Exhausted and feeling empty inside, Ailsa finally moved, glancing about the clearing. The rest of the pack had vanished. No doubt Mani’s sons were already fighting for the right to lead.
How could she deal with such anguish? Nothing had ever hurt so much. She wanted her own Thor’s wolf. Ailsa needed the strength of her husband. Without his comfort and protection, she knew she could not cope with this terrible burden. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet. The afternoon sun had sunk lower in the sky. She noticed a glint from an object shining within in the nearby undergrowth. Ailsa dragged herself to her feet and went to investigate. Could this be a clue to Shadow’s death? She moved closer and parted the branches.
What she saw made no sense. The pain in her breast became a single blade of torment slicing through her chest. She wailed. Mani joined her, howling her own cry of injustice.
It could not be, yet there was the evidence.
Ásgæirr, Thorolf’s longsword, lay hidden in the undergrowth. The blade stained with Shadow’s blood. Her husband, the man she thought of as her own golden god, had slain her beautiful wolf. The betrayal devastated her. The darkness her sister had warned about now cloaked Ailsa, wrapping her in utter desolation. She staggered back to Mani and collapsed beside her. Ailsa sobbed into the wolf’s fur.
It was late in the day when she stirred again. Mani was gone. Her grieving done, the she-wolf knew she would have to leave her pack. Wolves mated for life. If an alpha female lost her mate, there was no place for her within the existing pack. If she was lucky, she might find a lone wolf to mate with to form another pack. Ailsa prayed she would.
Memories flooded her mind now, sweet thoughts about her time with Shadow. How they’d met, the years spent together. The wolf had given her joy through her troubled time with Irb. He’d even provided comfort when the Vikings first appeared. She wiped tears from her cheeks. Living felt utterly pointless. She had no strength to contemplate her future.
Both men had betrayed her, yet it was Thorolf who had slain her heart. For when he’d killed her beautiful, trusting friend, he’d slaughtered her, too. The image of Shadow welcoming Thorolf as a friend and… She pushed away the thought.
Her stomach rumbled. How could she feel hungry at a time like this? All she wanted was oblivion. Dragging her knees under her in order to stand, she redirected her fury at the person she held responsible for this murder, Thorolf. Had she not felt that this truce would not last between them? She knew that these Vikings should not be trusted and yet foolishly she had led her husband directly to the wolves’ lair.
Ailsa shovelled mulch from the forest floor with her hands, attempting to push the dirt over her wolf, only satisfied once he was covered. Fetching her husband’s sword, she braced herself as she reached for it. The weapon was heavy, far too large for her to wield easily. She remembered watching Rhiannon and Rinda as they practiced daily, building strength to improve their skills. She would defy even those two women to heft this beast into combat.
Red-hot rage raced through her veins. That bastard Viking, the man she had trusted with her heart and soul, the man she married, and brought here to meet her wolves. Shadow had trusted him, too.
Thorolf had become almost god-like in her mind, foolish woman that she was. Her husband’s treachery was a betrayal she could never forgive. The frozen icicle shifted, lodging deep within, causing an acute agony. Ailsa swung the heavy longsword around in a circle until she was dizzy and panting from exertion. Her respect for Rhiannon and Rinda, the two shield maidens, increased as she attempted to conquer the mighty sword.
There was the faintest rustle of leaves behind her. She froze—a boar perhaps? Turning slowly with the blade pointed downward, the tip resting on the ground, she saw him. She was lightheaded, so mayhap he was a dream? But no, she blinked and he was still there, quite real, quite solid. Suddenly, she felt sick and faint. Her husband was the last person on earth she wished to see.
“What in Thor’s name are you about?” he asked harshly.
Had his voice been gentler, she might have reacted differently. As it was, his attitude only added fuel to her rage. Trembling, she held her ground. He padded closer, his manner threatening.
