Viking For Hire (Vikings Saga Volume 1) (6 page)

Eirik rose and stood toe to toe with her. The harsh angles of his cheekbones and jaw were tight with worry. “I pray you know what you are about, lass. Else I will never forgive you...or myself.”

He looked so dismayed that the rest of Branwyn’s reservations vanished concerning his regard for her. Whether he knew it or not, he cared, blast him. ’Twas only a matter of time before he recognized it for himself. Mayhap with a little encouragement... “Walk with me,” she murmured.

“Do you think ’tis wise for us to be alone?” he asked as she led him from the clearing into the forest.

“Who cares?” she answered gaily and stepped directly in front of him so that he had to either halt or bump into her.

“Branwyn,” he groaned and caught her wrists when she stood on tiptoe with the intention of intertwining them about his neck. He lowered her hands to her sides. “You know what you do to me, lass. The curse might be an inconvenience to you, but ’tis sheer torture for me.”

“Why is that?” she inquired softly, taking another step so that her pinafore brushed against the legs of his trousers.

“Because...ah...bloody hell, Branwyn. ’Tis not right for us to even be having this conversation in your condition. I’ll not be taking advantage of you. Come. Let us return to the others.” He drew her arm through his.

“Wait!” Branwyn tugged at him to make him halt. “I have something to show you. Please. Do not move.” While he watched her intently, she slowly withdrew her hand from his arm. Then she replaced it, squeezed his forearm, and removed it a second time.

“How did you do that?” he asked hoarsely. “The curse—”

“No longer binds me,” she declared. She stepped behind him and slid her arms around his middle, nuzzling his back. When he started to protest, she again pulled away. “See? I am in complete control of my movements. No attacks. No frenzy. I am free of the curse.”

“Did you already perform the incantation?” He regarded her with puzzled wonder. “How?”

“Nay, but it no longer plagues me. I suspect ’twas all the magic flowing through me this morning. It somehow circumvented the effects of the curse on me alone. We still need to remove it from you, though.”

Eirik snagged her waist and drew her close. “Truly, Branwyn? You are free to think and feel as you please around me?”

“Truly,” she said with a chuckle and twirled away from him, holding up her hands and laughing with delight.

He followed after her and pulled her flush against him. “Good, because I’ve been struggling to keep my own hands off you since the moment we met.”

She gripped his upper arms, her breath growing uneven.

“What do you feel now, lass?” He tipped her chin up to gaze down into her eyes.

“My heart might very well beat itself from my chest,” she whispered, “and ’tis difficult to breathe.”

“How odd.” Passion thickened his voice. “I seem to be suffering the same symptoms. Does anything else plague you?”

“A terrible weakness,” she whispered shakily. “If you let me go, I am not entirely certain I shall be able to stand.”

He buried his face in her neck. “Then I shall never let you go. Ah, Branwyn,” he muttered, “’Tis been such misery to want you the way I do, not knowing if one whit of your affection for me was pure and natural.”

“When the curse left me,” she admitted, “I considered keeping the secret to myself, for the way you stir me is every bit as powerful as before...except now ’tis real.” She turned her head and sought his lips.

His hand crept up to cup her nape as he slanted his mouth over hers. When she moaned, he thrust his tongue into her mouth and tangled it with hers.

She plunged both hands into his hair, fisting the silken strands.

“Jarl Eirik! Branwyn?” The shocked voice jolted her back to the forest. Branwyn reluctantly broke the kiss and glanced over her shoulder.

“Sven.” She blushed and tried to disengage herself from Eirik’s embrace, but he held her fast. “What is it, my friend?”

“This is madness. Him. You.” He raised and lowered his arms in frustration. “You know ’tis best to stay apart until you are back in full control of your senses. Until you are free to choose...” His voice dwindled as she stepped away from Eirik on her own accord.

“Wait. How did you—”

“I do not know, Sven,” she answered ruefully. “Only that the curse no longer has a hold on me. The sooner we break its hold on Eirik as well, the better for us all along with any other women he encounters. Did you collect the mistletoe?”

“Aye, my lady.” His face was ashen as he presented a basket of it to her with a bow. “We happened upon a peasant girl who led us straight to the herb.”

