Chapter Forty-Eight
They met on the path that led between the settlement and the camping place Quarrie had lent to the Norse visitors. A fitting place, so Quarrie could but think. The two of them came together as if by mutual agreement. As if by inner knowing.
Emotions fought their way up inside him and through him. He had watched what happened out upon the ocean. All the men had watched.
Now, face to face with Hulda, he did not know what to say to her. He wanted to reach for her hands but knew eyes could still be on them, critical eyes even though all the settlement celebrated.
She spoke first. “I told you I would be your hundr and would defend you as best I might.”
“We owe much to ye and to your men. How did ye manage it? How did ye turn them awa’?”
“We knew them. The man in the lead boat was Ivor, with whom I sailed here before.”
“Was it?” Quarrie grunted. He remembered Ivor all too well.
“Ja. He had come back to avenge Jute, or perhaps he but used that as an excuse to kill and plunder.”
“Then I maun thank ye once and thank ye over again.”
“I am glad it did not come to a fight. Even with our help, I am not sure you could have defended against so many.”
“Ye would ha’ stood wi’ us?”
“I told Ivor so.”
Quarrie lifted his brows. “And your men, would they have gone along wi’ that?”
“They are an honorable lot.” She smiled wryly. “For Norsemen.”
“We will feast them. No’ tonight, for we are still holding a strong guard and keeping watch, bringing the women and bairns who fled back into the settlement. But tomorrow. Bring your men and we shall feast them in gratitude all day long.”
Dare he hope this might begin a new age between them? A chance, mayhap, for them to be together at some time in the future. Man and woman rather than Scot and Norse.
But Hulda shook her head. “We cannot.”
“To be sure, ye will be welcome. We all, there on the shore, saw—”
“And I would be grateful if your people are made aware that it was my men speaking up that convinced the others to turn away.”
“So I will—”
“But now”—she raised her voice slightly to speak over him—“my men have decided to go home.”
“What?”
“They wish to return home, and after the way they stood behind me, I cannot refuse them.”
“Nay, the season is no’ over. Hulda, we ha’ time yet.”
“The season is old. My crew discussed it while we patrolled the waters. They want to reach Avoldsborg before Ivor’s ship does so we might ward off some of the harm he intends.”
“Harm?”
“He will label us traitors. For seeking to defend those who killed Jute. My faeir will not want to hear it of us. None of their families”—she jerked her head back toward the camp—“will.”
“Oh.”
It felt like a knife to the gut. But even here in the soft dark—as dark as ever it got at this time of year—he could see the determination in her eyes.
Among other emotions.
He did not know what to say. He could try to persuade her to talk her men round. To keep raiding yet a while and increase the wealth they’d already gained. But what sort of man would he be to unleash a longboat on his fellow countrymen just so he might be with this woman a wee while longer?
A man in love.
The feelings tore through him, and he did not try to hide them from her. She must be able to see all in his eyes.
He had no right to ask her to stay. Only that given by a devoted heart.
He said aloud, hoarsely, “I ha’ no right to ask ye to stay.”
“Quarrie.” Her head came up even as she spoke his name. There was pride in this woman he loved. “I would stay with you if I could.”
“Ye could remain behind, lass. Let the rest o’ them go home.”
Slowly, as if considering it, she shook her head.
“I must try to salvage the pieces of my life back in Avoldsborg, before Ivor ruins me. It may not matter to you, who I am there, who I have been, but it does matter to me. I owe explanations to my faeir, whether or not he will accept those explanations. I owe comfort to my móeir.”
Something inside Quarrie died. She would leave him. He could scarce believe it. Despite all the troubles and the differences between them, in his heart he had thought she would not be able to do that when it came to it—leave him.
He took a step forward and reached for her hands. A curse upon anyone who watched them and saw. He had to touch her.
“Tell me ye will return. Once ye ha’ made your explanations at home and salvaged your reputation.”
Her gaze burned on his, even in the dim light. Aye, a thousand things he saw there, the foremost among them regret.
“I cannot come by myself. Freya is not mine alone.” She wet her lips. “Mayhap in the spring.”
The spring? The whole of a winter to get through, then. Without seeing her, without touching her. Without the promise that ever he would again. He would not survive it.
He drew a breath that snagged against his pain. “Och, Hulda. How d’ye expect me to endure?”
“Quarrie, I do not know how either of us may endure this.” She shook her head. And her regret, that same he’d seen in her eyes, swamped him. “I should have known better. From the first, I should. How could it ever end well between us?”
He did not know. He did not know, but at the same time he never could have refuted what existed between them.
“Could ye ha’ denied me, lass? Could I ha’ denied ye? I knew ye before ever I met ye in this life.”
His fingers tightened on hers convulsively. He drew her nearer, defiant of anyone spying upon them.
“It is true,” she allowed, “and I will not try to say I ever could have denied what lies between us. Misguided,” she added swiftly. “Star-crossed. The product, mayhap, of Loki’s twisted intentions.”
“Do no’ say so. Say, rather, ye will return to me. I care no’ how long I ha’ to wait. If ye do no’ return, Hulda, love, I will find a way to come to ye, if I ha’ to search the very earth.”
“Do not come to me. Do not try. For you to come to Avoldsborg—it is certain death. And I could not bear—”
Her voice broke despite her hard-held control.
But, Quarrie thought in distress and confusion, he had promised to follow her always, to find her always. Long, long ago he had.
“Not every love is meant,” she told him with deliberation. “No matter how beautiful. I am glad—glad I had a chance to know you. But not every tale spun by the bards, or the gods, can be a happy one.”
“Tell me but one thing, Hulda. Ye will try to return.” He could not live, if he did not have that promise.
“I will, ja, try.”
He drew her into his arms, wrapped her tight. This might be the last time he held her. The last time he would experience the perfection of having her in his arms, the need answered, her soul coming to anchor alongside his own.
“When?” he whispered. “When do ye go?”
“At first light.”
And so, after dreading the sight of sails on the horizon all his life, he would now have to stand and watch one slip off through the morning, knowing it tore away the better part of him.
She murmured against his neck, “I wish I could make you understand. I have obligations to my men. To my family back home. To…to myself. It does not mean I love you one whit less. I cannot imagine loving anyone the way I love you, Quarrie MacMurtray. And ja, I will return to you—if only in some other life. One we cannot yet see.”
She drew away from him, pulled out of his arms. At the last, he refused to surrender her hands.
She had tears on her cheeks, this strong and determined woman. She had a world to which she must return, one that did not have any place for him. That, that was what she tried to tell him.
“I will never love anyone as ye, Hulda. And I will wait as long as I must. Till the life after this, if need be. Or the one after that. Aye?”
“Aye,” she echoed softly.
He raised her hands to his lips, one after the other. Dropped fervent, burning kisses into the palms. Leaned forward to tenderly kiss either side of her mouth, her cheeks one at a time. Her brow.
Only then did he leave go of her.
“Forgive me,” she said, and turned and ran. This woman who scarce ever ran from anything. She ran now from him.
He stood until she disappeared amid the bracken and the darkness, out of his sight.