Free Sunder by Kristin McTiernan Page A

path. When he brought his horse parallel with Thorstein’s, Garrick interrupted the young slave’s thoughts.
    “Eyeing the she-ogre, Northman? Do you like your women dark and enormous?”
    Cædda selected his warriors based on their superior fighting abilities rather than their personalities, and Garrick was an excellent example of that policy.  He was a brutal man in all things, never bothering to give a kind word, even when it was merited.  To Thorstein’s misfortune, he also hated the Danes with a passion.
    “I was merely wondering if Lord Cædda would sell her or keep her for his own house.” Thorstein always spoke quietly and without conviction. Sigbert had taught him thus in their many lessons.
    Garrick did not speak as quietly. “She’s noble; he won’t put her on the open market. He should give her to me. My mule just died and my wife could use her to haul the firewood.” He giggled at his own joke, then became serious again. “You speak Latin, Northman. What did the woman say to the priest?” Garrick’s voice now became uncharacteristically quiet, likely meaning that he did not want Lord Cædda to know he was curious.
    Though a slave, Thorstein could speak Latin fluently and could also read and write, skills Garrick did not possess. Knowledge, Sigbert said, served a slave better than a quick tongue.
    “She is from Asturias and was thrown overboard for disobeying her husband. She doesn’t know where she is and has never heard of Wessex.”
    The warrior bristled. “Then she must be dimwitted. Anyone who has traded with Danes these past years would know the name of Wessex. The King has beaten the pagan hoards back time and time again. Even those filthy Franks know the name of Alfred.”
    They rode in silence for a moment as the hilly view of trees gave way to the distant sight of the party’s destination. The outer walls had come into view. Slightly ahead of him, the dark woman turned her head and looked back at Thorstein. He smiled at her reassuringly, but he saw her focus shift to his left.  She was looking at Garrick out of her one good eye. Thorstein did not need to glance over to know Garrick was staring right back at her.
    At the front of the formation, Selwyn turned in his saddle to look back at Garrick and jerked his head to indicate they were approaching their destination.
    Garrick broke his gaze with the woman and waved in response. “Lord Cædda will likely keep her for himself. His wife will give him his fourth son soon. She will need help in the household. Keep your teeth together.” Garrick kicked his horse into a brisk trot and returned to Selwyn’s side, giving the lady another look as he passed her.
    Thorstein allowed himself an ironic smile at Garrick’s temperament. The man normally forgave insults quickly. He had even forgiven Thorstein for trying to stab him so many years ago. The two still maintained a combative relationship, though tempered by the knowledge he was never in any real danger from Garrick as long as he obeyed his master. Only God could know if this woman would have that same secure knowledge from this day forth.
    He prompted his horse to quicken pace until he came alongside Father Sigbert’s horse.  The woman had her arms around the priest’s waist as she sat behind him. Her name was strange, Roman sounding. She was staring at the high walls of the recently built burgh. What must she be thinking?
    He had never seen anyone like her before. From her brown skin to her strangely white teeth, she was truly remarkable. Her dress, or undergarment, he hoped, was torn and dirty but of very fine material. A lady, no doubt, yet she attempted to brawl with Garrick as if she were a man. Did the women of Castile fight along with the men? He also wondered about the mark on her back. Like Sigbert, Thorstein had recognized it immediately. It was the Chi Ro, the symbol of Christ and of Rome. Did all Asturians mark themselves in this way?
    Despite the danger from Garrick, he