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Cathy frowned. She shouldn’t be surprised. The life of a Viking warrior wasn’t all feasts and sailing. But there was something in his voice that made her think there was more to it for him. He was tormented.

Andor continued. “It seemed like magic to me, what you were doing. Like a spell. How else could I suddenly feel peaceful like that, just by looking at you?”

It wasn’t a direct compliment, but his voice rang with approval, respect—and even wonder. All for her—from a man like him. Her stomach filled with lightness, a smile spread on her lips, something Brad brought out in her. Except, Brad had never said a mean word to her, whereas Andor’s previous disapproval made his words even more meaningful. Though she knew how messed up that was, she couldn’t help the warmth spreading in her stomach and chest.

She felt lightheaded.

Maybe she was just hungry.

“So, you don’t think I’m crazy?” she said.

Andor paused for a moment beside a large bush, his eyes on her. “No. I do not think you are mad.”

Relief flooded Cathy, and her smile grew.

“And even if you are,” he added, “a part of me wants to be mad like that. If that would mean I would get even a drop of your peace.”

Cathy’s eyes prickled. The intoxication of being approved of made every cell ring like a yoga gong. Was it even true what he was saying?

“Well—” she began, but Andor turned to look somewhere to her right.

“This is a hazelnut tree,” he said. “Can you eat nuts?”

Cathy glanced at the tall bush with bare branches and saw small nuts on them.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, thank you, yes.”

She launched at the bush and picked the nuts. She found a rock, smashed the nuts one by one. With trembling fingers, she cleaned the nuts from the shells as best she could and began sticking them into her mouth. She’d had no idea how hungry she was until now. They tasted earthy and were cold and a little dry, but after almost a week on nothing but bread and water, they tasted divine. Plus, they were organic. How often did she get to eat real forest nuts back in her time?

Andor watched her with an amused smile. “Freyja and Frigg, watching you, they look like they taste as sweet as mead from Valhalla. Give me one.”

She threw one to him and he chewed it, then spat. “These taste like dust.”

“Shut up,” she said, her mouth full. “They do not.”

“Not as juicy as a grilled hare.”

She rolled her eyes. After she was somewhat full, Cathy picked all the nuts she could find and stored them in the travel pouch. There was another bush next to the first one and she did the same there. It wasn’t much, maybe enough food to last a day or two if she ate them sparingly.

“If you see any more on the way, let me know,” she said, patting the purse.

As they turned to continue, Andor went still beside her. Leaves rustled, and Cathy saw two men approaching through the woods. One had a long knife, the other one an ax.

Her skin crawled. The trouble had begun much sooner than she’d thought it would.

She glanced at Andor, but he looked as if he was quickly assessing the situation.

He had nothing but a kitchen knife he had stolen from the monastery—the only weapon Cathy and he could find there. It had come in handy to slaughter the hares and dress them for a roast, but surely that was not great compared to a sword or a battle ax.

Oh god, and what about his wound?

The men wore what looked like rags, and she doubted they were trained warriors. Maybe just desperate farmers or craftsmen. Cathy hoped they just thought Andor was a cripple with a stick, which he was likely going to use as a weapon, and that Cathy looked like an overgrown teenage boy.

“Not a word,” Cathy mumbled, her eyes on the men. “You are a mute, remember?”

Andor didn’t answer, just eyed them like a hawk.

The men stopped in front of them—one was short and stout, the other a head taller and lean as a tree branch.