The Quest For Gillian’s Heart

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The Quest for Gillian’s Heart by Catherine Snodgrass ISBN 1-55316-040-1

Copyright © 2001 Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Copyright © 2001 Catherine Snodgrass Cover Art by Trace Edward Zaber Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law. Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Snodgrass, Catherine The quest for Gillian’s heart [computer file] ISBN 1-55316-040-1

I. Title PS3569.N62Q47 2001 813’.6 C00-933288-X

Table of Contents Author Info Publisher Info Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Excerpts

CHAPTER 1

The Journey, Late Winter, 890 a.d. Andor brushed his hand across the overlapping planks of riveted pine. Every so often he caught a whiff of the tarred animal hair he and his men had used to seal the ship.His ship. A year in the making. Fifteen years of dreams. No other ship was finer - not even those of Olaf or Leif, which sat nearby waiting to follow him on this journey. His gaze wandered to the prow. Astrid’s carved likeness smiled down at him. It was a fitting homage to his woman, his wife, the mother of his unborn child. A sudden night breeze swirled his hair about his bearded face. Andor pulled a small strip of leather from his kirtle to tie the blond strands in place. Then he wrapped his fingers around the amulet of Thor’s hammer which hung from his neck. "May Aegir bless this journey with these winds." It seemed the godshad been watching over him since his first trip at the age of twelve. He felt as much anticipation now as he had then. Years of seafaring, trading, and raiding with his uncle had taught him much and made him wealthy. Now the gods decreed it was time to move on to other pursuits. Time to settle with a family and till the soil. The thrill of a new adventure in a pristine land surged in his blood. The weight of responsibility stilled the rush. He mentally checked preparations made. All was packed for the trip across the sea. The walrus ivory, ropes from the hides of seals and walruses, skins, and furs for trading. The seeds, tools, household goods, and stores for settling. Cattle, sheep, goats, and horses would be loaded at sunrise. There was also a large box of sand on each vessel for the women’s cooking fires. Nothing had been overlooked for a successful journey. He admired the handiwork on the ship once more. It was a large, sturdy vessel almost eighty feet from prow to stern with each end curving gracefully toward the sky. At its widest portion it was eighteen feet. It was here he placed the hold to secure the animals and goods. Loose pine floorboards on the deck allowed storage underneath and easy access to bail out bilge water. A woolen sailcloth waited to be unfurled. If the winds were not with them, sixteen sets of oars lay ready to be put to use. Fully laden with all the possessions they owned, the ship would still ride high in the water, masterfully carrying them to the farmland Andor had claimed as his the year before in Iceland. Iceland. A country of lush green valleys and soothing hot springs was hidden behind that foreboding name. The instant Andor had seen it, he knew he had found home. His cousin, Leif, and Olaf, husband to Andor’s sister, had felt the same. Together they returned to the land of Andor’s birth to plan their future. And there Andor took the bride arranged for him during his absence. It was an adequate match. Even though she was a bit frail, even though she was nine years his junior, even though there was no fire in the veins of his shy, young bride...well, that was also part of settling down. His days of fiery women were over. His hope of a love match gone with them. With adulthood came new responsibilities - those which made a wife a necessity. Andor felt a slight tug on his hair. Only one person would dare taunt him so. With a smile teasing his lips, he looked down at his sister, Freyda. Her head just reached his shoulder. The moonlight caught the golden sparkle in her forest green eyes, so much like his own. Two years younger, married with a young

son of her own, she was still his greatest confidante. "What brings you out this night?" "The same that brings you," she replied. "Thoughts of the journey weigh heavy on me. I saw you from the door." "You are frightened." It was more of a statement than a question. "Yes. ‘Tis so very far. So very long." She hugged herself as if suddenly chilled. "You traveled with Olaf many times since you wed." "To trade, never to leave Northland forever. I shall miss Mother and Father. Björn and his family. And Hildy, of course." Andor chuckled at the mention of their youngest sister. "Of course." "They will never see Erik grow. They will never see your child," Freyda said with a sigh. "We have little choice. There is no room here for us." Andor looked toward the fjord which would take them to the open sea. "You will love Iceland, Freyda. The rivers are so clear you might see the bottom. You could even build your home over a tiny stream and have water without going outside. And the land - as green as those beautiful eyes of yours. ‘Twould take a day’s walk to get from the center of my land to the center of yours. ‘Tis a wonderful place to rear a child." Freyda smiled. "You make it sound like the land of the gods." Andor chuckled again. "‘Tis the closest we mortals will come to Asgard." "Then if we hope to get a good start in the morning, we should try to sleep...before Astrid awakens and finds you gone. She does need her rest." Andor nodded and fell in step beside her. Astrid did not carry the child well. Weariness and sickness plagued her, yet she refused to remain idle. The voyage would not be easy on her, yet to delay would cause them to miss the spring planting time. With luck and strong winds, they would arrive before the time and still have a wait for the babe’s birth. It was good to leave now while Astrid was still light with child. "Sleep well, brother." Freyda ducked into her bed closet. "Sleep well." Andor was careful not to disturb Astrid as he crept into the small room in which they slept. He slipped off his soft leather boots and pulled his kirtle over his head. He paused at the tapered trousers. It would only embarrass Astrid if she were to discover he chose to sleep in the nude. Andor drew a deep breath, released it slowly, then crawled beneath the warmth of the furs. He longed to caress the slightly rounded bulge of her belly. Again Astrid’s embarrassment prevented it.

He curled his body around his wife’s. In her sleep she groaned a protest. Andor reluctantly pulled away, turning his back to hers as he waited for sleep to close his eyes. Dawn’s gray hours found the settlement stirring with activity. Astrid and the other women bustled about with last minute preparations. Smells of breakfast filled the longhouse, but anxiety refused to allow Andor to eat. He strapped his sword to his belt then tossed his red cloak around him, pinning it with a penannular brooch at his right shoulder. He reached for his helmet and shield, then recalled both were already on the ship. "Do not be long, wife." Andor dropped a kiss on Astrid’s upturned cheek then watched in amazement as a flush followed. Perhaps childbirth would make her less restrained. "Only one or two things left to do," she replied. "The barrels of fresh water are being loaded now, and we must not forget our bed furs." Andor gathered the mound of furs then turned to find Astrid close behind him. He smiled, kissed her fully, then laughed at her red cheeks. As usual she could not be pulled into play and instead avoided his gaze. "Thora moves stiffly this morning." Andor sighed and shook his head. Leif had beaten his wife again. It was all too common these days. "‘Tis really not my place to interfere with a man and his wife." "But the child she carries could well be hurt," Astrid said. That much was true, but he doubted Leif cared. "I will speak to him." As Andor stepped into the morning, his eyes scanned the bustle of people for Leif’s black head. Instead, he found Thora, struggling under a load of furs. She had been a beauty in her youth with brown hair that gleamed with gold when the sun touched it. Andor had once thought to make her his wife, but in his long absences other arrangements had been made. That was unfortunate for Thora. Life with her husband had taken its toll. Now, no luster sparked her eyes. At times she looked older than Andor’s mother instead of the young girl Andor’s heart had sought. She was as long with child as Astrid yet looked twice as large, giving Andor cause to wonder if the tales of Thora’s infidelity were true. "He beat her again." Andor turned to the scowling visage of his red-headed brother by marriage. Olaf’s blue eyes looked past the woman to the man responsible. "If he cannot tolerate her, then he should set her free to find happiness as another man’s wife. Rollo’s perhaps," he said with a jerk of his head. Andor looked back as Rollo hurried forward to help Thora. The towering young blacksmith was powerfully built yet gentle with all smaller than him. His desire to help Thora was nothing he would not do for others, but one person took offense. With a face as dark as a thundercloud, Leif strode to them.

Andor dropped his furs and raced forward to intercept Leif. Leif yanked a leather strap from his belt and raised it high. Thora whimpered and cowered to the ground, expecting to be beaten. "No!" Andor shouted. Leif froze, shocked that he should be interfered with. "I asked Rollo to take the furs so that Thora might help Astrid. You know how sickly she has been." Andor prayed the gods would forgive his lie. Leif lowered his hand. "Go." The woman waddled away before her husband could change his mind. Andor took a deep breath. He had gone this far, what more could hurt? "I wanted to speak to you of Astrid. This long voyage will be hard on her. There are few women on my ship. You have many on yours. I would like Thora to travel with us to help Astrid." Leif considered it for a few moments. "Done." He stooped to pick up half the furs. "The rest are hers." He turned on his heel and walked away. Rollo picked up the remaining furs. "I will carry these and yours to your ship. You may tell Thora of the change." "I will," said Freyda from behind. For the first time Andor realized that Freyda and young Erik were standing there. She lifted the hem of her shift and ran to share the news with the other two women. The spinning tools which hung from the brooches at each of her shoulders clattered in her rush. "‘Tis only a short reprieve for Thora," Andor said with a sigh. "Come, Olaf, we have a ship to set to water. Enough time has been wasted this dawn." There was a tug on his trousers and Andor looked down at Erik. Born five years ago this month, the boy boasted a shock of red hair. He was Olaf’s image born again. "May I help launch your ship, uncle?" Andor ruffled his hair. "A strong hand is always needed...Come." Andor’s walk to the vessel was a signal for others. They hastened to join him for the task. Several ran ahead to remove the wedges which held the roller logs in place. By the time Andor reached the ship, forty men stood ready to help him. The ship moved slowly over the logs. As one roller was uncovered it was carried forward. When only the stern remained ashore, a rousing cheer burst from the men. Now came the painful ordeal of saying farewell. Andor embraced his remaining family then stood aside while Astrid and Freyda did the same. He shook his head as the women began to cry.Always so sentimental. It was true he would miss his family, but not enough to cry like an infant.

Realizing the dawn was fading, the ladies hurried to their respective ships. The ramp was hauled in and, with a final shove, Andor’s vessel bobbed upon the water. With Andor as helmsman, the men set their oars in the water. They glided down the fjord while Olaf and Leif followed in their ships. Andor memorized the steep, green cliffs as they edged toward the sea. Home was now Iceland. The mouth of the fjord widened. The ocean beckoned. "Rollo, take over," Andor said. "Raise the mast and hoist the sail." The men set the long pole in a block to hold it in place. Once it was secure, they tugged the yard arm to the top of the mast. The great scarlet and gold sail, a gift made for Andor by his mother, filled with wind and pulled them into the sea. "‘Tis beautiful," Astrid said from beside him. In an uncharacteristic display of affection, she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Thank you for helping Thora." He covered her with his arms. "‘Twill not last. You know that." "‘Tis enough for now." She stretched on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "On to Iceland." Andor smiled. "Yes, to Iceland." The trip down the coast was swift without event - a boring time for those onboard. To speed their journey, they rarely spent the night on shore. When they did so, Astrid made a good show of needing help so that Leif would not take Thora back. So far it was a plan that worked, but Andor worried what Thora’s fate would be when they reached their destination. The men and women passed their time working on crafts or listening to Astrid play her harp. Rollo carved combs from reindeer antlers while other men fished or fashioned jewelry out of old coins and glass beads. Their passage was peaceful. Even a three-day stay to trade at the Shetlands went well. The ships were nearing the Faroes when rough seas tossed them from their sleeping skins that morning. Wind slammed against them, listing the vessel to one side. "Haul in the sail!" Andor shouted. "Rollo, man the tiller! Keep us from those rocks!" Andor fought the sail with twenty other men, battling the wind for possession. At the stern, Rollo and two of the strongest men steered the ship clear of jagged rocks. Even with the wind battering his ears, Andor could hear the sound of wood scrapping stone. He prayed it was only his imagination. He jerked his head in that direction and saw a terrifying sight - Thora leaning over the edge. "No!" Wind swallowed his voice. Andor dropped his sail line and struggled to reach her. Astrid edged toward her, her hand extended before her. She swiped air trying to grab Thora’s cloak. The ship rocked. Thora lost her balance in favor of Astrid. Before she could return to her suicidal perch, Astrid caught a handful of her cloak. Like a mother scolding a wayward child, Astrid pulled her charge further away. The ship rolled once more, throwing the occupants about while a massive wave crashed over them. Watery tentacles threatened to pull Andor into its depths. He tangled his arm in the sail line and held on.

When the water cleared, only one woman remained. "Astrid!" Andor leaped over people to reach the spot where he’d last seen them. Thora lay curled like a babe, sobbing. He raced to the rail, shouting his wife’s name into the stinging needles of icy rain. "Andor, look!" a man called out. He spun around, hoping for a sign of Astrid. Instead, through the gray haze, he saw Olaf’s ship smash into the very rocks they had just avoided. The ship turned on its side, caught by the gray spires, while the sea tried to scoop out its contents. Andor looked around the deck, trying to decide what to do next. Astrid was not the only one who was lost. At least ten others had been washed away. His every instinct screamed to find her yet he knew that was impossible. He was leader of this expedition. He had to save those he could.That was his responsibility. His heart had never felt more torn. "What do we do?" Rollo shouted. Andor scanned the area and saw Leif’s vessel slip past him. Obviously,he had made a decision and, at that moment, so had Andor. "Steer close to Olaf’s ship, but not near the rocks. We will lash our ship to it and try to right it." It was work that helped Andor keep his mind off Astrid’s loss. He never asked himself what he would do if he discovered Freyda, Olaf, and Erik were also gone. As they neared the other vessel, he leaped aboard, a seal rope clutched tightly in his grip. Five of his men followed. They lashed the ropes to the crossbeams at each ship’s floor, and Andor waved Rollo to pull back. Slowly the ship was righted, and a gaping hole in her side was revealed. "Everyone onto my ship. Take everything with you." Andor jumped onto the hold to hand boxes up. "Andor!" Freyda cried out, and tossed her arms around him. He held her close, fighting desperately against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "Olaf is gone." She pointed to her husband’s inert body. His neck was twisted at a strange angle. "Erik?" Andor asked. Freyda tossed back a pile of skins. The boy huddled beneath them, frightened and teary-eyed. Andor caught them in his arms and carried them to the safety of his ship while the men salvaged all they could find, including the bodies of their fallen friends. Then Olaf’s ship was released to let the sea claim what it was so determined to have. "To shore, Rollo," Andor said. "We have our dead to care for." It was as fitting a funeral as they could arrange so far from home - a simple grave for each person with all their possessions that remained to accompany them on their next journey. A few others had washed ashore with the evening tide, including Astrid whose lovely face was bloated in death. Andor was grateful

he could give her a proper send off. As he placed her gently in her grave, he touched her rounded belly for the first and last time. At least mother and child would be together in the next life. It was an emotional time for all, but Andor refused to allow himself to give in to tears. They had lost thirty people. It was time for decisions, not emotions. When the last grave was marked, he faced his people. "We have lost much and come far, but I will gladly return those who wish to go home." Leif took a stand beside him. "I have no desire to return just to start another journey next year, but I will give my ship and half my provisions for those of you who wish to leave. If that is all right with Andor." Andor nodded. There was a murmur among the people and slowly each one made a decision. More than half chose home. Without question Leif’s animals and half his stores were moved to Andor’s ship. The thirty who remained waved their friends off. "To Ireland?" Leif asked Andor. Andor rubbed the weariness from his neck. "I have no desire for raiding." "If not, we will not make it to Iceland," Leif said. Andor sighed and looked over the horizon. "Then we shall go a-viking." In his youth raiding had been an exciting experience. As he grew in years, his conscience did not agree with stealing from others. They were people just as himself. While he didn't understand their culture and did not want to, they spoke each other's language. Slaves and brides captured through the centuries had mingled with Andor's own, become a part of the world of the Northmen. To continue to pillage their villages was wrong, wasn't it? Still, Leif was right - they had to survive. When they reached Ireland, Andor would leave the raiding to Leif and remain onboard to await their return. Perhaps his guilt would then not be so great.

CHAPTER 2

Gillian glared at her husband’s inert figure. One fist found what used to be her waist while the other clutched a broom. He was still recovering from another night of drinking. Whenever there was a cup to be raised, Evan was there to lift it. Last night was once too often for Gillian. She narrowed her eyes and jammed the broom handle in his ribs. "Get up you lazy sot!" Evan groaned. She poked him again. "I said get up. You are a worthless excuse for a husband. I do not know why I married you." "Because no one would have a shrewish harpy like ya fer a wife," he mumbled from under his woolen blanket.

"A harpy am I?" She poked him again. Evan whipped back the blanket. "Stop it, woman. Yer puttin’ a hole in me side. I shoulda strapped yer backside when I first married ya." "And ‘twould be the last thing you ever did. Get up!" Evan winced. "Quit yer screechin’. How can so beautiful a lass sound like a fishwife? Leave me rest, woman. The chores can wait." He snapped the blanket over his head. Gillian whacked the hump of his buttocks with the other end of the broom. "The cow needs milking. Tell her bellering soul she can wait." She gathered her skirts in one hand and bounced from their small stone cottage. The wind blew one red curl before her eyes. Muttering a curse, Gillian snatched her green kerchief off a peg by the door to tie her heavy mass of hair back. The cow called from her stall. "Hold on, girl. I will care for you shortly." She turned her head over her shoulder so Evan could hear. "Eight months gone with child, but you can be sure I will be handling the chores. The cooking, the cleaning, the sewing, the milking...and the plowing and planting, too!" Evan slept on as Gillian knew he would. She grabbed the bucket and strode to the animals’ stall beside the cottage. For her cow’s sake, she tried to calm herself before milking, but neither the milking nor the calming would be an easy task. She caressed the animal and settled on the stool. After a deep breath, she strained forward to grab the teats. It was true - Evan was a poor husband. Gillian knew he would be before she married him. But she was past the age when girls marry, and her father was afraid she would be left alone when it came his time to go. Gillian could not refuse a dying man’s wish. She married a man of his choosing and called it a daughter’s duty. Evan had seen her dowry and her beauty - it was enough for him. After taking her virginity and getting her with child, he settled down to drink away the small fortune marriage had given him. Fortunately, Gillian’s father had not lived long enough to see it. "There’s a girl." Gillian patted the cow’s side then levered herself upright. "A half bucket. No wonder you were crying so." She dumped some grain into the trough. "Eat up. I will put you out to graze after the plowing is done." Gillian set the bucket of milk inside the cottage then draped the seed bag over her head. She was almost to the horse’s stall when she heard shouts and screams a short distance away. On tiptoe, she squinted toward the coast. The prow of a ship bore down on the beach. Already men were leaping from it, running to the tiny village with swords raised high above their heads. She gasped. "Gaill." Ducking into the stable with the animals, she pulled the door closed. It was the only hope she had of avoiding detection. A dash to the cottage would only bring their attention her way.

She’d heard tales of these pirates from the north. They wantonly slashed and burned their way through villages, taking what they wanted and killing anyone who would stand in their way. They took innocent folk as slaves and raped women. It was even said they ate babies. Gillian sucked in her fear and crouched at the head of her cow’s stall. The cries of her village people grew closer as the hoard of raiders overtook them. Women and children screamed. Terrified footsteps pounded a retreat past Gillian’s stable. Then she heard Evan shout, his voice still slurred from sleep and drink. "What do ya think yer doin’? That barrel of ale belongs to me!" Gillian buried her head in her arms. Their lives were being threatened, and Evan was worried about his ale. There was a scuffle, then silence. She refused to think of what fate had befallen her husband - he was no fighter. Footsteps crunched on the dirt around the stable. Gillian heard them pause by the door. It creaked open, bathing her and the animals in sunlight. She tried to make herself a smaller target as she stared up at the biggest man she had ever seen. His muscular figure filled the doorway; his sword covered with blood. Rollo looked down at the frightened young woman. Her wide blue eyes stared at him like she fully expected death to follow his arrival. How could he explain that he meant her no harm? That he had killed her husband to defend himself? He took a step toward her. "Do not eat my babe," she said. Rollo glanced at the belly as big as she was. "I only want the animals." He sheathed his sword and reached for the harnesses. Gillian struggled to her feet. "You cannot. How can I survive? You killed my husband, did you not?" Rollo nodded. "He came at me with a sickle." He pointed to the chickens. "Put them in their cages and bring them along." Panic pressed Gillian against the stall. "Are you capturing me too, then?" "I only mean to see you cared for. I killed your man. I will not see you starve because of it. You will come with me...willing or not. Not might hurt the babe." Gillian’s fear doubled. He was threatening her. Unconsciously she caressed the child within her. If slavery meant her baby’s survival, what choice did she have? Alone, with no means of support, they would surely starve. "You will not harm my child?" she asked, trying to keep the shiver from her voice. "You and the babe will not be harmed." How good was the word of a people who stole and killed? How long would she and her baby survive if she fought him? She gauged his might and began to quiver. With one hand he could strike her down and do as he wished. Or she could follow as bidden and pray her acquiescence would gain her some favor.

"Well?" Gillian gave a single nod. It took her only a minute to find the twig and leather cage that had been used when she bought her six chickens. It was where she had placed it the year before for safe-keeping. It took a little longer to load the fluttering mass of feathers. When she was done, she tilted her chin at the huge Northerner, forcing a show of bravery she did not feel. "To the ship," Rollo said. She walked out the door with the chickens, and he followed with her horse and cow. Gillian stole a glance to where Evan’s body lay face down in the sparse sod. He had run outside in only his breeches - no shirt, no shoes - all to save a barrel of ale that didn’t exist. He had drunk it the month before. His back was pooled with blood from the Northerner’s fatal wound. The sickle he had brandished lay by his side. Drunken fool. It didn’t occur to her to grieve. There was no emotional bond to wound her heart, not like there had been when her mother and father passed on. Her mind said, "What a pity," then her thoughts moved on to more incongruous things such as the pail of milk left in the cottage and the bag of seeds around her neck. She had never been more frightened, there was no doubt of that. So much so she couldn’t ask the towering giant next to her if she might retrieve her clothing or the things she had for the baby from the cottage. She fixed her gaze on the ship before her while her footsteps echoed the pounding of her heart. TwoGaill men caught her attention. Both were bearded as was the man beside her. The first, dark and scowling, marched male captives up the ramp. Twelve in all, single, young, strong. Gillian recognized eleven as Evan’s drinking companions. The twelfth was a novice monk, Seamus. She was grateful no fathers or husbands were among them. The second man stood at the prow, surveying the scene before him. Gillian was too far away to see his features, but his stalwart stance identified him as a leader of men. He wore no helmet, only a headband to keep his shoulder length, blond hair secure from the wind. He was powerfully built, his shoulders filled the tunic he wore. A red cloak was tossed back over those shoulders, and every so often it flared like a banner in the breeze. A woman stepped up beside him - a smaller, feminine version of himself. Wife? Sister? It was difficult to know. "Hasten, man!" the dark haired man yelled at her captor. Then he chortled. "If you were going to find a bride, you could have found one less used, Rollo." Gillian looked up at her captor’s impassive features, questioning him with her eyes. "Do not worry," he assured her. "All is well. Have a care on the ramp. ‘Tis a little steep." She juggled the caged chickens to her left hand, and lifted her skirts with her right. A steadying hand

grasped her elbow and took the cage. Gillian looked up, expecting to see Rollo. Instead, she found eyes the color of the forest looking back at her. "Easy up. Freyda will settle you." He indicated the woman Gillian had seen by his side. She stood at the top of the ramp waiting for them. Gillian accepted the help offered, surprised at their consideration of her when she was to be nothing more than a slave. "Rollo, I should like the tale that goes with this lady’s presence. Freyda, see she is comfortable." The woman smiled and offered her hands in greeting. "By what name may I call you?" "Gillian, daughter of Conor and Gwynneth." Again she was being treated more as an honored guest than as a slave. Cautious of trickery, she held her tongue. While the leader and Rollo put her animals in the hold and set the chickens aside, Freyda led her to a row of skin bags lined with furs. "This is where I sleep with my son, my brother, and Rollo. You will be warm and dry for our journey," she told her. A young red-headed boy smiled at her. "I am Erik." "And your brother?" Gillian asked Freyda. "He is Andor," she replied. "Where are we going?" "Iceland." Gillian eased down onto a pile of skins. She had heard tales of that place also. Fertile, green land. Mountains that smoked yet were topped with ice. But if barbarians could be respectful despite the stories she’d been told, perhaps Iceland’s tales were also false. She swallowed the tears that threatened to choke her and prayed for the strength to keep her wits about her. Andor listened to Rollo tell of his murder of the young woman’s husband. It was not uncommon for him to take her in. As a boy, Rollo had once killed a nursing doe. The guilt so overwhelmed him, he sought out the fawn and raised it on his own. Rollo’s problem now was what to do with her now that he had her. He had no need of a slave girl and no desire to wed. Andor watched her as they rowed out to sea. She stared around her with those ocean blue eyes of hers wide and fearful.Eat her babe - where would she get a thought such as that? By Freyda’s reckoning, she was not long from delivering. They had until that time to prove that she and her child would come to no harm with them. But what to do with her? He did not like the idea of having her as a slave, yet there was no question of her being cast aside. Andor supposed she could simply join his strange household of widowed people and one very gentle man.

He watched Leif saunter toward them, a smirk upon his lips. Andor knew he meant to tease Rollo. Although such jibes normally did not bother the younger man, this time Andor was sensitive to the emotional devastation Rollo was dealing with. Despite the fact he had merely been defending himself, Rollo would never forgive himself for what he deemed a senseless killing. Leif pounded Rollo’s back with an open palm. It had little effect on the burly blacksmith. "Shall we prepare the bridal ale?" Leif asked with a hearty chuckle. "Leave him be," Andor said. "She is not to be his bride." Leif rubbed his pointed beard as he studied Rollo. "If ‘twas a slave girl you wanted then, why not pick one not so big with child?" Andor stood between the two. "I said leave him be." Leif bowed his head in mock acquiescence before he turned away. His dark eyes rested on the red-haired beauty sitting where Freyda had put her. Andor had no trouble reading his expression. If she were a slave and not yet claimed, she was fair game for any man. Gillian did not miss the gleam in the dark man’s eyes as he walked toward her, and knew his intent was not to be courteous. His long, skinny legs closed the distance between them too fast for Gillian’s liking. She scrambled to her feet and dashed for the rail. Better to drown in the sea than to have the uglyGaill violate her. Leif jumped forward and snagged her arm. Gillian swung wildly with her free hand, clipping his chin. His expression changed from one of humorous victory to utter rage. With jaw clenched in fury, he raised his arm. Andor caught his wrist in a bone-crushing grip. "I cannot say how you treat your wife, but this woman you will not beat." He threw Leif’s arm away from him, and pulled Gillian behind his protective stance and into Freyda’s open arms. "She is a slave girl," Leif said. "You said no claim has been made of her." "I saidRollo makes no claim. I did not sayI did not." "And what might be this claim?" Leif demanded to know. "I claim her as wife." "By what right?" Andor remained calm. "‘Twas your wife who caused me to lose my wife and child. This woman is adequate compensation for that unpardonable loss." Leif would not dare argue with that logic. He turned to the woman behind him. "Gillian, daughter of Conor and Gwynneth, what say you? My wife has passed to the other world. Iceland can be an unforgiving land for one alone. Will you be the keeper of the keys to my properties and partner me?" Gillian looked from Andor to Leif and back again. Honorable marriage to one, enslavement to the other.

As with her decision to go with Rollo, there seemed little choice. At least Andor had done the unheard of by asking her preference, and he and hishad been kind to her...so far. She had endured her life with Evan - it could be no worse with Andor. And it was not the first timeGaill had marriedGaedhil . "Marriage to you." There was a flicker of a smile on Andor’s lips before he turned to Rollo. "You took her in. I look upon you as guardian. What bride-price do you place on this woman?" A crowd had gathered around. Rollo could not answer. Gillian’s standing among his people would be reflected by the price he asked for her. Too low would be an insult, too high might anger Andor. "Let me offer a bride-price then," Andor said. Rollo gave a single nod. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, Andor said, "I offer forty ounces of silver and one-quarter of my land." There was a collective gasp, followed by the low hum of murmuring. The significance was not lost on Gillian - Rollo had just become an independent man. "Do you agree?" Andor extended his hand to Rollo. With a broad smile, the other man accepted. A handshake sealed the betrothal. "She comes to you with a fine dowry," Rollo said. "Six chickens, a milch cow, a fine plow horse, and enough seed to plant your land thrice over." He removed the bag from around Gillian’s shoulders and passed it to Andor. So much had happened since she boarded the ship, she had forgotten she had it. Andor walked to a large wooden chest in his sleeping area. He unlocked it and removed a small, gold-festooned box which he also unlocked. Gillian heard coins clink as he measured out a portion into a pouch. Once he was done, the box and chest were relocked, and he returned to them. "‘Tis with great honor I pay this bride-price." Andor presented the pouch to Rollo. Rollo bowed his head slightly to show his respect then handed the pouch to Gillian. She frowned. "I do not understand." Freyda slipped her fingers over her shoulder. "‘Tis yours. Your bride-price. It stays with you always and passes to the children of your marriage." With shaking fingers Gillian accepted the money. She felt a sudden rush of tears. It was she who had become well off, not Rollo. In less than an hour’s time, she had seen more kindness among a people she had been told were barbarians than she ever saw in the year of living with a man of her own kind. Was it trick or truth? At that moment, she couldn’t trust herself to guess. "Our stores are low," Andor said to all. "We cannot have a wedding feast ‘til we reach Iceland. But break out the ale so that my bride and I might drink before you."

There was a bit of scurrying about and in short time two cups of ale were placed in Andor’s hands. In solemn regard, he gave one to Gillian then linked her arm through his. As they drank together, Gillian was aware of the muscle which flexed against her arm. He was as strong as she had first thought - in spirit as well as body. Their cups drained, they faced each other once more. Each person aboard drank in their honor, then a cheer went out among the small group, and everyone settled back to their tasks. "Freyda, see my wife has the things she needs. I must speak with Rollo." Gillian stared at his back as he walked away with the other man. Maybe it was the heady effects of the ale, or perhaps it was simply events catching up with her. Whatever it was, her tongue had finally found itself. "Is that it? Am I to be dismissed? You call this a wedding? I call it foolery. I know your ways are heathen and you have not embraced the Christian faith, but you have lost your mind if you think I am willing to accept this as proper." She had drawn attention their way once more. There were titters of laughter among her captured villagemen. "Maybe the wedding night will make her feel more proper wed," a man shouted from the rear. Gillian jammed her fists at her sides and stomped toward Andor. "Is that what this is about? Tell her she is wed and she is yours to bed?" Andor stared down into eyes the color of fiery blue diamonds. She had spice to her - he liked that. His property would be well protected by her in his absence. "I married to protect you, but I am thinking it might be me who needs the protection...from you." With a smile, he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around until he could pull her back against him. Gillian stiffened. "The lady wants a properChristian ceremony," he said, addressing the crowd. "Is there a man among those captured who might perform this deed?" "Seamus trained as a monk," a man called out. "He’ll be knowin’ the words." Andor lifted a questioning brow Gillian’s way. She pursed her lips, still unsure as to how proper this would be. Finally, she relented. "Unbind our captives," Andor said. "They will travel with us or jump to the sea, whichever suits them. Send Seamus forward." A young man with the face of a ferret was pushed to them, and a second ceremony performed. "Is there something else you require, wife?" Andor asked when they were done. "No, ‘twill do."

"Then I graciously request leave of you that I might conduct my business with Rollo." He took one of her work-roughened hands in his and bowed low over it. As he righted himself, he paused long enough to kiss her knuckles. After a wink to her, he stepped away with Rollo. Gillian caught the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. He had deliberately mocked her and the sanctity of the Christian ceremony she had requested. She crossed her arms on top of her belly and tapped her foot. She felt Freyda’s hand on her arm. "I welcome you as sister. I hope we will be as close as Astrid and I were." "Who is Astrid?" "Andor’s first wife. She, my husband, and several of our people were lost in a storm not long ago. She was trying to save Thora when a wave washed her into the sea." Freyda motioned with her head, and Gillian saw an expectant woman sitting near the hold. Her head was bent low, as if she sought to hide herself. "You and yours will come to no harm in Andor’s home. You will be protected and well cared for. My brother is a good man." Gillian thought it best to make that determination on her own. "Come," Freyda said. "I have some bolts of cloth which will do for you and the babe. We must work quickly so the babe does not arrive with nothing to wear." She took Gillian to a chest filled with cloth and soft leathers. The colors were striking - red, blue, green, and goldenrod. Gillian caressed the linen. It was well-made and would be comfortable against the skin. Freyda pulled a length of blue out and draped it over Gillian’s shoulder. "‘Twill be difficult to size while you are with child." "The wait is not long," Gillian said. "I can make do. My wee one has naught." She nodded. "Then we shall plan for the child now and you after. If need be, we might borrow from Thora." Still suspicious, Gillian listened to Freyda plan for the child, adding a preference from time to time. From the way of things, it looked like her baby would have more than she had managed to gather in the eight months previous. Gillian felt her discomfort ease, then drew herself up short. Where is your grief, girl? Evan had been killed only hours before. Why hadn’t she cried? Why didn’t she mourn? She rested her hands on her belly and stole a glance at Andor - her new husband. He and Rollo sat with their backs to her, their heads bent close in conversation. A strange man he was. To lose a wife and take another? To protect her, he said. And to have a helpmate for his lands. Gillian narrowed her eyes. And for what else? What man didn’t want that? They were all nothing more than rutting beasts.Well, you wed him so now you have to do your wifely duty , her conscience scolded.

It couldn’t be as bad as the first time with Evan. Still, he was a stronger man. Gillian felt tears prick and blinked them back. She’d get through it, just like with Evan. When night had fallen and she eased into her sleeping skins, Gillian kept telling herself that over and over. One by one those around her settled down. A few snores drifted to her ears. She prayed he would not seek her out, but he did. As he approached, Gillian’s courage failed. She squeezed her eyes shut and lay stiffly on her back. There was a draft of cold air as Andor raised the skins and furs, then she felt the warmth of his body beside her. "Please have a care." Her voice quivered with apprehension. "Be done with me quick and please do not hurt my babe." Andor leaned up on his elbow to study her face in the pale moonlight. She was genuinely frightened. He recalled his wedding night with Astrid. She, too, had been afraid, yet her trust in him had been implicit. He had not disappointed her. There was no trust in this one. No desire. No love. Only his need, his responsibility, to protect her. "I have only just lost my wife and the babe she carried. My heart is still too wounded to want another woman." Her blue eyes flashed open. "But you wed me." "To protect you from Leif, not to take you to my bed," he replied. "But we will not let the others know our secret or Leif might say our marriage is invalid. Agreed?" Gillian nodded her consent, and Andor lay back down. "There is one thing I would like of you," he said. "That is?" "May I touch the babe?" She groped for his hand and placed it on her belly. The baby responded with a kick. Andor jerked back. Gillian giggled. "‘Tis all right." She put his hand back. Andor marveled at the life rolling within her. His fingers followed the movement, softly caressing the mound. Tears welled up in Gillian’s throat. It was so tender a gesture, so unexpected. How had she known what she missed from Evan until this moment? She started to cry for the emptiness of her life with Evan, for the generosity of people who were supposed to be barbarians, and for this man who had lost his beloved wife and child. Andor gathered her close. "Hush now. All will be well. I meant not to hurt you." Gillian couldn’t speak for her tears. All she could do was put his hand back on her belly and cry against his welcome shoulder.

CHAPTER 3

No pinks or golds touched the predawn sky - it was going to be overcast and gray. Andor was reluctant to leave the warmth of his bedding and the feminine form curled against him. It was the pressing need to relieve himself that decided his course of action. Careful not to disturb Gillian, he eased from their nest of furs and skins, and walked to the rail. There he jerked open the drawstring on his trousers and let loose a welcome stream. "Would you care for a meal now, husband?" Andor jumped at the sound of Gillian’s soft-spoken question. He scrambled to readjust his clothing, then tried to face her as if nothing unusual had occurred. His well-kept beard could not hide his embarrassment at her having caught him answering his body’s call. Gillian felt her face warm in response. An apology would only prolong their discomfort. She chose to ignore the incident. "I thought a bowl of porridge with fresh milk would be filling for you." "That it would." "I will prepare it after I get my milking done." Andor caught her elbow before she could walk away. "The ramp down to the hold is steep. You will not go down. I can do the milking for you." "She and the horse will be needing their feed. It’s woman’s work - " "You take care of the chickens and the food. Leave the stock to me. I have other animals that need tending, too." Gillian cocked her head in wonder as he walked to the hold. She was accustomed to a man helping around the farm - that was the way of her parents. But living with Evan had dimmed her memory of that type of family environment. She was used to doing it all on her own. Now that she did not have to, she felt at a loss as to what she should do. It would be nice to take her time and prepare a hearty meal for Andor’s group of people, instead of throwing things together. But first she needed to tend to her own morning needs. After discreetly using the slop bucket, she dumped the contents over the side rail and set about preparing her meal. Gillian arranged some kindling in the box of sand used for the cook fires. It was a clever invention, she decided. Much more practical than having cold meals for their entire journey. With the stone and small iron bar she found beside it, she struck a spark, smiling when the flames ignited. After adding a few more pieces of wood, she set the cauldron to heat. How much porridge to make? The evening before she counted forty-three people, yet noticed Freyda only prepared food for those under Andor’s care. Thora and the women who traveled with Leif were responsible for their people. Still, Freyda had shared extra

bread with them and they their meat with her. It was a nice gesture. She saw Thora had risen and begun preparing their meal. If she were to be part of these people, it would be best to extend courtesies as soon as possible. Gillian fed her chickens a measure of grain while she checked them for eggs. She retrieved only four, but was grateful for that. In these new surroundings, she was surprised they had laid at all. After pouring softened oats and barley in the cauldron of hot water, she carefully set two of the eggs on top to cook. With the other two eggs cushioned in her hand, she walked to the rear of the ship where Thora was struggling to start her cook fire. As she passed the hold, Gillian couldn’t resist taking a peek at Andor. She was surprised to find him smiling up at her. "Checking to see if I am doing it right?" Gillian couldn’t resist a smile back. She held up the eggs. "We have four this morning. I thought to take some to Thora." "She will be grateful. All of our chickens quit laying once we set sail. Take her this also." He set half a pail of milk on deck. "It comes from their cow. I thought to spare Thora the burden of climbing down here." "I will tell her not to worry about it then." She wondered at Andor’s consideration of the woman when her own husband seemed not to care. Even now Thora looked fearfully over her shoulder at Leif while she fought to light the fire. The more failures she had, the more her slender fingers shook. Gillian waddled forward, careful not to slosh the milk. Thora looked up. Tears glistened in her deep brown eyes. Gillian’s compassion for the woman overwhelmed her. She fought the urge to gather her in her arms. "Here, let me. It has a way of being stubborn." She gently took the stone and iron from her. "I brought you these and milk from your cow. Andor will care for her ‘til we reach Iceland." Thora stared at the eggs placed in her hand as if she weren’t quite sure what they were. Gillian struck a healthy spark and the kindling caught. Thundering footsteps rattled the planking. Gillian knew without looking that Leif was coming their way. "What is this woman doing in my camp?" Thora shrank from him and held out the eggs in offering. "She brought these and a pail of milk." "My wife does not take charity from slave girls, no matter how high they marry." He kicked the wooden bucket over. Milk flowed toward Gillian’s feet, seeping between the planks before it reached her. "Fool! The milk was yours!" Leif took a step forward, his hand poised to strike her. The point of a sword appearing over her

shoulder stopped him. Gillian felt the protective curl of Andor’s arm around her shoulders and leaned into his warmth. But her gaze never left the dark-bearded man before her. "You refuse a gift from my camp to yours?" Andor asked. Blood feuds had started for lesser reasons. All those around waited for Leif’s answer. "Only from whom it came," he finally replied. "If it came from my wife, it came from me," Andor said. "Your cow gave the milk. The eggs came from us. You have foolishly wasted the one, do you wish to do the same with the other?" Leif held out his hand to Thora, and she gave him the eggs. "Since I have acted the fool," the word came out on gritted teeth, "I have no right to your offering." Andor would have accepted their return - two things stopped him: the barely controlled fury in his new wife’s beautiful face and the longing in Thora’s. He recalled Thora had a fondness for eggs. "I would ask, then, that I be allowed to offer them to Thora in thanks for the help she gave to Astrid on the first part of our journey." Leif’s black eyes turned cold, but there was no way he could refuse Andor. With a gracious nod, he gave Thora the eggs then stomped to the rail. "Enjoy them, Thora," Andor said. "I shall. Thank you." With Gillian still under his arm, Andor sheathed his sword and walked back to the prow. "Why is she so fearful of him?" Gillian whispered. Andor stooped to pick up their own pail of milk. "Leif has taken to beating her." "Is there nothing you can do?" "In my country as in yours, no man may interfere with another’s marriage. ‘Tis not a thing I like, but...." He shrugged. "I would not put up with any man laying hands on me." Andor looked down at her fine-boned features and laughed. "Strong and feisty you might be, but you would be no match for a man bent on beating you." Gillian tilted her head his way, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Aye, ‘tis true, but he would be taking his food from me. He would not be the first to die from the wrong mushrooms." Andor tossed back his head and laughed. "Remind me to have a care what nourishment I take from your hands." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Remind yourself not to be raising a hand to me."

He stopped and cupped her chin in his hand. "That I would never do." They were close. A foot more and their lips would be touching. Andor expected to see her cheeks redden, then he realized - this was not Astrid. Gillian felt an awkwardness rise up in the absence of their banter. Even though they’d slept in the warmth of each other’s body, this new closeness unnerved her. It was she who pulled away first. "I will take this from you." She took the milk and set it near her cauldron of porridge. The rest of his people had arisen in their absence. Gillian greeted each with a smile as she ladled milk into cups they presented to her. Freyda was content to sit aside and work on baby things while Gillian took her rightful place as Andor’s wife. Once the porridge was done, Gillian filled a bowl and topped it with milk and a drizzle of honey. In a separate bowl, she broke up pieces of bread and cracked the egg over it. Then she held up both for Andor. The message was clear - she would feed him but she would not serve him. She did not fawn over him. Andor was not certain if he liked that about her or missed the doting he got from Astrid. He had wanted a strong wife, an equal. It appeared as though the gods had granted his wish. Their cost? Astrid’s life. Now in death he appreciated those special qualities he had found annoying in life. Her unqualified adoration of him was among them. In Astrid’s eyes he was her god and she placed him high upon a pedestal to worship and care for. This wife would never consider him for more than what he was. One step toward a pedestal and she would knock it over, bringing him back to the level of human. A bit of reality he sorely needed in a group which looked upon him to solve any and all problems. So what else was there to this woman he had sealed himself to? While he ate, he watched her dish out the meal to others. Rollo received the second egg. Gracious and fair, more admirable qualities. But the stories he heard from her villagemen gave him mixed emotions. She was a strong woman, unafraid of hard work. Although her figure was hard to determine at this point, she was beautiful. A sharp tongue didn’t bother him. He needed a woman who knew her mind. It helped in the months a man was gone from home to know his wife could manage in his absence. That had always been his concern with Astrid. He had been counting heavily on Freyda to help her. Now that was no longer necessary. What bothered Andor about Gillian was the cold-hearted way she had been given in marriage to her first husband. If the tale were true, her father had gone to the local pub and offered a fine dowry for her. Her strong-willed ways were well known, but her father was dying and worried for her future. Six men present drew lots - the loser was the one selected to be her husband. After the wedding and her father’s death, the men divided her dowry among them. Gillian had no knowledge of this, no desire for marriage, and no love for Evan. She had sacrificed her happiness and security for a dying man’s peace of mind.

Andor looked around. The five lot drawers were now of his charge. Although he was not a hard taskmaster, he thought it somehow fitting that the lady whose future they had gambled should now be their mistress. The only exception was Seamus, the young former monk who had married them. Once they reached Iceland, he would be a free man. The six remainingGaedhil slaves were, unfortunately, part of Leif’s house. They would have it rough, but the division of property taken in the raid had to be equal. There was nothing Andor could do. "Your wife is a fine cook." Rollo sat down beside him. "That she is." Andor puffed up with pride at the compliment. "Is all ready?" "I have all that you asked for. When will you give your bride her gift?" Andor chuckled to himself as Gillian sat on his wooden chest and, using her stomach as a table, ate her porridge. "Let her eat first." Gillian savored the first spoonful she scooped up. Honey was a rare treat for her. She was suddenly ashamed to admit she shorted Andor his share so that she could have extra. Giving him the egg and bread had done little to ease her conscience. He’d done nothing but good for her, and she had repaid his kindness by cheating him. She stared at the bowl and wanted to cry. "Something troubles you?" Freyda asked. Gillian glanced up. The guilt was too much. She confessed to her new sister, expecting condemnation. Instead, Freyda cast a sidelong glance to Andor. "‘Tis always so in our family," she whispered. "To this day, Mother does that to Father. And I did so to Olaf." She giggled and pressed her finger to her lips. Gillian’s mood lifted. It was not so great a sin after all. Andor watched his sister and wife giggle over the bowls.Conspirators - both , he thought with a smile. "Eat up or you may never get your bride-gift." "Bride-gift?" Gillian asked. "Among our people, ‘tis the custom for a husband to give his wife a gift the morning after their wedding," Freyda explained. Gillian was expecting a token expression of honor. Nothing surprised her more when Andor and Rollo brought a large wooden chest to her. It was similar to the one upon which she sat. Andor placed the chest before her. "For you. Your bride-gift." He lifted the lid. Gillian gasped with wonder. The chest was filled with everything she could possibly want or need. Jewelry nestled on top of clothing. Necklaces of silver, glass beads, and amber; gold bracelets; and delicately carved bronze brooches as wide as the palm of her hand winked at her. She picked up the brooches and pinned them below her collarbones as she had seen the other women wear them. To each of these she attached the long chains she saw. To her delight, Andor had also provided her with the items to clip to the chains: a knife, a comb made from deer antler, scissors, needles in a small ivory case.

"Once we are settled, you will also carry the keys to our buildings and properties," Andor told her. Gillian nodded and looked deeper into the chest. There were three shifts of fine pleated linen. The blue and red were long-sleeved, the green was without. To go with each was a woolen tunic of lighter color which Gillian likened to an apron. Two white sleeping gowns followed, along with assorted materials to make what she wished. Two woolen cloaks were next - one heavy, one light. Cloth leggings and three pair of ankle boots of softly tanned leather were at the bottom of the chest, hiding spindles and a whalebone board and lump of flattened glass with a wood handle she would use for ironing. Uncaring of who might be watching, Gillian pulled off her wood and rope sandals and slipped her feet into the comfort of the boots. The other clothes would have to wait until after the baby was born. She raised her head to thank Andor for his generosity. Before she could speak, he lay a large white fur across her lap. "‘Tis from a white bear I killed on a journey last year," he said. "I give it to you to use as you wish. You will need a heavy cloak for winter." Gillian wiggled her fingers through the fur. It was soft and warm, the color of snow, and the biggest fur she had ever seen. It was too much for her. With tears in her eyes, she looked up at him. "I do not deserve such fine things." Andor knelt before her, resting his hand on the fur beside hers. "Why, pray tell?" "I fear I have wronged you." He fought back a smile. "We have been wed less than one day. How can this be so?" "I gave you but half the honey due you and took the rest for my own." Andor chuckled and took her fingers in his. "‘Tis something the men in my family are accustomed to. Mother would like you." Gillian’s eyes widened. "You are not angry then?" "By far." He kissed her knuckles then straightened and waved his hand over the chest. "These things are for you. You need them." "My humble thanks, husband." Her tone was sincere, but Andor did not miss the sparkle in her eyes. His gift, no matter how necessary, was a treasure trove to her. It was a pleasure to watch her, and he did so many times throughout the day when other tasks did not occupy him. Her smile was quick as she planned meals and clothing with Freyda. For a woman so recently widowed, there was not a hint of grief. Then he recalled her tears of the night before. If not grief, what then? From all tales her husband had been nothing but a lazy drunkard, content to let his wife toil while he reaped the benefits of her labor. How could she mourn such a man? The life Andor had just given her was far better, he was sure of that. Yet he had to hear it from her - his ego demanded it.

