Timeless (5 page)

Their guard stepped forward, his tone challenging. “Be off with you—”

Josette screamed in fear as the stranger shoved the guardsman aside and grabbed her.

He tossed her over his shoulder, the impact and his rough hold knocking the breath from her. Panic seized her. She heard Avril cry out in alarm. Saw the guard leaping forward to defend her—but the stranger drew a sword and dispatched him with a single thrust. The crowd in the street shouted in terror and scrambled for safety.

A scream of shrill terror rose in Josette’s throat as the man brandished his sword at any who would dare challenge him and started to carry her away.

~ ~ ~

Shocked and furious, Avril snatched her knife from its sheath. Barely even aware of what she was doing, she launched herself forward to help her friend.

“Release her!” she cried, attacking the black-haired knave, dodging beneath his sword as it sliced toward her head. Slashing out, she wounded his arm.

With a sharp curse of pain and surprise, he lost his grip on his weapon. It clattered to the ground. He let go of Josette to fend off Avril, snarling at her in a language she did not know.

“Run, Josette! Run!” Avril danced backward, trying to hold his attention but stay out of reach, her knife raised in front of her.

Suddenly a second dark-haired man appeared—the companion of the blond trader she had run into only moments ago. Her heart leaped that this good Samaritan would rush to their aid.

But in that second that she was distracted, the hulking stranger smashed her across the face with his fist. Pain exploded through her jaw as she spun and fell to the ground, her weapon flying from her hand. Dazed with pain, her ears ringing, she could not believe what she saw as she lay sprawled in the dirt, blood in her mouth.

The “good Samaritan” was not rushing to their aid. He was carrying Josette away over his shoulder!

The knave who had attacked them roared something in that odd language, clearly furious at losing his prize. Then he turned on her, fury blazing in his black eyes as he grabbed his sword from the ground, the blade dripping scarlet.

Numb with terror, Avril tried to scramble backward but her limbs would not obey her. The world turned hazy in her vision. The ringing in her ears became a buzz that blocked out all else.

She was defenseless, her knife gone. He lifted his blade to slice her in two. She shut her eyes, a single word filling her mind and heart.
Giselle
.

But before he could touch her, someone grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet. A muscular arm circled her waist. She felt herself pulled backward against a hard, male chest. Her rescuer shouted something in that guttural language—the same words twice, his tone clearly threatening as he brandished a sword at her attacker.

Then the pain in her jaw pulled her down into a fog that darkened her vision, and she went limp in his arms.

~ ~ ~

Silence hung over the longboat as they left Antwerp and its violence behind. The coast was naught more than a slim, dark line in the distance now, a strong wind carrying them swiftly out to sea, beyond the reach of those who had tried to stop them. The only sound came from the lapping of the waves.

And the last, labored breaths of the man who lay dying.

“It could have been worse,” Thorolf said with a growl, sitting amidships.

“Worse?” Hauk pierced him with an icy glare. “Worse than almost starting a riot? Worse than a dozen men chasing us all the way to the wharf? Worse than having one of our companions killed and another mortally wounded?”

Thorolf fell into a sullen silence. Hauk looked down at Bjarn, frustrated that the young man’s life was slipping away and he could do naught to stop it. He offered what comfort he could but knew words would not be enough to ease the wounded man’s suffering—or that of the young raiders gathered around their fallen comrades in the ship’s bow, their faces grim and etched with disbelief.

“Will we reach Asgard in time?” Keldan asked desperately, glancing from Bjarn to the other man’s still form, covered by a blanket. “Will he recover?”

“
Nei
, Kel,” Hauk said quietly.

Keldan’s expression became stricken.

Coughing, Bjarn opened his eyes, gripping Hauk’s forearm. “She is... beautiful,
ja?
”

“
Ja
, that she is,” Hauk replied, knowing the young man was referring to the red-haired English girl he had chosen. Even wounded, Bjarn had managed to carry her safely aboard.

“Would have made... a fine... wife.” His mouth curving in a peaceful smile, the young raider breathed his last, his eyes on the stars.

“
Nei
,” Keldan whispered. “
Nei
, this cannot be!”

Jaw clenched, Hauk gently closed Bjarn’s eyes and pulled a blanket over him. “It will not help to keep watch,” he said gruffly, addressing Keldan and the others who remained huddled around the two friends they had lost. “They will not awaken again. See to your women.”

For a long moment, the raiders seemed unable to move. One whispered a prayer to Tyr, the god of war. Another cursed. Then, one by one, the silent, anguished men of Asgard moved to starboard and port and into the stern, returning to the brides they had won at such great cost.

The women, who had been sobbing or cursing when they were carried aboard, had all quieted after the men gently covered their faces with cloths soaked in the juice of the
sommer
root. They would sleep throughout the journey. It was a necessary precaution, so the captives would never be able to reveal the island’s location.

They would awake to a new life, in a new world.

“I begin to understand what you said earlier,” Keldan choked out as he and Hauk reclaimed their places near the tiller. “I do not like the outside world so well after all.”

Hauk nodded and said naught, his throat dry and tight. He had not wanted Kel and the others to learn the lessons of loss and grief—lessons he himself had learned too well.

Keldan fell silent, his earlier, jovial mood gone. Not even the petite brunette asleep beside him could chase away his somber expression. He eased her into his arms.

Thorolf still looked utterly unrepentant. “Had the two of you not interfered with me, none of this would have happened. No one would have noticed—”

“It is hard not to notice you hacking up a guardsman in the middle of a crowded street,” Hauk shot back. “You violated our laws—”

“I was defending myself. Keldan is the one who violated the laws. That woman was to have been mine.” His gaze settled on the little brunette. “I saw her first. Since she was stolen from me, I will take Bjarn’s female—”

“After what you have done, you do not deserve either of them.” Keldan’s arm tightened protectively around the girl he had claimed.

