Redeeming Her Viking Warrior

‘The kind of person who could plan such an intricate attack doesn’t sound like someone who makes mistakes. A clever person would have used gold.’

‘Then maybe she’s not as clever as she thinks.’

‘Or maybe you just want her to be guilty?’

Danr stiffened at the accusation. Was that what he wanted? Looking back, he knew he’d wanted to accuse Hilda. That was why he’d rushed in to confront her when he should have waited. He’d wanted to hear her confess. He still did, but was it possible that she was innocent? Maybe Erika-Bersa was right and he’d let hatred prejudice his judgement.

‘Why are you defending her?’ He sought refuge in anger. ‘Even if she’s not guilty of this, she’s guilty of other things—of the way she treated Rurik and me! Of betraying my father with his own helmsman!’

‘Yes.’ She seemed nonplussed by his reaction. ‘But that’s not why you’re here.’

The words, spoken so softly, seemed to defuse his anger. ‘You’re right, but I need to find out the truth. I need to find out who murdered my family and get justice for them.’

‘I know. That’s why you should take a branch of peace and go and speak to your stepmother properly. It’s what you ought to have done in the first place.’

‘Something tells me a branch of peace isn’t going to stop Joarr from killing me now.’

‘Mmm, perhaps not.’ She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. ‘But there has to be a peaceful way.’

‘Let me know if you think of one.’

‘I will.’ There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again, her voice wavering slightly. ‘Danr, I’m sorry about your father and your womenfolk. It must have been a terrible thing to witness. I know how it feels to lose people you care about.’

‘You mean your family?’ He held on to her gaze, almost afraid to breathe unless it disturbed the new atmosphere of confidence between them. ‘Is that why you’re alone? Will you tell me what happened to them?’

She seemed to hesitate before glancing up at the sky and shaking her head. ‘Not now. I’m tired and there’s more rain coming. Heavy rain this time.’ She stood up and hesitated again. ‘Sissa. That’s my name. And I was born here on the island.’

‘Sissa...’ His heart warmed suddenly. ‘Thank you.’

‘Now, you should fix the roof of your shelter. It has holes.’

Chapter Eleven

A drop of water splashed on to Danr’s cheek. He rolled on to his good side to avoid it and put

his face in a patch of soggy and foul-tasting moss instead. He muttered an oath and rolled back again, listening to the sound of rain outside. Although he noticed it wasn’t just one sound. It was several. Quick splashes, slow splashes, soft splashes, heavy splashes—none of which sounded as if they had any intention of stopping any time soon. His pelt roof had obviously blown away and now an icy wind was finding its way through every nook and cranny in his shelter, of which there appeared to be many, chilling all the wet patches of his clothing. He’d lain down less than an hour ago and now he had a sinking feeling that it was going to be a very long night.

He gave up trying to sleep, propping himself up on his elbows to look outside. Despite the rain, the moon was still bright enough for him to make out the shape of the roundhouse in the centre of the clearing. There was a trail of smoke twisting up from the hole in the roof, unlike his own fire, which had long since given up its battle with the elements. Not surprisingly, Halvar had already abandoned him. He really should have devoted more time and attention to building his shelter, Danr thought regretfully. He probably ought to do something about it now, though how exactly he was going to block up so many holes in the dark he had no idea. Maybe if he asked nicely, Sissa would let him spend the night in her cave. It would be freezing, but at least he’d be dry.

Sissa. Just the thought of her warmed him a little. He felt pleased and honoured that she’d finally trusted him enough to tell him her name. Now that he knew it, it seemed so obvious, too. How could he ever have thought her a Bersa? She couldn’t be anything but Sissa. It suited her. Just like her wild hair and oyster-pearl eyes suited her... They were what made her beautiful. Or at least beautiful in her own way. A way that he was finding more and more appealing. Not that sitting there thinking about that was going to do anything to keep him dry. If he wasn’t careful he’d catch a fever...

He crawled forward and heaved himself to his feet, ready to make a valiant and probably pointless attempt to repair his shelter, when the leather curtain of the roundhouse moved aside and Sissa’s narrow face peered out.

‘Are you awake?’ She spoke in a loud whisper.

‘Very!’

‘Then come here!’

‘What?’ For a moment he wondered if he’d fallen asleep after all and was dreaming.

‘Come here unless you want to catch your death, but hurry up.’ She lifted a hand to beckon him. ‘The heat’s escaping.’

He didn’t wait to be told again, jumping to his feet and hurrying across the clearing, ducking his head under the doorway to step inside. The space within was illuminated by firelight and looked far bigger than he’d expected, with a raised central hearth framed by a bench on one side, an old wooden coffer on the other and a pile of furs opposite the door, above which hung an assortment of herbs that gave the air a pungent, almost heady aroma. Tove and Halvar were already asleep, he noticed, stretched out on the floor with their heads pressed together and snoring softly. It all looked snug and cosy and inviting. Too snug and cosy and inviting, it struck him suddenly. Three years ago, he would have been more than happy to be trapped in such a place with a woman. Now he wondered if the frigid cave might have been a wiser idea, after all...

‘How have you survived so long, Danr Sigurdsson?’ Sissa put her hands on her hips, looking him up and down critically. ‘Tomorrow we’ll build you a better shelter, but right now you should sit by the fire for a while. You’ll dry soon enough.’

‘Thank you.’ He ruffled his hands through his hair and sat down on the bench. ‘I never did like rain.’