They needed to take the ship. It was too early, still, and with their fire they would do well to wait a little longer. Let anyone who had seen it think that whatever the situation, they were asleep now. Wait until the moon was high and they could start to navigate by the light of the moon and the stars.
He wrapped one arm around her shoulder, pulled her tight against him. They were going to be fine. An easy trip up the shore, late in the night, and then they hop on the gig, take it up to the English ship, and kill anyone they couldn't capture quietly. Easy. He repeated the word to himself again, trying to quiet the doubt inside him. Easy.
The men were starting to quiet down from their revelry. The word had gone out long before Leif and Eirik returned. They were going tonight. With luck, they'd be back in Denmark by the full moon. Less than a week now. The idea that they were so close had set them all on edge, nobody quite sure of how to approach any of it, except
that they needed to be careful. The last moment was the easiest time to take risks that they couldn't handle.
Gunnar sucked in a breath, kissed Deirdre on the forehead, and stood up. His legs protested, already tightened up from inactivity after the long days that they had marched before. He couldn't afford to pay attention to that. It was too much of a risk.
The rest of the men followed suit, and he reached a hand down to help Deirdre to her feet as well. He strapped the blade to his waist as they kicked dirt onto the fire, putting out the last embers. It was time to go. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Now that they were close, he let his pace slow. There was no need to hurry, and every unnecessary risk could put the men in danger.
He couldn't—wouldn't—let another one die, not when they were so close to safety. Gunnar turned, looking over their faces, barely visible in the oppressive dark. They were behind, and they all had the stone-faced expression of men marching to do whatever needed doing.
Good, Gunnar thought. They would need that determination. Unless they were very lucky, there was no chance that the little boat they had taken in to port carried more than a dozen, and that meant not one nor two, but three trips. That meant that whoever was left on the third had to fend for themselves, if they were caught. A fighting retreat was the last thing that they wanted, but it was a very real possibility.
As they closed in, Gunnar let his mind drift. He preferred focus, but as they approached the fight he couldn't deny that without the blood-lust, without the gnawing hunger, it was harder to keep himself as focused as he would like.
When he got off that boat, when they settled back into the little farm that he had won for himself all those years ago, what would they do then? He could barely remember what it looked like. He had looked over the property once, five years ago, right after he received it. After his first big raid. Then he'd gone back to the Jarl, and lived with him. Always ready to fight.
Fighting had been most of his life since he had realized his… peculiar gift. Now that he had other things on his mind, other hopes, what would that mean for him? Who was he without fighting? Would the Jarl allow him to retire, for that matter?
The farm, if he recalled, had a small house on the property. Built small, with a main room. A stove and a table, a pair of bedrooms. Enough for a small family, but if they expanded it, then he would need to build onto it for more than a few children. They'd be able to turn the fields into something, that much was sure. Deirdre's knowledge of plants, combined with his body to make it happen. They'd work together to build a life.
Still, the old question remained. What would happen to him, if he gave up the life he'd had for so long? Constantly waiting to hear where he would go next, seemingly on a longship as long as he was on land. Certainly out of Denmark as much as he was in it.
He told himself that he would give it up. He didn't want to continue that life. More than that, he was tired of it, and now it seemed as if he had a good excuse to get away. He turned, saw Deirdre in the dim light beside him. She glanced at him when she noticed him looking, but she was watching the town. She was lost in thoughts of her own.
He already knew the answer, of course. Jarl Torstein was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted gold. Gold and slaves. He frowned. It was an issue to fight with. Still, he hadn't been raiding for years. The man was soft, and if he put up a fight it would be no great task to see that it was dealt with. Eirik and Ulf would see him through, he knew. As sure as anything. Leif—Gunnar couldn't begin to say.
He was tired of fighting, he thought. Tired of trying to figure out who would come next to kill him, tired of having to be constantly on guard. With Deirdre, he felt relaxed.
But there was one more fight to come. He took in a deep breath. They would be there soon. If they were lucky, then they could make their first trip with the less-wounded and take the ship easily. Then two more boat trips to bring the rest of the men. No trouble at all.
He gripped the sword at his side, ran his thumb around the pommel. He couldn't plan on lucky. Once more, if only once, he would need to rely on the thing he was best at.
Thirty-Eight
Gunnar led the way, Deirdre only followed. But that didn't mean that she was sure what she was doing. In fact, she was anything but certain of what she was doing. It was terrifying and at the same time she couldn't deny that the feeling of her heart beating out of her chest was wildly exhilarating. She was loving this more than she was ready to admit.
They kept to the shadows, and kept to the water. It was cold, but who would go into ankle-deep water to walk into a little town like this? Well, she reasoned. They would.
But, if they were lucky, then no one had thought much was amiss when the boy went into town. It wasn't anyone scouting his way to see what could be taken from the city. No way.
She smiled when she saw no one patrolling near the docks. They were making a mistake, of course, but there wasn't much to protect. Nor much to patrol. Even in a town as small as this, she knew that there would be a local thief, perhaps two. When something went missing, it wouldn't take the Sheriff long to figure out who did it and make sure it got back, most of the time.
But even with that in mind, there was only the little row-boat, only nine or ten feet front to back. No one watching, and no one waiting. That could be very good news, or it could be something to worry about, but she wasn't going to push herself on it.
Gunnar turned and silently pointed to nine men, and he joined them in the row boat. He wasn't healing like he used to, she knew, but he was less injured than he could have been. As long as he took care, the little cuts that peppered his body would be all he would need to worry about.
Deirdre watched them go. It took several minutes for the boat to approach the ship, which was still small, that far out in the water. She looked over her shoulder, up the main street where anyone who wanted to could see them coming from a mile away. Nothing yet.
She watched the outlines of the Vikings crawl up the side of the ship silently. Watched them jump the side-rail. The man on watch didn't see it coming for an instant, and he slumped down without a sound. Then the men dipped below decks, and a long silence passed.
Deirdre knew that there would be men on board. Knew that they would likely be asleep, so at least their passing would be painless. She tried to keep that in mind. At best they would be barely aware of what happened. A knife in the night. Practically a mercy compared to what so many others had suffered.
A single sharp scream, shrill and afraid, broke through her thoughts. Deirdre shivered and tried to forget. This was better than what they usually did, and better than what they had been planning.
She had to repeat it three times before she saw someone back on the top deck, and then they slipped down the side of the boat and into the gig. Deirdre checked again to make sure no one was looking at them. Thankfully, she couldn't see anyone.