Jilliand Page 6

  Rurik’s eyes never left Jilliand, and she could hear the men chuckle who were watching. Her chin raised, Jilliand placed her hands on her hips and stood defiant. “You’ve lost,” Rurik noted. Now the men laughed out loud. Rurik studied her a moment longer, shook his head, lowered his sword, and retrieved the smaller blade from where it lay. Jilliand stood glaring at Rurik.

  Rurik turned his back on her and walked away. Jilliand had to bite her tongue to keep from shouting at him. Of what use would it be for me to taunt him? He understands naught, she reminded herself. One of the Vikings stood aside, watching the exchange with a cold smile on his face. He had no use for the woman, and even less for Rurik. It was clear to him that the sea king fancied the woman. Gouldon’s mind began plotting.

  Jilliand soon found she was free to wander about the ship, in what little room she could find. No notice was taken of her; it was as if she were a ghost. Yet at times, she felt she was being watched, and she caught different men looking her way. For the most part, their glances seemed to be just curious ones. While she didn’t feel frightened for herself, her heart ached for the little children sitting numbly along the deck. She tried several times to speak with or comfort them but was pulled away each time by the same man who stopped her before. He shoved the children if they attempted to get close to Jilliand, so she gave up for fear he might hurt them.

  Later in the evening, they came upon a knarr. The two ships easily maneuvered into position side by side, were tied together, and the transfer began. All the cargo and captives were being loaded onto the larger ship. It was evident to Jilliand that both ships were under the same command.

  When the captives began to board the second boat, Jilliand walked in line with them. She was nearly at the exchange point when she felt strong fingers grasp her arm. Rurik was holding her back. He never spoke; he simply held her firmly until the transfer was complete, and the second boat had begun to move away. Releasing her, he returned to his post at the stern.

  Once more, Jilliand felt the sharp ache of loss. Her time in the settlement had given her a taste of belonging to a real family. For the first time in her memory, she had begun to sleep without fear and even to laugh. With the Viking raid, all that had changed. She watched the larger boat disappear as if it had never been. Moving as far away from the men at the bow as she could, she sought someplace to sit protected from the damp breeze. She crammed herself against the stern of the vessel with her arms wrapped around herself. Closing her eyes, Jilliand thought about the old couple from the castle, the closest thing to parents she had known. Her mind wandered to the teachers who had been allowed to come to her. They were kind to Jilliand, telling her of all the places they had traveled. As each session ended, they had listened as Jilliand read to them, from whatever books they carried. She smiled, remembering how quickly she learned Latin and French, when she realized the guards could not understand her. For the first time in a long time, she remembered the old priest who came to see her when her father was away. When her father found out the old priest was seeing Jilliand, the priest was killed. Suddenly, her thoughts turned to her father and turned dark. But she refused to allow fear and uncertainty to seep into her mind. Instead, she tried to remember all she knew about her mother.

  Time dragged on. She began to shiver, and her eyes flew open when someone roughly grasped her arm. She made a weak effort to pull away, too cold to do more. It was dark now, with heavy clouds hanging so low the air felt thick. She stood before she recognized the man. Gently this time, Rurik nudged her ahead of him. Back at the bow, he pointed downward and pushed her to the deck. Pulling his cloak from his shoulders, he tossed it over her and then walked away. Grateful for the warmth, Jilliand huddled against the ship’s side. Exhausted and lulled by the gentle sway of the ship, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  AWAKENED WITH A JOLT, JILLIAND looked around, disoriented for a moment. It was early morning. Men along both sides of the ship were holding their oars motionless. Rurik stood near the steersman at the bow, watching the water. At Rurik’s command, the men on one side lowered their oars and pushed. With another shout from Rurik, the opposite side pushed. Jilliand stood up and slipped unheeded to the ship’s edge. She was surprised to see the men steering the craft up a narrow inlet in the land where the river Avon ran quietly toward the sea. Rurik glanced at her briefly, and then kept his eye riveted on the waters below and ahead, constantly calling back and forth to the men handling the oars. Slowly but steadily, the ship moved up the passage. After a long while, Rurik stepped back and studied the land on both sides carefully.

