‘Maybe I should, but I was always too reckless to know what was good for me.’ He tried to sound nonchalant, though he had to admit there was something elemental about her appearance at that moment. Her pale hair seemed to shimmer in the faint light, as if it might shoot out silvery sparks at any moment. She was standing so close that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to—and he wanted to, he realised with a jolt.
‘Other people just think I’m mad,’ she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Maybe they’re right and I am mad. How would I know if I was?’
Danr drew in a deep breath, taken aback by the intensity of her expression. She looked as if she genuinely wanted an answer, as if she were relying on him to give her one, too, but how could he? He didn’t know her. He didn’t know if it was even possible to know her. She was more inscrutable and mysterious than any woman he’d ever met before. But she was still looking at him...
‘Maybe you wouldn’t know. Maybe none of us really know ourselves,’ he answered, rubbing a hand over his chin before gesturing around the cave. ‘Personally, however, I think you’re too well organised to be mad.’
‘Perhaps I ought to summon a storm to convince you.’
‘Ah, but you already did that, remember? You summoned a snowstorm when you first found me. I know that was you...’ He swayed slightly towards her, lowering his voice to an undertone. ‘You might be a mystery, Erika or Bersa or whatever you want me to call you, but you’re not mad. I think you’re just very good at pretending.’
Her eyes widened for a moment, flickering over him as if she were seeing him properly for the first time.
‘Danr Sigurdsson...’ She said his name softly, yet in a way that seemed to echo all around the cave. ‘You’re not like other warriors.’
‘No?’ The words came too close for comfort. ‘Do you know so many then?’
The question made her gaze dip briefly. ‘I may live alone, but I have eyes and ears and I know the way they behave.’
‘You mean the Norse in the village or the Gaels?’
‘The Gaels have moved inland. There’s only Norse on this side of the island now.’
‘And only one Norse village in this part of the island.’
‘True. You look like them, but you’re different.’
‘Maybe because I’m a warrior who can’t fight, for a few weeks anyway. I don’t know what that makes me.’ He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, trying to make light of it. ‘Except for your servant and cook.’
‘No...’ She didn’t react to the gesture, only studying him a bit longer. ‘I think you must always have been different.’
The smile fell from his face. Different. An outsider. A bastard son to a king with three good, strong, legitimate sons... The old pang of bitterness hit him harder than usual. Even though he’d had Rurik, he’d always been aware of the difference between them and their half-brothers, having to fight for every scrap of their father’s attention, having to prove they were worthy to be in his hall alongside warriors like Brandt and Alarr. He’d done his best to bury and hide his feelings, to conceal his sense of not belonging behind a careless, mocking exterior, yet somehow this woman had seen straight through him, right through to his core. It was a disconcerting sensation. Women were rarely interested in anything more than his face.
‘I just talk more than most warriors.’ He forced a smile back to his lips. ‘My brothers alw
ays said so.’
‘Mmm.’ Her gaze turned inwards. ‘It feels strange to talk again. It’s been so long.’
‘How long have you been alone?’ He quirked an eyebrow, glad of the change in subject.
‘Long enough.’
‘Without anyone to talk to?’ It was hard to believe that a person would choose to live that way. ‘It sounds lonely.’
‘Sometimes it is.’
‘Don’t you get frightened, living out here with only animals for company? Why not go to one of the villages? Surely the people there would value a healer?’
‘Because they aren’t the people I want to be with.’ Her eyes shot back to his, brighter than before. ‘Those people are gone and I don’t want anything to do with any others. Villages aren’t safe either. I’ve seen men behave much worse than animals. People are dangerous. They can’t be trusted. Warriors especially.’
‘You mean your village wa—?’
‘So, Danr Sigurdsson,’ she interrupted before he could finish his question, ‘you come to Skíð on your own, you almost get yourself killed, then you refuse to leave. Either you’re the one who’s mad or you’re just stubborn. Which is it?’
‘A little of both, maybe.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘All I know is that I came here for a purpose and I’m going to fulfil it, no matter what.’
She moved even closer, until they were standing toe to toe and chest to chest, leaving only a sliver of air between them. ‘Does it mean so much to you, this truth you came here to find?’