Chapter Eight
An unaccustomed restlessness beset him of late. Nyle paused on the cliff top and gazed out across the rolling waves. Just a few weeks ago he had been quite determined not to put to sea ever again unless it was to find his way back to his own shores. Now, he was less certain.
He had found a welcome here at Agnartved and it had been a joy beyond imagining to be reunited with his twin and their little sister. Bowdyn was surly still, but Nyle fancied he detected a softening in his brother’s resolve to loathe all Vikings with equal intensity. Certainly, he had not seemed so ill disposed toward Kristin the previous night when Nyle had overheard the two conversing. Had he not known better, Nyle might have mistaken them for friends. Lovers, even?
Certainly, Nyle himself entertained distinctly lover-like thoughts regarding the Viking woman. He had been drawn to her on first sight and his regard had not diminished in the slightest on becoming better acquainted. He had wanted her from the moment he tumbled on top of her in that boathouse in Ravnsklif. Nyle was inclined to suspect that his brother desired her too, though Bowdyn would die rather than admit to such a thing. Nyle was not fooled. Sooner or later his brother would come to his senses, and then they would clash over Kristin Lofnsdottir.
It would be better, surely, if they were to leave here. Bowdyn had declared it his wish to return to England, and Nyle should go with him. That would be the most obvious course to take. They could return to their farm on the edge of the North Sea, tend the graves of their parents, and do their best to scrape a living from the ungenerous soil. It would be hard work, but neither was scared of that.
He considered approaching Kristin to ask her to provide passage home for them. She could easily do so once her vessel was seaworthy. Nyle allowed himself a wry grin. She would exact a decent price for the crossing. Kristin would always drive a hard bargain, but they could probably persuade Mathios to meet the cost.
He should feel more enthusiasm for returning to his old home. Had he not hankered for it these last three years? But now…?
When faced with the very real prospect, Nyle acknowledged the fact that he no longer harboured any desire to be a farmer. He had left Cynwrig, not by his own choice, but he had left anyway and there was no going back. He wanted… something different.
He had told himself he hated the sea, but he was wrong. The ocean drew him, called to him. Her moods, her capricious nature enthralled and intrigued him. Nyle longed to feel the swell and roll of the waves beneath his feet but to do so as a free man in control of his own destiny and on a journey of his choosing. He’d glimpsed something of other lands from within the hull of his master’s ship, lashed to his oar, but not enough. There was more, so much more to see, to explore, to discover. His thirst for travel gnawed at him and he would never again be satisfied with the life of a farmer tied to one patch of dirt.
He pulled his cloak around him and turned for home, or what passed for home now. Below him, the settlement of Agnartved sprawled. The buildings were low, clustered together around pens that held the villagers’ livestock. Pigs, goats, a cow or two, and everywhere chickens pecked and squawked. The village relied on their livestock for their food, especially in winter. The karls grew crops too, but Agnartved nestled against the small harbour that was its lifeblood. Seafaring was in the Vikings’ blood, whether for war or more peaceful expeditions. They were good at it.
Mathios’ dragon ships had been dragged up onto the beach, and various smaller trading ships bobbed at anchor. Soon, Kristin and Merewyn’s knarr would join them.
Smoke seeped through the thatched roofs and the voices of the villagers drifted on the wind as people went about their daily tasks. He spotted Mathios and Merewyn walking toward their dwelling. They were arm in arm, Mathios’ two sons bounding ahead of them. Nyle adored his sister, and he envied her her certainty that she had found her place in the world, the place she would stay and make her home.
He found himself ambling in the direction of the stables. He had not consciously decided to seek out Bowdyn but did so anyway. It had always been thus, whenever he was confused or troubled. Bowdyn was not always a fount of sage wisdom, far from it, but he had a way of helping Nyle to see things more clearly. He found his brother crouching beside a mare that had gone lame.
Nyle paused in the doorway to the barn. “Is there a problem?”
Bowdyn glanced up at him. “Some bruising. It will heal.” He straightened. “There’s a salve our mother used to make. Merewyn said she would prepare some for me…”
“I just saw her, with Mathios.”
