The house was nice, no bigger than the others that Deirdre had seen in town, but larger than the cottage by half. The garden out front was full of flowers and herbs, a collection that drew Deirdre's attention as much because of its lush beauty as because they were all herbs with a decidedly medicinal use.
When she was ushered inside, the lady called out and a young maid, younger than Deirdre, came out.
"This poor woman is absolutely freezing! Fetch a blanket, and get some hot water for a bath drawn immediately."
Deirdre hadn't told her so, but looking at her toes she could see that they'd turned a deep shade of purple. Perhaps it was more obvious than she'd hoped. The lady took off her hat and gloves, hung the woolen coat on a hook by the door.
"You must be Deirdre."
Deirdre blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Brigid must not have told you, I'm Amelia. Your teacher and I go back quite a way, she's told me so much about you."
Deirdre's teeth were clicking together as she started to regain warmth, her limbs starting to burn with returning heat and blood. She couldn't decide what to say. If this woman and Brigid went back so far, it was odd that she wouldn't have mentioned her.
Then again, there were a great deal of things that Brigid hadn't told her, it seemed. Like where she was going, or that she had kept correspondence all those years.
"Is Brigid here?"
"Oh, here?" The woman's voice had a sing-song tone that grated on Deirdre's already-worn nerves. "No, why of course she's not here."
Deirdre tried not to react to the news. The maid came back in, carrying a heavy bundle of blankets, which she handed to Amelia. Amelia, in turn, took Deirdre by the arm and guided her to a sofa, helped her put her feet up and tucked her in tight.
"The bath should be ready in just a few minutes, but my—you certainly look hungry! Barely skin and bones!"
The lady herself had a noticeably trim figure, cutting a fantastic silhouette. Could Deirdre have ever looked like that? She doubted it.
The sound of oil sizzling on the stove made her want to get up, to investigate the increasingly delicious smells coming from the kitchen, but she'd been put here for a reason, and though she scarcely wanted to admit it the heat was too comforting to pass up.
She laid her head back and closed her eyes, only for a moment. She would have plenty of time to rest after she ate, and after her bath. But the feeling under the blankets was so comforting, she had to admit, and it wouldn't hurt to just relax.
The smell of cinnamon and cooking pork belly wafted through. When Amelia came back, a platter between her hands, she found Deirdre asleep. She put the tray on the coffee table and watched for a moment. Such a pretty girl. She could see why Brigid had favored her.
Such a pretty girl would certainly be a good choice.
It didn't matter where he died, Gunnar thought. The Gods could see in England as well as they could in Denmark. As long as he fought bravely and accepted his death like a man, paying the price for his actions was the furthest thing from cowardice.
The truth was, he'd already done what was important. He'd saved the woman who he cared about. She would be back at her home, and safe, any time now. Perhaps she would find a new one, would find a new place in life. A more comfortable existence.
He liked that thought, liked imagining the thought of her running some little shop selling her smelling-herbs. Perhaps flowers. The way her wide hips swayed, carrying a little flower basket through town to advertise.
It was strange not to think of himself in that image, but he'd already been captured. Already he was chained to a wall, and it was only a matter of time until their captors figured out what to do with them. The order would be death, he was certain of that much. He could almost hear them building a platform for it outside. Or was he imagining it?
The thought didn't bother him. He'd been so unafraid of death for so many years it was pointless to start now.
Valdemar leaned into him, whispered something he didn't hear. Gunnar turned back and asked him to repeat it.
"We need to talk."
"What would you possibly need to talk to me about?"
Valdemar's expression wasn't pleased with that response. "We need to get out of here, right?"
Gunnar raised an eyebrow, then laid his head back. Did they have to get out? It was a lost cause. "I'm not afraid to die."
"Brothers in battle, brothers in chains, and here you call me a coward?"
The silence between them stretched on for minutes. Gunnar wanted to be left alone. Alone with his thoughts, alone with his speculations, and alone with his little view out the window opposite their cell, just small enough to show the ankles of people walking by. The tiny little window out into this unfathomable city.