A Heart Enslaved

by A. M. Westerling

  His joy seeped away. What was she doing here? What torment was she to bring him now? His legs refused to obey and he stood there as a statue.

  She moved to the edge of the ring, coming to a standstill between two boulders. She laid her hand on one as if she needed to draw courage from its sharp edged bulk.

  “I congratulate you.” She smiled at him, a trembling smile more question than statement.

  Clearly, thought Thorvald, she didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect from him. Yet she stood there boldly.

  Her smile warmed his heart and irrational hope surged anew within him.

  Nay, he reminded himself harshly. She toys with you. You know she means to return to Frisia and resume her life without you.

  Accordingly, he tamped down the hope and hardened his heart, pressing his lips together to force his face into an unfeeling mask.

  The smile on her lips died and she swallowed, then dashed a tear from her eye. Obviously gathering her courage, she pulled up her shoulders. “I have something to tell you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “A Viking court of law is not the place.” Thorvald’s cool gaze flicked over Gisela and her throat tightened at his apparent indifference.

  Odso, he was not at all pleased with her. Again she had disappointed him, had surely disobeyed one of his Viking laws. She almost turned and ran.

  Nay, she scolded herself, she stood here before him and would speak her piece. “Could we find a place elsewhere to talk?”

  “Agreed, you delay the court with your conversation,” interrupted the chieftain. He tilted his head to one side and motioned to Gisela. “Take off your scarf.”

  Gisela obliged him.

  “By the color of your hair you could be Norse and so should know our laws. Who are you that you interfere in this man’s trial?”

  “I am a foolish woman who knows naught of Viking ways. This man stole me from my home in Frisia and I demand restitution. This is your court and where I make my demands.”

  “You? You’re a slave.”

  “Nay, she is a free woman.” Thorvald stepped forward.

  “Then don’t waste our time on matters of your heart.” The chieftain waved them away.

  Matters of your heart? Surely that was nothing but a sour jest, Gisela thought.

  Thorvald took her elbow and they moved away, towards the path leading to Kaupang. “Let’s walk, then,” he said. “Before my leg stiffens up.” He leaned over and massaged his thigh around the edges of the wound.

  “Does it pain you?”

  He didn’t answer and for that she felt foolish. Of course it pained him, he limped.

  “Why are you here and not sailing south?” he asked. “Did the merchant refuse after all?”

  “Nay, not the merchant. I declined of my own will. I chose to stay.”

  “What drew you to remain here?” He shook his head. “It’s not your homeland.”

  Here is her chance, she thought. Now she could tell him of her love for him. She slowed but two men following them jostled her, scowling as they did so. “You block the path,” one said as they pushed past.

  “Can you not see this man is hurt?” Gisela retorted. It made her realize this wasn’t the right occasion or location to bare her heart.

  “Not our concern,” grunted the other man and the two moved away.

  “Why are you here?” Thorvald waited for her to respond.

  Because I love you. Would he believe her? Or would he remind her she’d done nothing but spurn him? Stalling, she racked her brains for another, plausible reason.

  “You brought me here,” she said hesitantly. “The least you can do is bring me home. You did say you were a civilized man.”

  “Why would I? I found passage for you to get home. It’s not my fault you didn’t go. Or have you come to the realization there is nothing for you there besides a pile of ash?”

  His shadowed eyes guarded his thoughts, but his words wounded and for a second she doubted her decision to share her feelings for him. She stopped, pulling her elbow free from his grip to look at him.

  Pain and fatigue rimmed his face; for that she excused his churlish manner. She pressed on. “I am a free woman and can do as I please. That’s what you said. So it pleases me to hire you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I have no interest in your position.”

  “You return to your sea faring ways. Where’s the difficulty in bringing me home? Do that and then go on your way. I will pay.”

  “Really? How do you propose to pay me?” His calculating gaze swept her from head to toe as if to suggest ‘I know very well how you can pay.’