  Jilliand heard Rurik yell something to his men. Then she watched as the oars were held out of the water and the men sat waiting. It soon became evident why they waited: The tide was dropping. When Rurik called to the men again, everyone jumped from the boat. Jilliand paused only a second, then followed suit, bounding easily over the side.

  “The Norns sent her to you!” the steersman shouted. Rurik glanced back at Jilliand without comment. The boat was lifted onto land. In short order, it was hidden beneath bushes and branches. Rurik walked up to Jilliand and pushed her down next to a tree near the boat. To her horror, he bound her to the tree. She could shift slightly and move her limbs, but the rope around her waist held her securely.

  Without speaking, Rurik turned and led his men upstream, following the river. There were settlements along this river ripe for Viking harvest. Jilliand watched in disbelief as their voices faded off into the distance. Unable to reach the knot securing the rope, she leaned against the tree. Jilliand could do nothing but wait, surrounded by silence while the anger inside her began to mushroom. She was a captive, tied to a tree, like an animal. The familiar feelings of rage at her father were taking root again.

  In the stillness, Jilliand suddenly caught the faint sound of footsteps coming from somewhere behind her. The steps were deliberate, careful, stealthy. Whoever it was did not want to be seen. The sound of the steps grew closer. Tied to the tree, Jilliand would be easy prey for the owner of those footsteps. Time froze. Jilliand took a deep breath and waited. Gouldon stepped suddenly into view. On this day, he planned his revenge. Because Rurik fancied the girl, he decided to take her for himself, knowing he would be gone before the men returned. Jilliand tensed, waiting for him to make his move.

  When he first reached for her hair, she easily dodged his hand. He stepped back, a malignant sneer on his face. Squatting down, again he reached for her. This time she could not move away. Grasping her hair, he jerked her toward him, smashing her lips with his mouth. She turned her head to the side, while desperately trying to push him away. Gouldon only laughed. He moved to sit straddling her legs, pinning them beneath him. He pushed her neck against the tree and began to choke her until she became limp. Releasing his grip and quickly dropping his weapons, he loosened his shirt, while Jilliand struggled to regain consciousness. Retrieving his short blade, he easily cut through the ropes binding Jilliand and then tossed the knife aside.

  With one movement, he was on her. One hand groped her breast, while the other tried to tear her trousers open. Jilliand fought hard. Twisting side to side, she pushed against him with both hands. Gouldon laughed at her desperate attempts with a cruel glint in his eyes. She realized he was only toying with her. She knew she was no match for his strength. Suddenly, he pulled her away from the tree and slammed her over, face down, onto the ground. Her nose and lips hit the earth and began to bleed, while the clouds of dust gagged her. Gouldon ripped her shirt up and began to jerk her breeches down. She pushed up onto all fours and tried again to claw herself away. The man grabbed her, lifted her slightly, and then threw her back down, her arms flailing and her head slamming into the dirt. Jilliand’s outstretched fingers hit the handle of Gouldon’s blade, lying where he had tossed it. Gouldon’s breathing had become rapid. He was no longer toying; he was wild and intent on taking her. He was on top of her. Gripping the blade handle, Jilliand turned the blade over so her thumb hook
ed firmly on the end of the handle, giving her better control. With every ounce of her strength, Jilliand swung it around behind her. She caught Gouldon by surprise and plunged the knife deeply into his side. Stunned, he sat up. Before he could move again, Jilliand quickly pushed herself up onto her side. Gouldon was bleeding profusely and weakening now. Twisting around, she wrenched the blade out and stabbed him again. He tried to speak as blood gushed from both wounds and onto Jilliand. He sagged backward. Blood dripped from his mouth and down his chin. He stared at her in disbelief. Jilliand shoved him. He toppled over and lay dying. Working her feet free from beneath him, she used both feet to push him away.