He waited until the ship settled down for the night. Once he had assured himself all was in order, he sought their sleeping bag. A sense of contentment settled over Gillian as she watched Andor near. She longed for the warmth of him beside her and the comforting caress of his hand upon the babe. He would be pleased when he discovered she had arranged the bear fur in their bag. Even now it cocooned her in a bliss she never thought possible. She scooted over to give him room as he crawled in beside her. Strange that she should welcome his presence, yet have dreaded Evan’s. Andor turned to face her. The full moon had nudged away the overcast sky and bathed them in a silvery glow. Her coppery hair framed her face in a swath of waves. He caught a strand and curled it around his finger. It was as soft as the finest silk he had ever seen. "What was your husband like?" Gillian jerked her head back. How could one answer such a question? Her mother had always told her it wasn’t wise to speak ill of the dead, but what good could be said of Evan? That he hoisted a fine mug of ale? "Evan was a...fine man." "Hmmm." Andor brushed the strand of hair across her cheek. She shivered in response. "So fine a man, he was still abed mid-morn while his expectant wife was burdened with seed ready to work the field." What could she say? It was the truth. She cast her gaze downward to avoid his eyes. He caught her in a lie and they both knew it, yet Andor couldn’t fault her for defending the man. It was an honorable gesture. He traced the bow of her mouth with his thumb. What would it be like to taste her lips? Did he dare? She was his wife. It was his right. He remembered the first kiss with Astrid. She had been hesitant. He had even had to tell her to open her lips. Gillian would need no such prompting...or would she? His hand felt like fire against her cheek, a fire that urged her heart to beat faster. It was his right to have her if that was what he wished. Fear kept her in place. He had promised no harm would come to her child, and she had to trust that vow. She lifted her eyes to those the color of a forest glade. Andor lowered his lips to hers, nibbling gently. Gillian released a slow breath. He echoed it. Nice, soft, willing, not like the first time with.... He yanked back in alarm. His wife was not gone a fortnight and here he was kissing another. He looked at Gillian - that expression of hers, so like yet so unlike Astrid. A frown creased his forehead. What had Astrid looked like? He could not remember. His wife barely gone and he could not remember her! The prow. Her image was on the prow. Gillian’s heart leaped as he jumped from their bag. She clutched the fur to her neck and watched him climb to the prow like a man possessed. What had happened? Was he enraged that she had lied? That had to be so - nothing else had been said. This time she had truly wronged him. He had reached the tip of the prow and wrapped his arms about it. A strange custom for controlling anger. Yet hers of speaking well of an undeserving dead man must seem as strange to him. They had

much to learn of each other’s ways. Gillian eased back the skin and furs to go to him. She would try to explain. To ease the anger before it was directed back at her. "Stay," Freyda whispered from nearby. "I will speak to him." "‘Tis my fault," she told her. Freyda stood and patted her arm. "No, ‘tis something other. Sleep. I will see to my brother." Refamiliarizing himself with Astrid’s features did little to ease Andor’s guilt. Each time he closed his eyes to recall the vision, he saw Gillian instead. Shoeless and without his cloak, he shivered in the night air. Staying at the top of the prow would serve no purpose. He inched down, feeling the fool for his actions. As his feet touched the deck, Freyda wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. "Do you remember how Olaf looked?" he asked, his gaze on the figurehead. "I need only look at Erik to see his father’s image," Freyda replied. "I forgot Astrid’s face. I still cannot clearly recall. All I see is Gillian." "Astrid was a good wife...was there love when you married?" "I cared for her." "Did you burn for her as Olaf and I did for one another?" It was a question which needed no reply, for Freyda already knew the answer. "As I have said, Astrid was a good wife. It would have been a good marriage. But now she is gone, and you have taken another as wife, vowing to protect her and care for her. Do not slight her for what you have lost. ‘Tis not Gillian’s fault. As there was no love with Astrid, there was regard, perhaps the same will be true of you and Gillian." "And what of you?" he asked. "Do you seek love and a mate again?" "I do not seek it, but if it finds me I shall be wise enough to accept it. Olaf would want me to be happy and not alone...as would Astrid of you," she said. "Good night, brother." Andor returned to the sleeping bag. A part of him was reluctant to join the woman he now called wife. Thinking of her warmth already awakened parts of his body he preferred would stay at rest. Still, it was the only place left to sleep. He crawled inside and kept his back to her. "I will not lie to you again, husband," Gillian said softly. "Evan was a poor husband. I married him to please my father." Andor sighed and rolled over. "I fault you naught. Rest, wife." He placed a gentle hand over her belly and let sleep overcome him.

CHAPTER 4

Gillian lay listening to the sounds of the ship. The wind snapping the sail. The water sloshing against the sides. The creak of the wood. All taking her to a new land, a new home. Iceland - the name alone conjured up an inhospitable world, but stories from Irish monks who once lived there told differently. Mountains spewed fire from the center of the earth, yet there were lands and valleys so fertile they begged to be farmed. True, it was cold, but there were waters so hot one could bathe in them. Streams were clear as a crystal. It was land unencumbered by surplus population. A land where a hard-working person could live well. For someone who had not ventured outside her village in her entire twenty-three years, Gillian found the prospect exciting, even if she did worry about the people to whom she had allied herself. She studied Andor’s face in the moonlight. Gone was the distress she had seen before. He looked as restful as a small child. She tried to imagine what he would look like without that neat beard of his. How could a man who seemed so gentle change to a madman in less than a blink of an eye? She had heard of people being possessed by evil spirits and wondered if that might be so with him. She shivered with apprehension. At least with Evan she always knew what to expect - he was constant. This man, this stranger, could turn on her at any moment - like Leif, but with no warning. This time he had run up the prow, next time it might be her who had to deal with his burst of madness. Her gaze wandered to the top of the prow. Why had he been drawn to that figurehead? Freyda had not been surprised by his actions. Was that a normal place of solace for him? Careful not to wake him, Gillian eased from the bag to take a look. She squinted in the moonlight, trying to catch the details of the face she saw carved there. It was probably that of one of their goddesses they had many from what she had been told. "‘Tis an image of Astrid," Freyda said. Gillian spun around, startled by her sudden presence. "I did not mean to frighten you," she said. "I only thought to explain." Gillian turned back to the figurehead. "His wife." Freyda nodded. "My brother is an honorable man. While watching you, he forgot what Astrid looked like. He felt he had betrayed her memory." "He must have loved her greatly." "‘Twas a marriage of convenience, arranged by their families, but he had grown to care for her and she for him. He mourns her loss as you must mourn the loss of your husband." No, she did not mourn Evan. How could she explain that? How could she explain that she felt as if her soul had been set free? How, when she could not understand it herself? They heard footsteps coming

their way and turned as one. It was Thora and another woman Gillian knew as Aud. "What is wrong?" Freyda asked. "‘Tis time for the birth," Aud replied. "‘Tis too soon!" Thora cried. Freyda patted her arm. "‘Twill be all right." Gillian expected a show of joy from someone, but only Freyda displayed a glimmer of a smile. And Gillian felt that was more out of compassion for Thora than it was excitement for the impending birth. "We shall settle over here, Aud." Freyda led the women to a place as far from the others as they could manage. There she arranged some furs and skins until she was certain Thora was comfortable. "Is there something I might do?" Gillian asked. Freyda answered without looking her way. "Draw me a pail of water then try to get some sleep." Getting the water was an easy task, sleeping was not going to be. Gillian had just crawled into her bedding when Thora shrieked with pain. Andor bolted upright so fast, he took the bag and Gillian with him. In the same motion, he grabbed his sword. She caught his arm before he could move further. "‘Tis Thora’s time." He took a deep breath then exhaled slowly as he sheathed his weapon. Others around, also aroused from sleep, settled back down. Thora cried out again. "‘Twill be a long night." Andor snuggled against her and caressed her belly. "I hope the birth will not cause you great pain. That I would not like." "I vow to you that, no matter how bad the pain, I will not screech like a banshee." Andor chuckled. "‘Tis a vow I will not hold you to." The night was punctuated by Thora’s groans and cries as she tried to give birth, and Freyda’s soothing words of comfort and encouragement. No one slept, yet all remained abed. At Freyda’s direction, Rollo lit a torch for her then held it aloft while discreetly looking away. That seemed to be the cue for the others to mill about. While Andor stood at the rail with a few of his men, Gillian boiled water for hot tea. She thought it strange that Leif kept to himself, and that no one sought him out. Each time she caught Andor’s gaze, he would glance away. At daybreak the baby arrived, but no cry cut the air. "You have a son," Freyda said. "I am sorry...He did not live." Thora turned her head away. Freyda cut the cord, swaddled the infant, and stood.

"Wait!" Seconds later Thora pushed a second child from her. It too was stillborn. A tear slipped down Freyda’s cheek. "I am so sorry, Thora. It was no wonder you were so large. But the birth was too early for them to survive." Thora bit her knuckle in a vain effort to hold in her grief. Gillian felt Andor beside her. "What happens now?" "They will be buried at sea with a proper ceremony." Gillian glanced around. The somber atmosphere had deepened with the twins’ stillbirths. Once the second infant was bundled, Freyda took a child in each arm and walked back to Leif. "What goes on?" Gillian quietly asked. "He still must approve of his sons and name them," Andor whispered. Leif met Freyda halfway. Anger etched his features. "Your wife has birthed two sons." She parted the buntings for him to see. "They did not survive." Leif glanced at the boys then opened his arms. Freyda placed the children in his care. He eyed one infant then the other before leveling a glare at his wife. "No," Thora cried. "By the gods, no!" Without removing his gaze from her, Leif hurled the bodies into the ocean. Thora screamed and struggled to her feet. Andor ran to hold her in place. She collapsed against him as grief absorbed her. "How could you rob them of proper burial!" Freyda cracked her palm against Leif’s cheek. Rollo’s looming presence behind her kept Leif from retaliating. Rollo took a gentle hold of her arm and pulled her back. Leif whirled around to their people. "‘Twas a witch’s trick to confound me to accept children who were not mine. The bastards of my adulterous wife!" "The babes were of your seed!" Freyda shouted. "A look says they were!" With Thora still clutched in his arms, Andor faced Leif. "Thora is adulteress by your word only. She is adulteress only because you thought her too large with child. She was large because she carried two. There is no infidelity here - except, perhaps, by your hand." Leif looked among those around him, seeking support. Each person his gaze fell upon turned from him. He looked back to Andor, chin held in angry defiance. "‘Tis a man’s right to decide the fate of his wife’s newborns whether they be alive or dead. I have so

chosen. Had they survived birth, the choice would have been the same." Leif strode to the furthest part of the stern to stare at the horizon. Andor dispatched Thora to Aud’s care and walked to the prow to do the same. Freyda sat on her chest and pulled Erik into her arms, as if to reaffirm that he was still with her and well. "Is this so?" Gillian asked her. "A husband decides if a child lives or dies." Freyda nodded. "If the child is sickly, ‘tis best to let it go. I have heard of poor families with many children who do the same. Also, if a slave girl bears her master’s children, he may have them killed. This, though...." She left the sentence unfinished, but Gillian understood. "Poor Thora," Freyda added. "She should have wed Andor." "Thora was to be Andor’s wife?" "‘Twas hoped for, but Andor spent many years trading. Thora’s parents would not wait, and she has suffered for their haste." Gillian pulled the bear fur from her sleeping skin and wrapped it around her in an attempt to shut out the horror of what she had just witnessed.What manner of people were these that they could so heartlessly kill infants? Although it was customary among her own people to leave sickly children in the field to die, Gillian could not condone theGaill practice of killing excess children or bastards. They were truly as pagan as she had been told. She should have jumped into the ocean herself when she had the chance. Now she was too much of a coward to try. A tiny pain seized her. She breathed deep and it passed. Soon her baby would be born. How could she be sure it wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Thora’s children? She snuggled deeper into her fur, folded her hands over her stomach, and prayed while she cried. Andor watched Gillian from the corner of his eye, wondering what must be going through her mind. He knew she was distressed - everyone was. He longed to go to her, to hold her in this tragic moment, to assure her this was not a normal event. But his own fury was held too tightly at bay. He concentrated on the fist clenched at his side, curling and uncurling it while he toyed with the idea of tossing Leif in the frigid waters. He was leader. Surely he must do something...say something. How could Leif have done such a thing? Was his self-worth so low he refused to believe he could hold any woman? He was obviously blind to reality, otherwise he would have seen himself in his sons. Thora’s mournful wails tore at his heart. There was, naturally, no comforting her. All Aud could do was rock her while she cried, just as Freyda clutched Erik to ease her own pain. He thought of encouraging Thora to leave Leif and offering her a home, but to do so would only give faith to the tales Leif spun. "Your wife has need of you," Rollo said. "I know," Andor replied. "I am afraid to go to her. I am afraid that by comforting her my anger at Leif will be unleashed." "If she were Astrid, you would go and share the anger and grief."

"She is not Astrid. The bond is not there. Our worlds are too different. When we arrive in Iceland, I will offer her her freedom, her land, and her money." Rollo sighed. "Is that why you share your sleeping skin with her at night? And gift her extravagantly? And smile when you watch her work?" Andor spun around, denial on his lips. Rollo’s smirk stopped him. "‘Tis true. The bond is weak, but ‘tis there." Rollo left him and sat beside Freyda, silently offering his support to her. Andor stared up at Astrid’s image, seeking guidance from that icon as if she were a goddess. His blasphemy startled him. He curled his fingers around his amulet, and begged the gods’ forgiveness. Astrid had never put herself equal to or above the gods, and neither should he. Yet, that was exactly what he had done when he had her likeness carved into the prow. Astrid had been delighted. The gods had been angered and had retaliated by taking the lives of his people. Why had he not seen it before? All of this was his fault. He yanked an ax from his tool chest nearby and shimmied to the figure head. "What are you doing?" Freyda shouted up to him. "Removing the curse I created for us." Gillian looked over her shoulder in time to see him whack the nose off the image. She buried her head once more. He was truly a madman. She jerked each time the ax slammed into the wood, as if she could feel each gouge. For all her bold talk the previous morning, she feared Andor’s next bout of madness would be directed at her or maybe even her baby. Andor hacked at the image until it was an unrecognizable lump of wood. Then he retrieved his plane from his tool chest and shaved the surface smooth. When he was done, he stood on the deck to survey his handiwork. "Are you pleased with yourself?" Freyda asked. He turned to find her standing there, arms crossed, foot tapping. It was like looking at their mother. "‘Twas necessary," he said. "I should never have put her likeness there. I was not thinking clearly when I did so. I thought only to honor Astrid and in doing so I displeased the gods. That is the cause of our recent troubles. I had to rid us of the image to appease them." "Hmm. Perhaps that is so, but did you have to go about it like a half-crazed imbecile?" She jerked her thumb toward Gillian. "You have frightened the wits out of her. Last night you rush to adore the carving, today you hack it to ruin. She is convinced you are a madman." "Gillian will understand when I explain it to her." "How can she? She does not know our customs. You behaved so wildly even Erik was afraid, and he knows and loves you."

Andor was undaunted. "I will tell her of our customs and she will understand." "And what of the custom which allows a father to toss his wife’s stillborns into the sea without proper burial? How do you expect her to understand that when even you and I question it?" Freyda had him there. "Bad rules and customs exist in all societies. Surely Gillian will realize that." "Such as the one which caused you to frantically deface a figurehead because you believe that by paying homage to your wife you riled the gods?" Andor tossed the plane into the chest. "Stop goading me, Freyda. I did what I felt was necessary." He pushed past her and stomped to the huddle of white fur bunched near the rail. Gillian felt the planks rumble with Andor’s footsteps, and clutched her fur tighter. "Wife, I would speak with you." Gillian could picture his towering presence over her. "I am not well. I wish to rest." Andor did not miss the tremor in her voice. He knelt beside her and gently pulled open the fur. Coppery lashes spiked by tears framed her dark blue eyes. She was afraid yet fighting not to show it. It pained his heart that she should fear him. It hurt him more that his actions caused this. "Ah, Gillian." His voice was like a caress that reached around her heart, and Gillian wondered how she could fear him yet be drawn to him at the same time. "You are truly frightened." It was more of a question than a statement. She looked at him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she decided she had nothing to lose by honesty. If her words angered him, it was better he do away with her now than for her to live with the constant fear that each minute would be her last. "Truly," she said. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away a single tear with his thumb. "No, ‘twas not my intent. "I will explain all later when we are abed. You need not fear me. I forget that you do not know our ways. Freyda, Rollo, and I will teach you. I have behaved unwisely, but I am no madman. Trust me on this." Her belly tightened under his hand. Gillian winced. Andor jerked back. "The babe comes." Gillian couldn’t help it. She took one look at his stricken expression and giggled. "Soon, but not just now."

"Shall I get Freyda?" Even as he asked the question, he was moving to his feet. She held him in place. "‘Tis not time. The pain comes and goes. It is not frequent. Sit with me awhile and tell me why you took an ax to your wife’s image." He sat in the fur beside her then leaned against the side of the ship and pulled her to him. With one hand around her and the other resting on her stomach, Andor began. Gillian listened without interruption. Even if he did go to extremes, she was beginning to understand why he acted as he had. She had only one god, not the dozen theGaill seemed to have, but if she thought for a moment she had offended her deity, she would do all within her power to undo what she had done. "You do understand. I can see it in your face," Andor said. She nodded slowly. "How confusing it must be to you to have so many gods. ‘Twould be simpler to have but one." "As you do." "Yes." "I have traveled far. Seen many different things and people. Who is to say one is better than the rest?" "How can you know unless you try?" she asked. "You try different foods. Why not try different customs?" "You mean I should try your one god?" he asked. "Yes," she said with a nod. "Then you are just as willing to try my gods." Gillian snapped her head around and saw the mischief in his eyes. He’d caught her in her own trap. She returned his smirk. "You have me there, husband. Teach me of your gods and I will teach you of mine." "Agreed, wife." His smile faded as another stronger contraction hit. Her fingers gouged into his thigh. Andor drew breath to call his sister. She was by Gillian’s side before he let out so much as a peep. Freyda shooed his hand and replaced it with her own. "‘Tis gone now," Gillian told her. "Is it the first pain?" "The third since I sat here." "But each one is getting worse," Andor added. Both women turned their heads in his direction. It was difficult not to laugh at him. His face was a mixture of awe and concern.

"Off with you," Freyda scolded. "We can manage fine without you hovering about." Andor scowled at her dismissal. Nevertheless, he rose to his feet. "Take this with you." Gillian pulled the white fur from under her and pushed it his way. "I will not have it messed by the birthing." Feeling helpless, Andor folded the fur as he watched Freyda settle Gillian for the birth. Rollo chuckled. "I can see. You care naught for this one." Andor flashed him a dirty look then stomped away to take a reading on their bearings. He also noted the position of the sun. By his reckoning, the birth of Thora’s twins had taken about eight hours. Gillian’s baby should arrive sometime after nightfall. It was really not so long a wait, he told himself, and tried to stay out of the women’s way, by occupying his time with simple tasks.

"Andor is anxious for you and the baby," Freyda said. After eight hours of labor, Gillian was also beginning to worry. "How can you tell?" She mopped the sweat from Gillian’s brow. "I have seen him pace the length of this ship at least a hundred times. Would you like a sip of broth?" Gillian shook her head. "Water...please." She gratefully sipped her cup of water then sank back down. It felt like someone was stabbing her with a knife. Each contraction ripped into her and seemed never-ending. She longed to scream or shout, but refused to break the word she’d given to Andor and herself. Another one hit. She balled the skin beneath her with her fists, struggling to breathe with the pain. It could not last much longer. At daybreak she still had not delivered. She looked at Freyda’s weary face then at Andor’s, yet knew neither of them could feel as exhausted as she was. "‘Tis no use," she panted after another pain had passed. "The babe just will not come." Freyda cast a pained look Andor’s way. In three long strides he was beside them. "What is wrong?" Gillian grasped for his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. "The baby will not move." He looked to his sister. "Could it be backward?" "I do not think so. Gillian is just having a difficult time of it. She is getting weaker." Andor stared down at the woman who so recently became his wife. If something didn’t happen soon, he would lose her. Rollo was right. There was a bond here between them. The idea of losing her and the child pained him as much as Astrid’s death did. Perhaps a little more. He felt closer to Gillian’s child than

he had his own. He had felt that young life move beneath his touch. To lose it now...he shook the thought away. "Have the waters broken?" "No," they answered together. "Once we had a cow who had trouble delivering. Father broke the bag of waters and the calf came sliding out." "I am not a cow." She clutched Andor’s hand as another contraction assaulted her. He waited for it to pass, wishing he could bear the pain for her. "The principle is the same." "How are we to break the bag?" Freyda asked. "With your fingers," he replied. Freyda looked at her small hands and shook her head. "I do not think it will work." "Then I will do it." Gillian pushed to her elbows. "Husband or no, I will not have you putting your fingers up me." Another contraction changed her mind. "Do we have a choice?" he asked. Gillian fell back. "Do it...but not for all to see." "Rollo, help me set up my tent." "Get Seamus to help you," Freyda told Rollo. To Andor she said, "If you intend to act as midwife, you will have to prepare. Gillian is no cow. Roll up your sleeves and wash your hands and arms good...soap and water. Mother always said, ‘Clean hands, healthy birth.’" Andor didn’t argue. At that point all he wanted was Gillian to be free of the pain which racked her body, and for her and the baby to be well. The tent was erected over her where she lay. Once Freyda was certain Andor was cleansed, they joined Gillian inside. "Ready?" he asked. "I wish I still had my cross," Gillian said. "I wore it ‘round my neck on a gold chain my mother gave me. I sold it two months back for feed for my animals." Andor silently cursed her worthless husband for causing her to live that way. "I have something which may do. Freyda, take the amulet from my neck and give it to Gillian." "What is it?"

"Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer," he said. "Thor?" "One of our greatest gods. The god of thunder. The god of law and order. He protects our homes and farms." Gillian rolled her eyes. Andor smiled. "Time for you to try one of my gods." Deciding it looked somewhat like a cross, she clasped the amulet in her hand. "I am ready then." Andor took a deep breath and slipped his index finger into the birth canal. She was fully distended and he could feel the child’s head. As gently as possible, he pulled his finger over it. A contraction followed and with it the bag burst. Gillian gasped. "It moved. ‘Tis coming." Andor let Freyda take over. He knelt behind Gillian and pulled her to a sitting position. "Push with the next pain," Freyda said. When she did so, Andor helped her strain forward then eased her against him. Another push and he placed his hands gently behind the slowly receding bulge. A shrill cry cut the atmosphere. Gillian collapsed against Andor, exhausted yet elated. "You have a daughter," Freyda said with a smile. "And she has already caused her mother a great deal of anguish." Andor eased Gillian back and stood. "Present her to me now. We all need some rest." He stepped outside while Freyda wrapped the baby in one skin and the afterbirth in another. After setting the second bundle out of the tent, she scooped up the baby. Fear overwhelmed Gillian. As weak as she was, she had to see for herself what he intended to do with her child. He stood by the rail waiting. "Your wife has birthed a daughter." Freyda parted the bunting for him to see. Andor opened his arms and took the baby. He looked at her for only a moment then dipped his hand in a cup on the barrel beside him. He chuckled at the baby’s scowl when he sprinkled the water over her. "Much like your mother you are." Then, in a voice for all to hear, he said, "I have a daughter. She is the daughter of my house. Her name shall be," his gaze fell to Gillian, "Gwynneth." With tears of joy streaming down her face, Gillian watched Andor bring the child back to her. How could she have thought him capable of murdering an innocent newborn? He had helped birth her, accepted her as his own, then honored Gillian’s mother by giving the child her name. She was blessed truly blessed.

"Inside with you, wife. You need rest and the babe needs suckling," he gently scolded. Gillian lay back down and opened her arms for Gwynneth. Andor watched as she opened her gown and put the infant to her breast. She nuzzled for only a moment before finding what she sought. "Bless you, for all you have given me," she told him as she blinked back tears. "I swear I will be a good wife to you." Andor caressed the tiny cheek with his finger. "She is as beautiful as her mother, and she means much to me. I truly feel she is my own. You let me touch her before her birth. Astrid would not allow that. I will be a good husband for you, Gillian. I swear it. "Rest, wife." Gillian snuggled into the furs, letting peace wrap its arms around her. A nice feeling, but was it true? She was too weary to question it. She was a survivor and would do whatever was necessary to keep her baby and herself safe. Now, if only her sharp tongue would cooperate.

CHAPTER 5

In the privacy of Andor’s tent, Gillian slipped on her new clothing. It felt good to finally be strong enough to get around. Gwynneth’s birth had been harder on her than she expected. After a week of convalescence, she was glad to be self-sufficient once more. She smoothed the cream-colored tunic over her blue shift. It was soft against her skin - just as she knew it would be. She touched the brooches at her collarbones then let her fingers drift down the chains that dangled from each - an idea whose practicality Gillian more than appreciated. All the little things she needed for work hung from those chains. Everything was a grasp away - no matter where she might be. It had already come to good use. While she recovered, Gillian made a bunting for Gwynneth and a fur cloak with hood for herself. There was still enough of the white fur remaining to cover any bed she shared with Andor. Gillian smiled at that thought. Andor sought her company many times throughout the day. He was careful not to disturb her rest, yet on occasion Gillian would open her eyes to find him staring with wonder at Gwynneth. She enjoyed watching him in those unguarded moments as much as she enjoyed talking with him. But it was the darkness she treasured. After a tender caress to the sleeping baby, Andor would crawl in beside Gillian, curling his body around hers. Sleep would follow. No demands. No drunken surliness. No raucous snores or other bodily noises. Just peace, warmth, and contentment. It was a joy Gillian could not begin to describe. And at that moment she wondered how she could have feared him. She wrapped her light woolen cloak around her shoulders and secured it in front with an oval brooch. A quick peek at Gwynneth assured her the baby slept well. It was difficult to leave her lie when all she wanted to do was cuddle that tiny life to her. But toting a baby around on a ship was foolish. One good roll could send Gillian tumbling to the deck. Better to leave the child uncuddled than to have her hurt or, worse yet, killed. The rolls of skins surrounding Gwynneth kept her securely in place. Still, Gillian

couldn’t resist kissing her downy redhead before opening the tent flap and stepping into the bright spring day. Freyda greeted her with a smile. "‘Tis nice to see you around. I was about to bring you some porridge. Come sit and eat. Are you certain you feel well enough?" Gillian gave a light laugh. It was good to be fussed over for a change. "I am well." Freyda studied her as she sat down to eat. There was certainly more color in Gillian’s face than there had been a week ago. Freyda wasn’t sure then if Gillian was going to make it. She had lost a great deal of blood. She plied her with herb teas to control the bleeding and broths to build her strength. Andor helped when he wasn’t fretting over Gillian’s welfare. He even ensured her porridge had the extra honey she loved so well. Andor’s concern had the ability to warm yet sadden Freyda’s heart at the same time, for while she was pleased that he cared so for his new wife and child, she also realized how very much she missed Olaf. "Your husband has not eaten," Freyda told her. "Perhaps you can convince him to take the time now." Gillian scanned the deck for Andor. She spotted him at the rail near the tiller, looking out to sea with Leif, Rollo, and several of the other men. "What are they looking at?" Freyda shrugged. "He was there at sunrise to take a reading on where we are. I have never known it to take this long." Gillian glanced at the sun. It was well passed sunrise. What could have Andor so engrossed that he would ignore food? One thing she had learned about him was that he was a hearty eater. She scraped up the last of her porridge then refilled the bowl for him. "If Gwynneth should wail, give me a shout," she told Freyda, then let curiosity take her to the stern. "Ho! There!" Rollo pointed toward the horizon. Gillian stretched up on tiptoe, but could see nothing. Whatever it was delighted the men, for there was a great deal of laughter and self-congratulations. Andor turned to say something to Rollo and spied her. With a broad smile he pushed through the men and hurried toward her. She held the porridge before her. "I brought you something to eat." Still smiling, Andor took the bowl in one hand and draped his free arm around her shoulder. "Come. See." He led her back to the men. They parted to let her stand by the rail. With the bowl, Andor pointed to a far stretch of water. "Watch." Gillian kept her gaze peeled to the ocean while Andor ate. Within a few minutes she saw a plume of water shoot into the air. Two more followed in quick succession. "What is it?" "A pod of whales," Andor replied.

"Whales?" "A fish - most as big as this vessel." Gillian’s eyes widened as she tried to imagine such a thing. "Bless the heavens above." "They are something to behold up close." She turned a startled face his way. "You have been close?" "Aye. Hunted a few. The meat is good. The hide is tough. The blubber makes good oil." "How can you hunt a creature so gigantic?" "‘Tis difficult. It takes great care and skill." Gillian looked back as another plume shot to the sky. "Will they harm us?" He shook his head. "We shall be safe. Danger only comes when we hunt them. They are our first sign that Iceland is not far. Soon we shall see the guillemots, puffins, and other birds. Then...the mountains themselves." His tone was filled with reverence. Gillian felt an excited pattering in her heart. She craned her neck, hoping for a glimpse of land. Her efforts earned her a chuckle from Andor. "Look again in the morn," Rollo said. "I shall, but how can you be sure of where we are?" "The sun, the stars, and a bearing wheel," Andor said. "Show her, Rollo." Leif snorted. "Why waste the time?" "We have little else to do," Rollo replied. "But a woman?" Andor lifted a brow. "I seem to recall your mother uses a bearing wheel with the greatest of accuracy. Is she not a woman?" Leif stomped away. The other men ignored his departure. Gillian wished she could. Each confrontation with the man set her nerves on edge. "This is our bearing wheel," Rollo said. "If used properly, it guides our direction." He held up a short wooden dowel with a flat disk centered over the end. Notches were carved along the circumference of the disk and a pointer was attached to the center extending outward. Also in the middle of this circular piece of wood was a slender continuation of the dowel. Half of the disk was shaded darker than the other.

Gillian puzzled over how this device could help them find their way. It looked more like a child’s toy. "How does it work?" Rollo held it before him like a torch. "In the morning, as the sun is creeping over the horizon, you point the wheel to the north. The sun casts a shadow over the stick in the middle. Where the shadow falls is where we are. Where the pointer is, is where we wish to be. We follow that course until we reach Iceland." "But how do you know that pointer is for Iceland?" she asked. "From those who went before," Rollo replied. "But what if someone moved it?" Andor reached between them and flicked the pointer aside. "‘Tis marked." Gillian looked closer and saw the small scratches in the wood. "I marked it myself when I was there a year past," Andor said. "Do you have a wheel for each place you go to?" "No. I made this one special. My old wheel is in with my tools," Andor said. "Come, I will show you." She followed him and Rollo back to the prow. With great flourish and pride, Andor whipped the wheel out of his tool chest and presented it to her. The surface of the disk was covered with marks and scratches at almost every position. "How do you know what land the mark stands for?" she asked, and Andor explained each one. A few names were familiar to her. Most, the ones with exotic-sounding names, were not. Some had no names at all. "But how do you know?" she asked again when he was through. "I made the marks. I know what they mean." "You could forget. There are many here." "I would not forget." "But you might." She pointed at a set of the marks. "Here you have two marks side by side. Each is the same. Could you not mistake the two?" Andor tried to keep his tone light, but her inability to grasp this simple concept was beginning to irritate him. "I cannot mistake them because one is higher on the wheel than the other. ‘Tis Greenland. The lower is Iceland." "And you will always know this?" "Aye."

"But what if someone else wanted to use it? How would they know?" "I would tell them." "What if you could not? What if you were hurt or sick or dead?" Andor flung the wheel into the chest. "This is a stupid conversation. I should never have expected a Gaedhil woman to understand something as complex as a bearing wheel." Gillian jammed her fists onto her hips. "I will tell you what is stupid...marking your wheel with little lines and scratches when any fool knows ‘twould make more sense to just write the blithering name there." "Off with you, woman. Freyda needs a hand. See to the babe and your chores. You have rested long enough." He shoved his empty bowl into her hands and stomped back to the stern. Gillian weighed the bowl in her hand while she considered the tempting target his back made. "‘Tis hard to resist, I know," Freyda said. "But save it for when you are in your own home. If you do it in front of Andor’s men, he will have no choice but to punish you for it. If he did not, he would lose his standing and their respect. Do not put him in that position." "He would not dare!" "He would not like it, but he would do it. If you do not believe me, throw the bowl." Gillian shot a glance at Andor. He was too far away now to reach, otherwise she might have tested Freyda’s theory. "‘Twould serve no purpose," she said with a shrug. "He has already made a fool of himself before his people." "‘Twas not him who was made the fool - ‘twas you," Freyda said. Fire blazed in Gillian’s eyes. Before she could spew out a denial, Freyda explained. "None of us can write letters. Only a runemaster may do that. And few of us can read what the runemaster marks." Gillian’s anger dissipated with Freyda’s words. "What is a runemaster?" Freyda pointed to a brass plate on her storage chest. Gillian noted the lines and curves carved upon it. "What does it say?" "It reads, ‘Freyda owns this chest.’ Father had the runemaster mark it when I was but a child. He passed on only last year; the runemaster, not Father. Now his son is runemaster. All in my family can read the runes, but we cannot write them. ‘Twould do Andor little good to mark the wheel. Not all men read the runes. ‘Tis Andor’s wheel - his way is best." "But what of your books, letters from kin far away, edicts from your king?" Gillian asked.

Freyda’s smile was painfully indulgent, as if she were dealing with a child. "News from kin and king comes by messenger. Books? Father has told me of such things in foreign lands yet I have never seen one." Gillian hid her astonishment as best she could. Her parents had often told her their tiny village was blessed to have an abbot who was willing to pass his knowledge on. There was not a person there who could not read and write - some more so than others. Gillian knew there were those less fortunate than she. In some communities only the high-born learned such things, but never had she imagined an entire race of people could be illiterate. She had indeed made an unfortunate social error by pressing the matter with Andor, yet he could have stopped the discussion at any moment by telling her the true nature of things. Gillian set her jaw at a stubborn angle. "If I am to be the fool, I fault no one but Andor for it. He should have told me this was so." Freyda rolled her eyes to the sky and tossed up her hands. "By the gods...Stubborn is as stubborn does. You and Andor deserve each other." "Mother! Mother! Come quick and see the whales!" Erik jumped up and down beside Rollo at the rail. Freyda smiled and waved. "I am coming. Is that what held their attention this morning?" she asked Gillian. "Yes. Andor said it means we are close to land." Freyda nodded. "It has been many years since I have seen a whale. Come with me while I look." The last thing Gillian wanted at that moment was to be near Andor. Yet to refuse Freyda’s invitation would be rude and might cause her to lose what seemed to be her one ally. Reluctantly she followed the other woman. The whales had moved closer. Gillian held her breath as one dove. A tail the size of their sail waved above the water. Before she could recover her awe, another leaped from the ocean and returned with a resounding splash. The moment would be forever etched in her memories. The gray-black body, the sun glistening off its water slick surface. The wonder and fear the creature inspired. The sense of exultation in the glory of living that leap from the ocean represented. She tore her gaze away to see what Andor’s reaction to this scene might be. His eyes were upon her, his look intense. From the scowl on his face she guessed he was still angry. Let him be. Stubborn fool. She tightened her jaw and looked away. Hard-headed and stubborn, that is what she is. Andor had learned that shortly after they wed. That knowledge hadn’t bothered him until now. She had called him a fool in front of everyone - argued with him about methods she had no knowledge of. He was not used to such behavior and definitely did not like it. The haughty manner in which she turned her head away from him, stretched his anger to a slender thread. It was her air of superiority then that bothered him most, as if she suddenly considered him beneath her. The urge to shake her into submission was overwhelming. It was the first time in his life Andor had ever felt the need to discipline a woman. He wished he could say the thought shocked him, instead he was

aroused. Not by any submission on her part, but because he knew she would spark with fire against him. His eyes grazed her profile, slender now when a week before she had bulged with child. And he wanted her. Wanted to hear the heat of her words as she rallied against him in anger. Wanted to feel her nude body strain against his in the heat of passion. He pictured her writhing beneath him, his fingers tangled in her coppery mane, her head tossed back in ecstasy, her ivory neck exposed to his lips. Andor felt himself surge and reigned his rambling thoughts to a halt. It was too soon - in many ways. The ship rocked in the wake left by the whale. Andor released a slow, shaky breath and turned his gaze back to the pod. His forehead wrinkled with concern. The whale was moving closer. Freyda eased up beside him. "‘Must you scowl so? The discussion was as much your fault as hers. You could have ended it at any time by telling her the truth. You also had no call to accuse her of being a layabout. She could have easily died this past week. You know that." Her words barely punctured his concentration. "Get Erik and Gillian and go into my tent. Cushion the infant as best you can." "But, Andor - " "Do not argue. I will tell you when ‘tis safe." He spun away. "Man the oars! Douse the cook fires! They are making for us!" Gillian was halfway to the tent before Freyda moved. Even before Andor had spoken she had seen the danger the whales’ nearness presented. She whipped open the flap and curled her body around Gwynneth. Seconds later Freyda and Erik ran in, snapping the flap back in place. The baby didn’t stir. As they settled down beside her, Gillian heard Andor’s final warning. "Everyone hold tight! ‘Twill be a rough ride!" "Mother, maybe the whale is really Jormungand in disguise," Erik said. He was trying hard to be a man, but his true age was winning. His eyes were wide and tearful. Freyda hugged him close. "No, ‘tis only a whale." "But Jormungand took my father and Astrid and all the others. Maybe he is coming to take us also." "Hush now. All will be well." But Gillian could tell by the look in Freyda’s eyes that she did not believe her own words. "Who is Jormungand?" "A hideous sea monster," Freyda told her. "He is so big his body circles the land and he can take his own tail in his mouth," Erik said. "Sailors fear him. His venom is the deadliest of venom. He and Thor fought when Thor fished him from the ocean. Thor hit him on the head and Jormungand slithered back into the sea." Freyda hugged him to her. "But we are safe, for Njord protects us." She gave Gillian a half-hearted

smile. "Njord is one of the sea gods." "So is Aegir, but sometimes he can be bad," Erik piped in. Gillian shook her head. More gods and legends. How many did theGaill have? "The whale cannot be this Jormungand. It cannot take its tail within its mouth. Surely a creature so large could not disguise itself as a creature smaller." "Gillian is right. Jormungand is not a shape changer." The boy seemed to consider this. He opened his mouth to say something more when the ship pitched upward. He squealed and grabbed his mother while Gillian cushioned Gwynneth. The bow crash back onto the water so hard it vibrated the planks beneath them. Andor’s voice was distant, he was at the tiller, yet they still could hear him shout, "Put your backs to it, men!" Gillian held her breath and closed her eyes.

If there had not been so many women and children onboard, Andor would have enjoyed the game the beasts seemed to be playing. He may have even hunted one of the creatures. But too many lives had already been lost for him to indulge in acts of whimsy. The very thought of losing what remained of his family frightened him beyond words. He griped the tiller until his fingers turned white from the effort, making himself one with the ship as he tried to outrun the beasts beside him. They swam in parallel formation less than a quarter mile from the ship. Their cavorting created waves that tossed them around like a bowl in the surf. Andor held his breath each time a whale breached the surface. He feared its descent would land it within closer range. Those massive tails could smash their ship into splinters. Every able-bodied man was at the oars, yet they were still not at their full rowing strength. Half the rowing spaces were vacant. "Seamus!" The young Irishman whipped his head around. "Leave the oar and man this tiller." Seamus leaped to replace him, and Andor grabbed the sail’s guiding ropes. It normally took three to five men to handle the cloth - Andor had only himself. He braced his feet against the mast, wrapped the ropes around his arms, and tried to maneuver the sail to catch the wind. A gust filled the sail and for a moment Andor was pulled upward. He could feel the rope cutting through his sleeves yet held on. With feet wedged to the mast, he pulled back until he was lying on the deck. Unable now to see the whales’ position, he relied on his instinct and the gods to carry them away from harm. He fought the pain in his arms and the ache of his muscles, concentrating only on keeping the sail billowed and on course. It was only when he saw Rollo and Leif standing above him that he realized they were safe. "They have left some time ago, and we have traveled a good distance since then," Leif said. "We should be safe." With Rollo’s help, Andor pried his fingers open, then rubbed the feeling back into his arms. "Keep the men on the sail and set a watch. We are close to land now. We may spot more." Both men nodded in return. Andor turned to check the women and found Gillian standing behind him with a cup of water.

"I thought you might need this." He gulped it down then held it out for a refill. "Is Gwynneth well?" Gillian poured from the jug and noticed his hand shook. She tried to catch his eyes with hers, but he avoided her gaze. "She stirred not once and sleeps still. We are all well." "I would see for myself." He took a step and felt his knees give. To hide it, he fell against Gillian, making it seem to the others that he was holding her, not struggling to stay upright. Gillian felt his muscles trembling from the strain he had put them under. She thought it best for him to sit for awhile, but before she could suggest it she felt his breath against her ear. Unbidden, a shiver ran through her. "My legs cannot hold me," he whispered. "Do not let me fall before my men. Help me to our tent. Walk with me." To add to the illusion, Andor dropped a kiss beneath her earlobe. "In front of all, husband?" she scolded. "I will thank you to take me to the privacy of our tent first if ‘tis loving you want." Andor blessed her for her understanding. "To the tent it is, but I will not let you from my arms ‘til then." "I have married a rogue." She wrapped a steady arm around his waist. Even though she bore his weight with no problem, Andor tried not to lean too heavily upon her. He kept a smile, congratulating his men on their hard work, all the while concentrating on reaching the tent without stumbling. Once that goal was finally obtained, he turned his back to it. "Ale for everyone! Freyda, fetch a portion for Gillian and me. Rollo, ‘tis near midday - check our course again." Then he ducked inside the tent and slid to the pile of skins. Gillian knelt beside him. "You are hurt." Andor shook his head. "Just exhausted from battling that sail." "‘Tis no wonder. ‘Tis a job for five men, not one. You stayed there a might long, too. I was not ready to nurse the babe when we began - now I am full and ready for her to wake." Andor raised his arm and winced as his sleeve chafed the skin. "Youare hurt." She tugged at his kirtle. Used to determined women, Andor saw no sense in arguing with her, especially in his debilitated condition. He merely sat up and let her strip the garment over his head. Gillian gasped at the rope burns and bruises along his arms. "‘Tis not too bad," he said. "‘Tis my shaking that bothers me. My muscles are all aquiver." "Are you hurt elsewhere?"

She didn’t wait for him to answer, but started her own examination. She dusted her fingers over his lightly bronzed chest, searching for any sign of a fresh wound among the thin carpet of blond. There was a scar here and there, and at these she paused overly long, wondering at its cause and what pain he might have suffered as a result. Then she moved to his back. Andor let her study him, pleased by her attention and relaxed by her feathery touch. "Aye, that is what I need." With a sigh, he stretched out on his stomach. "Tame those shaking muscles with that wonderful touch of yours." "Shall I fetch the ale from Freyda first?" "Yes, but do not let her or Erik in the tent. Do not tell them I am weak." A shaft of light cut across them as Freyda opened the flap. Gillian spun around to block any view of Andor with her body. "He is unclothed." Freyda flushed, handed the two cups of ale to her, and ducked back out. Gillian knelt beside Andor. "Here drink these. Gwynneth has begun to stir. I must care for her." Andor propped himself against the furs and downed the first cup of ale. The second he took his time with. While the liquid seeped into his muscles to soothe him, he watched Gillian care for the baby. When she put her to her breast, he envied the child’s closeness to her. "She looks content." Gillian smiled down at the infant. "She is." "What a wonderful feeling that must be." He took a sip and sighed. "I was frightened today. More frightened than I was by the storm which took our people. I thought we would all be killed. In my mind I kept thinking how everyone trusted me enough to follow me and that because of that trust we would all die." "But we did not." "Thanks to the gods." "‘Twas your doing, not the gods." Andor leaned back and rested his arm over his eyes. "Gillian, please, we have had enough problems. Do not blasphemy the gods." "It is not blasphemy," she replied. "You did the work. You guided the sail. Maybe by the grace of God were you allowed to do it, but ‘twasyou whose strength led us from danger." "And my foolishness which put us in danger in the first place. I should have listened to Mother and settled at home." "You are a brave man, Andor. Strong. Handsome. Considerate. Caring...And very good at feeling sorry for yourself. ‘Tis something I would not have expected from someone like you. Are you always thus? If

so, tell me now so I might prepare for the next bout." Andor chuckled. "‘Tis been a long time since a woman spoke thus to me." "You should know I speak my mind," Gillian told him. "So I have heard...and discovered." He smiled, but his tone had turned serious. Gillian looked away. "I did not know your people had no knowledge of letters. I am sorry for calling you a fool." "‘Tis my fault as well," he said. "I should have told you instead of taking offense. As I said, I am not used to a wife who voices her opinions and ideas so...strongly." "And are you sorry you have one?" she quietly asked. Andor didn’t hesitate. "No. ‘Twill make life interesting, I think. If you wish to stay married to me, that is." Gillian’s gaze searched his. "What else might I do?" "The land, money, and other gifts are yours. You may use them as you wish if you wish to end the marriage. I would even give you free use of any slaves you desire." "You mean...divorce?" Andor nodded. "If that is what you wish. Do you?" "No," her voice was barely above a whisper. "You should know I want more from a wife than a helpmate and a keeper for my house. I want more than one child." It was the most delicate way he could find of telling her he desired her. There was a long silence while he waited for her to answer, and Andor was afraid he might have gone too far. He held his breath while he waited. In that time, Gillian finished nursing the baby and placed her back on her pallet. Then she knelt before him. "A man is expected to have heirs. As much as you have given to me and Gwynneth, I owe you that much in return. I ask simply that you give me time to recover from the birth of one child before planting another in me...And to be gentle with me." Gillian made it sound as if she were offering herself up as sacrifice. It was not quite the answer Andor had been hoping for. Her lack of interest stung him. "If you will lay down, I will rub your back now," she said. Andor snatched up his kirtle. "The ale has calmed me. I have things to do now." He yanked the garment over his head and strode from the tent. Gillian stared after him, wondering what she could have possibly done wrong this time.

CHAPTER 6

Iceland, Early Spring, 890 a.d. "Land ahead! I see land!" a voice called out across the ship. Gillian heard the scurry of feet as people scrambled from their bedding to see. She resented the intrusion into her sleep. The night had been a long one, spent in a tent that seemed as large as a cavern without Andor’s presence. Even Gwynneth appeared to notice his absence, for she was particularly fretful throughout the night. Gillian spent her time trying to soothe the baby and wondering why Andor had chosen to stay away. At first she tried to convince herself it was work which kept him from joining her, but the ruse was useless. He had stayed away because he was still bothered by whatever it was she had said earlier. If she could have figured out what she had done wrong, she would have apologized. Anything to have the comfort of his company once more. Where his slow, rhythmic breathing had lulled her to sleep, the silence now kept her awake. Where the warmth of his body made her feel secure, vulnerability assaulted her even under a pile of skins and furs. She missed watching him with Gwynneth. All these things she recalled until weariness had pulled her into sleep in the predawn hours. She longed to tuck herself under the skins and block out the flurry of activity around her, but Gwynneth’s morning cry wouldn’t allow it. Before she could move, the tent flap opened. Gillian squinted against the bright sunlight, trying to see who was there. Her heartbeat paused in the hope it was Andor. A second later, when she realized it was only Thora, it resumed again. "Who are you? Why have you hidden my babies from me?" She darted for Gwynneth. Gillian blocked her way. "This child is mine, not yours." Thora’s expression fell. "Where are my babies? I keep hearing them call to me, but I cannot find them. Have you seen them?" Gillian stared at her in dumbfounded shock, not knowing what to say. If Thora couldn’t remember her children were dead, what right did Gillian have to remind her of that tragic event? Yet wasn’t having her madly search for her babies just as cruel? She saw Thora eyeing Gwynneth and scooped the baby into her arms. Gwynneth rooted for a meal, and Gillian gave her what she sought. Thora blinked and stared into Gillian’s face. "Who are you? I do not recall seeing you in our village before." "I am Gillian, wife to Andor." Thora narrowed her eyes. "Astrid is wife to Andor."

"Astrid is dead...Olaf as well. Now I am wife to Andor." There was a moment of clarity in Thora’s face, then she slowly turned and walked out. The air inside the tent was stifling. Gillian gathered her skirts in one hand and hurried outside, Gwynneth still clutched to her bosom. She was afraid to release her for fear Thora would snatch her up and claim the child as her own. Even now Thora sat only a short distance away watching Gillian. She seemed relatively harmless at this point. The breeze ruffling her white kerchief made her appear angelic. Gillian wondered if she shouldn’t mention the incident to someone, then worried about what Leif might do to Thora if he learned her sanity had momentarily slipped. "Gillian, over here!" Freyda beckoned her to the rail with a wave of her arm. After a sidelong glance Thora’s way, Gillian hurried forward. Freyda cleared a space between herself and Andor - obviously unaware of the friction between the couple. Gillian expected Andor to tense up by her presence or move away. He did neither, but he also did not acknowledge her. She heaved a sigh and looked across the horizon. Gray-green peaks jutted toward the sky, hiding their snow-capped tops among the clouds. Her new home. They were still some distance away, but she felt herself drawn to the hope of a new life this sighting gave her. Without turning she spoke to Andor. "We are so close you can almost touch it. Do you still wish you had never come?" "‘Tis a difficult question to answer," he replied. "We have lost many good people. I cannot be happy about that, even if I am excited about settling in a new land. ‘Tis a strange guilt which lays upon my shoulders. We left Northland with such high goals. Now there are only a third of us left." "Yet, if you stayed, you might have starved." "True." "When will we land?" she asked. "Morning." "Then we have much to do. I promise you I am fit and strong to work. You need not worry about me lazing around." She had meant to reassure him, but her words held a sarcastic note. Andor twinged with guilt from the heated words he had flung the day before. He opened his mouth to form an apology but the words wouldn’t come. "I will get your porridge shortly." Then she walked away, leaving Andor to stare dumbly after her. "At odds again?" Freyda asked.

Andor watched Gillian sit with her back to him. "So it seems. Last night I offered her freedom when we reached Iceland. She did not want it. Yet when I told her I expect a wife in all ways, she behaved as if she were a sacrifice to the gods." Freyda tsked. "I cannot believe you would behave with such insensitivity." Eyebrows furrowed, Andor whipped his head around. "Insensitivity?" "Yes...She may be your wife but you are still a stranger to her. How can you speak of marital responsibilities?" "I wanted her to know exactly what I expect," he said, angry that Freyda was not with him in this matter. "She has been a wife before. She knows what it entails. Where is your patience? Why not woo her as you did with Astrid? Are you so blind to your own needs that you would plod ahead with no consideration for hers?" Andor jerked a finger toward Gillian. "You behave more like her kin than mine." Freyda lifted a brow. "But she is my kin. Your marriage has made her so. Can I not be as concerned for her welfare as I am for yours?" With a sweet smile, she patted his bearded cheek then joined Gillian. "How is young Gwynneth this morning? Enjoying a bit of sun?" Unshed tears glistened in Gillian’s eyes as she looked up. She blinked them clear when Freyda sat beside her. "‘Tis a difficult thing to please a man whose moods change like night and day. At least with Evan he was a constant - always drunk. I give Andor what he asks for and it only angers him. How can you deal with such a man? I fear he will always mourn for what he lost. I am not one for acting the replacement. Yet I believe that is what he is looking for." Freyda smoothed a wayward lock of Gillian’s hair. "Ah, men, who can figure them out? It can drive a woman mad trying." "True enough. Last eve he tells me he wants a wife who will bear him heirs. After all he has done for me, I would be willing and I told him so. Do you think he was pleased? No. He runs out like I had the pox." Freyda hid a smile. "Perhaps it was the way you told him." "What other way might there have been?" Gillian demanded to know. "He asked for heirs and I agreed." "I think, in his own unique way, Andor was trying to tell you he wished to lay with you. A union which occasionally brings heirs." "Oh." Gillian flushed. "Oh!" "I believe he was hoping for a warmer response from you." Gillian stared down at Gwynneth, who fought sleep while she nursed. "He is my husband. ‘Tis his right."

