Page 67 of Her Dark Viking
"Please, do not curse in front of Tyra. She is starting to repeat things."
Gunnar was about to apologise, but caught himself in time. Here was his salvation, though. "You cannot come. What about the children? And, you are pregnant."
"Donald and Tyra will come with us. And it is still the summer, in the coming weeks the weather will be as calm as it is ever likely to be, the crossing should not be arduous. I was far more heavily pregnant when I first made the trip and you offered no objection then."
"It might be dangerous. I would not have harm come to you – or them."
"If Brynhild and Taranc are at Aikrig, we shall talk. If they are not, we shall come away. That is not dangerous."
"I do not think?—"
"We are going to Aikrig. All of us. It is settled. How soon can we be ready to leave?"
He really should not allow her to always have the last word, Gunnar reflected, as they ascended the slight incline back up to their village. It had become something of a habit, sadly, and now he had another problem to contend with.
What if, when Mairead found herself again on her native soil and surrounded by her own people, his beautiful wife and their little family did not wish to return with him to the Norseland? Could he force her all over again?
Gunnar rather thought he could not.
Shit!
18
"Jarl, there are dragon ships already on the beach."
Gunnar strode to the prow of the longship to stand beside Steinn, the lookout. "You are right." He shielded his eyes with his hand. "Odin's teeth, I believe they are my brother's"
"Aye, looks like it," agreed the young Viking. "We are in the right place, then."
Gunnar growled his agreement, already contemplating the coming confrontation with Ulfric. This would not be pretty.
"Set a course to come up on the beach close by, but ensure we have water enough to launch again in a hurry if we need to. And make plenty of noise. We want them to know we are coming this time." Whether the impending encounter was to be with his brother, or the Celtic chief, Taranc, or even both, Gunnar would much prefer to get it over with early.
And it would not hurt to have his dragon ship at his back and a ready means of escape.
Mairead stood beside him as the bow of the longship scraped over sand and the vessel juddered to a halt. They had already agreed that Tyra was to remain on the longship with Weylin,who had requested leave to accompany their expedition. Gunnar was the first to leap over the side into the shallows. He turned and held up his arms for Mairead, and managed to keep her out of the frothing waves and deposit her on the damp sand.
"Welcome home, my sweet. Now, let us see what sort of reception awaits." He took her hand and together they advanced up the beach, their men thronging at their back.
They had not taken many paces forward before a lone figure emerged from the shadow of the trees ringing the cove. A familiar, tall, lean silhouette clad in Viking tunic and leggings and a heavy cloak of blue wool confronted them from the top of the rise, blond hair flowing loose about his shoulders. His eyes were a deep and compelling blue, wary and alert. He looked every inch the conquering hero, ready to defend his land to his last breath.
Gunnar signalled to all in his party to halt, then continued on alone. He confronted his brother and the two circled each other cautiously.
"Ulfric? You look well."
"You too, brother. I see you managed not to sink my dragon ship. I am relieved, though it would have been courteous to have sought my permission before taking it."
"Just as you showed me the courtesy of seeking my opinion before you banished our sister to fend for herself among our enemies?"
"Ah, yes. About that..."
"Do you really want to know what I think about that?"
"I believe I can hazard a guess."
"Do not trouble yourself. Let me make the matter plain."
Gunnar was reasonably certain his brother never saw the punch coming. His fist connected with his brother's jaw, there was a sickening crunch and Ulfric staggered back. The man did not fall, though, damn him. He did not even crumple to hisknees, unconscious, as any decent adversary should. Instead, Ulfric shook his head, his wild, golden mane shimmering in the breeze, and he flew at Gunnar like a man possessed.
