“Listen,” Rolf said and pointed at the roof. “It stopped raining, and the sun is coming out again. I told you it would stop before the end of our disagreement.”
Bjorn went to sit back down beside his friend and lifted his hands in frustration. “But we aren’t arguing anymore!”
Rolf’s eyebrow rose. “I disagree.”
When Bjorn growled in response, the other farmhands leaned in to add their opinions. Torin didn’t want to hear any more, so he turned to leave. He ducked down to open the front door.
Outside, it was as Rolf had said. The clouds were nearly gone, having blown away. The sun had lowered, but there would be plenty of time yet before it dipped below the horizon. He preferred the summer months with very little darkness compared to the winter months when the cold and dark trapped him inside longer than he liked.
He pulled himself on top of the turf wall and looked to the south like he had for the last few nights before creeping off to bed. The mystery of the prowling wolf weighed heavy on his mind. But so did her mention of his drinking.
It was nothing he hadn’t heard before from his uncle and cousins, but he never cared when they said it. He recalled his embarrassing admission of self-loathing on their wedding night when his mind had been lost in the fog of mead he’d consumed. If anyone else had asked what his sister would think of his drinking, it might have sent him for the hills to be alone. To hide. Her words stung, but at the time he was too proud to react. They had remained with him for days, which had kept him from seeking the numbing stuff. But he was weak.
After watching his family leave this foreign place, he didn’t know what to think or feel. His duty was ever present in his thoughts, and his search for the wolf had revealed nothing of value, just a lot of false leads. The taste of mead that night had soothed his nerves. Without thinking, he’d sought ale to numb himself. Then there was the fact that he was unsure of himself around his new wife.
Proof tonight that he had no idea about what he was doing. What if he did something wrong when they went beneath the covers together? Things didn’t seem this hard when he watched his uncle’s and cousin’s relationships. Or maybe he hadn’t paid close enough attention. Now he wished he had.
Only once the sun touched the horizon, when it was quite late, did he return inside and lock the door. He crept to the end of the hall, careful not to wake any of the farmhands. Into his bed closet he went, peering into the dark. His eyes made out the sleeping form of his wife. Her back was to him, her hair spilling over the blanket.
Torin prepared for bed and lay beside her. He lifted his hand, letting his fingers follow her locks, barely touching them.
Chapter 9
Ásta woke to find herself alone in bed again. She knew it was morning, for she could hear the normal sounds about the farm, such as Elfa in the hall starting the cooking fire, and presumably, warming milk with hot stones. She had no idea where Torin was or whether he’d even come to bed last night.
She put on her new yellow smock and leather shoes before reaching for her comb made of bone. Maybe it was because she wasn’t quite ready to face anyone yet, but she pulled it through her hair slowly, making sure she got every snag and knot. When she was done, her fingers worked at braiding, then she swept it all up in a bun at the back of her head. After taking a deep breath, she let herself into the hall.
Elfa was near the cooking fire, heating the cooking stones. The breakfast cereal was already in the soapstone pot, warming. She turned to greet Ásta. “Morning. I have not yet milked the cows, but—”
“Do not worry yourself,” Ásta said. “I will do it. I could use some fresh air.”
She went outside. The skies were gray, but at least it wasn’t raining. The milking cows were milling near the animal shed, so it was easy to coax them inside. Ásta grabbed a bucket and kneeled beside one of the heifers. This was the sort of work she could get lost in. Repetitive and mindless. That was just what she needed when she was feeling so moody.
Maybe it didn’t matter that her husband wasn’t interested in her and drank too much. It was simply like her life before marriage, except now there was one more man around the farm. He’d brought her the largest cauldron she’d ever seen—that was something. If it weren’t for his alluring eyes—and his hands. They were so strong. She couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like touching her skin.
“Morning,” a deep voice said from behind, causing her to jump.
She turned around. Torin was blocking the daylight from entering the turf building. “Morning,” she responded and went back to work.
“I have something for you,” he said.
Ásta couldn’t help her curiosity. He’d brought her something? Maybe she’d been wrong about him. She looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
He held his hands out to her. Five speckled eggs filled his palms.
Her chest and throat tightened. “Where did you get those?”
Torin watched her warily as he let the eggs settle against his stomach. He spoke slowly. “I went to the cliffs. You said your favorite morning meal was eggs—”
“That may be so, but there is a reason we do not visit the cliffs. They are dangerous. I do not want to bury another because of that place.” She let go of the cow’s udder, moved the bucket of milk out of the way and stood up.
“I would never fall,” he said.
She avoided looking up at him. “It only takes one misstep.”
Torin backed away from the doorway, then turned around to go into the longhouse. She watched him leave with a mixture of emotions. Why did he upset her so easily?
She felt like screaming, but didn’t want to draw attention. Instead, she stormed to the smithy shed where she stored her practice sword. At the back side of the small hut sat the woolen sack filled with dried grass. The metal hilt was heavy in her hands. It engaged her muscles simply holding it.
