Additionally, only a waterfowl’s feathers could be used as fletches for arrows; the oils that kept the bird warm and watertight also meant that arrows would fly straight and true in most weather. The fat rendered from a goose was used for making tallow candles and waterproofing clothing. The rich, sweet meat tasted delicious and produced thick gravy. Thorolf’s mouth watered at the thought.
Gathering their belongings, they went to find the fallen birds which were in the meadow below, and so they ate their meal there. Afterwards, they romped with the boys and play fought until Ailsa suggested it was time for them to return home.
His little cat seemed happier that day, much more than she had been of late. Since their return, she’d been quiet and withdrawn. He suspected she was still grieving for her wolf, and took care to be extra attentive to her needs. The children had brightened her smile and enlivened her spirit. It was a good day.
Thorolf returned the boys to their father. On his way back home, he found himself pondering whether he, too, might be blessed with sons. He would like children—marriage led a man to expect them, and he was no different than most. He hoped Ailsa shared his expectations.
Thorolf arrived to find Ailsa had already prepared one of the geese for cooking. She acknowledged him with a smile as she stood and chopped root vegetables ready to add to the mix in the cauldron. He went and stirred the meat. It should have a good rendering of fat that they could put to good use on the morrow. When the pot was cold he would lift it from the top. Seating himself beside the warmth of the fire he gathered up the pile of feathers.
Only the outside flight feathers could be used for fletches, and so he began the unenviable task of sorting out the primary feathers that would be used to make fletches for arrows. The soft, downy feathers could refill a pillow for their pallet.
“If the weather remains fair, I might go foraging tomorrow,” Ailsa said.
He picked up a hint of anxiousness in her voice that concerned him and wondered if she planned doing something secretive.
“Oh? Where did you think to search for game?” he asked, not raising his eyes from his task but listening intently to the tone of her reply.
“Oh, I hadn’t really thought, perhaps along the woodland edge?”
“You know my rule, no entering the forest alone. I was lenient after I caught up with you last time because of…well, you know why, but next time, know I shall be more severe should you deliberately break the rule.” He watched her face as he made the threat.
She avoided his gaze, looking shifty as she assured him that she had no intention of entering the forest alone. He continued with his chore, all the while pondering what she might be up to. Perhaps she simply wished to visit Shadow’s grave? If that were the case, then he would gladly accompany her.
“If you wanted to visit Shadow’s place of rest, I will escort you,” he told her.
“No, it is too soon for me to return there, but thank you.”
Thorolf stared at her suspiciously. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her answer was terse but not disrespectful.
Instantly on alert, he decided that he would follow her on the morrow. His wife was prone to trouble, and he was damned if he would allow her to wander into danger unprotected.
That night, he paid homage to her body. Time and again he brought her to the peak of ecstasy, leaving her hovering on the brink until the moment he took her with a single, powerful surge of his hips. As she screamed her release, he preened, hoping his neighbours heard her cries, thus appreciating his prowess at pleasuring his woman.
9
Ailsa left her husband sleeping, although she hated to deceive Thorolf after wrongly accusing him of murdering Shadow. She had to know if it was Irb that Thorolf had fought with on the day of the Viking raid upon the Nechtain tribe. She must know if Thorolf was indeed her husband, this need bordered on an obsession. Certain now that she loved him to the very depths of her soul, the thought they might not be man and wife ate at her night and day.
Shadow’s death had pushed all thoughts of the possibility that Irb might still live temporarily from her mind. After she’d spent time with Brandr’s sons, her curiosity returned. Playing games with the children had revived her anxiousness. It was all very well being told her new husband now replaced the previous, but how did that work if Irb still lived? How could she be truly married to Thorolf? If, as she suspected, she now carried his child, would it be legitimate?
Ailsa felt compelled to speak with one of the monks or Father Godfrey about the matter, yet it made sense first for her to establish whether Irb still lived. If she discovered he was dead, then her worry would cease, with no action necessary.
Once she was at the fringe of the Nechtain village, Ailsa crouched in the undergrowth to watch the people go about their daily chores. Most of the burnt, stone-walled cottages had been repaired with fresh rushes, cut to reroof, whilst others had opted to turf the top of their homes. The acrid smell of burning still lingered in the air. She witnessed only a few elderly men moving about. It was obvious the Vikings had successfully maimed most men of fighting age. The Nechtain were no longer a threat to her tribe that much was clear.
So far, she’d not seen Irb, but that did not mean he was not out there hiding somewhere. After a couple of hours of surveying them, she decided enough was enough. She was stiff from crouching for so long. If Irb had lived, it was likely he had been killed along with many of the other Nechtain men in the Viking raid. Chilled and hungry, Ailsa decided it was time to leave.
Frustrated by her lack of any proof either way, she turned to go. Clutching her bow, she crept out from the bush.
“Who do we have here? Ailsa, one of the two witches of Achnaryrie. Have you come to cast spells over us? Believe me, it will be a sweet revenge to burn you at the stake, especially after your pet Vikings came to flex their muscles and ruin us all.”
“Irb,” she gasped his name. Even though she had often wondered if he still lived, to find him here, alive, living in the enemy’s camp, was a dreadful shock.
