Chapter Forty-Seven
Panic stirred in Hulda’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 aboard Freya, wasting no time.
Might Faeir Odin bless him for it.
Now, as Freya drew 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 as Freya slid 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.
Ivor Larsson, well clad for war with his helmet already in place, leaned forward to stare at her.
“Hulda Elvarsdottir?” He appeared surprised. “You, here?” He gave a bark of laughter. “We thought you and your wreck of a boat would be at the bottom of the sea by now.”
His scorn made her crew bristle. She called back, “As you can see, we are still asea and thriving. You are in our waters.”
“What?” That made him and every man aboard the lead longboat stare. In truth, it made her crew stare also. “You have no holdings here. And we are raiding.”
“You are wrong,” she called back as boldly as she dared. “I do have holdings here. We do.”
Muttering broke out on the larger boat.
Ivor called back, “Impossible. There is a fine prize sitting at your back, girl, and we mean to take it.” A sly sort of smile stretched his lips. “And mayhap avenge your brother, as you were unwilling or unable to do.”
“I have an alliance with the chief of this place, who has granted us rights here. We cannot allow you to attack.”
That forced another laugh from him. “You think to stop me? With your handful of boy-warriors?”
“Along with those men ranged upon the shore. We will join them in the defense, if we must.”
Dead silence fell. Hulda did not think any member of her crew was breathing.
“You are not in earnest,” Ivor said at last. “This is one of your games. Get out of our way, little girl.”
“I will not. I have an alliance, I say, and I will stand by it.”
“Then we will kill you all and fire your boat.”
Hulda drew her sword. Either a courageous action or a mad one. “Try for it. We are the sons—and dottir—of warriors.”
“You are a poor excuse for a crew sailing a poor excuse for a boat. The dregs o’ poor families back home.”
“Are we?” Helje stepped up, strong pride apparently making him forget his differences with Hulda. “Then why have we had a successful season?”
“Consorting with the natives?” Ivor’s sneer was plain to see. “So much for the worth of a female commander.”
Hulda felt her crew bristle. No one behind her spoke, but ja, she could feel. They had proved themselves during this season. Would they accept this arrogant man’s disdain?
Ivor, apparently thinking they would, went over Hulda’s head and called to her crew, “Your mistress is a fool. Get this tub out of my way.”
No one behind Hulda moved.
Ivor began to look seriously annoyed.
“Move this boat, I say, or we will board and do it for you.”
The wrong tack to take. Freya might be aged and humble, but each of the crew had a stake in her repairing, and sailing her. She was theirs.
A silent consensus passed from man to man before Garik spoke.
“Will you kill all of us, Ivor? Will you slay your neighbors’ sons and then go home with your spoils from yon settlement and tell everyone there what befell us?”
“I would not want to bring your families such shame. Dealing with the Scots—”
“We do what we must to get ahead. What our people have always done. We have made an alliance to our advantage, and possess the honor needed to keep to it.”
Men now crowded the rail of Ivor’s boat and the other three vessels as men strained to hear. The line of defenders on the shore must also wonder what was happening.
Quarrie.
Hulda called to Ivor loudly, “There are targets enough for you to attack further along the coast. This one is under our protection.”
“Yours,” Ivor repeated, as if he yet could not believe it.
“Ours! Take yourself elsewhere.”
The men aboard Ivor’s boat clustered around him as they discussed it. This could go either way, Hulda conceded. Ivor’s pride could refuse to lie down. He could go through Freya to reach the shore. But it would hurt him.
It would harm the Freya and her crew more.
It took a while for Ivor to decide. Raised voices could be heard, and the cluster of four dragon boats rose and fell on the swells as if time itself suspended for them. The gloaming began to fade as night came in from the east.
Freya floated, a small hound standing against a pack of wolves.
“They will never agree,” Helje muttered. “We are all going to die.”
At last, Ivor returned to the rail. He wore a sour expression.
“The commanders of the other boats do not wish to go home and explain why we have killed you all. Though I think doing so because you seek to defend the very people who killed your brother makes a fine reason!”
Hulda, holding her breath, said nothing.
“We will move on. There are some others of us who wanted to raid in Ireland before we turn for home.”
Some others. Not him. It had been his idea, his desire to strike here, where Jute had died.
“We will move off,” Ivor told her. “But prepare for great dishonor when you reach home.”
Still no one behind Hulda spoke a word. The Freya held her place, broadside to the shore, while the Norse boats scrambled. While orders were shouted and they began to move off one by one.
Ivor’s boat was the last to leave.
What would her faeir say? What, if Ivor returned to Avoldsborg ahead of them and talked her down?
Faeir would never forgive her.
Yet she had done the right thing, holding to a promise. And her men had stood with her.
Not until Ivor’s boat had come about and headed westward, slipping into the lingering light of the day like a dream, did Hulda become aware of a ruckus on the shore. Raised voices, some calling out. Some cheering.
She looked there and saw the man she loved standing.
He had waded out into the water, far out, as if he reached for her. As she watched, he thrust his sword back into its scabbard.
“Take us about,” she told Garik. “We will patrol here a while. Make certain they do not return.”
“They will not,” Garik said. “The other commanders want no part of killing us and taking word of it back home.”
“They would far rather take the news that we are traitors,” Helje said bitterly.
Hulda turned and faced her men. “Thank you. Thank you all for standing with me. For keeping to the alliance.”
“We could not let that bastard get the better of us, could we?” asked Varg, who usually made light of everything.
But mayhap they already had.