Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

strong young woman he had fallen in love with so many years ago. Even in her suffering, she would put his needs and desires above her own. He knew she felt she was a burden to him. How could she not know she was his life?

“I love you so much,” he murmured. “But I cannot do what you ask.”

“I want you to do it for me. For us.” She smiled a weak smile at him. “So there will be some part of us that will live on after I am gone.”

He didn’t wish to deny her anything, but he could hardly agree. It would be too much for her. He could easily carry her every day as she had asked, and would do it gladly, but the weather would be fair for a healthy person. She was so thin and weak now, that even in the warm cabin she often took a chill. Being exposed to the cool wind that rolled in off the fjord could kill her. Sigurd could not bear to be the reason that they lost even one minute of the time they had left together. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw and knew he wasn’t going to get off so easily. She had clearly prepared further arguments.

“Even if I were to agree, and that is an if, I’ve already told him I would not. Twice now, in fact.”

“You could go find him and tell him you changed your mind—tell him you will make him the greatest ship ever built.”

Sigurd shook his head. “First, I would have no idea where to look for him, and second, I will not leave you.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Another deal then?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “What did you have in mind?”

“If he returns and asks again, you will agree?”

“I’ve already refused him twice,” he reminded her

“Then you should be safe in making the deal. Though I like my odds; the fact that he returned after you refused him once, tells me he is persistent.”

Sigurd thought of the two times he had run the man off. The first time his refusal had been rude and clipped, but this second time, the threats if he were ever to return again had been explicit. The man would not be back. He was safe to make this pact with her. “And if I agree, and he does not come back, that will be the end of it?”

She nodded.

“Very well then. To have peace and quiet on the subject—if he returns, I will agree to build his ship, and you can help me. But only if he returns. I will not seek him out.”

Leila smiled a genuine smile and leaned her head back in the furs. “Now it is in the gods’ hands.”

It was the happiest he had seen her in some time. Sigurd felt only a little guilty knowing it would never come about. It was for the best and would still give her something to look forward to—something other than her sickness to dwell upon. Seeing her in such a good mood lifted his own spirits. He returned to the cooking area to pour himself a cup of mead.

“Would you like some?” he asked her. She was still smiling, lost in thought about their deal, but looked up and shocked him by accepting.

“Yes, I think I would. Just a little.”

He reached up to the shelf for the oxhorn cup that was her favorite and blew the dust out of the inside. The intricate silver inlay around the rim accented the natural black and gray swirling pattern of the animal horn. He poured only enough to fill the bottom tip, then carried it to her and took a seat next to the bed.

“A toast?” she asked as she took the cup from him.

“A toast,” he agreed.

“To our ship,” she said, and raised her oxhorn.

He shook his head and raised his own. “To our ship,” he said and touched the rim of his cup to hers before lifting it to his lips. In a practiced move, he raised the horn only slightly, and waited for the liquid to make its way over the curve before flooding toward him. He held a mouthful for a few seconds before swallowing. It had been a long time since he’d drunk anything other than water, and he savored the slightly sweet alcohol bite on his tongue. It was good—better than he remembered. He lifted the oxhorn cup once again to his lips.

A bold knock sounded at the door.

Sigurd sat dumbfounded in his chair and stared at the door, then glanced at Leila. She was trying unsuccessfully not to smile.

“Aren’t you going to see who it is?” she asked. “It might be another peddler.” Her smile widened.

He stood and moved toward the door, his mind racing. It couldn’t be. He had threatened the man’s very life less than an hour before. It couldn’t be him. But who then? Living so far from the village, he could count on one hand the number of visitors they’d had in the past two years. He paused and took a deep breath before lifting the latch and pulling open the door. The hinge squealed in his ear.

“Apologies, for the intrusion,” Jarl said before Sigurd could speak. “I could not leave without making another attempt. You say there are plenty of other shipbuilders, and I know that there are, but you are the best. Everyone knows it. Everyone agrees. They say your ships are far advanced beyond anyone else’s. That is what I need, and I will do anything to have one. If it is not more gold, then just tell me what it will take to persuade you. I will pay anything you ask. Anything you need or desire, I will secure it.”

Sigurd said nothing, only stared at him.

“Don’t be rude, Sigurd,” Leila prodded and smiled approvingly at the tall young man who stood outside the door. “Invite him inside and offer him a drink.”

Sigurd opened