“They do not want the Norsemen here. They want them to return to their lands in the north,” Elisedd said, although it was clear something more was troubling him. “They hoped that either the burnt crops would force them to leave or that you would be blamed for the fire and killed. So you see, I had to come. I promised my mother I would find you and look after you. It isn’t fair that they blame you. It isn’t fair at all. Just like at Alt Clut.”
“Thank you for telling us this.” Aoife wound her arms around the distraught boy and hugged him. He pushed away from her, obviously embarrassed by his outburst of emotion, and ran a short distance down the beach. She suspected Rhiannon feared for her son’s life now that his father was dead and had thought he stood a better chance with Aoife than by staying at Dun Cadell. How bad must the situation be for her to have sent her son to the unknown with no guarantee of safety?
Tormod grasped her arm and turned her to face him. “What is it they blame you for? Is Alt Clut the reason they sent you away?”
So, now he knew. How much of the story should she tell him? What should she keep from him - for her own safety?
“Yes.” She moved to stare across the loch towards her father’s remaining lands. “My stepmother blames me for the attack on Alt Clut.”
After a moment’s silence, Tormod laughed. “She blames you?”
She nodded, frowning. For her it was no laughing matter. “I… I became unwell at the feast and we had to leave. It was only a few hours before the attack. No one else escaped that night. Because I was ill, the others – both the survivors and the relatives of those who were captured or killed – they blamed me. They said I was cursed.”
“Cursed?” Tormod said. “That sounds to me more like good fortune. Extremely good fortune. If you hadn’t left then, you would have died during the siege or… My countrymen are not known for their delicate handling of prisoners.”
“I’m sure King Artgal would agree,” she said wryly. “If they had heeded my warning, then many more, including King Artgal, might still be alive. Instead they blame me for the deaths. They think that my illness caused the events to occur.”
“They blame you?” Tormod said. “How can they possibly blame you? Do you know how many months Ivarr and Olaf planned the attack for? The number of men involved, the ships, the preparations…” He put a hand on each of her arms. “Your former king was foolish and ignored all threats. His army was unprepared, his decisions unwise. Alt Clut was an easy target for those who are not afraid of the sea and her moods. Only the strong survive. Your illness saved your family — it played no part in whether the raid happened or not.”
Her understanding of the situation shifted. Was Tormod right? Was none of this her fault after all? She had warned her stepmother about the attack, nothing else.
She smiled at Tormod. Her family owed their lives to her, and if Ula chose to consider that a disgrace then there was nothing Aoife could do about it. She straightened. “You are right. I was not to blame. It was convenient for them to blame me. I don’t know why they attacked you here last night. Other than as revenge. Maybe they oppose the agreement you made with my father. I cannot believe that my father would do this — not when it might endanger me.”
Tormod shrugged. “Perhaps we should pay him a visit and ensure he informs all of his people that if they do not feel bound by it, then neither do I.”
“I do not think that will help.” Aoife panicked at the thought. What would happen to her if, in doing so, Tormod discovered that there was more to her story? That she was truly cursed and had no value to her family. What if he sent her back there?
She wanted more time to prove herself. To make herself part of this community and indispensable to Tormod despite him having made it clear that love was not what he was looking for. Love she could live without—she just wanted someplace she could call home. Was that too much to ask?
If the Norsemen knew how much her family feared her, would they accept her more easily or would it mean she had no value to them? It was hard to know.
“You do not wish to see your family?” Tormod asked.
Her head jerked up. That was not what she had expected him to ask. “It has been a long time, and I’m sure you have realised my stepmother does not wish to see me.” She looked out across the water to where her childhood home lay just over the craggy mountains.
“I am sure your father will. After all, what father would not wish to see his daughter after her marriage and ensure she is well cared for?”
She continued gazing across the water, her mind racing. Was this a test? What would he say if she told him now? It might be for the best in the long run. She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t get the words out.
“You would not tell him that we had treated you ill?” Tormod said as the silence stretched.
“No!” she replied, stunned that he even thought to ask.
“Those bruises were from before you came here.”
She drew in a breath. So, that was what concerned him. That she would lie? Or was it that he was concerned about her family judging him?
“I would never lie about who did that,” she assured him. There was a long pause and then he nodded. “And I expect he already knows who is responsible.”
“I have arranged for you to work with Magda, Håkon’s wife.”
“Oh?” She smiled. That would allow her to remain close to Elisedd.
“That pleases you?”
“Yes. I will be able to see Elisedd and…”
His smile faded. “The boy? You care a lot for him.”
“Yes, I do. I told you.” She sighed. Did they have to go over this ground again? “His mother was one of my only friends. Plus the two of us are alone here.”
“Alone? You are alone within an entire village of people? You are alone with me, your husband?”
“You know what I mean. He is my kinsman.”
“I am your kinsman, now.”