“I will speak with her later.” Bowdyn walked over to a bucket that contained water. He used a tin cup to scoop some up and drank it, then offered the cup to Nyle. “So, what brings you here?”
“I was thinking…”
Bowdyn sent a wry look his way. Amusement twinkled in his ebony eyes. “I do not advise you to make a habit of it, brother. The last time you indulged in a spot of thinking it resulted in the pair of us running for our lives after we tumbled the blacksmith’s youngest daughter in his own barn.”
Nyle grinned. “Aye, but it was worth it. She was called Bessie and she had the most glorious tits as I recall.”
Bowdyn hauled a tangle of leather harness into his arms. “She did, I grant you that.”
“I wonder what happened to her. She was not taken by the Vikings.”
“She will be wed, no doubt, to some strapping plough hand and she’ll have given him a half dozen fine babies.” Bowdyn dropped his burden onto the ground and dragged a low stool over in readiness for settling down to oil the tackle.
“Will she remember us, do you think?”
Bowdyn eyed him more carefully now. “Who? Bessie?”
“Aye.”
“What has brought on this sudden burst of nostalgia, Nyle? Do you want to go home?”
Nyle shrugged. “Do you?”
“Maybe. The farm is still ours by rights. The land…”
“I have no interest in digging up turnips or planting corn.”
Bowdyn paused in smearing the leather trappings with linseed oil he had liberated from Kristin’s boat-building project. Nyle well recalled the exchange when his brother had sauntered up to the new boat and demanded a jug of the oil for the purpose of making the reins and straps more supple and kinder to the animals in his care. The Norsewoman had thought him odd but had shrugged and given him what he asked for. The Vikings were expert seafarers but knew next to nothing about the care of the squat little beasts that passed as horses here.
“Nor do I,” replied Bowdyn after a thoughtful pause.
Nyle was relieved to hear it, and not especially surprised. “So, what then?”
Now it was Bowdyn’s turn to shrug. “We could remain here.”
“We could,” agreed Nyle. “But I have no particular desire to do that either.”
“No. Nor do I.” Bowdyn set the leather straps aside and gave his brother his undivided attention. “If we do not go home, and we do not choose to stay here, where shall we go?”
“I want to travel, to explore. I wish to sail, to find whatever is out there…” He swung his arm in the general direction of the beach and harbour. “I lost my freedom once, and almost lost my life. Both are infinitely precious to me now and I want to use them to the full.”
“I understand that. I feel the same, though perhaps less acutely than do you, brother. I believe I might join you on your travels, at least for a while.”
That was what Nyle had hoped for. “I thank you and I would be glad of your company. But what is your dream, brother? Now that our past no longer matters and our future stretches unknown before us, what do you long for?”
Bowdyn stood and walked over to one of the ponies, a sweet-natured little mare he had called Bracken as her brown coat put him in mind of the moorlands of Northern England. He stroked her long forehead as she nuzzled his thigh in search of the apple he often had secreted about him. “I find I enjoy the company of horses. I should like to breed them, fine animals with strong backs and swift legs. I had considered suggesting as much to Mathios.”
“Aye, well, I expect he would listen.”
“He would, but there is no hurry. That is something to come back to. First we should address the matter of your wanderlust.”
“I have an idea.”
Bowdyn planted himself upon his stool again but did not return to the task of oiling the tackle. Instead, his gaze was unwavering as he regarded his brother. “Why does that not surprise me? Go on.”
“We should throw in our lot with Merewyn and Kristin. When Kristin Lofnsdottir sails from here in search of trade and a decent profit, we should go with her.”
Bowdyn laughed out loud. “You are quite mad, my brother. I fear that woman hit you harder than any of us realised.”
Nyle grinned. “Your confidence is touching but think about it. Merewyn is our sister; it is our duty, is it not, to look out for her interests? And you have said often enough that you do not trust Kristin.”
“It is not that I mistrust her, exactly…”
“Then what?”
“I suppose I find myself baffled by her. She is like no other female I have known.”
“Do you think she will make a success of this venture of theirs if she sails alone?”
“She may, but there will be difficulties and dangers. It will certainly be hard for her and I do fear for her safety.”
