Nena Read online

  Colorado

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  FIONA

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright 2018 by Ann Boelter

  The Creation of The Treasure Huntress

  Southern Coastal Norway - Circa 900AD

  SIGURD EASED OPEN the door and swore under his breath as the telltale squeak still announced his arrival.

  “You don’t have to creep; I’m awake.” Leila’s quiet voice came from the shadows.

  “Sorry to wake you. I’ll fix that tomorrow. I swear.”

  “It’s alright, Sigurd. And you didn’t wake me. I heard you talking to someone. Did we have a visitor?”

  “No.” Sigurd closed the door behind him and made his way through the interior of the small cabin to stoke the fire.

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  “No one.” He evaded her question. “Are you cold? Would you like something to eat?” He moved to the bed and bent over to adjust the furs around her. She seemed paler than usual this morning. His heart twisted.

  “No one? I recognized his voice, so I know he’s been here before.”

  “It was just a peddler.”

  “You never could lie to me, Sigurd, so why would you try now?” Leila chided him.

  “The healer says you shouldn’t waste so much energy being stubborn,” he grumbled.

  “The healer says it’s my stubbornness that’s kept me alive this long,” she countered, ignoring his gruffness.

  He looked at her fondly and shook his head. “A deal then. You drink a cup of broth and I’ll tell you who he was.”

  “Agreed,” she conceded.

  Sigurd moved quickly to the pot suspended over the fire before she could change her mind. He gave it a cursory stir with the long wooden ladle, then tested the broth with his finger. It was only lukewarm, but she couldn’t drink anything too hot anymore. He picked up a large mug, then set it back and chose a smaller one, not wanting to give her any excuse to back out. Getting her to eat was usually a battle.

  He returned to the bed and helped her sit up, then propped furs and blankets behind her for support. He tried not to dwell on how light she had become, or how he could feel her delicate, almost birdlike bones just beneath her skin. He held out the cup and waited before removing his fingers to make sure she had a steady grip on it with both of her hands.

  Smiling to himself, he shook his head as he watched her resolutely swallow small sips of broth one after another. She wasn’t hungry, but she would finish the cup to get the information she sought. In that moment, Sigurd was actually happy that the stranger had returned, though he’d been infuriated at the time by the man’s audacity.

  Leila finished the last small swallow and handed him the empty cup.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  He took it and pretended to make a full inspection of the inside.

  “You are such an oaf,” she said affectionately.

  He grinned at her.

  “So, who was he?” she asked.

  “Truly, he is no one you know. No one I knew until he first came here a couple of weeks ago. His name is Jarl.”

  “A Jarl? Aren’t we so important then, to have warranted two visits from a Jarl.”

  “Not a Jarl,” he corrected her. “Jarl is his given name, not his title.”

  “Strange,” she murmured. “Why would someone name their boy that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe his brothers were already named King and Prince.” He smiled at her, and they shared a quiet laugh.

  “And he was here before? What does he want?”

  “He wanted me to build him a ship.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I told him no, of course.”

  “Because of me.”

  “No. Because I’m too old, and because I prefer to spend my time with you.”

  “You are not too old, and if I were not here, you would have agreed,” she murmured.

  “You are here—and I thank the gods for that every day.” He took her hand. It felt cold and thin. He rubbed it between his palms, trying to share some of his warmth.

  “He had a nice voice,” she commented. “Was he nice?”

  “He seemed alright.”

  “You always said you wanted to build one more ship—that you had some grand ideas.”

  “That was before...”

  “Before I got sick,” she finished for him.

  He nodded and shrugged.

  “I would like for you to build one more ship.”

  “I cannot leave you.”

  “You won’t have to. We shall build it together.”

  Sigurd frowned at her and shook his head.

  “I’m not delusional. I realize I can no longer be of help with saw or hammer or plane, as I was before, but I can still give you direction and supervision—and I know how much you always liked that.” She paused and smiled, waiting for him to react to her last words, but Sigurd did not take the bait at her teasing. He only shook his head no.

  “Since I cannot help with tools, and you do not seem to appreciate my offer to oversee the project, I could use every day to summon the goodwill and power of the gods to bless each piece of the craft as you build it. Njord to ensure good weather. Frey for prosperity.” Leila could see her words were not swaying him. “And it’s spring,” she continued. “The weather will soon be fair. You could carry me every day to the building site with my furs and blankets so I could watch as you work. That way we would still be together. You can do what you enjoy, and I will be able to see you create something magnificent. You know I always loved that—and to be in the forest in summer.” Her voice trailed away as she imagined it. “The fresh air will be better for me than being cooped up here in the dark,” she added.

