Looking her móðir in the eyes, she said insistently, if more calmly, “I am not interested.”
With some of Hulda’s own stubbornness, Móðir replied, “We shall see.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Quarrie healed slowly,his efforts aided little by his refusal to keep off his feet. Drachan implored him; his mother scolded him. None of it mattered a whit. Not even the complaints of his own body could hold him.
He became obsessed with keeping watch and might be found upon the walls at any given time, day or night. He forgot to eat and very nearly forgot to sleep. He hounded the men until they began to look at him tight-lipped with strain in their eyes.
He knew that if—when?—Hulda Elvarsdottir and her men returned, it would not be with a single boat but enough to storm the settlement.
He must be ready. No excuses for it.
When he resumed training with the rest of the men, everyone protested. Borald did, and the men themselves, perhaps because they could see what it cost him.
He did not care for the cost.
They heard tales of Norse attacks farther south, at Gallanach and Balliemore. A church was destroyed there and the resident monks slain. A settlement burned. While spring proceeded inevitably into summer, Quarrie’s eyes searched ceaselessly for sails.
One day following training, when Quarrie still dripped with sweat, Borald took him aside. A warm, fair day it was, though Quarrie barely heeded the bonny weather.
“Let me ask ye somewhat,” Borald began when the last of the men had slogged off.
Quarrie withdrew his gaze from the sea. “Aye?”
“Are ye tryin’ to kill yoursel’?”
“Nay. Why should ye—”
“Because ye’re doin’ a fine job o’ it.”
Quarrie focused on his fellow warrior. Friend. For aye, Borald was that. “What are ye on about?”
“Just that it hurts watching ye train. When is the last time ye slept? Och, I am no’ talking about a nod here or there, but a full night’s sleep.”
“I—” Quarrie could get no farther.
“I will tell ye, then. Since before the Norse came. Quarrie, man, I understand yer caution. Yer vigilance. It does ye credit, but ye maun trust the rest o’ us to tak’ some of the weight.”
“They will be back.” Quarrie stared into Borald’s blue eyes. “I know it.”
“Aye, I do no’ doubt that. Them or others like them. We will be ready when they do.”
“They are destroyers.” He thought of Hulda pressing her lips to his, her strong fingers clutching the front of his tunic. “Bad enough when they are seeking plunder. When they come in vengeance—”
“Aye, so. D’ye no’ think we are ready?”
“I am no’ sure we can ever be ready.”
“Quarrie”—Borald drew a breath—“all our lives we ha’ been aware o’ what lies out there in that sea. We are no’ about to forget now.”
Forget.Forget the feel of her lips against his, soft in contrast to the strength of her? What would it be like to lie with such a woman? He could almost feel it.
Borald was eyeing him strangely. “D’ye ha’ the fever, man?”
“Nay.”
“No shame in admitting, if ’tis so.”