"That much is true, but he still sought to know if you were willing." Her eyes widened. "Why should it matter? ‘Tis a wife’s duty." "It matters to Andor. Wife or not, he would force no woman to his bed...There are too many others willing," she added with a sly smile. "Then if it is a romp he is after, he can just as well go elsewhere. I have better things to do than spread myself beneath a man just for the sake of passing time." "My brother would never dishonor you by consorting with another woman." Freyda stood and shook out her shift. "‘Tis time to put the kettle on." Gillian sighed and as she did so felt Gwynneth’s hold on her nipple break. With Thora occupied with cooking on the other end of the ship, she felt it safe enough to put the sleeping infant back in the tent. Still, as a precautionary measure, she tied the flaps closed then kept a careful watch out while she helped Freyda prepare their morning meal. Freyda was distant. Gillian accepted this rather than allow it to wound her. After all, shehad verbally attacked her brother. Judging from their closeness, Gillian deemed it only natural that Freyda would take offense to Gillian rejecting Andor in this manner. She held her tongue. It would do them good to spend some time thinking about what she had said. She was certain Freyda would tell Andor. Once they had accustomed themselves to the idea, Gillian believed they would have no problem co-existing peacefully. When it came time for Andor to beget an heir, Gillian would accommodate him as she had agreed. But when Andor sat with them to eat, Gillian found herself studying him in a different light. The giggle of a flirtatious girl, and the secret sounds of lovers were not an alien thing to her. As she matured to womanhood and beyond, Gillian had looked forward to exploring the mysteries of a physical relationship. Life with Evan had ruined those dreams, and until now she had let them stay buried. Yet the memory of Andor’s lips on hers, his fingers gently caressing, made her wonder anew if she had somehow been cheated out of something. She let her gaze drift casually down Andor’s body wondering, not for the first time, how a man would look unclothed. Again, Evan had cheated her out of this, for he bedded her always in the dark, clothed in his nightwear and she in hers. By chance Andor caught Gillian’s eyes upon him. It was her stillness which called his attention to it. Her look was frozen between lust and shyness, and Andor felt his body warming in response. He welcomed her momentary lapse of proprietary that put her on the edge between fear and daring. There was more willingness in those deep blue eyes of hers than her words had ever displayed. If she had not so recently given birth, and had they been afforded more privacy, he would have taken her in his arms that very moment and made her truly his. "Andor, ‘tis time we talked." Freyda plopped down before him. As if drawn by a single cord, Andor and Gillian pulled their heads her way. "Of what?" Andor asked. "Of Olaf’s land."

"Your land now." "That is what I wanted to speak of. I have thought much about this. Even though you have opened your home to me, I am a woman alone. We no longer have the people to divide among our three homesteads. I wish to give the land to you to work as your own. I feel it will be better protected in your hands." "What of Erik’s rights?" "I trust you to be fair when the time comes for him to strike out on his own," she said. "If he is like his father and uncle, that will be many years after he reaches manhood." "‘Tis the sensible thing to me," Gillian said. "No one would dare dispute your ownership of the land. As a woman Freyda would not be as fortunate." "If that is your wish, I will abide by it," Andor told his sister. "We each marked off our land last year. When we arrive, I will have the rock wall between our properties taken down." "What of Leif?" Gillian asked. "He has no say in the matter. His land is on the other side of mine. The river is the border." "We have water on the land?" she asked, her eyes wide with excitement. Andor chuckled. "Aye...from the river, a stream, and the hot springs." "Hot springs?" "Water warm enough to bathe in...you will see. I have planned us a grand house. Rollo will have his own workshop and a separate sleeping room in the house. Freyda and Erik also, as well as you and I. There will be plenty of room also for visitors. I think you will be pleased." Pleased? Already he made it sound like a castle. "I look forward to it." He liked the way her face brightened with enthusiasm, and found himself wishing the house was already complete so he could continue to enjoy the sparkle in her eyes. But there were many days of hard work ahead. He laughed to himself at the irony of the situation. Freyda had said he should woo Gillian. With a house to build and fields to plow, there would be little time for courtship. The best he could hope for was to be able to hold her close each night as he fell into an exhausted sleep. After his behavior the previous day, he wondered if she would even allow that much contact. It wasn’t something he could ask her outright, but later he might be able to at least test those waters. Andor waited until most of the ship had bedded down for the night. When the only sounds left were the wind snapping the sail and the water slapping against the hull, he entered his tent. His gaze fell to Gillian’s outline as she slept, and he eased down beside her, hoping not to be rebuffed. After another slight hesitation, he curled his body around hers. Gillian cuddled closer. Andor expelled a long breath - at least it was a start. The wooing would have to come much later.

Gillian stood at the rail with Freyda and Erik, watching the land before them in awestruck wonder. No descriptions she had heard and nothing in her imagination could have prepared her for this sight. Bare mountains belched smoke into the air. Andor called them volcanoes. Their innards were so hot rock liquefied. As dangerous as it sounded, Gillian longed to look inside one to see if this were so, even though a desert of lava at the base of the nearest one verified his words. At their first glimpse of the lava field, Gillian and Freyda exchanged a worried look. Surely this couldn’t be the rich land Andor and Olaf had bragged about. As the ship moved along the coast, their distress was relieved. Stands of birch and mountain ash trees dotted the land among verdant fields of tall grass. In hollows untouched by the sun, patches of snow held out against spring. Where there were cliffs, guillemots and puffins made their homes. Already Rollo had said he intended to net a few for food. Beaches invited ships to land, but Andor continued on. The mouth of a river twice the length of the ship cut the coastline up ahead. Andor steered toward it. "You ladies might want to move away from the rail," Rollo told them. "The water gets a little rough up here." Without pause they moved back while the men strained to row against the current. After having been tossed around by a pod of whales, the rocking they now faced was minimal. Once they breached the river’s outlet, the going was smooth. Gillian held her breath - it couldn’t be much farther. She fetched Gwynneth from the tent and settled her securely in the sling she tied over her shoulders and around her waist. Then she craned her neck for their landing site. Already she was facing Andor’s land. On the opposite shore was Leif’s. It was unfortunate he would be their neighbor, but at least the river stood between them. "There it is! The bridge!" Erik pointed ahead and jumped up and down. A wide, wooden bridge connected the river sides. Andor, Leif, and Olaf had built it the year before. Its height prevented ships from sailing beyond. It was their final resting place. Within minutes Andor’s ship was firmly grounded at its new home, and the ramp was set in place. "We are home," Andor said. "Unload our goods and set up tents. Stretch out those sea legs." Despite the bustle of activity which followed, Andor expected some words from Leif - an acknowledgment of arrival, a wish for future good fortune, a good-bye, a thank you...something. Leif didn’t bother to catch Andor’s gaze, much less try to speak to him. Andor put his mind to his work and tried to ignore the slight. But each time one of Leif’s men approached to give his thanks and goods wishes, Andor felt the sting. He could have made an issue of it and won the support of every man, but decided against it. In a land where the dark winters could be killers, good will was always important, and Leif was his neighbor. He gave him every opportunity, but when the last barrel was unloaded, and Leif’s group started across the bridge, Andor knew it was up to him to reach out. "I wish you luck, cousin," he called out, "and I thank you for your help on this voyage."

Leif turned his way. After a pause, he raised his hand in salute. "And luck to you, cousin." Then he continued across the bridge. Andor’s gaze followed him. The exchange lacked warmth, yet it gave hope for at least a tolerable relationship. He hoped this new beginning would give Leif the peace of mind he seemed to be lacking. With this thought he looked at Thora, burdened by a load of furs, and knew it would take a great deal of peace to make her life better. Even if Leif never raised a hand to her again, she still had the memories of all the times he had and the pain of seeing him callously dispose of their sons. Andor shook his head clear. There was nothing he could do for Thora. He had his own house to care for. Maybe there was even a little time for this wooing business while everyone settled down. "Gillian!" As she looked his way, a gentle breeze swirled her hair about her face. A smile lit her eyes, and Andor found his lips curving in response. "Leave Gwynneth to Freyda’s care. My horse needs exercise. Ride with me and I will show you our land." "What of her feeding?" But she was already untying the sling. "‘Twill not take long." "I will fetch us a jug of that wine your mother made and a round of bread while you ready the horse." He did nothing more than toss a blanket over the horse’s back and slip on its bridle. By the time he was done, Gillian was hurrying his way. "I have not been atop a horse since I was a wee one," she said with a smile. "I hope I stay put." Andor laughed. "I will keep you safe." He spanned her waist with his hands and set her on the animal’s back then swung up behind her. "Lean into me and you will be fine." Gillian cradled the wine and bread and scooted her bottom into the cove of his thighs. It was a secure fit for her and an uncomfortable one for Andor. He fought the rise, but each movement of her softly rounded bottom as the horse trotted along only aggravated the situation. Before they left sight of their people, Andor’s distress was fully inflamed. Initially his plight embarrassed him, but when Gillian did not try to move away, he took her inaction as a positive sign of desire on her part. Gillian inhaled the fresh, cool scent of trees and grass. It was a beautiful country. She could see the potential was there for a successful farm. Yes, it would take a lot of hard work, but she had no problem with that. She and hard work had been friends for a long time. Before it had been a thankless task, and she had been barely able to eke out an existence. Now, all that had changed. Andor would work as hard as she - he’d already shown her that. She sighed and pressed closer to his warmth. No matter what circumstances had brought them together, she counted herself fortunate indeed to have found a good husband. Whatever fears she initially had

seemed unfounded. He had honored her, sworn to care for her, named her child his, and had asked for nothing in return except that she bear him more children. According to Freyda, it was more than that. He wanted her as one lover wanted another. How odd that he should feel this way when Evan did not. Yet, the hard length rubbing against her back was evidence that what Freyda had said was true. She closed her eyes and prayed for the courage to fulfill her obligation to him. "What do you think of that?" Andor asked. She opened her eyes to a foggy pool of water. He reined the horse to a stop, slid down, then reached for Gillian. "Why is there no fog elsewhere? Is it bewitched?" she asked as he set her on her feet. "It is not fog." He lay the horse blanket on a patch of grass then placed the bread and wine on top. "‘Tis a hot spring. Come, let me show you." He laced his fingers through hers and led her to the water’s edge. Gillian knelt with him and rippled her fingers through the water. "‘Tis as warm as a bath." "I thought as much too." He pulled a cake of soap from his kirtle. "Would you like to wash the journey away?" She stared at the soap with a mixture of delight and wariness. "Here? Now?" "With me." "Unclothed?" Andor laughed. "‘Twould hardly be a bath if we left our clothes on." Gillian flushed and shot a glance to the trees on the other side of the clearing. "No one is here but us. Come." She stared into the water. "I have never seen a man unclothed." By the gods! What kind of man was her husband?"We will undress with our backs to each other, then slip into the water." "I...I bleed still from the birth." "Then the bath should feel good to you...Come... There is no need to feel uncomfortable. I helped bring Gwynneth into this world. I have seen your breasts while you nurse her. How bad could bathing together be?" He was tempting her, there was no way she could deny that, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. "No, I think not." A flicker of a smile crossed Andor’s lips. She was fighting against doing what she longed to do. It would

take only a little more persuasion and she would cave in. "Then I hope you do not mind while I go in. I have wanted this for the last few days. The closer we got, the more impatient I became." He turned her around. Gillian chewed her bottom lip while she listened to his clothes slide off. What would it hurt? A bath with unlimited hot water was a luxury. No kettles to boil or tote. No need to hurry before the water turned cold. Why shouldn’t she enjoy it, too? A gentle splash reached her ears, followed by Andor’s contented sigh. It was too much to resist. "Turn your back." "Are you joining me?" His teasing tone grated against her pride, but now that she had made up her mind she refused to back down. "Just turn around and leave me be." It was the quickest she had ever undressed. A chill breeze brushed goosebumps across her flesh, making her even more anxious for the water. She spun around and darted for the spring. Immersed to his neck, Andor kept a respectful distance. Gillian slipped in feet first. It was hotter than she anticipated. Any more and it would have been uncomfortable. "This feel wondrous." With a contented sigh, she let the liquid warmth ooze around her until her shoulders were covered. "Might I face you now?" There was still that teasing lilt to his voice, but Gillian ceased to care. "You may." Andor rolled to his stomach and glided to her. "How did you do that?" she asked, surprised but too lethargic now to show it. "Do what?" "Float over here that way." "I swam. I learned when I was a boy. All those in my family swim. My father believed it might help us if we fell overboard." "Is it easy to learn?" "For some. For others not. I have been told my brother had difficulty." "But he learned?" "Aye, and went on to teach his wife and sons." "Can you teach me?"

"Rest your hands on my shoulders, relax, and trust me." With Gillian floating upon his back, Andor swam the length of the spring and back. Then he let her float while he held her hands and walked before her. She learned quickly, but Andor was slow to praise since further instruction allowed him to touch her. Finally, he had no choice but to let her strike out on her own. She was as if born to the water. Andor was proud of her skill. "I like this," she said. "Is there more to learn?" "A few things, but we will save them for another time. We have forgotten about bathing. Come rest over here and I will wash your hair." Gillian laughed. "I never had a body wash my hair...except my mother when I was wee." "Then ‘tis time." It was another excuse to be close to her, and he was pleased when she didn’t resist the idea. He didn’t dare tell her it was the first time he’d done this. Gillian settled herself at the water’s edge so she could sit, yet stayed covered in the warmth to keep from being chilled. Andor sat beside her, cradling her across his body. He took his time massaging the lather into her scalp then drawing his fingers through the long strands of coppery hair. "You have a nice touch, husband. I feel like falling asleep right here." "Lean back on my arm and I will wash the soap away." He braced her shoulders and cupped the water in his free hand. As he rinsed, he allowed his gaze to wander as she floated beneath the water’s surface. True, he had seen parts of her before, but the full view took his breath away. Her flesh was the color of purest cream. Her brown-tipped breasts offered a sharp contrast in comparison. Even now they peeked above the water, hardening in the air as if by shrinking they could hide from the chill. Lower still, another dark swatch caught his eye. She was tempting, yet he knew he couldn’t have her. That knowledge alone made him want her all the more. He studied her slender waist, her stomach which was quickly regaining its pre-pregnancy flatness, and her legs - those curved lengths he longed to feel wrapped around his own. Andor pulled her closer until she was cradled on his lap, then his lips sought hers. Gillian sighed and draped an arm around his neck. Their tongues lapped together in gentle play much as their bodies had when she had learned to swim. Andor caressed her waist with his thumb, drawing circles on her skin. Their kiss went on, neither wishing to break contact. He pressed lower, kneading his fingers into her hip. Gillian broke away. "Andor, what...." Her words faded as he nipped his way across her collarbone then down to the curve of her breast. She arched her back, offering herself to him without realizing she had done so. With a shaky breath, Andor lapped at her nipple. Gillian cried out. What she meant to be a protest came out as an encouragement. His lips descended on his goal while his fingers sought what was hidden lower.

"No!" Gillian jerked away and jumped to her feet. Before he could stop her, she was running for her clothes. He had no choice but to follow. "What is wrong?" She spun around and pointed to the length which jutted from his body. "That!" "I cannot help that I want you. What is wrong with that?" "I asked you to give me time. I told you it was too soon." "It was not my intent to get you with child. I only wished to hold you and love you a bit...like any husband wishes to do with his wife." She tossed back her wet hair and snatched up the horse blanket to dry her shivering body. The wine and bread rolled to the dirt. "Well, Evan never wished for such things. And he never tried to steal food from my babe! And he never laid his hands on me in such a way! I see now I was wrong to trust you." "Steal from the babe? Never. I was making love to you." "‘Twas sinful." "Sinful is to not love a woman as she was meant to be loved. Like the sainted Evan did." Andor smirked. "Or shall I say...did not." "You will say nothing more and we will not speak of this again." She jerked her shift in place. Andor grabbed the blanket from where she had tossed it. "We may not speak of this, but I can tell you, youwill think of this moment and thesinful way I touched you. And you will want it again." "Never." Andor smirked. "Thatwe will see about."

CHAPTER 7 Gillian scrubbed the clothes with a vengeance she usually reserved for plucking chickens. She devoted special attention to Andor’s things, imagining him still inside them as she wrung them dry then submerged them in the river over and over again. He had not touched her again, but it was the way he didn’t touch her that she found so aggravating. The night before when he crawled into the tent beside her, he lay mere inches from her - so close she could feel his body’s heat. She tensed, waiting for him to make a move of some kind. While she waited, memories of his touch carried her thoughts away. With a sharp intake of breath she shivered as she had the night before. Andor’s reaction then had been a sarcastic, "Cold? I would keep you warm by wrapping my arms around you, but that would mean

touching you, and I know how you detest such a sinful activity." Gillian had snapped the fur over her head to shut him out. Then there was the incident that morning. When she handed him his bowl of porridge, he tucked his hands behind his back and refused to accept it until she set it down. "I would not wish to accidentally touch you," he said with a smirk. It was all she could do to keep from hurling it at him. She hated being mocked and teased. "Ooo!" She slapped his shirt into the basket beside her and picked up another. "If you keep beating the clothes that way, you will be spending the next week mending them and making new," Freyda told her. Gillian eased up on her assault. "I take it you and Andor once more had words." When Gillian didn’t reply, she sighed and went on. "There is so much work to do, it seems your energies would be better spent seeing to that work than to war with each other. What was it about this time?" Gillian hesitated. After a quick look around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, she opened her mouth to speak. The words wouldn’t come. It was simply too embarrassing to mention. Even the sentences she formed in her mind sounded ridiculous. "‘Twas nothing," she said. "Just another misunderstanding. You are right. There is too much work to keep stewing about it." "Mother says it is quite common for newly married couples to have their differences at first. It will pass with time. I remember how it was with Olaf." She glanced down at Gwynneth who slept in another basket beside the clothes. A sadness settled upon her. "I sometimes think I think too much of Olaf. ‘Tis hard not to when I see him in Erik. It only makes me miss him more. His laugh. His strength. His touch. His loving...Then yesterday as I watch Gwynneth, I realized - never again would I bear his children. It left an ache in me so great I cannot describe it." She began to cry, softly at first, then a heart-rending sob tore from her. Gillian rushed to enfold her in her arms. She rocked her as she would a child, letting her cry unrestrained, then held on until Freyda was ready to push away. When she finally did, she kissed Gillian’s cheek then sat back on her heels to flick away the last remnants of her tears. Gwynneth belted out a cry, and Freyda forced a laugh. "I suppose it is your day to deal with bawling females." "It is not a thing that bothers me," Gillian said. "We all need that attention at times." "The men found some eider duck nests in the fields when they were collecting grass this morning. The feathers in them will be nice for bedding. We lost all our barrels of feathers in the storm. I should collect them." "I will join you soon as I set the laundry to dry." Not wishing to cause Freyda any more pain, Gillian waited until she walked away before caring for Gwynneth.

It was a hurt only a woman could know, and as she soothed her infant daughter, Gillian realized she was condemning herself to a similar fate. She blinked back tears lest she become as overwhelmed by the reality as Freyda was. It was Olaf’s death that had put Freyda in her situation. Gillian’s would be of her own doing. "Blithering fool," she scolded herself, and set Gwynneth to nurse. How bad would it be to lay with Andor? No worse than Evan. So far he’d done nothing to hurt her - his touch was always gentle. She had not really found it unpleasant. It had just shocked her. No man had ever touched her in such a way. Perhaps it was yet another difference of their cultures. She could accept that and even put up with it if that’s what it would take to bear more children. But after her stand the day before, how could she get him back to her bed without damage to her pride? Knowing Andor as she did, Gillian could expect a fair amount of teasing from him if she went to him. There had to be another way. A way to make him come to her first. "Why was Freyda crying?" Gillian jumped in surprise. She had been so deep in thought she had not heard Andor’s approach behind her. "She was grieving for Olaf." "Ah." He squatted beside her. "She will probably grieve a long time. There was great love between them." "And was there great love between you and Astrid?" "Was there with you and Evan?" he asked in return. "No," she quickly replied. "There was only tolerance. You could not even call us friends." Her honesty surprised him. He had expected her to defend the man as she had once before - especially after yesterday. "Well, at least I can say that was not the case with Astrid. We were friends...lovers. I cared for her and she for me. We enjoyed being together. But the love did not burn in us as it did for Olaf and Freyda." "How very sad for her," Gillian said. "‘Twould be how my father felt when my mother passed on." Andor nodded. "I suppose setting up the bed they shared inside her tent is what brought the grief on so fresh." "No. ‘Twas Gwynneth." Andor looked at the baby. Wide, inquisitive eyes stared back at him. They were still dark, but Andor could see a hint of midnight blue in them. He smiled and caressed her downy cheek with his finger. "She longs for more children," she told him. "As any woman would."

"Including you?" Gillian smiled. "I fancy a son with a look of you." Andor chuckled. "That would be very grand indeed." "Perhaps when I recover from Gwynneth’s birth, we might try." Gillian prayed he would not taunt her. Andor’s eyes rolled slowly up to hers. Had he heard her clearly? Judging by her pink cheeks he would say yes. She was yielding to him - not as he had hoped, but in her own way. It was sooner than he had anticipated. He had looked forward to gloating a bit when this time came - now he found he could not do it. If it meant waiting until she was receptive for her to accept him, then he’d wait until that time to show her what it felt like to truly make love. "I would be agreeable to that," he said. "You will tell me when this time comes?" "Yes." "Then I shall look forward to that time in the hope it will give us the son we both wish for." He stretched to his feet to leave. "There is one more thing I might ask of you." "Which is?" "Can you set up our bed now as you did for Freyda?" Andor smiled. "Rollo and I will do so this eve." Gillian was strangely giddy as he walked away. It was a victory easily won. "‘Twas not so bad, little one," she said to Gwynneth. Then her conscience intruded.Now all you have to do is carry it through.

Andor stood before his home, legs astride, hands on hips. It was everything he had envisioned. The end result of many weeks of hard work. The building was as long as his ship - a sturdy structure of turf on a stone foundation. Two chimneys poked out of the sloping roof. Inside, the walls and roof were supported by timbers and lined with thin slats of wood. The single entryway was a dead space designed to keep the icy weather out when one entered and exited. A shielded archway to the left led to the long lavatory - no need to brave the elements to relieve oneself. Ahead, through a hide of reindeer, was the main hearth. Here they could entertain many guests, the women could cook and weave, and the men attend to carving and rope-making in the winter months. Platforms on the sides were perfect for sitting or sleeping. It was large enough to give them space during the long, dark months of winter. If that were not enough privacy, three large bed closets had been built. Freyda’s was to the right, Rollo’s was across the hearth on the left, and Andor and Gillian’s lay ahead. Each had plenty of room for a bed, the occupant’s possessions and more. At Gillian’s request, pegs were put in the walls for cloaks and clothes. It was such a clever idea Rollo and Andor had done so throughout the building. Even as he admired his handiwork, the women were inside setting up their cookware and work areas.

Smoke puffed from the chimney - one of them had started cooking. He made a mental note to tell Seamus to have more wood cut for them. They’d have to also make sure there was a good supply for winter. They could concentrate more on that when the outbuildings were complete. Now that the main house was finished, the others were progressing nicely. Besides individual houses of the five freemen and their families, Andor planned a slave hut, housing for the animals, separate storage for food and supplies, and a bath house. Rollo’s workshop and forge would be near the main house. In a year or so, when the slaves had earned their freedom, they would also be given a plot of land for house and garden, if they desired. While the livestock grazed on lyme grass, Andor had set off several fields with a low rock wall. The lengthening days had given him necessary time to plow and plant barley, wheat, oats, and flax. A vegetable garden was close to the house. Seedlings were already piercing the dirt. Everything was going well. It was more than he could say for Leif. He could see his neighbor’s fields from where he stood. They had been plowed within days of landing, yet they still sported no growth. Leif’s house was still a skeleton of timbers. Maybe it was time to offer him a hand. Of course, it would have to be done in a way that did not suggest Leif was incompetent. That would not be easy - Leif’s feathers ruffled at the simplest of things. Andor wondered if Gillian and Freyda might have any ideas, but when he approached them a few minutes later, all they did was look at one another and shrug. "‘Tis not much help," he told them. "‘Tis a difficult problem," Gillian replied. "Thora does not even wash the laundry when we do," Freyda added. "She seems to avoid us. We have only seen her from afar." "But there has to be a way to help them. If they do not get things done soon, they will not survive the winter," Andor said. They dwelt on that while Gillian divided bread dough into loaves and rolls. "Seek his help in some manner, then he would have to accept yours in return." Andor jammed his fists to his hips. "What could I possibly need Leif’s help with?" "Well...I was thinking how nice it would be if that hot spring were a wee bit closer." "You want me to move the house?" Gillian laughed. "No, but is there not a way you could have the water come to us...Like a stream would." Andor scratched his beard. The idea did have its merits, but it would take a good deal of planning. He would have far better luck working with Rollo. Leif wasnot inventive. "It does not appeal to you?" "The idea, yes. Discussing it with Leif, no."

"Discussing it is one thing. You do not have to use his ideas. Treat him as you would a small child who thinks he is grown. If you do not, you will not be able to give him the help he is too proud to ask for." "True...I will not be long." Andor walked rather than take his horse. It gave him extra time to think of the best way to approach Leif. He saw Thora first, working on her loom outside her tent, and walked toward her. She had to hear him - he was far from quiet - yet she didn’t turn his way. "Thora?" Her hands stopped in mid-air, then she dropped them and slowly turned his way. Andor gasped at the sight of her bruised and swollen face. No wonder she had avoided Freyda and Gillian. He would not shame her by asking her what happened - it was already painfully obvious. "I was looking for Leif." "You will find him on the other side of the house, cutting new supports." Without another word, she turned back to her work. Andor balled his fist at his side. If he saw Leif now, he’d be too tempted to batter him as Leif had Thora. He pivoted on his heel and strode back to his own homestead, covering the distance in half the time it had originally taken. He didn’t bother to tell Gillian and Freyda he had returned. Instead, he grabbed his ax and headed for the trees to work off his anger by chopping firewood.

Gillian dusted the flour from her hands just outside the entrance of the house. By chance she looked up in time to see Andor marching away. "Is that not Andor?" Freyda asked from over Gillian’s shoulder. "Aye. The talk must have gone bad." Freyda sighed. "I suppose I should go after him." "No. ‘Tis a wife’s place. Watch Gwynneth. I will not be long." She hurried away before Freyda could stop her. It was the first real time Gillian had been able to catch Andor alone in two days. She wanted nothing to stand in her way. It was more than concern over his talk with Leif that urged her on. Her recovery was complete, and she had not been able to fulfill her promise to tell him. Before her courage failed, she plunged into the tree line. The steady whack of the ax drew her toward him. She paused when she caught sight of him. He was dressed in only his breeches. His kirtle was draped over a rock. Sweat polished his tanned torso to a glossy sheen. Gillian was mesmerized by the smooth motion of his back muscles as he seated the blade into the tree’s flesh. Each gouge echoed the thud in her heart, and for the first time she knew what desire was. She closed her eyes and brought forth the image of his nude body, recalling how solid he had looked. Smooth, sharp angles had defined him. There was no waste - he was perfectly designed.

Gillian suddenly felt hot. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flashed open, and she took a step forward. A branch cracked beneath her foot. Andor spun around, reaching for the sword at his side as he did so. "Gillian...you startled me." "I meant not to. I saw you come this way and followed." He reach for his kirtle. "There is no need to dress." A flush warmed her cheeks when he looked at her. She felt awkward as she pondered her next move. Now that he was before her, how could she say the words? "I was spreading it out so you could sit. The grass is damp." He snapped it in place, and when she sat down, he went back to his work. Gillian smoothed her shift over her lap. "What did Leif say?" Andor seated the blade with a sharpthwack . "I did not speak to him. I could not." "Why?" He heaved a sigh and plopped down beside her. "I saw Thora first. He beat her again. Her face was swollen on one side and bruised. I was so angry that if I had seen him then, I might have killed him." "Poor Thora. He is crazed." "They loved each other so when they wed. He has let his jealousy ruin that. I remember her bright laugh - she would laugh a lot. Not a flirtatious laugh like some girls, but a happy one. She was active, too. She and Freyda had quite a few adventures." He chuckled. "Once they let out all the sheep at shearing time. It took hours to round them up. Our fathers were furious, but by the time they caught the girls, they found them asleep on a haystack with a lamb between them. They still got switched, but not ‘til the next morning and not as bad." Andor folded his hands behind his head and leaned back to stare at the treetops. "Thora was a beauty then. She had so much life in her. She was my first love. I kissed her once and knew what it felt like to be as high as the gods. I was not the only one who wanted her, but I believed I was the only oneshe wanted. I will never forget the hurt I felt when I came back from a year of trading and found she had wed Leif. She seemed happy, though, and that was all I cared about. I left to trade again." It was something that had happened long ago, Gillian knew that. They were both tied to other people now, she knew that too. But neither of those rationales could prevent the jealousy that boiled up inside her. She saw in Thora a rival for Andor’s affections - affections she had really not cared about until then. "How could she be happy with a man who beat her?" "He did not always do so," he replied. "‘Twas only after she told him she was expecting. They had been

married for five years and she had not conceived. He believed she was unfaithful." "And so he beat her." Andor nodded. "And continued to do so worse each time...Women should be respected and loved." "You make me feel like you respect me." He leaned up on his elbow. "But do you feel loved?" Gillian’s heart jumped to her throat. She couldn’t speak, even as he was taking her hand into his and pulling her down beside him. Her mind seemed void of all thought except that she must keep from breaking the spell those forest green eyes wove about her. He placed her palm against his chest and she unconsciously curled her fingers through the blond fur there. "Can you feel the beat of my heart?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "It beats for want of you." His lips fell upon hers in a slow, searching kiss that Gillian fully returned. She would let her body say what she could not. With shaking hands she unclasped her brooches and set them aside with her tunic. Not once did she break the seal of their lips. She was his and ready for love. Nothing must spoil this moment for them. She was an unvirgin virgin, and Andor was determined to correct that oversight. He tried not to think of how Evan had ill-used her and concentrated only on making her his. He fumbled to loosen his sword belt and the cord of his trousers. As he did so, she pulled loose the drawstring at the top of her shift. With a gasp, he broke off his kiss and stood long enough to undress. Through passion-hooded eyes he watched Gillian wiggle from her dress. Then she lay at his feet, open, ready, arms reaching for him. Her red hair was spread beneath her like a silken fan. He eased into her embrace. Gillian was distressed that he did not join with her. She was ready - more ready than she’d ever been in her life. She puzzled over his actions while he drew her against him. A nip at her neck sent shivers through her. He moved lower, targeting her breasts for his gentle assault. Gillian tossed her head back in oblivious abandon while he nipped around the tender globes and drew wet circles around the tips. A soft cry left her throat and with it any final inhibitions she may have had. Her legs parted as she felt his hand dust its way past her navel and over her belly to the coppery curls below. He paused long enough to take her hand in his. He kissed her palm then slowly drew each digit into his mouth. She gasped. "Oh, Andor, please." But she had no idea what she meant. "Yes, love," he replied, his voice deep and husky. He pulled her hand down to the throbbing length between them. When she tried to pull back, he wrapped her fingers around it. "Please." Gillian studied his face and stroked him. He groaned in response. She smiled to herself at the power she had over him and stroked once more. "Aye. That is it." He slipped his fingers to her center. "This is how it feels." He circled the hooded guardian. Gillian cried out, arching against him. She forgot about her role of power and gave in to feelings she had

never felt before. She wanted it to never end, and yet as her body gyrated beneath his hand she knew it could not last forever. It was a white hot feeling that encompassed her, energizing and draining at the same time. She was vaguely aware that Andor had moved between her legs. But when his fingers moved aside for his entry, she was bereft. "No. Please, do not stop." "I have only begun. Do not fear. I will not leave you unfinished." Then he slid his full length deep within her. Gillian panted for breath. She felt him pull back, pause, then ease in once more. Then again - harder. She arched her hips while sounds she never thought she was capable of reached her ears. She rocked with him, taking the full measure of his pounding thrusts. A spasm gripped her, a feeling so intense she felt she was exploding from within to without. She dug her fingers into his buttocks and ground herself against him as the moment overtook her. It was too much for Andor. The rapture on her face, that beautiful body writhing against his, the heat that surrounded him. With a final thrust he seated himself deeply and joined her. They collapsed together, spent with the exhaustion of after-love. He did not know how long they had lain together before he heard her say, "I feel so cheated." He looked up and brushed a strand of coppery hair from her face. "By me?" "Never," she quickly replied. "By Evan. Do all men know how to please a woman so?" Andor shrugged a shoulder. "All men should, but only a woman can say if he does or does not." "How did you learn of such things?" He smiled. "From Tove, the widow down the road. I worked for her one summer. I arrived a boy and left a man. She taught me much. I visited her from time to time until I wed." Jealousy smacked into Gillian again, but she forced herself to smile and say, "Perhaps one day I shall be able to thank her." Andor chuckled. "Your eyes say different." He kissed her before she could form a denial. Gillian felt him grow hard within her. "You want me again?" "Yes," he said with a grin. "Is that possible?" "Very." He dropped a line of kisses across her jaw. "I intend to love you as much as I can, whenever I can. With your consent, of course." "You have it," she said with a sigh, and closed her eyes as those wondrous feelings built again.

CHAPTER 8 This was what married life was supposed to be like, Gillian told herself. It was what her parents had had. Sharing, companionship, love - it was all there. It made her painfully aware of what she had missed as Evan’s wife. Gillian didn’t dwell on that past. She refused to let old miseries intrude on what she now had. It was difficult for her to pinpoint one specific thing she liked best about her life with Andor. Each aspect held its own special quality. She had always enjoyed his nearness at night, but in the fortnight passed the closeness had reached a level she never believed possible. A night had not gone by without them loving one another. And the thing that pleased her most about that was that she was as free to initiate it as he was. Such activity was not restricted to their bedroom or the night. Gillian smiled and looked across the hearth to where he played with Gwynneth. She supposed if she were forced to pick a favored part of her life, it would be this. Every morning as she prepared their food, Andor took Gwynneth aside to coo, sing, and play with. Whenever the baby saw him near, she’d kick and wave her arms in excited delight. How could Gillian resist loving that time? Andor looked up to find Gillian watching him. The smile in her eyes brought a rush of emotion to his heart. By all the gods that existed, he never knew loving a woman could be so all encompassing. It was all he could do to keep from running to her right now and crush her to him. He treasured the first sight of her face after a day’s work. The lilt of her laughter, her gentle caress, her sigh as she settled beside him in sleep, the unbridled passion that seared from her blood to his - all were the mainstays of his existence. And this beautiful child he held...her child...their child...if the gods had decreed Gillian would bear no more young,she would be enough for him. In the moments he spent with her, playing and making unintelligible sounds, he planned her future. They would always be close, as Freyda and his father had been. Gwynneth would take her first step to him. She would seek him to heal her hurts. And when it came time for her to wed, only the best man could have her - only a man who could love her as much as Andor loved Gillian. He thought of Astrid as he often did at times like this. They had been married five months and still had not obtained the intimacy that he and Gillian now shared. Only the day before Gillian had surprised him in one of the outer fields with a noon meal. Before he could peek into the basket, she had lured him into the trees - something Astrid would never have done no matter how long they had been married. Gillian had the fire, the passion, he craved in a woman. Astrid paled in comparison. While a part of him was saddened that she had died, another part was grateful for the release that gave him Gillian. "What are you staring at?" he asked her. "Oh, I was wondering what you might look like without that beard." "Naked as a babe," Freyda put in. "‘Tis quite a sight." "Oh, I have seen him naked," Gillian replied. "‘Tis quite a sight indeed." The purr in her voice set fire to Andor’s blood. He forced down his reaction as best he could. "You are thinking to rob me of my beard, are you?" "I am a wee bit curious."

"A man’s face would freeze in the winter without his beard. You would freeze me to satisfy your curiosity?" The women laughed. "If ‘tis that dangerous, we ought to have beards too," Freyda said. "We could take Andor’s and Rollo’s as they sleep and have fine ones for ourselves," Gillian said. Andor grabbed his chin in mock fear. "You would not!" They laughed again. "Tempting, I admit, but I will not risk having a life with a man who has no face. You can keep the beard. Besides, ‘twill give Gwynneth something to hang on to when she begins to walk." This time Rollo burst out with a laugh. "That little one may pull her father’s beard out by the roots if she wishes. Andor would never protest." "No doubt that is true," Freyda said. Andor merely shook his head and looked down at the baby. "Your aunt knows of what she speaks, young Gwynneth," Andor said. "For many years she was an only daughter who could mold her papa like clay." Freyda shook a finger at him. "Do not start teasing me. ‘Twill make me homesick. Come eat your food. We have curds and whey this morning, hot bread, eggs, and smoked ham. Eat up. You will need your strength if you intend to net more guillemots today." Gillian clucked her tongue. "If I had my way, there would be none of that again." Andor shot an accusing glare Rollo’s way. Rollo fanned his fingers across his chest. "‘Twas not me who told." "Only you and I were present and Iknow I kept silent," Andor said. Rollo’s head rotated in Freyda’s direction. Andor’s followed. She gave them a sweetly innocent smile. "I forgot you did not wish Gillian to know." "When did you wish to tell me?" Gillian demanded to know. "When the tide had carried your body away?" Just thinking of how close Andor came to death made her heart pound with anxiety. If it weren’t for Rollo’s quick reflexes and strength, Andor would have fallen down the face of the cliff when his safety rope had come loose from the tree above. All the guillemots in the world would never be worth losing Andor’s life. "Other than a few scrapes and bruises, I was unhurt," he replied. "I saw no cause to alarm you."

"I find the bird tasteless," she said. "I have no use for it, its eggs, or its feathers. I will not have it in this house." It was panic making her talk this way, but Gillian didn’t care. They would not starve for lack of guillemots, but they...she...could not survive without Andor. If he wished to argue the matter, she was ready. He had made her mistress of his house, and she was asserting that authority. A royal edict, that was the first thing that popped into Andor’s head. Gillian had firmly put her foot down and nothing would make her lift it. The stubborn tilt of her jaw and the fire in her eyes told him that. She could have her way. Netting guillemots while dangling fifty feet in the air was not something he particularly enjoyed. He walked to the table, handed her the baby, and kissed her. "As you wish, wife. Rollo and I will spend the day planning the trough from the hot springs to our home." His acquiescence was still not enough to quell the frantic beat of her heart. Even though she had not been at the cliffs the day before with him and Rollo, she could still see the knot slipping, the rope snaking away, and Andor groping for a hand-hold. The fact that he sat here now, eating and planning the day’s events, could only be by divine miracle. By her God or his gods, Gillian did not care, as long as he lived. After he finished his meal, Andor cupped Gwynneth’s head and dropped a kiss to her forehead. For Gillian his good-bye kiss was longer. Then he snatched up the bundle of food she had made for their noon meal and left with Rollo. Gillian’s prayer that he return safely went with him. "I much prefer the loving Andor and Gillian to the warring Andor and Gillian," Freyda said. "Aye," Gillian said with a smile. "‘Tis a great improvement indeed." She began to gather the dirty dishes. "Let’s take them to the river," Freyda suggested. "We can wash them there while we do the laundry. ‘Tis such a nice day, I do hate to be inside." Erik jumped up. "Mother, may I pull the wagon?" "Of course, but not with the babe inside," she replied. "I would be careful," he said, hurt that she seemed to have so little faith in his grown-up abilities. Freyda smiled then hugged him. "I know you would, but babies move very quickly...so quickly it is even hard for a mother to keep up." He accepted this limit to his abilities and wheeled the small laundry wagon from its storage place near their bed closet. Once Gillian found a secure place for the basket of dirty dishes in the cart, she pulled out Gwynneth’s basket and put it on top. Erik’s eyes widened at the load, but he refused to tell the women how intimidated he felt. He grabbed the handle and pulled as hard as his five-year-old muscles would allow. Gillian and Freyda smiled at each other. When she was sure Erik could not see, Freyda pushed the wagon from behind. Gillian felt Gwynneth’s head droop to her shoulder. Soon she would be tagging after Erik, then her siblings would be following her. Gillian hoped she could do as well raising children as Freyda - willing to let them try on their own, yet there to guide and catch them if they should falter.

"Is she asleep?" Freyda asked. "Yes. Exhausted again from her play with Andor." Gillian spied a figure on the far bank of the river. "Thora has come to do her laundry. Perhaps we should leave her be and come back later." Freyda straightened and pushed the kinks from her back. "No. ‘Tis a silly thing for her to run off when she sees us. No matter what Leif has done to her, she still needs the company of women. We have been friends all our lives. I will not let her continue to shut me out...Come, Erik." She took the boy’s hand in one of hers and the wagon handle in the other, then marched toward the bridge. Gillian held back, hoping Thora would make a hasty retreat. She was ashamed to admit she was still jealous of Andor’s former attraction to the woman. Freyda’s quick actions gave Thora little time to retreat. Her dark eyes widened then darted around for a way to escape. In the end there was no way she could gracefully gather her clothes and leave before Freyda reached her. "Good morning," Freyda called out. "Gillian and I saw you and thought to join you." When Thora made no protest and turned back to her work, Gillian reluctantly joined them. "‘Tis a good day for a visit," she forced herself to say. Still Thora did not acknowledge them. While Erik skipped away to chase butterflies, they settled on either side of her. Gillian put Gwynneth in her basket out of Thora’s reach. Thora gave the baby no more than a glance. "The river runs swift today," Gillian said. "And cold," Freyda said. "It will be wonderful if Andor and Rollo are able to bring the hot springs to our house. Imagine...not having to go outside to wash clothes or dishes, or even to bathe." Thora shot a wary glance over her shoulder. "Do you have a hot spring on your land?" Gillian asked. "I must go," she replied, and began gathering her things. She held her left arm close to her body, her movements stiff. Although no bruises marked her face, there could be no doubt Leif had not let up on beating her. Freyda touched her arm, wincing with Gillian when Thora jerked back. "There is no need to leave us. We would enjoy your company." She glanced over her shoulder again to the rolling fields behind them. Leif’s figure appeared at the top of one of the small hills. He paused, raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun, then strode their way. As painful as it was for her, Thora scrambled to put the clothes in her basket. As she stood to leave, her ankle gave way. Gillian caught her before she could fall. "Easy now," she said. "Did you hurt yourself?" "No. I am fine." She bent over to lift the basket, stifling a cry as she did so. "Here...let me," Gillian said.

"NO!" Leif shouted. "Leave her be and get off my property!" He came down upon them so quickly, Gillian never had a chance to do as he ordered. He grabbed a handful of her hair, and yanked her back. Thora’s laundry fell to the muddy river bank. "Get off my land!" he roared. "And take your brat with you!" With no regard for the infant inside, Leif kicked Gwynneth’s basket as hard as he could. It fell to its side, dumping Gwynneth. Gillian and Freyda scrambled to catch her before she reached the water, but neither were fast enough. There was a short wail from the infant before she hit the water, then the tangle of laundry pulled her under. Gillian plunged in after her, flinging clothes aside. "Gwynneth!" she screamed, as if the baby could reply. "Gwynneth!" "There!" Freyda pointed downriver a few yards. Gwynneth’s body bobbed to the surface. Gillian swam for her while Freyda ran alongside the bank. Gillian’s strong strokes tried to close the distance the swift-moving river seemed intent on keeping between her and the baby, but the effort and the icy water sapped her strength. She thought only for Gwynneth’s life, not for her own, even when exhaustion and the weight of her clothing began to pull her under. "You are almost there," Freyda shouted. "Only an arm’s length away. Keep going." Gillian sucked in a breath. Her lungs stung from the effort. She saw Gwynneth’s nightgown before her and kicked. Her shift wrapped around her legs and pulled her under. She swiped the water with a broad breaststroke and surfaced inches behind the baby. With a sob she gathered the limp little body to her. "Gillian! Catch!" Gillian heard a splash beside her. Freyda had tied the dirty clothes into a rope. She grabbed the end and twisted it around her arm. "Hang on!" Gillian was numb with cold by the time Freyda pulled her and Gwynneth to shore. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled. Freyda caught her before she could fall. "Easy now." "My baby." Crying, she lay Gwynneth on a patch of grass. "She does not breath." She pressed a hand to the baby’s chest to check her fears. Gwynneth regurgitated water and everything else in her stomach, then started to shiver. Her body was tinged blue from cold and lack of air. A purplish bruise the size of a goose egg edged her hairline. "She breathes now. ‘Tis all right." But the baby remained unconscious and Gillian was afraid of what that might mean. "We need to get you both back to the hearth or you will freeze to death." Freyda tossed her cloak around Gillian’s shoulders then bundled the baby into some dry clothes.

Gillian reached for her. "I will carry her." Freyda helped her to her feet. "No. She needs the warmth of a body - you have none to give." She nodded and took a step. Her legs felt as if they’d been cast in iron. "Go on. Get Gwynneth back. I will follow." Leif took a stance between her and Freyda. "You will go nowhere, witch!" Freyda tugged on his arm, but he refused to budge. "Have you gone mad? Gillian is no witch!" "She is! I have thought so from the beginning. Now I have the proof I need." He jammed his fingers into Gillian’s chest. She staggered backward and fell to her knees. "Leave her be!" He shoved Freyda away. "She is a curse that must be stopped. Since the river did not do it, I shall have to myself." He grabbed her hair and pulled her back to the river’s edge. Gillian tried to lash out at him with her feet but her sodden shift rooted them in place. She swung her arms, trying to sink her nails into him, but Leif played on her exhaustion, keeping just out of reach. Gillian felt the icy water oozing over her legs once more. Her body was so cold the water felt warm. She twisted in his grasp, fighting to keep him from pushing her under. The last thing she heard before he succeeded was Freyda. "Erik, run for Seamus! He is in the animal house!" While Erik’s footsteps pattered across the bridge Freyda put Gwynneth in her basket. Using the rope of clothes as a weapon, she beat it against Leif’s back. With one hand still ensnared in Gillian’s hair, he whirled around to Freyda’s attack. She slashed it across his face. He fell back, loosening his hold on Gillian. Gillian gasped for air, her lungs burning from the effort. Even in her semi-daze she tried to crawl to safety. Freyda beat at Leif without pause, giving Gillian the precious time she needed to recover. But Leif was a man used to abusing women, and while Freyda’s defense took him unaware, he recovered his surprise quickly. In one smooth movement he was on his feet. With the next lash he grabbed Freyda’s rope. Gillian lunged forward, sinking her teeth into his calf. His scream cut the air, but the wound was far from disabling. With a roar he backhanded Freyda. Her head whipped back so hard Gillian heard her neck crack. An instant later she fell unconscious to the ground. Leif wasted no time returning to his first prey. While Gillian masked the fear in her eyes, he wound his hand in her hair. "Now for you, witch." He shoved her face into the water. Gillian could give only token resistance. She flailed about trying to break free as darkness closed in on her. Her blood roared in her ears, magnifying her heart beats. She felt her body float away and knew death was near. A drumming in the distance called to her.

The hooves on Andor’s horse beat a steady rhythm as Andor heeled it to a gallop across the bridge. Rollo and his mount were only feet behind him. By the grace of the gods they had returned home in time to hear Erik’s tearful screams for help. Leif’s head jerked up at the sound of their approach. Andor thought he detected a moment of fear in his cold, dark eyes, but it was quickly masked. He released Gillian and drew his sword. As he backed away toward his home, he dragged Thora with him to use as a shield. Andor let him go. Leif wouldn’t be hard to find when it came time for vengeance. His only concern now was Gillian and Freyda. He reined his horse to a stop and leaped to Gillian’s side. With loving care he scooped her in his arms. Gillian sputtered for air. "The baby," she said through her coughs, "she is hurt...Freyda too." Andor turned around. Rollo cradled Freyda and pressed a wet cloth to her head. She heaved a breath and opened groggy eyes. A bruise marred the right side of her face. Andor ground his teeth until they squeaked, but his fury was barely held in place. Footsteps clattered upon the bridge as Seamus and a few of the other men ran to help. "Do you want a cart?" he shouted. "No time for that. Help us get the women on the horses," Andor said. To Gillian he asked, "Can you hold Gwynneth?" "Aye." When she tried to stand, Andor kept her down. "I shall bring her to you." His heart raced with panic as he bent to retrieve the baby from her basket. She was so still he was afraid she was dead. He gingerly lifted her cold body and held his breath while he waited to hear hers. It was faint, but it existed. "Bring my horse, Seamus." He placed Gwynneth in Gillian’s arms then, with the help of his men, set mother and child atop the horse. Rollo was already across the bridge with Freyda. Erik waited anxiously by the house. "Hold on, love," he told Gillian. "‘Twill not be long." By the time they reached the house, Gillian had stripped Gwynneth’s wet clothes away and bundled her in Andor’s cloak. At least her body had begun to warm, yet she still had not moved. Andor carried both inside to the warmth of the hearth. Freyda lay on a fur before it, a wet cloth over her eyes. While Gillian placed Gwynneth securely in her cradle, Andor retrieved the white fur from their bedroom. Then he shielded her with it and peeled away her sodden garments. "Sit by the fire with the baby and warm yourself." He kissed her forehead. "I will make you some hot tea."

"Why does she not move?" she asked, her gaze transfixed to the cradle. "I do not know." Andor turned to Rollo. "I have heard there is a physician six farms to the east." "I am already on my way," Rollo replied.

