My horse’s ears remained flat, but he stopped trying to unseat the Northman.
“You should know better than to mount another’s warhorse,” I said with a smirk. “Or perhaps he took offense to being called a mare.”
“He’s stronger than he looks,” Leif answered with a grin that suddenly made him appear much younger.
When he continued to smile at me, I shifted uncomfortably and said, “You’ll have to make room for me.”
Leif slid back along Sleipnir’s spine a few inches—carefully. After giving Sleipnir a pat on the neck, I grabbed a handful of mane and pulled myself astride. It was an awkward affair, since I didn’t have the room to swing my leg over with Leif in the way. But I managed it without the Northman’s assistance, which was all I really cared about.
I went rigid as stone when Leif moved closer to me, and I was painfully aware my backside was now flush against his front. “Is it all right to take the reins?” Leif asked. “Or will he unseat us both this time?”
“Take them,” I said through gritted teeth. I was positioned too close to Sleipnir’s neck for me to hold them comfortably.
A low rumble of a chuckle vibrated through my back. “You cannot remain so stiff. Relax, or this will be a painful ride all the way to Dyflin.”
He pressed his heels to Sleipnir’s sides, and the stallion surged forward, throwing me against the Northman’s chest.
“How can I relax when you are pressed so intimately against me?” I said, my tone sharp with embarrassment.
“There is a broadsword between us.” Amusement was clear in his voice. “If you would like, you could hand it to me for safekeeping. Then we will both be more comfortable.”
I snorted. “I will not part with it. You’ll have to find your own weapon.”
“I am weapon enough.”
He guided Sleipnir away from the coast and into the green hills beyond. Fog rolled in from the sea and blanketed the land, until it became difficult to see much farther than a horse length in front of us. Still, he kept Sleipnir at a grueling pace.
“You needn’t run him until he is blown,” I snapped eventually. The lack of control was torturous.
“We’ve lost enough time already.”
The fog thickened, lowering the temperature until I shivered. The sun had been shining not long ago, and even in this land with its capricious weather, it was almost unnatural to have such thick fog. I wanted to turn and look back at the kingdom I was rapidly leaving, but I resisted the urge. I would only get an eyeful of Northman chest for my effort anyway.
Besides, I had made my decision.
There would be no going back now.
Leif was silent, save for his quiet breathing, as Sleipnir cantered over hills of green. After a time, I allowed my body to relax, though I still kept as far from the Northman as I could. I was pressed uncomfortably against Sleipnir’s withers, each stride bruising my inner thighs.
The sound of fresh water, a creek cutting through the hills, drew our attention. Leif slowed Sleipnir to a trot and guided him toward it.
The silvery-blue water gurgled over the rocks, invitingly fresh. I scanned the shores for any signs of river spirits guarding the river. Leif dismounted and strode toward the water brazenly, without a hint of caution. I shook my head in disgust.
He knelt down and washed both arms in the water before drinking his fill. When nothing attacked him, I dismounted and walked over to the water, alert for any signs of mischief.
Sleipnir’s ears turned this way and that, but even he dipped his head to the water for a drink. I cupped my hands and scooped handfuls of the water, enjoying the coolness on my tongue. I drank until I could drink no more. When I stood again, I found Leif watching me.
He strode toward me and I backed away, sinking into a defensive pose. A smile touched his lips. “Why would I choose now to harm you?” he asked. “I only wish to help you back onto your horse.”
I didn’t know what he intended, but I knew I didn’t trust him. “I can manage it well enough myself.”
I watched him until he shrugged and moved away. I had turned toward Sleipnir to mount when I felt the broadsword being pulled free from its sheath on my back. With an angry hiss, I whirled on Leif. In one smooth motion, I drew the dagger beneath my cloak.
He held up his hand and my sword in a gesture of peace. “You were bruising yourself against the horse’s bones to keep from touching me. This sword kept me from moving closer so that we might both be comfortable. It’s best that I carry it.”
His casual disregard for my judgment filled me with such anger that my hands shook. “Is this how you would treat your men? Divesting them of their weapons, ordering them about like dogs?”
He smiled. “But you are not a man.”
I glared. “I am the warrior who agreed to aid you in your quest. The one whose abilities you need, and yet you treat me like . . .” I struggled to remember the insult he had used earlier. “A meyja.”
“If this is your only means of defense”—he gestured toward my sword at his back—“then you aren’t the warrior I believed you to be.”
I stared at the hilt, just visible over his shoulder. I’d honed my skills with a sword, but my true means of defense was my ability to control the mind of another. I gritted my teeth at the realization that he’d pinpointed the truth: though I had an otherworldly ability, I was still limited by my fighting ability. I had taken advantage of the terrain when I fought Leif, but there was no doubt he was more skilled.
I raised my chin until I was staring into his glacier-blue eyes. “Ask, then,” I said. “Ask if you may carry my sword for me.”
“I do not ask,” he said. “I take.”
“You take from your enemies; you ask of your allies. I am your ally. Treat me as such, or it’ll be you who will walk all the way to Dubhlinn.”
“Dyflin,” he corrected, and my eyes narrowed to slits.
He drew himself up to his full height, which made him tower over me, but I caught a hint of respect in his eyes. “Please allow me to carry your sword for you, milady,” he said, in a voice as gruff as stone.
I smiled and dipped my head. “As you wish.”
After returning my dagger to its hiding place, I pulled myself astride Sleipnir. Leif settled in behind me, and without the solid presence of the sword between us, I could feel his every breath against my back.
While Sleipnir walked on, Leif drew in his breath as though he would say something, but then let it out again. Finally, he said, “I could help you hone your skills with a blade—if you’d be willing.”
It occurred to me that I should feel insulted by his insinuation, but it was his hesitancy to suggest it that kept my indignation at bay. “You found my swordplay so terrible, then?” I asked with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Not terrible by any means, but I can tell it isn’t your weapon of choice.” I could hear the grin in his voice when he added, “Though of course I had no idea your mind was your weapon.”
I thought of our brief clash of swords. “You were holding yourself back when you fought me,” I said, almost to myself. It only confirmed what I had suspected during the battle.
He grunted in answer.
“Why?”
He was silent for so long I finally risked a glance at him. “You spared my brother’s life. I saw that you were young and beautiful, and I couldn’t bring myself to end your life.” His eyes burned into mine, and I couldn’t look away. I felt the spread of a flush born of surprise and something else . . . something that stirred within and filled me with warmth. “And then you bashed me over the head with a stone.”
His rumbling laughter vibrated through me as I broke his gaze and urged Sleipnir into a smooth canter.
I willed myself to stop blushing like a maiden.
7