Without thought to the consequences, she swung the mighty blade in the air. She charged forward with a shriek of pure rage. Instead of the expected jolt from impact, she found herself caught about the waist and swung around, held under Thorolf’s arm. The sword fell from her hands and onto the ground. She cursed and lashed out at him, punching and kicking to free herself. Then, she twisted around until she was able to sink her teeth into the flesh of his thigh. Any satisfaction at this small triumph was short-lived, for she was suddenly face down, staring at the forest floor. A painful swat landed on her backside, incensing her. She screamed.
“What in Odin’s blood is wrong with you, woman?” Thorolf rumbled from above her.
“Murderer!” she screeched. “Slaughterer of innocents! Killer! Cowardly Norse bastard!”
As the anger spilled out of her, the pain of Shadow’s loss remained, and she wept violently.
Thorolf sat her up and rocked her like a babe. The tenderness only lasted a brief moment, for she thrust away from him, furious with herself for accepting his comfort.
“Nay, I have to know what has turned you this way,” he protested as he caught her.
He held her firmly in place upon his lap. Glancing around her, Ailsa realised they were seated upon a fallen tree trunk, away from the glade where Shadow was half buried. Thorolf turned her face to him, and she spat at him. The shock that crossed his face felt satisfying, until his hand whipped up her back and twisted into the tangle of her hair, forcing her to meet his furious gaze.
“I shall take my belt to you for that, after we are returned home. I demand you explain yourself to me, Vif.”
His growling rumble did not scare her. She was beyond caring about consequences.
“As if you didn’t know,” she sneered bitterly.
A look of total bewilderment filled his amber gaze. Pain lanced her, for his golden eyes reminded her of Shadow’s. Shifting, she attempted once more to escape his hold.
“Let me go…I- I’ll show you.”
“There is no point in running, for I will catch you, and when I do, I shall cut a switch and stripe your arse. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, hearing the steely promise in his words.
“Very well.”
He set her down. She led him to the small clearing. Not wishing to see her friend’s body again, she pointed to the mound and turned her back. Thorolf threw her a confused look and walked forward. Ailsa heard rustling and guessed that he was clearing leaf debris.
A hoarse cry drew her gaze to him. He was down on one knee, his hand resting on the wolf. Head bent, he muttered something in his own tongue.
There was a rhythm to his words, he was chanting. Intrigued, she asked him what he’d said.
He was silent for a moment then hesitantly he translated.
Life ebbs, the spirit moves on, let the Valkyrie come.
The might was his, blade and shining sword,
Courage to the earth they felled.
Yggdrasil, great tree of life,
nine realms of the universe,
echo to the gods to hear a mortal’s plea.
Odin, take up the body of thy warrior,
let him live forever in hallowed halls, Valhalla!
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.
Comprehension dawned. Thorolf had not been the one to slay Shadow.
“It was not you,” she stated, her heart heavy with shame that she had accused him.
He rose and came to stand before her. Cupping her face gently in his large, capable hands, he studied her for a moment without speaking. Ailsa shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat.
“You trusted me with your most blessed treasure, your wolves, and yet you quickly accused me of murder. Even after I told you I had lost Ásgæirr i
n the battle with the Nechtain? You, who I revere above all women, doubted me, your husband. I am deeply saddened. There is more I need to do to gain your trust.”
Guilt twisted in her gut. He was right. She’d unfairly judged him out of anger.
“I…”
He placed his hand over her mouth and shook his head. “No. Do not speak. Nothing you say can mend this rift between us right now. Given time, I hope you will come to trust me.”
He released her face, turning away. Fresh tears fell, although this time, she wept out of shame.
“I should like to know what you wish me to do with Shadow’s body,” he asked in a hollow voice.
“Please bury him deep enough to stop any scavengers from finding him.”
He did not reply, but set about the task, using his knife, even pressing his mighty sword, Ásgæirr, into use in order to scrape away at the forest floor. But in the end, he resorted to using his bare hands to dig. By the time he was done, it was nearly dark. Beckoning to Ailsa, he led her the short distance to another clearing where he had placed his fur cloak on the ground. He pulled open the skin pack he had with him, producing nuts and berries, then, unravelling a parcel of cloth, he revealed a loaf of bread. They ate in silence, washing the simple meal down with water from a skin tied to his waist.
