Éire’s Captive Moon (43 page)

Kingson let out a disbelieving grunt. Eir—Charis—turned away for a moment. When she looked back at him, her face was grim and her pale eyes were like the frozen
fjørd
. “I’ll not go back as your
trell
or your
leman
, Agnarr Halvardson. I will not leave my people ever again.”

“I’d not ask you to leave. I am wanting to stay here, in your green country, and bring my family.” He watched their expressions slip from suspicion to disbelief to surprise. “It’s true. It is my destiny to be here; I know it. And I want you by my side . . . Charis. As my wife.”

Kingson became very, very still when Charis did not answer immediately. The woman took five steps away from both of them and turned into the light breeze that still blew. When she turned back, her words barely reached Agnarr.

“I am Cowan’s wife,” she said, her lips thin.

Agnarr gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly. His arms tensed. The berserker had dared? He rolled his shoulders and lifted his chin. He knew that Kingson would understand.

“She is mine,” the berserker said, lifting his own sword and stepping forward.

Jealous, possessive fire flared along Agnarr’s muscles. He narrowed his focus to the red-bearded interpreter. “Not for long,” he ground out.

“I have had two husbands before,” Charis cried out. She did not want them to fight. “Stop this! There are too many who will fight if you do!”

“Charis, lass,” Cowan advised, his eyes flinty as he circled with Agnarr. “You’ll have to choose.”

Charis opened her mouth, but before she could even draw in breath, Agnarr’s sword swept up and down with a flash like lightning.

Cowan countered, his muscles straining under his skin. Charis bit her lip, not knowing what to say to make them stop. But they had to! Voices were roaring—among them, King Branieucc’s—for the death of the Northman. And in the timber line, she could see the restless movement of men and hear their angry voices.

Desperate, she jumped between Cowan and Agnarr. The men froze, horror plain on both determined faces.

“Stop!” she shouted one more time, arms stretched out, one to each man.

Silence stretched with sudden power up and down the grassy hillside. Heartbeats pounded before it was broken.
 

“I couldn’t hurt you, Charis,” Cowan said, before he moved.

Agnarr’s sword came down slowly to his side. “I have never been able to strike you.”

He ignored the angry flash from her eyes and did not allow himself to lift his sword again. He turned to the berserker, a memory suddenly clear in his mind.

“You saved my life once. When Vigaldr would have slain me, you killed him.”

Cowan nodded, barely remembering that moment in the most miraculous of battles he had ever fought. “I did.” He did not drop his sword, though. He knew Agnarr’s desire for Charis and would not allow him to have her.

“I would not kill the man who saved my life.”

Charis snorted. “I should hope not.” She stepped back so she could see both men. From the
rath
and the trees, small sounds were heard again. Now what should she say?

Agnarr made a conciliatory grunt and carefully sheathed his sword. After a moment, Cowan did likewise.

The son of Branieucc turned to his wife and took her hands in his. “Charis, my own love, you will have to choose one of us.”

Charis wondered, there in front of Cowan’s people and her own, if she ever had a choice to make. She turned to the man who had killed Devin and Devlin. The man who had violated her, but had never beat her and who had, she believed, come to care for her in their winter together. She steeled herself and opened her mouth once again to speak.

She wasn’t given time to say a word. “You did not kill me,” the Northman reminded her, a smile lurking in his bright blue eyes. “You could have, but you did not. You acted with honor.”

“Honor?” She shook her head and smiled a little. “No . . . I—I could not, Agnarr. I wanted to, but I did not.” Then she knew what to say. “You deserve a wife who has never wanted your blood. I am Cowan’s wife. My bond with you was broken when I escaped.”

Cowan’s relief was palpable even before he grabbed her hand and pulled her up against his tense body.

Pride shuttered the Northman’s face. “I have faced my
wyrd
,” he stated clearly. “I have not been afraid.” He hefted his sword again without menace. “This village has not heard the last of me or my men.”

“But your promise—” Charis began.

Agnarr’s expression was cold and proud. “It holds. This year.”

As Charis watched the Northman walk stiffly back to his men, Cowan put his arm around her. “I had wondered, you know. If you’d choose him,” he admitted.

She reached up to stroke the hand he had on her shoulder. “I made my choice before he came, son of Branieucc.”

“Did you, now?”

“Husband in the first degree. You are bound to me.”

He turned her to face him, but only the barest hint of a smile lurked at the corners of his eyes. “I know it, lass, but I had wondered . . .”

She huffed and stepped back. “Well, then, you’re half blind and deaf? And you have the training of the warriors? I guess Aislinn and I had best be making some room for more patients in that house of ours.”

He grinned. “No. Just room for a scholar, one-time interpreter and reluctant warrior, Charis. That’s all I want.”

“Sounds like more than one there.”

He laughed, embracing her in full view of his father and all those who had come to see the Northmen. “Just one, Charis! I’ll not share you with another.” They turned to see the intruders leaving. There were no threatening omens there. Not for that day.

From behind the village walls, they could hear the children cheering and the relieved shouts and taunts of the warriors. Good-natured jests were directed at her and Cowan as well.

Turning her back entirely on the Northmen, Charis clasped Cowan’s hand in her own and waved at Aislinn, who was running, dark hair streaming behind her, from the opening gates.

Charis, Healer of Ulaid, did not look back.

