Page 52 of Her Rogue Viking

“Jarl, you must come at once.” Dgar burst through the door of the longhouse, out of breath, his face red from running. “A slave is missing.”

Ulfric stood and reached for his cloak. “Missing? Do you mean escaped? Which one?” He knew the answer to that already, but for appearances’ sake…

“Taranc, the Celt. The tall one, brown hair…”

“Yes, yes, I know the man.” He was aware of Fiona’s horrified gasp behind him. “What steps have you taken to find him?”

“I have sent men to check along the coast, and?—”

“That will be futile. He is no sailor, and has no access to a ship. The man will head inland in search of food and a place to shelter. Send the hunting party east.”

“Into the mountains?”

“That would be my guess. Do it. Now.”

“Ulfric, please… what will happen to him?” Fiona wrung her hands, her features ashen. “Please, do not hurt him.”

He offered her a wry smile. “I would have to catch him first.”

Of course, the searches achieved nothing. Not a trace was discovered, either inland or along the coastal route. Taranc was gone, and Ulfric took what he hoped would pass for a philosophical view of the matter. He had to work rather harder at seeming suitably distraught when his sister failed to return from her foraging trip. He arranged his features accordingly and dispatched men to search the meadows and surrounding woodland for any trace of her, and even sent to Bjarkesholm seeking news. None had seen her. The last definite sighting was the previous evening when, as was her habit, Brynhild checked their livestock before retiring to her bed. When her pallet was empty in the morning no one considered that amiss since she had made her plans known.

Ulfric considered that detail a stroke of good fortune, and not one he could have counted upon. As it was, he could be reasonably confident that Taranc had several hours’ start on his pursuers, and since the horse Ulfric had left conveniently tethered just out of sight of the track leading to Hafrsfjord wasno longer there when he checked, he had to assume Taranc had made use of the mount. The missing slave could expect to be at the harbour by that afternoon, and embarking on the short voyage across the North Sea by nightfall.

The fisherman, Eiliefr, had driven a hard bargain, but he had eventually agreed a price for the use of his craft and his silence. Ulfric had done all he could for the fugitives, and now their fate lay in the hands of the gods.

“It is a coincidence,is it not, that they both disappeared on the same night. Surely, Taranc will not have…?” Fiona lay in their bed, her features troubled, then she answered her own question. “No, he would never do such a thing. He would not harm a woman, whatever the circumstances.”

“We have no cause to connect the two events,” Ulfric sought to reassure her. The last thing he needed was for such speculation to spread. “I suspect your Celtic friend to be long gone, but Brynhild might yet be found safe and well. We must not abandon hope.”

“No, of course not. I know she was… difficult, but I would not wish her harm. And Njal is heartbroken.”

Yes, his son’s grief was very real and Ulfric regretted the need for it. Njal had adored his aunt and he knew Brynhild loved the little boy dearly. “I hope we shall be able to provide comfort for him through the days and weeks ahead.”

“Of course. I will do all I can to help, you know that.”

Ulfric nodded, grateful for Fiona’s support. Now, somehow, he needed to rebuild his family. And convince himself that his actions really were for the best.

13

Fiona pulled on her warm leather sandals and tied them around her feet. The heat from the small fire in the sleeping chamber cheered her spirits, not least because spring was already softening the harsh features of the landscape surrounding Skarthveit. She longed for the return of the sunshine, had found the almost unrelenting darkness of the winter months depressing and hard to bear. Matters had not been helped by Njal’s misery at the loss of his beloved aunt, and even now, several months later, he still asked after her frequently.

Fiona remained mystified by Brynhild’s disappearance. It was possible, of course, for a person to be dragged away by wolves or even brigands, but there had been no sightings, no other losses reported by other settlements up and down the coast. She half-expected a ransom demand, had suggested as much to Ulfric, but none came. There was nothing, no clue at all as to the Viking woman’s whereabouts.

She emerged from behind the curtain into the main room to find Njal waiting for her, his eager little face bearing the remains of hisdagmal.

He sprang up from his seat at the huge table. “Come, it is time to go. We must be quick, while it is still warm enough to swim.”

Welcome though it was, Fiona considered the spring thaw to amount to nothing remotely resembling suitable weather for swimming, but the boy had begged her to accompany him to the small inland lake about two miles from Skarthveit. She had reluctantly agreed, but on condition he did not expect her to dip more than a toe in the water. So they had struck a bargain, and she was committed.

Two of Ulfric’s men were to accompany them as her Viking had not forgotten his brother’s warning about the continuing threats from the Bjarkesson homestead. All had been quiet over the winter months, since as Ulfric pointed out, even blood feuds required some daylight in order to be pursued well. But with the onset of warmer weather he fully anticipated the resumption of hostilities and he saw no reason to court danger.

Ulfric appeared through the door and fixed the pair of them with his sternest expression. “You will remain at the lake for no longer than an hour. I shall expect to see you back here by mid-afternoon, well before it starts to drop dark again.” He paused. “Maybe you should postpone this excursion until a day when I can come with you…”

“No, please, we have to go today. The lake could freeze again and—” Njal hopped from one foot to the other and summoned up his most pleading expression.

“We shall be fine.” Fiona kissed Ulfric’s mouth. “I have my slingshot with me, and your men are armed. We shall return in plenty of time, I promise.” Then, before he could find further objections, she hustled the excited little boy outside to join their escort.

The lake was even colderthan she had imagined. Fiona endured just a few minutes of paddling and hated every moment of it but Njal seemed oblivious to the icy temperatures as he danced and splashed in the shallow waters at the edge. Fiona absolutely forbade him to venture further, and he was still sufficiently mindful of his dipping in the fjord that he was happy enough to obey. Fiona had been glad of the chance to grant him this day out; it would help to strengthen the fragile relationship she was working to build with her Viking’s son. The boy had lost his mother suddenly a little over two years previously, and now his aunt was gone also. He was naturally reluctant to become attached to a third woman in his life, preferring to spend as much time as he could with his father. Ulfric was tolerant and patient, but both he and Fiona were convinced that Njal needed a mother.

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