His narrow face twisted his mouth a sneer. Narrowed eyes studied her with a cold gleam.
“Why did you leave me?” she asked the question that had always burned most in her mind.
He snorted. “The only reason I wed you at all was because none of the other women would so much as look at me, let alone bed me. I needed a woman. Even a changeling like you seemed a better fuck than no woman at all.”
“I was not…it was my sister…” She halted midsentence.
Ytha was no more a changeling than she. Ailsa felt ashamed she’d allowed herself to be pushed into naming either one of them as such.
“You know that is untrue,” she amended quietly.
“What I know is this, my Nechtain mother was shunned by your people, as was I. My mother died friendless. I owe the people of Achnaryrie nothing!”
“Your father,” she began, but he interrupted.
“That bastard cared not one whit for either of us!”
“He fed and clothed you. He wept for your mother when she died,” she protested.
He snorted. “All the while, he had another woman, here in Nechtain. I actually have a sister and family here. I confronted them, instead of the anger or recrimination I expected, they welcomed me into their home. This is where I belong, where I have always belonged. You have no idea how sweet it was to direct the raids against your hateful tribe!”
“So it was you who betrayed us all. How could you, Irb? I trusted you. I was your wife!” She took an angry step toward him.
Immediately, he pulled a knife from his belt. It was then that she noticed that he held his knife in his left fist. Ailsa glanced across at his right hand, noticing that Irb’s fingers were missing.
“A friendly visit from your butchering Vikings.”
He waggled his raw stumps in her face. She stepped forward and saw that they were almost healed over.
Irb reared backwards.
“Drop the
bow! Stay back, witch,” he yelled.
Alisa realised that she’d startled him and did as he asked. She held out her arms, palms up. Surely this man who had called her wife would not truly hurt her?
“You put a spell on me so that I accepted that mange-ridden creature you brought into our home,” he accused, his voice full of venom.
“You,” she gasped with sickening realisation. “It was you who killed, Shadow? How could you? How could you betray his trust that way?”
He grinned. “It was easy. The cur didn’t even bare his teeth at me.”
Bewildered, Ailsa stayed where she was, unable to understand how someone could be so malevolent, so incredibly cruel. He advanced upon her, the long, curved blade of the vicious knife held toward her at throat level.
“Witch!” he shouted and lunged.
Everything moved at lightning speed, Ailsa shuddered at the sudden roar that rent the air.
She looked beyond him, eyes wide with surprise as Thorolf leapt forward. Arm raised, he swung the mighty Ásgæirr in an arc. The shining blade caught the sunlight, blinding her momentarily so she could not see the outcome of the strike.
“Beware, Thorolf, he has a curved blade!” she screamed in warning, her heart pounding.
Irb spun about, then brought his blade up to block Thorolf’s second blow. Ailsa took advantage of the distraction to stagger back under the shelter of the undergrowth. Her feet scrabbled on forest debris and loose stones. She tucked herself right into the shrubbery, out of Irb’s reach. She tried to grab her bow, but it was too far away, almost in the path of the fighting men. Her mouth was dry as she watched on in terror while the two circled one another.
The men moved nearer to her, and she shrank back, her foot catching the side of a rock which almost caused her to stumble. Regaining her balance, Ailsa bent and grasped the stone, attempting to creep up behind Irb.
What he lacked in brawn, Irb more than made up for with cunning. Constantly outmanoeuvring Thorolf’s parries, he darted in with quick slashes, withdrawing to a safe distance with a speed that shocked Ailsa.
Her moment came! Dashing forward, she clubbed Irb on the back of the neck; her short stature rendered her incapable of reaching his head. Irb staggered but quickly recovered, cursing Ailsa as she slipped back to the safety of the bush. With jeers and taunts, he mocked Thorolf, shouting foul insults which further enraged Ailsa. However, her Viking husband remained stony faced and silent, focused on watching his opponent with narrowed, intelligent eyes.
Ailsa felt helpless watching the men continue to circle one another. Whatever would she do if Irb actually managed to kill her beloved Thorolf?
With a suddenness that jerked Ailsa up onto the balls of her feet, ready to flee, Thorolf brought his sword down with a slash across Irb’s shoulders. Her first husband crumpled, then lay still. Hesitantly, she made her way out from the undergrowth, but as she came abreast of his body, he leapt to his feet, his arm snaking toward Thorolf’s half-turned back. Ailsa screamed in terror. Even before the echo of her shriek had faded, she found herself staring at Irb’s body folding in the opposite direction to his severed head. The gruesome sight combined with the sickly, copper smell of his blood overwhelmed her. Spinning away from the grisly scene, she vomited.
“Are you all right, little cat?” Thorolf called.
She moaned, unable to reply. Strong arms swept her up. He grabbed her bow and then ran with her clasped to his chest, moving at astonishing speed and agility for a man of his size. Ailsa wrapped her legs about his waist and clung on, the abhorrent scene she’d just witnessed tormented her.
Thorolf didn’t halt until they emerged within the boundaries of Achnaryrie land. Placing his wife back on her feet, he continued to hold her close, murmuring reassurance in his own tongue. She listened to the comforting rumble of his voice and felt the thud of his heart as it slowed, yet still he continued to hold her until the shock wore off.
