Chapter 20

Chapter 20

With no place that would conceal him from the Vikings, Brecc took the only other option available to him: to hide in plain sight. Seizing the broom leaning against the wall beside the arched entrance, he turned his back on the oncoming men and began to sweep the doorstep next to the one where Aisley was hidden. Aisley. He tightened his grip on the broom handle. He'd barely reached her in time, and even now, she was not fully out of danger. But Rangvald would have to contend with considerably more than a handful of cold, wet fish if he attempted to lay a finger on her this time.

The Vikings' voices, guttural and angry, drew closer. Brecc kept his head down. Rangvald operated within Guthrum's inner circle and had participated in the attack at the royal estate. Brecc did not know if the chieftain could identify him, but he'd rather not take the chance. He sensed someone behind him. Tamping down his instinctive response to draw his knife, he kept sweeping. The Viking spoke. Brecc did not need to understand the words to recognize the mocking tone. Moments later, a leg jutted out from behind him and hit the broom. Despite his overwhelming desire to use his tight grip on the handle to swing it across his tormentor's head, Brecc muttered a feigned exclamation and let the broom fall to the ground.

Laughter, cruel and callous, followed. And then an impatient shout sent the men running down the lane once more. Slowly, Brecc bent to retrieve the broom. He glanced over his shoulder. The lane was empty. Releasing a tense breath, he set the broom back against the wall, and after one more careful look around, he stepped into the archway.

Aisley's frightened eyes looked up at him from the dark corner. Aching to pull her into his arms, he reached for her hand. It was cold.

"Forgive me," he spoke softly. "I did not mean to treat you so roughly, but there was so little time, and I—"

"You came."

Those two simple words had never conveyed so much nor cut so deeply. It had been close to two months since he'd made her that promise. It had been too long.

"Would that I could have come sooner. I have been with the king, and only yesterday was given the opportunity to come to Trowbridge."

"How long will you be here?"

He did nothing to hide the regret in his voice. "Not long enough. I am on the king's errand to gather information. Only two hours ago, I stumbled upon a Viking encampment just outside town. I recognized Rangvald immediately, and when he and his underlings set off for town, I followed." Brecc's jaw tightened. "I should have stayed closer. He was already harrying you by the time I reached the square, and had it not been for the fishmonger's timely response, there's no accounting for what I might have done."

"The Vikings will seek revenge for what he did."

"Rangvald has far more interest in you than in the local fishmonger. I wager that if the fellow avoids the market for a week or two, the target of the Vikings' ire will move to another."

"I do not know how to thank him."

"I imagine your fleet-footed escape gave him a great deal of satisfaction. I was hard-pressed to reach the head of the lane before you entered it."

"But he lost all his fish."

"Aye." Brecc fought to keep his anger at Rangvald's blatant lasciviousness at bay. "But he undoubtedly knew that you were at risk of losing far more."

As soon as the words were spoken, he regretted them. Fear—raw and real—filled her eyes, and her gaze darted to the lane. "Are the Vikings truly gone? How did they not see you?"

He gestured to the unpretentious implement leaning against the nearby wall. "They saw only a simpleton wielding a broom outside his house and left even more irritated than when they arrived."

She released an unsteady breath. "You have not told me why it is that you are dressed as a peasant."

"The king has determined that, for now, it is best that he and his men be not readily identified."

"The king is well, then?"

He offered her the ghost of a smile. "He is."

"And the queen?"

"She, too, is safe and well."

Aisley smiled, and Brecc's heart warmed at the sight. "I am glad to hear it. The last few weeks must have been a terrible ordeal for her. May it not be long before she and the king can safely leave their island sanctuary."

He froze. "You know of the island?"

"The fishmonger heard word that the king had taken refuge on an island and shared the news with the townspeople. It was just enough to give us hope."

Brecc pondered her words. The king's impressions had been correct. If such token information—little more than an inkling that the king still lived and had not fled the country—offered vital hope to his people, how much greater would be the impact on Saxon morale when those same individuals heard news of gathering warriors and successful raids on Viking encampments?

"Were the rumors correct?" she asked.

"Close enough," he said.

There was a moment of silence, and when he did not continue, she offered an understanding nod. "I ... I prayed that you were there with him. That you had survived the attack at Chippenham unharmed."