“Yes.” She stopped. He was in no mood to listen and she must be careful when speaking of the boy. If Tormod turned against him, then he would have little hope for a life here, and if they were to send him home… She shuddered at the thought of what might happen if Rhydderch found out he had run away to the Norsemen. Then she realised what he had said and drew in a breath, searching his face for any kind of emotion, and finding none.
“You are my husband. This is my home,” she agreed. How she wanted those words to be true. She looked at the ground, not allowing the tears prickling at her eyes to fall. She would not let him see how affected she was. And, in reality, she did not know whether the tears had come because he had declared her his kin, or because she was frustrated by his jealousy.
“Let us go back. It is time to eat.”
They said goodbye to Håkon and Elisedd, then the two of them walked side by side in silence as they started along the path back to the village.
“You spoke of me working with Magda?” She hoped he would not now change his mind. Could he not see that the boy had only come here to be with her and save her from trouble? Why was he so against him?
“Yes. Håkon wishes to learn your language so that he may trade with your people. If you teach his wife, she will in turn teach him and then others. She will also teach you to speak Norse.”
“But what about Ragna? I thought she would do that. She expects me to take over the day to day running of the village from her.”
“And you will. After you have done this. I have decided, and Ragna will agree.” He said it so abruptly that it made her realise for the first time he truly was the one in charge of the village. His word was law.
“Very well,” she agreed. They had reached the crest of the hill and she turned to take one last look across the sea-loch before they headed down towards where the village lay at the shore.
Chapter Six
A few weeks later, Tormod oversaw the final work on the bathhouse. Long days of battle training meant that a place to relax and soak fatigued muscles in warm w
ater and good company would be most welcome. The summer days were at their longest and, although it was not as warm as he was used to in summer at home, he was looking forward to the feast that night in celebration of Midsummer, and in the distance he could hear some of the young men finishing nailing together the Midsommerstång. The cross-like structure with two circles hanging below it was central to their celebrations of summer and, once constructed, it would be wound with greenery and erected outside the hall. The younger girls had been gathering greenery from the forest under the close supervision of some of his best warriors. The celebrations would help to ensure a good harvest later in the year.
There had been no further trouble from any of their neighbours since the field had been burned and Tormod hoped the fire had simply been a knee-jerk reaction from a few of Cadell’s men.
Håkon was pleased with Elisedd. The boy was learning Norse quickly, although he spoke to Magda often about his mother. Tormod had begun to wonder if he could buy the woman from Cadell or trade for her when he visited. He didn’t want to mention the idea to Aoife, though, in case it came to naught.
Just the day before, Aoife had returned from the farm in obvious distress and had said she was worried about Rhiannon after talking to Elisedd. Tormod worried too, probably for different reasons. He remembered the meeting with Cadell and Ula, remembered the power the woman had over her husband. Could he attribute it merely to the desire to get rid of an unwanted stepdaughter, or was there a more sinister force behind it?
Cadell had not brought Aoife to meet Tormod as promised. Instead it had been only his steward, Rhydderch. Was there a significance to that? The steward certainly had not seemed to hold his master in proper respect.
The sooner they visited Lord Cadell and understood what was happening in his household, the better. He would prefer to take Aoife with him so she could help him to understand what was normal for her people and what was not. On the other hand, though, he worried about her safety. Strange how he was now more concerned about her in her own father’s fort than here in the Norse village. However, he would fight for her, if necessary, as would Björn, Ulf and Arne. He suspected there were few in her father’s household who would be willing to do the same.
Tormod turned at the sound of cheering and clapping at the top of the slope. The Midsommerstång had been hauled upright into position and the villagers were excited about the dancing and feasting that would come later. He spotted Aoife and Ragna next to the fire pit supervising the thralls preparing the food for that night and was impressed when he heard Aoife call out some simple orders in Norse. She must have felt his gaze on her because she turned and smiled at him. His body reacted to the sight of her. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have a willing woman in his bed every night.
“I know the bathhouse is ready, but I fancy a swim,” said Björn.
They had spent much of the morning training for combat and he could see the fatigue on his cousin’s face as well as feel it in his own muscles. A swim would be pleasant. “I will join you,” he replied, and they headed for the shore, undressing as they walked.
“Your wife pleases you then?” Björn asked.
Tormod frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“You were watching her just now.”
Tormod glanced sharply at his cousin. Was there an underlying suspicion in the question? Björn had every right to be concerned about how Tormod’s loyalty to Aoife would affect the village as a whole. Tormod just didn’t want to admit it. “Yes. She does.”
“And her father?”
Tormod laughed. “He does not please me. But then I never expected him to.”
“When do you plan to confront him?”
“Soon. And we will take my wife with us. Although we will need to protect her carefully. There is treachery in Lord Cadell’s house, I am sure of it.”
“I agree. He should not have sent his steward to our exchange. There was something not right about that. I would like to know exactly what.”
“We will not let them interfere with our settling here.”
