Kenna looked at the sky; the bright patch was growing. It was true, the storm was blowing itself away and what had felt like night was turning back to a winter’s day.
She dug into her pocket and pulled out a fresh handful of nuts, popped a few into her mouth, and chewed.
“We should get back to the village,” Hamish said, kicking sand onto the fire. “Tell Father what we have seen.”
“He will rejoice in the deaths of Norsemen.” Bryce chuckled and stood. He shook out his cloak. “And I thank God for saving us from their brutality.”
Kenna stood. She swung her cloak over her shoulders. “I will be glad to get back within the village walls. Any day we see those monsters is not a good day.”
She stepped from the cave, her feet crunching on a drift of hailstones. The boat was in bits now; several of its long planks of wood were being tossed on the waves. There was no sign of the devilish crew.
“Come on, let’s go.” Bryce strode past her, making for the track that led up the sandy bank.
Hamish followed. His strides purposeful.
Kenna stood for a moment, watching the waves.
And then she saw it. A body.
Dark and big, it was being pushed toward the land with each curl of the waves.
“Look!” She stepped forward, pointing. “Can you see that?”
No reply.
She swung around, but Bryce and Hamish had already been swallowed by the forest.
Curiosity gnawed at her—an inquisitiveness so intense, she couldn’t ignore it. She stepped onto the wet sand with her heart racing and her breaths puffing out in front of her face.
She pulled up her hood and rushed toward the sea. With each step, she could see the body getting closer. It had hit land now and was being pushed and pulled with each ebb and flow of the waves.
A finger of sunlight poked through the clouds, hitting the water he lay in.
And it was a he, a man, she was sure. No woman would be that big.
With splashing footsteps, she drew closer. He was on his stomach. His sodden tunic clinging to his muscular torso, his sea-soaked fur cape scrunched to one side. His dark hair was long and his boots worn but fine quality.
She didn’t really know what came over her—perhaps it was instinct, or an innate nosiness, or maybe it was her Christian upbringing—but she stooped, grabbed the material at his shoulders, and heaved him up the shoreline.
Grunting, she dragged him free from the waves. He was lifeless and as heavy as a rock. She stumbled then fell to her ass, only to quickly jump up and drag him a little further.
When the waves were just tickling his feet, she dropped to her knees at his side. Her brother and Bryce would berate themselves for running off so quickly, because now it was she, Kenna, who was going to be the first in the village to get an up-close look at a Viking.
Summoning strength, she shoved at him, once, twice, trying to push him over to his back. It took a few hard heaves—he wasn’t light and with the added weight of his wet clothes, it took all of her strength. But then he landed on his back, his arms falling to his sides and his head lolling.
She gasped. He was indeed a monster. His neck and throat were a mass of ink, and his muscles bulged. Sand clung to his strong jawline and his big, straight nose. His eyebrows were also dusted with wet sand, as was his forehead. Around his neck on a piece of leather was a boar fang. She knew that was what it was—she’d recognize one of those anywhere.
Her attention slid down his body, his tunic was ripped, showing most of his chest, and a belt around his hips held a dagger with a shiny bone handle. His pants were dark and a piece of glossy seaweed clung to the material at his groin.
She hovered her shaking hand over his chest. He was dead, she was sure of it. He’d drowned in the storm. But even so, she wanted to check, so she gently rested her palm on his chest. His flesh was solid, chilled but somehow warmish too.
And then she felt it. Thud, thud, thud. The unmistakable beating of his heart.
He wasn’t dead. He was alive.
She gasped and withdrew her hand. Looked back up at his face.
His eyes were wide open. Piercing blue, they stared at her, unblinking.
With a squeal, she fell backward, onto her behind, then quickly scrambled to her feet, kicking up sand.
Without a backward glance, she took off at a run, toward the forest, toward Bryce and Hamish.
As far away from the hideous beach monster as she could get.
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