Tormod squeezed Aoife’s hand as they topped the hill and the village came into sight. She smiled at him. He smiled back, noting the colour had returned to her cheeks and there was no sign of her earlier weakness. In fact, she appeared healthier than she had in the two months she’d been there. It was strange. The time seemed to have both passed quickly and to have lasted a lifetime, as if he had known her for far longer than the time spent with her. His heart clenched as he looked at her. No matter what, he felt the gods had had a hand in leading him here, bringing Aoife to him. She was a passionate and vibrant woman and he was glad he had saved her from her fate of being left in the abbey, forgotten and uncared for. He wondered if she felt the same, or if she would rather have stayed there—with her own people.
“Are you sorry you are here?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you are away from your family, your home, your people.”
“I have not been a part of those things since my mother died,” she said. “And since my curse was discovered, I have been treated with suspicion.”
“It must still be strange and unsettling to be amongst people so different from your own.”
She shrugged. “It is certainly comforting to know that Elisedd is nearby. I remember when he was born. It was a stormy night. Rhiannon had helped me to bed and was brushing my hair when she bent double, screaming. I was scared. I was too young to be there when my sisters were born, but Ula said I could be at Rhiannon’s birthing. I called for help and took her to her room. She could hardly walk there and we had to stop. Her labour went on all night. I held her hand. I will never forget the pain and fear in her eyes when she looked at me and then…” She stopped. “It was a relief when he was finally born.”
Tormod brushed a tear from her cheek and pulled her against him. A knot of tension within him began to build. “It is not always easy to bear a child,” he said as he stroked her hair.
She pulled away a little. “But I remember her face after he was born, the joy on it. It seemed to make it all worthwhile, and then…”
“Then?” he prompted, dreading what came next even though he knew Rhiannon had survived. Memories of Ingrid, how pale she had been, how pale and cold their child. She had lived only long enough to know their son had been stillborn, that her efforts and pain were for nothing. A wave of sorrow swept over him, strange given that at the time it had been the one emotion he’d been unable to feel.
“She kept bleeding. The midwife tried everything she knew, and finally it stopped. But it took a long time for her to recover. I would have helped with Elisedd, but of course, Ula would not allow it. Rhiannon was, after all, my maid. She has never had any more children. She must be so worried about Elisedd.”
“I’m sorry,” Tormod said. And he realised he really was.
Emotions whirled within him. Aoife had seen a terrible side of childbirth. He had seen it, too, had already lost one wife that way. A sense of guilt tormented him when he remembered at the time thinking it was justice for what had happened to Arne. It was not unreasonable to think he might lose another. The thought made him realise how much he didn’t want that and hoped Ragna was wrong about Aoife already being with child.
“I’m sorry, you lost Ingrid when Einar was born, I shouldn’t have...”
Tormod pulled away from her. “Einar?”
“He is a fine boy, it is sad that he never knew his mother. That she never got to know her son.”
Tormod’s heart began to pound. He let go of Aoife’s hand. Did she not realise? He swallowed.
“Was this why you are so determined I should not conceive?”
He wondered what to say. Perhaps he should just be honest with her now. After all, Håkon’s comments earlier must have been confusing for her. There was no point in trying to pretend any longer. And yet, it made him feel weak, and weakness was something a jarl could not afford.
“It is part of it,” he said finally, then sighed. “It is complicated...” Just then they rounded the final turn before the village. Tormod drove down to near the stables and a couple of boys ran out to deal with the horse and cart. Aoife smiled at them and Tormod thanked them. Then he noticed that Aoife was watching Einar sitting next to the fire with Elisedd. Arne had thought it better for Elisedd to remain in the village rather than return to the farm amidst the sickness. The two boys had a game board out in front of them. Aoife clapped her hands in delight. “Listen.”
Tormod listened to the two boys playing the game. They stopped often for Einar to explain rules and tactics at times when Elisedd had made a mistake and giving him the chance to correct it.
“Einar is a kind boy. He is helping Elisedd to win,” Aoife said to him.
Just then Einar caught sight of Tormod and after only a handful of moves had beaten Elisedd.
Elisedd sighed and stared sadly at the board. “Again?”
“This time I am not going to help you,” Einar said. There was a nasty tone in his voice that had not been there before. The Norse boy straightened and cleared the board, preparing to play again.
Elisedd frowned at him.
Tormod walked forward and clasped Einar’s shoulder. “It is good you are showing Elisedd how to play.”
“I can beat him easily,” Einar boasted, puffing his chest out. “He does not know the rules. I have had to teach him and—”
“Einar!” Tormod snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am glad you were showing Elisedd how to play. It does not matter whether you win or not when you are training someone. There is little glory in defeating an enemy who does not know how to fight. Do you think our warriors in Valhalla boast of easy victories or of the ones that were a challenge?”
Einar frowned. “I thought you would want me to win! After all, one day I will follow in your footsteps and be jarl here.”
