Maybe it was one of the several children who belonged to the servants who worked in the house. She tried to swallow her nervousness and crept toward the wood pile. She held her breath, hoping to be surprised by the dirty face of a small child, but as she peered around the lengths of pine and breathed in the scent of the wood, she heard another voice.
“I have to speak to her,” the man growled.
“You cannot—”
Bersi.
“She must know!”
Torunn’s throat tightened and she was about to move away from the wood pile when her foot struck a log and sent it tumbling to the ground, taking a portion of the pile with it. The two men whirled around and she caught sight of Bersi’s face before she stumbled backward and tripped over the fallen logs.
14
Torunn scrambled in the snow-covered mud and struggled to her feet. Her ribs hurt, and her breath came in ragged gasps as she ran back to the open doors of the house and the warmth beyond. How had she come so far without realizing it?
“Torunn, wait!”
Bersi ran after her, but she beat him to the house. She skidded through the door and slammed it shut behind her. Bersi’s fist slammed against the wood and she jumped back in surprise. She could not block the door, and she was struck by how ridiculous it was for her to be frightened. She knew him. She trusted him.
But did she?
Torunn backed away from the door and ran to her chamber. She could block that door. She could keep him out. She grabbed the jug of mead on her way and as the double doors of the house opened, she slipped through her own door and pushed it closed.
She pulled a large wooden chest in front of the door and set the jug down on the floor.
“Torunn… Torunn, you must come out.”
Bersi’s voice was hushed but insistent.
“I will not,” she hissed. “You will be caught. We will both be caught. And I will not speak to whomever you were conspiring with by the woodpile.”
“I was not—” Bersi let out a frustrated breath. “Please. Varin has discovered something…”
Torunn laughed shortly. “Varin? But he is being watched, and you have brought him to the Jarl’s house? You are a fool! My brother will take your heads and laugh while he does it.” She sat down on the chest and drew the jug of mead to her lips. “Save your scheming for another night.”
Bersi pushed against the door and Torunn felt it flex against her back, but she did not move.
“Will you speak to him?”
“No.”
Bersi tried the door again. “You are being unreasonable— You will want to hear what he has to say.”
Perhaps she did, but at that precise moment, she wanted to be left alone.
“No.”
She heard another frustrated grunt, and expected him to try the door again, but instead, he walked away from the door, and she was left listening to the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the taste of mead in her mouth. But it was bitter on her tongue, and she drank more to wash away the taste and the grit of mud in her mouth.
Torunn’s eyes flew open at the feel of the cold salve on her skin. She grabbed for her knife, but a thin shriek of surprised horror and Torunn realized that it was not Bersi who hovered over her.
“Heldi,” she gasped.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. No… I am— I thought you were— Where is Bersi?”
The woman shook her head. “He is not here. I thought you sent him on an errand. He told me to see to your wound.”
Torunn rubbed a hand over her face and tried to smile. “Thank you. I did. It was good of you to help.”
“I do not like the idea of a man like that doing this kind of work,” she muttered as she placed the seal back on the stone jar of salve. She set it on the table near her bed and frowned at Torunn’s ribs. “I do not like the look of these scars…”
“My father was always proud of my scars,” she said. “He told me that it was the mark of a warrior. A warrior without memory of his battles was no warrior at all.”
Heldi brought out a new length of linen bandages and held them out for Torunn. “I would not trade memories for marks.”
“You are not a warrior,” Torunn snapped. She slid her knife beneath the pillow and snatched the linen out of the other woman’s hands.
“I am not,” Heldi replied just as sharply. “And if I had been born a man I still would not have been one.”
Torunn smiled and Heldi shook her head and helped her to secure the bandage as Bersi had. She tied the knot and grimaced at the tightness in her shoulder.
“Did Bersi say when he would return?”
Heldi shrugged. “He said nothing more than to help you,” she replied. She wiped her hands on her dress and straightened. She pointed to a tray of food. “Eat something. Do not drink. Now, I have work to do. Get up.”
Torunn laughed and then sighed heavily and swung her legs over the bed. The door to her chamber closed as Heldi left her, and she reached down to pull out fresh clothes. She had far too much on her mind, and her sleep had been troubled and uncomfortable.
Bersi had already told her that Varin was being watched. He should never have brought him to speak to her. But what if he had stopped Varin from making a mistake that would have been impossible to correct?
Varin would be able to tell her the truth about what had happened to her father. He had tried to speak to her before—and he had almost died defending her father’s honor. And her.
She pulled a tunic over her head and bit her lip to keep from crying out as her ribs throbbed. Her cloak was covered in mud, but it was all she could reach, and she did not want to ask Heldi for anything. The jug of mead from the night before stood on the floor, and she drained what was left of it before she grabbed a chunk of bread from the plate that Heldi had brought.
Torunn swept out of the room and strode through the house. Her brothers’ chamber was silent, and she could only guess that he had spent the night in the hall with his warriors and friends.
“Friends,” she muttered. They were not his friends. They were dogs waiting for scraps to fall from the Jarl’s table, but Hallvard would not see that. They had gathered at her father’s elbow, too, but he at least had the wit to see them for what they were. He did not reward them with land and riches as her brother did.
It was too cold to snow, but the clouds were gathering, and another storm was on the horizon. She walked through the quiet streets of Skaro, looking for any sign of Bersi or Varin.
Eyes followed her, and she could hear murmured conversation, but could make out nothing distinct in any of it. She was so lost in her own confused thoughts that she did not realize she had walked to the shoreline until she heard the creak of the ships and the gentle lap of the waves upon the rocks.
She stared out at the smooth gray surface of the water and tried to clear her mind of every confusing thought that plagued her. She had not yet been able to grieve for her father, and that pained her more than any wound ever could.
The tears she had kept inside since she had been told of his death pricked at her eyelashes, but instead of brushing them away, she allowed them to fall down her cold cheeks.
Her father’s ship, now her brother’s ship, had been pulled to shore ahead of the others. She had not stepped onto its deck since it had departed for the Saxon raid. Without a second thought she scrambled up the side and pulled herself over the railing. Her feet landed on the deck with a familiar thud and she smiled at the feel of the wood under her boots.