Undercurrent (21 page)

His grip loosened, freeing her hand from his. “Find wood.”

Instant fear tremored through her as the cave swallowed him from sight. He couldn’t seriously expect her to venture into that creepy darkness and rummage around for firewood. Who knew what kind of creepies or crawlies she’d discover. “Uhh, Alarik?”

“
Now, Cass-ee!”

Too bad he’d left his happy-go-lucky attitude in Jorvik. She bent and patted the ground, sand lodging under her fingernails as she felt around for stray bits of driftwood. A complaint rushed to her mouth as her scraped fingertips, but she clamped her lips shut.

“
Bring me what you’ve gathered.”

She veered toward Alarik’s voice. The blackness in the cave consumed more light than the stormy sky outside. “Where are you?”

“
I am—”

“
Ouch!” She found him all right, or more like his elbow found her head. Dropping her load of wood, she rubbed the sore spot, sand gritting into her wet hair.

Alarik snorted. “Woman, you attract trouble. Sit you down.”

“
You’re the one who smacked into me.” She sank to the ground, grateful to end her search but irritated at his tone. “You could at least say you’re sorry, or excuse me, or something.”

“
I am not Ragnar.”

“
You got that right.”

“
Your tongue rivals the edge of my sword. Mind it, before I loose my blade.”

Scrunching up her knees, she wrapped her arms around them and ignored his threat, too exhausted to care anymore.

Sparks flew like miniature fireworks each time Alarik struck his flint. A few reached out to the tinder, and his breaths enticed them to spread, but the orange fizzled and he’d repeat the process. At last, one glowing strand arched to the next and beyond. The driftwood, amply dried even in the damp cavern, ignited. Flames rose, and so did Alarik.

“
Strip and dry your clothes.”

“
What?” She glanced up, mentally filing through her Old Norse vocabulary. He didn’t really mean for her to—

“
Strip.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“
Then at least remove Ragnar’s cloak and dry it for him. If you choose to sicken in wet garments, so be it.” He shrugged before turning to hike off toward the cavern’s entrance.

“
Where are you going?” Even with a cheerful fire, the thought of being alone in a cave on a stormy night crept through her.

His laugh bounced from wall to wall, but he kept walking.

“
Alarik!” Not even anger could keep the fear from her voice.

He turned back, though only long enough to say, “You are safe here, but Ragnar is not. I will find him and return.” Cloak rippling behind him, he disappeared into the night.

Cassie faced the fire, choosing to focus on its yellow-orange dance instead of the sinister shadows on the cave walls. As the wood morphed into coals, heat increased, and she sighed past the lump of apprehension still lodged in her throat. As much as she hated to admit it, Alarik was right. She really should use the opportunity to dry her clothes.

Peeling off Ragnar’s heavy cloak, and then her own, taxed her overtired muscles. She pushed both heaps of fur-edged wool near the flames, but that would take forever to dry them, and then only on one side at a time. There must be a better way.

She picked through the wood pile Alarik had gathered for the longest piece. Draping Ragnar’s mantle over the end, she hefted it with both hands over the fire like a giant marshmallow. Her arms quivered from the effort, and it dipped close to the flames more than once. Steam rose off the top, spiraling into the dark. It stank like a dead sheep with the added sick bonus of singed hair from the fur. A choking cloud of black burned her throat, and in the next minute, she realized that it wasn’t steam after all.

With a wild swing, Cassie pitched the cloak to the sandy ground and stomped out the glowing edges. Great. Now Ragnar’s cloak was not only wet but burnt.

She’d have to go for plan B, which was, hmm… Really, this shouldn’t be all that hard. She could master this stupid, menial task.

So why did tears suddenly blur her vision? Failure edged out her former in-control-and-on-top-of-things confidence. She squeezed her lids shut until the tears obeyed.

