by Robynn Gabel
The ships secured, the crews started over the sides, running to their loved ones, each one being greeted in the same formal manner—some receiving keys; others, warm hugs. Excited voices created as much noise as the gulls wheeling overhead. She watched Iohannes and the other male slaves being led to a large wagon with two oxen hitched to it.
Seraphina stood with Mara, watching the families greet one another. With tears threatening to flow, she turned and looked out over the landscape. Far in the distance, over gently rolling hills, she could see snow-capped peaks. With the strait they had just sailed behind them, she saw many more isles, small islands, and rocky reefs. Everything had a strange, unbelievable feel as if she would wake at any minute and find that she had been dreaming of a far-off land.
Catching sight of Hadley, she noticed that Gunnar had guided her to the black-haired woman, gesturing and talking again. Nodding, the woman took Hadley by the hand and led her to the wagon with the oxen and the slaves.
Einar headed back toward them with the flaxen-haired girl. Stopping beside the ship, he motioned Seraphina and Mara to disembark.
“I have brought you a hardworking thrall who can cook,” he said.
The girl blushed. “Einar, how will I ever learn if someone does it for me?”
“How will my gut survive much more of your attempts, girl?”
She laughed, a high, giddy sound that made everyone smile.
Einar looked at Seraphina for a moment, as if struggling with how to introduce her. Switching to Angles, he said, “This is Seraphina, and she is a guest in my house for now. Seraphina, this is Ljúfa, my sister.”
Surprised by a sudden surge of relief, Seraphina smiled at her.
Glancing swiftly between Seraphina and Einar, she slipped into speaking a rough Angles as well. “You have brought a woman home, Einar?”
He shook his head. “It is not as you suspect. I will explain later; right now, I need you to take care of these two for me.”
Hugging his sister again, he moved toward the stately black-haired woman who waited farther up the shore, watching him. With great respect, he gently gripped the woman’s upper arms, his forehead against hers, speaking in a low tone. Seraphina was intrigued when the woman stiffened and nodded. Patting his arm, she moved away.
Ljúfa grabbed Seraphina’s hand and pulled her to a waiting wagon.
“So where are you from? How do you know Einar?” Ljúfa’s lips were clamped in a pink bow of disapproval as Seraphina quickly explained her circumstances.
“My brother spared you? He does have a heart, even though he acts like a wounded bear most the time. Why would your father choose such a foul veslingr as Cecil? I think he just wants your lands. You have the right to kill him now; he has broken his promise and insulted your family.” Ljúfa stated it in such a matter-of-fact way, as if it just made sense that Seraphina would go and kill the wretch for his deed.
Pulling her along, Ljúfa pointed. “That is our wagon. I am so glad you are here. It is nice to have someone around besides Móðir.”
Seraphina stared at the ornate carvings on the wagon’s wooden sides. She stopped, running her hand over the artwork. “This is beautiful.”
Gunnar’s voice announced from behind her, “I carved that for my Móðir when I was only sixteen winters. Einar, your fífl of a protector, does not know the spirit of trees. He knows only how to chop them down for firewood.”
She turned, seeing the sneer on his face. The dark-haired woman behind him glared at her.
“You would be the extra mouth I have to feed?” Her voice was harsh, uttering the question in Nóregr.
Ljúfa said, “Móðir, she is our guest.” Surprise showed in her deep-blue eyes.
“She is our problem,” her mother stated flatly.
Standing straighter, Seraphina locked eyes with the matronly woman. Speaking in halting Nóregr, she said, “By no choice of my own do I burden you now.”
Gunnar’s dark chuckle got a darker glare from Seraphina.
Dagfinn carried Mara’s wooden chest from the ship and loaded it onto the wagon. Einar followed, leading Odinørindi. Since the hólmganga, both Gunnar and Einar had kept their distance from each other. Einar looked at his brother.
“Gunnar, they need you at the ship.”
