Viking Ecstasy (9 page)

❧

Since Tabor was sleeping, Sven postponed the attack upon Hugh's hunting party. Tanaka saw that the men maintained silence not from fear but because they respected Tabor and wanted him to get as much strength-giving sleep as possible. When, two hours later, Tabor awoke, he cursed Sven out resoundingly for allowing him to sleep. But there was no anger behind his words. If anything, Tabor was angry with himself for his fatigue.

As the men prepared for battle, Tanaka stayed close to Tabor. She saw through the courageous facade that he presented to his men. She knew that he was still in enormous pain and that the huge loss of blood, which very likely would have killed a lesser man, had dangerously sapped him of his strength.

How much fight was left in him? she wondered. They had joked of the size of his mighty arms, but how much energy could be left when so much of his blood had drained away.

Tanaka resolved to remain close to Tabor. Perhaps she could prove her value to him in some way other than as a sexual object, and if she did that, then he just might not believe that she was responsible for Ingmar's ambush.

Tabor hooked the thumb of his left hand into his wide leather belt. He gestured extravagantly with his right hand; and, though Tanaka had at first thought this was a sign of good health, she now realized it was an act to draw attention away from his wounded left arm. With his thumb hooked in his belt, he appeared confident and at ease but never had to move his arm. His face, too, was gray; and, no matter how rakish the grin, he could not hide that he was a strong man fighting bravely against serious injury. Nothing could help Tabor now except time, nourish--ing food, and —most importantly — rest.

"Remember, they slaughtered your brothers-inarms," Tabor instructed his men as they prepared to begin their trek to the enemy camp. "Expect no mercy from them. Show no mercy to them."

"Aye, Tabor. ... as you command," the men replied in unison.

The tallest of the Vikings looked from his men to Tanaka; and, though he said nothing aloud, his expression warned her that she was to remain absolutely silent. If their approach was discovered because of sounds she'd made, she would suffer the consequences.

In the time that she had been forced to spend with Ingmar, Tanaka had witnessed several battles. But nothing she had experienced could prepare her for what it was really like to be in the middle of a fight, close enough to the soldiers, to the killing, to the carnage, so that she could smell the fear and sweat and blood.

Tabor and his men fought for revenge as well as victory, and they found in Hugh's men able fighters. The initial seconds of the assault caught Hugh's forces by surprise, even though two men had been posted as sentries. Several in their ranks died swiftly, some without realizing that their attackers were the men they hunted. This attrition made it numerically an even fight between Hugh's men and Tabor and his Vikings; and the surprise assault soon progressed into a contest of swordplay, strength, and stamina.

"Tabor, behind you!" Tanaka shouted when one of Hugh's warriors attacked him from the rear.

Tabor swung his mighty sword in a blind arc, and its deadly edge struck the soldier in the head. Despite his formidable helmet, the man crumpled to the ground and did not move.

Tabor looked at Tanaka. Could she really be responsible for saving his life? This was the second time she had intervened, but the Egyptian priestess was ashen, shrinking from the fray.

"Have you been hurt?" Tabor asked, holding his bloody sword in his good right hand. His left hand was still tucked inside his belt to keep the nearly useless arm out of the way.

Tanaka nodded, looking into Tabor's determined face. Suddenly, he raised the blade over his head and cut the air in a decisive motion as he lunged at her!

His elbow struck her shoulder, knocking her onto a corpse. Stumbling forward, she understood that she would have been stabbed in the back if Tabor had not reacted so quickly.

"There!" he said, grinning. "Now I've repaid the debt!"

The battle blurred, and Tanaka struggled to stay near Tabor, yet out of his way. And though he fought valiantly, it was clear that having the use of only one arm hampered him greatly. And once, locked in combat with one of Hugh's men, Tabor was forced to use his left arm in battle, and Tanaka could see the bandages she'd placed upon his wounds turning from white to pink to bright red.

When the fight ended, all of Hugh's men were vanquished. The dead were carted away, and Tanaka was saved the horror of watching this grisly task because she was once again tending to Tabor's wounded arm.

"You warned me during the fight," Tabor said, holding a drinking horn of beer in his good right hand while Tanaka carefully unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages surrounding his left upper arm. "Very bold of you. You have the spirit to be a Viking woman after all."

