To Find a Viking Treasure (Norse Series Book 2) (6 page)

“And you have much to offer—” his gaze dropped to ripe swells beneath her cloak, “—much more than your obvious charms.”

Their quiet connection was fleeting and tender the way skin was sensitive from a newly healed wound, but she welcomed it, smiling brightly. Brandr sat back and dragged the oars through water, eyeing the horizon beyond her. The air was clearing.

And the rough warrior liked red hair. Her red hair.

She tugged her long, thick braid over her shoulder, the tip coiling in her lap.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “My hair is a source of pride. I’d die if it were ever shorn.”

He snorted. “Like most redheads, you’re a bad flirt.”

“I’m not a flirt. I’m friendly.”

“And for a thrall, you’re pretty lazy.”

Her jaw dropped. “I am not. I’m…I’m leisured. There’s no need to rush through my daily tasks.”

“Leisured.” He drew the word out as if he tested a new idea. “That’s what you call it?” One corner of his mouth curled up. “Tell me again how you know about the hoard.”

He already knew the tale; she’d made her explanations at the fire pit last eve. Lady Henrikkson had sent her on an errand the day after the mid-summer festival. Much of Uppsala slept, and those who didn’t moved on slothful feet, the cost of late-night revelry. Her task had taken her to the other side of Uppsala. Drowsy on her walk home, a shady spot along the shore beckoned her to take a nap.

Only she hadn’t rested long before spying one of Gorm’s ships.

He’d stopped at the island facing her. She watched a man jump out of the boat and sling two leather bags over his shoulders, one large and the other of middling size, both clinking with what had to be wealth and coin.

From the boat, two more men hauled a flat, white stone with runes painted in red.

The Dane made her neck hairs stand on end. Whatever he did on the island couldn’t be for good. She’d lain in the tall grass and followed their movements through the trees. With Gorm’s distinctive orange-red hair, it was easy to trace the men’s movements. When they disappeared, she grabbed her basket and ran.

Brandr’s low laughter pulled her back from the memory.

“I know how to keep you quiet.” His smile gleamed white within black whiskers. “I’ll remind you how
leisured
and
friendly
you are.”

“Don’t forget, my stop that day is why we’re here.” She leaned forward to press her point. “Many lives will be—”

Their boat lurched hard, flinging her against a basket. She grabbed the side rail. Brandr jumped into knee-high water and dragged the vessel. She spun around.

The island.

Big hands braced her ribs, and Brandr whisked her from the boat. She yelped from the shock, grappling his shoulders. Water skimmed the bottom of her boots. Then her feet were on solid ground.

Brandr waded back to the boat. He stood in water up to his knees and strapped
Jormungand
across his back.  Next, he pulled an axe from beneath the baskets and tied the weapon to his thigh. The wicked iron shined against his black trousers. The curved edge had been oiled and newly sharpened.

She pointed at the axe. “Do you really need that?”

“I do. And this, too.” He showed her a long bone-handled blade before he sheathed it. “And this,” he said, hefting a round shield from the boat. Brandr slid his arm through straps on the back of the disc painted with wavy red and white lines, the colors of Lord Hakan.

Brandr was a walking arsenal.

He pushed baskets aside and grabbed a shovel. “But you’ll need this.”

“What for?”

“To dig up the hoard.”

He sloshed his way onto dry land, a breeze ruffling his dark hair. Boyish mischief played on his face, and she squirmed, sand crunching underfoot. These flares of attraction needed to stop.

She eyed the shovel. “You expect
me
to do the digging?”

“You don’t want to?” He tipped it across his shoulder, a smile playing with the corners of his mouth. “Not even to prove how hardworking you are?”

Lips firm, she looked heavenward. He’d baited her, jabbing at one small stain on her character, and she walked into his trap.

His smile widened. “If you and I were keeping score, I’d say I’m way ahead.”

Because he was all about games.

Brandr pointed at a break in the grass near fledgling pine trees. “Would that be the way they went?”

“That is the path,” she said coolly.

“Please take us as far as you remember.” He bowed low at the waist. “And you can tell me all about your friendly, leisured ways.”