The oil lamps cast ghostly shadows over the young physician’s face as he pressed an herbal poultice over the purple bruise disfiguring Gwynneth’s head. Andor would have had more faith in the man if he were a bit older, but he carried out his examination with confident precision. Even if he did not have the experience of years, at least he seemed to know what he was doing. He had even been able to ease the ache in Freyda’s head. He watched the shallow rise and fall of Gwynneth’s chest. It mirrored Gillian’s, as if she still drew life from her mother. Up, down. Andor found his breathing matching that of theirs. It was a frightening pattern etched on the mind. If any of them broke it, together they would die. Andor shook the morbid thought away and sucked in a breath. The spicy poultice assaulted his nostrils. It was a wonder that the aroma alone didn’t arouse Gwynneth. He tucked one hand behind his back, in the other he clutched the amulet around his neck and paced the length of the hearth. "I have done all I can," the physician told them. "‘Twould help if we all prayed." Pray? The amulet had made indentations in his hand, he prayed so hard. Freyda and Rollo had not moved in the hours they knelt in prayer before the tiny statue of Thor. Even young Erik solemnly joined them from time to time. And Gillian - her gaze had not wavered from the baby. Her knuckles were white from where she clasped them beneath her chin, praying in the way her people did. Was the man so blind he could not see this? "I have been praying since the bastard first kicked her in the river," Gillian said, her voice soft but firm. "Said well enough for us all." From the corner of his eye Andor saw the physician slump to a stool beside the cradle. Andor counted him sufficiently subdued and continued pacing. He had taken no more than two circuits around the hearth when Gwynneth’s breathing turned raspy. He hurried to Gillian’s side, folding his fingers over her shoulder as the two of them leaned forward. They breathed in unison, unconsciously adding their strength to that of the child. In...out. Up...down. Every pause she made, they did also, praying it would not be her last. In...out. Up...down. There was another pause, one that lasted too long. "No," Gillian whispered. With tears glimmering in her eyes, she looked up at Andor. He reached into the cradle and pulled the lifeless body to his chest. He lifted his face upward, beseeching all the gods to give her life. But his call went unheard. No longer would her gurgle light up his day. The future he had dreamed of no longer existed. His daughter, as much as if he had planted the seed of her beginnings himself, was dead. It was the worst pain his heart had ever felt. Gillian dusted her hands over the tiny body. "My baby?" "She is gone, my love," Andor said, his voice choked with emotion.

"I would hold her once more." Andor placed Gwynneth in her arms then held Gillian close while they grieved. He heard Freyda crying, and was grateful that Rollo comforted her, for he could not. Erik tugged at her skirts - so much death for a small boy to deal with. Freyda wrapped an arm around him. Rollo picked him up. "Mother, did Jormungand take the baby’s life also?" he asked. Gillian broke free of Andor’s arms and whirled around. "I am sick of your heathen gods and goddesses!" She lashed out at Thor’s statue, sending it hurling across the room. "To be sure it was a sea monster which took my baby’s life! A sea monster my people callGaill !" With Gwynneth still clutched in her arms, she fell to her knees to sob. Andor wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Gillian was right - a hideous monster was responsible for his daughter’s death, but it was an earthly monster, not one of myth. "Leif will die," he told her. "This I vow to you." He spun around on his heel, but before he could leave to carry out his threat, Rollo grabbed his arm. "This is not the way," he said. "If you kill Leif, you will be as guilty as he is. Let the lawmakers at the Thing decide his fate. ‘Tis the only way. To do otherwise may cause Gillian and Freyda to lose you." Andor’s breath came in huffs as he tried to control his rage. "‘Tis time to tend to Gwynneth," Freyda told him. "We need you here." Andor’s eyes clouded with tears he refused to blink away. "I have word the Thing will meet next week. Although it is my right by birth to sit as judge, I shall relinquish that right for this meeting and charge Leif with the murder of my daughter." He fell to his knees beside Gillian and wrapped his arms around his wife and baby daughter. Rollo faced the physician. "‘Tis best you leave. We do not need your presence to bury the babe." The man scurried away without hesitation. Rollo rested his large hand on Gillian’s head. "Our ways are different and for that I am sorry, especially in this time of grief. In order to do right by you and Gwynneth, I need to know - how do you wish to bury her?" "In a Christian grave...Seamus will know," was her muffled response.

CHAPTER 9 "Woman, I will not have my daughter shoved in a box all alone!" Gillian stood before Andor, arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched. For now, she had no more tears left in her and let anger take over for grief. "Would you rather dump her naked in a hole and throw dirt in her

face?" "She would not be dumped in naked! She would be dressed in her finest with all her things to guide her to the next world so that she may use them! You are sending her with nothing!" "She is my daughter and will have a Christian burial before the Lord, not a heathen rite for God to scorn!" "She is my daughter too, and will have all she requires for her next life!" "She isnot your daughter. You were not there when she was conceived." If she meant to wound him, she had found her mark. Andor scowled and pushed his face to within inches of hers. Through gritted teeth he said, "I might have not been there to plant her, but I was there to pull her out. Which is more than you could have expected from the sainted Evan." Andor saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and caught Gillian’s wrist before she could strike him. For extra caution, he grabbed the other then pulled both behind the small of her back. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Freyda shoved herself between the couple. With arms crossed over their chests they turned their backs to her and each other. "What is the matter with the two of you? The child’s body is barely cold and here you are warring again. You both talk of heathen behavior, there can be nothing more heathen than this. Where is your respect for the dead? She loved you both - her mother, her father. She knew not the ways of theGaill or the Gaedhil . Can the two of you not compromise? Gillian, what would it hurt to have Gwynneth’s things with her? Surely your God would not begrudge the wants of a baby." Gillian’s shoulders slumped. Tears she thought gone reappeared. She buried her face in her hands. "And, Andor," Freyda said, "Gwynneth will still be nestled in her fur bunting. The box Gillian wants will be very much like her cradle. She would like that. Nice and warm." He stared into the far corner of the room, but made no comment. They were quiet for so long, Freyda began to wonder if they would stand like that forever. Finally, it was Andor who made the first move, spurred by a choked sob from Gillian. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to his chest. "Can it be as Freyda has said?" he asked. "For the sake of laying our daughter to rest?" Gillian nodded. "Then ‘tis time we did so." Gillian pushed away to wrap Gwynneth in her white bear bunting, but when it came to placing her in the wooden box Rollo had labored a full day to build, she could not do it. Andor took the child and lay her inside, then lifted the box. He looked first to Gillian then to Freyda and Rollo. "‘Tis time." Gillian led the way to the baby’s grave where their people waited to pay their last respects.

Andor waited for Freyda and Rollo to gather Gwynneth’s things, then carried his daughter to her final place. By the time he reached it, he was nearly blinded by tears. With loving affection he dropped a kiss to her head before placing her in the ground with her possessions. Seamus intoned the Christian words to commit her body to the earth. When he was done, Andor led Gillian away so that neither of them would have to see the burial. "I want him dead," Gillian said as they walked away. "Sometimes death is a blessing to those who do not deserve it," Andor replied. "What is that supposed to mean?" He grabbed her shoulders in a gentle hold and turned her to face him. "It means that there are many more satisfying ways to make a man suffer than to kill him." "Such as?" "You will see." He bent to kiss her forehead, but Gillian drew back. Since Gwynneth’s death, she had done nothing but avoid contact with him. Everyone handled grief in their own way, he tried to tell himself, but it still did nothing to ease his hurt that she would not turn to him. He longed to tell her that he was hurting as much as she, that he needed her comfort too. But he refused to lay another burden upon her shoulders. He was the man; strength must come from him. They had grown together the last weeks, surely that would count for something in the long run. "Freyda will be with you soon," he told her. "I have something I must tend to." Gillian watched as he mounted his horse and rode off in the direction of Leif’s farm. To avenge Gwynneth’s death, she hoped. But how, if he had no intention of killing him? There seemed no way to make a man like Leif suffer, yet she wished for him to experience the pain they were going through right now. "Where has Andor gone?" Rollo asked as he and Freyda joined her. Gillian continued to look toward the bridge. "To Leif’s. He means for Leif to suffer for Gwynneth’s death." Rollo muttered an unintelligible curse under his breath and hurried to catch him. "I had hoped Andor would be patient enough to wait for revenge at the Thing," Freyda said with a sigh. "What is thisThing ?" Gillian asked. "A big meeting of all freemen in the area. ‘Tis very important. Business is discussed, there is trading, sporting events, and trials of lawbreakers. A council of leaders heads the meeting and the crowd decides the guilt of the criminals after hearing all the evidence." "Are they fair?" Freyda shrugged. "It could go either way."

Andor heard hoofbeats pounding up behind him and reined his horse to a stop. He knew without looking that the rider was Rollo. He wanted to reassure his friend that he meant no immediate harm to Leif, but the closer he got to Leif’s house, the more he began to doubt that himself. He was glad Rollo had followed to help him keep his head cool. "Welcome, my friend." "What are you up to?" His tone held suspicion and a hint of a reprimand. "If I am to charge Leif at the Thing, he must know to be there." "Then if that is your purpose, ‘tis best to have a witness with you," Rollo said. "So that I do not forget my purpose?" Andor asked with a half-hearted smile. "When emotions are involved, ‘tis easy to forget your purpose." They rode on in silence, each knowing that their visit could spark more violence. It would be best to confront Leif at a distance, but in such a way so there could be no mistake of the charges, then get away before Leif could mount an attack against them. Andor realized then how foolish he had been to attempt this on his own. He was wondering if he and Rollo might return home for more men when he spied Leif ahead working on his house. All of his men were with him. "‘Twould be best if we stop here," Andor said, but Rollo had already reined his horse to a stop. "Leif!" The other man looked up from his work, lay aside the support beam he was trying to install, and stepped to the forefront. "Come no farther," Andor said. With hands braced on hips, Leif paused. "What is it you wish of me?" "You killed my baby daughter." There was a collective gasp among Leif’s people. Thora buried her face in her hands. "Lies," Leif shouted. "You killed my daughter, tried to kill my wife, and injured my sister. Next week at the Thing I will charge you before all our people." "And you will lose," he said. "We shall see about that...Next week, Leif. My only regret is that it cannot be sooner." Before any more words could be exchanged, Andor and Rollo wheeled their mounts around and galloped back home.

Freyda waited for them at the animal house. "Well, what happened?" Andor flung the reins to one of the Irish slaves. "He denied it." Freyda’s eyes widened. To kill someone was very serious, but to not acknowledge it was worse yet. Everything now hinged on Andor’s ability to present his case. Although he had been to many Things, and been a witness at a few, this would be the first time he had ever argued the law. If they had been in Northland Freyda would not have been so concerned. Here in Iceland Andor could survive on their father’s reputation only so long. This Thing would prove him in the eyes of their fellow countrymen, or ruin them forever. "What will you do?" she asked. "As soon as Rollo and I get adequate provisions, we will set out to gather support for our case. We will work until the day of the Thing if we have to. You and Gillian stay close to home. Do not venture outside unless you have at least four men with you." He squeezed her shoulder to reassure her. "Do not worry. All will be well. I will speak with Gillian before we leave."

Another strange custom. A waste of time as far as Gillian was concerned. She didn’t know why they just didn’t take Leif out and hang him, or flog him to death, or mutilate him until not even his mother would recognize him. She squeezed her eyes closed as tight as she could, repulsed at the violent thoughts which coursed through her daily. It was wrong to feel such hate inside, it sickened both mind and body, she told herself. Perhaps once this Thing was over with and Leif punished for Gwynneth’s death, she would feel more herself - if that were possible. She looked at Andor riding guard alongside the wagon as they traveled to the Thing. It was the first she’d seen of him in a week. His face was cold and hard, no smile danced in his eyes, no playful smirk teased his lips - he had changed too. During the time he and Rollo had been gone, they had visited the farm of every freeman attending the Thing. Although she had not heard, Leif had probably done the same thing. According to Freyda it was important to have as many men on your side as possible. It helped when it came time for the trial at the assembly - if they made it to the assembly. It was law that every freeman must attend the Thing or face a penalty. Each of Andor’s men rode in a protective circle around the wagon where Freyda and Gillian sat with the supplies needed for the time they’d be gone. Because of the danger, Erik stayed behind with one of the farm’s families. It was not uncommon to be attacked and killed by the person charged with criminal behavior. If Leif did so, he would win the case by default, so waylaying them would be to his advantage. Andor took no chances. They stopped only when the women needed to relieve themselves, taking a meal of bread, cheese, and wine as they traveled. It was late afternoon by the time they arrived. When Andor first announced this, Gillian wondered if he could have been mistaken, for there was no sign of another soul save themselves. Then they rounded a hillock and came into full view of a small valley below covered with tents and people. Gillian would never forget that sight for the rest of her life. Men milled about a corral of horses on the outskirts of the campsite. Women stirred kettles of delicious smelling foods while they gossiped and laughed with neighbors they had not seen since the previous year. Children ran about in mock competition of games the men would begin the next day. A few traders had set up tables to display their

wares. There had to be between one and two hundred people attending. If they did not have such serious business to attend to, Gillian might have enjoyed herself. Shouts of greeting reached their ears. Men beckoned them forward to a campsite already chosen for Andor and his group. "Take them on, Rollo," Andor said. "I will be along directly." He slipped from his horse into a group of men. The last thing Gillian saw before he disappeared was hands clasping his in welcome. Freyda squeezed her arm. "He will be all right. They are friends. Andor still has business to tend to." Gillian nodded. "Is that where it will be held?" She pointed to the center of the field. Poles had been set in a circle with a rope stretched between them. "Yes," Freyda replied. She nodded again. By the time they had the evening meal ready to eat, Andor would have information on when the trial would be held. Hopefully, it could be taken care of tomorrow. As far as Gillian was concerned, they had waited long enough.

Andor hacked away at the piece of wood in his hand. He was supposed to be whittling something useful, but in his anger he had mutilated the wood beyond hope of further use. He had expected Leif to show up, only a fool would not. He knew it was also probable that Leif would have his own band of supporters. What he found reprehensible was the way in which he obtained his supporters - by making accusations of his own. So far Leif had not announced his charges formally, that would hold some weight with the court. But the level of his charges needn’t be made officially to cause harm. Andor tossed the wood into the fire before him then leaned elbows on knees to work on his strategy. A bowl of stew lay cold and uneaten on the ground beside him. Freyda picked out the wood shavings that had fallen upon it. "I could have saved myself the trouble of cooking so much if I had known you and Gillian were not going to eat." "I have much on my mind." "Hmm. And Gillian claims weariness from our trip... What troubles you?" "Leif is here." "As you expected," Freyda said. "He has accused Gillian of witchcraft." Freyda sighed and knelt beside him. "He did so at the river, too." Andor’s head jerked up. "Why did you not tell me?" "I thought it of little consequence coming from a man like Leif."

"There are those here who put a lot of faith in any accusation of witchcraft. There are rumblings...even among those who had supported me. You should have told me, Freyda." She stared down at her hands. "Gillian is no witch." "Prove that to a crowd of frightened people." He snapped to his feet and marched to the tent he shared with Gillian. The soft light of an oil lamp filtered through the covering. He whipped open the flap and surprised her as she undressed for the night. She quickly covered herself from view. Andor felt the dam, which held his emotions in check, burst. It was enough that he had murder and witchcraft to deal with, he didn’t need a wife who shrank from him each time he came near her. He’d done nothing to deserve this from her. No hand had been raised to her in anger, no threats had been thrown her way. He’d given her only his heart and his love, and now when he needed that in return she shoved him aside. No more. With one stride he was before her. While she stared up at him in blue-eyed fear, he grabbed the neckline of her shift and ripped it down the front. Gillian gasped and tried to cover herself. Andor grabbed her wrists and yanked her arms to her side. "Why do you hide yourself from me?" Gillian looked away. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look back. He could feel her quivering, but was determined to end her sudden bout of shyness. "Are you ashamed of yourself? Is there something you do not wish for me to see?" Gillian shook her head. "N...no." "Maybe the bite of the devil? Or a warlock?" Her eyes widened in shock. "No!" "Let me have a closer look." He tore away her clothing until she was naked before him. "Do not cover yourself from me, wife. If I am to defend you tomorrow against witchcraft, I want to be able to speak in all honesty that you bear no such mark." "Andor, please, you know it does not exist," she said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "Then why do you hide yourself from me? Why does my touch appall you? Why do you turn from me...when I need you so?" There was so much apathy in his last words, Gillian felt her heart wrench in pain. She tossed her arms around his neck and cried. Andor closed his eyes and inhaled her scent as he folded his arms around her. Her tears tore at his soul, so much so that he felt his eyes responding with tears of their own. "I cannot bear the pain," she told him.

"The pain of what? Of being with me?" he asked, praying that was not so. "I loved her so much. I cannot bear the thought of losing another child." "Hush now. Shh." He combed his fingers through her hair as he tried to soothe her. "It does not have to be so. There are ways a man and woman can be together without begetting children. I have...I have done so before." "How?" She pulled back to look at him, and Andor found himself falling into the depths of her deep blue eyes. "I would withdraw before my moment came." "You can do that?" "Let me show you." When she hesitated, he added in a whisper, "I need you, Gillian. I need to hold you...to be close to you. Please." It was wrong the moment they began to make love. Andor could feel her reluctance despite his efforts to arouse her. Still, they continued. In the end, his promised withdrawal also failed. Afterward they lay side by side, not touching, her back to his. Gillian’s occasional sniffle cut their strained silence. "Forgive me," he finally said. "If you no longer wish for us to lay together as husband and wife...so be it. It pains me, but causing you grief hurts me more." He got up and started to dress. "The trial is tomorrow. There are a few other cases to be heard before ours and a couple to be betrothed." "Where are you going?" she asked without rolling over. "I must speak with Rollo. Rest." "Andor?" "Yes?" "I still want the comfort of having you by my side in the night." It was the most he could hope for now. Perhaps, with time, she would remember the joy of being with him and be willing to take the chance of having another child. He loved her enough to give her the time she needed, no matter how long a wait that might be. "Rest. I will not be long." He stepped back into the night. Rollo had replaced him by the fire, Freyda was by his side, their heads bent toward each other in conversation. The couple jumped when he walked up behind them. "I did not mean to startle you," Andor said. "We...we thought you had gone to sleep," Rollo said. "As I told Freyda earlier, I have much on my mind. I need a favor of you, my friend."

"All you need do is ask," Rollo said. "Get Seamus and ride home. Bring back two of our slaves and two of Leif’s if you can convince them to come. I need men who would be willing to tell of Gillian’s life before she wed Evan and how she came to be his wife. Judging by how freely they spoke on the ship, you should have no problem. I may need them at the hearing. And bring Aud also from Leif’s farm. I wish her to speak of the birth of Thora’s twins." "You can count on me to have them here in time," Rollo said. Andor clapped him on the back then sat down to pass the remainder of the night staring into the fire and whittling away another block of wood.

There was not a person at the Thing who was not present at the hearing that afternoon. Gillian stood with Andor ready to speak if called upon, while Leif stood with his people on the other side of the circle. Theirs would be the last suit heard that day. She clenched her hands on her lap while the cases before them were dealt with. There was a husband who accused his wife of adultery. Her lover was named and the man stepped forward freely admitting the act. The wife, in turn, requested divorce to marry her lover. The judges’ decision was quick - the request was granted. A boundary dispute was settled by an equitable payment between the parties. A thief was flogged; another repeat offender was taken away to have his hand cut off. Minutes later Gillian shuddered with revulsion when his screams carried out over the crowd. Andor’s reassuring hand on her shoulder helped keep her from being ill. "We have now the case of Andor against Leif," the chief judge announced. Gillian knew his name to be Egil, an old friend of Andor’s father. "Will those men step forward?" Like the stallions Gillian had seen fighting earlier that day, Andor and Leif faced each other. "State the problem," Egil said. Before Andor could speak, Leif blurted out, "The woman known as Gillian is a witch!" There was a gasp and a murmur among the crowd. "Silence!" Egil said. "By what right do you call her so?" His chest puffed out as he addressed the people in a shrill voice. "She bewitched this man, causing him to wed her when his first wife had not been dead for a fortnight. When her own husband, whose child she claimed to carry, was not even cold in death. A man she also bewitched into marriage. She seeks to sweeten her lot in life by blessing the land on which she now lives and cursing mine. I saw her leap into an icy river for her babe, then when she brought it ashore, she need only touch it and it came back to life." The murmuring grew to a dull roar. Egil again demanded silence. "Andor, what is your response to these charges?"

Andor stepped to the highest part of the circle so that everyone would have no trouble seeing or hearing him. In a voice loud, calm, and clear, he began. "I am not a man bewitched. I am a man grieving for the loss of a child. ‘Tis true I married Gillian when I had only recently lost my first wife and child. But I did so to protect her from the brutal advances of Leif. She was heavy with child. He wished to claim her as a slave. I could not allow that, not when I have had to watch in silence as he beat and abused his own wife. ‘Twas Rollo, a fine blacksmith, who brought Gillian to my family. On a raid, he had killed her husband. Now Rollo is a man kind of heart. He could not leave an expectant mother to starve, so he took her in. "I am not sorry to have married her. In the months since we were wed, we have grown close in heart and mind. It pleases me to give her a better life than she had known before. And she is a hard worker. A good wife. The man, Evan, her first husband, was a drunkard. While he drank, he left his expectant wife to do chores and plow fields. What good man would do that? I do not call that bewitched. If he had been bewitched, ‘twould have been Gillian lazing around the house while he toiled night and day for a living." "She was old to be wed for the first time," Leif interrupted. "Her reputation as a witch was well known in her village. No man would have her." As much as it pained Andor, he called the Irishmen forward. "Tell these people the story you told on the ship of how Gillian came to wed Evan." One man scratched his face to hide a smirk. "Well, she weren’t a witch, to be sure, but she were sure a wench. A sharp-tongued one at that." He went on with his tale. Andor saw the hurt in Gillian’s eyes. When she let her head drop to hide her tears, it was all he could do to keep from going to her. He was glad when the man was done. "My wife is no witch," Andor told the crowd. "I took her in to protect her. I accepted the babe as my own for the same reason. I cared for them both." "What about the river? Explain that," Leif said. "Yes, explain that," a man in back called out. Freyda stepped forward. "All in my family know how to swim. Andor taught her. The river was cold and swift, but what mother would not jump in to save her child?" The women in the crowd nodded their agreement. "She almost did not make it. ‘Twas me who pulled her out. I tied dirty clothes together to make a rope. Gwynneth coughed up water the instant Gillian laid her on the bank, but she never woke up." "How did the infant come to fall in the river?" one of the judges asked. "Leif kicked her in," Freyda replied. "He was in a rage because we were speaking with his wife, Thora. He ordered us off his land, but he never gave us the chance to leave. He never tried to help Gillian save the baby, and when I pulled them out, he grabbed Gillian by the hair and tried to drown her." "Because she was a witch!" he shouted.

"Not true," Andor calmly replied. "This man has become a brutal man over the last year. A man who even saw fit to deny his stillborn twin sons a proper burial." Leif shook a finger in Thora’s direction. "They were bastards spawned by her and you!" "Not true again." Andor brought Aud out to testify about the birth. Leif’s face was mottled with rage. Andor ignored it. "He sought to assault a woman heavy with child, then was angered when I gave her sanctuary. He has deluded himself with his wife’s infidelity and abused her horribly. Unfortunately, that can be no concern of mine. His own incompetence has caused his fields to remain fallow and his home to be unbuilt. ‘Tis also no concern of mine. What is my concern is that he callously and knowingly kicked the basket of my baby daughter, causing her to roll into the river.He caused her to hit her little head on a jagged rock.He caused her to fall into a river so frigid the strongest of men would falter within seconds. He did nothing to right this wrong. Instead, he tried to kill my wife - out of jealousy, not because of witchcraft. And when my sister tried to stop him, he struck her unconscious. You can still see the bruise upon her face. And when all this was done, this man did not even have the decency to admit to the murder of my daughter. "Many of you have lost a child to death. ‘Tis a painful thing to deal with. But imagine the pain of having your child’s murderer before you, and your only hope is that those in judgment will see him for the liar and killer he is. If this man is set free, how are we... how areyou to know that your child will not be the next victim when he decides to lash out in anger? He has denied hisown children. You know the death of yours will mean nothing to him. The death of my daughter is insignificant to him. You can see that on his face." All eyes fastened on Leif. He squirmed under the perusal. Andor faced the judges. "That is all I have to say." "We would speak with the physician who attended the child," Egil said. The man came forward. "In your opinion, what caused the child to die?" "There was a large bump on her head which grew as I watched. Even if she had not fallen in the river, I do not believe she would have lived." "Thank you." The twelve judges spoke in tones only they could hear. After several minutes had passed, they faced the crowd once more. "We find the charge of witchcraft to be false," Egil announced. "We find the charge of murder to be true and the murderer to be Leif. You are hereby banished from this country and are to seek the first available ship away from here. You are to leave this assembly immediately. Andor and his kinsmen will stay behind for the duration of the Thing. At any time thereafter, if Andor or his kinsmen should find you, they are free to kill you. Andor, ‘tis your right to ask for other atonement. Do you wish to do so?" "I do."

"What is it you wish?" "That all lands Leif now holds be forfeited to me." "So done." "And...that a divorce be granted in the name of Thora from Leif." Gillian’s heart leaped forward. She saw Thora’s head whip up and the light of hope in her sad brown eyes. "Are you prepared to care for this woman? To take her into your home if necessary?" Egil asked. "Yes, I shall." Even from a distance Gillian could see the tears shimmering in Thora’s eyes. It was as clear to her as it was to Thora - Andor was finally fulfilling his dream of making Thora his wife. "Thora, is this agreeable to you?" Egil asked. She pushed her way into the circle, past a silently raging Leif and onto Andor, her love for him clearly splashed in the pink of her cheeks. Gillian could take no more. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob then ducked away to her tent. "Yes, it is," Thora replied. "Then I grant a divorce this day. Leif, a guard will see you safely to your house where you may gather your personal belongings. After that, a safe house will be assigned if you wish until you find a ship." "I do not wish," he said. "Very well. This hearing is finished." With Thora padding faithfully beside him, Andor joined Freyda and Rollo on the sidelines. "Where is Gillian?" he asked. Freyda shot him a scowl and stomped away. "What is bothering her?" he asked Rollo. Rollo pulled him out of Thora’s hearing range. "What do you plan to do with two wives?" "What do you mean?" Rollo pointed at Thora. Andor’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "I do not intend to have two wives. One is all I require." "And which one will that be?"

"What a foolish question." "I am sure Gillian does not think so." "Gillian knows what is in my heart," Andor said. "Have you told her that?" "No, I do not have to. She knows," Andor snapped, and marched away. "Do not be too sure of that, my friend," Rollo called to his back.

CHAPTER 10 Was this how she was destined to spend every day of her life - crying herself to exhaustion? She had left her homeland, thrust aside her fear, for the welfare of her baby. Her baby had died anyway. If she had stayed home, Gwynneth would be alive today. Today she would have been close to starvation, but alive. And her heart that she had so carefully guarded at the beginning? It now lay in shards at her feet. She had allowed herself to trust, and this is what it had gotten her - cast aside. Gillian should have known it would come to this. What man would be content with the kind of marriage she intended? A man had a right to heirs. It was a wife’s responsibility to bear those heirs, and Gillian had made it quite clear she wanted no part of that. She thought of the speech he had given the crowd - it wasn’t hard, the words would haunt her forever. He had married her to protect her from Leif. He had accepted responsibility for her child, again because of Leif. There was no mention of love...only his duty to her as a widowed expectant mother. He had made it clear from the beginning that he was a leader, a responsible man. Andor placed his moral obligations above all else. He had a duty to care for all those in his charge, a duty to ensure their continued welfare by having heirs. And she had forgotten that. She had fallen in love with him. Now, in one swift proclamation, Andor had permanently seen that Leif would never be a threat to her again and had set free the woman he had longed to marry. All that stood in his way for total happiness was his union with Gillian. With Leif gone, marriage for her safety was no longer an issue. As Thora had been divorced from Leif, so too could Gillian expect to be released from her vows to Andor. He had offered her such before. She would have her land, her monies, her possessions, and slaves to work her land. She would never want for anything...except Andor’s love. A new spasm of sobs shook through her. It was like mourning a death, yet how could she mourn the loss of something she never had? Love had never been mentioned between them. From the outset it had been a marriage of convenience. Just because Andor exercised his marital rights by bedding her, should have given her no reason to believe that relationship had changed. It was her heart which had strayed into love, a love she saw no need to announce, for she thought Andor felt it, too. Perhaps it was Gwynneth who made the difference. He obviously loved the child. The way he doted on her proved that. Was it possible that Gillian had thought herself to be included in that father-daughter bond? Wasthat love so strong that Gillian had been caught up in the overflow?

At the time it didn’t seem so, yet now when her successor waited on the outskirts of their lives, she saw that had to be the case. It was the baby who had made the difference. She sat up to brush clean her tear-stained cheeks. Although she was somewhat more composed, tears still fell. If having a child was what made the love present in their marriage, it seemed logical that having another child would bring the love back. With a baby for him to dote on, how could Andor not learn to love her? It would be such a simple way to keep him with her always. As mother to his children, he surely would not cast her aside. She let her thoughts drift around that idea. It seemed an almost deceitful way of obtaining his love. Yet, in her own village she had seen and heard of women who had done far worse to get the men they loved. All Gillian was contemplating was giving a child to her husband. Perhaps the boy they had discussed once before, born in the image of his father. Or maybe a daughter like Gwynneth. Gillian felt as if a knife had been thrust in her heart. No, not like Gwynneth. She remembered the first butterfly movement as Gwynneth rested inside her. Recalled the pure joy of seeing her birth. Her nipples tightened as the not-so-old memory of a baby’s suckling mouth hit her. She wrapped her arms around her body and fell onto her bedding. It hurt too much. She loved Andor more than she ever believed possible to love a man. The very thought of life without him hurt beyond words, but so did doing the one thing which would keep him. She brought her knees to her chest and lay curled in a fetal position. Soon she’d know the stigma of being a divorced woman. In her village such things were not done. On those rare occasions when a divorced woman was encountered, she was treated no better than a leper in public. In private men sought her company as they would a harlot. Even if she had the chance, Gillian could never return home under those circumstances. Bartered to the first husband, divorced from the second, they’d snicker behind her back. She was doomed to spend the rest of her life alone, pining for a man whose love she would never possess. Better to have starved in Ireland, than to face the coming years in misery. At least there she was ignorant of what love was.

Outside Andor and Gillian’s tent Freyda had listened to as much crying as she intended. She had sought to give Gillian time she needed to be alone, but this latest batch of muffled cries was too much to bear. With a muttered curse about her brother, she lifted the flap and poked her head inside. "Gillian?" "Please go...I am not well and need a moment to rest." "Curse his hide," she spit out. "No, Freyda, please. He is your kin." "And so are you." She ducked back out and slapped the flap in place. Andor was coming toward her, face gray with a scowl, Thora tagging behind. Freyda picked up her skirts and stomped his way. "I would like a word with you, brother." Andor jerked to a stop. His face was frozen between surprise and amusement. He almost laughed, then

he realized how angry his sister was. "Seamus, take Thora to her campsite. Retrieve her things and tell the people who follow her I wish a word with them." The young man nodded and dipped his head Thora’s way. "If you’ll be showin’ me the way, missus." Andor waited until they were well out of earshot before dealing with Freyda. "I take it you are angry about Thora?" "Where is your head?" she asked through clenched teeth. He braced his hands on his hips. "I thought you and Thora were friends. I thought you liked her." "That matters naught. Gillian is my sister. I love her. This is wrong." "Wrong to take in a woman whose husband daily beat her? Wrong to help her be free of him when the chance presented itself?" Freyda shoved her face up to his. "Wrong to hurt Gillian this way. She knows how you once felt about Thora. She knows you once thought to marry her." Andor held up his finger. "Once...What Gillianknows is that I care forher greatly. Sheknows I love her and only her. Thora means nothing to me." "Really now?" She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Then why does she sob her heart out in your tent even as we speak?" "I do not know, but I shall find out." He moved Freyda to one side and walked on to his tent. He could hear Gillian’s soft cries from outside, but it did nothing to prepare him for the pathetic sight of her curled on top of their furs. "Gillian, Gillian, why the tears?" He knelt to enfold her in his arms. She leaned into him, welcoming what would probably be their last moment of closeness. "Is it the babe?" he asked. She nodded against his chest. How could she tell him otherwise? "I miss her, too." He rubbed soothing circles on her back. "But today we have the justice we have sought. Leif will suffer just as we intended he would. He can go nowhere without the tale following him...unless he would go very far away." "I know," she sniffled, "and I am grateful." "And...you do understand about Thora, do you not?" he asked hesitantly. Gillian was glad he could not see her face, for she knew it must be contorted with the pain she tried to

hide. "Aye...I understand." Andor smiled and hugged her. "I knew you would. I told Rollo and Freyda so. I know you well, I said. And you me. There could be no mistaking my intent now could there?" "None," she somehow managed to say. She took a deep breath and stiffened her resolve to be strong about this. Then she lifted her head to look at him. He was smiling, even his eyes were happy. If she truly loved him, how could she destroy that by keeping him in a marriage he did not want? "I am sorry for carrying on so." He cupped his palm to her cheek. "‘Tis an easy thing to understand. You have every right to be upset. When all of this is not so new and the pain has lessened, we will speak of this again." She was getting a reprieve while she mourned Gwynneth. Bless him for that. He dropped a kiss to her forehead. "Rest if you feel the need. I must speak with the men who worked Leif’s land." Gillian wiped her cheeks clear and vowed no more tears would be shed over this matter. "They should stay for dinner. ‘Tis only hospitable. I will help Freyda. She has carried the burden for me long enough." "Freyda does not mind." "‘Tis time I learned to stand on my own." She bit her lip to remind herself no more tears. "You already manage very well." He felt a sense of pride in that statement. How could he have married Astrid and thought himself to be content for life? She was capable, true, but not as much so as Gillian. Gillian would always do whatever was necessary to accomplish a task, from cooking the meals to plowing the fields. Astrid was not made of such strong stuff. Gillian was truly a gift from the gods, and he was one fortunate man. It was all he could do to keep from falling to his knees in thanks. "Any man would count himself lucky to have you for a wife," he told her. Then why do you not want me? Andor took her face between his hands and bent to kiss her. Gillian turned away. "Forgive me." He dropped his hands and stepped back. "I must begin preparing dinner for the men." "We will talk more another time...Everything will be well...with time." "I know," she said softly.

He caught her arm before she could rush outside. "Freyda and Rollo are quite upset with me over Thora. ‘Twould help if you could assure them all is well." "Aye...I will." They walked outside together. Freyda was not far. She waited until Andor left to speak with his friends before approaching Gillian. Gillian focused on her task. For now she was still Andor’s wife, and it was up to her to put on a good meal. "Is all well?" Freyda asked in a low voice. "Aye...all is well." "And you understand about Thora?" Painfully so."Yes." "Well, Andor said you would, but I did not believe ‘twas so." Freyda gave a light laugh. "You are a finer woman than I would be about it. If it were me, I would be furious." Gillian straightened and looked the other woman in the eyes. "I did not say I was happy about it. I said I understood. ‘Tis Andor’s wish and I will not make his life miserable over it. If you please, I have no more wish to discuss it." She hurried to fetch some vegetables for a stew before a new batch of tears could start. It was bad enough that Andor was planning to wed Thora, but to have Freyda happy that Gillian was not going to cause trouble was like rubbing salt in her wounds. Freyda and Thora had been friends since childhood. She should have realized it was a stronger bond than what she and Freyda had forged over the last months. Gillian suddenly felt the weight of being alone. It was the first time she’d ever been truly alone. When her mother died, she had her father. When her father died, she had her baby to look forward to. Now...nothing. And all the material worth Andor could give her wouldn’t wash it away.

Andor watched by the fire as Gillian served up lamb stew and hot bread. It was another fine example of her cooking, but she accepted the men’s praise meekly. He hated to see her so sad. He would have given anything to see her smile or put the sparkle back in her beautiful blue eyes. Time is what it was going to take - that and patience. Although it pained him, he would wait. It would have helped him, though, if he had someone of greater years to advise him. He tried to imagine what his parents would say in this situation - they too knew the pain of losing a child - but no words of wisdom filtered to him. "I heard you speak to Egil of starting a trading route," Rollo said. "‘Tis needed greatly," Andor replied. "We have two great assets here - sheep and fish. Everything else we need must come from outside. If we can manage to get ships to come here regularly in the summer, we can offer dried fish and fine woolens."

Rollo nodded. "Ropes we make from seals and whales also...But it could take many years to start such a thing. Ships come now and stay. Only a few return home." "I have thought of that. I could make a journey home and spread the word for us all. Father and Björn would be most interested." "Interested, yes, but willing?" "I believe so." "And you wish to take a journey so soon after arriving?" Andor looked past him to Gillian. "The time away from home might be good for Gillian. And I think Thora will wish to return to her family." "The men may not wish to travel again," Rollo said. "Egil will make sure good men are provided for the trip. After all, I would be doing this for all, not merely myself." Rollo stared into the fire for a few minutes. "I would not wish to go." "I would miss your company," Andor freely admitted, "but I will also feel better knowing you are here helping Freyda watch over my lands." Andor felt a woman’s hand close over his shoulder. He smiled, expecting it to be Gillian. When he looked around, it was all he could do to hide his disappointment. "Yes, Thora, what is it?" "The men are full and ready to doze off. If you wish a word with them, it should be soon." He thanked her and stood. Gillian paused in her work to watch Andor gather everyone closer. She was struck anew with his commanding presence, recalling the first time she had seen him standing on the prow of his ship. A leader of men. She had seen it then, watched him affirm that impression during their time together. Today, after his performance at the trial, there could not be a soul among them who could deny that. Pride swelled her chest. Noticing Thora hovering beside him deflated it. From the corner of his eye Andor saw Gillian duck into their tent. He hated to see her go, for he wanted her by his side when he spoke to the men. It would have helped reaffirm in everyone’s mind that the mistress of the house would be in charge in the master’s absence. He put her hasty departure down to the trying day and emotions still raw with grief. "This afternoon wrought some changes in all of our lives," he began. "I wanted to reassure you that my ownership of Leif’s land will not effect you greatly. Things may go on as they have." A man in front snorted. "So...we can keep working ourselves to starvation?" "Why is that?" Andor asked.

"The land is the poorest I have ever seen. Nothing but lyme grass grows on it." Andor rubbed his beard while he mulled over the problem. "The soil could use a year of fertilization. A mix of volcanic ash and animal dung should do the trick." "Fine for whoever comes behind us," another man grumbled. "I have a family to feed now." "I promise no one will starve," Andor said. "We must work hand in hand. For now we can plant more fields on my side of the river. Enough to feed all through the winter. In the meantime, those on the fallow side of the river can work the ocean and cliffs. Bring in the guillemots, fish, whales. Enough for us and then some to trade." There was a murmur among the men as they nodded their approval. "Of course," Andor said, "if any of you wish to leave for home, arrangements can be made. I am also agreeable to selling you parcels of that land for your own, if you wish." As he had expected, there were no offers on his last suggestion. In these uncertain times, it was much easier to rely on the generosity of a patron lord then to strike out singly. This way everyone would benefit and he was on his way to establishing a strong basis for his trading business. He could hardly wait to tell Gillian how well it had gone. Maybe it would even put the smile back in her eyes. Andor said his good night and accepted the thanks and gratitude of Leif’s men. A few held him up with discussion of plans they had for the land. He listened with interest. Leif had never cared for anyone’s way but his own and in so behaving had missed some fine ideas. Most of them Andor would implement when they returned. Finally, he was alone. He turned to say good night to Freyda and Rollo and discovered they had already gone. Only Thora remained. She sat by the fire, warming herself. She patted the blanket beside her. "Sit with me awhile." Andor was tired of visiting. There was only one person whose company he sought. "‘Tis late," he told her. "The games begin tomorrow and I wish to participate. ‘Tis time I went to bed. You should also. The day has been long." Without another word, he left her to seek out Gillian. He was disappointed to find her asleep, yet nothing would induce him to wake her. Without bothering to undress, he lay down beside her. By habit he started to curl his body around hers. He caught himself before he could. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the night before. A gradual redevelopment of the closeness they once shared was what was best. With a sigh he rolled his back to hers. More pain.Gillian curled into a tight ball and lay there longing for his arms about her. Telling herself she would have to get used to long, lonely nights alone only served to make this particular night drag on interminably.

Gillian remembered the times when her mother would say, "I’m feelin’ my age today." This morning she knew what that meant - she felt double her age. Sometime before dawn she was finally able to sleep, but that pitiful bit of rest was little help. Her muscles ached as she sat up, and her head felt too heavy for her

shoulders. She wondered if her eyes were as puffy as they felt. They also burned. She was glad Andor wasn’t there to see her. Judging from the amount of activity she could hear going on outside, it was much later than she normally slept. Andor had probably been up for quite some time. It was kind of him to let her sleep, and she made a mental note to thank him later. Just because they were ending their marriage there was no reason why they could not remain civil toward each other. After changing her tunic, Gillian combed the tangles from her hair. There was really no need to hurry. Freyda would have fixed a breakfast long ago, and she was far from hungry. She heard a cheer off in the distance. Their games had begun. Gillian wasn’t exactly sure what they entailed - some show of strength from what Freyda had told her. It would be something interesting to watch while she worked on her spinning. With all the work to do around the house, she had been putting it off lately. It was one of the things she and Freyda had hoped to catch up on while they were here. She pulled the sack of wool from where it was stuffed in the corner of their tent. Her distaff lay beside it. With sack and pole tucked under her arm, she expelled a weary breath and walked outside. Except for Freyda, their campsite was deserted. The other woman smiled and offered her the cup she’d just poured. "Mint tea. ‘Twill help wash the sleep from your mouth and wake you up a bit." Gillian accepted and sat on a log across from her. Freyda motioned to the wool. "A good idea. I will have to get mine before we go on to watch the games. You did wish to see them, did you not?" "Aye." "I thought as much. ‘Twas why I lingered here so that we might go on together." With a laugh, she jerked her thumb toward the gathering. "I did not think you would sleep much longer once all that shouting began." "They do sound like they are having a good time." Gillian took a sip of tea and felt the refreshing liquid slip down her throat. "‘Tis good." "Rollo got a batch of mint from one of the vendors yesterday. We should be able to plant some of it, too. I have wrapped the fresher sprigs in wet dirt and tied a cloth around them. ‘Twill be a nice year-round treat if we can get it to grow." Gillian nodded. It was something else she had to think about - planting a garden. This late in the season she couldn’t expect much to grow before winter. All Andor’s crops and the vegetable and herb garden she and Freyda planted near the house had a two-month advantage. Again, she’d have to rely on Andor’s charity. How much more of her pride was she going to have to swallow? "Andor was most concerned for you this morning," Freyda said. "He said you should rest. Seeing you now, I would have to agree with him. Perhaps you should lie down."

Gillian shook her head. "This tea does wonders. Another cup and I should be ready to start what remains of the day." She poured herself another cup. "Do you not care for something to eat?" "I am not all that hungry." Freyda cocked her head to one side. "And you ate naught last eve or the day before. Has an illness taken you?" Only of the heart. "Or is grief weighing you down?" Gillian stared into her cup. "I can only imagine at how you feel. If anything happened to Erik...." She let the sentence die and squeezed her eyes shut. After a few minutes she opened them again. "But you have to keep on. Now please try to eat a little." Gillian set her empty cup aside. "I promise you I will later. Now let’s get on to these games you have been telling me about before I miss those also." "Little chance of that. They go on ‘til the Thing ends next week." They gathered their spinning and went to join their group. As they walked, they wrapped wool around one end of the distaffs and onto their spindles. Then they held the pole in the crook of their left arms and set the spindle spinning with their right. Once the wool was drawn out to a thread, they wound it up and started again. It was a necessary task easily accomplished as they strolled past the few tradesmen who displayed their wares. Gillian was almost able to forget her problems as she spun and looked at the variety of things offered: herbs and spices, boxes and baskets, and other trinkets. She found herself wishing she had brought money or something to trade in return for some herbs and said so to Freyda. "Tell Andor. He will see you have it," she replied. Thatwas something Gillian wouldnot do. She was going to have to depend on Andor for too many favors as it was. She certainly wasn’t going to start using them for things she considered luxury items. Her apathy returned. "There he is now." Freyda waved to her brother. Andor was several yards away, but Gillian’s heart was still caught up in the smile he gave them as he hurried their way. "I was just coming to see if you ladies were on your way." He dropped a welcoming kiss on Gillian’s cheek. "Thora has a meal waiting for us all under the tree yonder. ‘Tis her way of giving us her thanks. You must join us." "In a moment," Freyda said. "Gillian has some herbs and spices she wishes you to buy for her."

Andor’s interest turned to the vendor beside them. Already he was reaching for his purse. If it would make her happy, he would buy all the man had. "Which ones?" he asked her. There was no way now Gillian could refuse without causing a scene, so she made frugal choices. Some rosemary and sage, a dozen bay leaves, nutmeg, cinnamon sticks, and vanilla pods. The vendor wrapped each individually then put them in a pouch which Gillian tied to the end of her chains. "Thank you," she said to Andor. "‘Twas my pleasure," he replied, wishing it could have been hers, too. She seemed more depressed than ever. He longed to wipe away the dark circles from under her eyes.Time , he reminded himself. Until then, whatever she desired he would see she had. "We are gathered in the shade of that tree over there. We can watch the stallion fights while we eat." He rested his hand on Gillian’s back and led the women to where their people already sat eating. At that point Gillian preferred starvation to any food cooked by Thora’s hands. And, if pressed to do so, she would have no trouble being rude about it. Thora greeted them like she was royalty. Smiling as she was, Gillian could clearly see the beautiful girl Andor had fallen in love with. It was hard to believe that only the day before Thora’s whole demeanor suggested she feared all about her. Of course, living with Leif, Gillian could understand that behavior. What amazed her though was the rapid transformation once her circumstances had been changed. "Come. Sit. I have everything ready." She beckoned the three of them to a place beside her on the blanket, making sure she put herself next to Andor. "‘Tis not much," she told them. "Cold roast chicken, bread, cheese, and wine from home, but ‘tis enough to celebrate." She piled a bowl high and handed it to Andor, clearly usurping Gillian’s right as his wife to see to him. Gillian ground her teeth at the annoyance. As an afterthought, Thora looked her way. "Please, help yourself." "I have no appetite these days," Gillian replied. "And I especially have no cause to celebrate. I lost my baby only a week past." Thora’s dark gaze pierced Gillian’s. "You may have forgotten that I am quite familiar with the pain of losing a child. I am eternally grateful to the gods...and to Andor," she gave him her most endearing smile, "that the man responsible has been taken care of.That is cause for celebration." Gillian curved one eyebrow. "And is that all you celebrate?" Her meaning was all too clear to Thora. Gillian could see that in the other woman’s eyes. Yet Thora’s reply was innocence personified. "What more could there be? Eat, everyone. The stallion fights should be starting soon." Even as she spoke, two stallions were being led to the circular enclosure. One was the color of coal

while the other was so black it was blue. Each was fairly docile until it saw the other, then they strained against the bridles. Gillian listened to a few of the men making wagers. Andor did not, although he was intent on the animals before them. "Why do you not wager?" she asked. "Both are fine animals," he said, without taking his gaze off the horses. "‘Twould be difficult at this point to choose a victor. And," he fastened his gaze on hers, "I have come by my fortune through years of hard work. I have no desire to lose any of what I have just for the sake of a whim." Was that a reprimand or a reassurance? Gillian couldn’t be sure, but in those moments that their eyes locked, she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him not to leave her. "Let them go," Egil shouted from nearby. Andor and Gillian looked back in time to see the handlers unhook the bridles and the horses run to confront each other. It was the last thing Gillian saw before a veil of unshed tears obscured her vision. Unable to blink them away, and unwilling to make a spectacle of herself, she scrambled to her feet and darted away. Andor hurried after her, catching her gently by the arm before she could get too far away. "Gillian, love, what is it?" "Please, leave me be for a bit. I have need to be alone," she said, trying to keep him from seeing her face. Andor crooked his index finger under her chin and pulled it up. "More tears? It kills me each time I see you cry, for I know there is nothing I can do to ease the pain in your heart. Would you like to return home?" Gillian shook her head. It would be the height of insult for Andor to leave the Thing. Freyda had told her it was not uncommon for men to be penalized for such acts. Gillian would want no ill-fortune to befall Andor, especially when her welfare depended on his success in the community. "I just need a little time to myself. A short walk alone. Time to think. Please." "I will go with you," he said. "Alone...please." Andor dropped his hand to her shoulders and sighed. "If that is your wish." "Thank you." She turned and walked away, spinning wool as she did so. It was one of the hardest acts Andor had ever had to endure - to watch her walk away when he longed to be at her side. His duty was to care and protect her, not let her wander the woods alone. Andor waited a short while, then motioned to Seamus. The Irishman hurried over. "Follow my wife, but do not let her know you are doing so. She wishes time alone with her thoughts, and

I have agreed to give her this, but I want you to make sure she is well. Can do you that?" "Quiet as a mouse, I’ll be," he assured. "‘Tis all I ask." Behind him he heard Freyda tsk. "She needs you, not Seamus." "She asked for solitude. I am giving it to her the only way I can."Even if it kills me to do so.

This was truly what I needed. Gillian strolled a well-worn path through the trees. Even though she could still hear the shouts of the crowd in the valley below and the horses’ whinnies, she felt calmer. Her tears had even stopped. Here she could pause for awhile, uninterrupted by people and things she could not deal with for the time being, and make a few plans for her future. She found a small clearing ahead and selected a tree to lean against. Comforted by God’s natural embrace, her mother would have said. It was true. For the first time since Gwynneth’s death, she felt a peace surround her. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the forest. "Well, now, this was easier than I thought." Gillian’s eyes flashed open. In a semi-circle before were four of her countrymen Leif had taken as slaves. The burliest, Shane, stepped forward. "What is it you want?" she demanded to know. "All high and mighty now, aren’t we?" Shane said. "But then ya always were. Well, ya won’t be fer long. Yer coming with us." "I’d be thinkin’ twice about that if I were you," Seamus said from behind the men. They parted to look at him. He stood there, sword drawn, ready to fight. Gillian could see the futility of the situation. Even the smallest of the four men outweighed Seamus by forty pounds. "Another one who puts himself high above others," Shane said with a snicker. "Leave her be and we’ll be on our way," Seamus said. The men laughed, and Shane hauled Gillian up by the arm. "Now’s yer chance to put yerself back where ya belong," he told Seamus. "Ya might think ya have freedom fer yerself, but all ya are is a slave like us. What have ya got? Come with us and we’ll be back in Ireland before ya know it. All we have to do is deliver her and we’re on our way." "How do ya figure that?" Seamus asked.