“Sleep now. We leave at dawn,” he told her.
“What of you?” she asked in a small voice.
“I wish to ensure there is no threat. Perhaps I will sleep later.”
Exhausted, Ailsa did as he directed, curling up on the fur. She placed her hands under her cheek and closed her eyes. Who had killed her beautiful friend? Perhaps the Eanfrith had come across him all alone and unprotected? She hoped they had not found the wolves’ lair and the rest of the pack.
Finally, sleep took her.
8
“Come,” Thorolf called to her as she rose from her makeshift bed.
She hesitated. He came and took her hand to lead her back into the glade where he had buried Shadow.
“See,” he said, pointing to the trunk of the tree under which her beloved wolf’s grave was located.
She drew closer and peered at his handiwork. “Thorolf, how beautiful!” she exclaimed, looking at the engraved image of a wolf encircled by runes, carved into the bark of the tree. “Thank you.” Then she burst into tears.
He folded her in his arms and rocked her until the weeping past.
“You like it then?” he asked as he wiped her eyes with his thumbs.
She nodded as her bottom lip trembled. Thorolf kissed her gently. Breaking away, she went and traced her finger over the etched wolf that he’d made, admiring his skill. She studied the runes he had added in order to protect Shadow’s final resting place from evil spirits.
Thorolf had not slept beside his wife last night. Hurt by her unjust accusation, he’d needed to think about the fact Ailsa believed him capable of doing such a cruel thing. After spending the night deep in thought, he’d concluded that what he must do was put aside his own feelings in order to reassure Ailsa of his loyalty. It was important to their happiness that he gained her trust. She must never doubt him in this way again. Although the atmosphere still felt strained between them, he determined to push through the awkwardness. He was her husband, thus it was his responsibility to lead.
He wanted his marriage to be strong like his parent’s partnership. His father had undoubtedly been the head of their household, yet his mother had been the one to hold them all together, supporting and encouraging each of them. She trusted her husband’s judgement and yet she had not been afraid to challenge his decisions. Never aggressive, his mother would bring a matter to his father’s attention if she felt it warranted discussion.
He looked across at his wife and pieced together in his mind the words required to offer comfort in her tongue. His grasp of the Pictish and Gaelic mix she spoke was becoming much more familiar to him now.
“One day it will not feel so painful to come here to visit your old friend.” He tried to sound normal, but his voice seemed stilted and over loud in the silence of the woodland. However, he was pleased to hear Ailsa agree with him.
Going to her, he cupped her chin and studied her grimy face. Where his thumbs had rubbed away her tears the previous evening, he had left streaks of dirt.
“You are filthy and need to bathe, afterwards, we shall return to the village.”
She tensed at his criticism. Thorolf combed his fingers through her tangled hair and held out the resulting mess of burs and leaves for her to see. She obviously had no idea how wild and dishevelled she looked.
“I-I had no idea. I will take you to the waterfall pool where my sister and I prefer to bathe. It is farther away from Achnaryrie than the river, which most tend to use because it is closer to home.”
“And much safer for them,” he added drily.
Thorolf had no wish to upset her further with a scolding, so he nodded his agreement to her plan. They packed up their belongings and set off wearily for home.
Home. It was strange, but there seemed to be no actual moment he could point to when he’d begun to think of Achnaryrie as such. Brandr’s sons would be arriving any day, and no doubt more Norse families would soon join them.
Midday, Ailsa signalled for them to stop. She tugged Thorolf to the ground. They hunkered at the edge of a meadow where hares were feeding. Withdrawing an arrow from her quiver, she notched it on her bow. She speared two unsuspecting hares. Ailsa’s aim proved as unerring as ever.
They skinned and cooked the meat, then ate in silence.
