Free Viking Heat by Sandra Hill

visited on numerous occasions in the past. But there was always something new to see. Animals of any size or shape, not to mention their skins. Even the prized seal and walrus rope noted for its strength and durability; it was made by cutting the skin in a single spiral strip from shoulder to tail. The tusks were also an important trading item. Many of the market stalls featured jewelry . . . silver, gold, amber, ivory, and crystallite. Samite from Byzantium, fine wool from Northumbria, sable-lined cloaks. Craftsmen could be seen blowing glass, hammering precious metals, carving wood and tusks, firing clay pots, making candles.
    “Brandr is going to tan our hides for taking so long,” Erland said to his older brother.
    “Well, we had good reason for our delay. The spices he wanted from the eastern lands did not arrive ’til yestereve. And there were those repairs needed for Wind Biter ’s hull. And those women we captured in the Saxon lands were not so willing to travel with us to the Norselands. Twice they escaped us here in the market town. Good thing I am an expert tracker.” Arnis grinned at him.
    Erland grinned back. “Truly, the men at Bear’s Lair will be gladdened at our foresight in providing for their pleasure. Despite the delay.”
    “Yea, there is that,” Arnis agreed. “And leastways, both of our dragonships are nigh groaning with all the goods we have purchased, most importantly the grains, but also the Frisian wine on top of barrels of mead and ale. That litter of pups will surely prove helpful for hunting when full grown.”
    “I but wish there was something we could get especially for Brandr to lighten his heart,” Arnis remarked. “He has become so dour of late.”
    “With good cause,” Erland pointed out. “But I wonder . . . dost think that once a berserker it can ever leave a man?”
    “Only the gods know.” Arnis sighed. “What kind of life must it be to have that rage inside all the time?”
    They were both grim as they pondered that unpalatable prospect. Walking along the plank walkways that traversed the mud of the busy market town in an orderly fashion, they bypassed the area where permanent residents lived in neat wattle-and-daub homes with front-fenced courtyards. Instead they made for the merchant and craft section where tents and stalls had been set up facing the wooden sidewalks. They stopped here and there to examine the wares, even as they conversed.
    “Look there. That would make a fine gift for Liv,” Arnis said.
    They both went silent then, recalling how Liv had looked when they’d left Bear’s Lair more than eight sennights ago. Eyes sad and vacant, body thin as a pole, except for her huge belly. The baby must have been born by now. Had Brandr put the infant out on the cliff to die, or let it live, unwanted by one and all, including its mother? He could not imagine Liv ever softening toward the child. How could she want a reminder of her captivity and brutal rape? Sad it was, because Liv, now almost fifteen, had been long promised to and found favor with Einar Egillsson from Iceland, but that was before her being so despoiled. Would Einar still want her? Probably not.
    Arnis purchased the polished brass mirror nonetheless. Mayhap Liv would be more her old self by now. And Erland, like-thinking, bought her an amber pendant on a thin gold chain. They bought themselves new silver-etched arm rings. Bone combs for the household. Shoulder brooches for some of the men to fasten their cloaks. A box of matched spoons with carved wood handles to be used at the high table on special occasions.
    “Let us go back to the harbor,” Arnis said then. “Make certain all is ready for our departure at first light tomorrow.”
    Erland agreed.
    They were approaching the slave auction mart where they had taken their Saxon captives to be sold just two days past and purchased some others as well, including a much-needed blacksmith. They were about to pass by when something caught their