"We’ve been promised our freedom and safe passage back. All we have to do is take her to Leif," he replied. "Ya would sell out one of yer own?" Seamus asked. Shane laughed and shook Gillian’s arm. "This? One of our own? After she made poor Evan’s life a living hell?" "‘Twas Evan who made my life hell," Gillian snapped. "The drunken sot never knew a decent day’s work. You ought to know, since you were such close friends. You want to go home, do you now? To what? A barrel of ale? You think the village mourns the loss of a bunch of drunkards the likes of you." Shane clamped a hand over her mouth. "See what I mean? What man could bear a harpy such as this? TheGaill did poor Evan a favor when he killed him. Now all we have to do is pass her on. Are ya with us or agin us?" Seamus raised his sword in angry defiance, but he was no fighter. As he focused his attention on Shane and the conversation, the other three had circled behind him. Before Gillian could squeeze out a muffled warning, one of them struck him in the back of a head with a rock. Seamus crumpled to the grass. Gillian wrenched away from her captor. "Brutes! Fools! How dare you hurt such a decent man?" "I’m not the fool Evan was, woman," Shane told her. "I’ll not put up with yer sharp tongue during our little ride." He pulled a kerchief out of his trousers pocket. "Now, be a good little lass and open yer mouth." She spun around and sprinted away. Shane lunged after her, catching her by the legs. Gillian fell with an "oof" and gasped for breath. Shane shoved the rag in her mouth, and bound her arms behind her back. "If ya want to play rough, we’ll be happy to oblige ya." He hauled her to her feet, tossed her over his shoulder, and marched to the horses waiting beyond the clearing. With a hearty chuckle he plopped her face down on his mount, climbed up behind her, and galloped away.

CHAPTER 11 Andor stared at the forest path long after Gillian and Seamus had disappeared into the trees. It tore against his better judgment to keep from following. Instead of drawing closer to him in this time of tragedy, Gillian was moving farther away with each passing minute. He was at a loss to understand why, but knew tagging behind her, no matter how discreetly he could manage, would not solve the problem. If she spied Seamus, Andor hoped she would understand the necessity of having someone nearby for protection. Surely she would not be so unreasonable. "More problems?" Rollo asked as he came up beside him. "When are there not?" Andor quietly replied. "She becomes more distant each day. She is so sad...so very sad. I thought the hearing would make her feel good that justice was in our favor. But she cries more now than ever." "‘Tis normal for her to grieve the child."

"That I know." Andor felt himself choking up and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I miss her, too...very much." "Perhaps another child will make the difference." "She wants no more. Right now I understand that feeling all too well. The fear of losing a child is too fresh in both our minds." Rollo patted his back. "‘Twill be better with time. Leave Gillian to her walk. Seamus will guard her well. Come back and watch the games. ‘Twill help to pass the time ‘til she returns." Andor returned to the activities with Rollo, but his heart and mind could not get involved. He watched with no interest as the stallion fights gave way to boulder lifting, wrestling, races, and spear throwing. Even when one of his own men did well, he had no cheer to add to the crowd around him. Any congratulations were given with such lack-luster countenance that Andor ceased giving any at all until he could do so in a manner which would honor the man, not depress him. He left it to Rollo to explain his preoccupation. As the day lengthened, Andor let his gaze wander back to the forest path. Anxiety drifted around him like a cold fog. Gillian and Seamus should have been back by now. He wondered if Gillian’s wanderings could have gotten them lost in the trees. The forest wasn’t all that large, but it was possible for someone to trap themselves on a circular route. He glanced at the sun, now a fiery ball sitting on the horizon. It had been midday when they left. Much too long for a walk. Seamus would have never run the risk of being out past dark. Even if it meant he had to break his word to Andor, Seamus would have seen Gillian back safely before dark. Andor pivoted on his heel and marched to his campsite, hoping they had returned and not yet told him. He was disappointed to find this was not so. It was enough to convince him there had to be trouble. He snatched up the reins of his horse and swung atop it. After debating with himself on whether he should go alone or take some men, Andor struck out by himself. No sense calling an alarm if none existed.Then he prayed that was so. As he entered the woods, foliage enveloped him in a green blanket. The colors looked faded as would a cloth left in the sun too long. He had forgotten how much darker the woods were than an open field during sunset. A panic left over from childhood lingered in the recesses of his mind. Stories of wolves that roamed in the night killing people came back in vivid detail. Tales conjured up by his older brother to frighten him as a small boy. No one wandered Northland forests alone at night. Being in a different land did not eliminate that caution. Even if packs of wolves did not roam here, other dangers of a human nature did exist. Andor cursed his recklessness in not guarding Gillian himself. He had no business letting her out of his sight. He reined his horse to a stop and squinted in the dim light. In the clearing ahead, he saw a dark form sprawled across the grass. Wary of a trap, Andor drew his sword and eased the horse forward. As he closed the gap, he recognized Seamus. Dread settled in his stomach like an iron weight. Still keeping a watchful eye around him, Andor slid down beside the fallen man.

A gaping wound was slashed across the back of Seamus’s skull. Gillian’s spinning lay nearby. Andor snapped to his feet, sword raised high over his head. A blood-curdling roar ripped from his throat...a deadly warning to the man who had taken her...a cry of rage at his own carelessness. He reached for his horse and would have galloped off in search of Gillian if it had not been for Seamus’s groan. He could not leave the man to die, and a search would be much more effective with a party of men. Afraid that carrying Seamus on horseback would harm him more, Andor hurried back to the assembly for help. Heads whipped around in his direction as Andor neared. Several people stood, alarmed at his approach. Rollo and Freyda ran forward to meet him. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, tried to be clear-headed and decisive, but all he could think of was that Gillian was gone. "Someone has taken my wife!" he shouted. "The man I sent as her guard has been struck down. He lies gravely injured in the forest." "We will use my cart to bring him in," Egil said. "Bring torches. Six of you will come with Andor and me to hunt this villain. Four of you bring the injured man back here. The rest of you stay behind, too many men will obliterate any tracks left behind." There was a jumble of activity as the men hurried to their horses, but they were ready in less time than it had taken Andor to travel from forest to camp. With Rollo and Egil close behind, Andor led the way. A cart for Seamus clattered along in their wake. Andor prayed they were not too late. As they reached the clearing, a torch-bearer leaped from his horse and knelt beside the injured man. "He breathes still. Take care in moving him, though." As if Seamus were a newborn, four men lifted him to the cart then carefully made their return trip. "There were four horses." The tracker bent over the impressions in the dirt for more thorough look. "They went north from here." They mounted their horses and rode in that direction, the tracker keeping ahead to lead them. It was obvious that the men who had taken Gillian had not intended to be followed. They left a trail even a novice hunter could have followed. Branches were broken, the horses hooves had cut divots from the earth, and every so often a piece of cloth or a few strands of Gillian’s red hair were stuck on the underbrush. Once they broke free of the trees, this path led across a green valley. In the torchlight it pulled them forward, giving them hope they were nearing their prey. Their horses beat a steady rhythm across the plain, echoing the anticipation in Andor’s heart. Then, as the moon inched higher, it cast a sickening glow on the landscape of rocks ahead of them. Andor knew before they reached it what they would find. The kidnappers hadn’t been so careless after all. Their trail was now untraceable on an expanse of rocks that stretched as far as the eye could see. The tracker checked several miles in each direction along the valley that abutted this barren landscape, but found nothing. "Sorry," he said. "There is little more I can do."

Egil turned to Andor for his wishes. Andor hid his frustration. His instincts screamed at him to charge forward in his search, yet common sense pulled him in another direction. "We should return. Perhaps Seamus has come ‘round and can give us a clue. If not, perhaps we can start anew with the morning light." As they rode back to the assembly, Andor held back, hoping for some sign they might have overlooked. Nothing...and rage and depression flip-flopped with each step that took them farther from the end of their trail. Having taken one last look around the forest clearing, Andor was the last to reach the campsite. Rollo waited for him. "Seamus is with Freyda. He has started to come ‘round. Thora is in a state. She fears Leif will come for her next." Andor tossed the reins to one of the slaves. "I have no time for Thora’s worries. There is no proof Leif has taken Gillian." Rollo folded his arms over his chest. "Then who else would you suggest?" Pushing past his friend, Andor marched on to Freyda’s tent. He whipped open the flap with such force, she jumped in alarm. "How is he?" He knelt beside the man she tended. Seamus opened his eyes and answered for himself. "I feel like me skull was done split open. Sorry I could not save the lass, sire." Andor squeezed his shoulder. "‘Twas no fault of yours. Did you recognize the men?" "Aye. Me own countrymen, I’m ashamed to say. Claimed they were promised their freedom if they took her." "Leif?" "Aye. Promised ‘em safe passage home." "Was he there?" "No...only them." "Do you have their names?" Andor asked. "Aye. Shane, Dougall, McKenzie, and Brian. Ya know Shane. He be the big, ugly one." "Yes. I remember him well," Andor said. "You rest. Freyda will take good care of you." He stepped outside and found Egil waiting there with Rollo. "Any word?"

"FourGaedhil slaves took her in exchange for Leif’s promise of freedom," he said. "I shall pass the word," Egil said. "Theywill be found." Clutching the amulet around his neck, Andor asked that it be in time to save Gillian from whatever fate Leif planned for her.

Gillian thought the ride would never end. Her captor cared little for her comfort - only in reaching his destination. Even when nausea overwhelmed her to the point of regurgitation, he drove on, uncaring of any mess made to himself. The jarring the horse gave her made it hard for Gillian to catch her breath. Pain shot spears of fire across her ribs and back. Blood swooped to her head, making her dizzy. She longed for a respite, yet refused to give Shane the pleasure of knowing how miserable she felt. He slowed the horse. Gillian was wondering if they had reached another rough stretch like the rock field, when he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her upright. For a moment her vision blackened. Before she could faint, he cut loose her wrists, and dumped her to the ground in front of a large tent. "Yer package is here," he called out. Gillian shook her head clear and pushed herself to her knees. Her arms were weighted from being trussed, and she rubbed life back into them. She sensed, more than heard, a presence before her. With sparks of anger dancing in her eyes, Gillian glared up at Leif. He gave a humorless chuckled. "Amazing...all of this and you still choose to be defiant. Put her in the tent. I will deal with her later." "Put the wench in yerself," Shane replied. "We brung her this far. That was the deal. Now we’re free to go." "Not until I say so," Leif told him. "Ya’d best be sayin’ so quick. There be four of us agin ya, and we be well armed thanks to ya." "If you murder me, you would be caught and hanged," Leif said with a smirk. "There’d be naught a witness to say ‘twas us. The wench here would likely welcome yer death. Who’s to say she didn’t do it?...A whack on the head with a rock while yer back was turned. A knife in yer ribs while ya slept. Or...we could kill her, too." Leif’s smugness faded. "Go then. You can board any ship from here. No one will stop you." "You are fools if you do," Gillian said. "This man has no right to you. He lost it yesterday. Andor owns you now. If you take me back, I will see he frees you. This man is banished." Leif laughed. "Now who are you men going to believe? A woman who made the life of your friend miserable, or the man who holds the key to your freedom?"

They looked from him to her, then turned their horses and galloped away. Leif laughed again and sauntered a circle around Gillian. "Well, just you and me. You have caused me quite a bit of trouble, young woman." "You brought it on yourself. ‘Twas no doing of mine." Leif shoved his foot against her back and pushed her down. "You will not speak unless I bid you to." "I have a right to know what you intend to do with me now that you have stolen me." "You are a witch. I intend to see that you die for all the trouble you have caused me." Gillian continued to glare up at him. She was sick, sore, and tired, and while it was true her lot in life was not golden, she certainly had no wish to die. She knew Andor well enough to believe he would look for her. It was up to her to stay alive to be found. "Killing me will not change all that." She narrowed her eyes. "It might make things worse. I might put a witch’s curse on you as I die." Leif’s eyes widened. He took a step back, his hand reaching for his sword as he did so. Gillian stretched to her feet. "Now...if you were kind to me, I might see my way to helping you a bit." "How so?" "By helping you get what you crave." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Land. Wealth. The love of a beautiful woman. The forgiveness of the people. All here in this land." She could tell by the faraway look in his eyes that Leif was considering this possibility. Gillian congratulated herself on her ingenuity. Then his vision focused on her. The evil intent in those dark eyes frightened her more than she cared to admit. "I have no time for your trickery. You die now!" He raised the sword high, ready to slash a fatal blow. Gillian forced herself to remain still and called to her aid a string of Latin phrases she had heard the village abbot use. Leif backed away. "‘Tis a trick for time ‘til Andor can save you." "Andor has no use for me now that he has Thora." Hearing that truth out loud hurt her more than his sword would have. For one brief moment she wished Leif would carry out his threat and run her through so that she wouldn’t have to deal with this pain. Just as quickly she changed her mind. Her mother had taught her to stand up to her problems, no matter how large. Running away solved nothing. Dying willingly was just another form of running away - it was the coward’s way out. Gillian jutted her chin in that defiant way she knew he hated. "Pierce my heart if you must, but the curse still stands. Sheath your sword, and I will see you get the good I spoke of." Leif lowered the weapon. "How can I be sure you will keep your word?"

"Now that Andor has Thora I have need of a place to live. ‘Twould benefit me as well to give you good fortune. But you must vow to cause me no harm or I will curse you and yours for all eternity." Leif slipped his sword into its sheath, then clasped his hands behind his back to study her. Gillian forced herself to keep her eyes locked on his. He had to believe she was determined and confident or this scheme of hers would never work. "What of the curse you just spoke?" he asked. "It hovers over you, waiting to pounce should you harm me in any way," she replied. "Remove it." "No, ‘tis my protection from your foul temper." Leif pondered the situation awhile longer. Clearly she had taken him unaware, for she could see the concentration on his face as he reformed his plans and tried to find a way to take advantage of this turn of events. "Very well," he finally said. "I agree." Gillian let her breath out slowly. The game had just begun. She hoped she wouldn’t have to play it for too long before help arrived.

A touch as subtle as a butterfly’s wings drifted across Andor’s chest and rested on his stomach. He sighed in his sleep. Arms wrapped around him and a woman’s fresh scent filtered to his nose. For two days he had not slept. Now that this glorious dream of Gillian was upon him, a deep part of his subconscious wondered why he had fought rest. If he could not be with her, what better way to ease his troubled mind than by dreaming of her? Her gentle hand moved lower to caress him more intimately. Andor sucked in a breath. His sleep was shattered. "I knew you would like it," Thora whispered. Andor scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing here? What possessed you to do such a thing?" "I wanted to thank you for saving me from Leif. I know why you did so, and I wanted to show you I want to be your wife as much as you want me." Andor was glad for the darkness, for he had no desire to see the look which matched the sultry sound in her voice. "I have a wife, Thora. You have misunderstood." He kept his tone firm. "My only intent was to keep you from being further abused. As soon as I am able, I shall see you are returned to your family in Northland." He heard the rustle of clothing as she stood, and tensed himself for her approach. "If Leif has her, you will not have a wife much longer. Then you shall have need of another." She pressed her palm to his chest.

Andor snatched it away. "No one could replace Gillian. You have been through much, Thora. I can only surmise it has addled your thinking. Take care it does not happen again." Before she could make another move on him, Andor grabbed up his sleeping fur and hurried from his tent. If anyone should happen to be watching, he wanted there to be no doubt he had left Thora. To further protect himself from scandal, he ducked into Rollo’s tent for the remainder of the night. He expected a challenge from Rollo. The blacksmith was a light sleeper who hated to be snuck up on. Yet no challenge came. Rollo was not there. At first it seemed strange behavior, yet Rollo had vowed he would not rest until he had exhausted all means to find Gillian. He was probably out searching again as they had all done since Gillian’s abduction. Andor settled down, but sleep proved elusive. In his mind he retraced paths taken over the last two days. Paths that hid their secrets well. Twice he and the search party had traversed that huge rock field...each time, they found no clue on the other side. They returned to the assembly, hoping for word. Even though Egil had dispatched men to every farm, there was still no sign of Gillian, Leif, or the four Irish slaves. For all they knew, Leif could have killed them and fled to another part of Iceland to hide. He would have no need for Gillian, other than revenge. Killing her would be his first priority. Or would it? Andor remembered how Leif had wanted her. The very reason Andor had married her was to protect her from Leif. Now, nothing stood between her and...that. A knot of rage and worry lay in the pit of his stomach. He wished Rollo were around to talk out his feelings. He needed someone to confide in. His sister, of course. For the second time that night, Andor picked up his sleeping fur. Freyda would be a good one to talk to. He was surprised to see an oil lamp glowing from her tent. It was too late for her to still be awake. He wondered if something was wrong with Seamus. Even though he had recovered somewhat from his injuries, the wound on his head was still fresh and he suffered from severe head pains. He refused to rest as Freyda and the physician had told him to, insisting on joining the search for Gillian. It taxed him quickly, making his head ache so that it was difficult for him to see. Perhaps the pain had driven him to Freyda for one of the powders the physician had left with her. Careful not to disturb Seamus in his pain, Andor quietly lifted the tent flap. It took a moment for his mind to register the naked bodies twined together in a union as ancient as time on top of the pile of furs. It took a moment longer for him to recognize the bodies were of Rollo and Freyda, lost in the ecstasy of love-making. Once all this information was absorbed, he threw his fur to the ground. "By the name of Thor, what is this?" The couple started but did not pull apart. Rollo protected Freyda from view while he drew a fur over them. Only then did he relieve her of his weight. Andor had never seen the man so angry. It was just as well, for Andor was furious. Freyda sighed. "Could you not have waited just a little longer before bursting in?"

The implications of her statement set Andor’s rage loose. "How dare you?" "No, how dareyou ?" Rollo shoved a finger in his direction. "This is my sister," Andor said through gritted teeth. "And she is my woman." "And when did this miraculous event occur?" Andor demanded to know. "Will the two of you stop it?" Freyda told them. "I will not have the two men I love fight." Egil’s shout from outside interrupted further argument. "Andor, we have two of the slaves!" "We will discuss this later." He cast a final ugly glance their way, then ducked outside. "Andor, wait!" Freyda called. Rollo held her in place. "I will speak to him. I am sorry we were interrupted. I promise you ‘twill not happen again." He drew her close for a lengthy kiss, then dressed to follow Andor.

"Over here." Egil waved Andor to the circle where Leif’s hearing had taken place. The two slaves were bound to one of the posts. They looked tired and in sad need of a bath. Andor could smell them long before he reached them. He couldn’t remember their names - neither was the big, ugly one Seamus called Shane. "We caught them trying to steal chickens at a nearby farm," Egil told him. "The other two got away." Andor stood before the bedraggled pair. "What have you done to my wife?" Neither man replied. "I have no time for games. Strip their clothes away and tie them to the whipping posts," Andor told one of Egil’s men. Then to the Irishmen, he added, "I will know where my wife has been taken, even if I have to beat the information out of you." "Wake the whip handler," Egil added. "Have him bring the cat." "He is not to use it until I give the word." With a flick of his hand, Andor motioned for the men to be taken away. He waited a few minutes then turned to follow. Rollo was behind him, but Andor gave him no more than a glance as he passed by. From the corner of his eye he saw Freyda hurrying toward them. Andor walked on - he would deal with one problem at a time. Torches lined the circle, casting light over the two Irishmen staked in the center. They were nude now. Their pale backs glistened in the light. Andor was content to wait while they anticipated their fate. The crowd grew as word filtered among the assembly. The whip handler passed his time with cups of hot tea to ward off the night’s chill. Andor kept his gaze on the men, obtaining some measure of satisfaction

when they began to shiver. "Douse them each with a bucket of cold water," he said. The whip handler scooped the buckets from a nearby barrel and tossed it over the men. Their gasping cries cut the air as they raised on tiptoe to try to avoid the water. "My wife...where is she?" Andor demanded to know. "Ya can’t do this," the one on the left shouted. "We be freemen." "By whose edict? Leif’s?" Andor gave them no chance to answer. "You are slaves. My slaves by law. You have kidnapped my wife and were caught thieving. You know the penalty. Do not make matters worse by continuing to lie. Seamus, who are these men?" "Dougall’s on the left. Brian’s on the right." "We shall start with Dougall then. Since he is uncertain of his status, we will remind him. Give him ten to start. Perhaps Brian’s memory will clear," Andor said. The whip handler sliced the cat-o’-nine-tails through the air, testing its weight before he started his job. "Wait!" Dougall shouted. "I’ll be tellin’ ya where she is!" Andor raised his arm. "Hold...Where?" "We took her to Master Leif in the valley near the volcano. ‘Twas Shane’s plan, not ours." "Yet you helped by trying to kill her guard. Where are your friends?" "We don’t know," Brian said. "We was starvin’. They took off when we was caught stealin’ chickens." "Then you admit to stealing the chickens." "Yes," they replied. "And my wife?" "Yes." Andor turned to the whip handler. "Beat them thoroughly from shoulder to ankle, but leave no scar. Scarred slaves are not so easy to sell. Egil, I need some men to ride with me now." "Done and done. I will personally be by your side." "As will I," Rollo said. Andor scowled. "‘Twill not be necessary." "I vowed I would not rest until Gillian was found."

"Yes, I have seen how you have passed your free moments," Andor replied. "Pray we find her soon so you might truly rest." He spun around and stormed to his horse. "He makes it very difficult to be civil," Rollo said to Freyda. She uncurled his fist and laced her fingers through his. "Losing Gillian has made him unreasonable. Once she is found...safe...all will be well." "For your sake, I hope so." "Come, if you intend to." Without waiting, Andor turned his horse in the direction of the volcano.

Gillian was amazed what a man could accomplish when he had the will. In two full days Leif had thrown together a sturdy little two-room sod shelter for them. This morning he was out with the sunrise plowing a field. The provisions, tools, animals, and seed were those taken from his own farm, or rather - Andor’s new farm. He had apparently helped himself while he waited for her to be delivered to him. Since their agreement Leif had worked harder than Gillian had heard was typical of him. He believed she had used her witch’s power to give him strength. He worked because he thought he could not fail with a witch on his side. Gillian knew he would never believe it was his own doing. She was grateful for his belief and his preoccupation with work. He had been too tempted by the promise of success to threaten her in any way. Gillian, however, was not willing to take any chances, especially at night. Although, he kept to his room, she dozed with her scissors in her hand. It was a small weapon...hardly enough to cause death...but it was all she had. Leif refused to give her a knife, even for cooking. Gillian heard horses pound up just outside the house. Her heart was suspended in time as she ran to the door. It was Andor finally come to rescue her, just as she knew he would. Nothing could describe her disappointment when she saw it was only Shane and McKenzie. Leif hurried over, and Gillian hovered nearby to see why they had returned. "Ya told us we could get safe passage out," Shane yelled. "But ya didn’t let on there were no ships to leave on." Leif mopped the sweat from his brow then slammed the dirty cloth to the ground. "That is not my concern." "Ya’d best be makin’ it yer concern. Ya lied to us," McKenzie roared. "Now we’re runnin’ fer our lives. We got no food, no shelter, and no way off this place." "What do you mean running for your lives?" Leif asked. "We was starvin’ and stopped by a farm. We was caught stealin’ chickens," Shane said. "Dougall and Brian weren’t so lucky. We followed fer aways to see if we could help. They was taken to that big meetin’. Her husband," he jerked his thumb toward Gillian, "had them tied to the whippin’ post."

"We didn’t stay to see the rest," McKenzie said. "Fools!" Leif darted past them to a wooded knoll a short distance away. He had barely disappeared into the sparse stand of trees before running back. "You were followed!" He leaped onto Shane’s horse and reached for Gillian. "Come here." She backed away. Andor was too close. There was no way she was going to cave in to Leif’s demands. "What do ya want her fer?" Shane demanded to know. "She’ll only be slowin’ us down." He grabbed for the horse’s reins, and Leif drew his sword. Gillian could hear hoofbeats pounding closer to them. A cloud of dust hovered skyward. The three men whirled around. Shane jerked on the bridle. "Give me my horse!" "I give you nothing!" Leif slashed his sword at the burly Irishman. Gillian didn’t wait to see the outcome. With Shane’s first cry of pain and outrage, the first rider appeared over the knoll. She picked up her skirts and ran to Andor. Andor urged his horse to a faster gallop. Elation that Gillian was still alive was replaced with determination to keep her that way. Yet the instant he saw her break away and run toward him, all he wanted to do was reach her. He cared not that Leif and the other Irishmen were getting away - he wanted only her. With tears blinding her eyes, Gillian raised her arms to Andor. Suddenly she was airborne, in a grasp so tight she could not breathe. She was vaguely conscious of the horse slowing of its own accord as Andor’s lips devoured hers. Andor glanced up. Rollo tended to Shane’s wounds. The rest of the party gave chase. "I thank the gods you are still alive," he breathlessly told her when they finally pulled apart. Gillian’s fingers fluttered over his face. "I knew you would come for me. ‘Twas never a doubt in my mind." He kissed her again, probing deeply. Again they pulled apart short of breath. He dropped tiny kisses along her jawline and down her neck. "I thought I would never see you again. Never hold you again. If the bastard hurt you, I swear I...." Gillian placed her fingers over his lips. "He hurt me naught." Andor kissed each finger, then her palm...her wrist...her arm. "I will carry you home this very minute. Away from here and safe in our home." "I am safe wherever you are with me," she said. "Take me home soon, but for now...please love

me...just this once." They slid off the horse together. Before Gillian’s feet could touch the ground, Andor scooped her into his arms and carried her inside. His instincts took him to her tiny room. Gillian didn’t stop to think what his actions might mean. All she cared about was that he was here and she was safe. He kicked the door shut, enclosing them in darkness. "No," Gillian softly said, "I want to see you." He set her down, and Gillian struck a spark to an oil lamp near the door. Its glow threw their shadowy images against the walls of the room. "Love me now," she whispered, and reached for his sword belt. With one tug, belt and sword clattered to the dirt floor. Andor reached for her, but she ducked away to slither her fingers under his kirtle. His skin broke out in goosebumps when her nails grazed his chest as she tried to lift the garment over his head. When she reached his shoulders, he helped her the rest of the way then dropped his arms around her. He balled her shift in his hands and pulled it over her head, tunic, brooches, and utensils still attached. Gillian pressed against his chest. Through the carpet of blond fur, her tongue sought out his dark, flat nipples. She traced wet circles around each. Andor sucked in a sharp breath, a low moan accompanied its exhalation. Gillian traveled lower, raining kisses down the hardened plane to his navel. There she paused only long enough to loosen the drawstring of his trousers. She exposed him quickly, then arched back her head to nestle the velvet length in the valley of her breasts while her fingers kneaded his taut buttocks. Passion weakened Andor so much that his knees threatened to buckle while he tried to step out of his trousers. When he finally accomplished that feat, he felt the warmth of her mouth surround him. It was too much to bear. He felt a surge and yanked her back. Those dark blue eyes of hers rolled up to his. "I want you," she breathlessly exclaimed, and crawled back to her sleeping pallet. Andor slipped into her open arms, his lips seeking hers as she nuzzled against him. He longed to explore her thoroughly. To memorize her body all over again. To excite her to that same fever pitch she had led him to. And he would have done so if it hadn’t been for those slender calves that wound around his waist. When he tried to resist, Gillian dug her heels into his buttocks, urging him on. With one hard thrust, liquid fire enveloped him. Gillian tossed back her head in a straggled cry and rocked against him. She needed this. One last union. A joining so wondrous she would remember it the rest of her days. She breathed soft obscenities into his ear, beckoning him until the pallet began to tear from the pounding their bodies gave it. His hand slipped under her to lift her higher. Gillian arched against him. Teeth grazed her nipple, seconds later he suckled it deeply. A white hot explosion ripped through her pelvis. She ground her teeth in a vain attempt to keep her noise down, but the feeling was too great. She gasped, and Andor’s mouth fell upon hers. Together they let the ending close upon them while their sounds echoed in the warmth of each other’s mouths.

All too soon it was past. Gillian wanted to cry at the unfairness of it. She wanted to cling to him and beg him to never leave. In the end she said only one thing. "I want to go home now. Please take me home." Andor brushed back the coppery hair which framed her face. It wounded his heart to see her suddenly so sad. He wondered if she regretted this moment because of the fear of having another child. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead he dropped a kiss to her lips. "Soon, love. Soon."

CHAPTER 12

Northland, Late Springs, 890 a.d. Although they had not been able to start for home as soon as Andor had hoped, once they were on their way he found himself wishing they could postpone the trip until morning. Riding double was normally no problem for him and Gillian. In fact, they enjoyed it. But the distance they had to travel was too long for comfort. There was also the problem of exhaustion. Since he had not slept in her absence, now that she was safe within his arms he was finding it nearly impossible to stay awake. He noticed by the way Gillian’s head kept drooping to his shoulder that she was having similar problems. Halfway to their destination, Shane died from the wounds Leif inflicted. Andor coldly considered his death saved him from having to have the man disciplined. Burying him gave the party a well-deserved break. Andor wished they could camp the night just for some decent sleep, but with Leif and the other slave still loose it would be a foolhardy decision, even if they did have a large show of force. Larger groups of men had fallen before to determined men on the run. He knew it was only a matter of time before Leif and McKenzie were caught. They couldn’t survive without stealing from one of the farms, and there wasn’t a homestead which did not know of Leif’s banishment. "Mount up," Egil said after the dirt was packed over Shane’s remains. "If we keep up a steady pace, we can reach the Thing shortly after nightfall." "The Thing? I thought we were heading home," Gillian said to Andor. It was Rollo who replied. "We must fetch Freyda and the others. ‘Twould be foolish for you and Andor to be at the farm without the rest of us to help guard you." Gillian nodded her understanding and let Andor set her atop the horse. When he was seated behind her, she nestled against the cushion of his body. "Why not let Gillian ride the empty horse," Rollo suggested. "No," she abruptly replied. "She is too tired," Andor snapped. "Can you not see that? Is that not true, Gillian?"

She nodded against his chest. Shewas tired. Nights of little sleep during her captivity and the week preceding made her so. But she was not so weary she could not manage to sit a horse. The real truth was that she simply did not want to give up being close to Andor, and would use any excuse to keep that comfort. Rollo’s lips thinned in an effort to control his rising anger. "I only sought to help you and her." Andor arched a brow. "As you helped yourself to my sister?" Gillian’s head popped up. What was happening here? Not only was Andor’s voice dripping with animosity, but Rollo looked ready to hack Andor into pieces. "You speak bravely when there is a woman in front of you," Rollo said. Before Gillian could blink an eye, both men were on the ground, swords drawn. She slid down and took a stance between them. "Here now. What is all this?" she scolded. "We have enough to worry about without the two of you coming to blows. You are friends as close as brothers. Why all this?" She gestured toward the swords. "Put them away now or I will not budge past this point." With reluctance, or relief, Gillian couldn’t tell which, they sheathed their swords. There was a definite, collective sigh of relief from the rest of the men who gathered a short distance away. "Now." Gillian poised hands on hips. "What might be the cause of this sudden feud?" "I caught him bedding Freyda," Andor said through gritted teeth. "Without her consent?" Gillian asked. "Well...no." "And I will bet ‘twas not without honorable intent. Is that not so, Rollo?" "‘Tis true. I have asked her to wed me. She would not if being with me made her ache all the more for Olaf.That was the reason for last eve," Rollo said. "She wishes to take her time deciding." "And in the meantime she behaves like a trollop," Andor snapped. A second later he was flat out on his back, unconscious. Gillian cradled his head on her lap. "I know ‘twas deserving, but did you have to hit him so hard?" Rollo rubbed his knuckles as he stared down at Andor. "When he comes to, perhaps he will have regained his senses. I will ride ahead and prepare our camp for the journey. Perhaps you can help him see that he is not the only one who deserves to be with the one he loves." Without another word, Rollo mounted his horse and galloped away. Gillian smoothed Andor’s hair away from his brow. Until he came around there was little more she or

any of the other men could do. With Egil by her side, they waited. After a few minutes, Andor shook his head clear. "Can you ride?" Egil asked. Andor gingerly tested his jaw. "Aye." "Then we should get to it." Still rubbing his jaw, Andor settled himself and Gillian back on his horse. "That was indeed a foolhardy thing you did," Gillian said as they rode on. "To rile a man as big as Rollo is just the same as trying to kill yourself. And for what...because Freyda sought love." "‘Twas not love she sought," he grumbled. "And we will speak no more of this. ‘Tis not your place to tell me how to deal with my sister." Gillian stiffened. She knew the separation had to come at some point, but it didn’t ease the pain any less. He had firmly put her in her place. She was no longer to be considered part of his family. Her views were unwelcome. It was better to begin now. A gradual easing away at first, then a complete break. She hated not knowing when that moment would come, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the break herself. Gillian tried to believe she merely was trying to keep his good will. The truth was, she was hanging on to him as long as possible - no matter how painful. "Will you relax?" he snapped. "You sit as if you were tied to a pole. ‘Tis very difficult to ride with you this way." Gillian forced herself to lean against him, and while she was sure it made the riding easier, it only made her more aware that her husband would soon belong to another. They passed the remainder of the trip in silence, each member of the party intent on reaching their destination. As they neared that goal, Andor felt Gillian’s head grow heavy against his chest. He wrapped a protective arm around her to keep her from falling, all the while cursing the sharp tongue which caused her to withdraw earlier. A hundred times an apology formed, but each time he forced it back. By apologizing he would be admitting he was wrong for being angry at Freyda. In his heart he suspected he was, but his pride refused to let the anger go. He wanted...no,demanded an explanation just as soon as he returned to the Thing. Two things prevented Andor from his showdown with Rollo and Freyda - exhaustion and the fact that they had both shut themselves inside their respective tents. It was for the best - something they could deal with in the privacy of their own home. Gathering Gillian close, he slid from his horse while Seamus held the beast steady. Gillian barely stirred. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thora hurrying toward them. Burdened with Gillian, it was difficult to make too hasty a retreat for fear of tripping with her. He turned to ask Seamus to handle Thora, but the Irishman had already taken the horse away to be cared for. By the time Andor turned back around, Thora was standing before him, wringing her hands.

"What happened? Tell me all." "In the morning." He stepped by. Thora trotted alongside. "He is caught? He is dead?" "No, to both questions. Now, please, Thora, the day has been long. The journey home tomorrow will also be long. Good night." He ducked inside his tent before she could say another word. For a moment he thought she might follow. After laying Gillian on their furs, he tied the flaps closed. Then he curled his body around Gillian’s and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The tension was so heavy Gillian would swear she could see it hanging in the air. Andor spoke only to her, in clipped tones. Rollo and Freyda spoke sparingly to each other. Thora said nothing. All around them the other members of their party laughed and swapped stories of the Thing’s competitions. They seemed to not notice the friction in their leader’s family group. It was just as well, for the last thing needed right now was rumors. It was only when they reached the farm that their mood lightened somewhat. Upon their arrival, Erik burst from the house and threw himself into Freyda’s arms. She hugged him tightly, trying to bury her face into his neck. As she hurried into the house, Gillian could see she was crying. She longed to offer her comfort of some kind, but Andor’s reprimand from the day before kept her still. "Gillian, please settle Thora in the hall where she might have a little privacy," Andor asked. "I will retrieve the rest of her belongings while you do so." "All I have is with me," Thora said. "Very well then. Gillian will help you. Seamus, get Thora’s chest." "You want her in the hall?" Gillian asked, puzzled. Why would the future mistress of the house be treated as no more than a guest? "‘Tis only temporary," Andor replied. "I shall sail within the fortnight, and Thora will go with me." Of course.Why bother to move in when she’ll be packing for a voyage soon? She supposed that their absence would be the time she was to move out. Thora could come home to a house free of the unnecessary turmoil of replacing one mistress with another. With that thought in mind, she grudgingly escorted Thora inside. Jealousy was an alien emotion to Gillian. Never had she had such an intense dislike for another person. She was at a loss as to how to deal with it. Although tripping her held some appeal. If they were men, a duel would be appropriate...even expected. But as a woman, she was forced to hold her tongue. "You can bed down over there." Gillian motioned to the pallet against the wall farthest from the hearth. "‘Tis close enough to keep warm yet far enough to be private." Thora looked around. "‘Tis a very nice home Andor built. Of course, I will be making a few changes." Gillian pursed her lips and kept her chin high. "I have no doubt you will. I will have Seamus bring your

things in." As she turned to leave, Thora put in one last jab. "I am glad you are taking this so well. I suppose you simply realize that someone as nobly born as Andor should not have aGaedhil peasant girl for a wife." Gillian clenched her fists by her side, fighting the temptation to hit Thora as hard as she could. In the end it was Freyda and Erik’s reappearance from their bed closet which made Gillian finally walk away. It was one of the hardest acts of self-control she ever had to exercise. As she and Freyda set about preparing dinner, Gillian did her best to avoid close contact with Thora. It was relatively easy, for Thora sat to one side doing as little as possible to help. Dinner itself was a tense meal. Not even Erik’s excited chatter lightened the atmosphere. Fortunately the child failed to notice. Andor waited until he was put to bed. When that was done, it was Freyda who opened the discussion. With eyes spewing fire and arms crossed over her chest, she stood over her brother. "I believe you wished a word with me." Andor stood to face her down. Freyda held her ground. "Where is your head?" "I did not announce to all what Rollo and I were doing. I expected the privacy of my tent to be honored. You had no right to burst in." "I have every right...." Freyda shoved her finger in his chest. "You had no right. I am a widow. Free to do as I please." "And it pleases you to become like Tove?" Freyda popped him across the face. Andor flinched in wide-eyed shock. "How dare you? Do I not have the right to be happy? Am I to spend the rest of my days a lonely widow? Am I to never bear children again? Rollo is a decent man. He is offering me his love. Can I not accept that and be happy?" "Olaf has not been dead a year," he said. "How can you throw that in my face when you wedher ," she jerked her head toward Gillian, "less than a fortnight after Astrid died?" "That was different," he stubbornly replied. "I married Gillian to protect her." It was the last thing Gillian needed to hear. Her reserve cracked. "Why do you have to keep saying that?" she screamed. All heads turned in her direction.

"I am sick of hearing you say that over and over again. I know why you wed me. I tried to make you a good home and be a good wife. And yet, all you can do is cite your duty in wedding me." Gillian crumpled to her knees as tears overwhelmed her. "I thought you might at least have found a little love in your heart for me. I guess it died with Gwynneth. I will leave soon. I have no wish to burden you any longer." "Gillian...no." A second later he was on the floor, cradling her in his arms. Freyda poised fists on hips. "I thought she understood." "You had best get your own house in order before you worry over Freyda’s," Rollo grumbled. Andor ignored them and tilted Gillian’s face toward his. "What is all this?" "Ido understand. That is why I will take my leave now. I cannot bear to live here any longer knowing she’s to be your new wife." "Gillian, love, no. You donot understand. I care naught for Thora...only as one person does for another. I sought to protect her. No one is to replace you. You are my wife. I would not dishonor you." "Truly?" "Truly." Yet, she did not lose touch with the fact that he had not said he loved her. He admitted loving Thora in the past. And the mysterious Tove. But for her all that bound him was duty. As he held her close and she cried, she kept hoping for the words that never came. She somehow managed to reign her tears to a halt, and shoved away from him. "Then you had best tell Thora," she told him. Andor looked from Gillian to Thora and back again. "Thora knows I have no interest in her." Gillian snorted. "That I doubt. She called me aGaedhil peasant. Said I had no right to be your wife. Said she would be making changes around here when she was mistress." Andor looked to Thora once more. Thora gave a light laugh and shrugged. "I do not know what she means. I have said no such thing. Perhaps the pressures of the last weeks have been too great." Gillian stared at her in disbelief then flashed angry eyes at Andor. "Then why were you planning a trip with the likes of her?" She jerked her head toward Thora. "To take her home to her family," he replied. "I had not planned to go without you. I thought the voyage might do you good. Clear your head." "There is nothing wrong with my head!" She whirled around and stormed to her room, too angry now to even attempt to defend herself coherently. "Poor Gillian," Freyda said with a shake of her head. "She has been through so much lately."

Thora made a tsking sound. "Leif probably tried to poison her mind with delusions." "Which makes it all the more important to take her away for awhile," Andor said. "Yet, if she is not well, I worry the trip might harm her more." "I shall be glad to care for her if the need arises," Thora said with a bright smile. "‘Twould be my way of repaying the debt I owe you." Andor thanked her. "Then I shall make preparations to set sail within the week. Rollo, I trust my lands will be in your good hands in my absence." Rollo tossed his head back in a humorless laugh. "He trusts me with his land, but not his sister." "Freyda is more dear to me than all the land in the world. I worry for her welfare as any brother would. If she trusts herself in your hands, I have no choice but to abide by her wishes. The women in our family know their mind. I cannot change that. I would ask, though I have no right, that the two of you wed before I leave...For decency’s sake and to keep the gossips at bay. Would you consider that?" The couple looked at each other for a long time, speaking with no words. Finally, Freyda gave Rollo a single nod. He turned to Andor. "We shall be wed before you sail." Gillian slipped into the hot tub of water for a leisurely bath. It would be her last one for...How long did it take to sail to Northland? It was no matter. Toting all those buckets of hot water this predawn was going to be worth it. A nice, long bath to ease the tensions of the last week and the weeks to come. By concentrating on preparing for the trip she had been able to avoid too much contact with Thora, but that would end in just a few hours. Just thinking about it grated on her nerves, making her more irritable than she had been. Thora had already used her snappish attitude to her advantage. Once when Thora thought she had gone to sleep, Gillian caught her planting seeds of doubt as to her mental stability. From that point on, Gillian made certain she was the last person in bed and the first one awake. The pace was tasking her. Now she was going to be confined on Andor’s ship with that woman for however long this trip would take. For a brief time - avery brief time - Gillian considered staying home. But doing so would give Thora unlimited time with Andor - time she would use to convince him she was unfit as a wife. Gillian refused to take that risk. Even though Andor had not professed any love for her, he was still her husband. And, for now, he had no intention of dissolving that relationship. Gillian still clung to the hope of winning his love. She tried to convince herself she didn’t want the stigma of being divorced. That she couldn’t live with the shame of being cast down from mistress to tenant. That she needed the security being his wife gave. But all those reasons were false. Gillian wanted his love because she loved him more than her heart could bear. You are going about it poorly if you expect to win his devotion.There was no doubt she worked hard around the home. She cared for him as any good wife would. But she knew heirs would one day

become an issue. She still could not face the prospect of children - something Thora constantly talked about looking forward to in the future.That was the one thing Gillian could not fight Thora on. She sighed, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the wooden tub. She was tired, so very tired. The water embraced her in a liquid blanket of warmth. "Mind if I join you?" Gillian jumped at the sound of Andor’s voice. He stood before her wrapped in one of their bed furs. "I did not mean to startle you," he said. "I heard you preparing a bath and finally decided it was a good idea. May I?" Without waiting for her to reply, he dropped the fur and stepped into the tub opposite of her. "Feels good to relax." He draped her legs over his. "That it does." "I was surprised you were up so early after being up so late for Freyda and Rollo’s wedding feast. I believe you were the last to bed down. Even Thora called it an early night. I think she was glad to have the privacy of Rollo’s old bed closet...even if she did have to share it with Erik." "Yes, I believe so." Thora could sleep with the cows as far as she was concerned. "Will we be leaving with the sunrise?" "Everything is ready." "And how long a trip might it be?" "‘Tis almost summer so a safer course is possible," Andor said. "No more than a month or two total time. A short time there. Then to Hedeby. Then home. ‘Twill be late summer." He smiled. "By that time Rollo should have all the piping cast to bring the hot springs to us. No more toting buckets of hot water." "That will be a real godsend." She sighed and relaxed once more against the tub. Andor felt guilt overwhelm him. He’d never seen anyone look more weary than Gillian, and he cursed himself for not getting up to help her earlier. Instead, he had let his own exhaustion pull him back to sleep. By the time he realized what she’d done, it was too late to do anything more but enjoy the fruit of her hard labor. He laced his fingers through hers. "Come to me." When she resisted, he added, "I just wish to hold you." Gillian let him pull her close then rested with her back against his chest. She felt his length rise between them. God, how she wanted him! If he made a move to love her now, she knew she would be unable to resist him. Then she would curse herself afterward for taking a chance on pregnancy. Andor congratulated himself on his restraint, even though doing so made him feel like he was ready to explode. He longed to kneel before her slender feet and tell her that he loved her more than life itself. He would have searched the corners of the earth, traveled to the bowels of Niflheim, the land of the

dead, to rescue her from Leif. He’d lie for her, cheat for her, steal and kill for her. He’d sell his soul for her. All for love.She was his life, his reason for existing. Yet he could not tell her for fear that she would feel cornered into intimacies, and he was as emotionally ill-prepared to bring another child into the world as she. For now this was enough. He tucked her head under his chin, and tried to ignore that nagging ache. He wondered if this was the way of all parents who had lost a child. Within the month he’d be able to lay his woes at the feet of his own parents. Then he’d have the answers his grief sought. To others he continued to justify this trip in an attempt to start a steady trade route. But in the troubled recesses of his mind he knew he was running away from a home which no longer held a baby’s giggle. Like a child, he was hurrying to his parents for help in fixing what was wrong - in healing what was hurt. He wanted to be cared for. To pour out his heart. To expose his vulnerability to the only persons who would not judge him. With his parents he did not have to be a leader, or be strong. He just had to be a son. "We would be more comfortable if we went to the hot spring," Gillian said. "But not very safe. I have no wish to have my men stand guard while we bathe. And with Leif still free, ‘twould be foolish for us to go alone," he said. "Must we live in fear of him forever?" "I have hope he and theGaedhil slave will be found while we are gone." "What did you do with Brian and Dougall? I have not seen them since we returned." "They were punished and sold the morning we left the Thing," he replied. "If you sit up, I will scrub your back for you." Gillian handed him the cake of soap. If he was going to make love to her, now would be the time he would start. She closed her eyes to enjoy the feel of hands rubbing sudsy circles on her back. He should never have joined her. Each swipe of his hand across her back made him want to slip around to cup her breasts. He’d never known himself to possess such willpower. Fear of driving Gillian further away is what made him so honorable. So he took his time bathing her, all the while studying the slender curve of her neck. He liked how she had piled her hair atop her head with combs to hold it in place. Stray tendrils curled around her face and upon her neck, framing her in ethereal beauty. One yank and the mass of coppery waves would tumble into his hands like a silken rain. "Now you can do mine." He plopped the soap in her hands and turned his back to her. Gillian stared at the cake for several seconds then turned to stare at his sun-bronzed back. Her eyes traced the contours while she lathered her hands. As if her fingers had a will of their own, she watched them travel the molded curves and angles before her. Over his shoulders, down his back, under his arms, around his waist, down to his buttocks, and back up again. Slowly. Around, down, and up. Over and over.

She closed her eyes and let her senses absorb the texture of his slickened skin. A vision of their bodies sliding together overtook her. "By the gods, woman, I can take no more," Andor said through a clenched jaw. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her beside him. His lips captured hers as he stretched back. When Gillian reached to run her fingers through his hair, he pushed her hand downward. She hesitated for a moment then, when his fingers drifted to hidden places, she knew what he wanted. Andor sucked in a breath, but refused to release her lips or to stop his attentions. Together they caressed one another until a simultaneous explosion ended the moment. When the time had passed, Andor felt empty. They had made love the only way possible for now. They had both satisfied the other. But something was missing - their souls had been untouched by this strange union. He didn’t have to ask if Gillian felt the same. He could tell by the faraway look in her eyes. Normally, after loving her, they would glow with an inner light. "The water is getting cold," Andor said. "We should be getting ready to leave." "Aye, that we should." She pulled the stopper from the drain. The water would empty onto their vegetable garden just outside. They dried in silence then Andor wrapped the fur around them both and carried her back to their room to dress. The tender regard did little to help her feelings. She felt like she had been used as any whore might have been. Where were all the tender endearments of before and after love? Where were the soft words and caresses that went with the act? It was cheap. At any minute she expected him to toss a piece of silver her way and bid her good-day. "Is your chest ready?" he asked. "Yes, I will get the bed furs in a bit. Go on with you." "The tent will be up before we sail. ‘Twill give us a little privacy when we wish it." Gillian mumbled her thanks and gathered their furs while Andor carried her chest to the ship. She was surprised to see that Freyda and Rollo had risen while she and Andor dressed. Thora also sat at the hearth with them. The couple greeted her with broad smiles. Thora made no attempt at a greeting. Gillian ignored her and envied Freyda and Rollo their happiness. "You look weary," Freyda said. "Rest yourself over a good breakfast and let Rollo help Andor load the ship. Thora, pour Gillian a cup of that tea you made." Gillian was perfectly willing to rest, but eating was beyond her. She sipped her tea, picked at her porridge, and put it all down to nerves. "I shall miss you," Freyda said. "And I you," Gillian replied. "Mother and Father will make you feel welcome. Hildy, our youngest sister, will be delighted with

meeting you. She enjoys getting to know new people. You will find Björn and Asa a joy to be around, but try not to let their sons bother you or cause you to think about your loss too much." Gillian tried to smile. Just because she had lost her child, she was not about to begrudge Andor’s brother and his wife their offspring. "Perhaps when Andor and I return, you will give us news of a little one on the way." "And you will give us similar word," Freyda said. Gillian’s smile faded. Freyda covered her hand with hers. "I know it hurts. Time will make things better. Trust that. When I lost Olaf, I thought my world was over. Now I have been blessed with another good man. I do not love Olaf any less, but I do love Rollo, too." Gillian nodded. There was nothing more she could say. Within the hour she was standing at the rail of Andor’s ship, waving good-bye. Although saddened by their departure, she was relieved to know she would be returning. A last-minute passenger stood by her side. Having appointed himself as Andor’s right-hand-man, Seamus had been onboard long before Andor that morning. Andor had not asked him along because the man was still plagued with headaches. But once he saw him packed and ready for the voyage, Andor didn’t have the heart to force him to remain home. Gillian was glad. His would be a familiar, friendly face on the long trip. "Ya lasses best be havin’ a seat," Seamus told her and Thora. "We’ll be comin’ to open sea in a wee bit and ya don’t want to be losin’ yer balance." Gillian sat on her chest near to where Andor had set up their tent. She had learned over the time with Andor and his people that this was a symbol of his importance and his sole right as owner of the ship. In the past he had never used the tent. He did so now to honor her. Gillian admitted she liked the consideration, but she could have done with a little less honoring and a simple vow of love. From the corner of her eye she watched Thora sit beside the box of sand they would use for their cooking fires. So far this morning Thora had been quiet and kept to herself. It was a respite Gillian knew would not last long. She felt the ship begin to rock. They were at the mouth of the river. Gillian’s stomach joined the upheaval, turning upon itself as Andor negotiated the choppy sea. She fought the urge to dash to the rail, swallowing repeatedly the rush of salty saliva that filled her mouth. Finally, she had no choice. Praying she would not be tossed overboard, she ran to the rail and heaved over the side. Seamus was at her side in seconds. Embarrassment made her want to shoo him away; distress kept her from doing so. It seemed she was there for hours, retching until all she could manage was dry heaves. Seamus bathed her face from time to time, telling her all was well and that Andor would be there as soon as he had navigated to open sea. When she finally looked up, land was still within easy sight. She had been there only minutes, not hours. She took a step away from the rail and collapsed. Andor shouted for someone to take the rudder, then leaped over men and crates to reach Gillian. She lay in a crumpled heap at Seamus’s feet, looking up at him through glazed eyes. He scooped her into his arms.