Branwyn reached for it eagerly but cried out in shock at the lightning that shot through her fingertips when their hands bumped. “Nay!” She dropped the basket. “’Tis not possible.” Lunging for Sven, she grabbed two handfuls of his tunic and pulled herself against him. “What else happened to you whilst you searched the forests? Tell me everything down to the smallest detail before I—” She stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his, but he turned his face just in time. Her lips grazed his jaw instead.

Eirik yanked her out of Sven’s arms and wedged himself between the two of them. He drew back an arm to strike his friend but hesitated at Branwyn’s scream of horror.

“Please stop,” she begged. “Something is wrong here. Terribly wrong. Whatever is happening, ’tis not Sven’s fault. I am the one who attacked him. Just like— Oh, Eirik! The peasant girl. Tell us, Sven. Is she the only female you encountered?”

At his gulp and fierce nod of affirmation, Branwyn whirled to Eirik, “Don’t you see? ’Tis her. The sorceress. She must have followed you and your men. Where is she now, Sven?”

Sven rubbed a weary hand across his face. “Back at the clearing. She appeared half starved, so I offered her a bowl of soup in exchange for the mistletoe. ’Twas the least I could do.”

Mercy!
The sorceress was likely sitting next to the fire before the very cauldron Branwyn needed to mix the potion to reverse the spell.

“The peasant seemed a little...” Sven drew a circle in the air around his temple. “What with the way she was muttering to herself and waving her stick.”

“Her wand, you mean,” Branwyn groaned. “What to do? Let me think.” She plopped down on a fallen log as her knees gave out. “I’ve an idea. ’Tis risky, but we’ve no better option. No telling the amount of mischief she is stirring right now amidst your men.”

Eirik drew his sword. “I’m of the mind to relieve her shoulders of her troublesome noggin’ and be done with it.”

Branwyn shook her head. “’Tis not so simple. More than likely she’d have you squawking on the ground in the form of a chicken before you could step within ten feet of her. Hear me well. I have a plan.” She motioned the men nearer and dropped her voice.

Sven nodded at her words and took off at a sprint for the longship, which was moored at the water’s edge. He was careful to skirt the clearing.

With a grimace, Eirik stripped off his tunic and trousers and handed them to her. “Now ‘tis your turn to undress, my lady.”

“Turn around, you oaf.” Giggling and keeping her own eyes carefully averted from his state of undress, Branwyn removed a flask of water from her pocket, then stepped from her pinafore and dress. She tossed the garments over his shoulder. Shivering in naught but her shift, she quickly donned his tunic and trousers. Next, she slipped the silver cross from around her neck and dropped it into the flask of water, consecrating it as holy water. Finally, she unpinned the braid coiled at her neck and re-pinned it atop her head. “Now, give me your hat, jarl.”

She clucked in feigned distress when he turned to face her. Her garments were far too small to fit his frame. Thus, he’d simply wrapped the dress about his chest like a blanket and tossed the pinafore on top. Not even from a distance would he pass for a maid. Without asking his permission, she raised her wand and muttered a quick glamour spell.

‘Twas uncanny how much he resembled her when she finished the spell. “Do not be alarmed,” she said at his aghast expression when he held out his much smaller hands to examine them. “’Twill not last long. I promise, and my garments will fit better in the meantime. The success of our quest depends upon this.”

Branwyn resisted the urge to laugh again when he reluctantly handed over his hat. Jamming it on her head, she tucked a small sprig of the mistletoe into her trouser pocket and hid her wand within the folds of Eirik’s enormous tunic. “There. A small amount will do just as well as any. Pray follow at a distance and distract the sorceress by igniting a fire when I give the signal.”

Instead of answering, Eirik slid the hat further back on her head for better access and kissed her roughly. “Are you certain you would not rather have me circle behind the wench and send a blade straight through her black heart?”

Branwyn sighed against his mouth. She would never tire of his kisses. The fact that he resembled her at the moment did nothing to dull their potency. “Alas, her death will not undo all the damage she’s inflicted on you and your men. Nay, Eirik. This battle cannot be won with a sword. We have no choice but to face the creature and outwit her at her own game.”

“I feared you would say that.” He pulled the hat down low on her forehead. “May the gods be with you, my love. I will not be far from you either.”

