Jilliand Read online

  By this time, night was quickly approaching. Searching for a safe place to stay, Jilliand found an open shed. Unseen, she snuck into a corner. She opened the bundle to find cheese and bread. She ate before crawling under a pile of straw; warm and dry, she slept.

  The next morning, Jilliand brushed the dust and weeds from her hair and gown, confident she would find some way to earn her keep. She came upon another open market where she traded one of her jeweled hair pieces for a heavy woolen cloak. Jilliand approached several different innkeepers, offering to work for food. Each looked her over. Her hair was uncombed. Her gown was dirty and worn. Yet, the young woman seemed as if she belonged in a carriage, not serving tables. She walked and spoke too well for the likes of their usual customers. She wore no jewels, not even a ring, still one could not be too cautious these days. Fearful of what their husbands would say, every innkeeper refused her.

  As the hours passed, Jilliand became increasingly anxious. She was repeatedly turned down. Perhaps to survive, she would need to find some place where stragglers from Viking raids gathered. There she would more easily blend in.

  A young man leaning against the stable doors watched Jilliand approaching. He liked what he saw. When she stepped inside at his bidding, she hoped to trade for a horse and saddle. He hoped to bargain for a night of pleasure. He got far more than he bargained for. When Jilliand realized what he wanted, she drew on him. He was shocked at her speed. It was clear she knew how to use the blade.

  Backing away, he stuttered, “I meant no harm, m’lady. Just lonely. Take any horse you see. Saddle comes with it. Do not tell the owner about this. I have a family, I do. Cannot lose this work. Please.”

  He sounded so desperate that Jilliand took pity on him. “Are you certain every horse is for sale?”

  He hesitated. “No. In truth, only the red one. ’Tis new to us. Came with a saddle. Too large an animal for you, though.”

  “Let me see,” she demanded. Dutifully, he led her to the back corral. Of the horses penned, the roan was indeed the larger. Jilliand had no idea what he might be worth, and she only had two hair pieces left. Taking the smaller of the two, she handed it to the young man just as the owner joined them.

  He studied Jilliand carefully, turning the hair piece given him by the stable hand over and over. “What need do you have for a horse such as that?” He knew nearly every person in the town. He did not know this lady.

  Jilliand studied him, also. “I think my need is my own, sir. Are you willing to part with the animal and a saddle?”

  “What more can you pay?” he asked. She did not look to him like she had money, at least not now. She used to, though, he’d wager. The one piece he held in his hand was worth what the horse would bring. He wanted more, if she had it. Business had been slow.

  She handed over the last of the two jeweled pieces. The man examined it closely. The stones alone would bring a good sum. He looked back at her. “I’ll take these for the animal and the gear. I’ll throw in the bags left with the horse. Best you leave tonight, though. I will tell any who ask, I sold the horse,” his eyes narrowed. “Would not tell them it was to a woman.”

  She nodded. While the lad saddled the horse, Jilliand followed the man back into the barn where he handed her two heavy bags. Tied together, Jilliand rolled the bags up behind the saddle. With the cloak around her, she mounted. Turning, horse and rider left. Jilliand planned to travel only until she felt the distance from the town was sufficient for her to make camp. However, the horse proved very fit. They traveled easily through the night, following a well-worn trail away from the settlement.

  CHAPTER 14

  FOLLOWING THE RIVER, RURIK AND his companions rode northward. They saw no other traveler. In their native language Askold said, “I remember this, Rurik. There is a settlement further. We were here several years ago.” He constantly scanned the land around them, as well as the horizon, watching for any movement. Vikings would not be a welcome sight. Three alone would tempt a confrontation that could very well go badly.

  “I do remember. I made peace with their town. With little protection, they welcomed us.” Rurik grinned at his men. “We only needed to repair our sails. The stable hand gave us whatever we wanted.”

  Dir laughed aloud. “Ah, Rurik … whatever you wanted.”

