how can you judge?’
‘I was referring to the latter part of your statement, not the former.’
‘Oh.’
The conversation lapsed into an awkward silence made more difficult by the weight of that steady blue-grey gaze. A slow flush of warmth crept upwards from her neck and throat. It was time to bring matters to a conclusion.
‘Speaking of my mistress; I should rejoin her.’ She paused. ‘Will you take me to her?’
‘As you wish.’
He drew the hangings aside and stood back to let her pass. She brushed past him and stepped outside. There she checked abruptly, wide-eyed as she took in the number of the slain. The earth was dark with their blood; its thick metallic reek hung on the still air. Mingled with it were other smells, equally rank. She swallowed hard, trying not to breathe too deeply.
‘Battle isn’t pretty, is it?’ he said.
‘Hardly.’
‘And yet you do not scream or swoon.’
‘Is that what you were expecting?’
‘Had you done so, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Now I am.’
She wondered what he would have done if she had swooned. The possibilities were vaguely disconcerting, like his smile now. Quickly she looked away. ‘The reality of battle is worse than I imagined.’
‘One grows used to it.’
‘I think I could never grow used to it.’
‘A woman shouldn’t have to.’
Astrid had no intention of arguing the point. Instead she looked around, seeking Ragnhild, and located her some little way off, in conversation with Halfdan and some of his men.
Her companion followed her gaze. ‘Shall we join them?’
‘Certainly.’
He placed a hand under her elbow to steer her around the worst of the carnage. The touch transferred unsettling warmth through the sleeve of her gown. She glanced up quickly and saw him smile. The previous awkwardness might never have happened. Aware of him to her fingertips, she looked away and tried to fix her attention on where they were going. They joined the others a few moments later.
The king’s expression was sombre. Astrid felt a twinge of apprehension and directed a quizzical look at Ragnhild. Her friend lost no time in explaining.
‘Hakke isn’t here, Astrid.’
‘No, curse him,’ said Halfdan. ‘When he realised he was heavily outnumbered he slipped away in the confusion. We went after him but some of his men had horses waiting nearby; a second string. I should have foreseen that.’
‘Easy to be wise after the event,’ replied Leif.
‘Since we’d left our own mounts back in the wood the fugitives had a head start. The man’s more slippery than a greasy weasel.’
‘But far more treacherous, my lord. We need to put him under ground.’
‘I have men out looking for him now.’
‘He’ll be heading for his ship. The coast is only a few miles off.’
‘My thought exactly.’
‘With your leave I’ll take my own force and join the pursuit.’
Halfdan nodded. ‘Do it; and may the All-Father bring you better luck.’
Leif bowed to Ragnhild and Astrid and then bade them a brief courteous farewell. With that he turned and strode away. As she watched his retreating figure, Astrid experienced an unwonted sensation of regret, knowing she wouldn’t forget him. He, on the other hand, being bound upon his quest, would already have dismissed her from his mind. Not that it mattered. They were unlikely to meet again. Drawing her mantle closer, she followed Halfdan and Ragnhild towards the waiting horses.
* * *
Leif and his companions reached the coast in time to see the ship heading towards the open sea. Anger mingled with frustration, emotions he was not alone in feeling, to judge from the flinty expressions around him.
‘Hakke will return to his lair and lick his wounds awhile,’ said Finn, ‘but he’ll be back.’
‘And in force, no doubt,’ added Erik.
‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,’ replied Thorvald.
The others were silent, each man inwardly acknowledging the truth of that statement. They had ridden hard, sparing neither themselves nor their mounts, only for this. Leif restrained the urge to curse, knowing it would serve no purpose.
Eventually Finn glanced his way. ‘It’ll be dark soon. What do you want to do?’
‘We’ll make camp here tonight.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that. My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.’
‘Looks like Hakke’s crewmen were before us,’ said Erik, eyeing the charred remains of a fire on the strand beyond. ‘He really had every eventuality covered, didn’t he?’
Thorvald followed his gaze. ‘They were certainly waiting awhile. They’ve even left us some wood.’
‘Thoughtful to the last,’ replied Finn.
‘No, they probably pissed on it before they left.’
In spite of himself Leif grinned. ‘Most like. Even if they didn’t it won’t be enough to keep a fire alight for more than half an hour.’ He turned to the others. ‘Aun, Harek, Bjarni, Ingolf and Trygg—start looking for some more wood. The rest will take care of the horses.’
As the men moved to obey he went down to inspect the abandoned campsite. Contrary to suspicion the remaining firewood was dry. However, when he tested an ember in the makeshift hearth it was barely warm. They were going to have to start again. Brushing a smear of soot from his fingers, he straightened and went off in search of kindling.
* * *
Within an hour they had another fire going and a pile of wood to feed it. The company settled down to eat, breaking out cold rations from the saddlebags. However, conversation was muted, the result of fatigue and disappointment that their quarry had escaped and, once a guard detail was organised, most of the men elected to turn in.
However, although he was tired, Leif found sleep elusive. Hakke’s escape was a serious blow, and likely to have far-reaching ramifications. It might have been prevented had it not been for the need to safeguard the women. He sighed, knowing the thought unjust. They were not to blame and certainly did not deserve to be left to Hakke’s mercy. Lady Ragnhild was an acknowledged beauty, daughter of a jarl and a queen in the making. However, it was not she who lingered in his thoughts.
He couldn’t have
