Page 87 of Shared By the Vikings

She continued to watch from her position. The bells rang out, not the usual quiet, gentle sound, but one of panic and desperation and with no apparent rhythm. She chuckled. Did they really think bells would scare Viking warriors away?

A movement to her right, in the small wooden room, caught her attention.

She stood, dropped her bow to her side, and stepped toward it. Perhaps there was some special treasure in there she could claim as her own. If so, she may be able to use it to make some peace with her father.

Glancing at Tali, she stepped into the gloom. It appeared to be a grain store. Sacks were piled high against the wall and there was an earthy scent in the dusty air.

A mouse scurried past her foot as she went deeper inside. A crack of light came from a hatch in the floor and a winch and rope stood next to it.

There was a rustle to her right; she moved toward it, bow raised and arrow aimed and ready.

Crouched behind a fat grain sack was a small man. He didn’t look more than fifteen summers and like the others his head was shaved into a shiny disk. His brows were dark and his eyes sparkled with fear. He clasped his hands flat together, the tips of his fingers on his chin, and stared up at Ingrid.

“What is your name?” she demanded, steadying her stance, ready for anything. Her bicep was taut as she pulled on the bow.

He babbled fast, a long stream of foreign words all jumbled together.

“I do not know what you are saying,” she said in her own tongue. “Name.”

He closed his eyes tight, sending small lines shooting toward his temples.

“Where is the treasure in here?” she asked.

He continued to mumble against his fingers. His shoulders trembled and his breaths were coming fast.

“Ingrid, where are you?” Tali’s voice.

A wave of panic went through her. There was anger and fear in his tone.

She looked around, hoping to find some good excuse for leaving the post he’d set her at.

“Ingrid!” Heavy footsteps. He was marching along the wooden footway to the grain store. “Where are you? For the love of Freya, woman, you...” The doorway fell into shadow. A shard of sunlight from a crack in the roof glinted off his raised sword.

Quickly Ingrid grabbed an empty sack. She shook it out and dropped it over the cowering man, covering his head and shoulders.

“I am here,” she said, spinning.

“You were told to stay.” He stepped forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing around the store. “You were told not to move.”

“I thought I heard something in here and—”

“What do you not understand about obeying us?” he roared and slashed his sword to the side, cutting through a sack of grain. The contents avalanched onto the floor, skittering around his feet. “I have been entrusted with your safety and in turn I trusted you to stay put on that walkway.”

“I haven’t gone far.”

“You were supposed to stay in my sight.” He slashed another sack, then another and another. Dust motes spiraled upward, the echoes of his angry words dancing with them.

“I am here now.” She lowered her bow and arrow and forced herself not to look over her shoulder.

“Ja, I have found you, but I have not forgotten this disobedience, Ingrid. The fright you put in my heart when you were not where I left you cannot be overlooked.”

A whimper came from behind her.

Quickly she rushed up to Tali.

“What was that?” he asked, looking past her with narrowed eyes.

“Mice, there’s lots in here, you’ve disturbed them with all your banging and shouting.”

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