“Exactly. She needs us, and we owe it to our sister to protect her investment. So, shall we go and talk to Kristin, then?”
* * *
Kristin said nothing as she swung her gaze from one dark-haired brother to the other and back again. They are fine-looking men, these Celts, she allowed. ‘Tis a pity they are as lack-witted as they are handsome.
“Are you sure?” queried Merewyn, who stood at her side. “Are you really saying that you want to sail with Kristin? As her crew?”
Kristin decided she had been silent long enough. Ever direct, she saw no point in allowing this madness to take root. “You are not seafarers. Nor are you traders. What use would you be to me?”
Merewyn started to protest but Nyle wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “Allow me to plead our case, sister. I am sure that Kristin will see the merit in what we suggest, once she properly understands what we have to offer her.”
Kristin’s lower body clenched. There was, indeed, much that these ebony-eyed males might have to offer her, but she failed to see how such sensual delights might serve to swell her trading profits. She folded her arms and waited to be underwhelmed.
Seemingly undaunted by her glare, Nyle pressed on. “We are aware of your experience in dealing with your fellow merchants and none would question your ability to strike an astute deal. But am I not correct in saying that you have never actually been to sea?”
“That is of no consequence,” retorted Kristin, though in truth this was a matter that had troubled her more than a little as she prepared to embark on her first great adventure. She would overcome it by seeking Mathios’ advice in the best karls to take as her crew, those with experience of the sea and all her vagaries and with skills in navigation and in handling a trading knarr. She would also require men who were strong and courageous, yet ready to be led by a woman. She was not about to relinquish mastery of her vessel to another. “I shall pay men to sail with me, and—”
Nyle nodded his agreement. “Paid men, yes, we shall need some. But you need partners too, those who hold a stake in your voyage and the success of your endeavours. Our sister is your partner, and we shall be as well.”
“I have quite sufficient partners, I am sure.”
“Do you have partners with years of seafaring experience? Partners who know how to bring a vessel through a storm, who can anticipate the weather, raise a sail, turn it into the wind to gain the greatest speed?”
“Do you lay claim to such skill? You were an oar slave, not master of a sailing vessel.”
“When my life depended upon it, I made it my business to be able to handle the craft, which was the only thing standing between me and meeting my maker. I know the seas, I can read the stars to ascertain my position on the ocean. You may be sure I will not be found wanting.”
Kristin was inclined to believe that he would not, though her interpretation of Nyle’s specific abilities was somewhat different from those he had just described. She turned her gaze upon Bowdyn.
“And you? What is your claim?”
Bowdyn quirked his lip in a manner she found quite intriguing. He really was a most attractive man, despite his arrogance and heavy palm. She dismissed that heady memory, it was in the past and best not spoken of. Nyle might be the least stern of the two, but she was hard pressed to determine which of the brothers drew her the most powerfully, not that this had any relevance to the matter in hand.
“Your countrymen frequently descend unannounced and uninvited, their intent to murder and to rob. For such a mission it is not necessary to speak to your victims, merely to overpower them. However, you intend to trade and for this you will need to converse with those you meet. We can both speak the language of the Celts, the Saxons too.”
“It is not my intention to restrict my trading voyages to just those territories occupied by Celts or Saxons.”
“Of course not, but it is a start. You will also require men ready to fight. Not all those you meet will be peaceful, we can attest to that. Who better to align themselves alongside you than those with an interest in your fortunes which goes beyond mere wages?”
“Bowdyn is right,” put in Merewyn. “We would all be partners and you would be surrounded by those you could rely upon. Mathios always says that there is nothing more precious than kin, none that you can rely upon with more confidence.”
“They are your kin. Not mine.”
“You split hairs, Kristin. My brothers are your brothers.”
Hardly. Her responses to either man could not be described as the least bit sisterly.
Still, the basic point was well made. Bowdyn and Nyle would wish to see their sister prosper and her own fortunes were inextricably bound up with those of Merewyn.
“You are freed thralls, not warriors. Have either of you ever handled a sword?”
“Swordsmanship can be learned. There is time to hone our skills before we leave.”