Around them there was a sudden moment of silence as if collectively everyone held their breath. Villagers working nearby and the women at the fire were all watching the scene unfold. Most knew the truth of Einar’s birth although none would dare say it out loud. Accepting him as their future jarl was, however, a different matter entirely and one Tormod realised must be addressed.
Elisedd remained focussed on the game board and seemed oblivious but Einar and Aoife had both picked up on the fact that something was amiss.
“Father?” Einar said.
Tormod kept his gaze on Einar, ignoring the others round him. Now that Einar was here, he needed to know the truth. The villagers would never accept him as jarl as things stood and Einar had to be told. But this moment was too public to tell the boy something so personal, something that would change his life forever. He cleared his throat.
“Sometimes situations are more complicated than we realise,” he said. “We do not always have to be the one on top. Teaching others is an important skill as well. And encouraging others to improve their skills is nothing to be ashamed of. It is what makes a warrior a good leader also. Not everyone is destined to be a leader, and we do not all become jarls.”
Einar looked from his father to Elisedd and back again confused.
“I thought you were my friend,” said Elisedd.
Before Einar could answer, Tormod said, “He is. You are part of our village, Elisedd. Einar will continue to teach you to play and also help to train you to fight.” He turned to Einar. “I hope you have continued your training in the time since I left.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Then you and Elisedd will make good sparring partners and you will make sure he learns as much as you do. I am entrusting this task to you.” Tormod squeezed his shoulder.
Einar glanced over at Elisedd and a slow smile spread across his face. “Yes, Father. But am I allowed to win?”
“You are allowed to try,” Tormod replied. “Never underestimate your enemy.” Tormod caught sight of Elisedd’s face falling. “Or your friends.”
Einar got to his feet, both boys were smiling now. “Come. I will teach you wh
at I know and we can be the best pair of fighters ever!”
Einar ran off towards the barn where the wooden swords were kept, but Elisedd didn’t move, just stared at Tormod. “Is Håkon still angry?”
“No, not with you,” Tormod said. “Or Lady Aoife,” he added when the boy’s eyes darted to his wife.
Elisedd nodded and followed Einar into the barn. A few minutes later the two ran back over with helmets on and wooden swords in their hands. Any villagers who had been watching them had thought that the scene was now over and all had returned to their work.
“Perhaps I should stay… advise them,” said Tormod.
“I will do it,” said Arne, coming up behind them.
“Did you find any problems at the other farms?”
“No,” said Arne. “I heard what Einar said. You must deal with the situation somehow. The sooner he understands, the better.”
Understands what?” Aoife asked.
Arne put a hand on Tormod’s shoulder. When their gazes met, they held. Thoughts whirled in Tormod’s head. It was a challenge, Tormod knew, but he also knew that perhaps it was time to let this particular challenge stand.
“I will teach the boys,” Arne said. “Both of them. And I have a suggestion. Einar should live with me. It will go some way to you repaying the debt you seem to believe you owe me.”
“Father?” asked Einar uncertainly. “I thought...”
“I will tell him why,” Arne said. “Later.”
For a moment Tormod did nothing, said nothing. Then he turned to Einar. “Arne will teach you. He is a great fighter. You are privileged to learn from a warrior as brave as Arne. To be taken in and trained by a warrior such as him.”
Einar nodded, despite looking confused.
“You will always have a place here,” Tormod said. Einar frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Arne picked up a wooden sword himself and started to go through various moves, and both boys were distracted.
Tormod’s shoulders slumped as he and Aoife walked towards the hall. She glanced back a few times at the boys before stopping next to the fire. “Why did that seem... as if you were giving Einar away?”
“It is complicated,” he said, then he pulled himself to his full height. “And now it is all in the past.”
“Please, I need to understand.” She put a hand on his arm but he shook it off. He didn’t want to have this conversation just now. He glanced back at Einar, taking in the shape of his face, the uplift of his mouth, the line of his nose. The boy had the pale blond hair of his mother. The rest of his features he must have inherited from his natural father. Whoever he was. Ingrid had taken that secret to her grave. A grave into which Arne had also nearly fallen. He strode away from her, towards the shore.
* * *
Aoife needed to know about the past so she could understand the present, whether her husband agreed or not.
Tormod was clearly upset—the tension in his shoulders was clear as she struggled to keep up with him as he strode along the beach. She wasn’t going to let him just disappear, though. She was tired of all these secrets and half-truths. How could he just give away his son like that? She knew fostering was common practice, but this seemed somehow more permanent. And what debt?
“Tormod!” she called. He ignored her and kept walking. “Tormod!”
This time he paused and looked at her over his shoulder, then shook his head and strode onwards. His boots were stronger and more able to deal with the stony beach, while her shoes let her feel every stone beneath her feet and she winced once or twice as sharp edges dug into her skin.
He was past the bathhouse now and the shingle was becoming larger stones and rocks. He barely paused when he reached the rocks and continued to walk as if they were of as much concern as the shingle had been. It was not nearly so easy for Aoife, who had to stop often to choose the best route. More than once she had to turn back to avoid pools of water or large patches of mud she daren’t risk stepping into and discovering they were deeper than she had thought. She did her best to keep up with him, but feared that by the time she made it to the top of the rocks he would be far from her sight.
