Timeless (13 page)

“Keldan,” he corrected, grinning as if he understood that she was calling him a different, less complimentary name. Again he held out the basket of bread toward her. “Hungry?”

Josette caught her lower lip between her teeth. Thus far, she had refused to cooperate with him in any way.

However, if she starved herself, she would not have the strength to fight him off, if and when he decided to pounce on her.

“Mayhap just one piece,” she said slowly, walking over to the table. She gingerly plucked a small loaf from the basket in his hand. The bread was studded with raisins, soft and warm to the touch, and tasted as heavenly as it smelled.

“Mmmmm.” She closed her eyes, barely even aware of the low sound of pleasure that escaped her.

Keldan uttered a single, tense word in reply, but she was too busy looking down at the array of foods on the table to pay him heed. Biting off another mouthful of the delicious bread, she stared at bowls of bright raspberries and dewy plums. A platter piled high with thinly sliced, roasted meats. A jug of milk with the froth of cream still on top. And
oranges
.

“Saints’ breath, the last time I saw food such as this...” Josette took a handful of sugared nuts. And a plum, just to keep her strength up. “I do not think any but
kings
enjoy food such as this for breakfast where I come from.”

A moment later, her hands were so full, she doubted she could carry her booty away without dropping something.

“Josette.” Keldan chuckled.

She glanced up to find him regarding her with amusement sparkling in his brown eyes. He gestured to the empty bench opposite him.

She hesitated. “I do not think I should. Eating breakfast at your table would almost certainly qualify as cooperating.”

Keldan calmly picked up an orange, made short work of the peel, split it, then held half out to her.

The juice dripped through his long, dark fingers. Josette swallowed hard, wariness battling longing as she contemplated that rare, sweet fruit.

Slowly, cautiously, never taking her eyes from his, she sat down on the empty bench.

“Do not think this means I am giving in,” she informed him, hesitantly taking the orange. “Avril and I will be leaving at the first opportunity. I am...” She paused, unable to wait a second longer, and bit into the treat, transported to heaven by its ripe taste. “I am certain she is planning our escape even now.”

~ ~ ~

Escape was going to be impossible.

Avril reined the stallion to a halt on one of the hills to the west of Hauk’s keep, telling herself it was only the salty wind and loose strands of her hair that made her eyes burn with dampness. Tree branches and the ocean breeze had tugged her braid into disarray hours ago.

She was right back where she had started from at dawn, when she had set out to explore with high hopes—under the mistaken impression that she could circle the coast in a matter of hours.

All morning she had ridden along the shoreline, to the east and then back to the west, stunned by the vast size of the island. And as the sun had risen, her hopes had fallen.

She had not seen a single ship. Or a harbor. Or so much as one leaky rowboat.

Hauk had told her the truth. It truly seemed as if
no one
left Asgard Island. And she could guess why: to describe the coastline as inhospitable would be generous. Everywhere, towering cliffs gave way to the sea in a sheer drop, creating a series of narrow inlets. Even in those places where she
could
see a beach, it was little more than a thin ribbon of sand.

And all around, sharp, massive rocks protruded from the waters like the fangs of some giant, mythical beast, ready to crush in its jaws any passing ship.

Or anyone who dared try to leave here.

She lifted one hand to shade her eyes against the afternoon glare, looking out to sea. If the cliffs and rocks were not daunting enough, a silvery-white fog surrounded the island, hovering above the waves within a few miles of the shore. At first, she had thought it would dissipate when the sun rose, but the accursed stuff lingered, a mist that apparently remained unchanged no matter the time of day.

If it was a permanent feature of the weather here, she now understood how these Vikings had been able to remain hidden in this place so long. A ship could sail right past the island and never know it was here. Even if some sharp-eyed sea captain did notice Asgard, she doubted any but the most expert sailors would risk navigating such treacherous rocks. Especially in a fog like that.