"I will turn about and take you home," he said. "No, I just need rest. I have eaten naught and am very tired. Let me rest. Please." Andor felt Thora’s hand on his arm. "All will be well," she said. "Let her rest. I can care for the men and her, if necessary." Andor hesitated then, against his better judgment, he carried Gillian into their tent and put her to bed.

Gillian’s eyes opened the second she awoke, but she lay there a few minutes more, trying to get her bearings. It was still daylight, but was it morning or afternoon? The stiffness in her joints said she hadn’t slept all that long. Her mouth and throat were dry and scratchy, but the thought of quenching her thirst did not set well with her stomach. Rolling over and going back to sleep appealed to her, if it weren’t for the fact that her bladder was so full it threatened to burst. She pulled herself up. After a brief battle for balance, she ventured from the tent and straight to the bucket. Relieving herself did a lot to make her feel better. As she emptied the bucket, she was curious enough to look around for land. There was none in sight. She obviously had slept longer than she intended. Using her hand as a shield, she glanced up at the sun. It was halfway to mid-sky, but, since she wasn’t sure of their direction, she had no way of knowing whether it was pre-noon or past-noon. In any event, some meal needed to be prepared. She wondered why Thora was sitting by the opposite rail instead of tending to it. She passed it off as more laziness on Thora’s part and walked to the box of sand to start a cookfire. To her surprise, she discovered a cauldron of stew already cooking. With a sigh of relief that she needn’t have to cook, she sat down on Seamus’s trunk to ease her quivering legs. A part of her wished she could be pleased that Thora had things under control, but Gillian hated the woman so much that this act of consideration only angered her because she could not find fault in Thora. "There you are." Andor hurried toward her. Gillian’s heart warmed to the smile he gave. He sat beside her and took her hand in both of his. "How do you feel?" "Like I need more sleep," she said. Andor’s eyebrows inched together. "Are you ill? I had thought a full day’s rest would refresh you." "It might if I could take it." "You just did, love," he hesitantly replied. Gillian stared at him in disbelief.

"‘Tis true," he said. "A full day has passed. Perhaps you are still a bit groggy. Thora, fix Gillian a bit of broth and a cup of tea. ‘Twill help you wake," he said with a smile. Gillian wanted to refuse anything that came from Thora’s hand, but she was too weak to protest. Besides that, she was beginning to feel hungry. With a half-hearted attempt at cordiality, Gillian accepted broth and tea from Thora. Andor watched Gillian sip, willing the nourishment to stay down. She looked abnormally pale and burdened by a weakness that was not like her. He put it down to exhaustion. The trying days after Gwynneth’s death, the trial, Leif kidnapping her, and her nonstop preparations for this voyage had all taken their toll. All Gillian needed was a few days of pampering to get back on her feet. And he was going to see she got it, whether Thora liked it or not. He clenched his jaw at the thought of Thora. Since Gillian had taken to bed the day before, twice Andor was forced to order Thora to see to the food. He’d never known a woman to be so lazy, and was beginning to understand why Leif took to beating her - not that he approved. A lazy woman and a foul-tempered man were not a good match, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else who would have either one of them. "How do you feel now?" he asked as Gillian set her cups aside. "Did it set well with you?" "I think so but ‘tis difficult to tell," she said. "I would like to sit by the rail ‘til I can be certain. Would you get me a fur from our tent? I feel a chill." Andor quickly obliged her and was back to help her settle comfortably before she could reach the railing. After she snuggled against the bags of wool there, he kissed her forehead. "If you need something, call out," he said, and left her to rest. She was going to be all right. She was merely exhausted from the pace she had set for herself. "Thora, please offer Gillian tea and broth from time to time. When she is able to handle that with no problem, offer her a bit of bread." He walked on to the stern before his irritation showed. He would have preferred Freyda caring for Gillian, but unless he turned back, that was not possible. He had to trust Thora to be responsible enough to care for Gillian. Still, Andor kept an eye out in case Thora was negligent. The day passed well with Gillian gaining a little color and strength toward evening. By sunrise she was back at the rail, hanging over the side. "Is it the motion of the ship which makes you ill?" he asked as he bathed the cold sweat from her face. "I traveled with you before with no ill effects," she managed to say. "But your body carried and birthed Gwynneth then. Perhaps that made the voyage easier." Gillian slumped against the bags of wool. "Yes, that could be so." "You cannot keep on this way. I will turn the ship about and head for home."

Gillian grabbed his sleeve. "No, there are too many people counting on you for you to turn back. I will not have it said that your wife ruined your standing. You worked hard for their respect...You have to keep on. I will be fine. You just have Thora keep me in tea and broth and all will be well." Andor warred with himself over what was the best course of action. What Gillian had said was true, this voyage was important. Yet he wasn’t willing to risk her health for it. In the end, he depended on Gillian to know her own limitations. He pressed onward. It was one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever had to make. Gillian’s condition deteriorated with each day’s passing. As daylight lengthened, he cursed himself for not turning back sooner. Gillian spent all of her time by the rail, at times so weak it was all she could do to pull herself up to retch over the side. He and Seamus took turns caring for her while Thora tended to other men and continually encouraged Gillian to sip the liquids she provided. That kindness alone increased Andor’s opinion of Thora. She might be lazy, but in a crisis she was dependable. As they neared the Faroe Islands, Andor made ready to land to give Gillian some respite. Weak as she was, Gillian begged him to continue on. Andor’s patience snapped. "Are you trying to kill yourself? We will stay for a few days until your strength is back." Gillian shook her head. "‘Twill take more than a few days for that. Continue on. Once we reach the home of your kin, I will rest. And it will be better rest knowing I will not be boarding this vessel for awhile." With a muttered curse, Andor went on, mad because he understood how Gillian felt and furious because there was nothing he could do to help. Several times a day he prayed to his gods to keep the wind in his sails and keep the weather clear. They answered by carrying his ship on a swift course to Northland. At the first sight of his home land, Andor wanted to cheer. He cautioned himself against premature elation. Northland was within reach, but they were still many miles from his parents’ home. Gillian was too weak now to do more than sip an occasional cup of water. Her once lustrous red hair had dulled and was beginning to fall out. Weight loss made her skeletal. All he wanted was to get her to dry land and put her in his mother’s capable hands. The minute he spotted that familiar fjord leading to his father’s lands, Andor ordered the oars put to water. If he could have pushed from behind to get them there faster, he would have. Instead, he had to be content with guiding the ship to safety. He saw the lookouts from atop the cliffs. They ran off to spread the news of his return. A bend to the right and another to the left and he could see the settlement. His father’s people pointed and rushed about preparing for Andor’s ship to land. Closer still, he heard his youngest sister, Hildy. "Mother, come quick! Andor is home!" Then his mother appeared in the doorway of their home. She wiped her hands on her tunic while she stared toward the shore. A few seconds later, she was running to meet him as the ship touched land. "Throw out that ramp now!" Andor shouted as he ran to Gillian’s side.

She made an almost imperceptible groan as he lifted her in his arms. "All is well now, my love. We are here. Mother will care for you." His long strides bore them forward. "My son, who is this?" his mother asked, puzzlement in her deep green eyes. "Gillian, my wife. Help her, Mother. I fear she may be dying." Then, with no warning, he broke down into tears.

CHAPTER 13 Andor expected condemnation of some kind. That was what he had gotten in his childhood years from his older brother. Yet here he sat with his father and Björn, blubbering by the family hearth and all he got was the sympathy he had traveled so far to find. He was a child of the house of Sven. The weight of leadership slipped from his shoulders. He no longer had to keep the facade of strength in place. For a moment he thought that his hysterical display might have embarrassed them to silence, and though he longed to stop, he could not. He poured from his heart the pain of Gwynneth’s death and the fear of losing Gillian while his mother and Asa, Björn’s wife, cared for Gillian in his old bed closet. Each time Hildy scurried to the hearth for fresh water, Andor held his breath hoping for some word. Hildy would merely glance his way then dart back to his mother. The ale his father pushed to him slid down more quickly than intended. It took half a dozen before Andor was calm enough to gain control over his emotions. "I know you must think me weak," he began to say. His brother interrupted. "I think you are a man very much in love. I could not bear to lose Asa or one of our sons. I would wish to die myself." "And after losing Astrid and the baby, it is understandable that the loss of another wife and child would be upsetting," his father added. Andor looked away. He couldn’t face him directly for fear he would see the truth. His ploy had little effect. "It is different. Is it not?" he asked. "When the heart is involved." Andor’s shoulders sagged. "Yes, Father, very different." "I cannot say whether I am glad or sad that you have finally learned this."

Andor looked up to find him smiling. "Astrid would have been a good wife to you. The affection would have grown with the years. But a woman who grabs your heart from the outset." His father shook his head in dismay. "They turn you inside out. They frustrate, annoy, amuse, and make you burn for them. Like playing with fire one moment and ice the next. Unpredictable. Astrid would have been easier, but this one will make life more interesting." "If she survives." Andor buried his head in his hands. "I should have turned for home when she first became ill." "But you did not," Björn said. "In fact, ‘twas Gillian who insisted you keep on. Frustrating you as Father said. Tell us how you came to meet this woman." Andor jerked his head up. Of course, they wouldn’t know. Their party had separated before the raid on Ireland. After another long pull on his ale, Andor told them how Gillian had come into his life. When he was finished, his father patted him on the back. "Your bride is in good hands. Your mother will surely nurse her back to health." No matter how optimistic the words sounded, Andor could hear the doubt in his tone. His mother was skilled in her healing, but she claimed it was merely a blessing from the gods which enabled her to heal in the first place. She never tended someone without invoking their help. As he recalled that, he watched Hildy set a tiny statue of Thor upon a stool to pray for Gillian’s recovery. Would the Norse gods be willing to help aGaedhil woman? He doubted it, especially after she had cursed them when Gwynneth died. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop Hildy. It would involve more explanation than he cared to give at this time. "Björn," his mother called, "go for the physician." Andor’s heartbeat quickened as he watched his brother hurry away. The sickness was beyond his mother’s abilities. Prayers to gods Gillian thought of as heathen were useless. She was slipping away from him and there seemed nothing he could do...unless.... "I need a walk in the woods." He hurried out before his father could offer to accompany him. He knew the place he sought - a quiet clearing near the center of the forest. There no one would bother him. There he could talk to Gillian’s deity. Andor wasn’t certain of how this could be done. He didn’t even know her god’s name. But he did know, from his travels, that it involved a cross of some kind. He broke off two small branches on his trek through the woods, then fastened them together with his leather headband. By the time his cross was made, he had reached the clearing. He strode to the center and stuck it in the ground. Now what?He knelt before it, laced his fingers under his chin, and closed his eyes as he had seen Gillian do. "I am a Northman. AGaill . I do not know your ways. You are god to Gillian and her people. She lives now in my world. There is no one of her kind, save Seamus, who may speak for her. As her husband I

ask for the right to do so now." Andor paused, waiting for some sign to continue or to stop. When nothing came, he went on. "If Gwynneth is with you, I pray she is not so lonely that you would take Gillian also. I ask you not to. If you feel you must...I ask that you do not leave me here in this world without her. If Gillian must join you, I would be by her side also and gladly learn the ways of you." He stayed there until his knees grew sore. Then he stashed the cross safely in a nearby clump of bushes for use later. As he turned to go, he saw his father at the edge of the clearing. "How long have you been there?" "Long enough to see again how much Gillian means to you," he replied. "The physician has arrived. Come home and we can see if he has discovered what is wrong with her." Surely he had. The man had the experience of years. Andor couldn’t remember a time when the man didn’t look old. If they had had the benefit of such wisdom on Iceland, Gwynneth would still be alive. The man was a worker of miracles. Andor had seen that many times as he was growing. There was no reason now why that perfect record could not be sustained. As he walked into the longhouse, he fully expected to see Gillian sitting by the fire sipping tea. His faith was badly shaken to discover this was not so. "Is there word?" he demanded to know. "He has only just arrived," Asa replied. "Fjola is with him." She turned to Thora, and for the first time Andor realized she was still there. She hadn’t bothered to go to her family yet. How devoted she’d become to Gillian these last weeks - caring for her everyday as a sister would. Only Freyda would have done as much. Now that Gillian was in more skilled hands, Thora still could not relinquish her charge. And he had called her lazy and worthless. The guilt lodged in his chest. "Thora, you should go to your home. Your parents will want to see you," Andor said. She turned deep brown eyes up to him. "I cannot help but feel I could have done more. I could have thought of something more. If she should die now, I would never forgive myself." She buried her face in her hands to cry. Andor debated on whether or not to offer her comfort. It was such a simple act of kindness, how could he refuse? Yet how could he give it when he was in sore need of some himself? Fortunately, Asa stepped in and saved him from making a decision. "There now," she cooed as she wrapped long arms around Thora. "All will be well. Come. The children and I will walk you to your parents’ home." Still crying, Thora let Asa lead her away. Andor was ashamed to say he was glad she was gone. At the far end of the family gathering hall, the physician pushed open the door to the bed closet. Before he could move two steps, Andor was before him.

"My wife. How is she? What ails her?" The man rubbed his age-worn eyes. "‘Tis difficult to tell at this moment. She has no fever. She is not awake to answer questions. And she is not bringing up anything. All we can do is wait." "Wait?" Andor stared at him in disbelief. "Wait! You are no better than the young charlatan who cared for my daughter! Wait, you say. That is the word for all of you. Gillian would well be dead in the time you take to wait!" Björn tugged on his arm. "Enough...Leave the man to do what he can." Andor jerked away and marched back to the forest clearing.

Cool fingers pressed against Gillian’s forehead. The touch was gentle, soothing...a woman’s touch. As she lay there enjoying it, Gillian realized her bed no longer rocked. They were finally off that ship.A blessing in itself. The hand moved to her cheeks, and she opened her eyes to see who was caring for her. Her vision blurred. She had to blink several times for clarity. The image which focused before her both eased and frightened her. Surely she had not been asleepthat long! "Freyda?" she croaked. The woman smiled. "No, dear. I am Fjola, her mother." Gillian sighed with relief. "Praise be. I thought I might have slept my life away." Fjola chuckled. "You have slept many days from what Andor tells me, but not nearly a lifetime...Here, a sip of tea might ease your throat." She helped Gillian sit, but refused to let her take more than a few sips. "If that stays, then you may have more." "Where is Andor?" "He waits for word in the hall. He has been a most difficult man since you arrived yesterday. I will get him. You may visit while I have Hildy fetch the physician." After propping Gillian up against some furs, Fjola patted her hand and left. Hildy. That would be Andor and Freyda’s youngest sister. She tried to recall who else lived here. Their father, of course, Sven. And their brother, Björn, and his family. Gillian remembered his wife’s name but not the children’s. It was just as well. She didn’t plan to spend any time with the children. There was movement outside her door. Gillian looked up in time to see Andor walk in. She was as shocked by his appearance as he must have been by hers. Dark circles ringed his eyes, adding age to his already haggard features. He took a step closer and she lifted her arms to him. "Hold me...if only for a moment."

Andor swept her into a gentle embrace. She seemed too frail for anything stronger. "I prayed you would be well and you are," he told her. "Your gods answered you again." "Not my gods...yours." Gillian tilted her head back to look at him. "‘Tis true," he said with a weak smile. "Since you areGaedhil , I thought only your god would work. I must have been right, for here you are awake and on the mend." She combed her fingers through his tangled blond hair. "Awake, yes. Mending? Well...I pray so. There has never been a time in my life when I was more ill. Were others sick as well?" Andor shook his head. "Only you, love." "Odd. Perhaps this physician your mother has sent for will know." Andor snorted. "I do not put much faith in healers at this time. First, Gwynneth and now you. This man was content to sit and do nothing but watch you slip away. If I had known how powerful this god of yours was, I might have saved Gwynneth by speaking to him as you did. Our voices together would have been much stronger than the false hopes given by these so-called men of medicine." "Have a care what you say when the physician returns," Fjola said from the door. "You have already injured his feelings once. He passed it off as worry for Gillian which made you speak so. I am not so sure he would do so again. He will be here soon. Wait in the hall with your father." Andor brushed a kiss against Gillian’s forehead then grudgingly obeyed his mother. It was all very well for her to preach confidence in a man as ancient as time, but it was not her mate’s life which was at stake. He kept his grumbling to himself and sat on the floor with his father to finish repairing the fish nets. They had barely begun the task when Hildy returned with the physician. Andor shot glares the man’s way until his father called his attention to his rudeness by clearing his throat. He tried to concentrate on his work, but his mind kept wandering to Gillian’s bed closet. Just as he was wondering how long it would take for the man to make a determination, he walked out. Andor scrambled to his feet. "Well? What ails her?" "Nothing serious. She is with child." He could have punched Andor in the stomach and had a less devastating effect. "That cannot be." The old man raised a bushy brow his father’s way. "Perhaps you and your son should sit down for a long talk about conception." He looked back at Andor. "The journey here weakened her greatly. If she and the child are to survive the birth, she will need much rest before you continue on." Andor sank to the bench while the physician left. He was aware of his father sitting beside him, but could

not acknowledge him. "Son...Have you...Have you lain with her?" He was drawn to her as a moth to a flame. He could not get enough of being with her. The question was ridiculous, but then no more so than his own statement to the physician. "The child is mine, Father. ‘Tis...’tis a shock...a surprise." "You look as if it were more like a death sentence," his father told him. "After losing Gwynneth, it feels like one."

Gillian was too stunned to do more than stare into space. She wanted to insist the physician was wrong, but he had based his conclusions on informationshe had provided. "What a relief to know your illness was only due to the little one," Fjola said. "I was not ill with Gwynneth," Gillian heard herself say. "The voyage, the grief, worry...all play a hand," she said. "I was ill with Andor yet not with Björn. With Hildy yet not Freyda. Each blessing can be different." Gillian couldn’t help the tears which followed. How could she consider this child a blessing when the fear of losing it consumed her so? Fjola sat beside her. "Why do you cry, child? I fear it is not with joy." "I wish this were not so," she somehow managed to say. "Why? Do you not care for my son?" "Very much so. I have great love for him. But the pain...the hurt...Gwynneth...and now." Unable to continue, Gillian spread her hands over her belly. Fjola covered them with her own. "You need say no more. I understand. I have lost four children to death. ‘Tis a pain only a parent can know." "How could you bear to have another? Did you seek to replace what you had lost?" "Never. No child could do that. I bore more children because I sought to fill the emptiness in my heart and to enrich my marriage and my home." "But did you fear losing them?" "Constantly. And I still do. ‘Twas far from easy to watch Andor and Freyda leave for Iceland. Then when word came to us of the storm which killed Olaf and Astrid, my worry was doubled. But consider this...if Sven and I had chosen to never have children again, Andor would never have been born." Although Gillian could see the point she was making. It was little comfort.

Fjola squeezed her hand. "By now Andor will have been told. ‘Tis important that you regain your strength quickly, and I am certain you will be able to do so much better if you are with people. I will prepare a bath for you and have Asa fix a comfortable pallet for you in the hall. I will send Andor back so that you two might speak." It was the last thing Gillian wanted to do, and when Andor walked into the room a few minutes later, she could tell he was also feeling the awkwardness of the situation. While she stared at her lap, he sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. Neither spoke. There was nothing they could have said, not when Gillian had been so clear about wanting no more children. "Have you spoken to your father about the trading route?" It was a safe, neutral subject. "Yes. He and Björn were excited about the idea. They are gathering a ship to follow us home. Once you are able, we will travel on to Hedeby to speak with other traders there." "Good. And are they pleased with Freyda’s marriage to Rollo?" "Aye. Saddened over Olaf’s death, but delighted Freyda is to be loved and cared for. I am told Hildy is to be wed this winter. A young man named Floki." "I look forward to meeting all of your kin. Is Thora with hers?" The politeness was more than Andor could take. "Blast it, woman, we sound like strangers catching up on old times! We are having a child! Can we not speak of that?" She balled the fur beneath her fists. "Why? So it might become real? So I might love it and suckle it only to watch Leif bash its head against a rock!" Andor grabbed her shoulders. "I would kill him before I would allow such a thing." "When? You had your chance to do so and you let him get away." "I was concerned then only for you." "Aye. I recall what you were concerned with at the time." Andor jumped back as if burned. "You were as much a part of that as I was, Gillian. If not more. ‘Twas you who lured me that day." Fjola rushed in before they could hurl more words at each other. "Will the two of you stop this? She needs rest, not aggravation. Her bath is nearly ready, Andor. Carry her to it." "I will not have the likes of him toting me around. I will do my own walking." "Not at the risk to my child! You might care naught about the babe, but I do! You will be carried whether you wish to be or not!" "How can you think I would harm my own?" "Stop it now!" Fjola shouted above them, and silence fell. "I will have no more of this. Andor, carry her

to the tub." Even though Gillian allowed him to pick her up, she was stiff in his arms. The urge to toss her into the tub of bath water was almost too much to resist. Concern for the child kept him from doing so. He set her on her feet behind the privacy screen. The suddenness of the movement caught her by surprise. She swayed. Andor grabbed her before she could fall. Gone were the soft curves which at one time molded against his body. She was bony now. He knew she had lost much weight on the voyage, but this was the first time he had taken the time to notice just how frail she had become. "There is nothing left of you," he said softly into her ear. "It wounds my heart to think that carrying my child has done this to you." She opened her mouth to reassure him, but his mother’s scolding presence prevented her from speaking. "Go on now. Asa and I can help Gillian." "She is my responsibility," he replied. "I will care for her." Gillian smacked her palms into his chest as hard as she could, which, considering her weakened state, wasn’t very hard. But it had enough of an effect to show she was angry. Andor looked down into her fiery blue eyes. "Yourresponsibility can care for herself." She yanked from his grasp. He reluctantly let the women take charge. As he rounded the partition, he made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder. Gillian had just dropped her gown. The gaunt figure it had hidden bore little resemblance to the woman he knew. Their gazes locked for a moment, then he looked away. The hate blazing from her glare was too much to deal with for now. He knew she was unprepared for another child; so was he. But he never dreamed this unforeseen pregnancy would spark such fury. Whatever had been between then in the past, there seemed little hope of regaining that in the future.

Gillian tried to concentrate on washing away the stench illness had left behind. It was the only way she could keep Fjola and Asa from seeing how hurt she was. She is my responsibility.The words lingered in the air, hurting her each time she recalled them. Carrying his child made no difference in how he felt toward her. She was an albatross around his neck. An obligation he would be forced to endure until death parted them. How could he not love her when her heart beat only for him? "You have beautiful hair," Asa told her. Gillian mumbled a word of thanks, and remembered the gentle way Andor’s fingers had lathered her hair that first time in the hot spring. It seemed an ancient memory, one best left undredged. Once she was dressed in a clean nightgown, it was Björn who carried her to the pallet Asa fixed near the hearth. Andor was nowhere around, but at that point Gillian didn’t care. She was too drained for any

more verbal sparring, and looked forward to getting to know the people who were caring for her. She studied the man who set her carefully on the pallet, looking for some resemblance to Andor. There was none. Six years senior to Andor, he had the same light brown hair and beard as their father, yet his eyes were Fjola’s green. Asa, his wife, was a solid woman whose coloring matched that of her husband. Outwardly she seemed severe in manner, but it was her eyes that gave away her true nature, for in them her emotions were clearly displayed. Love for Björn as she replaced him at Gillian’s side, concern for Gillian, irritation with her children when they tried to hover about. "Fjola and I will be near," she said. "You are not to move. Call out if there is something you need." With one look from her, the children scattered to their chores. It was the first time Gillian felt like smiling. Then there was Hildy. Gillian wasn’t sure there was a word to describe her - a whirlwind, perhaps. She was a composite of the family with eyes whose color changed with her moods and hair that danced a fine line between brown and blond. She was by far the most talkative person Gillian had ever met. She set a work table close to Gillian in order to visit, then proceeded to pound flax into short threads while holding up her end of a one-sided conversation. It was exhausting listening to her go on. Gillian kept expecting Fjola or Asa to rescue her. One look their way doused her hopes. Asa’s eyes said it all - they were glad Hildy had a new outlet for her exuberance. Salvation finally came Gillian’s way in an unlikely form - a visit from Thora. Although Thora still did not qualify as a friend, Gillian felt she owed her the courtesy of an attempt at friendship. After all, if it had not been for Thora’s care on the journey, Gillian may never have survived. "Thank you for stopping by. You have my thanks also for the care you gave me on the ship. Can you sit for awhile?" "‘Twas something I was glad to do." Thora pulled up a stool. "I have just heard the good news that you are expecting." Gillian forced her smile to remain. Many good wishes would be coming her way. She had to learn to accept them with grace despite her anxiety. "Word travels quickly." "As always in a settlement of this size. I brought over a jug of Mother’s best wine so that we ladies might toast the baby’s health." "An excellent idea," Fjola said. "We could use a break from work. Hildy, get the cups." Thora jumped up. "I will do that. Sit ‘round Gillian and we shall have our toast." She was with them before they could settle down. With great flourish she poured the first cup and passed it to Gillian. "To the honored one," she said with a smile. Gillian accepted and waited for the other four to receive their cups. When they had, Thora led the toast. "To the birth of a healthy child."

One large drink nearly gagged Gillian. It was the most vile liquid she had ever tasted. To keep from hurting Thora’s feelings and ruin the peace between them, she set the cup on the floor and hid it from view. The conversation drifted to gossip - the kind of talk between women who had known each other all their lives. Gillian felt excluded, but it was just as well - listening required little effort. Thora offered the jug around a second time. Gillian feigned sleep to avoid it. "Oh, look," she heard Hildy whisper. "She has fallen asleep again." "Poor dear is exhausted," Fjola said. "Come. We will move and let her rest." "Her cup," Thora said. "Later. I will not disturb her by looking for it." Gillian heard them slip away, but didn’t open her eyes for fear her ploy would be detected. She was forced to play out her charade.Probably not such a bad idea. After all, she was a little tired.

Andor paused by Gillian’s pallet. Asleep again. She probably needed it after the weeks of illness. At least this time she looked more at rest. Her features were relaxed, not furrowed with pain. He brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. Her pulse raced beneath his lips. "Mother, something is wrong." She ran to his side and peered down at the young woman. "Her heart beats too quickly." As she reached for her, Gillian’s body jerked with convulsions. "Hildy, the physician! Andor, her tongue!" But Andor had already pried open Gillian’s mouth and was forcing his belt between her teeth to keep her from swallowing her tongue. Her eyes were open, so dilated he could not see the blue. It was like staring at death. After what seemed an eternity, the convulsion passed. Andor loosened his hold and wiped the froth from her mouth. He heard his mother gasp and jerked his head up to see what had alarmed her. Gillian’s nightgown was saturated with blood from the waist down. He rested his forehead on the pallet to hide his pain. Another child lost. Another wedge between him and Gillian. This would surely give her more cause to want no children...if she should live. A convulsion racked her body once more. Andor jumped forward to keep the leather in place. In his haste, he knocked over the cup beneath the pallet. The physician arrived as the spasm subsided. With shaking fingers Andor wiped Gillian’s face clean. "Help her," he growled at the man.

"I will if you would move aside," he replied. Andor flashed him a glare then moved. "Well, she has lost the child," the man said. Andor clenched his fist at his side. How could the man treat this so casually? That was his child he referred to. His wife lay at death’s door and the man hadn’t bothered to look at her. "What is this?" The physician stared at the puddle of wine beside his foot then picked up the cup. "We had a taste earlier in the day," his mother told him. "Gillian must have not finished hers." The physician sniffed then dipped his finger in the residue for a taste. He grimaced and spit in the cup. "Tansy." "What?" they asked in unison. "Oil of tansy. ‘Twas in the wine. ‘Tis used for...." "You do not have to tell me what it is used for," Andor snapped. "I know." He pivoted on his heel and strode to the door. "Andor, wait," his mother called. "Gillian needs you here." "She can die for all I care," he shouted over his shoulder. "And I will damn her soul to the bowels of the underworld!"

Andor marched to his forest clearing. There he removed his cross from its niche in the bushes. He broke it over his knee until the pieces were too small to do so. Then he continued to break them until all that was left were splinters which he hurled into the air. "This is how you pay me for asking for her life?" He shook his fist at the heavens. "Had I known I was wed to such a vile creature I would have asked for her death. How could I have known she would take the life of my child? She calls my gods heathens - ‘tisher god which is the heathen. To torture me so when I ask for her life. Better she had died, than for me to know this." He sank to a fallen tree trunk and buried his head in his hands. Saying the words out loud hurt. It made this nightmare too real. He’d heard of women ridding themselves of unwanted pregnancies by ingesting tansy, but he never believed Gillian was so adamant about no children that she would do such a thing. She obviously misjudged the dosage too, unless it was her intent to die also. "And well rid of her I will be," Andor said. "Murderer. No better than Leif." And if she lived? Andor shook his head. He would beat her, strangle her until she was dead. He could divorce her and cast her out on her own. Or force her to remain his wife and bear child after child to make up for the unnecessary death she had just caused. She would pay. Slave girls would have better

lives than she...if she lived. Andor sat there planning his revenge until the woods grew dark. In the distance he thought he heard a pack of wolves howling. He drew his sword and started for home. Halfway there he stopped. Not home. Not now. Not when Gillian fought for her life. He turned up the road. It was so familiar a path he could have closed his eyes and still found his way. Only a half an hour’s walk would take him to a comforting shoulder. Someone who had always understood what he felt. As he neared the small farm, he saw a lantern glowing by the door. Almost as if she expected him. It beckoned him onward. He prayed it would not be taken away until he arrived. He quickened his step, running now. His footsteps echoed on the dirt path. The door opened, bathing a feminine silhouette in yellow light. Her slender arm reached for the lantern, and she held it high to see who her visitor was. Andor heard her gasp then whisper his name as if she could not believe he was there. "Tove, my friend. I need you. I need to understand. Help me." Arms opened to him, and Andor stepped into that secure embrace.

CHAPTER 14 Tove gently pushed Andor back. "Strange behavior for a man so newly wed. Come inside and we can talk about what troubles you." She led him into the house by the hand, like a mother would a child. "I would offer you some tea, but you look like ale would suit you better," she said. "Sit while I get some." Andor watched her move about. She was still as young and beautiful as the day he first came to work on her farm. Her long, black hair reflected no silver nor was her creamy complexion marred by wrinkles. Andor could not be sure of her true age, but rumor said she would be near forty. As lovely and capable as she was, Andor had often wondered why no man had sought her hand. The answer was simple enough. Tove had no wish to give up her widowed independence. All the property her late husband had left to her, she intended to keep as her own. She was too busy to be lonely. And when she had needs to be fulfilled, she did as she had done with Andor. She took a young man into her home and initiated him in the rites of love. "I should not have intruded," Andor said. "There is no one here. You know I would not mind if there was...Here is your ale." Tove set the mug before him then sat by his side. Andor stared at the ale, not knowing whether to drink or spill his woes. Things that had been clear in the forest now seemed a muddle. "I was sorry to hear of Astrid," Tove said. "She was a good woman. I understand your new wife is very

beautiful." "Aye. That she is," he muttered. "Word gets to you quickly." "It always does in a small settlement. And Hildy is a daily visitor." Andor gave a humorless chuckle. "Hildy...I should have known." "And now you are to have a child." Andor shook his head, and took a drink. "No more. She killed it." Tove gasped and grabbed his arm. "No." "Yes. She slipped oil of tansy in her drink earlier today. We did not know of it until it...it was too late." "But...why? Why would she do such a thing?" "She wanted no children." He sucked down another gulp. "Why?" "The first child...our daughter...was killed. You have heard?" "Yes," she softly replied. "Gillian was afraid to birth another child because she said she could not bear the loss if it should die." "And so she killed it now?" Tove asked, as if the concept was beyond her. Andor nodded. "That makes no sense," she told him. "If you are afraid of losing a child, you do not kill it. You protect it with your life. You must be mistaken." Andor shook his head. "TheGaedhil have strange ways about them. The physician found tansy in her drink. She did so now...before the child could become real to her." He drained his mug, and she refilled it. "And how is Gillian now?" "She took too much. She may not live." "And is that what you wish?" "Yes...no," he added softly. "You love her?" "Aye, but I hate her, too," he replied.

"Sometimes the emotions are intertwined. If she dies, she will take with her the answers to all the questions you have. If she lives, what then?" "A good switching is what she has coming," he growled. "You are her husband. ‘Tis your right...If you feel it necessary." "She would think twice about doing this again." "No doubt she would," Tove said. "But your doing so cannot possibly help matters between you...unless you wish her to fear you as Thora feared Leif." Andor thumped his chest. "Sheshould fear me for what she has done." Tove shook her head and made a slight tsking sound. "Have a bit more." She topped off the mug. "You might as well stay the night, too. No sense losing your way home. That would be a fine way to ruin a good night of drinking." "You are a good woman, Tove. Never understand why you never wed, but I am glad you did not." She patted his arm and smiled. "Drink up, old friend. Drink up." Andor raised a brow. "If I did not know you better, I would swear you were trying to get me addle-headed." "Perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought." "And what would be your intent?" She leaned close and whispered. "Drink up and you will discover it." "I just might do that." Gillian’s first conscious thought was the ache in her muscles. She grunted a complaint when she tried to move and found she could not. Her arms and legs were bound to her bed. She eased open her eyes for a better look, but had to blink several times before her vision cleared enough to see. As the blurring lessened, Fjola’s smiling face came into focus. "Thank the gods you came through." She yanked at the strips of cloth which held her. Gillian rubbed her wrists. "I am sorry," Fjola told her. "‘Twas necessary to keep you from hurting yourself." A frown creased Gillian’s forehead. She sat up and froze at the sight of her blood-soaked gown. As if mesmerized by the stain, she touched it with her index finger. "Oh...no."

Fjola folded her arms around her. "Yes. I am afraid the babe is gone." Gillian wanted to say it did not matter. That the child had never been a real thing to her. That she had only realized its existence that morning, so how could she mourn its loss? The trouble was, none of that was true. As she cried in Fjola’s arms, she vented her heartbreak over the life that would never be. Not real? It had been as real as Gwynneth, and losing it was nearly as painful as losing her. "I suppose I should have expected as much after the long illness," she said as she flicked away falling tears. "‘Twas not the illness," Fjola said. "‘Twas the tansy." Gillian jerked back. "Tansy?" "‘Twas in your wine." Gillian’s eyes darted to where she had stashed her cup.Tansy. That was the cause of that horrid taste. She glanced around. Hildy and Asa sat nearby, anxious for her recovery. If no one else suffered from the drink, then it had to have been a deliberate attempt to poison her. Since only one other person had touched the cup before her, Gillian had no trouble picking a suspect. Her gaze returned to that of Fjola’s. So much like Freyda, yet how much? Enough to trust her accusation? They had known Thora all her life. Gillian might be Andor’s wife, but she was a stranger to them, even for all the care they’d given her. And she wasGaedhil at that. They would never believe sweet, thoughtful, caring Thora was ready to replace her at Andor’s side in a heartbeat...literally. "Here." Asa thrust a cup in her face, "I made a fresh batch of tea. Have some. ‘Twill make you feel better." Gillian stared at the liquid. Maybethey were the ones trying to poison her. They had seemed rather eager for a break when Thora stopped by with her wine. With her gone, Thora could be the addition they had always wanted. "I cannot say that I blame you for being suspicious," Asa said, "but you need not fear us. We would not harm you." To prove her point, she sipped the tea and handed the cup Gillian’s way once more. She wrapped shaking fingers around it and drank. "Hildy, fetch a basin of water so that Gillian may wash a bit." Fjola turned back to her patient. "I have a fresh gown you may use. That and clean bedding will set you off just fine so you can finally relax." Gillian wasn’t about to argue - her gown was stuck to her skin. As soon as Hildy brought the hot water, she dipped into it. It was only then, when the men discreetly turned their backs that Gillian realized Andor was not there. It was not his absence which drew this fact to her attention - it was the ruckus of his arrival. The first pound against the door brought Sven and Björn to their feet. "Who would be here this time of night?" Sven snatched up his sword and strode to the door. He paused

to look through a spy-hole. "Who is it?" Björn asked. "Is it raiders, Father?" Hildy asked. "A raider? You can be sure of that, but none that would cause harm to us." He whipped open the door, and Andor stumbled inside. Only the guardians by his side kept him from falling. He teetered for a second or two until his gaze focused on Gillian. Using that link to steady him, Andor tottered toward her. Gillian had seen babies walk their first step with more precision than he. The urge to reach out and grab him before he could fall was a hard one to resist. His face was caught between a grimace and a smile. There was no way she could guess at what he was thinking. Finally, he reached her, stopping five feet from his objective. He swayed as if he were on board his ship. "So...you lived." Gillian held her breath. Her experience with Evan showed her there wasn’t much you could say to a drunken man. Judging from Andor’s condition, he wouldn’t be standing much longer. All she had to do was wait him out. She looked over his shoulder to the gray-cloaked woman behind him. She had a serene beauty about her. The raven hair, the ivory skin, those dark eyes. Gillian felt a catch in her heart. It was Tove. Andor had gone to Tove. "How can you stand there so calmly with the blood of my child drenched in your gown?" he shouted. Gillian jumped at the fury in his voice then looked into his narrowing eyes. "My, but you are a cold-blooded wench. I should have saved myself the trouble of defending you at the Thing." "Enough," Sven told his son. "Your drunken rages can wait ‘til morning." Andor jerked a wobbly head his father’s way. "Aye, that they can. Better to make her suffer for the murder of my child than to kill her now...Tove," he bowed low to pay her a mocking homage, "I thank you for a most hospitable evening." Jealousy overcame Gillian. She grabbed the basin of water and dumped the contents over his back. Andor whirled around to face her. "How dare you flaunt this before me," Gillian yelled. "‘Tis bad enough to watch Thora moon over you like a besotted cow, but to have you run to the arms of an old lover is too much. I am done with you! I will thank you to return me to my home. I would rather be living with the shame of divorce than with a man who has no use for me." The hot water had a sobering effect, but it also brought Andor’s anger to a head. He grabbed her shoulders, squeezing so hard she yipped from the pain.

"Hurts, does it? Good! I hope I break your bones! How can a man have a use for a woman who cries and draws away whenever she is touched? I would get more enjoyment out of plugging a sheep!" "Then do so and leave me be." Gillian struggled against the steel grip which trapped her. "Over my grave will I leave you be and set you free. You are my wife and you will play the part as intended...Starting now." He snapped his hand around her wrist and tried to pull her to their bed closet. Gillian stumbled and fell. Andor yanked her back to her feet. "Here or there. I care not which. But I will have you tonight!" Gillian started to cry. "I have no strength to fight you. You do what you will. But if you ever had any care at all for me or Gwynneth, I beg you not to do this." It was like another douse with water - this time cold. He muttered a curse and shoved her away. Gillian crumbled to the floor. When he tried to go to his bed, Björn blocked the way. "Tonight you sleep where all the other animals sleep,little brother." Again Andor cursed. He glanced at Gillian, crying in Asa’s arms and cursed a third time. Then he snatched up a fur from Gillian’s pallet and stormed to the animal house. Asa rocked Gillian as if she were a small child. "There, there, now. He is gone and Björn will see to it that he stays away for tonight." "He can stay away forever for all I care," she cried. "Why? Why does he treat me so? I have done naught to him. How could he believe I would rid myself of any child? How could I have thought I loved the man?" "That would not be the first time a man has caused his woman to wonder," Sven said. "Tove, if you wish, Björn and I will see you safely home." "My men will do so." Kneeling beside Gillian, she caressed her tangled red hair then cupped her cheek. "Illness has taken its toll, but I can still see you are as lovely as Hildy...and Andor say. I am sorry for his behavior this evening. I had thought he had enough ale in him to keep him out ‘til morn. If I had known different, I would have kept him with me this night no matter how bad that would have appeared." She sighed and dropped her hand. "He came to me tonight because his heart and his pride were wounded over the loss of this child." Gillian shook her head. "I did not...." Tove placed her fingers on Gillian’s lips. "I know and in the morning he will know. I just wanted to tell you why he appeared at my house. ‘Tis a bond of friendship only. Be patient with him. His love for you is great." "He has an odd way of displaying it." "That he does...I should be going...Fjola, send Hildy ‘round in the morning and I will have a few loaves

of carrot bread for your family." She smiled down at Gillian. "A treat to help you put some weight back on. I shall see you again before you leave." Gillian watched her cloak as she left. It drifted behind her like a dense fog, adding an aura of magic to the extraordinary woman she had just met. "Bolt the door," Fjola told Hildy. "I will not have Andor bursting in like a madman later this evening." Neither did Gillian. She’d had her emotions wrenched enough to last a lifetime. She concentrated on freshening herself and getting back to a clean bed. It was the moment she was left alone that the nightmares began. Sleep did not accompany them. They were the real horror of the words and accusations Andor had flung at her. How could he have had such little faith in her? A misunderstanding easily put to rights when she saw him again. Should she even try? He had made his own assumptions in the blink of an eye with no regard for what she would have to say. By what right did he deserve another chance from her? A word from her to Sven or Björn and she was sure to be seen safely back to her village. Gillian buried her face in the goose down pillow. It was her heart which held her captive now. Morning would make the difference and all would be on its way to being well again. She held on to that hope all through the night, rehearsing the scene over and over as she wished it to unfold. Cowardice found her at dawn. What if he didn’t believe her? She postponed the meeting even after she heard the rest of the family milling about. Finally, she had no choice but to go, before one of the women came back to check on her. Expecting Andor to leap out at her, Gillian held her breath as she pushed the door open. He was not there. She glanced toward the hearth. Not there either. Only the women. Hildy sat between Fjola and Asa. They were crying.Andor! Something had happened to Andor! They looked up as she hurried toward them. Before she could ask what was wrong, the door swung open and Andor walked in. Despite the sour look on his face, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief. "Why are you crying?" he asked, his tone demanding. "Tove is dead," Fjola replied. "Hildy found her this morning. Your father and Björn are there now. ‘Twas poison...hemlock, the physician said." Andor sucked in a slow breath, then exhaled in a single word. "Wench!" He came at her so quickly all Gillian could do was shrink away. "How could you? Out of spite? Jealousy? What?" He reached into the box of kindling wood and pulled out a switch. "A good beating is what you need! Then you can go to the crowd! I should have let Leif have you in the first place!" With fearful eyes, Gillian watched him pull back to strike her. As he followed through with his intent, her fear turned to outrage. Before the first blow could hit her, Gillian intercepted the switch. Her hand stung, but she had taken Andor by surprise. He loosened his hold long enough for her to snatch it away. "You blithering fool!" She lashed out with her weapon.

Andor tried to dodge her, but he wasn’t counting on her fury. Like a woman gone mad she struck him again and again anywhere she could find a target. "Stop it, woman!" "I will not stop! You are an idiot! A fool! How can you think such things of me? How? How? How?" Each word was punctuated with a blow as tears of anger and frustration blinded her. Andor fought his way through her attack, trying to grab for her wrist. She beat him back each time. In the end, it was her weakened condition and her emotions which stopped her. She hurled the switch into the fire and fell to her knees in a sob. "How?" She begged to know. "I have done naught to you." Andor tried to flex away the pain from her blows. "You rid yourself of my child." "Did you ever ask yourself how a woman as weak as Gillian could have accomplished such a thing?" his mother asked. Andor looked from her stern stance to Gillian’s huddled form. "‘Twas Thora," Asa blurted out. Gillian jerked her head up to look at Andor. "Aye, Thora. And, I suspect, Thora who made me sick the whole voyage. ‘Twas she whose tea I drank before we sailed." "And we think ‘twas Thora who poisoned Tove," his mother added. "But...why?" "You have to ask Thora that, but I would guess ‘twould be to have you for her own," Gillian said. "For the life of me, I will never understand what she would want with the likes of you." Andor knelt before her. "Gillian, love, can you ever forgive me? I have been such a fool." "That you have. Forgive you? Not over your grave." "Gillian...." He reached to pull her close. Gillian slapped his hands away. "You will not touch me again. Husband or not. You keep to yourself. Soon as I am able I will go back to my home...in Ireland." "You aremy wife. I will not let you go." "Youwill have no say in the matter." She scrambled to her feet and ran to her bed closet. Andor sat cross-legged on the floor and buried his head in his hands. "I messed things up badly, Mother." "Yes, you did."

She replied too quickly for his liking. He was hurt that she hadn’t made an attempt to stick up for him. Her next words bothered him even more. "If she had not taken a switch to you, I might have. She beat you better than I would have. I am proud of her for that." Andor shot her a glare and stood. "I think I will join Father and Björn at Tove’s." "Feel free to borrow one of Björn’s horses," Asa called to his back. "That is, if you can still sit one comfortably." Andor ignored the giggles behind him and went on. It was, by far, the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Gillian said she would never forgive him, and Andor didn’t doubt that for a minute. He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. Looking back on what had happened, he saw just how stupid his accusations had been. And to top it off by accusing her of Tove’s murder was the epitome of idiocy. Gillian had a hard enough time maneuvering around the house. How could she have managed to get to Tove’s farm and back? Where was his head? "Up your rear," his father would say. And to think I was ready to beat her. Andor shook his head. He was no better than Leif. He deserved having the tables turned on him there. Even if the pain of that was going to linger for a day or two. He deserved that, too. It could never match the emotional pain he’d put Gillian through. That would last a lifetime - one which she now had no intention of sharing with him. How in the world could he begin to make up for what he’d done? The answer eluded him. All he knew was that he had to find some way to make Gillian stay...willingly. And there was one more thing he was sure of, in this he was alone. There would be no kindly parental advice to guide him. He’d be lucky if his family did not choose to help Gillian leave. As angry as his mother was, it might be he who would be cast out and Gillian made a treasured daughter. He hurried the horse on to Tove’s when he saw his father and Björn standing outside her house. Their heads were bent in conversation, but when they heard his approach, they stopped and gave their attention to him. "What happened to you?" Björn asked. "Nothing. Why?" "You have a cut on your cheek." Andor touched it - dried blood. Gillian’s aim had been sporadic but true. "Looks like you got into a fight with a cat," his father added. "A wildcat." Andor eased down from the horse. "Tove is gone?"

"Poison," Björn said. "I must see her." Björn held him in place. "‘Tis best you do not. Remember her as she was in life, not in death. Mother will prepare her for burial." Andor gave a slow nod. "Was it by Thora’s hand?" His father raised a brow. "So...you finally came to your senses." "Well, one of you might have said something instead of letting me make a fool of myself." Björn scratched his head. "As I recall, you did not give us the chance." Andor scuffed the dirt with his heel. "Aye, that much is true...About Tove - " "We believe it was Thora who put the poison in Tove’s tea this morning. One of the men saw a woman visit early, but paid no mind who it was since Tove always had many visitors," his father said. "How can we prove it? Thora has to be stopped," Andor said. "There is a way, but it will depend on you and Gillian pretending she did not lose the child," Björn said. "I think Gillian would do anything to catch Thora," he replied. "What plan do you have?" "We must first lay Tove to rest," his father said. "After the funeral, here is what we will do."

Judging from the number of people who attended Tove’s funeral, Gillian knew the woman was well thought of. She stood by the wagon with Andor, watching as all of Tove’s worldly possessions were placed with her in her grave. Her clothes. Her jewelry. Her spinning and loom. Her bed. Her favorite chair, dishes, and cooking utensils. Even barrels of milk and ale. Sven’s simple eulogy followed. Gillian felt tears prick her eyes. She had known the woman only the briefest of time, but it was long enough for her to realize Tove was a special woman. She looked up at Andor. He was dry-eyed, but solemn. "You must have loved her." "Who did not," he replied. "That is not what I meant." She turned back to the funeral. Andor sighed. "To a young man of sixteen she was specially loved. She was my first. Of course, I would love her." "What did your family think of that?" "Until last night, they did not know."