  Gasping, she crawled back to the tree. I have killed one of the Viking’s men. Numb, Jilliand stared at Gouldon’s body. “I think I may have called for my own death,” she whispered. With her back against the tree, she looked around. What would happen now? The ropes were still lying in the dirt. The knife was deeply embedded in Gouldon’s side; blood oozed from both wounds. Bruised, bloody, and barely dressed, she knew it was over. She had no doubt the Vikings would search for her if she tried to run—especially now, with their companion lying dead. It would be dark soon, and she had no idea where she could go or hide. Jilliand knew they would come for her. The Vikings were not likely to let this go—especially it being an attack by a woman. She was defeated. Weak and shaking, she stared at the man’s body. I think tonight I die.

  The mist riding the river enveloped Jilliand. By the time the men began to return, she was trembling with the cold and still huddled against the tree. At this point, Jilliand lacked the will to even try anymore. The Vikings were in a victorious frame of mind, laughing and talking. Some brought grain, others brought gold, and still others brought various weapons. Fear rose in Jilliand’s throat at the sounds of the returning crew and her captor’s voice.

  Rurik walked toward Jilliand, intent on removing the ropes, but when he saw the dark form lying near Jilliand, he stopped in his tracks. He called for a light. When the torch was brought, the men surrounded her. The battle needed no explanation. Blood was splattered over her breeches and what was left of her shirt. Her face was battered and bloody. Gouldon was half naked and dead, the knife still in his side, a second wound below the knife. Blood from both wounds had pooled on the ground under him. Rurik studied the body, then Jilliand. Shaking with the cold and now fear, she sat staring ahead. Rurik looked back at Gouldon again.

  Several others of the crew spoke out. The dead man had been seen frequently watching the girl. Dir placed his hand on Rurik’s shoulder, and their eyes met. The blade was well used, Dir observed. The girl apparently knew to how to turn the blade and strike between the ribs. Dir looked at Jilliand and at the rest of the crew. The men kept talking. Jilliand could not understand anything and, at this point, did not care. Her life had run its course.

  “Hmm,” Rurik said as he grasped the torch and turned to Jilliand again. “Was this your first kill?” He spoke in English with his voice quiet. He held the light near, watching her face. Jilliand only nodded, still staring into the darkness. Rurik walked with the torch around the tree and beyond where Gouldon lay. Again, he stood before her, his torch lighting her face. “Why did you not fight when you were first taken?” Rurik asked in his lilting English. Why, he wondered, did she wield the weapon so well now but not use it during the raid on her village?

  It took a moment for Jilliand to understand his question. He speaks English, she realized, as her mind began to focus. Turning her large emerald eyes to his face, she replied simply, “My blade was too short.” Rurik’s brow shot up in surprise. She was correct, and she knew it, but how? Rurik handed off the torch and then leaned down. Easily lifting Jilliand, helping her stand, Rurik studied her face, and his eyes moved over her shaking body. Satisfied, he nodded again. It was clear: Gouldon had not gotten what he died trying to get. But the woman … how did she know what to do? Rurik helped her onto the deck of the ship and then handed her a heavy woolen shirt. The shirt draping over her small frame provided relief from the biting cold.

  Rurik took up his post at the bow. Jilliand staggered to the stern. He saw her leave but did not respond. With the night’s gentle wind blowing through her damp pants, she began to shake again. The shirt was soon damp, too. Wet, cold, and chilled to the bone, she was no longer numb or afraid; she was angry. I must get off this boat. I’ll freeze while they are out plundering, if one of them does not kill me first. She felt her anger intensify. Rurik’s crew was not concerned in the least. It seemed the incident with Gouldon was over. Was it over for her? How soon before another man tried the same thing? Am I safe? Jilliand wondered. At some point, she felt someone near. Rurik did not attempt to move her. He dropped his cloak over her then walked away. Grudgingly, she wrapped the heavy fur close. She needed its warmth.

  The ship moved on, hugging the land’s edge. Rurik did not speak to her and let her stay as far from him as she could. When the men left the ship the next time, he came to tie her up again, but she sat down before he could. As he leaned over with rope in hand, she said quietly, “I know not why you do this. I will not run from you.” To her surprise, he paused, looked at her, and simply dropped the rope. She stayed still. He left her alone, unbound and free to move. He understands me. Do the rest of these men also speak English? He had not spoken to her of Gouldon, but Jilliand could feel he was not angry with her. In fact, it was as if the incident had not happened.