Despair pressed in, looming as dark and suffocating as the cave’s walls. Weary with struggle, she stoked the fire and curled up next to it, surprised at how alone she felt. At home, she needed no one and nothing. She’d been the queen of her little world. Here…well, if not for Alarik and Ragnar… What if they didn’t come back for her? Not that she could lay blame after the way she treated them—sharp-tongued, complaining, and ungrateful, all as Alarik said. And Ragnar would be too kind to even accuse her aloud.

He would as soon go to Hel and back for you.
Leave it to Alarik to be so blunt. And right. She’d never known anyone quite like Ragnar. Unassuming. Selfless. If Alarik hadn’t pointed out just a few of the many small acts Ragnar did for her, she likely wouldn’t have noticed. What made him so different?

She closed her eyes, shutting out the hypnotic fire, and wished she could as easily dismiss the nebulous emotion looming on her heart’s horizon.

Tired from his long hike with Alarik, Ragnar escaped the unending rain and peered deep into the cave. Admittedly, the storm’s intensity had lessened, but that did little to warm him, not as much as a fire soon would. A smoky smell lingered in the cavern’s earthy scent, though unless his eyes jested, no blaze or even small flame burned.

Alarik grumbled from behind. “I tell you we should have left her—”

“
You begin to make me think ’tis Magnus with whom I travel. Look, there is yet an ember or two ahead.”

“
Ja, but she should have—”

“
We all gather should haves. Is her storehouse any larger than yours?”

The well-aimed question must have met its mark, for instead of more complaints, he heard Alarik stalk past him and stop near the dying coals. His whooshing breaths filled the cave. Soon the tiny, luminous mound Ragnar had spied shot up bright spires of light, illuminating three piles.

Next to his and her cloaks, Cassie didn’t stir. Her head nestled on one pile, her light brown hair spread softly around her face. How his hand itched to reach out and brush back the stray wisps cascading across her cheek. Asleep as a babe, she looked so…helpless? Innocent? Either way, her vulnerability heightened his protective instinct. Though his prayer for her safety hadn’t come about in the way he’d expected, it nonetheless had garnered an answer—and his gratitude. Thanks be to Jesu.

Skirting the fire, he sought the light’s growing perimeter. The driftwood littering the sand would be enough to see them through till morn.

“
Your service will be the death of you, man. Dry yourself. I will see to more wood.”

“
Good. With your help, we will gather twice as fast.”

Alarik snorted. “Pig-headed. Stubborn. Cass-ee’s ways have worn on you. I have changed my mind, cousin. I should have left you both in Jorvik.”

Ragnar grinned but continued collecting fuel until he filled his arms. Though the dried wood weighed less than four stone, his muscles trembled by the time he set down the bundle.

Loosening his belt, he dropped it to the ground and pulled his drenched tunic over his head. He cast a glance at Cassie, whose position remained as a napping cat’s, before removing his soaked shirt as well. As much as he’d like to peel off his clinging trews, he could not. With the woman so near, he’d live with their chafing and settle for standing close to the fire for a while.

Alarik did not share the same conviction. As soon as he finished constructing wooden tripods in a strategic pattern, he draped their wet garments, including his trews, to dry.

Ragnar retrieved his shirt, balled it up, and threw it at the reclining Alarik. “Cover yourself.”

Alarik grunted. “She sleeps.”

Ragnar’s wadded-up shirt sailed back toward him, and he caught it easily. He lobbed it once more at his cousin. “She will wake.”

“
Then let her feast her eyes.” Alarik flung the shirt-ball with more force. “I care not.”

“
I do.” Ragnar scooped up a rock, encasing it in the cloth, then winged it where it would inflict the greatest pain.

“
Fie!”

Ragnar dodged the returning missile aimed at his head, pleased that it was only a rock, for at least Alarik made a half-hearted attempt to cover his nakedness.

“
The woman addles your brains as much as your Jesu.”

Letting the remark disappear into the cave’s recesses, Ragnar remained silent and stretched out close to the fire.