Gillian felt the heat of his gaze on her cheek and swallowed the rising beat of her heart. "I am sorry to have let the secret out." "‘Twas no secret...really. Olaf and Rollo knew...They had had the benefit of her...guidance as I did. Leif also knew." "She must have been very good with her...guidance." "You should know." It amazed Gillian that three simple words could have the power to heat her skin as they did. "Was she the best?" she heard herself ask. When he did not answer, she looked at him. It was a mistake - his gaze held her prisoner. With his fingers, he tilted her chin and bent toward her. "No...she was not...you are." When Gillian tried to pull back, he tilted her chin higher, holding her in place. "Now, you would not want everyone to think we were less than a loving couple, would you?" he asked. "Remember, we have a murderer to catch. Thora is watching. We must play our parts well." The kiss which followed was simple. No locked lips. No dancing tongues. No long embrace. But it had the same devastating effect on Gillian’s senses. It would be an easy thing to give in to the needs he aroused in her. To forget the hurtful things he’d said. To ignore that he had been ready to beat her with only suspicion as his truth. If only his kiss meant love and was not part of a ploy to trap Thora. From her lips he moved to her forehead. Gillian kept her eyes closed as her body absorbed the heat of that caress.Surely he is putting a brand on me. "Thora is coming this way," Andor whispered. "Ready?" Gillian nodded and leaned into him. "Good day, Thora," he called. "Good day. ‘Tis a terrible tragedy, is it not?" "Very sad," Gillian said. "Brief that I knew her, I could see she was a special person. She was much loved." "Yes...The loss will be felt by all. ‘Tis a difficult day," Thora said. "And a tiring one also," Andor said. "I must get Gillian back to the house so she might rest. We learned we are to have a child. Have you heard?" Thora struggled for a response. "A child...yes...of course."

"The journey here and illness have been rough. The physician says she must get as much rest as possible. But I am glad you came over. Mother has planned a meal for this afternoon. She is inviting those closest to Tove and would like you and your parents to be there." "Of course. I will tell Mother." She pasted on a smile and walked past them. Andor signaled his father then lifted Gillian into the wagon. Although his hold was gentle, she grimaced from the movement. "Did I hurt you?" "No, I am just a bit sore from all that thrashing about." He jumped up beside her. "I feel sore myself." Gillian shot him a glance from the corner of her eye. "You deserved it." He chuckled. "That I did, and you can bet I will hear about it from my family for the rest of my days...I know of a remedy for our aches and pains." "What might that be?" "‘Tis some distance from here but well within a day to and fro. A hot spring with a bank of snow near it that stays year round. A dip in the snow and then in the spring and we shall be good as new." Gillian folded her hands on her lap and stared ahead. "I will not have any part of you and myself in a hot spring." Andor bristled at her rejection. "Do you ever intend to forgive me?" She tilted her head as if considering it. "Not as I can see." "Youare my wife." "I will be remedyingthat soon." "What would it take to get you to stay with me?" Just tell me you love me. Just say you cannot bear a life without me.Unable to say the words aloud, Gillian stared at her hands. The ride home curtailed any further discussion, and gave Andor the time he needed to try to find a way to win Gillian back. No ideas readily came to mind. By the time they had reached the house, people had started to arrive for the meal, and his quiet time was disrupted. The gathering was a select group of high-ranking families and local notables who had attended Tove’s funeral. It was his father’s plan to try Thora immediately, if her guilt could be established. The men in the gathering would provide the necessary quorum to do so. He sat with Gillian and his parents and waited. Only a short time passed before Thora arrived with her

parents. Her gaze settled on her target, and she headed their way. "So glad you could make it," his mother told her. "I am sorry I could not extend the invitation myself." "Mother understands...Gillian, you do not look well." "I am feeling a bit parched," she replied. "Andor, fetch me a drink." "No, sit." Thora waved him back down. "I will get it." As she scurried away, Gillian laced her fingers through Andor’s to quell their shaking. He could feel her pulse thudding with anxiety. It echoed his own. Thora returned with the cup extended before her. "Here you are. A nice drink of ale." Gillian bit her bottom lip as she accepted it. "I am sorry. I cannot drink ale. The physician said no." Thora reached for the cup. "No bother. I will get water." "There is no sense wasting good ale." Andor grabbed the cup before Thora could get her hands on it and lifted it to his lips. "No!" Thora knocked the drink from his hand. All heads turned in their direction. Silence descended upon the hall. "Why did you do that?" Andor asked. "Why did you not want me to drink the ale, Thora?" She spun around, looking for escape. Björn blocked her way. "Answer the question." With eyes wide and fearful, she searched among the faces for an ally. All she found was curious stares. "Or would you like the physician to test the dregs and tell us what he finds?" Andor asked. "I wonder what it will be this time. Oil of tansy? Hemlock? Or something new." Thora darted past Björn and to her parents, hoping for their support. They turned away as if she did not exist. "I...I cannot believe you are accusing me of such a...a hideous deed." The old physician picked up the cup from where it had fallen and placed it in the small cage he had brought with him. The mouse inside crept forward to lick the remains of the ale. It was a pitiful sight, watching the tiny rodent succumb. Andor couldn’t bear it at times, for he paralleled Tove’s last minutes in his mind. Gillian could not watch at all. She kept her gaze fixed on the far wall during the time the event took place. When the mouse had breathed its last, all eyes focused on Thora. "Hemlock," the physician announced. "It is what killed Tove."

Thora backed away. "Did you give Tove hemlock?" his father asked. She shook her head. Her mouth moved as if she spoke, but no words left her. "Did you give Gillian tansy and just now put hemlock in her drink?" his father asked. Thora held her hands before her, pleading. "I...I only wanted what should have been mine. Mother and Father would not wait. They said I was getting on. I had to marry Leif. I thought he would leave me when I carried my sons and then I could have you. But he did not. Then Astrid. I pushed...I thought...Thenher ." She jabbed a shaky finger in Gillian’s direction. "Why? I would have taken care of Leif. She is nothing more than aGaedhil peasant. A witch. I wanted only you. Do you not see? I did so for us. With Gillian gone, you have no more obligation." "And Tove?" "She was your lover once. I could not bear that to happen again." The gleam of madness filled her eyes. "There was no pain. I saw to it. ‘Twas a peaceful death. I...I liked Tove. I could not hurt her." His father stood. "People, we have present a quorum of judges among us. I feel we should make a sentence today. Adequate time will be given for anyone who might wish to speak in Thora’s defense." When no one offered, she turned sad eyes to Andor. "Will you speak for me?" He curled his fingers over Gillian’s shoulder and shook his head. "But...she is a witch." Hildy stepped forward. "Youare the witch. Only a witch uses hemlock." "No," she said in a gasp of breath. "No!" "Gentlemen, gather and we will prepare a sentence," his father said. "I will not be tried as a witch and a murderer!" Thora sprinted for the door. Her father caught her by the waist and forced her to the floor. His face held the pain only a parent could know. "Leave her fate to her mother and I," he asked the crowd. "We brought her into this world." There were several nods around the room. Most men were glad to have the decision taken from their hands. Passage was cleared to the door, and once Thora and her parents had left, it closed. Too innocent in years to understand the significance of what had just occurred, Hildy asked, "What do they intend to do?" "They intend to see she hurts no one else," Andor softly replied. Gillian covered his hand with hers. It still rested on her shoulder.

"Do not let them do this. No parent should do such a thing. No matter what Thora’s done. It is a guilt they will live with for the rest of their lives. The harm comes only where you are concerned. We will be leaving. She can harm us no more." "There must be some atonement," his father said. "Even if you and Andor can overlook the wrong done to you, we cannot overlook the fact that she killed Tove...and Astrid. She must be punished." "Would a public flogging serve justice?" she asked. He looked to the other judges. All nodded. "I shall go speak with them." When he returned a half hour later, he was pale-faced and grim. "I was too late. They gave Thora the hemlock." He closed his eyes. "And...they took it also. He gave his lands and property to Hildy and Floki. Said it would be a good start for them. Asked us to come by in the morning and give them a decent burial." "Then ‘tis done," Andor somberly said. "Aye," his father replied. "‘Tis done."

CHAPTER 15 The Quest, Summer, 890 a.d. Had it only been a week since they arrived in Northland?It hardly seemed possible , Gillian said to herself. So much had happened in that short span of time. The deaths of Tove, Thora and her parents, and the marriage of Hildy to Floki so that they would be able to take over the lands left to them. Happy and sad times intertwined. Now she and Andor were preparing to depart - another interwoven moment of mixed emotions. Happy because Björn and Sven would be traveling with them in separate ships to begin the first of what they hoped would be many successful trading trips. Sad because Gillian would be saying her first good-bye to Andor’s family. Today it would be Fjola, Asa, and Hildy. Once they reached the trading town of Hedeby, she would make a final break. As with Freyda, Gillian had formed a quick bond with the women. She enjoyed the gossip and giggles, and the quiet times, too. Then, even in silence, there was companionship. She was going to miss all that...and them. It was hard not to cry, especially when Fjola stood before her dabbing away tears from the corners of her eyes. "Please do not cry." "How can I not?" Fjola smiled at her own sentimentality. "It is such a long journey. Anything might happen as was proven when Andor left before. I miss Freyda and I will miss you and Andor. I feel you are truly my daughter. At least you and Freyda have each other." Guilt forced Gillian to look away. How could she state her purpose when Fjola was speaking of her in

such glowing terms? "There you are, crying again," Sven scolded as he and Andor joined them. "I cannot help it. You know I worry each time you go to trade. Andor and Gillian are leaving and I shall never see them again. All I shall have is word you bring me from them on your trips. And look at Gillian. She is stronger, yes, but she still is not well and here she is off again. I - " "Come with Father," Andor said. She stared at him in gap-mouthed surprise. "I...could not." "I can handle things here," Asa told her. "You traveled with me many times before the children started to arrive," Sven said. "Now the children are grown and gone. Come with me and put your tears away, but hurry...the day grows late." Fjola needed no further prompting. After giving Sven a fast hug, she hurried back to the house with Asa to gather her things for the trip. "Would you like help setting up the tent on your ship for you and Mother?" Andor asked his father. "That will not be necessary," he replied. "‘Tisyour ship she will travel on." Although Andor expressed his doubts, within the hour Fjola had Seamus load her trunk and furs onto her son’s ship. Citing Gillian’s need for care, she proclaimed herself guardian until she was assured Gillian could handle her tasks with no adverse effects. No one dared argue in the face of her determination. Soon after her things were on board, they were standing at the stern waving good-bye to a tearful Hildy. Gillian heard Fjola sniffle and looked up to find her crying once more. Andor chuckled. "You cannot have it both ways, Mother." "I know." She gave a resigned sigh. "It would be better if all my offspring had settled in one place so I can be closer." "Then you should have not taught us to have minds of our own." A smile tickled her lips, but she said nothing more as Andor led the way down the fjord. Once sight of Hildy was blocked by the other two ships, Gillian and Fjola sat by the tent to be out of the men’s way. "She is so young," Fjola said. "I do not recall being that young when I was sixteen. I worry about her, but Floki is a good man." "He seems so," Gillian said. "But I wonder if Hildy is ready to be a mother." "No. She may be good with Asa’s little ones, but she is not ready for her own." "Then I hope she does not get with child." "She will not...if she remembers what I told her," Fjola said.

"And what might that be?" Gillian asked. "I just explained about a woman’s fertile time." Gillian wrinkled her forehead. "I do not understand what you are speaking of." Fjola turned her head slowly in Gillian’s direction. "You do not know about conception?" A flush crept to her cheeks. "Of course, I know. You lay with your man and...it happens." The older woman shook her head. "Only during certain times of the month." Gillian’s eyes were wide with interest as Fjola went on to explain this unknown concept. She absorbed the information like a dry cloth mopping up water. To think that all she need do was keep track of the days of her cycle and pay attention to changes in her body. "Amazing," she exclaimed in breathless wonder. "I am surprised you did not know, but then I keep forgetting your mother died when you were still a child." "The village women and the abbot saw to keeping me versed in the ways of the world, but they said nothing of this. I think they did not know." Fjola shrugged a shoulder. "Perhaps...some do not. Some refuse to believe. But I should think Andor would say something to you of it." "Andor knows?" She nodded. "Sven explained all to both Andor and Björn when they reached manhood." Gillian didn’t know why this revelation should hurt so badly - it was only further verification that he wanted her for breeding purposes only. There was really no choice but for her to leave. If Hedeby were as large as she had been told, surely she would be able to find safe passage to Ireland. Until then she would continue to distance herself from Andor so her heart would not betray her common sense.

Andor tried to hide his resentment over his mother’s presence, but on occasion he found himself snapping at others to vent his frustrations. He was grateful for her concern over Gillian’s health and did appreciate the help she gave. But he had looked forward to rebuilding his relationship with his wife during this trip. It was impossible with his mother constantly dancing attendance on her. The women were always together - even at night. Although his mother had offered to sleep on deck, Andor had refused to let her forego the comfort of his tent. From that point on, she spent her nights with Gillian while Andor slept alone on deck. He had hoped Gillian would miss him enough to join him at night. That never happened. Andor realized then that his foolish actions had caused more harm than he had first thought. It was going to take more than sweet words and caresses to win Gillian over this time. Since actions made him lose her in the first place, he determined it would take actions to get her back.

Again, his mother’s presence thwarted his attempts. In every instance where there was an opportunity for him to help and care for Gillian, she was already there to accomplish the deed. As the days passed and Gillian’s strength improved, her self-sufficiency precluded much need for assistance. It was then that Andor’s temper shortened. The stronger she became, the more abrupt his tone. And as he snapped and growled his way about the ship, he knew he was only sealing his own miserable fate. Keeping his sour mood in check was the only way he could hope to endear himself to her. Considering her apparent disinterest, doing so was a monumental feat. He looked forward to their arrival in Hedeby. There he could move his mother to his father’s ship and have Gillian all to himself. Together they’d roam the city, setting up the new route, trading a little. He’d lavish her with gifts as he had when they wed, showing her his high regard for her. That had warmed her to him once - it had to work again.It must. Andor glanced to the cook fire where Gillian prepared the evening meal. His pulse quickened when he discovered she was watching him. Encouraged, he took a step her way. She turned her back to him. Only a sword to the heart could have wounded him more. He changed course and went back to the stern to spell Seamus at the tiller. How many more days to Hedeby? Too many for his liking. Something had to change now. But what could he do that he had not already tried? He looked over at his father’s ship. If they could get close enough, he could put his mother over there where she belonged. Andor flirted with that idea for quite awhile before he finally discarded it. One sudden swell and his mother or her things could wind up at the bottom of the sea. A successful transfer might injure his mother’s feelings. For now there was no way he could win. He had to hang on for Hedeby. Until then, he’d have to give Gillian the distance she wanted - whether he liked it or not.

"There it is! Hedeby! See the palisade!" Fjola exclaimed. Gillian looked to where she pointed, but all she could see was a fence of stakes as tall as the ship. "Why do they have a fence in the water?" "It acts as a breakwater to make a safe harbor for ships. There is an opening in the center for passage to and from." She clasped her hands under her chin. "Oh, how I love Hedeby. So much to see. Craftsmen from all over the country live here. Some come from far off lands. I have not been since Björn was a boy...before I carried Andor. That was when Sven’s father passed on and Sven became earl. His mother did not take the loss well and could not manage the farm, so ‘twas up to me." She rattled on about things Gillian did not care to listen to. As they neared the palisade, she tuned her out. In the opening ahead, Gillian caught her first glimpse of the town. It took her breath away. As far as her eyes could see, small, square houses covered the landscape. They were aligned in precise rows like soldiers ready for battle. Wooden roads before them were dotted with pedestrians. A small fenced yard separated one house from the other and the entire town was surrounded by a wall of earth and wood. A river cut the town in half. Gillian pointed to the wall, interrupting Fjola’s recitation of family history. "What is that for?"

"To keep out invaders. The town is very prosperous. Guards stand atop it to keep watch." Gillian squinted and thought she could detect a man or two standing by the wooden rails, armed and ready for action. As Andor guided the ship through the entryway, the harbor came into full view. At least a dozen ships were moored on the beach by the docks. Tents ashore in the clearing before them housed their owners while they conducted their business. She held her breath while she waited for Andor to find a place to land. It looked hopeless to her, and if that were so, her chances of leaving for Ireland would be gone. She closed her eyes to pray. "Over there," one of the men called. Gillian dared not look until she felt the ship slide to a halt. They had arrived at her point of departure. "I want the ship guarded at all times," Andor told the men. "Work out a schedule so that everyone has a chance to go into town. My tent will go over there." He pointed out a spot near the front of the ship, yet far enough away from the water. "Mother, I know you have missed Father," he said. "I shall have the men take your chest to him immediately." "And have them tell your father I have gone into town with Gillian," she replied. Andor opened his mouth to protest then realized that doing so would only make him seem like a spoiled child. "Do you need any silver for your purchases?" Gillian shook her head. She could take no more from him. "I have a few coins. If I see something I like and need more, I will go for it later." "Very well. Do not be gone past dark." He turned back to his work. Gillian should have known enough to expect Fjola to take her on a trek through town, but the sudden decision took her by surprise. Since there was no delicate way of refusing, she decided to use the other woman’s familiarity with the town to her advantage. It would give her the opportunity to look around without worry about getting lost. Later she could make a lone foray to search for passage. With all the ships harbored here, that could hardly be a problem. "Come along," Fjola called. "Before the day grows too late." As they stepped onto shore, Gillian was surrounded by smells and sounds of the town. Fresh baked bread, fish drying on racks, roasted nuts. The shouts of children which mingled with the calls from vendors to purchase their goods. It was indeed a busy place as its reputation indicated. Merchants and tradesmen ran to greet the new arrivals. Most knew Andor, Sven, and Björn by name, having dealt with them in the past. A few tried to do business with Fjola. She ignored them and continued toward the boardwalk. "I do not like being cornered," she told Gillian. "I like to buy what I want and need when I choose to do so."

Gillian had to smile. It was hard to imagine anyone forcing Fjola to buy what she did not want. "We will do our shopping on the main street," she said. Gillian walked quietly beside her. The walkway was crowded with people and from time to time they had to move aside for horses and carts or a young boy chasing his runaway pig. Other women nodded greetings their way as they passed. Even on this side street people displayed wares for sale outside their homes. As they walked by one selling combs, the stench of blood assaulted Gillian. She glanced up while she tried to fight off the nausea it created. On a scaffolding near the roof, a cow had just been slaughtered. The wide slit at its throat was a hideous caricature of a smile. Fjola tugged her by the house. "‘Tis a sacrifice to the gods," she whispered. Gillian screwed up her face. "I find it revolting. And a waste of good food." Fjola patted her arm. There was really nothing more that could be said. It was another clash of cultures. She continued to stare at the beast as they rounded the corner to the main thoroughfare. Her inattention caused her to collide with another person. Gillian received the brunt of the slam, but before she could fall, she was caught by a thick arm around her waist. She snapped her head up to a face as brown as polished wood. His head was swathed in white cloth so high it made him seem larger than he was. His black eyes studied her with interest, and as close as he held her Gillian had a pretty good idea what that interest might be. Gillian screwed her face into a scowl. "Unhand me. Now!" His gleaming smile cut a white swatch across his face. He released her and stepped back, bowing low at his waist. "My apologies, ladies. If I may be of service? Amir is my name." Gillian shivered with apprehension. She longed for the safety of the ship, of Andor by her side. Fjola linked her arm through Gillian’s. "No, thank you. ‘Tis we who apologize. Since we are all unhurt, I bid you good day." They hurried by before he could say more to them, but the encounter shadowed the day for Gillian. While Fjola pointed out the jewelry, silks, and other wares for sale, Gillian kept glancing over her shoulder for some sign of the dark stranger. At times she was certain he followed them, then she wasn’t sure, for there were many turbaned men along the street. She felt someone touch her elbow and jumped. It was only Fjola. "Do not let him spoil your day. He is gone. There are many men like him. As long as we stay together, all will be well." Gillian had no doubt of that. It was her private business that worried her. How could she attend to it if she were being stalked?

"Come look at these lovely rugs," Fjola said. "They come from Persia. Sven bought me one long ago. We have it on the floor of our bed closet. It keeps it warm." Gillian stared at the different designs swirled into each carpet. Blues, golds, reds, greens, violets all intertwined to evoke images of far off lands. On a shelf below it, smaller pieces had been folded in half and sewn on two sides to make a bag. Bone handles and ties were at the top. "You like?" The vendor held a blue one out to her. "‘Tis pretty," she said. "You buy?" Gillian could see its practicality. Traveling as she would be doing, she’d need something for her things. After all, she couldn’t tote her chest. But she also could not see spending money for something she could make just as well. She was about to refuse when a voice behind her interrupted. "No, Ahmed, the bag shall be my gift." Gillian whirled around at the sound of Amir’s voice. She searched for Fjola and found her admiring silks at a nearby table. The dark stranger shoved the bag into her hands. "To apologize for my running you down," he said with a smile, and bent closer. "‘Tis done and forgotten," she told him. "I need no gift to soothe my feelings." She darted past him and onto Fjola. "We are leaving now." She grabbed the older woman’s arm. "Gillian, what...." She took one look over her shoulder. "Oh!" "Come...and say nothing of this to Andor. I will not have blood spilt over it." "But - " "I will not argue the point either." She weaved among the other people to put as much distance between her and her admirer. They reached the campsite winded. Afraid Andor would question their breathlessness, Gillian struggled for composure only to find him gone on business. Swearing Fjola to silence once more, the women parted for the privacy of their own tents. "Now what?" Gillian asked aloud. Almost at once the answer came to her. Seamus. She poked her head outside and saw him working near the ship. He did not hesitate when she beckoned him over, and Gillian felt guilt sneak in before him. She was about to make him a conspirator. If Andor ever discovered his part, there was no telling what he might do. Not because he helped Gillian leave, but because he betrayed Andor’s trust. The only solution seemed to take Seamus with her. "Aye, lass, what might I be doin’ fer ya."

"I need you to carry out a task for me. Private. Something you must tell no one." Seamus scratched his ear and studied the ground. "Aye. I understand." "Good. I need you to see if you can get us passage for two to Ireland...quickly. Can you do that for me?" "Aye, but what of the cost?" "I will pay as we board and not a second before." "I’ll be seein’ what I can do." Gillian watched until he disappeared into the flow of people, then returned to her tent to make final preparations. After sorting through the sleeping skins, she selected the oldest one to fashion into a traveling bag. It was quick work, and by the time she had attached the rope handles, Seamus had returned. "Did you have luck?" "Aye," he said. "The last ship down the way. Five pieces of silver for both. Ya get yer meals. But it sails with the tide at sunset." She glanced toward the horizon. "‘Twill be enough time. Get your things and we will leave." Seamus blinked, as if by doing so he could better hear her. "Come on," she said. "We must leave before Andor returns." "Why? Things are not so bad fer us here. We’ve been treated good. We have now...especially fer ya. Why would ya want to be leavin’?" "I would rather be living half starved than to live with a man who cares naught for me." Seamus reeled back. "‘Tis true," Gillian said. "I should know." "Aye. Ya should," he said softly. "Are you coming or not?" His reply was quick. "Not...I have more with these people than I ever had with our own. I get respect. I’ll do nothin’ to lose it." Gillian pointed her chin at a defiant angle. "You will tell Andor?" "As soon as I can find him." "He will not care."

"I guess we’ll be seein’ about that," he said, and walked away. Gillian hurried to pack her things. She was doing them both a favor. It was no time to let Andor’s pride get in the way.

Andor smiled to himself as he made his way back to their campsite. It had been a good day. Every trader he had spoken to was receptive to the proposed route to Iceland. By the following summer, all should be established. That would give Icelanders a year to stockpile the materials to trade in return. Woolen goods would be their pride, or at least his own would be. The dark winter months would give Gillian and Freyda the time they needed to create their products. Both were skilled with a loom and a needle. He was also pleased with the purchases he had made at the end of his day. Hours spent searching for the perfect gift for Gillian had begun to frustrate him until he happened to spy a necklace with a small gold cross dangling from it. It had been buried within a pile of other more bulky jewelry. As he paid for it, he saw another treasure...a small trunk of books a vendor was using as a bench. Andor chuckled to himself when he recalled the old man’s puzzled expression as Andor made an offer for it. At first he thought Andor merely wanted the trunk. Anxious to make a living, the man had sold it then tried to empty it of the books. When Andor’s intentions were clear, the man shrugged and stepped aside. Andor tossed in the four bolts of silk he had purchased and nestled the necklace on top. With Björn’s help, they heaved the trunk to their shoulders. Even for strong men it was a heavy load. Several times they were forced to stop, making their walk back longer than they intended. Andor did not care. The delay would be worth it once he saw the joy on Gillian’s face. "Stop," Björn said, and they set the trunk down and sat atop it. "‘Tis a heavy load, but we are almost there." Andor flexed his shoulders. Björn shook his head. "TheseGaedhil . Books. Can you imagine wasting the time?" Andor shrugged. "They are only stories written down. It might be interesting at that." Björn snorted. "And what do you intend to do? Learn to read them?" "I just might, if Gillian would be willing to teach me." "Sire!" Seamus’s call pulled them to their feet. "Glad I am I found ya," he said, gasping for breath. "Ya’ve got to hurry to catch her in time." "Catch who?" Andor asked. "Gillian...she got passage to Ireland. She’ll be leavin’ on the tide. Last ship in the row...Sorry I am, sire. I thought I was gettin’ passage for ya both."

But Andor did not hear, he was too busy tearing through town to reach Gillian.

Once Gillian headed out, she refused to look back. One glance over her shoulder might be all it would take to make her change her mind. She kept her eyes on the ships, her gait steady. Her departure vessel was not hard to miss. Its yellow sail was hoisted and straining to carry her away. Her step faltered. ‘Tis really the only way. She continued on, though somewhat less sure of herself than before. There was a footstep behind her. Gillian moved aside to let the person pass, but no one did. She glanced around. A deep-throated chuckle prickled the hair on back of her neck. Before she could quicken her step, a brown hand clamped over her arm. Gillian spun around, ready to strike with her bag, but the bulky object told on her before she could carry through, and her other arm was caught. She glared into Amir’s eyes. He tossed his head back in a laugh. "Such fire. I am surprised it has not singed your wings, my beautiful little butterfly. I see you are poised for flight. Do not be too hasty. Perhaps you merely need a change of habitat." A voice behind him was as cold as the sword blade which appeared by his cheek. "Let her go. The woman belongs to me." Amir released her without question, then faced Andor. "My apologies. Please, sheath your weapon. I have no desire to see my blood or yours staining these wooden planks." Andor motioned Gillian behind him. When she was safe, he put the sword away. "Perhaps you would be willing to let me buy her from you?" Amir asked. "She would make a nice addition to my harem. Red-haired slave girls are hard to find. Especially one of such beauty." "She is not a slave girl. She is my wife." Amir bowed. "Again, my apologies. I bid you good night." Andor waited until the man’s footsteps mingled with the sound of others before walking them back to their tent. He was strangely quiet, and Gillian wondered if he was simply waiting until they were alone before he exploded. From time to time she stole a glimpse of his face only to find it impossible to read his mood. Except for occasional assistance in passing other pedestrians, he did not touch her. When he did, it was always gentle. Why, Andor’s heart demanded to know? Had he hurt her so much that she could no longer bear his presence? Andor could fault no one but himself. Holding her to him now would only hurt her more. If she wished to go, he would not stand in her way, but she would not go as a passenger on a stranger’s ship. He would see her safely back with her people and comfortably so that she would never lack for a thing as long as she lived.

As they reached the tent, he parted the flap for her to enter. "You will find a black trunk in there. It and its contents are for you." He hurried away before she could open it. Seeing joy and happiness on her face now would only weaken his resolve to let her go.

Gillian stared before her, bewildered by Andor’s actions. Why would he stop her from leaving and then not reprimand her for trying to run away? Her gaze drifted to the small trunk in the far corner of the tent. With shaking hands, she knelt before it and lifted the lid. The lump in her throat made it difficult to swallow. She lifted the gold cross in disbelief. With shaking fingers, she slipped it around her neck and peered into the trunk once more. Gold, red, and blue silks glowed up at her. She picked up the blue to caress its softness and saw the books nestled underneath. Gillian gasped, not quite believing what she saw.Why?Why? She picked out one and clutched it to her chest as she began to cry. It was only when dusk turned to dark that she realized how long she had knelt there sobbing. She stretched the circulation back into her legs and lit an oil lamp. Its flame cast a double shadow upon the tent wall - hers and.... "Andor," she said on a whisper. "Aye. ‘Tis me." He stepped into the light. Gillian’s eyes widened. His beard was gone! He forced a smile when she gasped, and she saw his right cheek dimple. "I did it so you could see my face. So you could see I was not lying as I speak to you...I have wronged you in many ways. Ways we both know too well. Although I do not deserve your forgiveness, I ask it of you now. I could not bear to see you go with you hating me as you must." "I do not hate you." She blinked back new tears. "Bless you for that." Andor stared at his hands. "When we sail, I shall see you safely back to Ireland. You will be well provided for." "You...you would take me home?" "Aye, though it tears my heart in two to do so. Anything could have happened to you on that other ship. Those men would have...." Thinking about it was bad enough - he couldn’t say the words. "Why would you care if I stayed or went? You could find another more suited for you than me," she said. "I could find no one I would love more than you." Gillian’s mouth worked, but no words passed her lips.

"You look surprised," he said. "Surely you knew how I felt." Still dumbstruck, she shook her head. "You have never said." "Oh, my love, how foolish I have been. I thought I could prove my love by showing you. I did not realize how important those words were to you." "I have longed to hear them," she cried. Andor fell before her on his knees and took her hands in his. "Gillian, I love you more than life itself. I would search the corners of the earth, travel to the bowels of Niflheim, the land of the dead, to rescue you from danger. I would lie for you, cheat for you, steal and kill for you. I would sell my soul for you. All for love.You are my life, my reason for existing. Without you there is nothing. Without you I am nothing. I love you." Her tears fell to the ground between them and before long his eyes were misting, too. "There is still some distance between us, I know," he said. "How can there not be after all that has passed?" "I have love for you. Do not doubt that. But ‘tis true I feel a distance. When I thought you cared naught for me, I pushed my heart away. Now...I just - " "Give me time. Give us time. A year...and if you still want to leave, I will take you home. I swear it." Gillian nodded. It seemed a fair thing to ask. Andor stood, his hands still holding hers. "And in that year I swear I will do all I can to prove to you how very much I love you. You will be courted better than any young maid ever could hope to be. I ask only to hold you at night...nothing more until your heart is sure. I want no child to bind us when you would rather be apart." He kissed her then. Long, slow, and gently exploring, then pulled apart to hold her to him. "There is one more thing," Gillian said. He pulled back to look at her. "What?" "Well, ‘tis your beard." "I no longer have it." Gillian cast her eyes downward. "Thatis the problem. I like you better with it. I do not suppose you would consider growing it back." Andor laughed. "For you...anything." And as he kissed her once more, Gillian’s heart wondered if she could truly believe that.

CHAPTER 16 The quest for Gillian’s heart. Never was an undertaking so important. All the riches in the world could not compare nor would they be as dear. Now that he had won himself the time to seek his prize, Andor was at a loss as to how to acquire it. At this point, a wrong move might prove disastrous. He sought advice from his father and brother. Neither were of much help. In fact, after a few words about patience, love, and consideration, he left them scratching their heads for a better answer. He was definitely on his own in this matter. He finally decided his former plan was a good one - show her that he held her in high regard. Not by trying to buy her love, but by spending time with her. "We will be sailing tomorrow," he told her. "I have a few more details to arrange, a little trading to do. Would you like to come along? Once my business is done, we can spend the rest of the day looking around the town." Her smile was like a gift from the gods. "Let me fetch my new bag and I will be ready to leave." Andor studied the seal skin bag she brought from the tent. "Did you buy that yesterday?" "I made it." He took it for a closer look. "The carpet man had ones similar," she said, "But I prefer this. ‘Twill keep things inside dryer. I thought to bring it. I saw some herbs I want." "Excellent work. The seam is tight. The flap over the top helps keep things from falling out. Can you make one for my horse? ‘Twould do much better than a basket or a rolled-up fur." "Soon as we get home," she said. "Maybe you would want to make many so other people could purchase them." Gillian laughed. "Quit filling my head. ‘Tis practical, yes, but it is also not pretty. No one would want it." She slung the handle over her shoulder. "We had best be going before my head gets so full of nonsense it will not fit down the walkway." Andor laughed with her then linked her arm through his as they started their excursion. It wasn’t long before he realized they were being followed. Amir was obviously attempting to verify Andor’s assertions from the night before. He kept Gillian as close as possible, even when he conducted his business. She seemed not to notice the other man’s presence - her eyes were too busy with all the things for sale. That was fine with Andor - he wanted nothing to spoil this day. But how could he keep watch over her during his final transaction of the day? He was going to a place ladies should not enter. "I had hoped I would not see you scowl like that today. What troubles you?"

Andor cleared his throat. He looked everywhere but in her face. "I have one more thing left to do." "Then let’s see to it." "Well...uh...’tis not a place where ladies go." "Will your business take you long?" "No...Not long at all." "Then I will sit outside to wait." Andor scanned the crowd - there was no sign of the foreigner. "I will be quick." He hurried her along the main street until they reached a large tent on the outskirts of town. "I will not be long." Gillian dusted off a nearby box to sit. It had been a lovely day. Already her heart felt warm with love. She didn’t need a year to decide about staying - the decision was made. What concerned her now was what Andor would say if she told him she still wanted no children. Should she even tell him? Armed with the information Fjola had provided, she could now enjoy the pleasures he gave without danger of conception, and Andor would never be the wiser. Or would he? He was supposed to be as informed as she on the subject. Yet why hadn’t he mentioned it? Doubt nagged at her, clutching for the love she had begun to feel again. It oozed to the surface like a sore that had festered. Words he had spoken last night now looked like lies when compared to facts in the light of day. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to force the bad away. It hurt too much, especially when she wanted to believe in his declaration of love. It was what she had longed to hear. What she had prayed for. Now that she had it, why should she think it a lie? No. He was not lying. Then she repeated the phrase until doubt had no choice but to leave. That victory won, she let a smile open her eyes to the view before her. The bustle of town was interesting for awhile, but she preferred these rolling green hills. The only building in this direction was a farmhouse nestled in the trees. Sheep grazed in the meadow, looking like tufts of snow the sun had missed. "Your husband is a very lucky man." Gillian’s back stiffened with the sound of Amir’s voice. "Each day he wakes must bring him great joy to know he has been granted another day to gaze upon your beauty." Visions of his body pressed to hers, his too-white smile before her face, shuddered through Gillian. "My husband is only a shout away."

"I mean you no harm." "Nevertheless, I think I will join him." "In there?" The amusement in his tone drew her head his way. "Of course...in there." "Do you know what place this is?" Afraid to admit she did not, Gillian hiked her nose in the air. "My husband has business here." Amir laughed aloud. "What man does not? Madam, this is a brothel." Gillian paled. The revelation was such a shock, there was no way she could have kept the horror from her face. As the world spinned before her, she watched Amir’s amusement change to shame. "What is going on here?" Andor demanded from behind her. "I thought I made it clear that you were not to bother my wife." Gillian turned so slowly she wondered if she were really moving. "How could you do this? After all you said. A brothel?" Andor reached for her. "Gillian, you do not understand." With reflexes as fast as any viper, she cracked her palm across his face. "I understand plenty." She wadded her shift in her fists and ran off, leaving Andor to stare dumbly in her wake. It was several seconds more before he had recovered his surprise enough to follow. Each stride he took stoked his anger until, by the time he had reached their tent, he was in a full blown rage. With a roar born deep in his chest, he ripped the flap open. By rights he should punish her, put her back in her place, and reassert his authority as leader. If a wife did not respect her husband, why should others? But to see her huddled on their furs overcome with sobs, to recall all that had happened to them - how could he raise a hand to her? She was his love, his life. To hurt her, no matter what society dictated, made him no better than Leif. He was a leader, responsible for the welfare of others. It was time he started behaving as such. She was to be his partner, his equal, and she too deserved the respect that went with that role. Ifhe assertedhis authority overher , what other man would follow her decrees in his absence? Drawing in a calming breath, he tied the tent flaps closed and sat cross-legged on the furs before her. "I gave you my word last night. I bared my heart and soul to you. I ask for time and this is how you give it? I swore to you...." Gillian snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with fire. "You went to a whore while you had me sit outside." Andor kept his gaze steady. "I like being falsely accused no more than you...I sought no whore. You are

the only woman I want." He lifted her chin on the pads of his fingers. "Last night after you had fallen asleep, Seamus came to me with a problem. It seems he went to that brothel to...uh...pass the time. The proprietor set him up with a young lady. ‘Twas only when Seamus was alone with her that he realized she was barely out of girlhood...twelve years of age. Seamus, being the type of man he is, spirited her away and brought her here. We knew it would not be long before someone discovered her, and we feared her owner would have Seamus hanged. Father, Björn, and I went to the brothel to negotiate a price for her. ‘Twas higher than we expected...she is still a virgin. We gave him half the payment last night, and I took the remainder to him today." Gillian pulled back, blinking in surprise. "Why did you not tell me of this last eve?" "As I said...you were asleep." "Where might she be now?" "With Mother." Gillian wiped her cheeks clear with the heel of her hand. "You could have told me this morn." "Aye, that I could. And if I had, you would have wanted to stay with Mother to care for the girl. I did not tell you because I was being selfish. I wanted to have the day with you alone. I should never have had you sit outside while I paid for the girl. But I could not bear the thought of having to fight Mother for your attention again. Gillian, Ilove you. I wanted to be with you." He swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat. "I want tobe with you now. To hold you as close as two can be. To feel the softness and warmth of your body surround me. You...no one else...just you." The words were a caress against Gillian’s heart. Her pulse leaped in anticipation. She tried to think of where she might be in her cycle, but Andor’s nearness drove all sense of time away. Gillian desperately want this moment. With a soft sigh, she slid her arms around his neck. A muffled groan was his response. He captured her mouth and drew her down onto the pallet of furs. He dusted the backs of his fingers across her cheek. Gillian shivered and closed her eyes on a sigh. "By the gods, you are a beautiful woman," he said in a rush of breath. "Forgive me, love. I cannot wait." He tugged open the drawstring of his breeches. When his heaviness fell against her, Gillian yanked her skirts to her waist. "Nor can I," she whispered. His breathing was rough and ragged, matching her own. She lay quivering beneath him, waiting for that instant when his body would claim hers. Instead, he dipped lower dancing feathery kisses across the flat expanse of her belly while his fingers parted her. Gillian opened herself wide, beckoning him on with an involuntary twitch of her hips. A soft groan drifted to her ears as he accepted the invitation. Gillian bit back a cry and raked her fingers through his hair.

His exploration was slow, complete. No valley within her rose petal softness was left untouched. And when she spilled over the top, all she wanted was him to possess her. Andor crawled up her body, raining kisses wherever he could. He captured her lips, flicking the edges before sealing them with his own. Then he pierced himself into her, hard. Gillian arched against him, her cries swallowed by his kiss. He beat his body into hers with a hunger she had not known he could possess. And she wanted more. Her body answered, urging him on with wild abandon. She felt him tense. His lips left her and burrowed into her neck while shudder after shudder engulfed him. And when the moment passed, he was still deep within and still as hard as when they had begun. Andor drew in a deep breath and renewed the pace. Together they rocked, limbs entwined, lips hungrily possessive until both were sated and had no more to give. Then they lay beneath the furs, curled together. Their clothing lay discarded in the corner of the tent. Whispered endearments were the only words spoken in the interlude of after love. It was only after they had dozed and awakened that Gillian dared broach the sudden fear within her. "We should not have done that." "Why? Did you not enjoy it?" She snuggled into the crook of his arm. "Oh, aye, that I did...but what if we made a child?" Andor expelled a long sigh. "Why did you not tell me of the special time in a woman’s month?" His eyebrows inched together. "What special time? When you bleed?" "No, no, no," she said softly. "The fertile time." "Oh...that. Well, because Father did not hold with it. He thought it merely a tale, but was content to let Mother believe what she wanted." "Do you believe your father?" "Yes...because...." He sighed again before continuing. "Because once Tove asked me to give her a child. I was with her every night and no child came." Gillian tamped down the twinge of jealousy this news created. Andor leaned up on his elbow. "You are not the only one who grieved when Gwynneth died. The only greater pain I can imagine is losing you." Gillian’s eyes pooled. Andor chucked her under the chin. "No tears. We must speak of this...I have my fears, too, but we must decide what we will do about them. One of my greatest pleasures is to be with

you this way. To love you. To hold you. To be one with you. But I cannot do so if each time there are tears and worries afterward. I willnot put us through that." "But your mother’s system...." He put his fingers over her lips. "And what if Mother is wrong? What of the worry and guilt then? A decision must be made...by you." "And you." "I have made my decision...To be with you and raise any children we create." "And if we lose them?" "Then we bear the grief together as other couples have. As Mother and Father have...Unless you have decided you are unsure of us." Gillian closed her eyes. He knew the answer as well as she. All she had needed was to know he loved her. Now that she had that and he her love, she could never leave him. It would be like leaving part of herself behind. "I love you. You know that. Even with all our squabbles...I am willing to take the chance." Andor traced her jaw with his finger. "Ah...now, if only you meant it." Her eyes flashed open to deny it. His gentle smile stopped her. "Would you like to try Mother’s way?" The troubled look faded. "Do you mean it?" "Aye." "Oh, Andor!" She threw her arms around his neck, knocking his elbow out from under him. "I do love you. It will work. I know." Andor wouldn’t puncture her happiness with his doubts. Even though he did not like to leave their love-making solely in her hands, it was preferable to not being with her at all. As they dressed to leave their tent, he decided it really was a good idea after all. The tension between them was gone. Gillian’s manner was as it had been before Gwynneth’s death - bright and affectionate. He wondered how long it would last when Gillian discovered his mother’s system did not work.

Gillian stood at the rail, letting the breeze toss her hair about as Andor guided the ship out to sea. It was a great day...a wondrous day...despite the monthly cramps that plagued her. That had amused Andor when she told him. Of course, he still didn’t believe in Fjola’s ideas of conception. He hadn’t said anything, but Gillian could tell by the way he had said, "I suppose now we begin our count." It was no matter. He would soon see. The hardest part was going to be saying no when that time came. It was bad enough they were restricted at the beginning of her cycle, now the middle would be forbidden, too. According to Fjola that would also be the time when she would most want her man. It was her

body’s way of reacting to the need to create new life. It would be up to Gillian to fight those urges. A solution to this dilemma came to her that morning from a surprising source. As they struck camp, Amir arrived with apologies for any trouble he had caused and a business proposition. Intrigued with the seal skin bag Gillian had left behind when she fled the brothel, he wished to trade his rugs and spices for bags she would make. There was a bit of haggling between Andor and Amir until an equitable trade was agreed upon. Already Andor’s ship was carrying Amir’s goods to Iceland. Gillian had until they reached that destination to complete one hundred bags. Björn would carry them to Amir by return trip. Gillian would indeed be a busy lady. She caught a glimpse of Fjola at the bow of Sven’s ship. Her young charge was by her side, her strawberry-blonde hair swirling about her head. Gillian turned away. The less contact she had with the girl, the better. Each time she looked at her, she saw Gwynneth as she might have looked at that age. It was a reminder she could have done without. She settled comfortably before her tent to lose her thoughts in her work. The girl and Fjola were on the other ship. There was no reason why she should dwell on the presence of the young stranger. What she hadn’t counted on was Andor bringing attention to her rudeness. It happened suddenly that evening - as she was curled in his arms about to fall asleep. "Why did you avoid Mother and Bridget this morning?" Involuntarily, her muscles tensed. "I had not realized I had done so." His silence told her the lie was unsuccessful. Finally, she relented. "I see Gwynneth when I look at the girl." "So you push the girl aside as if she did not exist." His tone was gently scolding. Gillian rolled away from him. Andor followed, wrapping his arm around her to keep her from going any farther. "Each time you see a child ‘tis only natural to think of what might have been. But you cannot ignore the fact that other children exist. What will you do about Erik or any others Freyda and Rollo may have? How can you expect Erik to understand that his loving aunt no longer wishes to have anything more to do with him?" It was a perspective Gillian hadn’t considered and one she wished she didn’t have to think about now.

Andor had thought it would do her good to realize how she was behaving. Instead, Gillian sank into a quiet depression. Other than cutting out his tongue, he knew of no way to keep from speaking. It was hard to know what was right or wrong. At least she did not keep to herself as she had before their reconciliation. During the day she would smile his way from time to time. At night, when her body’s schedule permitted, she was warm and affectionate. It was in those unguarded moments that he sensed she really wasn’t with them - her mind was far away. He had hopes that being home with Freyda would pull her spirits back up. And, indeed, when that day arrived it seemed his prayers had been answered. There was so much laughter, so many hugs, even a few

tears of happiness over the family’s partial reunion, that it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement. Gillian shared in the tales, laughing with the others as everyone tried to talk at once. "What a wonderful surprise!" Freyda exclaimed, hugging her mother once more. "But you must let me tell my news first." His mother held her at arm’s length. "Well...tell us...as if I cannot guess." Freyda laughed. "Mother, you have such a good eye." "Well, I do not," Björn said. "Tell us." Freyda linked her arm through Rollo’s. Their love was mirrored in the tender look they exchanged. "We are to have a child." There were congratulations and more laughter, but Andor could not join in, for the joy had faded from Gillian’s face as she backed away from the group. When he hurried to catch up to her, she waved him away. "I am fine. I just want a little walk to stretch my legs. I will not be far." An echo of her own speech came from young Bridget. "Can I go with you?" "No," Gillian snapped, and strode away. Andor put an arm around the girl’s shoulders to ease her injured feelings. "Gillian did not mean to be curt. She is having a difficult time getting over the loss of our child." Wide, blue eyes looked up at him, and Andor was struck with a vision of how Gillian might have looked at that age. No wonder she saw Gwynneth in this girl. "I have lost all my kin. We might have a bit of grief to share.Gaedhil toGaedhil you know." Andor smiled. "Later, perhaps. After Gillian has some time to herself." He returned to the family, expecting Bridget to follow. Instead, she waited a few minutes then went in search of Gillian. Andor let her go. This was something Gillian had to face on her own.

There was no call to take it out on the girl, Gillian’s conscience scolded.She did nothing . She whacked a tree branch aside and marched on to her destination. Apologies later would have to set things right. For now all she wanted was the peace and solitude of the hot spring. What in the world had made her think she could live without a child around? She could no more feel ambivalent about Freyda’s children than she would her own. If something happened to them, it would still hurt. She was a fool to have forgotten how dear Erik was to her heart. And the little one on the way? She pictured a newborn suckling at Freyda’s breast and felt an emptiness well up inside. The only cure, she knew, would be to set aside her fears and bear a child of her own.

"But I cannot!" she screamed to the treetops, and ran the last few yards to the hot spring. She paused only long enough to ensure she was alone, then stripped away her clothes and slid into the steamy warmth. Her strong strokes took her back and forth across the water until a peaceful exhaustion settled in. Then she leaned against the rocky side to soak for awhile longer. A snapped twig sent her dashing for the cover of deeper water. Bridget eased forward. "I did not mean to startle you." Gillian willed her heart to return to normal and tried to hide her irritation over the invasion. After all, she did owe the girl an apology. Bridget sat on a nearby rock. "You looked like a water sprite. All graceful and the like." So, she is Gaedhil, too."Andor taught me to swim when we first arrived." "A fine man, to be sure. So Fjola swears. Handsome, too. I am sorry to hear of the loss of your babe." Gillian glided back to her niche at the side, refusing to acknowledge Bridget’s sympathy. "I know how you must be feeling," she went on. "I lost all my kin. ‘Twas highwaymen. Kilt both my brothers, my parents. Took my sister and me away. Once we got to that town, I never saw her again. When I first spied you, I thought...Well, you look a lot like Meg, ‘tis all." Gillian looked up to see Bridget softly crying. The young girl’s grief touched her as nothing else had been able to. Gillian had lost her baby. This girl had losteveryone dear to her. "I am sorry that you had to be torn from your family. ‘Tis good though Seamus found you. You will be happy with Andor’s kin." Bridget nodded and brushed away tears. "There’s a lass, now," Gillian cooed. "Come...I will teach you to be a water sprite like me." Together they shared a giggle, and Bridget joined her. Although not as skilled a teacher as Andor, Bridget’s willingness to learn made Gillian effective enough. Soon they were gliding in tandem to and fro across the spring, sharing confidences and laughter. It was medicine Gillian’s heart needed. "Well, witch, I see you have a young apprentice." Gillian spun around at the sound of Leif’s voice. He’d grown gaunt over these last months. His clothes were tattered, his black hair and beard scraggly. But the evil in his dark eyes was the same. He moved closer, and Gillian pushed Bridget behind her. "My luck has not been so good since you were taken from me. With two of you I shall always have a spare. If one of you displeases me, a simple sacrifice to the volcano gods should keep the other in line. Who wishes to be first?" His gaze settled on Gillian. "You, I think. The young one will mold more easily. I can use her to remove any curse you give." He drew his sword and pointed it toward them. "Get dressed. We have a long journey ahead."

Gillian could feel Bridget trembling as they left the water. It gave her the courage to be brave. She tried to keep the girl hidden from him even though it left herself open to his lecherous admiration. She reached for their clothing, afraid that at any second he would grab her. A movement among the trees caught her eye. "Dress quickly," she whispered. Leif snatched Gillian’s shift from her hand. "Not so fast. I do not think I am finished looking at what Andor cannot resist." "And I say you are." The bushes parted as Andor stepped through. Leif tossed the shift aside to face his opponent, and Gillian yanked it over her head. Andor slid his sword from its sheath. "Wife, you and the girl return home. I have old business I must attend to. Go...now." Gillian grabbed Bridget’s hand and ran for the trees. "I should have killed you months ago. I should have hunted you down until you were found. You will not leave here alive," Andor told him. "Someone will surely die this day, but it will be you, cousin, not me." Leif lunged forward. The sound of swords clanking together echoed through the clearing. Gillian jerked to a stop. "Run home for help as fast as you can." "But what ofyou ," Bridget cried. "Hurry. I will not leave Andor." She shoved the girl forward then ran back to the edge of the clearing. Gillian held her breath with each swing of the blades. Leif’s months of living on the run gave Andor the advantage, but Leif was far from ready to give up. He jabbed forward, forcing Andor onto unsure footing of loose rock. Gillian wanted to shout at Andor to be careful, but fear of making him lose concentration kept her silent. Andor swung wide, clipping Leif on the shoulder. Driven by hate and jealousy, the other man did not notice. With a growl he lunged forward. Andor’s feet skittered beneath him. Leif’s blade sliced his arm. Andor felt a rivulet of blood trickle down to his elbow. Again he struggled to keep upright. He saw Leif rear back for another attack and let his body go with the fall. Taken unaware, Leif stumbled forward. Andor jumped up behind him, replacing Leif on solid ground. "Very clever, cousin, but not clever enough." Leif reared back and charged. Andor leaped to one side, his sword extended before him. It caught its mark, slicing deep into Leif’s stomach.