Tanaka said nothing at first, concentrating only on the wounded arm. When she had removed all the bandages, she was shocked to see that the wounds both in the front and in the back of his arm had completely reopened. Now more than ever, with so much of his blood staining the field of battle, she was astonished that Tabor was still alive.

"And I suppose you'll be wanting to waste good drink to pour on my arm?"

"Yes, I will. I know it burns, but it's important to keep the creeping sickness away."

"I am a Viking. From the time a Viking child stops feeding from his mother's breast, he's raised to ignore physical pain. It is in our blood."

Tanaka bit her tongue to prevent the words from escaping her mouth. Though there was much about this strange Viking culture that she found laudable, the warrior mentality, the willful struggle to strip themselves of their humaneness, was mystifying to her. She could hardly help her disdain.

She looked at Sven, who was issuing orders for the preparation of food, the location of sentries, the collection and cleaning of weapons taken from the conquered foes. She knew that Sven was also —covertly—watching her, and Tanaka came to understand with certainty that her life was inextricably tied to Tabor's.

"Sometimes when he looks at me, I feel he hates me, that he would like to kill me," she said avoiding Tabor's eyes.

"Sven enjoys killing no one," Tabor corrected. He sounded tired, now that the battle was over, the adrenaline no longer charging his system. "He does not trust you to care for me. You are dark and mysterious, and with your arrival, bad things have happened to us."

"And that's my fault?" Tanaka asked with more forcefulness than she intended. Her questioning gaze went up to Tabor's, and he raised his eyebrows to indicate that he did not know. She took the drinking horn from him. "Are you ready?"

"A Viking is always ready for anything."

"Fine," Tanaka snapped caustically. "Then you won't mind this at all."

She poured the entire contents of the drinking horn onto Tabor's arm. The veins and tendons stuck out in his neck, and every muscle in his body tightened; but he made no sound, and, other than flexing his muscles, he did not move as the strong drink was poured into his open wounds.

"I'm astonished you didn't scream," she said, sympathy now in her tone. Tabor's body had remained flexed until the pain lessened. "If that had happened to me, I would have gone into the black sleep."

Beads of perspiration dotted Tabor's forehead and temples. The pain was excruciating, and he did not dare speak for fear that his voice would crack. He stared straight at Tanaka until he was sure of himself. Only then did he say, "A Viking warrior does not scream in pain, nor does he go into the black sleep. . . . whatever that is."

"The black sleep," Tanaka explained, "comes sometimes with intense pain. It's brief — perhaps a minute or two —but it is said that the soul leaves the body when this happens."

The loss of blood had turned Tabor's skin gray, disgusting him and worrying Tanaka. Though he could, when not injured, imbibe an extraordinary quantity of strong drink, the few sips he'd had had sapped his energy. Pride prevented him from admitting this to Tanaka.

"I must sleep now" Tabor said suddenly, feeling the fatigue slithering through him, settling into his bones. Tanaka stretched a thick blanket over him, but he was so tall that when she tucked it under his chin, his feet were left uncovered. "Sleep. ... so that I can fight tomorrow."

Tanaka looked from Tabor to Sven. She understood that Sven loved his leader and only wanted to do what was right, but to blame her for Tabor's injury was wrong. So unfair! And yet to argue this point with Sven would do her absolutely no good at all. When she looked at Tabor again, his eyes were closed, though she could tell that he was not yet asleep.

"Can I get anything to make you more comfortable? Is your bandage too tight?"

Tabor shook his head. "No. . . . you have done well . . . all that you can."

"You should eat. The food will make you strong."

"Later . . . later. . . . now I must sleep." He moved slightly and placed his right hand beneath his head to cushion it.

"Let me help you," Tanaka said.

She felt something akin to tenderness take bloom inside her heart for this strong man laid low by the loss of blood. Easing Tabor's shoulders up, she cradled his head in her lap.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Much . . . much . . . bet — " he began, then drifted into sleep.

Tanaka felt the salty sting of tears for the fallen warrior, and she wiped them away quickly, angrily. What was wrong with her? It meant nothing to her that he was weak with injury and might very well die. Nothing to her at all!

But it did, and she knew it. She had spent very little time with Tabor, yet she knew much about him as a person. In all the time that she had been Ingmar's captive, she had learned nothing of him except his language and the extraordinary lengths to which his cruelty could go.