“No.” Björn surveyed the village, took a deep breath, and grinned. “I like it here. Come on, to the rocks and back — a race.” With that, he ran into the water and dived. Tormod soon followed.
“Marriage has slowed you down, cousin,” Björn crowed from the beach after he had soundly beaten Tormod in the race.
“The advantages outweigh winning a mere race,” Tormod replied, grinning as he strode through the shallow water and sat beside Björn on the beach to dry.
“The advantages this time.”
“She is nothing like Ingrid,” Tormod snapped.
“I hope not. For all our sakes.”
Tormod glared at his cousin, although there was little he could say. Björn was right. He had made a terrible mistake in the past. One that had nearly proved fatal. Arne had suffered more than others as a result. He would not make the same mistake twice.
“One advantage of an arranged marriage,” he said to Björn, “is that there is little to cloud one’s judgment. No mistaken ideas of love, certainly.” Seeing that his cousin meant to argue, he decided to change tack. “And when do you plan to settle down?”
“Never,” answered Björn immediately.
“I think Ylva may have something to say about that.”
“She can say whatever she likes,” Björn retorted. “Marriage is not for me. It brings only sadness and misery. And besides, Ylva gets exactly what she wants from me already. Why would she need to marry me?”
Tormod raised his eyebrows. “And what if there is a child?”
Björn did not respond.
“What will you do if she marries someone else?”
“There are always other women,” Björn replied, shrugging, the pause before he spoke enough to make Tormod grin, although he wondered at his cousin’s apparent lack of ambition. He had never quite worked the other man out, no matter how close they were. He knew he could both trust and rely upon him, however, and for now that would be enough. He and his three cousins were getting older, their priorities changing, and he was sure Björn would soon settle down. If not through his own choice, then thanks to his mother’s nagging. Ragna was nothing if not persuasive, and Tormod doubted that in a battle of wits with Ylva any man stood a chance of winning.
Tormod grinned again, then dressed before heading towards the village to find Aoife and join in the dancing.
* * *
From her seat on the dais beside Tormod, Aoife spotted some of the villagers regarding her with suspicion or at best, curiosity, but their eyes lowered quickly when she caught their gaze. Others, however, seemed to have accepted her and she was beginning to get to know some of the unfamiliar names. Tormod had made sure to be very attentive towards her in public, more so than he was in private, and she was grateful.
His efforts to encourage his people to accept her made her feel more secure, although it still bothered her that she had not told him the whole truth. Every night before she fell asleep, she prayed she would not call out her dreams in her sleep and give away the whole secret of her curse.
She should try not to worry so much. She was dreaming less given how tired she was each night before she fell asleep. Her days were long with a list of chores that took up many hours and occupied her mind most of that time, even with Ragna’s assistance. Learning a new language was also tiring and her head often ached at the end of each day. However, she was learning. She had even begun to dream in Norse.
Added to that was the fact her husband kept her occupied every night in bed and sometimes in the morning, too. At least his attentions made her believe that one day there might be a real connection between them, although he was still careful to make sure that he would not give her a child. That troubled her. As well as a child making her position here more secure, it would give her the chance of family she had always wanted. She had tried to ask him about it again, but he had simply said there would be time in the future for children and refused to s
peak any more of it.
They had been not been married long, she told herself. There was plenty of time. When the winter came, she would ask him again. She glanced sideways at her husband and smiled. Her husband. It was beginning to seem normal to her. This may not have been a marriage she would have chosen, but she was well aware it could have been so much worse. She remembered Rhiannon and the fear in her eyes when her husband’s name was mentioned, the dark bruises on her arms. The brute had left her face alone and yet, knowing that he was dead had Aoife even more concerned about her maid. Why had she sent her son here? Were things at her father’s fort so bad?
She sighed. She noticed one of the thralls staring at her and realised most people had finished their food and the drink was starting to flow. She took a mouthful of food. The smell and taste of the hearty mutton made her smile. Then she felt lightheaded and caught at the side of the table. The mouthful of mutton suddenly tasted like ashes. The last time a vision had hit her quite like this had been at Alt Clut. As she raised her head, the hall and villagers faded away before her eyes, replaced by an image of the stone walls of her father’s fort.
She heard the clang of swords on swords, of swords on stone. Smelled the coppery tang of blood. Heard the screams of the wounded and then the silence of the dead.
Was this going to happen there? When? Perhaps it already had. Her visions were not predictable in any way.
Then she felt an arm around her shoulders, a hand closing around her own. The noise and heat of the hall surrounded her once more and she was left with a deep-seated worry for her father.
“Is everything all right?” Tormod whispered close to her ear.
His breath on her skin sent tingles down her spine. Unable to put her feelings, her worries, into words, she said, “I am just tired and ready for bed.”
Tormod grinned. “You cannot wait to bed me again.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help blushing at his statement. “Did I… did I say anything?”
“Just now?” Tormod asked. “No, apart from saying that you would rather be pleasuring me in our bed.”
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