She thrust the tip forward, sinking it into the sack until it touched the turf of the hut. Again and again she swung, angry with herself for getting so upset. Torin’s blue eyes flashed in her thoughts. Her frustration rose, causing her to get sloppier with the weapon. She knew she was close to losing control of her emotions, something that had never been a struggle before. With both hands on the hilt, she raised the blade over her shoulder, ready to swing again.
“Bad form.”
He’d snuck up on her again, but this time she didn’t startle, because she was too tired. She let the dull blade plunge into the sack. Panting, she set the tip into the dirt and said, “Leave me be.”
This was the first time she’d raised her voice to him. His eyes flashed, and he walked so close that she felt his breath on her cheek. He said with spite in his voice, “Show me your ready position.”
Ásta put her hands on her hips, her anger seeping into her words. “So that you may tease me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Not unless you want me to.”
She would show him just how skilled she was with a sword if he wasn’t careful. She slowly turned away from him and put both hands on the hilt, holding the tip in the air. He made a funny tisking sound, then stood behind her.
“Neinn!” he grumbled, throwing his arms around her body, his hands settling over hers. Torin guided the blade downward so it was pointed straight in front of her. His deep voice spoke in her ear. “If you had been born with a sword in your hand, you would know to keep it in front of you so the only way to you is through your weapon.”
Ásta had a hard time focusing on his advice, as his hands were holding hers so tight it stung. She turned her head to snarl, “Let go of me.”
He did as she asked. His hands fell away, but she still felt the heat from his body against her back. She spun around to face him. “My father thought it wise for me to learn to protect myself. I will not give it up, even if a man like you thinks it disgusting that his wife acts like a man.”
“When did I say you were disgusting?” he growled in bewilderment. “That cannot be, for I desire you mor
e than anything I have ever known.”
Standing nose to nose, he pressed his lips against hers, taking her breath away. His shaking hands pulled her close. She could feel the heat from his touch burn through her dress. She let herself get carried away like a skiff in a strong current and dropped the sword to the ground so that her hands could drift around his waist, having forgotten her anger.
His muscles reacted to her touch, and his kisses grew hungrier. Unsure of what she was doing, but knowing what she wanted, she pulled up his tunic and let her fingers trail along his stomach. Goosebumps rose on his skin. He pulled away to look at her with half-closed eyes.
All she could think about were his lips and how soft they were against hers. A chill traced down her spine. She may not have had any experience with a man before, but she knew what came next. Her fingers fumbled with his buckle, and his belt dropped to the ground.
When she looked back at him, he was studying her closely. Ásta’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Her hair wasn’t down to cover her scars, so she lifted her hand instinctively. He caught her before she could conceal her markings and traced the tip of his finger along her cheek where the skin puckered. Torin lowered his face to hers and trailed a line of kisses from her ear to her waiting mouth. The moment their lips met, he caught her in his arms to lay her on the mossy ground.
His body pressed against hers, and she closed her eyes in excitement. Her heart sped with anticipation while his hand trailed up her leg, drawing up the hem of her skirt. She held her breath, knowing she was moments away from truly becoming his.
Her lids snapped open the second he eased himself inside of her. Pleasure and discomfort intermingled as she held onto his shoulders. Every sensation and movement washed over her nerves and she couldn’t stop herself from gasping. At the sound of her voice, he pressed his lips to her neck, and another shockwave of chills ran through her body.
Torin moved in rhythm, faster and faster. Her soreness worried her, but then she remembered what she’d been told. The first time could be painful. At the edges of her achiness, she felt other sensations that hinted of pleasure.
He throbbed inside of her and a groan escaped his lips. Ásta felt his weight lower onto her as he slowed to a stop. He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and kissed her gently on the lips. Panting, he said, “My wife.”
There was tenderness in the way he looked at her. She’d never seen it there before, she was fairly certain. Or maybe he was only now putting his guard down to reveal it to her. While she wondered about the steps that had led to that moment, he cleared his throat and asked, “Did I hurt you?”
Ásta lifted her fingers and trailed them along his beard to rest on his lips. She shook her head. “I do not think so. The first time is supposed to hurt a little.”
He frowned in concern, then his cheeks flushed, and he avoided looking her in the eye. She never thought it had mattered very much to her whether her husband cared about her. Only that he helped to protect what was theirs and support the farm. But clearly the way he felt about her did matter.
He got up and put himself right before holding his hand out to her. She knew she didn’t need his help getting up, but it was nice having him offer. They helped to remove grass and dirt from each other’s hair and clothing.
Ásta reached for her practice sword to put it away when he said, “I respect your father for teaching you to protect yourself.”
“Why?” she asked, curious to understand him better.
He remained silent a moment, then answered, “Let us go eat our morning meal—I am hungry and wish to share a cup of warm milk with my bride.”
“I thought you did not like the taste of the stuff.”
“I am beginning to favor it,” he said, and for the first time she saw him smile. “It keeps my mind clear through the day.”
Side by side, they walked to their home, which was the first time Ásta had thought of it in that way.