“That will be for the council of elders to decide,” Thorolf said smugly.

“If I were you,” Hauk warned him, “I would not be so quick to speak to the council concerning this night’s events.”

Thorolf fell silent, rubbing at his blood-soaked, bandaged arm, dividing a glare equally between Hauk and Keldan and the unconscious woman next to Hauk.

Keldan glanced at the sleeping
demoiselle
curled up on Hauk’s cloak, his eyes full of concern. “How is she?”

Hauk looked down at his captive, gently brushing a strand of spice-colored hair back from her bruised cheek. “I believe Thorolf may have broken her jaw, but she will recover.”

“I am glad, my friend. She is perfect for you. Not only beautiful, but brave enough to take on a man twice her size, armed only with a knife.”

Hauk lifted his gaze, giving Keldan a pained look. “I have you to thank for this. I did not want a new bride. Especially some mad Valkyrie who is as quick with a blade as a man.”

“But like it or not, she is yours.”

Hauk swore under his breath, studying his unwanted prize. After all the commotion in Antwerp, she had a black smudge on her cheek, its shape like a teardrop.

He reached into a bucket of drinking water, wet his hand, and brushed the mark away with his thumb, leaving a trail of dampness behind.

“
Ja
,” he agreed at last. He could not deny the truth of Keldan’s words. Nor could he disobey the law. He had spoken the words twice, in the presence of another Asgard islander.
I claim her
, he had shouted in the midst of that insanity in the street.
I claim her
.

At the time, it had been the only way to keep Thorolf from killing her. But with those words, this fiery, green-eyed
demoiselle
had become his.

Now and for the rest of her life, she was his.

T
he gentle crackling of a fire drew Avril slowly to awareness, the sound pleasant, familiar. Soothing. She tried to open her eyes but could not summon the strength. Her entire body felt so heavy, drowsy. So... strange. She could feel soft, smooth sheets against her skin and a plump, downy pillow beneath her cheek. The scent of woodsmoke tickled her nose.

Struggling to awaken, she managed to lift her lashes, just long enough to catch a glimpse of a stone hearth a few feet away, a fire dancing merrily in the darkness, before her eyes closed again.

She groaned, her mind as befuddled and sleepy as the rest of her. Where was she? She could not remember. It seemed odd, though, that Giselle would allow her to remain abed this way, without scampering about and demanding that her
maman
wake up...

But nay, her sweet girl was not with her. She had left Giselle with Gaston and Celine. Left her in their care when she—

Went to Antwerp.

Avril’s heart lurched in her chest. Her eyes snapped open as it all came crashing back: the fair, the marketplace, the giant of a man who had attacked her and Josette.

Josette!
Where was Josette?

With a choked cry, Avril pushed herself up on one elbow, trembling with the effort, forcing her limbs to obey. Blinking, she looked around her. And felt as if a lead weight had dropped through the pit of her stomach.

She was in an unfamiliar chamber, one unlike any she had seen before. The hearth provided a scant circle of light around the bed she was in, just enough for her to make out walls paneled in glossy, dark wood, square rafters high overhead, a ceiling that looked like it was made of tree bark. The tops of the bed’s four curving posts had been carved to look like dragon’s heads complete with jeweled eyes that reflected the fire’s glow.

Her heart thudding, Avril peered into the darkness beyond the footboard. “Is... is anyone there?” Her voice sounded like a dry croak. Her throat felt parched. “Where am I?”

There was no reply but the echo of her own words. The room sounded as if it were the size of a great hall, and seemed to be much longer than it was wide. She could not tell, could not begin to see the opposite end.

She pushed back the blankets that covered her and stumbled to her feet, strength returning as her heart pumped fear and outrage through her veins. What had happened? Who had brought her here?

And why had they left her alone?

She took a few shaky steps away from the bed, feeling a cool, stone floor beneath her feet.

“Is anyone there?” she repeated, trying to sound bold and challenging rather than frightened out of her wits.

Still there was no reply.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to still her trembling hands, trying to think. She remembered attacking the knave who had first grabbed Josette. Remembered wounding his arm. And then he had struck her to the ground.

The rest was a blur. A haze of pain. She had only a vague memory of shouted words she could not understand. Then darkness.

But she realized her jaw no longer hurt. Touching her cheek, she felt no tenderness at all. How long had she been asleep? Mayhap someone had gallantly carried her to a place of safety and taken care of her.

That hope vanished as she glanced down at the garment she was wearing. Whoever had brought her here had undressed her—and garbed her in a shimmering white silk kirtle that revealed every curve of her body. The bodice dipped indecently low between her breasts, and though the skirt reached her ankles, it was slit on both sides, baring her legs from ankle to hip with each step she took.

She froze for one stomach-churning second. Clearly it was not a chivalrous rescuer who had carried her to this place but someone who did
not
have gallantry on his mind.

With a frightened oath, she ran to the wall, searching for a sconce, a torch, some light she could use to hunt for a door. She found none. Cursing, she kept moving anyway, into the darkened half of the room, feeling her way along the paneling in hope of discovering a way out.

Her fingertips encountered strange scrollwork and carvings in the paneling and odd items displayed on the wall—stone sculptures, a cool piece of ivory, a dented metal great helm. And the furry head of some sort of horned animal. She yelped in alarm and jumped backward a step. Breathing hard, she turned away from the wall, half afraid of what her fingers might brush across next. Panic began bubbling up inside her.
God’s mercy, there must be a way out of here!