Chapter Four
A mass grave? Could there be a greater insult? Twas little better than being heaped upon a bonfire and burned to ash. But she would have to accept the small token of Darach’s mercy. As harsh and brooding as he appeared, there was a softer side to him—one she hoped to see more of as they spent time together. Her very survival depended upon it, that much she was sure of.
She gazed up and down the shore. Rugged and barren, she wondered how anyone could thrive in this world. The waves crashed against the rocky beach, the occasional fish jumping from the water. Behind her, white and gray cliffs loomed overhead. She hugged her middle as another cold wind assaulted her, blowing sand into her eyes. Is this how God rewarded her faithfulness, sending her to a place devoid of warmth and life?
She imagined herself back in the Trondelag, helping her mother and sisters prepare the late day meal. There’d be much laughter in the kitchen—her sisters interacting kindly with the thralls. Twas her mother’s way, treating all people as family. Perhaps she did so because she knew the pain of being taken from her homeland. Elle’s mother had started out a slave, meant to only warm her sire’s bed. But once his first wife died of fever—leaving him with no sons, the chieftain married Elle’s mother, already heavy with child.
She’d given him three sons before their first daughter was born. A blessing from her God. Twas the one lasting influence her mother had over her sire, the god she’d carried across the North Sea. After their fourth babe was born, Elle’s father had everyone in his household baptized.
Giving up on her happy memories, Elle concentrated on finding a clean gown to put on. She opened her trunk and selected a heavy wool dress. With no privacy, she turned her back to the men working in the distance and slowly stripped her soiled clothing off.
“Am I dreaming, lass?”
Darach’s voice sliced through her and she froze, her gown hanging from her hips.
“Cover yerself quickly,” he warned. “Tis hard enough to convince my men ye aren’t some kind of witch.”
Elle despised that word. She whirled about, glaring at him. “Perhaps if you educated your men, taught them that as long as their faith was strong, they’d have nothing to fear—especially from me.”
Darach didn’t move. Instead, his gaze wandered shamelessly up her body, stopping on her breasts. The thin material of her shift did little to hide her soft flesh. “I will not be ashamed of changing my clothes in the open. I was left with no choice.”
“No?” He shook his head, then stepped closer, meeting her gaze. “What kind of woman are ye, then? A pretender of virtue or a brazen harlot fleeing a world that cast ye out?”
She gave a mirthless laugh, then finished dressing, tying the laces at the front of her gown. “That question doesn’t deserve an answer.”
“Maybe not,” he said, widening his stance and crossing his arms over his chest. “But I have a dozen more questions that ye will answer.”
“I have nothing to hide.” And she didn’t. Elle was no liar. She’d find peace in the truth. Perhaps enough sympathy for Darach to aid her search for her mother’s family. If she could find them, convince them of her kinship, she might gain a new home.
“Set aside our differences for now,” he said. “It is time to honor yer friends.”
She nodded, sadness flooding her heart. She’d lived a privileged life growing up in a secure household filled with love and joy, shielded from the outside world. The Norse were the heralds of violence and death, and after her home was attacked and overtaken by a powerful jarl, she never thought she’d feel that much fear and pain again. But she did now, following Darach to the place where the bodies of her voyage companions had been stacked carefully in a hole in the ground twenty yards away from the beach.
Darach’s men surrounded the pit, looking as solemn as she felt.
“Can ye speak their names aloud, lass?” Darach whispered to her. “So we can recognize them as individual men.”
“Y-yes,” she answered reluctantly, shifting on her feet, the all too familiar feeling of nausea overtaking her again. She swayed, but Darach reached out and steadied her.
“Be brave,” he said.
“Gudbrand,” she said, pointing to the first body, “He was my intended.” Again, she felt queasy, but she fought against the sickness, wanting to remember these men for what they were—fellow Norsemen, connected to her through blood and faith. “Audun the baker, Skule and Reynard—brothers . . .” Thirteen names crossed her lips, followed by thirteen painful stabs to her gut. “All faced the same challenges—finding a place in the world that would accept Northmen who worshipped God. I, too, face this great trial.” She raised her head and eyed each of Darach’s warriors.
Gathered together at the graveside seemed to have a humbling effect on them. The insults had stopped completely. In fact, several men bowed their heads reverently.
“I ask only what any man would wish of you, Lord,” she continued, “To welcome these men into your heavenly kingdom. Grant their souls everlasting salvation and peace.” Out of strength and words to say, Elle retreated a few feet, ready to turn away from the sight and stench of death. She’d reached her limit, God forgive her weakness, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing.
“Well said, lass,” Darach approved. He knelt and scooped up a fistful of sandy dirt, then tossed it into the pit. “By the sweat of yer face ye will eat bread, till ye return to the ground, because from it ye were taken. For ye are dust, and to dust ye shall return.”
She marveled at his words. Then closed her eyes, breathing in the salt air—wishing beyond all hope that she could just lie down and die. Better a swift death than suffering. Better to die with pride and honor than grovel and slowly waste away from a broken heart and inconsolable spirit.
She opened her eyes after someone gripped her shoulder. “It is time to go,” Darach said.
“Go?” She didn’t understand at first. “Where?”
“Do ye wish to stay here, Elle?”
“N-no.”
“We will ride to my home. My father will want to meet ye.”
“Ride?”
“Our horses are waiting above.” Darach pointed to a specific cliff.
“You expect me to climb those rocks?”
“Aye,” he said, taking her by the elbow and steering her in the direction of the edifice. “It will be a difficult climb, but if ye trust me and follow my directions, ye might make it without breaking any bones.”
Elle swallowed hard as one of Darach’s men tied a rope about her waist, knotting it several times. The warrior offered Darach the other end of the twine. He secured it about his own hips.
“I’m yer anchor, Elle,” he offered. “If ye fall, I’ll catch ye.”