“Yes, and Mathios would help. Olav too.” Merewyn beamed at Kristin. “Please. Please say you will at least consider this plan. You will be better protected than you would be as a woman traveling alone. I should be less concerned for you while I wait at home.”
Kristin gave an exasperated snort. “How can this work. We do not even like one another.”
“Not quite true,” countered Nyle. “I like you well enough and you have no cause to take against me. As for him,” he jerked his thumb toward his brother, “Bowdyn sees the sense in this and is willing to set aside any differences between you and him for the sake of our shared interests. We can let go of the past and work together for a future which benefits all of us. You are an intelligent woman, you know that we are right.”
“I am not so sure…”
“This discussion is over,” asserted Bowdyn. “It is our right and our responsibility to accompany you. You need to be protected, not to mention we must look out for our sister’s interests. We will sail with you, and that is the end of the matter.”
“I—”
“See?” Nyle wrapped an arm about her shoulders and before Kristin was able to get another word out or wriggle free he had dropped a kiss on her hair. “This will work. You have only to throw in your lot with us and we will all gain from it.”
She bestowed her best glower on him. “I thought I warned you of the consequences should you lay your hands on me again.”
Nyle laughed and hugged her tighter. “I shall try to remember that. Now, you may tell us all there is to know about this fine ship of ours.”
* * *
Kristin crouched beside the skeletal hull of her precious knarr and examined the fresh-hewn timbers. She had specified only the finest pine be used and though she had no cause to doubt the skills of the boat builders at Agnartved, it was ever her habit to check. Satisfied that all seemed to be in order, she rose and made her way around to the other side to complete her scrutiny. She laid her hand on the planks and caressed the hull as she might a lover. Certainly, she felt considerably more affection for this vessel than she had for her late husband. This boat represented her future, her hopes, her dreams. It meant everything to her.
“I returned your oil.”
Kristin startled at the voice behind her. So engrossed was she in her inspection that she had not seen Bowdyn’s approach. She turned to scowl at him. “Leave it over there.”
The Celt made no move to obey her. Instead, he regarded the half-built vessel with a distinctly appraising eye and started to stroll around it.
“What are you doing? I told you to leave the oil and go.” Her tone was sharper than she intended. Her words, too. What was it about this man that brought out her waspish side?
Bowdyn barely acknowledged her command and showed no sign at all that he might heed it. And after all, why should he? He was a free man, his status here somewhat ambiguous but certainly he was no thrall to be ordered about. She must try to remember that since her business prospects relied upon harmonious relationships between herself and those she now found herself allied to, however incongruous those links might be.
“What are you doing? Is there something I can do for you?” She attempted a more diplomatic approach but feared it had fallen short.
At last Bowdyn turned his attention to her. “For me? No, I do not believe so.” Despite his words, he took the time to rake her person with his eyes in a manner Kristin found both disconcerting and intriguing. A flicker of… something… flared within her when at last his dark eyes met hers. “I merely thought to acquaint myself with our progress. How long, do you think, before she is ready to embark on our first voyage?”
“A month at most.”
He nodded. “Good.” At last he deposited the jug of oil on a workbench beside the boat and offered her a small bow as he made to leave.
“Wait.” Kristin had no idea what drove her to delay him.
Bowdyn neither, by the quizzical expression on his features. He turned back but said nothing. Waiting.
“I just…” Kristin took a couple of paces toward him. “You are eager to be at sea?”
“Of course. Are you not?”
“I am. I…”
“We all have our reasons for wishing to move forward. And now, I have horses to attend to, so…”
“What are your reasons?” She had no idea why she wanted to know, but something compelled her to ask. She wished to better understand this enigmatic Celt.
Both he and his brother were, she had to conclude, ridiculously attractive men now that she had finally ceased to dismiss them as Celtic upstarts unworthy of her regard. Nyle approached everything he did with ready humour and a calmness she envied, but he also exhibited a steely resolve and invariably got his own way. Bowdyn was the more serious, a man not afraid of hard work, or of asserting his authority as she had once learned the hard way. He was tenacious, and from the few conversations she had had with him in planning their mission she had concluded that he possessed a head for trade equal to her own. She no longer held any doubts about the wisdom of throwing in her lot with these brothers and had arrived at the conclusion, privately, that she would quite enjoy their company once at sea.
