Free Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 by Emma Prince Page B

the answer.

Chapter Twelve
     
     
     
     
     
    “And that one there?”
    “Rowan.”
    Alaric was familiar with the properties of the tree, for they grew in the Northlands also, but he didn’t have the Northumbrian word for it.
    “Rowan,” he said, letting the word sink in.
    He and Elisead had been playing a game of sorts. He’d led her farther into the woods and away from the site of the bones. The distance from that spot seemed to instill an ever-spreading calmness within her. He hadn’t asked further about the bones and the other Northmen yet. She needed time to relax, time to trust him.
    Alaric ran a hand absently over the rowan’s bark. This land was not so different from the Northlands. Yet it was softer somehow, more fertile.
    He’d already asked Elisead about what kind of crops her people grew. As in Dalgaard, they harvested oats, barley, and some rye. But when Alaric had left Dalgaard a little over a sennight ago, it was still considered early summer. The farmers on the outskirts of the village had only just begun sowing their crops, for though the summer was intense in the Northlands, it was all too short. Elisead had said that villagers around the fortress had begun laboring in the fields nigh two moons ago.
    Alaric let his gaze shift to Elisead. Indeed, this was a lush, ripe land.
    She was toying with a small rock she’d found on the forest floor.
    “You must know a great deal about the quality of stone here,” he said, watching her fingers stroke the rock.
    “Aye,” she replied, her amber eyes lighting.
    “How did you come to learn how to carve those patterns?”
    The flicker in her gaze dimmed somewhat, but she answered him. “Many of the great stone masons travel throughout Pictland, sharing their gift and honoring God with their carvings.”
    Why might that piece of information cause her to become ever so slightly guarded? Alaric kept his air easy as he bend to retrieve a stone of his own from the ground.
    “And such a mason came here.”
    “Aye, her name was Una, and she was truly gifted.”
    Again, she answered with restraint.
    “ Was ?”
    The question was enough to draw her gaze to his. “She is well, I am sure,” she replied. “But she was only able to stay with us for a season. And…”
    Alaric longed to prod her, but instead casually tossed his rock into the air, then caught it.
    “…And it was a dark season.”
    “You mean winter?”
    “Nay, I mean…it was just before the Northmen arrived.”
    Unwittingly, he’d stumbled once more upon the very topic he was trying to avoid. She was like a frightened doe, especially when it came to the subject of Northlanders.
    It was important to him that she grow more comfortable around him—only because it would aid his mission in negotiating a place for his people on these lands, he told himself firmly. It had naught to do with wanting to see Elisead’s eyes light up and a soft smile curve her rosy lips.
    He fumbled for something to say to put her at ease once more, but she surprised him by going on unbidden.
    “Needless to say, we were all very…distracted. But she taught me well in what little time we had.”
    “And is it normal in this land for women to become great stone masons and travel the countryside? Is that what you will do some day?”
    Unexpectedly, she erupted in laughter. The sound was like the most delicate waterfall. Alaric’s stomach twisted into a knot of heat.
    “Oh, nay!” she said between giggles.
    He couldn’t help but smile at her sudden merriment. “Is what I said so preposterous?”
    “Aye, it is!” she blurted. At last she got her laughter under control. “Una was special, indeed. ’Tis very rare here for women to be allowed to become artists. But Una’s skill was undeniable.”
    “Then yours must be, too, for your father encourages you to carve that enormous stone he sent with you.”
    A shadow passed over her features, and yet again Alaric wondered what he’d said wrong. He turned fully toward