Her stunning, guileless eyes met his, and he felt his resistance falter. He drew her closer. "Not knowing what happened to you after you left the great hall that evening has been more torturous than I could ever have imagined." He shook his head. "And yet, notwithstanding how difficult it was then and how much I wish it were otherwise now, I must leave you straightway. It is imperative that the king learn about the Vikings' presence outside Trowbridge before Rangvald's men fully unleash themselves on the town."

"I know," she whispered, moisture shining in her eyes. "But at least I have seen you, have spoken with you, and know that you are well."

"And I, you," he said. "But if you are to remain safe, you must not leave your home alone again. Not with the Viking encampment so near and Rangvald so intent upon speaking with you."

She trembled, the memory of her recent escape still fresh.

Releasing her hand, he wrapped his arms around her. Without a word, her arms circled his waist, and she laid her head on his chest. He held her close, her long tresses flowing softly across his arm. "I must know that you are protected, Aisley."

"You have nothing to fear," she said, raising her eyes to his. "After today's encounter, I have no desire whatsoever to return to the market."

He searched her face, recognizing the earnestness there. Then his gaze shifted to her lips. As much as he desired it, he should not kiss her again. Chivalry demanded that of him. Until the king was restored to his throne, Brecc could offer her nothing more than friendship. He took a fortifying breath. Instantly, her unique scent of wildflowers mingled with herbs assailed his senses, bringing with it a fresh flood of memories: the compassion she'd manifest when she'd used her plants to create a remedy for Rheged, the joy on her face when she'd shown him the cowslip she'd picked. Gratitude for her goodness overwhelmed him, and before another thought—chivalrous, sensible, or otherwise—could form, he lowered his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her and took a small step back. He must go now, before it became even harder. "If you ever need me," he whispered, "send word to Athelney, and I will come."

"Athelney," she repeated, as though attempting to straighten her thoughts.

"Aye. It is a day's ride south of Trowbridge." He hesitated. "It's an island of sorts, although it is best that no one else knows that."

She nodded, and he knew she understood.

"Are you recovered enough that you can find your way home from here?" He caught the quiver of her lips that spoke of lingering fears and desperately wished he did not have to ask this of her. "It is best that you not be seen with me—for your sake more than mine—but be assured that I will be within earshot every step of the way."

She mustered a small smile. "Then I shall manage."

His heart swelled at her obvious bravery. "I shall wait only until you have reached the corner of the lane," he said, "and then I shall follow."

She squeezed past him to stand in the center of the arched entrance. After looking left and right and determining that the lane was empty, she turned back to him. "Godspeed, Brecc. My prayers go with you." And before he had a chance to respond, she was walking briskly away from the town square.

Aisley tucked her trembling hands beneath her cloak and slowly approached the entrance to the alley. If she took this path, she could circumvent the marketplace and reach the road that led to her family's longhouse without returning to the center of town. The alley was her most direct route, but it was also long, narrow, and poorly lit.

She reached the turnoff and stopped. Up ahead, a woman stepped out of a house with a basket in hand. Aisley watched as she started down the lane toward the market. Aisley wanted to call her back, to tell her that it wasn't safe. But in all likelihood, it was. Brecc had told her the Vikings were gone. At least, for now.

Brecc. Her heart ached from the sweetness of his kiss and the agony of walking away from him. In his arms, the terror of Rangvald's chase had temporarily subsided, and she'd known true joy. That moment together, though painfully brief, had been real. And now, as she faced the shadowy alley and her fear came creeping back, she clung to the memory.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she scanned the lane. The arched entrance was no longer in view. Two children were chasing a dog the way she had come, and from somewhere nearby, a man whistled a tuneful song. A door closed, and a bird sitting on a rooftop took to the sky. Otherwise, the road was empty. There was no sign of Brecc. And yet, somehow, she knew he was there. Like the whisper of a summer breeze, she could feel his presence—comforting, steadying, and encouraging.

Summoning what little courage remained to her, she turned the corner and instantly felt the increased chill. The overhanging roofs on either side of the alley almost touched, blocking most of the sunlight and warmth of the day. Pulling her cloak around her, she picked up her pace. Refuse filled the center of the alley, its malodor trapped by the tightly packed buildings. Keeping to the left, Aisley lifted a corner of her cloak so as to breathe through the wool garment. It helped, but only moderately.

