Page 30
He must will himself to fight the impulse.
Maybe he should stop looking at her, asking her about yoga, helping her find food.
Cathy resumed walking. “A little human connection and you ruffle like a hedgehog. Why are you so defensive? Is it a Viking thing?”
Andor followed her, watching her cloak moving in front of him, his gut tense. Her words tapped on the wrong door, the one where all of the painful memories were locked away.
And those memories began tapping back.
He remembered the first time he had seen Svana. Andor had just become the jarl after his father’s death and had been looking for a wife. He should have married another jarl’s daughter to strengthen alliances, but when he had visited her father Harek’s feast in the new jarl’s honor, Svana had beguiled Andor. He had been cocky, and he’d wanted her. “I will earn the respect of other jarls through my actions, not by marrying someone’s daughter,” Andor had told Fridstein. “I must marry this one.”
She’d loved him and she’d married him. Look where it had gotten her.
The memory of Svana’s gaping wound, her weak voice, the feel of her warm, soft body in his arms…
Cathy’s voice brought him back, releasing him from the prison of his memories. “Seriously, though?” she said. “What happened to you that made you like this?”
He knew he should not venture there. But before he could stop himself, the words blurted out. “Like what?” He winced. “Forget it,” he said.
“No, no. Don’t forget it. I’ll tell you. You behave as though caring about someone is a weakness.”
Andor staggered as if he had just hit an invisible wall. “Do not talk about things that you do not know, woman.”
“You’re right. I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. Do you have a family? Parents? What happened to your wife?”
Her words lashed him, cutting deep.
“I lost her,” he snarled.
Cathy stopped. “How?”
Too much. Darkness was swallowing him.
He saw flames licking the walls of his village, life fading from her eyes, then more flames consuming her body as the funeral boat floated silently away, taking his heart with it.
Run! Run! Run!
“No. I shall not talk of her with you.”
“It might actually help to talk—”
“Enough!” he barked, and Cathy jerked. “I do not need to talk about her. About me. Or about you.”
She lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”
“We should probably go our separate ways.”
“No. Please, Andor. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. I won’t say a word. I must get to York as soon as possible. I’m chatty when I’m nervous, and well—everything that has happened since I arrived here has been crazy. Please, let me come with you. I won’t ask again. You’re right, it’s none of my business.”
Andor stared at her. He should leave her. He had two weapons now—the ax and the scramasax. They didn’t make up for losing Dragon’s Trouble, but they were better than a kitchen knife. If she was going to be as annoying as she was now, no amount of interpreting skills would be worth dragging her with him. He should just say no. He should leave her. But he couldn’t bring himself to.
“All right,” he said. “If you swear.”
“I swear!”
“No. Give me a word on something important. Swear to yoga.”
She looked at him with a blank face, then her lips curled a little and a burst of laughter escaped her lips. “I’m so sorry, but what you just said, it’s so funny.”