“Já,” he replied curtly. His hand clenched on his axe handle. Nodding at the dark-haired woman, he said, “Móðir” and turned. With stiff shoulders, he strode back to his ship.
Seraphina relaxed. Einar watched his stepbrother for a moment, his brows knitted, and then he mounted Odinørindi and headed off. Dagfinn jumped onto the seat of the wagon and clucked. As it bumped, swayed, and rolled along behind the stout Fjord mare pulling it, Seraphina quietly asked the dark-haired woman’s name. Ljúfa whispered back, “That is my mother. Her name is Basina.”
Seraphina listened as Ljúfa and Mara got acquainted. Basina worked a small whorl, spinning thread, and ignored them. During the sea crossing, she had wondered what Einar’s land would look like. Traveling up the low rise from the natural bay, she could see a grayish rock that lay in worn heaps here and there, and in between it grew a short, hardy grass. Following the rutted road up into the forest’s edge, the birch trees’ white trunks with gray splotches were stark against their halos of fresh green buds. Black-barked oaks and a few scattered pines gave the forest a light, airy look so different from the denser forests of her home.
Over the hill, a medium-sized longhouse came into view, appearing quite at home in a nest of fields. Several crofts and buildings were scattered around it. When the wagon stopped at the front door, Basina started giving orders.
The longhouse felt homey. Seraphina could see that Basina ran a neat-and-tidy homestead. She had offered to help, but Basina firmly forbid it. “We are to keep you alive until your ransom is paid. You may sit over there.” She waved toward sleeping cubicles.
Quickly, and efficiently, a meal had been put out; the men relaxed. She had not been invited to sit at the family table for her meal. Sitting on the platform, she finished eating as they talked.
Dagfinn sat his empty cup down. “How many more moons before Gunnar’s baby is due?”
“I believe his wife is in her sixth moon now. Why?” Einar’s long fingers traced the rim of a soapstone cup.
“I wonder how she is going to like his new thrall.”
“She should be happy for the help. This winter’s sickness has taken a lot from all of us.”
Dagfinn nodded. “That is true. But I took her to be the jealous sort.”
Einar looked as if he had tasted something sour. “Gunnar will have to figure out his own family affairs. I have enough here.”
Stripping duck meat from a leg, Dagfinn chewed before his next words. “How are you going to get the planting done and take her back home?”
Seraphina moved to the next platform section to listen better.
Einar stared at Dagfinn for a long moment before he answered. “Who says I have to take her back? I have new slaves, and with a small crew, Elsjorn can handle Vindálfr as well as I can. Another trading run can be made for double the profit.”
Worry gnawed at the edges of her mind. Since this morning, Einar had kept himself busy and as far from her as he could get. When she had asked questions, he had given curt answers. Now he discussed her as if she wasn’t even in the room. She did not deserve this treatment. Had she not done as he had asked?
Slipping through the cooking area in the back, she stepped out into the cold night. Odinørindi’s croft was not far from the longhouse, and the light from the waning moon faintly lit her way. It reminded her that it had been over two months since the kidnapping. An ache ran through her, wondering how her father faired.
The air was brisk, and she pulled the fur closer around her, smoothing a hand over its softness. Her thoughts returned to Einar. How could he give such a gift and then act so distant?
The stallion’s breath warmed her face as she smoothed a hand down his neck. “Why must men be
so confusing, Odinørindi?” Bringing his head up, he snorted, ears pointing forward, tense under her hand. She stared out into the night. A dark form walked up from the longhouse.
“Seraphina, what are you doing out here?” Impatience tinged Einar’s tone.
She clamped her teeth together for a second and then retorted, “I am not planning on fleeing if that is your concern.”
Suddenly she heard a scraping noise; then several bright sparks jumped in the night, and the torch he held flamed to life. He stuck it in a metal holder on the croft’s stone wall.
Fiery shadows wavered across his face. “You are still in my charge, and there are creatures out here that are fiercer than what hides in the dark of your land.”
