The men on the shore began to yell. At first Quarrie thought it was in response to his words. Then Borald, beside him, squawked, “Look.Look!”
Quarrie did, trying to push back his fear, to disregard the confusion still pouring from the keep behind him.
He looked and nearly failed to believe.
Another longboat sailed out into the water, driven by half a score pairs of oars, streaking from the northern shore and on a direct course to intercept the Norse ships.
Freya, it was.
A cry was going up all down the line of defenders. Men did not know what to make of this. Aye, Hulda had intervened for them before, earlier in the season. Acted as their hound. But this, here, would be a large-scale battle. Did she mean to fight for or against them?
He could see the men aboard, Hulda’s men, pulling hard at the oars. He could see Hulda standing near the prow, tall and straight, dressed in her armor. From this distance, she looked like another warrior.
“Wha’ are they doing?” asked Kenneth, the man standing on Quarrie’s other side.
“Betraying us!” someone else bellowed. “They are goin’ out to join their fellows in the attack!”
Nay, that could not be it, Quarrie thought. Surely Hulda would not betray him. But what of her men?
A silence fell then, one so complete that Quarrie could hear the hiss and gurgle of the waves at his feet. Even the noise from the keep seemed to dampen. The defenders on the walls had seen.
TheFreyalooked small and weather-worn as it approached the four proud vessels. Across the water, Quarrie heard Hulda’s voice as she called a command to her men.
He heard her voice.
They shipped their oars.
She hailed the men on the nearest of the Norse ships.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Panic stirred inHulda’s heart. Fear lodged deeper down in her gut, possessed of sharp claws. She acted now not by thought but by pure instinct. A woman defended what she loved.
He—her love—would be there on the rocky shore, one in the ragged line of defenders she could already see standing, taking their places to withstand the opposing storm.
The thing about storms was, not all of them could be outlasted.
Her men—her crew—had been reluctant to obey her in this instance. She’d been forced to shout at them, bully them, and remind them that at the beginning of this voyage they had pledged their loyalty to her. Well, to her and Garik and Helje.
Helje—well, he had protested. Garik, eyeing her, had said naught, but he had gestured the men aboardFreya, wasting no time.
Might Faðir Odin bless him for it.
Now, asFreyadrew near the foremost of the invading ships, Hulda strained to see who was aboard. She might know them, or she might not. Raiders came from many places in the northern realm. These could well be fierce and hungry strangers.
And yet…something looked familiar about the lead boat. She had seen it before. At home, in Avoldsborg.
She stepped as far forward as she could asFreyaslid in alongside the larger boat. Men aboard that vessel had rushed to the rail, as curious about her as she was about them.
Ja, she knew some of them.
Face after face turned to her, more than one she recognized. A man with dark-brown hair shoved several others aside in order to face her.
Her heart plummeted.
“Master Ivor,” she called.
Her men, behind her, had gone silent. Garik, who must have handed the tiller over to one of the other men, stepped up to her side.