It was a long day of work at the boundary walls. The repetitive movement with the turf shovel calloused Torin’s hands. Not that he hadn’t known hard labor, but this was different from the normal work he’d grown accustomed to on his uncle’s farm. Everyone had a job, but it was now every man’s job to help with the walls.
Torin listened to the farmhands talking, not offering comment or conversation. Pausing to speak would only slow him down, and with mere weeks left until their visit from Gothi Hákon, he felt the pressure to get the damage repaired. He’d observed no other sign of the wolf since his wedding night, but that only kept him on edge. Even if he fixed the turf walls, their problem was not yet solved. When the beast came back, what was stopping it from doing more harm?
He had a wife and farm to protect, and he took that job seriously. He may not have known Ásta long, but when he was up at night, keeping watch on the farm during the quiet moments, her eyes and face would skirt his thoughts. There was no time to dwell on the sad memories from his past.
He hadn’t even taken his falcon out hunting for days, something that would never have happened before his marriage. His thoughts were consumed with keeping their land safe, his wife safe. Quicker than he’d realized, a new and important purpose had filled his life. He was no longer driven by what he wanted or the need to dull his senses, but what he wanted for the people around him.
After the morning he’d shared with Ásta, tasting her lips and lying with her for the first time, a new fear gripped him, causing his stomach to ache— a dread that went beyond him breaking his oath to protect her. What if he lost her? She might have been scarred, but he didn’t see the marks when he looked into her eyes. The whispers about Fenrir prowling her land were beginning to make him wonder if they were true. It only made him more protective of the woman at the center of it all.
When he stepped into the longhouse, tired and dirty from a long day’s work, all he wanted was to sit down and drink a cup of water. Then he saw her bent over a casket in the entry room. Ásta turned around and stepped toward him. Her shy smile did something to his chest, and his insides twisted into a knot. She lifted onto her toes and stared into his eyes, waiting for him.
Torin smelled her skin and hair. He missed the feel of her lips and wanted to see if they felt as good as he remembered, so he pressed his mouth to hers. All of his worries fell away, and he fought the urge to lead her straight to their bed closet. He placed his hand on the curve of her low back before ending their kiss. She breathed. “Good evening, my husband. I have something to show you.”
He raised an eyebrow, not knowing what to expect.
“I caught food for Vindr.” Ásta grabbed his hand and led him through the hall to the opposite end where the dairy had been kept. When they walked into the dark room, she leaned down to pick something up. “I remembered you said that she liked rats. We have no shortage on the farm, so I thought I would get her next meal.”
He hadn’t been able to give his bird the attention she needed. Torin was surprised that she’d been listening so closely when she’d helped him train the falcon after their wedding. He nodded and accepted the limp rodent from her. “She should be hungry.”
“I did not want to feed her without you.”
“Thank you,” he said, unable to say anything more. “You can help me feed her if you would like.”
Voices filled the hall, and he knew the men had finished cleaning up for dinner. He looked over at her and mumbled, “I will follow you, my wife.”
Ásta turned into the hall with Torin on her heels. He wolfed down the food he was provided without enjoyment, he was so tired. His empty bowl was eased from his hands, then he was guided to the bed closet by his wife. Before he could enter the tiny room, he heard Bjorn muttering to the others, “She does not seem so ill-tempered with him this night—maybe he took my advice and gave her a little gift.”
“Or a big one.” Rolf laughed and the others joined in.
Torin had been growing accustomed to the farmhand’s sense of humor. He followed Ásta into their private
room, allowing the conversation and sounds to get blocked out by the door that he closed and locked behind him.
“You seem tired from your day.” Ásta set an oil lamp down before looking up at him.
He sighed. “It is true. Much damage was done to the walls, but we will have it repaired before Gothi Hákon visits us at the harvest.”
She smiled. The action pinched the scar tissue on her cheek. A few strands of hair fell from her temple, the rest securely fastened in a knot at the base of her head. He reached around to let it free. Torin knew married women wore their hair back, but he missed seeing her long blond locks getting caught in the wind and framing her face.
He set his sword against the wall, then sat down to remove his shoes, belt and shirt. Ásta peeled off her layers until she was in her underdress and lay with him on the bed. He wrapped his arm around her and found that she fit perfectly beside him. Torin reached to touch her temple with his fingers and combed them over her hair, which was spread over the woven fabric. She closed her eyes. The tips of her fingers rested against his chest, and he soon joined her in a deep sleep.
His rest was interrupted at some point in the night. Torin sniffed and opened his eyes. The room was dark. Ásta still lay beside him, and her breathing was soft and rhythmic. He listened to her for a moment more, then reached out with his senses. It seemed everything was quiet behind their door in the hall.
Torin continued to lie awake for some time before he decided to get up and have a look around. Careful not to wake his sleeping wife, he lifted himself from the bed, reached for his sword and quietly unlocked their door.
All was still in the darkened hall. A snore disturbed the quiet, followed by a few muttered, indistinguishable words. He stepped barefoot into the vaulted room. The hearth fire’s dark embers crackled and snapped, speaking its final words to the night as it died out. Torin walked through the space to the entry and unlocked the front door to step outside.
Scars (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 2) Page 13