  When the Vikings returned, Jilliand was standing against the bow, trying to stay warm. As Rurik approached, she moved away without looking back and again moved to the stern. Trying to block the wind, she sat against the side of the boat, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Too cold to move, she remained still. She felt someone grip her arm, pull her up roughly, and begin walking with her. She stumbled, trying to keep up as she was pulled along. Rurik guided her back to the bow, sat her down hard, near where the three men usually stood, and again draped her with a heavy cloak. “Thank you,” she murmured. Rurik gave no indication he heard. Under the warmth of the cover, Jilliand drifted off to sleep.

  Rurik stood at the bow, his arms crossed over his chest, staring out to sea. He knew none of his crew had any regard for Gouldon and were not concerned about the method of his departure. In fact, they all were relieved he was gone, such was the effect of his moods on the rest of them. His men knew the woman clearly belonged to Rurik; they would not give her up and would protect her. Whether Gouldon had any kin that might try to avenge him, no one knew.

  Rurik turned to look at his men and then turned to look at the small woman sleeping beneath his robe. He did not worry if someone sought Gouldon. He would deal with that problem, if it became one. He watched the waters. He always felt he knew Gouldon from elsewhere but could not remember exactly. Now, it bothered him. Rurik glanced at his friends. Who among us can tell what the sisters of fate have in mind? Watching Jilliand sleeping, he wondered aloud in English, knowing the men could not understand him. “How is it the fates bring me a Christian?” With a caustic smile and shaking his head, he added, “A fighting woman, dressed as a man.” Rurik looked over at Jilliand’s small form. There was no answer.

  CHAPTER 10

  RURIK AND THE VIKINGS CONTINUED to raid. They stopped, plundered, moved off to sea, and returned to raid the next site. Each time Rurik came to Jilliand, she promised to remain. He left each time without restraining her. This night, they did not hide the boat. When he came to her, Jilliand noted with sarcasm, “Are you not tired of this? You have to know, I’ll not run from you.”

  Rurik reached out to her. Surprised, Jilliand stared at his hand. She hesitantly placed her hand in his. He pulled her up and removed the chain she wore around her neck. “What are you doing!?” Jilliand’s hand went to her neck. Rurik’s eyes locked onto Jilliand’s as he calmly dropped the chain and cross into a small pouch hanging at his side. Around her neck, he hung a chain with a hammer amulet. Stepping back from him, Jilliand tried to remove the chain. Rurik stopped her
. He did not speak, but his expression was clear. Slowly, Jilliand dropped her hand. Silently, Rurik gripped her wrist taking her to the side. She looked at him and then at the men who were now bounding over the side of the boat. Gripping the side, Jilliand leapt over. Wading the short distance to the shore, Jilliand waited as the men gathered around. Everyone was talking and laughing. When Rurik joined her at the bank, he took Jilliand’s wrist again and walked to the front of his men with her in tow. What is he doing with me? The answer hit her. He thinks to sell me! Aghast, she glanced around looking desperately for some way to escape. There was none. With her heart in her throat, she walked toward the unknown horrors of life as a slave. Rurik’s men continued to talk among themselves, but as usual, Rurik was silent. There was a smattering of huts whose occupants went about their day, disregarding the Vikings.

  In a short while, Jilliand could see a settlement ahead. Near the entrance of a great hall, Rurik dropped Jilliand’s wrist, draped her with his cloak, and simply walked inside. Jilliand felt the silence in the room when he entered with her walking freely at his side. His cloak, made of a dark hide, was soft and shining, and it set off the deep copper of her hair though her hair was matted and dirty. Calmly, she walked beside him. I know not what happens here, but I am not chattel. I am my mother’s daughter, Jilliand reminded herself. Her heart beat rapidly with growing fear, but she refused to allow that fear to show. No one could see what she was feeling.

  Seated, she glanced at the men filling the room. All looked like her captor save the men in one group who looked to be English. They were seated near Rurik and immediately began to talk among themselves. “She sure looks like the wife. The wife is dead. Must be his daughter. Was she kidnapped?” The comments came to her across the room as it quieted. With a lurch of her heart, Jilliand realized she might have been recognized.