Page 13 of Her Dark Viking
Slowly, uncertainly, Donald moved forward. One foot, then another, he closed the gap between them. When the boy came within touching distance Gunnar moved forward too, just as the boy launched himself into his arms. Gunnar clasped the lad to his chest and rolled back, pinning the pair of them against the cliff face.
"Okay, lad, I have you."
Back on thespringy grass at the top of the cliff Gunnar loosened the rope he had tied about his waist. Yngvarr led away the two horses who had dragged the pair of them up the cliff as Gunnarworked to release the boy who remained clamped to his side. He had tied a rope about the boy's waist too and secured the pair of them to the rope attached to the horses' harnesses. From that point they were in no real danger, but the boy had not known that and had clung to Gunnar the entire time they were inching their way back up the rock. He seemed disinclined to ever let go, but Steinn produced a hunk of bread and some of the roast pork, and this seemed to offer sufficient temptation. As the boy gobbled down the food Gunnar decided he really did need to have a proper word with Donald about the dubious merits of running away and hiding whenever he felt threatened, but now was not the time. And in any case, would he have perhaps done the same had he experienced such an ordeal?
No, he reflected, as they made their way back to the camp. No, he and Ulfric had been brought up as Viking warriors, trained from childhood to meet an enemy head on and to never back down. Their father had expected no less, and neither boy would have wished to disappoint Osvald Freysson. Perhaps Donald had had no such influences to shape his young life, but that had changed now.
A Viking took his responsibilities seriously. Gunnar would be no exception. So he flinched, but did not comment or pull away when the small boy inserted his hand into Gunnar's as they paced along side by side. He did, however, glower with unconcealed menace at the warrior behind them who actually chuckled. The man was seized by a sudden fit of coughing.
Serves him right.Gunnar bent to swing the lad up onto his shoulders and picked up the pace, He was keen to restore the boy to his mother, and to see her radiant smile when he did so.
5
Her son was sleeping now, his pale features untroubled in a manner she had not seen in months, maybe years. The boy had endured much in his short life and this day should have numbered among his worst nightmares. Yet he slept peacefully and for this she had Gunnar Freysson to thank. Mairead was never one to shirk her duty. Extricating herself with care from among the furs which covered her and the tiny baby nestling in her arms, Mairead got to her feet. She hugged the infant to her as she made her way gingerly across the small encampment. Her body still ached from her recent ordeal, but not as much as she had expected. Childbirth clearly became easier with each pregnancy and she was fast regaining her strength.
Gunnar stood a few yards away, his back turned to her. He wore no cloak, and his ebony hair hung loose to his shoulders, lifting slightly in the gentle breeze. The black leather of his tunic caressed the hard contours of his shoulders, masking the power sheathed within. His heavy sword hung from his belt and the hilt of a dagger protruded from his boot. The man was neverother than armed to the teeth, yet she could not bring herself to consider him dangerous, Not any more.
He spoke with two of his men, Steinn and another who she believed was called Yngvarr. Their tones were low, as though they did not wish to disturb those who they believed to be sleeping. Mairead could pick out one or two words which were becoming familiar to her –thrall, boy, woman. They were discussing her, and her child, but she did not feel threatened by this knowledge as she would have even a few short hours ago.
"Thank you, for Donald." Mairead spoke softly and laid her hand on the black leather sleeve of the scarred but strangely beautiful Viking.
He turned to face her, his expression one of concerned surprise. His response was to gesture back to her little nest of furs.
Mairead shook her head. "I am fine, really. I just wanted to... talk to you."
He frowned and turned to Steinn, who quickly translated.
"What?" The single word, spoken in Gaelic, did not suggest any great desire on his part to chat, but Mairead was undeterred.
"You saved my son's life. He told me what happened, what you did..."
He shrugged and murmured something which sounded nonchalant and dismissive, which at least suggested he had understood her words. Mairead was not fully convinced that he grasped the magnitude of today's events, at least to her. Donald had told her of his misadventure, and that the dark Viking had climbed down the cliff to save him. Her child would in all likelihood be dead now, but for the courage of this enigmatic man.
He attacked defenceless villages, killed without mercy, enslaved, robbed, yet he would deliver a baby without flinching and risk his own life to save the child of a thrall. He made nosense to her at all, yet she was drawn to him. She had been both terrified and fascinated by him from the outset, right from that first meeting when he rescued her from certain rape or possibly worse.
She might not understand him still, but she knew she no longer feared him.
The baby shifted in her arms and started to snuffle, seeking out her nipple once more. Mairead began to arrange the infant within her clothing but paused and again lifted her face to regard her unlikely champion.
"What is your mother's name?"
His puzzled frown was answer enough, but again Steinn intervened.
"The Jarl's mother is dead, " Stein explained after a brief exchange with his chief.
"I see. Then, would you ask him if he might object if I were to name my baby after her?" Mairead enquired.
Gunnar's expression was one of utter incredulity when his karl conveyed the request. He held out his hands and, unhesitating, Mairead placed the infant in them. Gunnar lifted the tiny form to his face and scowled at her. The child turned her unfocused gaze on him and pursed her mouth in a toothless parody of a smile.
The corner of the dark Viking's lip curled. He said something to Steinn who grinned and nodded. Then Gunnar fixed his attention on Mairead.
"Tyra. Name is Tyra." He handed the baby back and turned on his heel to march away.
Mairead watched him go, clearly intent on performing some sudden and urgent errand concerning the horses. She smiled at his retreating back and hugged the baby to her, then kissed the soft reddish-gold curls on her head.
"Hello, Tyra," she whispered. "I believe we have both made a friend this day."
Mairead awoketo the quietly efficient activity of the men breaking up their small encampment. Dust had been kicked into the fire and already the embers were cooling. All the beds but the one in which she and Tyra nestled had been packed in saddlebags, cooking and eating vessels were stowed away. The men were milling about, fussing with their horses and clearly ready to depart. Her eyes instinctively sought out her son, and she found Donald scurrying about among the Viking warriors. He was fetching and carrying as directed and clearly enjoying his involvement. The men gave him lighter loads to bear, and joked about his puny limbs though the ribbing was good-natured and not unkind. Throughout it all Donald beamed from ear to ear.