“That is right: still in your care. I must be a real burden for you to interrupt crop plantings. Maybe you should have thought about that and let Gunnar cleave me in two.”
Odinørindi’s soft munching was the only sound in the stillness that lay between them. She could see Einar’s eyes glittering in the dancing flame, his fists balled by his sides.
“Já, there have been times you have made me sorely regret my impulse of that night. Again, there are things you do not know, yet you make judgments based on nothing.”
“You could tell me what is going on. This way I would not be tempted to take a sword to your throat,” she ground out.
He moved suddenly, his body pushing her up against the stone wall, one hand moving to her hair, the other sliding down possessively over her backside, his fingers grabbing at the flesh there and pushing her closer against his warm body. Her breath left in a rush. His lips ghosted across hers, and back again. He rubbed his cheek across her soft one, his beard tickling her.
“Einar, do not d….”
His lips came back to stop her words as they forcefully closed over hers. A strange hunger filled her, and she yearned to push closer. Without thinking, her arms rose, and her fingers slipped into his hair, locking their hold, and she kissed him back.
He pulled away for a moment. Leaning over, he put his warm face against hers, his broken whisper at her ear. “You are the most irritating woman I have ever met, but I want you, as only a man can want a woman.”
Pressing against her again, his teeth nibbled at her lips. His arms encircled her, holding her tightly as she squirmed.
“Keep that up, Seraphina, and you will have no reason to go back to your family,” he groaned.
The words registered, hitting her like a bucket of icy water. Stiffening, she pulled her hands down to his chest and pushed against it futilely.
“Nay, I must go home.”
“By all that is Thor’s,” he snarled. Freeing her from his embrace, he slapped his palms flat on the wall on either side of her head, caging her. Leaning over, his eyes bored into hers. “I am not the only one you have cursed. King Hjörleif wants you as well.”
Her eyes widened, and another cold chill brought goose bumps. “I have done nothing that would give him any hope of my affection, have I? And you promised my freedom if I won. Are you going back on your word?”
“Ekki!” Einar shouted.
Startled, Seraphina stiffened, staring up into his hard face.
“You know I am a man of my word, but he is a king, and a king takes what he wants and gives what he wants. You know this! Your great-uncle is a king, is he not?
“Yes, but he keeps his promises,” she spit back.
Tearing away from her, he grabbed the torch and then her elbow.
“It is late,” he said coldly.
18
A Message from Home
“Who can say what sorrow seemingly carefree folk bear to their life’s end?”
“Why does she need to learn the skills of a warrior? She is just a hostage.” Basina frowned.
Raising his eyebrow, Einar replied, “Seraphina has shown interest in the sword and has some skill. Besides, you of all people know what can happen when a woman is left with no defenses. I want her treated as a guest. She is to eat here at the table with us.”
Basina pursed her lips, and Seraphina saw a jaw muscle give a slight tic.
Dagfinn took the bowl of dried apples from Ljúfa as she leaned over to whisper to Seraphina, “He has always felt guilty he was not here when Káta was killed. He thinks women should be able to protect themselves. He had Elsjorn train me also.” Giving Dagfinn a large smile, Ljúfa chuckled softly when his ears turned red.
Basina grumbled, “There are other things that need to be done around here than take care of Angles You have charged me with running your holdings, and I am short handed enough already.”
Einar stared at Seraphina with a thoughtful expression. “Móðir, though she is a hostage, she knows everyone does their share. Put her to work. ”
Seraphina looked down at her clenched hands at his reminder of her position. Always thinking of how she could best profit him, she thought angrily. But she would hold him to his promise. She glanced up, looking him in the eye. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. “May I ask, again, when you plan on letting me leave?”
Creases appeared in his cheeks, curving around the flat line that his pressed lips made. “By the time planting is finished, my messenger should have made it back. Then you will go home, Seraphina.”