She pressed on. Up ahead, a door opened, and suddenly, a man appeared, standing directly in her path. He was tall and broad shouldered, but in the weak light, she could not make out his features. A small cry escaped her, and she stumbled to a halt.

"Brecc," she whispered, her eyes not leaving the shadowy form before her.

He was close. She knew he would not break his promise.

"Begin' yer pardon, mistress." The man lifted his hat in greeting. "Didn't mean t' startle ya. Didn't see ya there."

Aisley's pounding heart slowed a fraction. He was a local. Mayhap someone she would have recognized in better lighting. "Forgive me," she said. "I was in too great a hurry."

"Don' blame ya," he said. "Best t' spend as little time as possible in this stinkin' alley, I say." He tugged on his hat once more. "Good day t' ya."

"G-Good day."

He stepped around her and hastened away. Aisley set her cloak across her mouth and nose more firmly and continued on her path. After three more turns onto different, equally unpleasant alleys, a gradual increase of light and the distant sounds of voices and hooves announced an end to the labyrinth. Slowing her feet, Aisley approached the alley's exit cautiously. She lowered the cloak from over her face and studied her surroundings. Her circuitous path through town had led her to a spot farther along the main thoroughfare than she usually traveled, but it was reassuringly familiar. Grassy verges lined the rutted dirt road, and townspeople—some on foot and others on horseback—were traveling the lane, stopping to chat, and greeting each other as if it were any other ordinary day.

"All will be well." Aisley did not know if Brecc would hear her whispered words, but they brought her comfort. "The worst is behind me."

"Mistress Aisley!"

Startled by the shout, Aisley glanced around. Not more than ten paces away, a boy of her same height was guiding a brown horse by a long leather strap. He raised his arm to greet her.

"Taber!" Relief lent speed to her weary legs as she hastened to join him. "What are you doing here?"

"The master's 'orse threw a shoe when 'e was out earlier today," he said. "I've just come from the smithy."

"Then you are headed back to our stables."

"Yes, mistress." He looked at her, concern in his expression. "The smithy told me what 'appened today at th' market." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "If ... if ya'd like to walk back with me rather than by yerself, I'd be 'onored."

Tears pricked her eyes at his thoughtfulness. "That would be most welcome."

He gave a pleased nod, and they started forward together. After walking a short distance, Taber broke the silence between them. "I'm right glad Nyle did what 'e did, mistress. An' so's all th' other people in town."

"Is Nyle the fishmonger's name?" she asked.

"Aye." He offered her a crooked smile. "Bein' treated like a bit of a champion, 'e is."

"He is a champion," Aisley said. "At least to me. But I wish his valor had not come at the expense of his source of income."

"Not t' worry, mistress. All them that was there cornered Mistress Udela and made 'er give 'alf of what was in that Vikin's purse to Nyle. They're sayin' it was more than Nyle would've made if 'e'd sold all 'is fish."

"I am glad to know something good came of the horrible experience," she said.

"Likely th' only good thing," Taber said. "Nyle told the smithy them Vikin's 're camped at the river on the east side of town." He gave a troubled sigh. "Seems t' me that whatever difficulties we thought we 'ad afore are about t' get a whole lot worse."

Aisley's thoughts instantly turned to Brecc. He'd given her few details of what he was currently about, but she had gleaned this much: King Alfred was going to fight this Viking scourge, and he had already initiated a plan to route the invaders from Wessex.

"The king has not forgotten us, Taber. Of that you may be sure. He will need us to show courage and loyalty, but if we do that, I believe he and his men will triumph."

"Seems like ya showed that kind o' courage t' everyone in town today, mistress."

"I was more scared than I'd like to admit."

"Don't matter," Taber said. "You stood up t' the heathen anyway."

She pondered that thought. "I suppose I did."

A wagon approached, and Taber led the horse onto the grassy verge to let the vehicle pass by. Stepping aside, Aisley turned to look over her shoulder. Two elderly women carrying baskets were not far behind them. They shuffled out of the way of the oncoming wagon. Following after them came a merchant pushing a cart laden with bolts of fabric. As Aisley watched, one of the cart wheels hit a rock, and the oversized barrow veered to the right. Grunting his annoyance, the merchant bent low to control his wayward contrivance, and by so doing, he revealed the man walking in his wake. For three long heartbeats, Brecc's eyes held hers, and then the wagon rolled by, and he was gone.

"I will have courage, Brecc," she promised in a whisper. "We shall be brave together."