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But then—what else would he think? She had gone away, and then Valdemar suddenly decided that he was worth dealing with? She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, between being trapped and selling him out for a second time. Now that she was faced with the hardness of the stone she started to doubt, but the right decision was the right decision.
"What do you think he's planning?"
"I think, if you let him stay here, with medical attention and time to wait, it's only a matter of time before he's healed up completely, and he takes command back from you."
There were a thousand ways that Deirdre wanted to make herself more convincing. She wanted to seem confident, seem like she was doing this all because she was so interested in Valdemar, but she wasn't, and she couldn't make herself act that way, no matter how she tried.
In fact, she could barely hide the tremble of fear and sadness in her voice.
There was a long pause as Valdemar thought about what to do. Should she have left a long time ago? Deirdre wasn't sure, but the overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by men who could kill her with little more than a snap of their thick fingers made her feel startlingly like a hare, frozen by the sight of a predator.
And then as soon as she had realized the fear and uncertainty, Valdemar called out. A boy came in, not one that Deirdre had seen before, and the Northman said something to him. He came up behind Deirdre and guided her with a hand on her back. She wanted to kick him, wanted to protest, but she knew that wouldn't do.
She had to look like she was obediently serving Valdemar, or none of her little lie would work. She had to look absolutely terrified, and absolutely servile, and that meant that she let the seventeen-year-old act as if he owned her. Because Valdemar was watching, and he had told the boy to do it, which meant that it was as good as Valdemar doing it.
She climbed back up into the wagon, Gunnar still sitting. He wore an unusually pensive expression and watched her sit, watched the boy tie her back. What was he looking at her like that for? As far as he knew, she hadn't done anything wrong. He had no reason to doubt her, no reason to believe that she'd done anything wrong, and for that matter she didn't have any reason to believe that she had either.
She'd done what she had to do, and as long as Valdemar handled it properly by just kicking him out of camp there wouldn't be any problem.
The men that started to pile up outside the wagon told her everything she needed to know. There wasn't going to be any sort of subtle handling here. No, she was as sold out as she could be. She couldn't see any of them reaching for blades, though, and that was a small blessing by itself.
Gunnar didn't speak, but he looked as if he were getting set. Then the boy hit him hard and shoved him to the ground. They swarmed him before he could get back up and mount his response. He fought back as best he could, but five-to-one was bad odds for the best of fighters. When they finally separated, Gunnar wasn't moving.
Gunnar wasn't surprised to feel the ache that seemed to fill every part of his body, but that didn't mean that he liked it, either. No, the pain was beginning to become a constant companion, since he had taken the stab in the chest. He was only thankful that he hadn't tried to take another to fool them.
The first problem was the ropes that bound his arms, which had now been tied 'round his ankles in a hog-tie. If they'd intended him not to get out, they should have used better ropes. It took a long time to get free, laying there in the dark, but by working his arms one way, then the other, he was able to find his way free of them.
For a moment he considered leaving them, tied in a pile, but then he changed his mind. Rope could be useful, even if it were worn and stretched. He coiled it quickly and hung it over a thick shoulder. They hadn't left him with any supplies. It meant that he'd be running hungry, and he would be sleeping under the open stars.
But it also meant that he was traveling light, and he could go further in a day than the band he followed.
The second concern was to catch back up. He had two debts to repay now, and he couldn't begin to deal with them while he was separated from the rest of the Danes. A quick look around told him that he'd been unconscious or sleeping for the better part of the night, and now as dawn was beginning to break over the easterly hills, he was out in the cold and very, very alone.
A short climb took him to the top of a hill that let him look out for a mile or more, and no signs told him that they might be within an hour's walk. No, the entire camp must have packed up and left him nearly as soon as he'd been dropped off the wagon.
He wondered how Eirik had taken it. He might not have raised a hand, Gunnar thought. He took things in stride, and though they counted themselves friends, he wouldn't have gone against what the Gods told him.
More likely Ulf would have fought it, but Leif would contain him if the need arose. He closed his eyes and tried to get his bearings, looked for signs. With thirty men marching and at least three wagons now, they left a trail that wasn't too hard to pick up.
But that didn't mean it was going to be easy, by any means. No, he would have his work cut out for him trying to catch them. They were full and fat on food, no doubt. They took plenty with each raid, never even needing to stop to hunt. If Gunnar could catch them in a day, perhaps it would be fine to continue without finding something to eat.
But he wasn't going to. Eight hours or more, he guessed, was what would separate them. That would take more than a day to make up unless he went through the dark, and then he had as good a chance of losing their trail in the dark.
His body hurt to move, and it only got worse as he continued. It didn't take long to figure out what had happened, but Gunnar refused to believe it. Leif had been gone for minutes before the men had come to take him away. He could have revealed Gunnar's condition.
Anyone could have heard them speaking, as well, but he had little doubt. This was Deirdre's doing. He'd seen it in her face, moments before it happened. He'd seen the doubt and regret.
It wasn't hard to guess why, either. Part of Gunnar wanted to forgive her for it, straight away. She needed to do what she had to, in order to survive. She was surrounded by danger, by men would likely had exactly one thing on their minds.
But she had done what she had to do at his expense. He could have reclaimed the band. Could have beaten Valdemar in a fair duel, no question. She had taken that away from him by trying to play her woman's tricks.
He tried not to feel hurt by it. He might have done the same thing in her situation. The world that he lived in was a cruel one. Men did what they had to do to survive. But he had promised her protection, had thought that he felt something between them. Something that went past the brotherly trust he held for Eirik or Ulf.
The sort of thing that would make it hard for someone to betray the other person, and that was what he knew it was. A betrayal. He pushed his muscles to move harder. He would recover, or he would die, but he needed to make up quite a bit of distance.
Recovering was secondary. Eating was secondary, the pain in his ligaments was secondary. The only thing that mattered right now was repaying his debts. Valdemar had taken the band away from him. Had stolen it by attacking him when he was at his most vulnerable.
Deirdre had compounded on that, giving his rival the warning that he would need to get rid of him before he could do anything.
