He glanced about the room for his wife, but she was not there. “Where is she?”
Elfa wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “We are out of ale, so she went to go pick some flowers before they dry up in the fields. It is how she makes it taste so sweet.”
Torin turned on his heel and pushed back into his bed closet to take up his sword. He fastened it to his belt and hurried across the hall. “Where did she go?”
“In the meadow near the bath. Is something the matter?” she asked.
He walked into the entry and opened the front door. The farmhand’s voice called after him, “Do you not want your milk, then?”
Torin startled a cow when he burst outside. It hollered over its shoulder as it shuffled away from the longhouse and toward the animal shed. The clouds he’d seen in the distance early that morning had since moved in, covering any evidence of daylight. There was a chill in the air, much like any other day without the warmth of the summer sun. He rushed across the farm, taking up his shield and letting himself out of the gate.
He did not like that she had left the farm without notifying him. With a vengeful wolf on the loose, it was not safe for her to wander alone. What had she been thinking? Torin scanned the landscape for the folds of her dress as he cursed her foolishness.
The narrow stream of cool water led him to the bath. There was no sign of her. Beyond the bluff that housed the steaming pool of water, meadows were filled with purple flowers that had begun to wilt and dry. Trees circled the area, appearing like solemn warriors waiting for the clouds to part.
Torin searched the fields for movement until he saw her. She was kneeling in the foliage, busy at work, plucking spots of yellow from the grass. Relief flooded his chest, and he proceeded to stomp across the way until she was near enough to hear him. “What is the matter with you that you leave without protection?”
She squinted up at him and placed a few more dandelion blooms into the skirt of her smock. “I have protection.”
He growled. “Would that be your wit or the blades of grass about you?”
A frown crossed her face. She gathered up the picked flowers in her skirt and stood up. “I did not leave without my knife—it is sharper than the dull edges of my practice sword or any ‘blade of grass.’”
“How would any knife that hangs amongst the tools around your neck be mighty enough to slit the hide of that beast?” His frustration mounted as she stared at him with an even brow.
Her head tilted to the side, and she took a step closer. “I did survive on my own without you before this. I am sorry it will be difficult to protect me while I do my chores, but they must get done. This is what it is to survive on a farm.”
“How can I keep you safe if you leave without telling me?”
“Oh, now I must tell you where I go? Do not treat me like a defenseless child.” She closed the distance between them and glared at him. “Worried Odin will be angry if you do not do your duty as a husband?”
He had come in search of her, angry she’d put herself in danger, when he found himself attacked. Her words stung, so he reacted in anger. “I failed my father, not Odin, when I allowed my sister to drown! And I do not worry about angering any god, for I made no oath to them. It is not for them I do my duty.”
“I did not mean—” The irritation in Ásta’s face drained away, revealing sadness and regret. Her voice was no longer spiteful, but soft and quiet. “Your loyalty to your vow is unrivaled. I never wished to be more than my husband’s duty until I came to understand you better—a man of such honor, he still holds himself to a child’s oath. Who have I become? A wife who screeches at her husband because he speaks of duty when she wishes to hear passionate poetry instead.”
She tried to avoid his eyes. The puckered lines that marked her cheek were invisible to him. When he gazed at her, he only saw the oval shape of her face, the blue jewels hidden away beneath her lids, and her thin mouth, the weapon responsible for the pain he was now in. Why hadn’t his uncle or cousin told him marriage was far more complicated than his duty to his kin and land?
“I have enough dandelions for my ale.” Ásta brushed past him, walking toward the bath and home. “I will go back and keep to the farm for today, my husband.”
He turned to watch her go. His wife. A woman he’d only known for a length of time he could count in weeks. Torin had left his home and the place he’d grown up for her. But that wasn’t right, was it? He’d come to this place because he’d been forced to settle down so he could have freedom from his family and to escape the memories that haunted him.
Torin couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of numbing himself with drink or uncured shark. He’d been too busy. Life had certainly gotten much more exciting, which in some moments made him long for his days before marriage. In others he’d actually found himself smiling in the safety of their darkened bed closet.
Torin’s uncertainty gave way to clarity. He ran to catch up to Ásta, who had already climbed down the slope toward the steaming rock-lined pool. He reached out to touch her shoulder. “My duty is to you.”
She stopped and turned around slowly. He could see she wasn’t going to speak. She was waiting to hear more. Torin had never developed the talent for poetry like other men. Although it was a value to one’s name to speak words skillfully and artfully, he’d never found reason enough to bother. Until now. How could he express what he felt?
“Wind blows with might but cannot sway me from my place, standing by your side. I am here because I choose to be, no hand of man shall break me, but one look cast from your loving eyes,” he muttered under his breath and touched a finger to temple, “can forever make me.”
Ásta blinked up at him, a slight frown playing at her brow. He worried he’d said the wrong thing and had upset her when he’d intended the opposite. Her hand rose to the inside of her eye, and she swept away a tear. The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile.
That was sign enough for Torin. He dropped his shield to the ground so that he could wrap his arms around her waist and draw her near. He pressed his lips to hers, hungry to taste her again. Had it been a day since he’d kissed her delicate mouth?