He wasn’t. He had stopped at the far side of the next cove and was staring down towards the mouth of the river. A wave of light-headedness passed through her that she put down to relief. She started to make her way down the slope towards him.
He was a solitary figure standing at the edge of the water, the waves lapping at the tips of his boots. She could understand why there was something amiss about his relationship with the boy. She had seen the distance between them before, although she did not want it for her own children. It was the distance between her and Ula and, while Tormod did not seem to hate Einar the way Ula hated her, there was still something very wrong with it. Even more wrong was the idea of Einar living with Arne permanently. She sensed a deep sadness in the decision for both men. More than just an acknowledgment that the boy was not Tormod’s natural son. He had not wanted her to keep secrets, and yet he was keeping many of his own.
“Tormod?” He didn’t turn or acknowledge her presence, so she guessed he had known she had followed him the whole time. Her fists clenched. He had known and had not slowed down or better yet stopped. Perhaps it was a test to see how much she cared. She would soon find out if she had passed. “Tormod?”
She placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he spun around and grabbed her by the waist. He took a long look at her face, then closed his mouth hungrily over hers.
Eventually, he wrenched his mouth from hers and leaned his head against the side of hers, panting. Her thoughts whirled. She had been correct; her husband’s emotions were as disturbed as her own. Arne fostering Einar did not account for the pain she saw in his face, the desperation she had felt in his kiss.
“What is going on? Why does it seem like Arne is going to bring up Einar?”
“The villagers are willing to accept him, say nothing about his parentage, especially about his mother, but he cannot become jarl.”
“I understand, but...” Aoife pulled back from him. “What is it you are not telling me? There is something more, isn’t there?”
Tormod’s head bowed and he took a deep breath.“Ingrid did not die when Einar was born.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought...”
“No.” Tormod sighed. “Ingrid birthed another man’s child, no problem at all.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought...”
“It was my child that killed her.”
“Yours? But...” She stared at him, she couldn’t make her mouth form words. She was struggling to understand what he was saying.
“You do not need to love me…” He paused and a frown crossed his face. “But I do not wish to lose you.”
“Oh, Tormod.” So, he feared her dying? He had wanted to wait to have children because he believed it had been his fault Ingrid had died. A knot of tension inside her loosened and she reached for him. He kissed her again, his kisses more desperate than passionate, but she returned them, cupping the side of his face, trying to reassure him.
He lifted her and carried her up the beach to the edge of the woods, where he laid her down on a patch of grass before joining her. He swept her skirts up her legs and fumbled with his breeks. He slid his fingers along her slit, touching her most intimate spot and teasing it until she began to tremble with anticipation. His fingers moved from that sweet spot and she could feel how wet she was when he slid two digits inside her. Then, with little ceremony, he moved over her, shoving her legs apart with his own, and pushed inside.
She welcomed the desperation she felt in him, the need to be one with her, to join with her. Unlike after the battle on the beach, however, this time he was looking at her and she knew he was seeing her, Aoife, and not just any woman. His thrusts were deep and reached right to her very soul. He changed his angle and she responded to the contact on the most sensitive part of her. She clung to him, soundless words escaping her until she
cried out in ecstasy, losing touch with the reality around her as she felt him reach his own peak and spill himself deep inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, panting. She was too disoriented to care. When finally he sat up, he pulled her skirts higher, baring her stomach, and ran his hands over the smooth skin. She shuddered and looked down at his hand covering the gentle swell of her stomach.
He kissed her there, then peered up at her. “I am sorry. If you are with child, then I will welcome it. We will be a real family.”
She reached for him, touching the edges of his hair, and kissed him. Just then, a twig snapped in the woods behind them. Tormod looked towards the sound and snatched her skirts back down, but did not rush to move. She started to pull away from him but he stopped her.
“Stay,” he said. “Everyone knows we are married. This is hardly a clandestine tryst in the woods.” He moved to lie beside her, smoothing her skirts fully into place as he did so. She shuddered when his hand grazed her nipple through her dress. She looked up to see the two ravens watching them from the branches above and smiled at them. She heard the cry of a baby on the wind, felt a ghostly presence at her breast, then a contented gurgle and she knew that all would be well with their child.
She smiled at her husband. “The child will be fine,” she said, indicating the ravens.
“You have seen this?” He asked, sounding awed.
“I have felt it,” she assured him. He smiled at her.
“I was rough with you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked away, unable to tell him that while he had been rough, she had liked it. Had liked the feeling he wanted her so much he couldn’t even wait until they were in bed. That he had to have her there and then and also that he seemed to finally be seeing her as the future mother of his children. The only thing Ula had told her she would be of use as.
Tormod put his fingers on her chin and turned her to face him. “It will not happen again.” He rolled away from her and started to stand up, but she reached for him and tugged at his hand.
The Viking's Cursed Bride Page 17