Ailsa realised she was not distressed by Irb’s end. She had been anxious watching the two men fight, but her concern had been for Thorolf’s survival. It had been extremely unpleasant to see him butcher her first husband, but now the deed was done, she could relax knowing the cruel traitor was no more.
She held her Viking husband close, reassured by his warmth and presence, not daring to dwell on what might have been. Her thoughts turned once again to her faithful wolf, Shadow, who would not have perceived Irb as a threat. Her wolf had died because he’d trusted the man who’d helped raise him.
She determined that from that day forward she would never raise another wolf, or any other wild animal. It was wrong to allow a creature of the wilderness to trust mankind.
Thorolf’s brusque voice brought her back to the present.
“You know I must punish you for disobeying me and putting yourself into such danger,” he growled against her ear.
She tightened her grip around his hard waistline and gave a grunt of understanding. His warmth and comfort were all she needed right now. He stood with her clasped in his embrace, offering her his strength and support for as long as she needed. Finally, she loosened her grip and glanced up at him. There was loving sympathy in his gaze, but also something else—grim determination.
“’Twould be better to get this over and done with now and begin the morrow afresh,” he told her.
She grunted again. Perhaps punishment would dispel the pain writhing inside her? She fixed her gaze on his chiselled face.
“I love and trust you. Thank you for saving my life,” she said simply.
His features were set stern, but his expression looked sad.
“You heard Irb confess to killing Shadow?” she asked.
Thorolf nodded.
“He would have had no qualms about killing you in the exact same way.” He was brutally honest.
“I know. Thorolf, I am so ashamed that I doubted you. I understand now that you would never harm any wolf unnecessarily. Even your name, Thorolf, means Thor’s wolf. Yet it means more than that to you. I know that you see yourself as a man-wolf, don’t you? I had not realised what that meant to you. I am so sorry.”
“I accept your apology but I need to make you understand how fearful I felt today. I thought I was about to lose you, and all because you are too stubborn for your own good. Why did you even go there?”
She shrugged. “I want to be your true wife, but I did not feel I could be until I knew for sure that Irb had perished. The Christian religion would condemn me as a bigamist.”
He nodded in understanding. “You should have told me all of this and let me find him for you. Ailsa, you put yourself in grave danger. In my country a woman can divorce her husband. Is that what you wish?”
“Nay, I love you! Our wedding was a Christian ceremony and no divorce is allowed.”
“I love you too vif, but you disobeyed me, which means you also disrespected me. Your behaviour tells me you still distrust my judgement.”
She stared back, humbled by his conclusion. Guilt flooded her as she realised how he had perceived her actions.
“No-no, not at all…that was not-” she began a stumbling explanation.
“Go and cut switches for your punishment,” he interrupted, holding out his knife.
Ailsa recognised the wolf handle. She studied the intricate carving, remembering the day she had selected his knife from among the others when the Vikings were allotted brides. She was this man’s wife, and yet she had disobeyed him on various occasions, receiving very little retribution, other than a simple spanking. Ailsa realised that most Norsemen would have exacted a far heavier price for her repeated disobedience.
Irb was dead. She was able to relax knowing that she was, in truth, Thorolf’s wife. She accepted that she deserved his punishment for taking such a risk today. What better way to show him she accepted his dominion over her other than to meekly accept his chastisement and go quietly to do his bidding? Silently, she took the blade and turned away to cut the switches he requested.
C
areful in her selection, she chose three straight but springy willow sprigs and took care to smooth the knots and buds from each one, using his knife. Then she returned to Thorolf and held out her offering.
“You have chosen well. Remove your garments and grasp the trunk of that sapling.” He pointed to a young silver birch.
She did as he bid, pressing her forehead against the tree.
“Rump out,” he instructed.
Ailsa obeyed and presented her bottom. There was a faint whistle in the air, a smarting line of pain whipped across her buttocks. She gasped at the sting, rising to her toes.
“If I give you an instruction, I insist that you obey, for your life may well depend upon it,” he told her as another line of fire struck across her flesh.
“Y-yes, my l-lord,” she stuttered, trying hard to be brave.
“You have not been an obedient bride, but with the help of my strong right arm, you shall become so,” he scolded.
Another painful strike, but this time he caught the soft under skin of her backside. She cried out at the savage sting, hopping from foot to foot. He wrought havoc with the switches she’d cut, spanking her until she was a crying mess, reduced to begging for him to stop. To her astonishment, there was a reprieve.
“What happened to Shadow was not your fault, Ailsa,” he stated sounding kindly, consoling.
“It was…” she began. The strike of the switches halted further denial of her innocence.
“No, it was not,” Thorolf contradicted roughly. “Repeat what I say. It was not my fault that Shadow was killed.”
Ailsa simply could not. She stood sobbing, hugging the tree. A blazing ribbon of fire slashed her nether regions again. She shrieked.
“Say it, Ailsa!” he commanded.
“No!” she screamed. Scalding lines of retribution fell until the words forced themselves from her throat. “It was not my fault Shadow was killed!”
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