He hadn’t used her nickname for a while. She stared down at the barley gruel. Back home, their planting would already be done. She wondered if her father had received the ransom demand and whom he would send to deliver it. Did her stepmother miss her? She clamped her teeth in frustration. Had her sister been involved with the plot Cecil had devised? Every time he crossed her mind, the pain of his betrayal stabbed again. Every night, she prayed, struggling with forgiveness when all she wanted was revenge.
Einar’s scraping chair brought her out of her reverie, and she caught his brooding gaze. “Elsjorn will be here later this afternoon. Be sure both of you practice hard.” He headed out of the longhouse.
Seraphina turned to Ljúfa after Basina left. “I was listening to the men talk the other night, and they mentioned Gunnar has a wife. Is this true?”
“Já, for several years now. She lost several babies to the flow of blood. This is the longest she has carried. Einar says she is a shrew and Gunnar goes on trading runs to get away from her.”
Seraphina frowned.
“What is wrong, Seraphina?”
“In our country, a man weds one woman and lies with no other afterward. What is Gunnar going to do with Hadley? He has lain with her, and even now she could be with child. What will his wife think? This is very wrong.” She pushed the bowl of gruel away, her stomach churning.
Ljúfa starting clean up the mornings break fast. “My brother says there are many strange lands and people who have different customs. There are dark-skinned people from a land very far away that have whole groups of women for one man. I think it is called a ‘harem,’ and they are all wives.
“But we are not that different from your people. One man binds himself to one woman. Depending on the couple, during the time the wife is with child, she may agree to his using a slave for his desires. Sometimes, he may even take on two wives, but only if both women agree. Einar says he must be very wealthy and—um—robust to be able to take care of them.” Ljúfa giggled, a red blush rising into her cheeks.
Seraphina shook her head. These customs were strange, and if Einar had ever wanted to keep anything secret, he should never tell his sister. With the same deep, mountain lake–blue eyes as Einar’s, Ljúfa had an exuberant personality that didn’t quite fit the meaning of her name, which Dagfinn had told Seraphina meant gentle and mild. “So how did Gunnar get his lands?”
Ljúfa’s eyes shone with pride. “Einar split his inheritance with Gunnar, giving him half the farming land. He loves him like a real brother. He never says he loves anyone; he takes care of them.”
Seraphina also learned who the mysterious Káta was: Einar’s first, and only, love.
Ljúfa was only ten at the time, but she rem
embered Káta, the blacksmith’s daughter. “Everyone said she was not the prettiest, but I thought she was. I remember she was sweet and would not let the big children pick on me. The day the Danes attacked, she took up a sword and tried to help defend us. She led us through the woods to the caves, but the Danes caught up with us. Káta and her greatfather fought hard.”
Tears shimmered and fell like jewels from Ljúfa’s blue eyes. “Knute the Dane killed her, laughing when he slit her throat. Einar had taken a load of wool to Stafangr. Knute was taking us down to his ship when Einar landed with his men. I have never seen my brother like that—after he fought and wounded Knute, he split open Knute’s back and pulled out his lungs while he still breathed. We call it the blood eagle.” She trembled, wiping a wisp of blonde hair from her face.
Seraphina’s heart hurt for both Ljúfa and Einar. She wrapped her arms around the girl, and they sat quietly for a moment—until Basina’s sharp voice cut in. “We have no time for idleness. Ljúfa, tend to the cows. Seraphina, you leave the weaving unattended. We need that piece for the sail on the new boat.”
Dipping her head in a quick nod, Seraphina sat down at the loom. She settled into the orderly routine of the next few days. Everyone broke the fast early in the morning together as the rays touched the tops of the trees; then Einar and the men left for the fields.
The women worked, busily weaving, making or mending clothes, sewing, and gathering fresh new grasses to fill the beds. The old grass was eagerly eaten by the goats. Mara’s cooking skills were made use of, and the other thralls took the sheep out to find foliage up the sides of the hills. Ljúfa’s job was milking the cows and keeping them fed in the crofts at night. After dinner Elsjorn made sure Seraphina practiced so hard on her battle skills that she fell exhausted into bed every night.