She gathered her skirts, her footfalls digging into sand in her forward march. She taunted his gambling ways—the man had never won—before she saved her breath for the hike. Brandr stayed a pace or two behind her with the shovel slanted across his shoulder. He was alert to their surroundings, checking the area around them as she walked until they reached a split in the trail.

 The island, dense with ferns and trees, was cozy. Some farmsteads with flax and barley fields were larger.

She stopped and considered the path on the right and to the left, Brandr’s reassuring presence at her back. On the left, wind blew harder …the other side of the small island. A pair of squirrels raced across a tree branch. A rabbit munched on greens by a hollowed log. Nothing perilous prowled here, save the goading Viking at her back.

“This is as far as I saw,” she said, the fire in her belly gone. “What do we do now?”

Brandr crouched low, his hand splayed on the soil. He studied one path and then the other, reading the earth the way old scholars studied scrolls. Men told tales of Lord Hakan sending Brandr as an outrider into remote lands in years past. They spoke with awe at his uncanny ability to read the land as if it spoke to him.

Some said he could converse in strange, foreign tongues.

How did a lowly house Karl come by such unique skills?

Brandr stood up, facing the left path. “This way.”

He eyed the dirt, same as he did navigating the waterways to get them here. She fell in step behind him. The view invited shameless gawking. Black wool and leather stretched across wide shoulders. The oft mended black trousers hugged his firm, muscled bottom.

No wonder highborn ladies liked him. What woman could find fault with him? They probably ran their fingers through his black-brown hair, the only soft part on the hard man.

A pang settled in her stomach at the image of their hands exploring him. Brandr led the way aware she trailed a few paces back. The warrior didn’t get impatient that her stride failed to match his. He slowed his gait on purpose.

For her.

The warrior was quick with a jibe, but he stayed quietly attentive to her needs. It was the better part of him hidden beneath his curt nature. Brandr showed startling consideration for a thrall of no importance.

Following him, she plucked a broad leaf and twirled it between her fingers. The surprising plans awaiting him on Gotland would yield great success. It was much deserved.

He was a good man.

Walking behind him in the peaceful island forest, a startling truth hit her. In the boat and on the beach, the rough Viking had teased and provoked her on purpose. Brandr challenged her to seek freedom and took her mind off encroaching fears.  

She breathed easy…utterly safe and content with him.

And that was most dangerous of all.

Chapter Four

Trouble waited on this hunk of land rising from the sea. Signs of men showed everywhere.
Fresh boot prints marked the soil. A charred rabbit carcass lay discarded in the grass, the faint smell mingling with damp air. Ahead, metal glinted in sand.

Brandr strode quickly to the open beach to get there before Sestra. He knelt down and wedged his shield in the earth to block the shiny piece from Sestra’s view before picking it up: a fire steel, the small, flat metal used for starting fires.

Where wolf’s ears are, wolf’s teeth are near.

Air whispered Odin’s wisdom, a reminder to keep alert.

His thumb brushed sand off the iron. The men who’d camped here made slovenly warriors. Either they didn’t expect others to show or they didn’t care. Were those men here now?

Or did others hunt for the hoard?

He tucked the fire steel in his belt and rose to full height, not liking unanswered questions.

His tart-tongued redhead untied her cloak, ambling past him onto the beach. If he read her right, hips sashaying, the relaxed stretch of one leg after another as she walked, Sestra was at ease. She likely missed signs of other warriors. It was better that way. He didn’t want her worrying again. They needed to get the treasure and get off the island. Fast.

Sestra trudged through deep sand and turned to face the landscape. Mild waves slapped the shore behind her where seagulls squawked over a dead fish.

With her back to the open water, she planted her hands on her hips. “It’s a small spit of an island, isn’t it? Almost as high up as it is wide.”

The distinctive crowned point made the island stand out among the few others in the waters off Uppsala. When she had described it at dawn, he and Hakan immediately knew the island.

Sestra surveyed the island’s peak, red curls blowing across her face. “We should split up.”

“No.” He scanned dense green trees behind him and the empty beach before him. Water lapped chunks of driftwood teetering on giving up their land hold. Grainy sand stretched with natural dips. No footprints marked the beach, save Sestra’s new trail.