“
Ragnar?”

“
Ja?”

A lengthy silence ensued. It would be useless to prod, though, so Ragnar waited. Mayhap his prayer for patience had finally been answered.

Or not. A question leaked before he could dam the breach. “What ails you, friend?”

“
What if…” Alarik rolled over, propping his head on an elbow, and the shirt slunk down to the sand.

Ragnar directed him a fierce frown and a nod. Alarik rolled his eyes but repositioned the fabric before continuing.

“
What if I did kill Einar? What if this quest is but a fool’s errand?”

“
Nay.” The objection flew past his lips a little too forcefully.

Alarik raised a brow. “You have thought as much yourself.”

“
Only in my weakest moments, but I am certain your honor will be reclaimed.” Sighing away the heaviness squeezing his chest did little good. “There is the brooch. Therein, I believe, lies your innocence. The owner of that pin saw all.”

Alarik said nothing. He didn’t need to. His pointed stare at the sleeping Cassie said enough.

Mayhap they should have left her behind after all.

TWENTY

Afternoon sun gilded the peaks of the towering fjord, warming Cassie’s upturned face. She studied the majestic walls dwarfing their small boat, her own insignificance overwhelming her. The stalwart rock faces lent a certain reassurance, as if by their aged presence they proclaimed the irrelevance of time. What did her missing centuries matter to these earthen wonders?

She frowned and redirected her focus from the lofty heights to the prow’s cut through the deep teal river. Thousands of diamonds sparkled over the water’s surface. Funny how she could still be so mesmerized after living on board this boat the past week. As little as six months ago, if anyone would’ve suggested that Cassie Larson could squirrel away from work and actually enjoy it, she’d have thought them insane. Looking over the waves, she almost caved in to the desire to lean over and dip her fingers in the icy water. Perhaps it was her sanity slipping.

The boat jostled, tipping momentarily to one side, and forced her to grip the rail with one hand. Ragnar joined her on the crate she’d adopted as her own and held out a strip of cod jerky. She shook her head.

With an almost imperceptible sigh, he made a motion to return midship. As he moved away, a pang settled low in her belly—like a craving, only not for food. “Hey, uh, you can…well…” What was up with the sudden tongue tying? “Oh, give me some fish.”

Between breaches in the fringe of hair curtaining half his face, a smile softened his mouth. “I think you are hard-pressed to know your own mind.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took his food offering. Heat, both from his touch and the truth he spoke, radiated through her. His gaze was so intense she averted her eyes. This was ridiculous. She took a small bite, saltiness tingling her lips and tongue, then directed her gaze to the stunning heights. “It is so beautiful here, I can hardly believe it.”

“
You have never been to Geiranger Fjord?”

“
No.” Of course not. Climbing the success ladder hardly left her much leisure time. Though she’d swallowed some of the fish, a hollowness filled her stomach, and she looked back at Ragnar. “I guess I’ve been too busy to really see much of the world. How about you?”

“
This is my home.” He downed the rest of his cod and wiped his palm along his pants, his strong hand running along the length of cloth outlining the muscles in his thigh.

Her eyes followed the movement, and suddenly more than the sun’s rays heated her cheeks.

“
Cassie?”

Jerking away from the sight, she met his curious stare. “What?”

“
I asked where you make your home.” He tilted his head. “Are you well?”

She could blame the sudden flip in her tummy on the snack instead of embarrassment, couldn’t she?

“
I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “Home. Right. I grew up a military brat till my dad died. I was only ten. My mom…she kind of went over the deep edge at that point. All the foster homes I’ve lived in kind of blur together.”

He shook his head, half a smile lighting his face.

“
You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”

“
Maybe speak slower.”

“
All right.” She nodded. No sense dwelling in the past, anyway. “I live in Oxford currently, or recently… I mean…uh…” Wow. How to explain that her home as she knew it wouldn’t actually exist for another thousand years?