Tanaka stroked Tabor's hair, smoothing it away from his gaunt cheek. Even now, asleep and injured, he was the most ruggedly handsome man she'd ever seen and easily the most muscular. There was a virility about him that was undisguised, even weakened by pain as he was now.

She placed her palm on his chest, feeling the hard pectoral muscles beneath his shirt and vest, feeling his heart pumping.

"I'll make you well again," Tanaka whispered, her vision blurred with unshed tears.

At that moment, Sven approached. Tanaka, startled by his presence, recoiled at the sight of him, unable to forget the cold-blooded threat he'd issued. But instead of suspicion on his face, there was understanding. In his hands he held a brass plate filled with the hearty stew that the Vikings favored, and a warm blanket hung over his arm.

Hunkering on his knees beside Tanaka, Sven handed her the steaming plate. The aroma of cooked beef, potatoes, and carrots made her mouth water. He slipped an arm around her shoulders to help her lean forward away from the tree trunk, then carefully wrapped her in the blanket.

He was gone a moment later, and Tanaka could only wonder how difficult it must have been for a Viking warrior like Sven to serve her food and arrange a blanket around her shoulders. She had no illusions as to why he'd been so kind —because she was holding Tabor's head in her lap and Sven did not want his wounded leader to be disturbed —but nevertheless, the courtesy surprised her with new insight about those strange men called Vikings.

W
hen Tabor awoke at dawn, his head on Tanaka's lap, he instinctively reached for his sword. He squeezed the familiar handle tightly and surveyed his surroundings with no further movement, not wanting yet to draw attention to himself.

The encampment was at peace. Tanaka, sleeping, leaned against a tree. He noted the blanket but was struck again by her extraordinary beauty. When he'd first seen her, he'd thought her features were too exaggerated: high cheekbones and wide-spaced, almond-shaped eyes that reminded him of a cat at night; a slender chin and full-lipped mouth; round, heavy breasts that rested high on her rib cage; and jet black hair falling in loose springy ringlets. It astonished Tabor now that he had ever, for even a moment, found her beauty displeasing.

He might have kissed her awake, but pain ripped through him the moment he moved his shoulder. Tanaka's eyelashes fluttered upon her cheeks, and she looked down at Tabor's head, still cradled in her lap.

"Are you all right? What woke you?" she asked in a whisper, respectful of the other men who were still sleeping. She pushed a long strand of blond hair from Tabor's face, and her fingertips lingered longer than necessary.

"I moved, is all. I forgot about my arm." He found it easy to be honest with Tanaka, yet another way she differed from other women. "Did you sleep well?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm not the one who had an arrow shot through my arm."

Tanaka was pleased that he did not don a brave facade, and she was suddenly aware that this was as domestic and as tranquil as she'd ever been with a man. She raised Tabor's blanket and saw that he had not bled through his bandage.

"You must be hungry. You ate nothing last night."

"I'm ravenous!"

"I'll get you something."

"In a moment," Tabor replied.

He let his senses absorb Tanaka. He could smell her female scent. The thighs beneath his head warmed him, and looking up above her breasts he connected with clear brown eyes. To see Tanaka's face upon waking every morning, he mused, would not be a bad fate. He'd never before had such feelings; and, though he tried to dismiss them as side-effects of his injury, he knew they were more than that.

Tabor clenched his left hand into a fist to test the injured biceps. He felt the pain and eased off. The arrow wound frightened him, though he did not want to admit it. Last night, he had not merely slept, he had fallen into the black sleep. And today, even though he smiled, a terrible weakness tore into his soul.

Eyes closed, he recalled the fighting of the night before, the killing. It had been necessary, but it tired him. The victory had given him none of the pleasure of accomplishment, and he blamed his wound and weakness for that lack. And it bothered him that he had lost the cherished battle-axe of his father's fathers.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Tabor opened his eyes. He felt as if there were weights on his eyelids, but Tabor would never show his frailty. He was the leader of a fearless band of Viking warriors; his strength was legendary.

Sven approached, carrying two plates heaped with steaming portions of stew.

"Thank you," Tanaka said as she accepted the plate. "But I'll never be able to eat all this."

"I know. Tabor will need more than a single plate if he is to get well again," Sven said, with neither respect nor antagonism in his voice.

Tabor pushed himself to a sitting position, regretting that he could no longer rest his head on Tan-ka's slender thighs. He accepted the plate from Sven, wordlessly fighting the pain that exploded with movement, once again in his arm. Tabor rested the plate in his lap, leaning back against the tree beside Tanaka, and took the wooden spoon.