She wiped at her eyes and nudged the stallion forward, the midday sun beating down on her, making her shoulders droop even lower. Though the air felt almost sultry, she shivered at the thought of that fog. It seemed unnatural somehow, reminded her of the mist she had seen around Gaston’s castle on the night before she left for Antwerp.

Shaking her head, she told herself not to be foolish. It was only fog. Harmless. A mere trick of the weather.

She turned the stallion inland, away from the sea and its silvery cloak. She had to find Josette. Avril had not intended to be gone all morning, had hoped to bring good news and a plan for escape back from her ride—and now she felt like both a terrible failure and a terrible friend. Her heart thudding with worry, she prayed that Josette was still safe and well.

She tapped her heels against the stallion’s flanks, galloping down the grassy hillside, heading for the town. Mayhap someone there would help her find her friend. Hauk had said she could visit but had neglected to mention where Josette would be.

The thought of her captor brought an unexpected knot to her stomach. She had been trying all morn not to think about the rough-hewn, perplexing Viking warrior who had brought her to this place. His words and actions last night still mystified her. What kind of man could kidnap her, marry her against her will, keep her from her child—yet also be capable of honor and gallantry, gentleness and concern for her?

And how was it possible that his every glance, his lightest touch, could rob her of reason and kindle unbidden heat within her?

Blushing, she banished Hauk Valbrand from her thoughts. She was supposed to be thinking of escape, not of her captor. For now he was gone, and for that she was grateful.

At least his destrier had proven to be more manageable than its owner. Ildfast responded well to her firm hand on his reins, carrying her swiftly down into the vale and across a rolling meadow. The wind caught at her braid and her skirts as she rode, the air thick with the scents of foliage and flowers in bloom. All around her, the sun blazed over tall grasses that danced in the wind.

The village that lay ahead had been built on a green, fertile plain, between the ocean on one side and a small range of mountains on the other. She could just discern the outline of the craggy peaks in the distance.

She might have called this place beautiful, Avril thought grudgingly, were she a
willing
visitor.

She slowed the destrier to a trot as she drew near the town, which was much larger than it had seemed from a distance last night. From here she could see scores of rooftops, large and small, of wood or thatch or stone. One odd fact made her brow furrow in puzzlement: There were no walls around this village. No towers, no gates, no defensive barriers of any kind. Not so much as a single sentry on patrol.

Her heart thudded. These people would not leave their homes so vulnerable to attack—unless they trusted that the cliffs and the rocky coast and the fog truly made it impossible for anyone to invade their island.

Or for anyone to escape.

The destrier’s hooves clattered on flat, smooth cobbles that paved a wide street as she entered the town’s outskirts. People bustled about their daily tasks—men, women, children. The air buzzed with dozens of conversations in that incomprehensible Norse tongue. Two boys of about fifteen walked by with fishing poles over their shoulders. Housewives leaned on windowsills, chatting with friends. A blacksmith’s hammer rang out on an anvil. A dog yapped at a squawking gaggle of geese.

Glancing around, Avril felt astonished. After being surrounded by a brawny sea of muscular Vikings last night, she had not expected to find the town so peaceful, so... normal. One by one, every head turned her way, and people slowly set aside their baskets and bundles and tools and pitchforks and stared at her.

Avril’s pounding heart seemed to fill her throat. For an instant, she regretted leaving behind the brooch Hauk had pinned to her last night. She refused to wear a badge of ownership that marked her as his.

But how would these people receive a strange woman in their midst? Especially when she looked a sight, as Avril knew she must, with her hair all askew and her gown stained with perspiration and dirt from her long ride. Might they be unpleasant, even hostile?

Several in the crowd started animated conversations with their fellows, gesturing at her and speaking quickly. Everyone gazed up at her with expressions of amazement and avid curiosity.

Then a few began to smile. Some called out what sounded like greetings.

And they all quickly left their work behind to gather around her, bowing or inclining their heads. Avril’s hand tightened on the reins and she drew the stallion up short, startled by the gestures of respect.

Ildfast tossed his head and she abruptly remembered that she was riding
Hauk’s
stallion. And from what little he had told her, he held a position of some importance among these people.

