lap.
"Are you all right? What woke you?" she asked in a whisper, respectful of the other men who were still sleeping. She pushed a long strand of blond hair from Tabor's face, and her fingertips lingered longer than necessary.
"I moved, is all. I forgot about my arm." He found it easy to be honest with Tanaka, yet another way she differed from other women. "Did you sleep well?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm not the one who had an arrow shot through my arm."
Tanaka was pleased that he did not don a brave facade, and she was suddenly aware that this was as domestic and as tranquil as she'd ever been with a man. She raised Tabor's blanket and saw that he had not bled through his bandage.
"You must be hungry. You ate nothing last night."
"I'm ravenous!"
"I'll get you something."
"In a moment," Tabor replied.
He let his senses absorb Tanaka. He could smell her female scent. The thighs beneath his head warmed him, and looking up above her breasts he connected with clear brown eyes. To see Tanaka's face upon waking every morning, he mused, would not be a bad fate. He'd never before had such feelings; and, though he tried to dismiss them as side-effects of his injury, he knew they were more than that.
Tabor clenched his left hand into a fist to test the injured biceps. He felt the pain and eased off. The arrow wound frightened him, though he did not want to admit it. Last night, he had not merely slept, he had fallen into the black sleep. And today, even though he smiled, a terrible weakness tore into his soul.
Eyes closed, he recalled the fighting of the night before, the killing. It had been necessary, but it tired him. The victory had given him none of the pleasure of accomplishment, and he blamed his wound and weakness for that lack. And it bothered him that he had lost the cherished battle-axe of his father's fathers.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Tabor opened his eyes. He felt as if there were weights on his eyelids, but Tabor would never show his frailty. He was the leader of a fearless band of Viking warriors; his strength was legendary.
Sven approached, carrying two plates heaped with steaming portions of stew.
"Thank you," Tanaka said as she accepted the plate. "But I'll never be able to eat all this."
"I know. Tabor will need more than a single plate if he is to get well again," Sven said, with neither respect nor antagonism in his voice.
Tabor pushed himself to a sitting position, regretting that he could no longer rest his head on Tan-ka's slender thighs. He accepted the plate from Sven, wordlessly fighting the pain that exploded with movement, once again in his arm. Tabor rested the plate in his lap, leaning back against the tree beside Tanaka, and took the wooden spoon.
They ate in silence; and, true to Sven's predictions, Tabor ate heartily. And by the time he had finished, some of the color had returned to Tabor's face.
Their dawn meal concluded, his men gathered around Tabor, who stood propped casually against the tree. Some of the men regarded Tanaka with suspicion, but she remained at their leader's side. Since Tabor did not refer to her presence, no one else did, either.
"We've got to find a fully stocked boat," Tabor said. "As long as we stay on land, our strength will be sapped, our movements slow, our progress minimal." There was a low murmur of agreement from the men. Seafaring Vikings, they preferred a boat, especially in difficult times. "Ingmar. . . . Ingmar has outwitted me," Tabor said, and it was clear that the admission was difficult. When the men began to protest, he motioned them to silence. "Ignoring the truth helps no one now. What Ingmar did is behind us. We must concentrate on the future."
"Lead us, Tabor, and we will follow," shouted Carl, Tabor's third in command. "Let us defy the Fates. Ingmar has many warriors, but he does not have the support of the people. They despise him!"
This news did not surprise Tabor, but though his men v/ere in better spirits, Tabor knew
"Are you all right? What woke you?" she asked in a whisper, respectful of the other men who were still sleeping. She pushed a long strand of blond hair from Tabor's face, and her fingertips lingered longer than necessary.
"I moved, is all. I forgot about my arm." He found it easy to be honest with Tanaka, yet another way she differed from other women. "Did you sleep well?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm not the one who had an arrow shot through my arm."
Tanaka was pleased that he did not don a brave facade, and she was suddenly aware that this was as domestic and as tranquil as she'd ever been with a man. She raised Tabor's blanket and saw that he had not bled through his bandage.
"You must be hungry. You ate nothing last night."
"I'm ravenous!"
"I'll get you something."
"In a moment," Tabor replied.
He let his senses absorb Tanaka. He could smell her female scent. The thighs beneath his head warmed him, and looking up above her breasts he connected with clear brown eyes. To see Tanaka's face upon waking every morning, he mused, would not be a bad fate. He'd never before had such feelings; and, though he tried to dismiss them as side-effects of his injury, he knew they were more than that.
Tabor clenched his left hand into a fist to test the injured biceps. He felt the pain and eased off. The arrow wound frightened him, though he did not want to admit it. Last night, he had not merely slept, he had fallen into the black sleep. And today, even though he smiled, a terrible weakness tore into his soul.
Eyes closed, he recalled the fighting of the night before, the killing. It had been necessary, but it tired him. The victory had given him none of the pleasure of accomplishment, and he blamed his wound and weakness for that lack. And it bothered him that he had lost the cherished battle-axe of his father's fathers.
At the sound of approaching footsteps, Tabor opened his eyes. He felt as if there were weights on his eyelids, but Tabor would never show his frailty. He was the leader of a fearless band of Viking warriors; his strength was legendary.
Sven approached, carrying two plates heaped with steaming portions of stew.
"Thank you," Tanaka said as she accepted the plate. "But I'll never be able to eat all this."
"I know. Tabor will need more than a single plate if he is to get well again," Sven said, with neither respect nor antagonism in his voice.
Tabor pushed himself to a sitting position, regretting that he could no longer rest his head on Tan-ka's slender thighs. He accepted the plate from Sven, wordlessly fighting the pain that exploded with movement, once again in his arm. Tabor rested the plate in his lap, leaning back against the tree beside Tanaka, and took the wooden spoon.
They ate in silence; and, true to Sven's predictions, Tabor ate heartily. And by the time he had finished, some of the color had returned to Tabor's face.
Their dawn meal concluded, his men gathered around Tabor, who stood propped casually against the tree. Some of the men regarded Tanaka with suspicion, but she remained at their leader's side. Since Tabor did not refer to her presence, no one else did, either.
"We've got to find a fully stocked boat," Tabor said. "As long as we stay on land, our strength will be sapped, our movements slow, our progress minimal." There was a low murmur of agreement from the men. Seafaring Vikings, they preferred a boat, especially in difficult times. "Ingmar. . . . Ingmar has outwitted me," Tabor said, and it was clear that the admission was difficult. When the men began to protest, he motioned them to silence. "Ignoring the truth helps no one now. What Ingmar did is behind us. We must concentrate on the future."
"Lead us, Tabor, and we will follow," shouted Carl, Tabor's third in command. "Let us defy the Fates. Ingmar has many warriors, but he does not have the support of the people. They despise him!"
This news did not surprise Tabor, but though his men v/ere in better spirits, Tabor knew
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