What made a woman the person she was? The events of her raising, that shaped her knowledge of the world, or something far deeper that endured from life to life?
Perhaps she was a mingling of both. As was he. Thence, even though in their youths they had not known each other, something within had been waiting.
Thatsomethinginside Hulda had now been brought to life. Freed, she did not think it would lie down again.
Yet staying here could cost her everything.
“Hulda, you will be careful? Sensible. I always thought you such a sensible woman, like a man, almost.”
That made Hulda snort. “Men are no more sensible than women. Less, I am sure.”
“How so?”
“Women think about practical things. Birth and death and keeping people fed. While men run about boasting of their deeds and how strong they are beneath the blankets.”
That made him laugh as he used to do. “Men boast about how they provide so their women can keep people fed. Hulda”—again he grew serious—“you will have a care?”
“I always do.”
He hesitated before he disagreed, “Not always. If I have noticed the way you look at Murtray, others may also. Our men may not like it—some among them are still convinced he had a hand in Jute’s death, and you know how well liked was your brother.”
“Ja, but Murtray did not—”
“Do not bother telling it to me. Whether or not you avenge Jute is for your heart to decide. But if our men may not like it, the Scots might not either. If they scent something between you and Murtray, it could prove dangerous to you. It could cost your life.”
Could it?
She did not speak those words aloud, yet Garik went on anyway. “The Scots do not want their chief—their strong new chief—forming that sort of alliance with one who has spilt their blood. Do you not see? The very thought of staying here is madness.”
Madness, ja.
But what would leaving Quarrie do to her heart?
Chapter Forty-Two
Quarrie was onthe walls with Borald discussing the assignment of the guard when a cry rang out. Both he and the guardsman looked up with instant attention.
A glorious day it was, the sort that Scotland offered up so rarely even in summer. Great, white billows of cloud sailed in a sky of deep blue, chased by a soft and kindly wind. The entire world seemed to glitter from the tops of the playful, wee waves that raced to shore, to each trembling stalk of bracken and heather on the slope above them. Colors stood out bright and true.
Och, for a wealth of such days! Upon rising, Quarrie had thought only one thing could make such a day better.
And now here she came walking down the shore.
Borald made a muffled sound in his throat, one that indicated dismay before he spoke. “Och, it is that accursed Norsewoman.”
Aye, so it was. Quarrie narrowed his eyes against the strong light. She came boldly and steadily, as if unafraid even though she moved among enemies, all of whom now focused upon her.
She came alone.
Where were her men? And why would she take the dangerous step of visiting among them when only an admittedly unpopular alliance shielded her?
Why indeed, save to see him?
They had not laid eyes on each other since the feast, at least not to speak. He’d caught glimpses of movement up the shore and they had seenFreyasail past, southward. She had not returned for some time.
But it had been days since, aye, they had been spied returning, and no word from Hulda.
No glimpse of other Norse sails either, though his men kept vigilant watch.