If men used this beach, they covered their tracks well.

Sestra pointed at the path they’d trod. “That trail cuts the island almost in half. You could search one side. I take the other, and we meet in the middle.”

He shook his head. “We stay together.”

He pushed off the ground with his shield and made his way toward Sestra. She studied the tree line, her mouth twitching as though she judged how much time it would take to search the land.

“The island’s small enough. Surely no wolves live here.” She stepped to the right with an eye to a copse of pine trees. “I could go that way—”

He blocked her. “I said no.”

“I’m trying to get this done quickly. Then you can be on your way to Gotland.” She crossed her arms, pushing up plump breasts. “Splitting the work is pretty
un
lazy of me, don’t you think?”

He stifled a smile when her brown eyes flashed hot and peevish. If they weren’t careful, she’d set fire to them both. Their little sparring matches took on a life of their own. And now they were alone.

Truth trickled through his brain, bait leading him through dangerous waters.

Sunlight bounced off her coppery hair, the island’s strong breeze twisting free more curls.  Sestra’s russet bodice strained over ripe curves. Her crossed arms was no coy move but distracting all the same. After what she’d confessed about her breasts on the boat, he taxed himself to keep his vision at eye level. Keeping his favorite redhead riled would keep her mind off the danger and away from him.

“I know why I like working alone,” he said.

Her wide mouth stretched in a flat smile. “But today you’re looking for the treasure
with me
.”

He almost laughed at having his own words tossed back at him, except his eyes itched and his body ached. Lack of sleep weakened him. His hand gripped and re-gripped his shield’s leather strap. He itched to drag Sestra off to a soft grassy place, lay her down, and free her breasts for his pleasure. He’d kiss lazy circles over plush curves and make her purr. Then, he’d wrap her cloak around them and sleep with her body flush to his.

“I gave an oath to see to your safety,” he said gruffly.  “I can’t watch over someone I can’t see. Understand? We stick together.”

Sestra’s arms hugged tighter all while red curls wrapped around her neck. They stood toe to toe in silence with a flock of curious seagulls watching. No warrior would question him, only a mouthy woman not used to battle. He didn’t need to explain himself to her. They’d stick together because he said so.

“What about all your fine talk of choices?” Her chin tipped high. “Don’t I have some say here?”

A slow smiled formed. “Sometimes a woman just needs to be biddable.”

Her eyes burned a darker shade of earthy brown. “You want complete obedience.”

On the windy beach, a glimmer of understanding dawned. Sestra the thrall would get feisty and grudgingly do what was expected of her, but the woman before him stepped into new waters. Sestra the would-be freewoman tried her sea legs at full-fledged independence by standing up to a man.

Warmth burst in his chest. Not just any man. She tested her independence by standing up to him.

“You want choices? Here’s one for you,” he said, nudging the shovel on his shoulder. “If you don’t stay with me, you can do the digging when we find the hoard.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

A deep chuckled rumbled inside him. “Try me.”

Freckles twitched at the side of her mouth. Sestra measured him likely seeing how far she could push him. He didn’t want to squash her will, but he stood on better ground, keeping a safe wedge between them when he was the callous brute she expected.

“I promised to bring you here and see you and the treasure back safely. Nothing about digging.” He moaned dramatically, rolling his shoulder with an exaggerated stretch. “I was up all night loading ships. My back
could
use a rest.”

“Fine. We stay together.”

Tiredness aside, he couldn’t help but grin. He shouldn’t enjoy this as much as he did, but Sestra’s skirts swayed something fierce when she charged across the beach to the grass.

She stopped where the sand ended and faced him, hands on her hips. “Well? Which way do we go?”

“That way.” He pointed to a spot where stream and ocean met. “We follow the water to the island’s peak.”

Wind at his back pushed him, whispering with each long stride.
Get the Treasure. Get Sestra and the treasure safely back to Hakan’s farmstead. Get on the next boat to Gotland.
His boots dug into sand and another fact hit him. He wasn’t even a full day with Sestra, yet his future on Gotland drifted far from his mind.