Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

E ven before he opened his eyes, Moon knew something was wrong.

Eyja was not by his side. He felt her absence in his bones, with as much certainty as he would have known without moving that someone had removed his boots or shaved his head during the night. The sensation was imperceptible and yet undeniable.

He opened his eyes. Dawn had not even broken yet. Where was she? Had she gone to see to her needs upon waking up? It was always a delicate moment, as she could not relieve herself out in the open like the other men, so usually he kept watch when she needed privacy. Had the imp decided to let him sleep a while longer and risk doing it all on her own?

No. It was much worse than that.

It all came back to him in a rush. Their unexpected moment of intimacy the night before, when she had stroked his wrist and caused his blood to surge, their tussle and tumble afterward when she had tried to tickle him, their argument when he had snarled at her for doing nothing more than being herself.

Her promise never to bother him again.

Blood froze in his veins.

Where was she? Surely she hadn’t left the army, gone back home all alone now that they were so close to their destination? No. In all likelihood she would be hiding amongst the men. He bolted to his feet, determined to find her before the army marched on, or at least try to. If she’d gone to the other side of the camp while he slept, oblivious to it all, he might never find her. There were just too many people. Bloody hell, would there be no end to the worry she gave him?

For a long moment, he wandered around the waking men, looking for a blonde, delicate head. He even asked a few people if they had seen his “cousin”. But no one could or wanted to help him. The men had other priorities than looking for an elusive boy at the moment.

And then he saw it.

A few yards away two men were kicking at a third one. A slender, vulnerable one.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s time to leave. Where do you think you are?”

Moon arrived in time to stop one of the Saxons from grabbing Eyja by the collar. “Leave h…im alone!” he snarled, remembering just in time to refer to her as a boy. He placed himself between her and her attacker, much as a dog would when defending its master. A growling watch dog, was that what he was reduced to now? The worst of it was, he did not even mind.

“Where does the lad think he is?” the man spat. “At home suckling his mother’s teats? We’re on a march, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“I had noticed, thank you. That’s why he’s exhausted.”

That was no lie at least. The purple shadows on Eyja’s cheeks bore witness to her fatigue, while the red rims around her eyes told him that she had cried herself to sleep the night before. Because of him.

His chest tightened in guilt. Why had he been so harsh with her?

The only explanation he could think of was that he had been thrown off guard by what had happened between them. The feel of his wrist imprisoned in her small, delicate fingers, the sensuality of the caress on his skin, the weight of her over him, the way she had writhed and rubbed against him... It had all been too much. Or not enough. Or… Something.

For the first time last night he had realized that, even if he had never treated her as such during their childhood, Eyja was a woman, and a beautiful one. For the first time she had felt like a woman against him, and he had not been able to deal with it. The irony of the situation was not lost on him and did little to help him make sense of it all.

As a young boy, he had never thought of her as a girl. Later, when he’d grown, she’d never been someone he considered bedding. Not only was she seven years younger than him, little more than a child in his eyes, but she was his friends’ sister, and therefore out of bounds. Despite their frequent dips in the river when he had glimpsed her form clad only in wet garments, he had never been attracted to her in that way. She had simply been part of the group, yet someone else to frolic with. But since she had cut her hair and donned men’s clothes, all he could see was her feminine grace. Perhaps the coarse, slightly too loose clothes emphasized the slenderness of her body, perhaps the harsh haircut drew attention to her fine features.

He didn’t know what it was but all of a sudden she was unequivocally, worryingly alluring.

It was lucky the men were too focused on a single objective and too tired to look twice at each other or they would have seen her for who she truly was. It seemed to Moon that no woman had ever been more feminine. His body at least wasn’t fooled, and last night it had manifested its approval.

“We’re not so exhausted that we cannot give you savages a taste of our Saxon pluck,” the man in front of him growled, nodding at his menacing friend who growled in turn. “It would be good practice for when we face Hardrada’s men, I’d say.”

Moon tensed. The situation was deteriorating rapidly. He felt Eyja shuffle closer to him, as if she wanted to disappear behind his bulk. Too late. The damage had already been done. Other men had started to draw closer. Moon could have handled two men on his own, but not two dozen. Just as he was wondering if he had not better tackle the two brutes now, before the vultures decided that they, too, wanted a taste of the Norsemen, a voice spoke from behind him.

“Leave them be. The king needs every man he can get in his army. He will not be best pleased to see us put each other out of action before we even reach York.” It was Farmon, the man from his town, surrounded by his group of friends. The situation was turned on its head and the two Saxons were suddenly the ones outnumbered two to one. “And if the lad’s tired, then it’s no wonder, given his frail constitution. The fact that he is still here in spite of it proves his courage.”

After a last grumble, the two thugs went their way and the rest of the men returned to their business without a comment.

“Thank you,” Moon told Farmon. His intervention had been timely, there was no denying it. Had he misjudged the man? Perhaps. After all, nothing had forced him to intervene in their favor.

The Saxon nodded, as if he didn’t need to be thanked for doing what was only right. “No problem. As I said, it’s in our best interest to reach Hardrada’s army hale and hardy.”

“Of course. Still.”

Eyja was still hovering behind him, not showing herself. This subdued attitude worried him. She had not said a word since he’d found her or even thanked Farmon for his help.

Before he knew what he was doing, Moon turned around to face her.

“Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”

The words took him by surprise. He’d meant to berate her for leaving his side and exposing herself to danger and here he was, apologizing to her instead. But she didn’t even acknowledge it, simply lowered her head and waited. This proved more clearly than anything else that something had changed between them. Only the day before she would have jumped at the chance to goad him about apologizing unprompted, something he rarely found within himself to do. How could he make her see he truly was sorry for hurting her?

Before he could come up with a solution, the signal for departure was rung. The men grunted and started to gather their weapons. A moment later, they were off.

It was a while before Moon picked up the courage to speak again. Eyja was walking beside him, as she had done for the last three days, but he could feel how heavy her steps were, and there was a defeated slant to her shoulders. She certainly was nothing like the stubborn, assertive imp he knew. That girl would have sent him to Hell and Helheim. The one currently walking next to him was both subdued and afraid. He hated it. It was unnatural, and, worst of all, it was all his fault. He felt like a man who had uprooted a wild medlar tree at the height of its blooming magnificence to plant it in front of his hut for practicality’s sake, only to have to watch it wither away in its new unsuitable environment.

No more sweet fruits for him.

No more peevish comments either.

“Eyja. Please, talk to me.”

Silence. He didn’t know whether to insist or not. Had he not wreaked enough damage? Then, to his relief, she spoke.

“It’s all right. There’s no need for you to apologize or say anything. You were right last night.” Every short sentence was punctuated by a few sluggish strides and her voice was painfully flat, nothing like her usual tones. “It’s time I started acting like a man.”

No .

The word leapt to his throat and he almost let it slip out of his lips. Why should she act like someone she was not? Why should she pretend to be a warrior when she was just as brave, just as reliable as any of the men around them anyway? It didn’t seem fair.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said, it was mean. I only meant?—”

“Forget it. As I said, you were right. I came here dressed as a boy so as to pass unnoticed and against all odds, it worked. Now is not the time to give away my real identity by foolish actions.”

Eyja didn’t want Moon to feel guilty and, even more importantly, she didn’t want any misunderstanding to linger between them on the eve of battle. Tomorrow they might both be dead. She didn’t want their last words to each other to be bitter ones.

Last words. Dear, that sounded so awful she almost collapsed.

She bunched her fists, as if that would be enough to strengthen her resolve. “Tonight we’ll probably reach York. Tomorrow or the day after at the latest, we will face the invaders and do what we came here to do. We will fight, and perhaps we will die.” She could barely speak for the tightening in her throat and the fear in her gut. “I’ve known you all my life and I don’t want us to part as enemies over something so stupid as the best moment to tickle somebody.”

There was a brush against her shoulder. The innocuous gesture would not have attracted anyone’s attention but she knew it had been deliberate. She closed her eyes briefly, relishing it.

“We will never be enemies. You need not fear that. And I am sorry for what I said, Imp.”

The use of the familiar nickname as well as the earnestness in his voice made her defenses crumble and, this time, she did trip. Moon caught her elbow as easily as if he’d expected her to falter and had been ready to catch her. Then he gave it a light squeeze, the gesture of support unmistakable, the meaning behind it, clear.

Men don’t embrace each other, otherwise I would draw you into my arms right now.

A tear threatened to escape her eyes and this proof of weakness made her bristle. She knew when she brushed it away that Moon would not berate her but still it was not wise to let anyone else see. They were surrounded by men whose tempers were starting to fray, it would not take much to push one or more over the edge, she had seen it that morning.

Had Farmon not intervened, things could have taken a nasty turn.

She had been surprised to see him offer up his help and she was grateful for it, but all things considered she would have preferred him and his men to stop hovering around them. The less interest people took in her, the more chance she had of keeping her identity a secret. But it seemed that the scruffy Saxon and his friends could not get past the fact that she and Moon were half-Norse. Was that the reason for their constant presence around them? Were they keeping an eye on them, thinking them traitors who would give the army the slip and run ahead to warn Hardrada about the upcoming attack when they got nearer to York? He would not expect King Harold, who had been all the way down south when the invaders’ ships had landed, to arrive for another few days. This was the whole point of this forced march.

The Saxons were counting on surprise to give them an edge over their enemies.

If Farmon was convinced they were spies intent on warning the Norse king an attack was coming, he would not leave them out of his sight. Eyja had better be on her guard and ensure she did not betray her real identity by an inconsiderate gesture or comment.

They walked on, the prospect of soon being at their destination lending new energy to the men. After a while she heard Moon’s voice, gruffer than usual. “I’m proud of you, Eyja. I want you to know that.”

Everything within her melted. She could hear he meant it absolutely and it was the best compliment he could have given her.

“Please don’t,” she whispered. “Not now, not when I’m already doing all I can not to cry.”

“I know. That’s one of the reasons I’m so proud of you.”

He turned his head to look at her. With the two axes strapped to his back, the determination etched on his face, and the muscles rippling under his tunic, he looked every inch the formidable warrior. She should have been terrified. She was instead comforted. With this man by her side, nothing bad could happen to her. They were friends, no matter what. He would not let her down.

“Thank you. I’m proud of you too.”

He snorted, just as she expected. “You’re a veritable imp, you know that?”

“I do.”

Finally, as the sun started to lower toward the horizon, they arrived in view of the town of York, their final destination. They had completed the journey in record time and were ready for the long-awaited confrontation.

As she lay down on the ground that night, Eyja was thankful for her state of exhaustion. Perhaps it would allow her to get the rest she needed, because without it she might well have worked herself up into a panic at the thought of what was to come.

Tomorrow they would face Harald Hardrada’s formidable army.