Apparently his wife—or rather, the woman they
believed
to be his wife—was due a certain amount of honor.

“Good... good day to you,” she said uncertainly, wishing more than ever that she knew a word or two of their tongue. Her whole life, she had been enamored of languages. Words in all their vivid colors fascinated her the way that spices in a kitchen fascinated other women. But now when she needed the skill most, it availed her naught. “Do any of you speak French?”

She doubted they could even hear her over the din. Her arrival was creating quite a commotion. Dozens more people came out of their dwellings to take a look at her. Before she knew what was happening, someone thrust a bouquet of flowers into her hands. Then a basket full of fruit.

“Wait... nay... I do not want any gifts. I need to find my friend. I—”

Ildfast snorted and reared skittishly. One of the men took hold of the reins to calm him. Someone else tucked a flower into his bridle. Before Avril or her horse could protest further, they were being led through the town in a festive procession. Someone started to sing a song.

“Wait, wait,” Avril cried, baffled at the way these people seemed so overjoyed to meet her. “I do not have time for this. Please, I must find my friend Josette—”

“Avril!”

Avril turned to see Josette pushing her way through the throng. “Oh, thank God!” She slipped from Ildfast’s back, thrust her armful of goods toward the nearest happy villager, and rushed into her friend’s embrace.

Josette wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Avril—”

“Josette, sweet mercy, are you all right?” Avril stepped back to hold her at arm’s length, breathless with relief to find her safe. “Hauk told me that you would not be harmed, but I was not certain I could believe—”

“Do not worry over me, Avril. I am fine. It was you I was concerned about. After breakfast this morn, Keldan and I stopped by your
vaningshus
—”

“Who? My what?”

“
Vaningshus
. That is their word for these odd dwellings of theirs.” She indicated the homes along the street, most built in the same style as Hauk’s: long structures made of stone, with roofs covered in thatch or overlapping squares of tree bark.

“And who is Keldan?”

“That is his name.” She indicated the tall, dark-haired man who elbowed his way through the crowd until he stood at her side—the man who had “married” her in last night’s ceremony.

“He speaks only a few words of French,” Josette continued, hooking an arm through Avril’s and leading her down the street. Some of the festive crowd followed along, one of them bringing Ildfast. “I cannot understand most of what he says, but he has been quite kind.”

“Josette, he abducted you.” Avril bestowed a frown upon her friend’s grinning captor. “That is hardly kind.”

“Aye, of course, you are right,” Josette corrected herself, a hint of color in her cheeks. “But... he has been most chivalrous. And today Keldan has been showing me the town.”

“Keldan has been showing you the town,” Avril echoed, surprised and a little concerned at the way her friend seemed so charmed by her handsome companion.

“Aye, and when we stopped by your
vaningshus
—he has also been teaching me a few words—you were not there.”

“I was out riding.”

Josette nodded. “I thought you might be exploring.” She glanced at the man beside her, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Have you found a way for us to escape?”

Avril hesitated. She had worried about frightening her friend with this news—but Josette seemed anything but frightened. And she needed to understand the situation. “Josette, from what I saw of the island, I do not think Gaston and his men will be able to help us. I think... I think we must depend on ourselves.”

“Well, you will think of something. I know you will.”

Before Avril could explain about Asgard’s lack of boats, Keldan interrupted.

“Come see,” he said in heavily accented French, taking Josette’s elbow and gesturing down a side street. “Good place. Come see.”

“He wants to show us something.” Avril regarded him warily.

“Aye.” Josette exchanged a look with her, then shrugged. “I do not think any harm will come of it, do you? This truly is the prettiest town I have ever seen. It rather reminds me of some of the villages in Brittany.”

“It does that,” Avril admitted reluctantly, thinking of the rugged coast and lush, green land dotted with sleepy villages. “Except that Brittany is not this warm.”

“True.” Josette turned her face up to the sun, closing her eyes and sighing in a way that made Avril feel decidedly uneasy. “Nor is it this wealthy.”