Torin broke away to trail his lips along her cheek and neck. Her skin was salty and soft. When he reached the base of her neck she moaned softly. It was the fuel to his fire. All he wanted in that moment was to look upon his wife and learn every inch of her body.
His fingers fumbled at the clasp of her smock. She let go of the folds of her skirt. The yellow button flowers fell to the ground at their feet. While her fingers felt for the brooch, he put his hands on her waist and ran them down her legs until her reached her feet. He loosened her shoes, freeing them from her soles. Her blue smock fell to the ground in a ring of fabric.
Torin looked up into her eyes from where he kneeled and slowly drew his hands up her legs, lifting her slip dress as he went. He reached her bare hips and waist, but did not stop. She raised her arms, and he traced the contours of her chest before pulling the last vestige of clothing from her body.
Goose pimples rose on her exposed skin as she stood before him. He stared at her naked form, growing hungrier for her by the second. She stepped into him, reaching for his belt. He hurried to free himself from his own clothing. His tunic was stripped off and dropped onto the growing pile of fabric on the ground as he felt her hands slide down to his feet.
Ásta worked to remove his leather shoes while he finished taking off his belt and set his sword carefully on the earth. He waited for her, watching. She stood up and reached for the top of his trousers. She untied them and let the cloth drop down his legs. She gazed at his muscular, tan body.
Her heart raced as she anticipated his touch. Ásta reached for his hand and led him into the steaming bath. Cool air swept over their exposed skin, and the hot water bit at their flesh. She could smell the wildflowers that were scattered on the ground as she floated on her belly.
Torin’s fingers traced up her shoulders to t
he base her head. Her hair was released from its knotted braid to tumble freely down her back. And again, she felt Torin’s warm skin pressed against her. His hands drifted around her waist, and she could feel his excitement.
Ásta turned onto her back, splashing droplets about. With a suddenness that surprised her, he grasped the small of her back, guiding her to him. She took in a quick breath, and he stared at her with an intensity that made her pores tingle just before they joined.
The moment they were one, she knew this time would be different. There was no discomfort or pain, only pleasure. A gasp escaped her lips, which drove him deeper. She tilted her hips, pressing herself into him. The water created waves around them as they moved in rhythm.
Sensations new to her built up and she clung to his shoulders in surprise. Her head tilted back and his lips pressed against the center of her chest. He found her breasts, showering them with hungry kisses. She couldn’t help but moan with bliss.
Torin drove himself into her, each movement sending shivers through her body. Her breath caught in her throat again. She couldn’t remember anything ever feeling so good, so right. She tried holding onto the moment as the sheer emotion that penetrated every pore overwhelmed her. He thrust once more and paused with a groan.
She could see why Frida seemed so fond of lying with her husband. Were there any pleasures better than this? Ásta gazed into Torin’s eyes, finding reverence there, something she’d only hoped to see. He kissed the tip of her nose. His voice was gravelly and deep. “My wife.”
He lifted himself off of her and lay on his back beside her. Ásta stared up into the steely gray skies. Even though she’d just experienced one of her happiest moments, she was brought back to reality. Her husband had come searching for her, fearing for her safety. After last night it was clear that Fenrir was determined to destroy what she held dear.
“What will we do?” she asked quietly.
Torin looked over at her. “The wolf?”
She nodded in response. Fear began to sink down to her stomach, turning it over into a twist of knots. Would the beast ever stop? What if it had truly ended Torin’s life like she’d feared it had?
“I will protect you from it,” he said, looking at her.
“But what if it does not come for me, but for you?” she asked. “I do not wish to see you hurt.”
He sat up in the warm bath, sending a wave of water out of the basin. He raised his brow at her. “Why do you think it seeks to hurt me and not you?”
It was something she’d never said aloud before. She’d kept it hidden in her thoughts. “I feel its spiteful eyes on me in my dreams—I know its hatred. A large beast like that could have ended my life, but only left me this.” She touched her scarred cheek. “It could have attacked me after chasing you from the cliff, but it did not. I fear I will lose everything I care about before it lets me pass from this earth.”
Torin remained quiet. He appeared deep in thought before he spoke. “We will post two men outside every night to keep watch. This wolf’s reign over your nightmares is over, I promise you.”
She wasn’t sure that was a promise he could keep, but she’d never met a man so determined to keep his word. “I cannot let my husband fight alone. My place is by his side, protecting our land.”
“You have fire in you. I believe you would have trained yourself with a blade even if your father had not.” He tilted his head to study her. “I am beginning to understand why your father wanted you with a sword in your hand—you are someone worth protecting no matter the cost.”They remained in the bath for a short time longer, enjoying a few more moments to themselves before getting back to work. Side by side, they returned to the farm, quietly appraising the storm growing in the distance.
Outside the gate, Torin killed a rat that scurried along the turf wall. He held it up and said, “For Vindr.”
Ásta followed him into the animal shed. Her eyes settled on the mew sitting in the shadows. Its door hung wide open. The only sign of the gyrfalcon was the white feather lying at the base of its cage. Torin spun around, looking throughout the darkened hut. She watched her husband run outside with his eyes raised to the cloudy skies, familiar with the sad desperation that her bad luck had brought again.