Branwyn’s insides melted at the endearment. ’Twas the first time he’d admitted his love aloud. She could only pray it would not be his last.

B
RANWYN paused at the edge of the woods before entering the clearing and performed another glamour spell, this time on herself. From the vantage point of her sudden greater height plus the new way she filled out Eirik’s clothing, she knew it had worked. She would appear and sound exactly like him for approximately a half hour. She dared not make the glamour last longer, because she wished to reserve the biggest portion of her powers for the reversal of the curse.

Sven was returning from the ship just as she stepped into the clearing. Though she expected the sorceress would be up to untold amounts of mischief, Branwyn stumbled and nearly fell at the sight that met her. A dozen or more wolves prowled restlessly around the clearing, whining and pawing at the ground. Above their heads, a cluster of blackbirds crowded the limb of a dead tree and squawked at the lone girl sitting next to the fire. One of them was larger than the others. He cocked his head ominously at her. That was when she noted his eye patch.
Alf?
Branwyn shuddered, perceiving at once what had happened to the crew, for none of the Vikings besides Sven were in sight.

“Eirik,” the peasant girl rose as Branwyn approached. The dirty linen rags she wore melted away and were replaced by a gown of shimmering violet silk. Her hair shook itself free of the twigs and other debris embedded in it and transformed into a sleek dark shade of chestnut that wound its way into an intricate set of swirls atop her head. A handful of loose strands curled and looped their way around her neck and chin. Her washed out complexion deepened to a coppery hue. Diamonds winked at her ears and throat.

Branwyn choked back a startled exclamation. ’Twas the same creature who’d appeared to them at sea as the leader of the mermaids. Instead of a silvery tail, this time she glided forward on willowy legs encased in silver slippers.

Horrified, Branwyn twisted her mouth into what she hoped was one of Eirik’s best glares. “What have you done with my men?”

“You jarls are all the same,” she simpered. “Storming your way around the world and issuing commands. Sometimes, a maid longs for nothing more than a simple greeting. You should try it sometime.” She reached out two slender arms as if expecting Eirik to embrace her.

Branwyn drew her sword, albeit a bit clumsily, and pressed the tip of it to the sorceress’s heart.

“How tedious of you,” the woman said in disgust. With a flick of one elegant hand glittering with rings, the useless blade went flying across the clearing to embed itself in the base of an ancient tree. “’Twill go far better for you this day to play the role of gentleman. Come now, Eirik. What would it hurt to toss a lady a compliment now and then? Mayhap even address me by name? ’Tis Mista, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Branwyn curled her lip. “How could I forget?” she snarled. “What with the way you branded me with your sorcery and followed me around the world spilling your poison at every turn. If this is all over my refusal to bed you, you’ve taken the role of scorned woman to such new heights that Freya herself must weep for you.”

At the mention of Freya, the goddess of love, Mista’s eyes splintered into twin pools of piercing white light. “Do not mention that hag’s name in my presence, else I will kill you now and seek out your brother instead. As a successful statesman, he has proven himself far superior to you in negotiating contracts. I begin to regret that I did not commence my negotiations with him instead of yourself.”

More mystified that ever, Branwyn shot Mista a mocking smile. “Indeed, you waste your time on me as I’ve said all along. Why is it that you bother with me at all?”

She snorted in an unladylike manner. “As if you do not already know.”

“You speak in riddles, witch,” Branwyn said bluntly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched anxiously as Sven dumped the contents of a lumpy brown sack into the cauldron. She hoped it contained personal effects from every one of the crewmen as she had directed. Anything would do — a strand of hair, a nail clipping, a comb or an piece of clothing. Sven pushed the items deep into the pot with his ladle. Then he abandoned the potion to spread the precious salt she’d requested in a circle around the fire to consecrate the ground.

“Riddles!” Mista scoffed. “As if you have not heard how the goddesses swoon and sigh from the heavens at the sight of you and your pet mongrel over there. What is his name again? Oh yes. Sven.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “I could not resist afflicting him with the same sickness as you. No need for either of you to enjoy the luxury of sailing the world, pleasuring yourself with mead and women, whilst you refuse to cooperate with me.”