  Askold shook his head. “The Norns looked out for you that day, Rurik. With a ship of men gone many weeks from home, you finally decided against taking the women offered you on board. Wise. Do you think to try that place again?”

  “I do.” Rurik hoped talk of the recent Viking raids had not reached the town. One more time, he would seek out the same man he met before at the monastery. If Verdandi, the goddess of the present, was still with him, all would go well. He thought of the red-headed woman. She is not here, but she has been. I can feel it. Three Vikings rode boldly down the center of the street.

  The young lad from the stables watched the three men approach, then scurried out a side door, running toward the monastery. Banging on the heavy wooden door outside the building, he nervously hopped from one foot to the other, looking over his shoulder repeatedly. An old monk finally came to the door. “You bring news of importance, I am certain,” the monk said. He eyed the lad, then looked around him to the bustling street just below the monastery. “Why have you come?”

  “The Vikings, they are here!” The boy looked back.

  The monk’s face blanched. He looked beyond the lad once more. The street was busy with horses, people, carts, and dogs. No Vikings. “Are you sure? I see nothing.” At that moment, Rurik and his jarls came into view as they rounded the corner of a building at the street’s end. The old man squinted at Rurik for a long time. Slowly, he nodded. “Go home, son. We are safe this night.” Patting his shoulder, the monk gently pushed the lad away. Not waiting for a second command, the young man was off and running.

  The monk stood at the door, waiting for Rurik and his men. As they approached, he called to someone behind him, requesting the horses be cared for. As they dismounted, the monk opened the door wider, allowing the three Vikings to enter. The rooms were sparsely furnished and cold, lacking a fire or any coverings for the walls or floors. Other monks, all dressed in thick robes, were working at tables, lit with only one candle. Rurik glanced around the area. It was just as he remembered. He removed a pouch of coins from his side and handed it to the old monk.

  “I have no need for this,” the man responded quietly.

  “No, but you surely know someone who does.” Rurik stood watching him. This old monk and Rurik had spent a long time talking the last time Rurik was here. Unarmed and unafraid, he had welcomed Rurik and his men. The monastery had no golden statues, coins, or other treasures. They lived simply, writing and caring for those living in the surrounding homes. The townspeople were petrified of the Vikings, but the old monk seemed to know something about Rurik that Rurik himself didn’t know. They had spoken of Rurik’s gods and the monk’s God, parting that time, as equals. The monk wondered if there would be a price to pay for Rurik’s coins, today.

  “How might I be of service to you, Viking Sea King?” The man’s gaze was steady and unafraid.

  “I come seeking a woman. She might have come here not long ago—maybe two days.”

  “Are you angry with the woman?” the monk asked, his eyes narrowing. He knew Jilliand had come to his door before she passed through the town, knew how the Vikings treated captured women, and knew Jilliand wore a cross. She was not from the area—the only person he did not know. The monk would not willingly place her in danger.

  “I am not angry.” Rurik was not aware his voice had softened. The monk was.

  “She has red hair and wears one of your symbols. I will not harm her. When did she leave and to where does she travel?”

  The old monk acknowledged, “She did come here. She bought a horse and rode toward the river. Yesterday, late.” Turning, he opened the heavy door, “Go in peace, Viking.” When the three men were out, the door closed
behind them. They could hear the sound of a bar being dropped into place across the door. A younger monk walked to Rurik, leading the three horses. The Vikings rode hard, all through the night.

  In the clear light of early morning, Rurik found the tracks he hoped for. A single rider, probably light, had come this same way, recently. Following the sign, the three men rode on. Suddenly, Rurik’s hand shot up. Everyone froze. Jilliand’s voice drifted to them, strong and clear.

  Guiding the horses carefully, the men rode to the edge of a small glen. Rurik inhaled sharply. Naked and unabashed, Jilliand moved around to close her camp. She shook her dress, hung close to the fire to dry, then turned to the horse. Rurik’s heart beat faster, watching Jilliand work with her horse. Fate has been kind. The Norns have brought her here, to this place, to me.

