Her legs ached with the pain of stretching, her shoulder pulled to its limits, but she continued to lean, bending her knees to relieve the pain. It didn't matter what kind of show she gave to the others, how far down the front of her dress they could see.
This wasn't about modesty. It was about freedom, and she was going to have hers back. If someone came into her little cottage again, and said they desperately needed her help, then Gods above damn them because she wasn't about to leave it. Never again. She guessed that her cottage, outside Clifton, had survived the northern onslaught, being so far outside.
She could go right home and live her life, hale and happy and grow her food, the same as she had before. She worked the rope under her feet, groaning with discomfort, and then finally… she had her hands 'round front.
She stepped over the rope to stop it hiking up her dress any more than it already had, then turned to the pole. It was only six feet stuck out of the ground, just high enough that she could lift the rope that held it if she jumped. She turned back to see if there were any men on the horizon.
She saw none, but Deirdre knew that didn't mean anything. She could have missed them cresting a hill, and they hid now in the valley that two hills made, and she would have been none the wiser. She still had to hurry, as if they could top the next hill at any moment and see her going.
Hers was, to her great displeasure, not the top loop on the post. In fact, as she looked, it was very nearly at the bottom. She would have to free ten people before she could have a solitary hope of going.
She loosened the first, letting it slide up. Standing just on her tip-toes in the soft earth, she was able to… just barely… push it over, with the point of her fingers. She had misjudged the height, she thought, and now she was beginning to realize how much of a disadvantage it was going to be that she was far from a tall woman.
Perhaps, she thought to herself, looking askance, if she had help from any one of them, things would have been different, but she did not. The man whose thong she had loosened stood up, testing his bonds.
Oh, now he is interested in escaping. What a good, principled man. It was hardly a wonder that Deirdre had given up on marriage, she thought bitterly. Cowardly and opportunistic, what a wondrous combination.
"If you're going to help, then come here and I can untie you."
He turned to face her, clearly unimpressed by her attempt to be reasonable and polite. An attempt, she noted to herself, which had taken no small amount of effort. He was a pig, the worst kind of animal, out only for himself and using only the easiest possible means.
He stepped up to her, looking her right in the eyes. "You don't get it, do you? I want to live. My wife, my daughter, they're gone now. I don't have any reason to risk my life to escape back to something that's gone. I want to live, and I'm going to live. I'm not going to let you, or any of these men, put that in jeopardy."
He reared his head back, and brought it down, and the world went black.
Finding her on the ground, her eyes still out of focus, put Gunnar into a mood that he couldn't afford to show. She was a prisoner, he reminded himself. Just a prisoner, not his woman. The fact that he seemed to have forgotten that… it was hardly any wonder why Valdemar had thought he could stand up to Gunnar.
No, he had to make sure that he kept his head on straight. There was no way to say for certain what had happened, unless they interrogated the prisoners, and there was little reason to worry so much about it. Aside, of course, from Gunnar's wounded pride, but even he could manage to stifle that.
Once the prisoners were checked, the next thing he had to do was… he thought. They wouldn't break camp tonight. Not with so many injured. How many had they lost today? One had died. Leif, he'd been too old for the expedition by a few years. Older than Gunnar, and without his peculiar talents.
Another two had taken bad wounds. They wouldn't be up and moving again for weeks, but it was a risk you faced. Eirik brought up the rear, with the wagon that Gunnar had suggested they steal from the town. It would make a better way to keep the prisoners in line, and it would let them carry the wounded.
He turned back and helped pull the wagon the last bit of the way up the steep hillside, until he and Eirik stood beside one another breathing hard.
They would rest tonight, post a guard, and in the morning they would be off. How long would it take before the witch could cure him? How would he know when she had, for that matter? Was it something that he would feel right away?
How many more nights would he have to call her in, to feel that stirring inside him and have to squash it? He pushed the thought away. No, he wasn't attracted to her. That was out of the question. He couldn't afford a distraction and he wouldn't allow one.
It was becoming a near-hourly struggle whenever he had to stay in this camp, reminding himself that he had a job to do and couldn't afford to dally with pretty fire-headed witches.
He went to check the firewood stocks. They had been plenty the night before, but they went through them at a surprising rate, and the wood was needed to cook supper for the camp.
Valdemar caught his eye as he walked back through the center of camp. The younger berserker had seen him, and knew that Gunnar had seen him as well. After a moment he pushed himself forward, off of the cart that he'd leaned himself on.
Gunnar wanted to ignore him. Wanted to keep on moving and let him do whatever fool thing he was going to do. There was no advantage in wasting his attention on Valdemar's attempts to goad him into a disadvantaged fight. All he would be doing would be to give them credence.
But at the same time... he pushed the thought away. No, he would have to ignore it. There was nothing else for it, he had to ignore it or he would face trouble.
The man spoke loudly, in Norse that told the entire group that he did it for Gunnar's benefit.
"What a pretty little whore. I wonder what she'd say to spending a night with a real man, for once! What about you, would you like that?"
He leaned down into her face. Gunnar couldn't help seeing the leering stare he gave her, one that left little to the imagination whether you could understand his words or not. She wasn't questioning what he wanted.
Gunnar could imagine what was racing through her mind right now. Had seen how she acted the first night in his own tent. She was trying to decide how quick he was, trying to figure out if she could kill him and get away with it. In the midst of the group of prisoners, her arms in front of her—
Gunnar cursed below his breath and made his way over. At best she would do nothing, but at worst she was going to get herself killed. He had searched for ten years for a chance to make himself a proper man again, he wasn't about to let his opportunity slip through his fingers.