Chapter 4
Gerold glared at the purple bruise on his left side. Gritting his teeth, he began to wrap the area, pulling tight the binding. When finished, he stood slowly, lifting sword and shield, turning from side to side. Although painful, Gerold felt he’d be able to function well enough to carry his weight on the field of battle the next day. He still needed to find the mysterious soldier. Neither Stephen nor Marcus had witnessed those final minutes of swordplay.
Resuming his place on the ground, Gerold cursed the visions for his lack of sleep that distracted him from a coming blow he had barely been able to counter earlier in the day. As a result, he now had a large bruise and perhaps a few cracked ribs. He, who was always so quick to strike and block, had been hammered like a novice. If Marcus had not stepped in and driven the attacker back, Gerold would not have had that final encounter.
He had not been aware of the injury until tonight, so caught up in his desire to inflict as much damage to his foes, all other thoughts or hurts meant nothing. Marcus had given Gerold a chance to catch the breath of air he’d expelled when the blow landed, and continue to fight.
As he tried to relax, Gerold’s thoughts returned to the events at day’s end when he’d met with the wielder of the shining blade. The actions of the blade and its bearer still perplexed him. Why had the enemy turned away? Did he think Gerold’d received a deathblow? Did the fact that he must have unconsciously favored his injured side play on the enemy’s sense of honor? Northmen had no honor. How could they, after killing... Gerold stopped that thought. None of his enemy’s actions made any sense.
Tired of thinking about it, Gerold decided to let time bring him answers to his questions. Lying back with a sigh of relief, he pulled his covering over himself. Before he closed his eyes, he glanced over and saw Marcus and Stephen were already sleeping.
• ♥ •
His shivering plucked him from sleep. The night had turned cold and blustery. Gerold stretched, his ribs rebelling against the movement. As he emerged from his covering, a blast of air from the north made his teeth chatter. He had hoped that one of the other two would rise and build up the fire, but when he heard the two ordering each other, he’d given up that hope.
“Marcus,” Stephen ordered from beneath his covering, “build up the fire.”
“Build it up yourself,” Marcus called back, “you should have been up, since you had guard duty.”
“That was two hours ago,” Stephen countered. “The weather was fine and fire going well, how was I to know?”
“If it will shut you two up...” Gerold snarled at the two, still wrapped in their blankets. Grabbing his blade, he moved off to gather more fuel.
Stepping away from the meager warmth, he walked quietly toward the trees, eyes casting about, making sure no one was about. Slowly, holding his ribs and using his blade for balance, Gerold reached down for a broken branch. Lifting the branch, he spotted a pair of green eyes staring at him.
Dropping the branch, Gerold lifted his weapon, a shout starting in the back of his throat. A hand shot out from the vision, the eyes entreating quiet. Gerold relaxed slightly, eyes casting side to side, checking for others from his dreams—for dream he thought it was.
The tall, lithe ghost cloaked in white moved toward him. As it moved closer, Gerold beheld a woman, a beautiful image moving in the cold starlight, her beauty hammering against him. His visions had never been this stunning, this realistic.
As she moved, Gerold’s mind told him that she was real, but his eyes saw her floating toward him. She paused mere inches from him, her head just above his shoulders. He was a tall man, but this vision was his equal.
With a smile, the woman’s hands rose to cup Gerold’s face, her lips hovering over his. The feel of those strong hands was terrifying and comforting, holding him in place. Then, when Gerold believed she would vanish, the woman leaned in, placing soft lips on his. His stomach muscles contracted, quivered. His arms dangling at his side as the shock of her kissing touch paralyzed him.
He, who had not feared any warrior, did not know what to do, for the kiss was real. The vision was real. His body wanted more, wanted to deepen the kiss, wanted to take whatever she would give, and more.
Gerold began to return the kiss, only to have reality set in. He tried to back away. The hands holding his face tightened their grip, holding him in place. The feelings that stirred in Gerold’s mind struggled against the pull of the siren’s call of her kiss. The call won out, Gerold lifted his arms to encircle her waist, giving his all to answer her demand. Reality disappeared for Gerold, feelings and needs he’d only just heard and dreamed about came flooding into his being.
Two sets of eyes watched, each one smiling for a different reason. Each as unaware of the other, as the two in front of them were unaware of the world around them. Each setting in motion that which would change the lives of so many.
“Why?” Gerold asked as they broke apart, the same word coming from the vision in a low throaty voice.
The soft sound of her voice startled Gerold even more than the green eyes had done earlier in the day. With a deep breath that again caught on the pain in his side, Gerold bowed slightly, saying “You first, Lady.”
His words tugged a soft laugh from her before she answered. “You will find, I am no lady,” then she continued, “I came to find why a warrior of your stature froze.”
“How did you know...” Gerold began, then he focused on the woman’s eyes. He straightened. “So you could use it against me?” Gerold countered. All thoughts of the passion of the kiss forgotten. No, not forgotten. He didn’t think he would ever forget. His normal vigilance simply re-exerted itself as he realized this woman and the warrior with the green eyes were one and the same.
“I did not when I had the chance earlier, did I?” she retorted, veiling the fact that the blade she had held would not allow her to strike this man. She wanted to know what about him stopped the blade; she wondered how kissing him would explain. She couldn’t understand why she had kissed him, but she did not regret having done so.
Gerold knew she was being truthful, just not telling the complete truth. Her arrival and actions puzzled him. Was this part of the visions, part of what he had seen? The words of the Spectre still echoed in his head. Would she understand, would she fathom how they were affecting him? If he could not explain, or understand, how could she?
To postpone having to answer, he posed a question of his own. “I would like to know who I am addressing, since you seem to know me.”
“I am called Annika,” she answered, adding, “and you are Gerold the Invincible.”
“Annika,” he repeated, her name flowing easily on his tongue. In the predawn light, he saw she had red-gold hair, exactly like his vision. Why would he see a warrior, especially one whose sole purpose was to kill him? That she had not still puzzled him.
“Why did you freeze?” Annika asked again.
“Your eyes reminded me of someone,” Gerold hedged. It was a partial truth. Her eyes did remind him of someone. It was not just the eyes in his vision, but something tenuous, a thread he was powerless to find.
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.”
“I see.” She lied. Annika could see the uncertainty in his eyes as he tried to answer her question. She came to learn why but instead, she only had more questions. Foremost was why she was drawn to this man. There was something familiar she could not quite define.
“Why did you not strike me down when you had the opportunity?” Gerold countered with his own question. “Surely, striking me down would have been—”
“You reminded me of someone I’d thought a lot of,” Annika quickly interrupted, face flushing.
Of all the things Gerold might have expected from her, those words were not a remote possibility.
“Someone you knew?” Gerold asked.
“Yes,” Annika answered, shoulders squared, looking Gerold in the eyes. “I have fond memories of him, and still dream about our childhood.”
Night was waning, and Gerold heard the others stirring. Looking at Annika, he saw she was also aware. She moved away, slipping through the growing light. He heard her say as she slid away, “It could not be him, could it?”
Gerold called, “Could what?” but received no answer.
“Where’s the wood you were going to gather?” Marcus asked as he came through the trees.
Gerold turned to his friend, face struggling to resume its usual bearing, but it was difficult. “The wood is right there. I was thinking about today and what our enemy might be planning.” He hedged, for now that Annika was gone, new pictures were flying through his mind.