  In the early afternoon, tired of riding, Jilliand found a river to follow. When darkness threatened, she began searching for a safe place to stop. She rode into an area where the river widened to meet the sea. Witness to this meeting was a small meadow surrounded by trees and brush. It looked to be a safe place for the two of them. There were no tracks around the area—nor at the bank. There were no signs of life; and the air was still and quiet but for the sounds of night birds of prey. Near the forest edge, Jilliand chose a place close to the sea where the shore formed a small cove. Once more, she was on her own. I can do this again. It felt less frightening this time. This time, Jilliand knew what she could do. She had a good horse, a weapon, and confidence. It’s a start.

  Dismounting, she began the business of making camp. After unrolling the cloak, she opened both sacks. Inside the first she found a small knife, hard bread, a block of salt, molded cheese, and a large, well-used chunk of flint. This night she would be warm. When she opened the second sack, her horse snorted, walked close to her, nuzzling for the sack. Tonight you get a treat, my new friend. Jilliand rubbed the horse’s nose before looping the sack handles over the horse’s head. Cutting the mold off the cheese, Jilliand ate. Lying next to the fire, under her cloak and covered with stars above, Jilliand felt a sense of exhilaration, only slightly dampened by reality.

  Morning opened a new day. The sun brought with it promise. If I am to find work, I must not look like a whore. Jilliand was already up and had bathed and hung her dress near the fire to dry. She stood naked, becoming better acquainted with her horse. She walked away from him, whistled, and rewarded him with grain from the sack when he came. She called him over and over, spoke to him when he came, and petted him. He learned quickly. Satisfied he would stay with her, she finished packing, dressed, and mounted. Riding toward a thicket, she leaned down to pet his neck. “We must become close friends, you and I. I wish I knew by what name you were called. No matter. I shall call you—”

  “Erik ’tis a good strong name,” Rurik’s powerful voice interrupted her.

  Jilliand straightened in the saddle to face Rurik, Dir, and Askold at the glen’s edge. Before anyone could move, she turned her horse and kicked him; he responded immediately. She clung tightly, trying desperately to leave Rurik behind her. For a while, it seemed she would outrun him. She would soon learn he was a far better rider than she was. When he overtook her, he pulled her onto his horse, while Askold caught her animal. Jilliand struggled mightily, but she was no match for the man who held her.

  “I told you I would come for you,” he calmly reminded her, as she struggled to free herself.

  Resigned to the fact she was captive again, she stopped fighting him. “You tossed me aside, remember?” Jilliand shot back, glaring ahead. Rurik held her tightly against his chest, without answering. His arm easily encircled her small frame; she was made immobile. He liked the feeling of this woman against him. He could feel her heart beating rapidly. Too bad the cove was so close; he could have ridden a long way with her held near to his own heart.

  When they arrived at the cove, he finally spoke again. “Well planned. You chose to meet my ship here?” For the first time, she could hear teasing in his voice. Realizing he was not angry with her, Jilliand attempted to wriggle away, hoping he would let her go. When she glanced up at him, he was still smiling down at her, though he shook his head.

  “What are you saying? There is no ship here.” Jilliand looked around. The waters were very calm, with small white-capped waves gently washing onto the sandy shore and slipping back to the ocean. Just a peaceful cove. Angry at his mocking tone, she began to struggle again.

  “We were to leave in two days. Since you are already here, we leave sooner.” His voice was still teasing. “Stop fighting me. You have been caught, fairly. Twice now.” Rurik resisted the urge to kiss the lips so near to his.

  Jilliand was furious. He laughed as he set her down, sliding down himself. While their horses were being cared for, he grasped her arm. Leading her along, he walked into the trees surrounding the cove. “Are you staying or must I tie you?” The question was asked evenly, without a trace of anger. He stood watching her, waiting for her answer.