Gillian shuddered at the agonizing screech he let loose. His weapon clattered to the ground as he clutched the gaping wound. He writhed at Andor’s feet. "Kill me," he pleaded. "Make it quick. Do not let me die with this pain." Gillian stared at the hate burning in Andor’s eyes. "You killed my daughter. ‘Twas not a quick death for her. She suffered as did her mother and I. As we still do. Why should I have mercy for you?" Leif curled in a fetal position and sobbed while Andor stared him into the dirt. In that instance Gillian realized how very much Gwynneth’s loss had hurt Andor. Her grief had truly been equaled by his, and she had been too self-absorbed to see it. No more. From this point on, all aspects of their life would be shared. "We should have mercy because we are not animals, as he is," she said. When Andor looked her way, she went to him. "You wish me to kill this bastard?" She placed her palm on his chest. "Sheath your sword. If it is mercy he wants, mercy he shall have." She unhooked her knife from the brooch chain and tossed it next to Leif. "We will not take your life. I will not have it on my husband’s conscience the rest of his days that he killed a helpless man. But you have the means to take your own. ‘Twill be your choice to die slow from a belly wound or quick by your own hand." She slipped an arm around Andor’s waist. "Come, husband, and I will tend your wound." They met the men halfway home. Andor merely jerked his head toward the clearing and they continued on. As they came within sight of the house, the women converged on them. "Thank the gods you are all right," Fjola said. "But you are hurt," Freyda added. "It will be fine if the two of you move and let Gillian care for me," he said. By the time he and Gillian got to the hearth, Freyda and Fjola had water and bandages waiting. Gillian sucked in a breath as Andor slipped off his kirtle. "Nasty. Another scar to add to your collection," she said, and started to bath the wound. "Nearly as bad as this one." He pointed to his cheek. "Where?" Andor pointed again. Gillian squinted but could not see it. "Well, I must be blind. I see naught."

"Oh...’tis there. Look closer." He edged closer, and she could see the small white scar her switch had left. Gillian laughed and scratched his new beard. "A big one to be sure, but this covers it well enough...What made you follow us to the spring?" "Love." Gillian felt her eyes mist over and blinked them clear to tend to his wound. "Bridget was hysterical by the time she got here," Freyda told them. "I had to give her some herb tea and a powder and had her lie down for awhile." "She and I have much in common." Gillian used her task to keep from having to look at anyone. "I would hate to see her return to Northland." "You want her here?" Fjola asked. Gillian caught Andor’s eyes. "If it is all right with you." "Aye." He winced as she tied a bandage around his arm. "Sorry." "‘Tis no matter...Bridget is welcome in our home." Fjola smiled. "I shall speak to her of it right now." Gillian dropped a kiss to Andor’s forehead. "Thank you." "I would do anything for you." "Anything?" "Aye." With a smile she bent close to whisper in his ear. "Then give me a child." Andor looked at her with a mixture of delight and surprise. "Are you certain?" "Aye, very certain."

Nine months later as she nursed her newborn son beside Freyda and her own baby boy, and Bridget hovered in the background like a doting aunt, Gillian had no doubts about her decision. She smiled from son to proud father. Andor caressed the tiny cheek. "Happy?" "More than you can believe. I cannot wait to see what our next child will look like."

"It sounds as though I shall need to build a bigger house." Gillian laughed. "Much bigger."

Author Bio: Anything Is Possible! That's Catherine Snodgrass's motto. Blessed (or cursed) with a vivid imagination, Catherine has learned to turn that "talent" inward. She grew up reading Victoria Holt, Phyllis Whitney, and others, and loves to "go places" in her writing. Readers should expect different locales and deep emotions in Catherine's books. She also believes that life is to be lived not watched, and has done some inner exploring of her own -- hiking a new path, learning a new skill, and even conquering a life-long fear of singing in public to take a turn or two on the stage of the local community theater. Her work as a paralegal in family and tax law has helped her tune in to the emotions of others and further deepen that aspect of her writing. Having set her children off in the world to explore their own paths, Catherine lives in the beautiful desert of Southern California with her husband (a genealogist) and the animals she loves. Return to Table of Contents

Publisher info: Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears, Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Publisher info: Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears,

Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Return to Table of Contents

EARLFOR A SEASON by

BRENDA DOW Published by LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Copyright 2000 Brenda Dow

PROLOGUE Miss Stride brought the news to Mallow.

A wiry figure even in her shawl-draped pelisse, she jumped hurriedly from her father’s old gig, pausing only to throw the travel rug over the steaming horse, and ran up to the rambling, old house. Her impatience was such that after a spirited knock, she thrust open the front door and entered. "Charlotte! What ever is the to-do?" A calm, musical voice spoke from the stairs. A tall, elegant young woman paused in her descent, one hand on the banister. "Julia! Where is Ivor?" "Probably shaving." Julia Valliant looked at the unexpected visitor curiously. The face before her, attractive in a sharp-featured way, was glowing, either with excitement or from her long drive on that crisp February morning. "Will he be down soon? I have awful news." Julia’s humorous gray eyes were wide with astonishment. "Tell me! Your papa has been made bishop and you must move to York - somewhere further?" "Julia! This is no time for your jokes." Charlotte Stride brushed a frosting of snow off her half-boots. "I bear the most terrible news! Oh, when will Ivor be down?" "I am baffled. You come in here positively dancing with news, but then you call it terrible." "No, no!" exclaimed Charlotte in contrition. "You mustn’t think I am lacking in proper...respect. The news is truly dreadful. It’s just that...well, sometimes good might come out of bad." Julia descended the last step. "This confusion is not like you. Oh, my dear, you are all of a tremble. Unwrap and come into the drawing room. There’s a good fire in there. You shall have some hot chocolate to warm you up." Taking a moment to convey the appropriate request to the kitchen, she returned to help the visitor with her pelisse. From upstairs, they heard a voice bellowing for Eli March to go out and look after Miss Stride’s horse. Charlotte Stride glanced up the stairs expectantly. "He knows I’m here, at least." Julia tucked her arm into that of the smaller woman and led her into the drawing room. "If my brother is to be first recipient of your news, I will contain my curiosity. How is your papa?" "Well enough!" There was a sarcastic smile. "But not well enough for a bishop. His dyspepsia still bothers him." "I shall be down directly, Lottie," continued the voice from on high. A few moments later, a heavy tread sounded in the hall and Sir Ivor Valliant’s bulk filled the doorway. "So the basilisk’s dead, eh?" Charlotte’s eyes glinted. "So you know!" "Not till now! Heard he came a cropper, though. The news is all over the countryside. Didn’t make it through the night, I trow!" He came forward in bluff concern at seeing her rubbing frozen hands. "Come, sit closer to the fire, pickle! It’s a cold day for a ten mile drive."

"The Earl of Selchurch is dead?" Now serious, Julia looked from one to the other. "An accident? What happened, Charlotte?" "It is true, rest the poor man’s soul. Sir Basil was putting a hunter at a barrier and the horse fell. It rolled on him. He could get to his feet, I’m told, but had to be carried home. A doctor was there within hours, but could do nothing. My father was ministering to him all night till he died in the small hours." "A little late for Basil Selchurch to find religion!" His sister remonstrated mildly, "Ivor! For heaven’s sake! Consider Charlotte’s position!" Sir Ivor shrugged. "If Lottie cares a scruple about Selchurch, ‘tis the first I heard of it. The Countess that’s a different matter. We all know how devoted Lottie is to her." He put his arm round Charlotte’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. "Besides, she knows what I think of Basil, and wouldn’t want me to be a hypocrite, would you, chuck?" Charlotte pressed his hand. "I can’t spare long. I must get back to the Countess. Oh, to think! I should call her Dowager Countess now." A thought struck her. "Pray heaven her babe will be a boy." Julia looked interested. "The Countess of Selchurch is increasing again? Then I add my wishes to yours, for otherwise her home will go to whoever succeeds to the earldom. Then where would she and all those girls of hers go?" Charlotte seemed to have no answer for this. She was looking into Ivor’s face with some intensity. Sir Ivor wore a thoughtful expression while scratching his hastily brushed poll. Though he was never at his best early in the morning, the news seemed to have had a stimulating effect on him. Hiding a smile, Julia hastily made the excuse that she had business in the kitchen and left. This subterfuge lost credibility as she passed the housekeeper bustling in with hot chocolate. An uneasy silence fell between the man and woman remaining in the drawing room. Charlotte studiously sipped her chocolate. Sir Ivor partook of a cup, and made a great thing of cooling his drink by blowing on it. Eventually, he glanced across at her rather tentatively. "Why don’t you stay for the day? Your papa was up all night. He won’t be needing the gig. Give the nag a rest! Julia has some new sheets of music sent up from London. You might like to give them a try." Charlotte rose and stamped her foot. "Why are you talking about music? Can’t you see what this means for us? The Countess will never stand in our way." Sir Ivor went a little red, but stood up to her manfully. "There’s where I’m ahead of you, dumpling." A flash of anguish crossed the sharp little face looking up at him. "I’ve already decided. I’ll be calling on your papa first thing tomorrow." His reward was a transforming smile and a face raised to receive his kiss. Julia had gone upstairs to her bedroom. She spent some time gazing out the window, not really seeing the bleak wintry scene.

Her own life must face repercussions from the death of the Earl of Selchurch. Well, life was prone to change, she told herself. She had lived with her brother and run his household since their mother had died, but now there would soon be a new mistress at Mallow. For several years, Sir Ivor had been conducting a semi-despairing, low key courtship of the daughter of the parson who had the living at Selchurch. However, an obstacle had lain between them because of a feud between Sir Ivor Valliant and the Earl of Selchurch. Rival magistrates, they had long differed over certain jurisdictional matters. The dead Earl had been a haughty and vengeful man, and Charlotte had refused to make a commitment for fear that her marriage to the Earl’s enemy would prejudice her father’s livelihood. Julia had no doubt that Charlotte’s friendship with the Countess would now remove that obstacle. A wedding would go forward. However, much as she enjoyed the occasional company of her brother’s intended, she had a leaden feeling inside when she contemplated life at Mallow when Charlotte became Lady Valliant. She would naturally assume responsibility for running the house and Julia’s position would become that of an unnecessary dependant. While she would never be made to feel less than welcome, the prospect did not suit her. Charlotte was honest, fair-minded and imbued with a satirical outlook that melded well with Julia’s gentler humor. Julia appreciated Charlotte’s many good qualities, but she knew that inevitably they would rub up against one another. Charlotte’s straitlaced practicality would be at war with Julia’s own preference for the relaxed, unhurried surroundings presently prevailing at Mallow. Charlotte would strip the ivy from the walls for she liked a modern look. The garden would be regimented into formality. Ivor would not mind. He had no great interest in the garden, nor the house, as long as the windows admitted no draughts and the chimneys were swept yearly. However, Julia loved the old place just as it was, and knew that Charlotte’s tastes were far different from her own. No, she would not stay long at Mallow. She would have her own home; but before that, she would indulge her ambition to travel. There was so much world to see! Her fortune was moderate, but with care would afford her sufficient means to visit a few foreign places. Later she would set up an establishment independent of her brother. Of course, Ivor would say it was out of the question for an unmarried gentlewoman to travel unless under the aegis of some respectable family. She did not know of any available respectable family, but did not despair of making some suitable arrangement. Ivor must realize that she would not stay at Mallow forever. When she descended, she discovered not much to her surprise that Charlotte had already left, driven by a sense of duty to the family that had been her father’s support. "Where did you disappear to?" queried Ivor. "I sent Lottie home with a fresh horse. I can make an exchange when I drive over to the Parsonage tomorrow." Julia had no need to enquire what business would take him to visit Mr. Stride on the following day. She put on a cheerful tone. "Has Charlotte named a day?" Her brother bent a knowing eye upon her. "Well, as to that, we should let his lordship’s bones chill for decency’s sake. I’ll not wait out a year, though. I’ve a fancy for a summer wedding trip to the continent now that we’ve seen the end of Boney." "Charlotte will enjoy that. When you get back, she will like to have the running of the house to herself. Then it will be my turn to travel." "Not that again, Ju! Dash it! You know my feelings. Papa would never have allowed it." "But, Ivor, you are not my papa!"

Julia gave him a peck on the cheek and left him to scowl in solitude.

CHAPTER I The light gray traveling coach threaded its way through the busy London thoroughfare and eased to a halt in front of a hotel. A servant in maroon and silver livery sprang down and held open the door whilst his fellow started to pull baggage from the roof. Porters came scurrying out. Roderick Anhurst cast an astonished eye over the facade of the bow-windowed building. "The Pulteney? What maggot got in your respected papa’s head, Cy? Pretty much for a lowly attaché!" He grinned. "Better than the reception I expected!" His companion spoke with a low sultry voice. "Are you still brooding about a few silly setbacks. You were not even in Montreal. The war is over now. No blame attaches to you, Roddie!" "So you say. But they recalled the Governor-General. It has been my observation that when a man goes down, his minions do not prosper." "Minions! For shame! I shall tell papa you are a hopeless case." "In truth, I enjoy my work. I liked the country. I would rather not be forced to relinquish my career." "You are too foolish. Papa has everything well in hand." "Even when he uses you as his courier?" She chuckled. "You are a prude, my dear. You always were." "And you are outrageous, and always will be." He gave her one last appreciative look as he thrust his portfolio under one arm and took hat in hand. The twilight served to mystify rather than to shadow her dark blue eyes, and long lashes spiked down over a delicately molded cheek. Smooth lips curved into provocative lines. The fates had been generous to Lady Cytherea FitzWarren, bestowing both wealth and beauty. As he alighted from the coach, the new gaslighting, recently installed in Piccadilly caught glints of gold in his fair unruly hair and threw his well-knit figure into relief. Any woman would consider his pleasant, well-bred countenance attractive. Lady Cytherea moved across to the near window, putting her hand on his sleeve to detain him. "You will think me a goose. In my vast excitement at seeing you again, I forgot! I am postman as well as courier." She handed him a package. "These letters were at papa’s office awaiting your return." Roderick took the package, and touched his lips to the tips of her fingers, eyes looking up suspiciously at the innocent expression on her face. As he watched the carriage proceed along Piccadilly, he was conscious of a feeling of relief. Why should

he feel that way, he wondered. It had been a very strange day! She must have boarded the frigate standing in the searoads off Deal from the pilot’s galley. She had arrived in his quarters bearing a document urgently requesting his presence at the Colonial Office. However, since he was returning to England following the same orders delivered in Upper Canada, he was puzzled by the need for Lord FitzWarren to send his daughter on a courier’s mission, and sans chaperon, at that! He suspected her of running some rig on her father, especially as she had just now ‘remembered’ to give this new package of correspondence. She had flung herself into his arms and kissed him with all the passionate abandon he remembered so well. Three years ago, when he had stayed at Lord FitzWarren’s country seat, he had become besotted with his daughter, and events had got out of control. Yet, when passion and a sense of obligation spurred him to apply for permission to marry the fashionable Lady Cytherea FitzWarren, she had, in great despair, warned him that her father would have none of him. Although his career prospects were bright and he was, in addition, possessed of a moderate private income, his wealth would not be considered sufficient to win her hand. It had seemed no coincidence to him that within the week he had peremptorily been dispatched on assignment to Quebec - and that without having an actual interview with Lord FitzWarren. There had been a heart wrenching leave-taking between Lady Cytherea and himself in which neither had laid any obligation upon the other, and he had sailed across the Atlantic feeling that his heart would never be whole again. Thus he had learned the danger of going beyond the mark with an unmarried female of his own class. He grieved for a year. Then, a lively widow in Montreal turned the direction of his thoughts. This affair had finished when the widow sailed out of his life to Paris. They had parted friends, this time undisturbed by any feelings of guilt on either part. He had thought Lady Cytherea FitzWarren would be wed to some young lord by now. (It had been three years.) This speculation, when occasionally entertained, had given him no pangs at all! He smiled and shrugged as he turned towards the entrance. The staff of the Pulteney were extraordinarily accommodating - ‘my lord’ this and ‘your honor’ that. He found himself suddenly homesick for the modest pension he had inhabited in Montreal. He shrugged off his coat as soon as he was settled in his room, and sat at a desk. After opening the package of letters, he put aside one large, official-looking document and one other screw of paper with no writing on the outside, and slit open the wafer on a familiarly scented missive. His mother’s letter, dated in March, dwelt humorously enough with her indifferent health and made spicy observations about the many valetudinarians resident near Harrogate Spa - Anne, his sister, was to marry a gentleman from Surrey in April, all the details to follow - Cousin Alicia wrote that she was expecting another little Basil, God help her if it were a little Alicia again. Roderick grinned. The Earl of Selchurch was still intent on getting an heir. For his money he would have preferred Maurice, the brother next in line, in the upper house. There was a line squeezed along one edge of the paper, as a post script, obviously scrawled in haste and tapering into illegibility. He could make out, "Cousin Basil dead after fall from horse. You are new Earl of Selchurch."

SHADOW IN STARLIGHT

by

Shannah Biondine

This book is dedicated to the dear friends who listened or read, who endured, and challenged me to make it better. Who shared of their own patience & faith when mine ran in short supply. Thanks to: Linda, Marilyn, Ann, Larimee, Kassia, Dayna, Trish, Connie. And always, with loving appreciation to Bob.

Bless you.

Chapter 1 "Forsooth, a wry misadventure," King Cronel declared with a heavy sigh. "Your father will be sorely missed. He was one of my most valued advisors." Wry misadventure? Moreya Fa Yune tore her gaze from the beringed hand her sovereign waved as he droned on about how Anthaal Fa had averted war more than once with his polished speeches and calm demeanor. How well Lord Fa had acquitted himself in the peace negotiations following the great battle in Tuleskeff, how well liked the royal emissary had been here at court. By everyone but the royal cook, whose body sagged on a pikestaff at the castle gates. The king decreed swift and lethal punishment for the man who'd prepared the sumptuous meal Moreya's father had fatally choked upon. The cook was executed even before Moreya arrived under guard at the royal castle, mere days after her father's unexpected demise.

A wry misadventure, indeed, she reflected darkly. Her father had spent years traveling at the king's behest, visiting both near and distant realms. Anthaal had eaten roasted yak and caribou, boiled serpent, pickled vermin; he'd boasted of dauntless digestion and unwavering good fortune. Other reeves had been struck by lances or arrows upon occasion. Anthaal suffered not so much as a scratch. He convinced warriors to lay aside their weapons, arranged vital trade pacts and defense alliances. He boldly strode unarmed into many a war camp and lived to stride out again. Only to return to his native Glacia, and strangle on a chunk of roast boar in the palace hall. Leaving Moreya bereft and confused. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she mumbled, when Cronel finally stopped praising his dead ambassador and reached for a cup of wine. A serving girl rushed forward to mop at the king's sweaty brow with a silken cloth. Moreya focused upon his damp forehead and kept her eyes averted from the king's flashing rings and pudgy fingers. "Your sire had just returned from Greensward," Cronel announced, pinning Moreya with his sharp gaze. "He sought my permission to arrange a betrothal for you, Lady Fa." A betrothal? Her father had said nothing of this, not one word about marriage or setting up a contract. Moreya's stomach tightened into a knot. This was the true reason she'd been summoned by guards storming Anthaal Fa's home. She'd known, of course, that she and her father occupied the ambassador's sprawling manor as part of the king's largesse. Upon learning of her father's death, she'd assumed the king would expect her to find lodgings elsewhere. Her sense of impending dread warned she was about to discover precisely where now. "You are to wed the prince regent of Greensward," King Cronel proclaimed. Moreya stood at the base of a flight of steps leading to a broad dais and Cronel's throne. The throne room was a massive chamber of polished marble. High-backed wooden chairs aligned against the outer walls. Massive entry doors were perpetually flanked by guards and castle pages. She'd been granted a personal audience, but she was far from alone in the room. At the king's bold announcement, a collective gasp echoed off the marble walls. Moreya had absolutely no idea how to respond. Her father had been a royal advisor for many years—indeed, during the last decade had served as a high privy council member—but still and all, was merely aide to the king. The Fa line boasted no royal blood. Anthaal had been a petty noble, considered by most to have been more than fortunate in his own match with a Yune woman of gentle birth. Moreya's mother had been a distant cousin to a sovereign of the far realms. Moreya couldn't imagine that any royal family would have agreed to a match between a future king and herself—a woman of little consequence. "Surely there is some misunderstanding, Your Highness," she said softly. She did not want to antagonize him. Her gaze swept up from the steps to where Cronel sat, to the heavy crown resting on rumpled white locks framing a florid, piggish face. She had been to court before, of course, to be formally presented to the monarch. She had been a child the first time, and foolishly spoke her mind. "Why does the king have so many fingers, Father? I count six on each hand!"

Courtiers and ladies in waiting had coughed and tittered, locking their eyes on Cronel to see how he'd react to being so baldly insulted. Cronel had laughed and pronounced Anthaal Fa's daughter a most clever girl. Then he'd explained that waswhy he was king. He was born with excess digits. He was, he told her with pride, a polydact. A person with more than the usual number of fingers and toes. The excess proved he was superior, meant to rule. Everyone accepted the fact. She had been tempted to reply that it seemed to her everyone had made a silly mistake, then. She had once owned a kitten with too many toes its front paws. It had been a troublesome animal, and no better hunter than its littermates. But her father squeezed her shoulder in warning, so she'd kept silent. As she grew in years and understanding, she learned the politics of the throne . . . that Cronel was a bastard who'd risen to rule after viciously slaughtering anyone who stood between him and power. Allowing this fat bastard to order everyone about merely because he was a polydact seemed preposterous still, but Moreya would keep silent on that point. He did, after all, hold her very life in the twelve fingers of his fat hands. But she would not hold her tongue about the Prince of Greensward. This gallows humor was too cruel to ignore. "There is a mistake, surely." "No mistake, my dear. Nay. Indeed, the betrothal pact was the cause for our celebration—er, that is, I regarded it as quite an accomplishment, even for your renowned father. He spent nearly a fortnight with Queen Vela. All is in readiness. You will leave on the morrow for Greensward, where you shall be wed within the month." "But Your Majesty, I—" The chamber doors flew open. Moreya glanced back over her shoulder and quickly ducked to one side. A knot of grappling men whooshed past her to the foot of the dais steps. She realized they were castle guards wrestling with a prisoner. His arms were pinioned behind him. Moreya could see little but black and gray disheveled waves on the back of his head. A trio of royal guardsmen came forward. Each guard tensed at the knife or sword pressed against his throat, held at the ready by common soldiers. The men who'd overtaken the guards wore no colored surcoats or distinctive blazons. Who were these creatures, motley outlaws and vagrants? She debated whether to remain where she stood or dash to safety behind a sturdy chair. Would anyplace be safe, or was the castle itself under siege? These knaves dared mock royal guards at bladepoint! Yet surely, had the royal palace been overrun, there would be more troops swarming about, she reasoned. A great many, bound for this very chamber. A deep voice spoke up. "Damn it, Cronel, do you have naught better to do than keep signing those fool warrants? What's the sot accused of this time? Wiping his ass with royal bed linens? Tupping a prize ewe? Mistaking your belly for an ale keg?" Something black loomed at the edge of Moreya's vision. Big and black and somehow producing the words they'd all heard quite audibly. Dangerous, sarcastic, treacherous words. Which had been spoken, she now saw, by a tall, imposing figure who stood just a few feet from her. His head and face were completely obscured by an oversized dark cowl. He offered a mocking bow toward the dais. Moreya swallowed and inched back slightly, but felt her skirt hitch. The stranger's broadsword had snagged the hem of her kirtle!

Fighting a vision of herself being bodily dragged before the high executioner, her garments still entangled with the blade of this brash rebel, she tugged. The cloth tore with a slight rending sound . . . which might have gone unnoticed, had every soul in the throne room not been straining in hushed anticipation for what might happen next. The cowl pivoted in Moreya's direction. "I hope your skirts haven't dulled the keen edge of my broadsword, madam. 'Twould be a shame to have to skewer the king on my best eating dagger." Appalled, she responded without thinking. "Could you not find some less flamboyant way to die, sir? A wild animal in the forest, a joust, a bold leap off one of the nearby mountain peaks. Your blade may be keen, but the like cannot be said of your wits!" "Bested by a maid!" The king let out a roaring guffaw and laughter exploded in the room. Cronel slowly descended the dais steps, pausing to release another loud chortle. "So, the Warmonger cometh, at last. Did you answer my page's summons, like any other knight of the realm, I'd not have to resort to warrants against your men. Release Sir Graeme." The guards let go of the rumpled fellow in their midst, who smoothed a hand over stained garments. He hiccuped as he tossed a baleful look toward the stranger in the cowl. "I'd drunk only a cupful, I swear it, Preece." Preece. Warmonger. Oh, Good Creator, what had she done? Moreya nearly fainted at the realization that the man she'd just insulted was none other than the legendary dark knight. Subject of murmured tales her father had shared with Drix, the captain of their home guard, or male visitors. Anthaal had never spoken to Moreya directly of the cowled-one's escapades, but she'd overheard enough to know she definitely stood before her sovereign at the wrong time. Next to a ruthless warrior who had abundant reason to mark her continued presence. Ill fortune, indeed. She'd assumed the craven stranger wore a cowl to hide his face as he led some brash, final assault against their sovereign. But Sir Preece was reputed to wear a dark cowl at all times. To obscure a hideously deformed face and head, so rumor had it. He rarely appeared at court, and was allowed open belligerence and hostility only because he'd proven himself an incredibly lethal henchman for Cronel. So effective that some called him the Royal Blade. The ebon cowl turned toward her again and Moreya instinctively flinched. She could feel the stranger's unwelcome eyes on her person like an icy draft. She could only imagine this was how a poor rabbit must feel under the scrutiny of a black wolf. She couldn't run, couldn't speak, couldn't think. Beyond ascertaining that he stood much too close to her . . . and she had no business with whatever business broughthim before the king. She stepped back one pace, yet another, then was pulled up short as her skirts snagged once more. She glanced down and discovered the knight's sword nailed her gown to the leg of a nearby chair. She glanced up into the empty blackness of his cowl and felt a prickle of hot temper. Her father had died,

she'd been summoned here to court with no time to prepare or adequately pack her belongings. She'd been told a preposterous lie about some betrothal to royalty in another realm, and now found herself the brunt of a jest with this hooded knave! "Your weapon appears in dire need of a scabbard," she seethed. "Would you please pull it out so that I might—" "Ah, as I long suspected, Preece," Cronel sneered. "The lady asks that you pull it out." This brought snickers from the male assembly and even more unwelcome heat to Moreya's cheeks. She knew she must be blushing like a springtime rose. The knight made no move to unpin her skirts, curse his soul. It must already be blackened as his awful cowl. "But I assure you, Lady Fa," the king went on, "This is the first time I've ever known Preece to put his sword into a damsel's skirts. Which is why I decree he's the knight who shall escort you to Greensward." The king took another drink from his jewel-encrusted cup, then turned to gaze at the forbidding figure. "Take your besotted friend and however many knights you require. Lady Fa has a personal maid and both have baggage. I shall provide a coach and pack animals. You shall name your usual outrageously ridiculous fee, and I shall agree to half that sum. You depart on the morrow, Warmonger." "She doesn't leave this chamber until you sign a pardon for Dugan," came the low response. The king's pronouncements, for all their clipped, impatient tone, had not sounded half so commanding as this softly spoken phrase. The hackles rose on the back of Moreya's neck. The king abruptly turned. The royal guards no longer had blades at their backs, but Moreya sensed this could change with the blink of an eye. The throne room stilled as the sense of impending danger mounted. "My blade now pierces her gown," the cowled knight said, gesturing toward the chair. "Would you have me prove how easily it could likewise pierce her heart?" The king snarled something in answer, but whatever he said was lost on Moreya. Her knees trembled, the chamber grew dim. Its walls seemed to recede, leaving her more exposed than ever. She couldn't just stand there! The faceless madman just might slay her, simply to prove he could! With a peculiarly detached sense of urgency, Moreya gave one last ferocious yank at her skirts. They jerked free and she tumbled backwards in a heap on the floor.

Chapter 2

Preece had been summoned to the royal bathing chamber. He folded his arms across his chest and addressed his monarch. "She's a Yune," he stated pointedly. "Indeed," Cronel chuckled. "Why else would I orderyou to serve as escort? You'll deal with the Raviner threat and are perhaps the only man in the realm who'd not be tempted by her exotic appeal. I've offered Yune flesh before." Cronel soaked in a massive tub especially designed to accommodate his great girth . . . and space for several bathing attendants. One such female idly scrubbed at the king's back; while another braced a royal foot against her bare breasts as she trimmed her sovereign's toenails. These were but two of Cronel's personal slaves. In a castle the size of this one, there were any number of servants and attendants bustling about at all hours, day or night. These were not serfs of that kind. Cronel had taken dozens of female prisoners during his various battles—women from every conceivable race and known realm—and though technically enslaved for the personal enjoyment of the Glacian king, the women were routinely shared with knights and nobles at court. Preece declined to sample such women. Like other Waniand warriors, he had neither a taste for slavery nor the need to indulge in random bedsport. Cronel mocked Preece with his casual words. Preece took a step closer to the edge of the great tub. "Sire, I—Damn, are you blind, woman?" Preece railed at the old servant who'd splashed him. "With my face covered, I see better than you do!" He'd been about to protest that he couldn't be ready to embark the following morning for a Dredonian crossing. The king's schedule allowed no time to recruit additional mercenaries. Preece had ridden to the royal castle with only a handful of warriors, two of whom had already departed on another foray of their own. Which left only perpetually-besotted Dugan; Preece's trusted friend, Lockram; and Sieffre, one of the youngest knights in Preece's band. The bumbling maidservant had spilled a pitcher of cold rinse water down Preece's leggings, angering him into forgetting his other concerns. The woman must be wall-eyed if she'd been aiming for the king's broad pink shoulders. "Oh, by the stars and six moons, look at what I've gone and done! A thousand pardons, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll have you stripped of those wet things and some dry clothes p—" Preece jerked away the towel she offered to wield for him. He swiped at his knees, which seemed to only grow damper. He glanced up to find the chambermaid lewdly winking at him. Preece suppressed a groan. He knew that wink, and how a towel could make fabric wetter. "All right. Which chamber houses my belongings?" He started for the door. The bumbling maid scurried ahead of him. Once in the passageway she made a quick left, a right, then led him to one of the castle's many guest chambers. As soon as they were inside and the door securely closed behind them, Preece threw the towel against the wall in open disgust. "Bourke. Were you hoping to drown the fat throne-sitter?"

The stooped shoulders flared slightly. Sagging pendulous breasts shriveled and flattened, to be obscured by a flowing alabaster beard. The servant's apron elongated into a tattered ankle-length robe darkened with soot. The soot from a mage's hearth. "You've been away some time, boy. I knew you'd ride in, when I heard Dugan had been taken again." Preece scowled, pointing at his soggy boots and damp leggings . "You needn't have soaked me to announce your presence. I know your wink." Bourke shrugged shoulders so frail and thin as to be almost invisible beneath his robe. "You needed a good soaking after that display in the throne room. I've never known you to ill use a gentlewoman. Or your weapon." "Both my sword and the Yune maid are well enough." "Mayhap, but I suffered a bit." The old wizard thrust out a spindly forearm. A scabbed-over gash ran its length. "I was the chair!" Preece sighed and lowered his dark cowl. "Were you not so fond of following me about and using every possible guise to eavesdrop on matters which do not concern you, you'd not suffer these indignities. Remember the time the wild boar tried to mate with you on that hunt? Why don't you return to your cave and let me—" "I raised you from a dribbling youth, and unto this very moment, what endangers you concerns me!" Preece continued stripping off his clothing and mumbled a curse beneath his breath. There was little point in reminding the old sage that Preece was no longer a lad, but a man full grown . . . a man who hired out his blade to protect and fight for others. He was scarce in need of guarding himself. "Yunes are always unpredictable," Bourke warned in his rasping voice. "I took the precaution of casting spells upon these neck amulets. They render males immune to the girl's physical appeal." The wizard floated toward the ceiling and tried to sling a necklace around Preece's throat. Preece ducked with a hiss. "It's enough I wear these accursed ebon tunics with cowls. I won't wear the stinking hind part of a bat! I've no need of any lustbane. As Cronel pointed out, and you plainly overheard, I've encountered Yunes afore. This particular one is no different. She detests me. If she could have hefted my glaive, she'd have run me through with it." The wizard scrutinized Preece. "You did not find her attractive, pleasing to gaze upon? You felt naught at all when you lifted her from the floor?" Preece grunted negatively as he stretched out full length upon the bed, gloriously bare from head to toe. He was bone weary and impatient with the foolishness of other men. Yune females were accounted remarkably sensual, but Preece cared little for ogling women. Right now he felt grateful for the peace and quiet of this chamber and a soft bed. "You gathered her in your arms and handed her off to those royal pages," Bourke persisted. Was the mage never going to let this tiresome discussion end? "The maid had fallen to the floor. What should I have done, sent for a kitchen barrow? Maybe she can

ride in one to Greensward. Fie, of all the fool errands, being ordered to see the daughter of some baron delivered to her future husband in Greensward. And of all the realms, why that one? I hate all the ceaseless plowing and talk of grain." "She's not a baron's get, but the only child of Anthaal Fa." Preece ran a hand over his bare chest and considered this new fact. Lord Fa had been among Cronel's privy council members, an eminent ambassador. The girl with the flashing violet eyes was his daughter . . . interesting. Preece seemed to recall talk that Anthaal Fa married a Yune noblewoman of great beauty. The daughter should have inherited some of her mother's exotic allure. Yet Preece had not seen much to remark upon. At least not the factors men usually noted. Though he'd stubbornly denied any outstanding impression to Bourke, she'd appeared to almost glimmer. Ripple before his eyes. Surely because he was so overtired and vexed at having to rescue Dugan. Not because of the woman herself. "With that sharp tongue of hers, her father likely sought to transplant her as distant as possible from his own household." Preece recalled her taunt about his wits. Bourke shook his head. "She's not betrothed to some petty noble, but theprince regent . See you now how grave is your duty? Taking a Yune across Dredonia, the most inhospitable of realms, to marry royalty at Greensward Palace? No small task. You are certain . . . you do not find her in the least. . . beguiling?" Preece yawned. "Vexing, truth to tell. She likely has an even lower opinion of me. Her dislike was clear enough. And that was after encountering me with my cowl in place." He waved a hand, indicating his bare upper body. "Can you imagine what she would do, seeing what I truly am?" Were he not so dead tired, he might have let his lips quirk into a grin. He could picture the Yune ripping her skirts free and knocking aside every guardsman stationed between her and the castle gates in her haste to flee. The wizard hovered over Preece's bed. "Be ever vigilant, Warmonger. There are dangers greater than you suspect awaiting you." Preece drew the bed furs over his lower body and rolled onto his side, turning away from the wizard. Why didn't Bourke make himself part of the wall and let Preece get some much-needed rest? "Whatever they may be, I'll face them squarely. When has Cronel ever given me an easy challenge? He'll pay dearly, you may rely on that. He trusts no other knight with his delicate Yune goods, and few would attempt crossing the wastelands with her for any sum. But this sojourn will get me coin with which to outfit a vessel all the sooner. Go home to your cave, old one, and take your bat's rump with you. I'll be fine." "You'll be forever changed," came a rattling whisper. Preece rose up on his elbow and glanced around, ready to challenge that assertion. Bourke was gone. "He's been sniffing dead bats and evil concoctions too long," Preece assured himself under his breath. "Forever changed. As if I could get that lucky." He knew better. He'd be hiding under black cowls the rest of his days. Whatever aging a man might do wouldn't be enough to change him. He could not escape what he was, what he'd been born to. Trueblooded pure Waniand, and hated for

it.

Chapter 3 Moreya paced her bedchamber, frowning in consternation at her maid. Glaryd had been Moreya’s companion for many years, ever since her mother’s death. The older woman truly seemed more blood relation than servant, and had been known to disagree with Lord Fa in matters concerning the raising of his only child. Glaryd was plain spoken and occasionally rash of action. But never had she dared such as she'd done this night. Nor had there been a hint of penitence when she’d reported her deed to her mistress. As if Glaryd hadn't grossly overstepped her station by seeking out the enigmatic stranger beneath the cowl. "I cannot fathom that you dared approach him, let alone proceed to tell him how to carry out his assigned duty." Glaryd puffed out her already full bosom. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. Moreya recognized the signs. Glaryd would not apologize. "You've not been here since you were a child. You do not know this castle as I do. 'Tis a wicked place, Moreya, corrupt and debauched." Her voice lowered to a hiss. "From the throne itself downward through the ranks, even to the lowliest male serf. There is evil here. The hooded fellow was ordered to guard your chastity, and he shall begin this very eve, right outside yon chamber door. He and I agreed. Now pass me your brush, and I’ll see to your hair. No more tongue wagging." "No more tongue wagging?" Moreya repeated, both amused and astonished by the maid's gall. Glaryd hadn't used that particular admonition in some time. The last instance Moreya could recall was when she'd reported to her father that one of his retainers had searched for a missing serving ladle beneath a kitchen maid's skirts. "I'mnot the one carrying tales, Glaryd. Just what did you tell our great protector when you bid him sleep in the passageway? That you feared besiegers would choose tonight to attack the battlements?" Moreya plopped down atop one of their traveling chests and yelped when Glaryd nearly tore a chunk of hair loose with a fierce tug of the brush. "You do not understand the peril," Glaryd insisted. "'He did, only too well. Any man who'd spent a night or two within these walls knows. It's not the fortress at risk of being breached, but your maidenhead, and that shall not happen! My girl goes to her husband pure and unblemished." Moreya tried pointing out that she was perfectly safe, that King Cronel's edict was a trustier seal than the lock on any chastity belt. But her protests went unheeded. Glaryd merely lengthened her nightly prayer ritual, flopped onto her pallet, and began to snore. A vexed Moreya blew out the rushlights and stared morosely at the ceiling. Glaryd hadn’t been the same

since Anthaal Fa’s death. Of a certainty, neither was Moreya. But she worried that Glaryd had begun to suffer the addled wits of advancing age. To think some courtier would dare enter this chamber uninvited, intent upon . . . Lord of all Lords, it didn’t bear contemplation. 'Twas preposterous. Moreya was not the beauty her mother had been. Moreya didn't favor the gossamer, brilliant-hued gowns most Yune women wore. She chose instead simple garments in muted colors. She kept her gleaming gentian tresses—tresses considered rare by most standards—covered in the presence of strangers, and tried to blend unobtrusively into her surroundings. So far, she'd escaped the notice of nobles and fighting men. Except for the barbarian who'd deliberately speared her kirtle with his sword. And now Glaryd had . . . The woman must be mad, inviting him of all the available soldiers, to linger outside their portal! Having the Warmonger blocking her exit would hardly calm any maid's nerves. At supper in the great hall Moreya had overheard the gossip. Hushed whispers that Preece was no ordinaryman at all, but a fearsome, twisted creature from the depths of hell itself. Moreya had recognized two knights amongst the many seated at the long trestle tables. She recalled the pair from the confrontation in the throne room. They were Preece's men, yet he'd not been seated with them. Nor had she spotted him elsewhere in the hall during the meal. From the snatches of conversation around her, it became clear why he was conspicuously absent. The things other men said of him were truly appalling. They swore he wore the dark cowls to hide a grotesque deformity. One belched and vowed that in more than ten years, Preece had never dined with other guests at court. He took refreshments alone in his chambers. His food was delivered on a tray by some unlucky servant: whichever unfortunate serf had drawn the short twig from the kitchen broom. This night Glaryd had spared both broomstick and kitchen serf. She’d personally delivered the tray and requested her boon. Moreya hadn’t asked what foodstuffs had been on the Warmonger’s supper tray. She’d been afraid to find out. She’d nearly fallen off her own bench when an elder knight boasted he'd glimpsed Preece sans his usual cowl at a joust. The fellow averred that the Warmonger's mouth was located not over his chin, but in the middle of his brow. Every man at the table shuddered with revulsion. Several ladies threatened to faint. Moreya had held herself stiffly erect, feigning interest in her food, refusing to let anyone know she shamelessly listened to the gossip. But her appetite had deserted her. When a swaggering fellow remarked he knew for certain that the Warmonger fornicated like a beast, rutting in accordance with the cycles of the sixth moon, Moreya had bolted from her place, gone the way of her missing appetite. Now, though, Moreya doubted the stories. She would not be as gullible as Glaryd, suspecting every man beneath the castle roof was some evil monster. Besides, she’d clearly heard the Warmonger’s speech. It was clear and coherent, not slurred. And Preece's vision must be superior to that of most men, for despite his shadowy cowls, he rated amongst the best swordsmen in the realm. King Cronel himself had given Preece the moniker of Royal Blade. She had to stop this unpleasant musing. Images of a dark, misshapen ogre would hardly induce restful sleep. It was hard enough to settle herself in a strange bed and chamber. Particularly hard since she was faced with the dual losses of her father and the only home she'd ever known.

She sat up and swung her feet to the floor. She would send Preece away, back to his own chambers—which were hopefully located in an entirely separate, remote wing of the castle. Or mayhap he'd go off to sleep in the garrison, where he might arise early and see to preparations for their departure. Aye, that made more sense than him spending the night sitting up in the stone passageway. Moreya stepped over her sleeping maid. Fortunately, Glaryd was a sound sleeper. She’d rant and rail if she learned that Moreya had unbarred the door to dismiss their protector. It was best, and not as though Moreya set out to banish the fellow . . . exactly. Nay, she offered them both a chance to make a fresh start. They’d not met under the best of circumstances. This was her opportunity to remedy the situation. She would greet him courteously and attempt to establish a modicum of rapport, as her father would have encouraged. Lord Fa had taught her the most successful alliances oft began with simple acts of friendship. Friendship . Could Moreya offer that? She wasn't certain. She wasn't certain she could gird herself for what might be revealed beneath that cowl of his. Beyond that was the matter of her own history. Glaryd and Drix had been Moreya’s only friends—a maidservant and the captain of the house guard. Two friends in an entire lifetime. A painfully limited accounting; certainly no recommendation that Moreya was someone in whom a stranger should eagerly place his trust. But, in fairness, Moreya was being asked to trust him. Utterly and without question. He owed her at the very least a brief personal audience. The second she swung the door open, Preece shot to his feet and took up a warrior stance, sword upraised. Thankfully, the black cowl still obscured his head and face. Moreya cleared her throat. "I cannot rest with you out here, sir. My maid should not have summoned you. We are safe enough. You must be tired and—" "Your maid was right. You've neither sire nor brother to watch over you. I am charged with keeping you safe. There is no reason you should not rest. All is quiet. Return to your bed, Lady Fa Yune." She cocked her head, studying the dark cowl, trying to make out the general shape beneath it, the edge of a jaw or nose. "If someone came with malicious intent, you would not hesitate to slay him, would you? You would endanger your own life for mine. Because the king has asked it, or because he offered you coin?" "Both reasons you give are one and the same. Cronel will not accept fealty from a Waniand. I am only too happy to accept payment from the royal coffer. What he asks, I do. I would kill any man who seeks to harm you. Does this ease your mind?" "Ah, yes. You areWaniand ." Moreya had heard of the obscure race. They were said to be mystical

people. "Do you—forgive my boldness, but I do not understand. It has been said . . . Are you somehow in concert with the changes of the sixth moon? I'd heard a fellow claim as much about your bodily nature, but I doubt his assertion is true." There was a long silence. Did Preece simply stare at her? The cowl obscured his features completely. Peering closer, Moreya wondered if there wasn't yet another cloth beneath it, masking his face. She could make out nothing, not even the glimmer of an eye. Yet she felt his gaze on her, that wolfish gaze she realized again was both intense and troubling. This had been a poor idea, this attempt at reconciliation. She should have let sleeping beasts lie and never been so bold in her speech. Her father had oft complained it was one of her flaws, though hardly the worst. "Forgive me, sir." She stepped back to close the door. "I have no right to ask such questions, nor do they matter." "They do," he countered. "I was merely surprised you'd so candidly address the subject. I admire your courage. For the second time today." He admiredher courage? He made a strange sound, which she belatedly realized had been the rough clearing of his throat. His stiff posture had not changed, but he was likely as chagrined as she at the decidedly odd turn their conversation had taken. "Nay, Lady Fa Yune, I am not in concert with the sixth moon. Nor the first, nor the third. My seasons vary. There is no danger of one at present, nor by the time we reach Greensward. That is why Cronel entrusted you into my care." Moreya really could not fathom what he'd said beyond the last of his words. No one but Glaryd and her father had spoken of caring for her. The Warmonger’s clipped words were strangely comforting, even when uttered from beneath a dark cowl. "Do you know the other knights say you do not dine in the great hall because you are . . . different? Mayhap you stay away purposely to set tongues wagging. You like making people wary of you, I suspect." "Indeed, and with good reason. I am Waniand, a warrior. The king’s blade. Go to bed, my lady." "Do you mean to call me that for a fortnight, sir?" The cowl dipped in assent. Moreya frowned up at the pinnacle of black cloth. "I would hope that by journey's end, we might become friends, Sir Preece. After all, I must place faith in you. I would have you understand that I did not know whom I'd encountered at first this afternoon, or I'd not have spoken so rashly. I beg your forgiveness, and pray you come to trust that I mean neither harm nor disrespect." She leaned closer, adamantly shaking her head. "I do not accept their sordid tales of a monster hidden 'neath your cowl. Truly, I've no need of you here, but you may stay if you prefer to stand guard. Good evening."

She thrust out her right hand. He ignored it. "You are to ride in a closed carriage with your maid. My men and I will guard it and the pack animals bearing your dowry and household goods. Dredonia is not a welcoming realm, but with precautions, I hope to forestall trouble. The first precaution is to train you not to make overtures to strange men, Lady Fa." A broad smile lit her face. "But you are not a strange man. You are the Warmonger. Sleep well, sir." She shut the door and scurried back into bed, feeling tremendous relief. He’d wanted to take her hand. She'd sensed his hesitation. Would he have kissed it? Surely not, for then she’d have to feel his lips brush her skin. He'd not risk that. Not yet. But he wanted to clasp it. Moreya just knew he did. He'd blustered instead, endeavoring to prove himself worthy as her defender. Moreya released a small giggle. The dark knight called Preece was all her father had said of him, naught of what the gossips maligned. She'd descried a secret: the ferocious Warmonger was a decent, honorable man. She was very glad she'd opened the door to speak with him, for she doubted his prowess as warrior not one whit. But she also knew he was no slathering beast. He harbored no malice toward her. In fact, she would almost go so far as to suspect he liked her. That thought brought sleep easily.

The door to the woman's bedchamber shut. Preece collapsed with his back against it. He slid to the floor and wiped a hand over his head, allowing the oversize cowl to tilt back enough to admit a draught of cool air. He felt as though he'd climbed a glacier. His chest hitched with every breath. He'd seriously misjudged the situation here. Misjudged the Yune female. In the throne room, she'd worn a shapeless gown he couldn't even describe, beyond the recollection it was some drab brown or wheaten shade. He'd run his sword through her skirts, yet he couldn't now name the precise hue of them. He'd scoffed at the rumors about Yune women, refused Bourke's amulet, assured himself and everyone else there was no cause for concern. Then she'd opened her chamber door and unleashed a maelstrom. The faint glow he'd detected in the throne room emanated from a magnificent head of gleaming violet hair. It spilled down over her shoulders and waist, reaching clear to the back of her knees. The gleaming mantle matched her iridescent eyes. Which he'd mistaken for gray that afternoon. Ha! Never gray, not even blue, but a remarkable deep violet. Amethyst and crystalline. Warm-cold as the gems themselves. Her flesh was not peachy like that of most Yunes, mayhap owing to her father's Glacian blood. But her shape was lithe and willowy, wraithlike and supple. He had only to close his eyes and he could see and hear her again. Asking his forgiveness, standing there with her hand extended. Even though sheknew . She knew what he was. She'd asked about his cycle. She'd stood there and smiled, saying she hoped

they might become friends. Women who were not of his blood did not treat him thusly. They did not offer friendship and smiles. Nay, they cowered, whispered behind their hands, looked elsewhere, pretended they did not see the black cowl. This he'd come to accept. Just as he'd come to accept the markedly different lore of his race, the rigid rules of his existence. The Ancient Ones left tablets and scrolls behind. Mystic tomes filled with sacred cabals, rites and rituals, the mysteries of the olden ways. Preece had studied Waniand lore and understood the arcane ways of his race. So by all natural order, this should not be happening to him. Not now . . . and not with this noble female. She was young and mayhap foolish, green to the ways between females and males. He was not. He'd find a way to quell his fascination. He would not permit himself to indulge in unseemly thoughts. Thoughts of how she'd stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the torchlights in the passageway, holding out her hand to him. Smiling with her lips and eyes as the tips of her breasts pressed against her thin gown. How they and her gleaming mantle of flowing tresses had all but begged for a male's caressing touch. He should not have even been aware of such things out of season. That he had now, he could only proclaim as the woman's own fault. Had she no sense of proper decorum, no maidenly coyness? Damn her. If only she hadn't sought him out, hadn't smiled at him. Hadn't stood there,glowing . But she had. And he did not sleep a wink that night for remembering.