves pulled her out and then pushed, slamming her into the rock. Ilisa cried out and salt water rushed into her mouth. Spluttering, she gripped the rock tighter and waded forward.

A roaring sound echoed against the rocks and Ilisa braced herself for an axe in her back then realised the sound wasn’t the Viking but a great wave. It struck her with such force that her head bounced off the rocks. Pain jarred her skull and her vision went white. The wave receded, dragged her with it. She scrabbled for a hold but her head spun and her footing went. She slipped under the water and found herself hauled toward the other side of the doorway.

Sea water invaded her mouth and nostrils, and she fought to surface. It was no longer clear where the sky was and where the rocks and seabed were. Her head spun, her lungs hurt. She broke the surface briefly and gasped in a breath only to be smashed against the rocks and dragged under once more.

She was almost grateful when the relentless pound of the waves eased and released her from the rocks. She felt herself being drawn further into the ocean. Her limbs had become useless, her mind a muddle. She was drowning but she had no strength to fight it any longer. Ilisa’s body begged her to draw in a breath. She fought the impulse for a long time but it was too great. Water rushed in and scalded her lungs. Agony consumed her body.

***

A creaking sound. A rocking motion. Ilisa swatted away the hand touching her brow. She became aware of the pounding ache in her skull, then the rest of her body. She cricked open an eye, letting the thinnest slit of light in and groaned. Above her a great sail billowed. Was she travelling to Valhalla? She rolled her head around and forced open her other eye.