  She fought back the tears of frustration. In truth what else can I do? Already I feel safer. “I am staying,” she answered under her breath.

  “I cannot hear you. Look at me,” he calmly ordered. She knew better. He wanted her to repeat it and see her face to know.

  Turning to him, her chin up, she yelled at him, “I’m staying!”

  “Good. Play with your horse while we hunt. It is possible the ship will be here this evening. Best you hope it is. It may be a long night for you, if it is not.” Without waiting for a reply, he called to his men as he mounted. They rode out.

  Jilliand toyed with the idea of leaving. Was it her word that kept her? “Truly my word is all I have. I cannot leave,” she argued aloud with herself. “Or is it because …?” The question hung unfinished. She could not know how fleeting the feeling of safety would be.

  She busied herself, gathering wood and starting a fire, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding forest. With the fire burning steadily, she formed a smoking rack out of some nearby tree branches. When Rurik and his men rode into the clearing, they brought back a gutted deer. It took little time for them to skin and cut it up. Several chunks of the meat were placed over the fire, while the rest was draped over the branch above the fire, to smoke.

  Looking out over the cove, Jilliand smiled to herself. He came for me, just as he said he would. And he is not angry. The realization that he actually wanted her gave her an unfamiliar feeling, not the usual knot in her stomach she had grown so accustomed to.

  When the men had eaten their fill, Jilliand stirred the embers and turned the remainder of the venison to continue smoking, like she had seen Rurik’s men do before. She walked to the shore, where she stood staring out at the black waters beyond. Rurik came to stand behind her. Gently, he pulled her back against him. She stood still. Fear of the unknown made her shiver. “Go get your cloak,” he spoke kindly. Turning, he watched as she walked away. She returned bundled in the warm cloak.

  “Please …” Jilliand began. Not certain what to say, she felt she was not ready for something she feared was coming, something unknown to her. When no words came, Jilliand fell silent.

  Rurik stood watching the sea as waves, stirred by a stronger wind, crashed against the inlet. Just when Jilliand decided he had not heard her, he began to speak. Pointing, he talked about where they were in relation to the sky. He talked about the land they were standing on, as well as the land they would sail for, the great mountains, trees, and waterways in his homeland. He spoke of his men, his home, and his life. He described the ties that bound his people together. As he talked, he pulled Jilliand close. She relaxed, leaned against him, and listened.

  After a long comfortable moment, Rurik turned her around. He placed the chain with the amulet around her neck and removed her cross, slipping it into the pouch he kept on his belt. “Keep this on; do not remove it. You must do this. It will protect you. I do not speak of your god, nor mine.” When he finished talking, he stood motionless, holding Jilli
and closely. The Norns play with me. Shaking his head, Rurik turned Jilliand toward the fire. “Go. You should sleep. We leave at first light.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked along the shore alone.

  At the fireside, Askold nodded to Jilliand and resumed turning the venison. Jilliand did as Rurik bade her, grateful she would be sleeping alone. She touched the amulet. It felt heavy and unwelcome. Yet, he had not forbidden her God to her, nor demanded she learn of his gods. Pray he never does.

  The next morning, as mist shrouded the cove and sea beyond, Jilliand knelt near the edge of the water, washing her face. Rurik walked up and stood watching her. Pretending she was not aware of his presence, she finished cleaning up. Standing, she turned to him. He walked closer to her. Reaching out, he pulled several twigs from her hair. “Come eat,” he invited, turning away.

  “I am not hungry,” Jilliand answered, watching him walk away from her. He gave no indication he heard her. She listened to the three men as they made ready to leave the cove. She could not understand her place with him. He did not treat her like a slave, nor like a whore. He treated her as an equal, or maybe a friend … or maybe more. He said he would take nothing for her. What does that mean?

  “Rurik,” Jilliand spoke carefully, “what of my horse? I care not to leave him alone here.” Rurik looked from the horses to Jilliand then back at the animals grazing peacefully.