“A wise one!” she snapped. “I have always done the journey on my own and have never come to harm.”
“Do not forget Galan threatened you a few sennights ago.”
“And he has not been seen since.”
He ran a hand across his beard. The foolish woman was determined to put herself in danger. “Because I am here!”
Her shoulders dropped and he heard her exhale. “I know you are concerned for me but I must barter this wool or we will starve before long. If you accompany me, I know not what will happen. The villagers will not take to you. You are still the enemy.”
“So I am to stay hidden away for the rest of my days? You are ashamed of me?”
“Nay, not ashamed. How dare you? I am scared for you!”
As fast as his hackles had risen, they dropped at her admission. Taking both her arms, he stared her down. “You are scared for me, and I am scared for you, hjarta mitt. What are we to do? But I am better able to protect myself. Let us go to the village and face whatever life brings together. You promised we would not be separated remember?”
Her chin trembled. “I do not know what I would do if something happened to you, Alrek.”
“And I you.” He kissed her gently. “But do not fear for me. Thor is on my side. He has blessed our union and I am not easily defeated. I have defended myself against angry Picts before.”
“Aye, that is what I fear,” she said softly.
“I have no intention of harming any of your people.”
She sighed. “I know. Sometimes though, I fear our culture will always separate us somehow.”
Alrek didn’t respond. How could he reassure her when he knew well how different they were? He was a marauding, vicious Norseman and she a quiet, hardworking Pict. His beautiful woman had been brought up to farm, not to fight, whereas blood had been on his hands before he had reached the age of twelve.
Instead, he took the basket from her and tucked her hands into his. “There will be no troubles, you shall see,” he assured her.
He wasn’t sure but he hoped that no sign of any Picts trying to drive him out of Ilisa’s home since Galan’s visit meant they had little interest in harming him or Ilisa. He didn’t wish to put her in danger but how could he be assured of her safety if he wasn’t with her? What if her countrymen decided to take revenge on her for harbouring the enemy and he wasn’t there to protect her? By the gods, he would die before letting anything happen to her.
They walked several miles before they reached the village. Set on a natural hill, wooden palisades surrounded it and a large roundhouse sat at the centre—the hall he presumed. The wooden huts that radiated from it, while not adorned with intricately carved wood, reminded him of home.
An old man paused to greet Ilisa as they entered the village. He looked over Alrek, brows rising before shuffling on. Ilisa’s palm grew clammy in his and he squeezed her hand. “All will be well,” he murmured. He skipped his gaze from side to side to see the villagers eyeing him with curiosity. Few carried weapons which reassured him a little.
She stopped at a small hut that reeked of animal excrement. A pig pen at one side told him why. The animals shuffled and snorted while a few chickens ran around Alrek’s feet.
“You should probably wait here. Arlen is frail and would not take well to having a Viking in his home.” She hissed the word Viking and Alrek felt his nostrils flare.
He folded his arms and stationed himself outside the building, eyeing passers-by coldly. He might not be proud of his past but Ilisa seemed to forget that his culture was important to him. The Norse had fought hard to expand and bring their culture to other places. He had been brought up to be—above all—proud of being a Viking.
By the time Ilisa had bartered her wool for food, they had gained a small following of village children. Alrek thanked the gods it was only children. While the villagers observed them with distrust, they had shown no aggression. Hopefully they might even come to accept the Norseman in their midst one day. His heart dropped when they neared the gate. Galan and an elderly man—his father maybe, looking at the similarity between them—and two other armed men blocked the way.
“Galan, let us through,” Ilisa demanded. “We mean no harm.”
The father—the chief, Alrek remembered—stepped forward. “You bring shame on your people, Ilisa, by bringing that Viking here. Do you not remember the pain and death his people brought us?”
She thrust her chin up. “Are we to lay the blame of his people at his feet? If so, I can think of many atrocities the Picts have committed. Mayhap we should lay all those at your feet, my lord.”