  Sigurd stroked her smooth, slightly graying blond hair back away from her face, not seeing the drawn skin or the dark circles under her eyes—seeing only the beautiful strong young woman he had fallen in love with so many years ago. Even in her suffering, she would put his needs and desires above her own. He knew she felt she was a burden to him. How could she not know she was his life?

  “I love you so much,” he murmured. “But I cannot do what you ask.”

  “I want you to do it for me. For us.” She smiled a weak smile at him. “So there will be some part of us that will live on after I am gone.”

  He didn’t wish to deny her anything, but he could hardly agree. It would be too much for her. He could easily carry her every day as she had asked, and would do it gladly, but the weather would be fair for a healthy person. She was so thin and weak now, that even in the warm cabin she often took a chill. Being exposed to the cool wind that rol
led in off the fjord could kill her. Sigurd could not bear to be the reason that they lost even one minute of the time they had left together. He looked at the stubborn set of her jaw and knew he wasn’t going to get off so easily. She had clearly prepared further arguments.

  “Even if I were to agree, and that is an if, I’ve already told him I would not. Twice now, in fact.”

  “You could go find him and tell him you changed your mind—tell him you will make him the greatest ship ever built.”

  Sigurd shook his head. “First, I would have no idea where to look for him, and second, I will not leave you.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Another deal then?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head. “What did you have in mind?”

  “If he returns and asks again, you will agree?”

  “I’ve already refused him twice,” he reminded her

  “Then you should be safe in making the deal. Though I like my odds; the fact that he returned after you refused him once, tells me he is persistent.”

  Sigurd thought of the two times he had run the man off. The first time his refusal had been rude and clipped, but this second time, the threats if he were ever to return again had been explicit. The man would not be back. He was safe to make this pact with her. “And if I agree, and he does not come back, that will be the end of it?”

  She nodded.

  “Very well then. To have peace and quiet on the subject—if he returns, I will agree to build his ship, and you can help me. But only if he returns. I will not seek him out.”

  Leila smiled a genuine smile and leaned her head back in the furs. “Now it is in the gods’ hands.”

  It was the happiest he had seen her in some time. Sigurd felt only a little guilty knowing it would never come about. It was for the best and would still give her something to look forward to—something other than her sickness to dwell upon. Seeing her in such a good mood lifted his own spirits. He returned to the cooking area to pour himself a cup of mead.

  “Would you like some?” he asked her. She was still smiling, lost in thought about their deal, but looked up and shocked him by accepting.

  “Yes, I think I would. Just a little.”

  He reached up to the shelf for the oxhorn cup that was her favorite and blew the dust out of the inside. The intricate silver inlay around the rim accented the natural black and gray swirling pattern of the animal horn. He poured only enough to fill the bottom tip, then carried it to her and took a seat next to the bed.

  “A toast?” she asked as she took the cup from him.

  “A toast,” he agreed.

  “To our ship,” she said, and raised her oxhorn.

  He shook his head and raised his own. “To our ship,” he said and touched the rim of his cup to hers before lifting it to his lips. In a practiced move, he raised the horn only slightly, and waited for the liquid to make its way over the curve before flooding toward him. He held a mouthful for a few seconds before swallowing. It had been a long time since he’d drunk anything other than water, and he savored the slightly sweet alcohol bite on his tongue. It was good—better than he remembered. He lifted the oxhorn cup once again to his lips.

  A bold knock sounded at the door.

  Sigurd sat dumbfounded in his chair and stared at the door, then glanced at Leila. She was trying unsuccessfully not to smile.

  “Aren’t you going to see who it is?” she asked. “It might be another peddler.” Her smile widened.

  He stood and moved toward the door, his mind racing. It couldn’t be. He had threatened the man’s very life less than an hour before. It couldn’t be him. But who then? Living so far from the village, he could count on one hand the number of visitors they’d had in the past two years. He paused and took a deep breath before lifting the latch and pulling open the door. The hinge squealed in his ear.

  “Apologies, for the intrusion,” Jarl said before Sigurd could speak. “I could not leave without making another attempt. You say there are plenty of other shipbuilders, and I know that there are, but you are the best. Everyone knows it. Everyone agrees. They say your ships are far advanced beyond anyone else’s. That is what I need, and I will do anything to have one. If it is not more gold, then just tell me what it will take to persuade you. I will pay anything you ask. Anything you need or desire, I will secure it.”

  Sigurd said nothing, only stared at him.

  “Don’t be rude, Sigurd,” Leila prodded and smiled approvingly at the tall young man who stood outside the door. “Invite him inside and offer him a drink.”

  Sigurd opened the door a little wider and stepped back, still staring at Jarl with a mixture of incredulity, anger, and confusion.

