Read Online The Viking’s Sacrifice by Julia Knight - Free Book Online
Authors: Julia Knight
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little, at the look on his face, a twisted grimace of…she couldn’t tell what.
He stood up straight again, his eyes wide with surprise when he realised she was there, then dipped his head and made for a bench, his lips pinched amidst his beard.
“Oh, don’t you worry ’bout him,” Bebba said. “That’s only Toki. He won’t do you no harm. He’s simple, poor lad, don’t talk. Does like his beer though.”
Bebba fetched a wooden cup, filled it with ale and took it over to Toki. He was a big man even for one of the Northmen, made to look even bigger by the fur across his shoulder. His fair hair was braided and his neat beard was two shades darker with a reddish tint. His clothes were clean but tatty and threadbare. Rents in his trousers had been badly patched and the fur at his shoulder was ragged at the edges. He didn’t look up even when Bebba handed him the beer, though he held out a brace of hare.
“He’s a good lad, don’t deserve what that lot put him through. Always pays for his beer in kind, with hare or helping out. Shy though.” Bebba said something to him but was rewarded only with a brief shrug. Toki kept his head down, eyes on his beer.
He stayed that way as Bebba got Wilda to work, cleaning and scrubbing. Whenever his cup was empty he would hold it out and Bebba would go and fill it again. It grew darker outside, the wind sharper so it rattled the wooden shutters Bebba had closed. Finally, when Wilda’s eyes had begun to droop, the door banged open again and Agnar came in, dripping snow and unsteady on his feet.
Bebba got up to help him in, take his cloak and settle him on a bench. “Wilda, you get Toki another ale, will you?”
Toki moved at her voice, a sudden jerking as though surprised. When Wilda brought him the full cup he stared at her, his eyes intense and unsettling. He searched her face, seemingly looking over every part. Wilda didn’t dare move—he looked too savage, too frightening. Yet she didn’t flinch either. Her pride wouldn’t let her, because she was a Christian among heathens, barbarians.
Finally, he set his cup on the floor and stood up, towering over her. When he reached out a hand, she did flinch, a little. His fingers grazed the skin just under her eye, where she bore a scar from the fateful day the heathens had killed her mother. The skin on Toki’s fingers was roughened from work, but his touch was gentler than she expected from such a large man, one of these loud barbarians.
“Hey, Toki.” Bebba took hold of his arm and began to berate him, but he shook her off. He was still staring at Wilda.
Bebba scolded him in his language but he ignored her, ignored Agnar’s question and hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. He only had eyes for Wilda, and that unsettled her in ways she couldn’t name.
“Wilda,” he said and both Bebba and Agnar pulled up short, Bebba cut off in mid-sentence. “Wilda, renn. Renn. ”
Ice prickled over Wilda’s skin, crawled over her face and down her back. She wasn’t in a longhouse in some godforsaken heathen country that was too cold and strange. She was a girl by a burning barn, watching two heathens fight in blood and flames. It couldn’t be…
“He ain’t never spoken a word, not all the time I been here. Not a word,” Bebba said behind her. “I didn’t think he could.”
Toki stared at her intently and she tried to imagine him without the beard, without the creases by his eyes or the frown of care that marked his forehead. The eyes themselves were dark brown and full of worry. Like the boy, Einar. She’d never forgotten his face, or the way he’d screamed when Bear Man had thrust a sword into his back. The way he’d faced down Bear Man to save her.
“Ei—”
He cut her off with a quick finger on her lips and a brief, furtive shake of his head. “Renn, Wilda.” He touched his fingers to his own lips, a gesture for silence, and again on hers. His fingers vibrated on her mouth, as though he was
He stood up straight again, his eyes wide with surprise when he realised she was there, then dipped his head and made for a bench, his lips pinched amidst his beard.
“Oh, don’t you worry ’bout him,” Bebba said. “That’s only Toki. He won’t do you no harm. He’s simple, poor lad, don’t talk. Does like his beer though.”
Bebba fetched a wooden cup, filled it with ale and took it over to Toki. He was a big man even for one of the Northmen, made to look even bigger by the fur across his shoulder. His fair hair was braided and his neat beard was two shades darker with a reddish tint. His clothes were clean but tatty and threadbare. Rents in his trousers had been badly patched and the fur at his shoulder was ragged at the edges. He didn’t look up even when Bebba handed him the beer, though he held out a brace of hare.
“He’s a good lad, don’t deserve what that lot put him through. Always pays for his beer in kind, with hare or helping out. Shy though.” Bebba said something to him but was rewarded only with a brief shrug. Toki kept his head down, eyes on his beer.
He stayed that way as Bebba got Wilda to work, cleaning and scrubbing. Whenever his cup was empty he would hold it out and Bebba would go and fill it again. It grew darker outside, the wind sharper so it rattled the wooden shutters Bebba had closed. Finally, when Wilda’s eyes had begun to droop, the door banged open again and Agnar came in, dripping snow and unsteady on his feet.
Bebba got up to help him in, take his cloak and settle him on a bench. “Wilda, you get Toki another ale, will you?”
Toki moved at her voice, a sudden jerking as though surprised. When Wilda brought him the full cup he stared at her, his eyes intense and unsettling. He searched her face, seemingly looking over every part. Wilda didn’t dare move—he looked too savage, too frightening. Yet she didn’t flinch either. Her pride wouldn’t let her, because she was a Christian among heathens, barbarians.
Finally, he set his cup on the floor and stood up, towering over her. When he reached out a hand, she did flinch, a little. His fingers grazed the skin just under her eye, where she bore a scar from the fateful day the heathens had killed her mother. The skin on Toki’s fingers was roughened from work, but his touch was gentler than she expected from such a large man, one of these loud barbarians.
“Hey, Toki.” Bebba took hold of his arm and began to berate him, but he shook her off. He was still staring at Wilda.
Bebba scolded him in his language but he ignored her, ignored Agnar’s question and hand on his arm, trying to pull him away. He only had eyes for Wilda, and that unsettled her in ways she couldn’t name.
“Wilda,” he said and both Bebba and Agnar pulled up short, Bebba cut off in mid-sentence. “Wilda, renn. Renn. ”
Ice prickled over Wilda’s skin, crawled over her face and down her back. She wasn’t in a longhouse in some godforsaken heathen country that was too cold and strange. She was a girl by a burning barn, watching two heathens fight in blood and flames. It couldn’t be…
“He ain’t never spoken a word, not all the time I been here. Not a word,” Bebba said behind her. “I didn’t think he could.”
Toki stared at her intently and she tried to imagine him without the beard, without the creases by his eyes or the frown of care that marked his forehead. The eyes themselves were dark brown and full of worry. Like the boy, Einar. She’d never forgotten his face, or the way he’d screamed when Bear Man had thrust a sword into his back. The way he’d faced down Bear Man to save her.
“Ei—”
He cut her off with a quick finger on her lips and a brief, furtive shake of his head. “Renn, Wilda.” He touched his fingers to his own lips, a gesture for silence, and again on hers. His fingers vibrated on her mouth, as though he was
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