Chapter 11
Torin did as he promised. Every night the men rotated standing watch on the walls. It was tiresome work that none of them relished, but neither did they like the thought of repairing the turf boundary again so close to the harvest. Torin would not see their efforts hindered with the coming of winter and the threat of losing the farm.
The loss of his gyrfalcon weighed heavy on his shoulders. He blamed himself for its escape, assuming that he hadn’t locked the latch properly, although Ásta insisted its flight was born from her bad luck. When he wasn’t tending the crops of barley and flax, keeping the huge field of hay thriving, preparing for the sorting of sheep in the highlands and mending the remaining damaged walls, he slipped away to take to the skies in the form of his fylgja to search for the lost falcon and the black shadow of the wolf, which hadn’t reappeared since the attack on the cliffs.
Many weeks had passed, and following another tour over the land where he found nothing, he returned to his clothes and walked back home. The sun was dipping below the horizon much earlier than it had at the peak of summer, offering a reprieve from the nearly never-ending daylight. Fall was there with a chill in the air. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders before letting himself in through the gate, disappointed again that he hadn’t found the white feathers of his bird.
Torin opened the door to the longhouse and stepped inside. The darkness in the hall was cast with a soft orange glow from the embers of the hearth fire. He crept to the bed closet without waking any of the sleeping farmhands. He fastened the lock behind him and set his sword in the corner of the room.
As quietly as he could, he took off his shoes, cloak and trousers and got in bed beside his wife. She stirred, so he brushed her hair from her face and kissed nape of her neck. He slipped his arm around her to pull her close.
“Anything?” she whispered with a gravelly voice.
He drank in the smell of her skin and answered, “All is well, my wife. Go back to sleep.”
“How many more days now?”
Torin closed his eyes. They’d already discussed the details throughout the week. She knew they were planning to harvest the barley the following day. “Gothi Hákon will be coming to check our walls soon and Uncle should send some men to oversee all is fair. Maybe another week until they arrive, but the walls look better than ever. We will not lose the farm.”
It was true. The damage caused from the wolf had been repaired, and the sections where the winter had eroded the turf were as good as new. The amount of time put into the walls meant less time preparing for the coming harvest, but it had been necessary. Everyone, including the women, would be needed to cut and beat the barley if they wanted to get their sheep sorted on the hills and brought back home before the sun turned on them, bringing the coming winter.
“But will we be able to repay Bárthur?” she asked.
The question was something that was never far from his thoughts. Without the gyrfalcon to offer their neighbor, it would be a struggle to settle their debt. They could offer heads of sheep, the mead Ásta planned to brew from her remaining hive and barley. He even had a few marks of silver, but surviving the winter would be that much harder without meat and grain. Every new year seemed to bring a fresh test to the people who survived it. This was why more youths lived on the island than their elder kin.
“I could trade my cauldron,” Ásta muttered when he didn’t answer.
He looked at her. “That man would give it to a ship builder for nails and roves. Would be unfortunate to see it used in that way, but it is yours to do with as you choose.”
“No sign of Vindr?”
Torin shook his head. He’d combed the cliffs, fields and seaside without success. He thought she would have come back, searc
hing for food from his hand like a trained bird might do, but it hadn’t. He left flesh from a rat on its perch in the farmyard, hoping it would draw her in, but it only attracted flies and ravens.
Sleep was elusive through the rest of the night while Torin lay thinking about what remained to get done. The wolf may not have shown itself for many weeks, but he, like Ásta, suspected that it was lurking beyond sight. It was only a matter of time.
When he couldn’t stand lying waiting for the morning any longer, he got up to creep into the hall. The farmhands were just starting to stir, and Elfa had begun to make the cooking fire. Rolf jostled Aagnar and Leifur. They awoke with groans and yawns, which woke Bjorn in turn. They dressed and prepared for the long day ahead.
Ásta came out of their bed closet with dark circles under her eyes. It appeared he hadn’t been the only one lying awake worrying. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and went to speak to Elfa about preparing the barley harvest after the men culled the stocks. It was a very important staple to their livelihood. The grain was the key to the nourishing ale, which she brewed for drinking, and was an important component to their morning cereal and breads.
Torin caught her eye before leaving the longhouse in search of his scythe. The men followed him to the field, and they began cutting down the tall yellow stalks of grain. It wasn’t long before he had to remove his cloak and tunic because he was sweating and hot. While he worked, he thought about the black wolf, as he often did.
He never brought up the subject with Ásta, because he didn’t want to trigger her expressions of sadness and fear. It was a curiosity to him, though. As much as she was certain the beast was the embodiment of the son of Loki, he was not. The moment the wolf showed itself to him, a strange sensation rushed through his body. Its hateful eyes were familiar.
The fact that it hadn’t come back was even stranger to him. With the responsibilities of the farm weighing on his shoulders, he didn’t have the time to search the countryside like he wanted. He was growing edgy and nervous with the coming of harvest. Although he assured Ásta that all was well with the walls, he couldn’t suppress his instincts.
Scars (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 2) Page 15