  “Please come in,” Leila said. “Pay him no mind. He is more than a little shocked to see you, I think, but he’ll find his tongue soon enough. We were just talking about you.” Her words jolted Sigurd from his stupor.

  “Leila, this is Jarl. Jarl, this is my wife, Leila.”

  “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Jarl. Apologies that I do not get up to greet you. I’ve been ill.”

  “No apologies required. Gratitude for inviting me into you home,” Jarl said, then turned to Sigurd whose stare now held a mixture of consternation and resignation. “Have you reconsidered my offer then? Will you build it?”

  Sigurd didn’t answer, only glanced to the bed where Leila awaited his response as eagerly as Jarl did. Dammit. He was trapped. Why had he ever agreed? The deal had been safe. What kind of a man came back after being threatened with death? How had she known? And how could the gods play such a cruel trick on him? He could not build a ship and care for her at the same time. Hell, he doubted he could even build a ship alone; she had always helped him in the past. But he had made a deal with her. He looked back at Jarl.

  “I will, but there is an additional price to be paid.”

  “Name it.”

  “As you can see my wife needs special care.”

  “I will hire women from the village to tend to her.”

  “I can tend to my own wife,” Sigurd growled. “But I will need fresh meat delivered regularly and firewood cut.”

  “Done,” Jarl agreed and waited for the next.

  “And I will require a sturdy horse to drag the cut trees to my work site.”

  Jarl nodded. “And I am more than willing to help. I’m strong and good with an axe. I know nothing of shipbuilding, but I’m a quick learner.”

  “Stop right there.” Sigurd interrupted him. “I have no need of your assistance, nor do I want it. You will not come to the building site unless invited. That is not negotiable. If you cannot agree, the deal is off. Are we clear?”

  Jarl frowned. “Yes, but...”

  “Not negotiable,” Sigurd repeated.

  Jarl nodded. “Understood.”

  “You can come here to the cabin and hang the meat in the larder, and I’ll show you where to stack the firewood. I’ll start when you bring the horse.”

  “I’ll be here tomorrow with the horse and the first half of the payment. So the sum I offered before is acceptable?” Jarl asked.

  Sigurd scowled and nodded curtly.

  With a quick nod to Leila, Jarl hastened to the doorway before Sigurd could change his mind. The hinges squealed their final taunt at Sigurd as Jarl pulled the door closed behind him.

  “You should allow him to help, at least with the felling of the trees and the hauling,” Leila said after Jarl had gone.

  “Woman,” Sigurd threatened, his eyebrows raised.

  “Only that part. To find the right trees will take you far from the building site, and I will be left alone while you are gone,” she reasoned.

  He considered her words. “Perhaps you are right. He can help, but only for that.”

  Leila watch as Jarl unchained the latest log from the horse’s harness. He wore only a leather vest, and the muscles of his upper arms bulged, well defined from the labor. He led the animal for a drink before he tied it up, then
walked up the hill to check on her, as he had done after each previous load.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” he asked.

  “No. I’m fine. But maybe sit and rest for a moment.”

  “I should get back. Sigurd will be...”

  “Sigurd will be inspecting and rejecting the next forty trees before he finds one he likes. You have a moment.” She smiled.

  He smiled back and nodded before stretching out on the ground next to her furs.

  “Things are going well. Sigurd seems to be pleased,” she said.

  “Pleased is not how I would describe him, but you know him better than I.”

  “He is gruff now, but soon he will not be able to help but be excited.”

  “Why did he change his mind?” Jarl asked.

  “He didn’t. When he told me you had come, I wanted him to build it, but he refused, so we made a deal. Only if you returned a third time would he agree.”

  Jarl smiled and shook his head. “So that is why he stares at me so strangely. You know, I was well on my way back to the village when I felt compelled to turn around. I had to try again. Thank the gods that I did.”

  “Yes, thank the gods,” she murmured. Leila took in the strong cut of his jaw, his thick wavy chestnut hair, and the traces of the dimples still visible from his smile. He was quite handsome. “Are you married, Jarl?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Someone special then?”

  He shook his head.

  “Pity.”

  “It is for the best. When the ship is finished, I intend to sail her to many foreign lands, and amass a great fortune. Having a wife left at home would only be a worry.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I need to get back. If Sigurd were to discover me sitting here with you...” Jarl shook his head as he stood. “Are you sure there is nothing else I can get you? Did you try the apple cobbler? The woman where I’m staying made it especially for you.”

  “Yes, it was very good,” Leila replied, though she had only taken a small bite earlier to appease him. “But it is not necessary for you to bring such things. I do not eat much.”

  “All the more reason to continue, until I find what you really like.” He smiled at her again before he turned to leave, his dimples giving an odd softness to his chiseled face.