“My reasons? Much the same as yours, I expect. To make a decent profit, enough to start a new life.”
“What is the new life you desire? You have said you do not wish to be a farmer…” Kristin had been present when the brothers informed Merewyn of that.
At first, she thought he might decline to answer, or evade her question. She could hardly blame him since she had not exactly gone out of her way to endear herself to him and he had made no secret of his dislike for her. His underlying antipathy toward all of her people could not be simply shrugged off.
“I intend to breed horses. I shall use my share of our profits to purchase fine animals from which to build my breeding stock.”
“Horses?” In common with most of her countrymen, Kristin had little interest in the beasts. Horses were useful for transporting heavy burdens, and of course for overland travel should that be necessary, but Vikings much preferred to sail. The small, stocky ponies native to the Norseland were of no interest to her though she knew that taller, sleeker mounts were to be had in other lands. Mathios possessed several that he had acquired in raids but since he rarely rode they spent most of their time at pasture.
“Once they have decent animals to choose from, I believe even your hard-skulled countrymen will see the value in a swift, strong steed.”
“You mean to return here, then, to build your wealth.”
“Your jarls have money to spend, most of it acquired from robbing my people. I see no reason not to relieve them of some of it, at least.”
The remark about raiding aside, his explanation made sense to Kristin. If there were goods to be sold, better to market them where prospective purchasers had the means to offer a decent price. There were also the ties of kinship. “And, of course, your sister is here. And your young brother.”
“Aye,” he acknowledged, “that is part of it. We were forcibly separated before. I have no desire to be apart again.”
“And Nyle? Will he return here too?”
“I do not know, but I see no reason why he would not.”
“This is a fine settlement, prosperous, and safe from attack,” she agreed. “I am grateful that Mathios invited me to remain at Agnartved, though I know you did not agree with his decision.”
A more diplomatic man would dissemble, deny her assumption, declare her mistaken. Not Bowdyn.
“No, I did not. I believed you to be greedy and faithless, added to which you had almost killed my brother.”
“I see. I… well, I must thank you for your honesty. I hope that as you come to know me better you might—”
“That is no longer my opinion.”
“Is it not?” Hope flared. For reasons she could not quite name she wanted him to like her. Or at least, not so actively despise her.
“No. I better appreciate your circumstances and I have long ago forgiven you for the whipping I endured. I can understand why you left Ravnsklif so soon after your husband’s death. And I have always been aware of the challenges inherent in trying to get my brother to do that which he has set his face against. I have, on occasion, considered knocking him senseless myself. He would not have accompanied you here willingly.”
“No, I was quite certain that he would not. I am sorry I hurt him, though.”
“He has gotten over it. If he can forgive the injury I suppose I may manage to do so too.”
“Thank you. I do possess some finer qualities and perhaps you will come to recognise those also.”
“I am not blind. I recognise at least some of your finer qualities.”
His lip quirked in an expression she was more accustomed to seeing on Nyle’s face. Taken aback, she furrowed her brow. “I am not sure that I…”
“You are hard-nosed in matters of business and inclined to arrogance. Moreover, you possess a regrettable bossy streak. Those are traits a man might find wearisome, but your beauty goes some way to compensate for your other shortcomings.”
“My beauty?” she echoed, incredulous.
“Do not seek to convince me you are unaware of your effect on the males about you. I have mentioned this matter to you on at least one occasion previously. There are few here who would not welcome the opportunity to share your bed, Kristin Lofnsdottir.”
“I don’t… I mean, what…?” Kristin was not normally lost for words, but this man utterly confused her. She blurted out the question uppermost in her mind. “Would you? Would you welcome such an opportunity?”
He bestowed his lopsided grin on her again. “Aye, I would. But I fear I should have to fight my brother for the privilege, which I would not be prepared to do. I fear, therefore, that I must decline your generous offer, lady.”
“What? I was not offering! I merely…”
“I wish you a good morning, Kristin.” He bowed and turned on his heel. He was almost out of sight before she recovered her wits sufficiently to formulate a coherent sentence.
“And he dares to suggest that I am arrogant!”