THE END

Preview of Éire's Viking,

Book Two of the Éire's Viking Trilogy

There was a sharp rapping in front of her and to the left. “Aoire?
 
It’s Aislinn. The physician from the monastery. I treated you after you were brought to me. Is that you?” She followed the crashing of underbrush.
 
“Aoire?” Heavy leaves overhead prevented much light from reaching the ground directly but a verdant shading showed the long fall of light blond hair over broad shoulders and muscled back. The man had left without even a
brat
to keep him warm, and he was her patient! “Aoire!”
 

He turned, eyes blazing, exasperation etched into his features. He made a fruitless motion with his clenched fists, as if to say he hated not being able to talk.
 

She sympathized, wondering again if he were truly a Northman. “Who are you, really?” she asked aloud. Then, with clear purpose in case he were one of those who raided from long boats with the striped sails, she shook her head and pointed back the way they’d both come. “You’re not well enough to be up on your own. Come back.”
 

He aspirated roughly and pointed in the direction he’d been walking. With a near-desperate air, he looked about him as his focus seemed to sharpen on a broken branch. He smiled, his triumph evident as he beckoned to her.

The light in his eyes took her by surprise, making her skin feel taut all over and her heart beat faster. Still, she shook that off as he brushed wild leavings out of the way and left a flat space of dark, moist earth. Then, on one knee, he caught her eye and tapped the branch on the ground. He drew a boat. It has a large, angular-striped sail that Aislinn had heard about. Then he tapped his chest.

“You
are
one of them,” she said and staggered a step back. Sorrow tightened her jaw and the muscles in her throat. “Cowan said you were, but—” She’d hoped he was not.
Oh, Jesu, help me!
 
Please!
With a rough shake of her head, she took a breath. “Come,” she said again, using over-broad motions. “Come back. Your head.” She pointed to where the bandages still twisted around his skull. “I need to treat it.”
 

He shook his head, winced, and pointed at the picture he’d drawn. It was clear he was informing her that he was not returning.
 

Why does it matter so to me? He could keep going and fall off a cliff. like Cian, and my people would be better off. He’s the enemy
, she reminded herself.
 
Still, she persisted, going so far as to draw her knife and kneel in opposition to him. Holding his gaze, she brushed the tip of the blade over his picture and ruined it before dropping her focus. The brothers at the monastery took great care with written sheafs of parchment, but they also slid in sly jests among the solemn words of Almighty God. She drew a picture in the dirt. It was of a woman with a pocketed apron such as the one she wore, tugging on the hand of a man with a bandage around his head. Then she quickly sketched out the form of the monastery and met the Northman’s eye again.
 

He swept his stick in a flat arc and wiped out her drawings then rose slowly to his feet. He grimaced, dropped the stick, and held both hands to his head while darting a fierce, defiant look at her.

She couldn’t suppress her smile. “Not so easy as you thought, is it, Northman?” She slid her knife back into her belt and extended her hand.
 
“Come.”

He shook his head in a definitive
No
before turning from her and stalking back through the trees. Frustrated, she made a strange noise in her chest and lunged from the ground to catch up to his long, slow steps.
 

“Enough!” she nearly shouted and put herself directly in his path. “You are my patient, you’re still injured, and I’ll not have you ruining all my hard work with your pig-headed ideas!”
 

He froze, his glare nearly palpable as it bore into her. She refused to back down. She’d fought with stubborn men before and won. Slowly, he stiffened his spine and stepped closer to her. The way he towered over her excited and frightened her. Blond sections of hair slipped from his bare shoulders, but she was studying his face in the brightening green of the leaf-shaded daylight. There was a scar under his left eye that had been made by a blade, and more along his hairline. Drifting lower, she saw a clear history of his battles in the differing marks they had left on his body.
 
The light was diffuse amidst the trees, but there was enough. A thick scarring on his shoulder clearly hadn’t had the tending of a good healer. The one on his upper chest looked far better. She smiled a little and reached up to touch it.

He gripped her wrist, surrounding it entirely in his palm while he stared at her. His jaw worked, but no sounds came out, save a frustrated grunt.

Concern cooled the blood rushing to her cheeks, and she tried to cover her embarrassment by pulling his head down to check his bandaging. Both hands bracketing his head, she puffed out a breath and found the edges of the linen. Before she could un-tuck the closing end of the fabric, though, she felt him staring at her and swallowed.
 

“Northman?”

The bright blue of his gaze was suddenly hot and filled with something that made her stomach flutter as if occupied by a tiny bird. She felt drawn into his eyes and frozen as his hands came up her arms. Then his fingertips rested just under the short sleeve of her
léine
. Her own fingertips trembled against his bandaging, and his expression cooled. Blushing, she decided to pretend that she wouldn’t be thinking about the way he’d looked at her and shook her head to make the idle idea go away.
 

“You’re bleeding,” she said too loudly. She went to tap his chest and hit the amulet he wore.
 
It looked like a cross, but it wasn’t quite shaped the same way the carvings were in the monastery. Cowan had said that the Northmen worshiped different gods anyway, not the One True God, so she doubted very much that her patient was a Christian.

“You want to go?” she asked and pointed in the direction of Ragor. He seemed to understand but frustration crowded his forehead, making the skin furrow as he also pointed. “You can’t go with a bleeding head,” she stated firmly and shook the stained linen in front of his face.
 

With a frown, but not seeming overly angry, the man she’d briefly called Aoire turned his back on his destination and walked at her side.