They ate in silence; and, true to Sven's predictions, Tabor ate heartily. And by the time he had finished, some of the color had returned to Tabor's face.

Their dawn meal concluded, his men gathered around Tabor, who stood propped casually against the tree. Some of the men regarded Tanaka with suspicion, but she remained at their leader's side. Since Tabor did not refer to her presence, no one else did, either.

"We've got to find a fully stocked boat," Tabor said. "As long as we stay on land, our strength will be sapped, our movements slow, our progress minimal." There was a low murmur of agreement from the men. Seafaring Vikings, they preferred a boat, especially in difficult times. "Ingmar. . . . Ingmar has outwitted me," Tabor said, and it was clear that the admission was difficult. When the men began to protest, he motioned them to silence. "Ignoring the truth helps no one now. What Ingmar did is behind us. We must concentrate on the future."

"Lead us, Tabor, and we will follow," shouted Carl, Tabor's third in command. "Let us defy the Fates. Ingmar has many warriors, but he does not have the support of the people. They despise him!"

This news did not surprise Tabor, but though his men v/ere in better spirits, Tabor knew they must hide until everyone had recovered from the wounds of battle. Hide. ... or be found and killed. Ingmar was an , experienced tactician who understood that unless Tabor were killed, he would return and seek revenge.

"I don't doubt that they despise him," Tabor said. "And I also do not doubt that he will kill everyone who wags a tongue against him." As he spoke, Tabor looked at each of his men directly. He was not talking to them as a group, but as individuals, reinforcing their belief that each life was valued by their leader. "We have our bellies filled with food. Soon, Ingmar's men will comb the countryside looking for us. They will find this camp and know that we were here. We must keep moving. ... we must find a boat large enough to take us far away. ... far enough away so that we can recover our strength and numbers. . . . and then, we will return to these waters and this land. . . . and we will have our revenge!"

"Although we are forced to flee from Ingmar's men now," Tabor continued, "the time will come when we can challenge the Norwegian and his bloodthirsty Vikings head-on." But as he spoke, the tenuous reservoir of Tabor's strength slipped away, and Tanaka saw the strain upon him.

They left camp, with Sven taking the first shift as advance scout, walking ahead of the main body of men by a mile or more. Twice they stopped at homes to ask questions and glean what they could of Ingmar's movements and attack plans. As they walked, Tabor and Tanaka said little to each other, though they never were far apart. And when the weary Vikings paused near a cool running stream to drink and rest, Tanaka sat so close to Tabor that her knee touched his.

They were still beside the stream when Tabor caught the smell of smoke. He searched the sky but found no signs of fire. Then, from the direction they'd just come, he saw the gray smoke staining the clear midday air. Tabor dispatched a man to investigate, and it wasn't long before the man returned.

"It was Ingmar's men," the scout reported. "They killed everyone — even the children." He didn't have to say it was the family that they'd spoken to earlier for Tabor and the others to know who the victims were. "They set the house and barn on fire. The cattle and sheep have been slaughtered."

A deep, low sigh escaped Tabor as he listened to the tale of pointless murder. What kind of warrior murdered children? It was horrifying for Tabor to ponder. Even worse was the knowledge that the family had quite likely been slaughtered because Tabor had stopped at their home. That offense alone, for which neither the man nor woman —and certainly not the children — were responsible, had been reason enough to justify Ingmar's slaughter.

"Are they following us?" Tabor asked.

"Nay. They are roasting a slaughtered cow. They are in no hurry."

Tabor shook his head sadly. "Then they killed just for the thrill of killing. The family told them nothing." Tabor looked from one man to the next, seeking answers that none of them possessed. "What kind of monsters are these who chase us?" He ran his hand through his hair, pushing damp strands off his forehead. "We can no longer stop at any houses. Everyone we come in contact with we put in danger," he declared, his heart heavy with self-inflicted guilt. He did not look at Tanaka, afraid she blamed him for the innocent deaths. The memory of the children, their faces bright and animated, excited because visitors were unusual in their sleepy, green valley, tore at Tabor. "We must press on until we find a ship. Then we must sail far away, refortify ourselves, and then return to expunge Ingmar and his men from this earth. To a man, they must all be held accountable!"