They reached the waterfalls long before sunset and had plenty of time to bathe.
Thorolf pulled his wife to him and gently washed her hair under the waterfall. He rubbed the dirt from her face and body.
Diving into the gleaming pool below, the water felt silky against his skin, especially after the freezing bite from the waterfall.
They swam separately for a while.
Thorolf dived below and came up beneath her, capturing her in his arms, holding her pressed to his chest. She squealed, his erection pressed hard against her stomach.
“Do you want me?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded. “I am so sorry I doubted you. I...”
Halting her mid-sentence with a scorching kiss, he watched her eyes darken with desire, and devoured her luscious lips, drinking in her beauty like the drowning man he would become if he attempted to couple with her without first finding firm footing.
He knew they needed to mate. It was the only way he could think of to bond with her again after everything that had occurred. Actions spoke louder than words, and he was good with action, especially at making her cry out his name as he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure.
He swam to the shallows and turned her onto her back so she floated with her hair spread over the surface, shimmering in a halo about her head. Parting her legs, he lifted her heels onto his shoulders, then, lowering his head, he tasted her.
Sliding his tongue along her cleft, he moved his hand under her backside and raised her to his mouth. She mewled. He didn’t halt his explorations until her husky moans signalled she was near release. Scooping her up, he lowered her onto his rampant cock. She easily sheathed him, slippery and wet. With her arms draped over his shoulders, he claimed her swiftly, bucking his tumescent length inside her heat with a powerful thrust, she quivered with ecstasy, keening her satisfaction. A moment later, his culmination gushed forth. He took her lips with a rumbling growl, kissing her passionately, their tongues spoke in ways that words could never do, with expressions of regret wrapped up with silent promises of never-ending love.
“I love you.” It was the first time he’d spoken those words to a woman other than his mother.
Her response healed the hurt he’d felt at her unjust accusation. She hugged his neck, whispering a repeat of his words, kissing him back. Thorolf relaxed, knowing for certain that finally all was well between them.
Afterwards, he
stared into her eyes and felt as though he gazed into her soul. Thorolf knew instinctively he had gained wife’s trust, and her promise that she would never doubt him again.
Although it was late in the day, the midsummer light was clear enough to see them home and safe again.
Ytha must have had a premonition of their arrival, for she rushed at her sister and hugged her fiercely as they entered the village. Garth followed, slapping Thorolf’s shoulder good-humouredly. He asked if all was well, and Garth nodded, pulling Ytha against him with a grin. Thorolf was relieved to see the two united, and all talk of Garth setting her aside forgotten.
Sympathy gleamed in Garth’s eyes as Thorolf explained that Shadow was no more, quietly disclosing the circumstances surrounding the wolf’s death. Lapsing into Norse, they discussed their suspicions on the matter. Parting at their door, the couple moved onto their own small lodge. It was a relief to be back, especially knowing his woman was where she should be, safely by his side.
The next week saw the arrival of Brandr’s sons, Havardr and Leif. The young boys appeared to settle in well after their initial wariness of their new stepmother. Eithne quickly overcame the boys’ misgivings about her role as mother. It was plain to see the affection they now had for her.
Not long after the boys’ arrival, Brandr honoured Thorolf by asking him to take care of his son’s for a day. Thorolf guessed that Brandr needed time alone with his new wife, Eithne, and readily agreed.
He taught the boys sword thrusts and countermoves while Ailsa prepared a large basket of food to take up to the waterfall where the boys could play. Thorolf began to teach the boys Pictish words, too. At the pool, he helped Leif learn to swim. He supported the child’s belly with his hand, chuckling as he splashed his spindly arms and legs about with abandon.
Suddenly, Ailsa ran to her clothes and retrieved an arrow. Notching it quickly, she raised it skyward. He followed her gaze. A flock of geese flew in above them in a V form. A moment later, a pair of birds dropped from the sky. She whooped with glee. A goose gave much nourishment, two would bring even more.
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