  The look in his eyes caused her breasts to tingle with the remembrance of their night together. Flushed with embarrassment at his meaning and at her body’s response, she held up her key. “With this.”

  He shrugged. “I find no value in an old, rusted key.”

  “It belongs to a chest buried in the grounds of Falkenstead. Within this chest lie many valuables. Take me there and I shall pay you handsomely.”

  He shook his head. “I have need only for food in my belly and a ship beneath my feet. I have no need for money.”

  “But you have need for a purpose in your life. You’ve lost yours now that you’ve regained your good name. Return a poor woman to her home.”

  “You persist like a wolf tracking its prey.” A sudden smile curved his lips. “Very well. I accept your offer.”

  Delight blazed through her at his smile, and it emboldened her. Now. Now she could tell him of her love for him.

  “Thorvald,” she whispered, lifting her hand and placing it on his chest.

  “Aye?” But the moment passed as, eyes narrowed, he studied first her then the hand pressed against his upper body.

  She couldn’t respond. His gaze silenced her as effectively as if he’d placed a hand over her mouth, and she jerked her hand away.

  “Arni waits,” he said and limped away.

  Arni? His concern was for Arni? Gisela watched him walk away before hurrying to catch up. Despondent, she trudged alongside Thorvald. What had she gotten herself into? Being on board the Happy Wife with a surly Thorvald would be difficult.

  Gisela’s fragrance teased Thorvald as they walked back to Arni, Magnus, and the Happy Wife.

  Thorvald’s morose thoughts closely tracked Gisela’s, if but only he knew it. What had he done, to agree to take her home? He faced days of sorrow and torment knowing she was near to him yet not his for the taking.

  She wanted her life in Frisia, not him and his Viking ways.

  * * *

  “This is where we part ways, my friend.” Thorvald clasped Arni’s arm amidst the hubbub of the harbor. “You’ve found a ship to take you?”

  Arni nodded. “A fisherman in need of an extra set of hands.”

  “Then go and may the gods protect you.

  “And you.” The two friends clasped arms again, then Arni turned away. Then turned back. “When will you take her to wife?”

  The question didn’t surprise Thorvald. He knew Arni’s penchant for speaking his mind. He shrugged. “She won’t have me,” he replied.

  Arni sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “How do you know? Have you asked her?”

  Thorvald stared dumbfounded at his friend. “Why would I? She despises Norsemen.”

  “Aye, others maybe, but not you.”

  Thorvald stared at him and Arni sighed again. “Can you not see what is plain as the nose on your face?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “She is still here. Was it not her who tended to your leg?” Arni pointed to Thorvald’s thigh, where the linen bandage was outlined through the fabric of his leggings. He spoke again, articulating every word carefully as if to ensure Thorvald heard and understood. “She chose to remain.”

  “I thought that was to be obstinate. To prove she behaved as a free woman.”

  “Think what you want then, I can’t fix your stupidity.” He pointed to a lon
gship at the end of the wharf. “They’re waiting for me. Farewell.”

  Thorvald watched Arni stump towards the fishing boat and clamber on board. He lifted a weathered hand in one last salute to Thorvald; Thorvald returned the gesture.

  He thought back to his conversation with Arni. Was Arni right? Did Gisela remain because of her feelings for him? She had wanted to tell him something at the battlefield. He’d not encouraged it. He remembered the pleading in her eyes, the way she’d placed a slender hand on his chest. Maybe she’d changed her mind about the ways of his people. Maybe she loved him.

  What should he do? Declare himself first and perhaps draw her scorn, dousing all hope? Or wait?

  Wait, he decided. When the occasion presented itself, he could remind her of her desire to speak to him. Maybe that would prod her tongue to share what was on her mind.

  * * *

  The journey home was as difficult as Gisela expected. Even though Magnus was a familiar and jovial companion, Kraki, the man Thorvald found to serve as deckhand in place of Arni, unnerved her with his sly looks and pointed features that reminded her of a rat.

  Too, she hadn’t found the courage to share her feelings for Thorvald. If anything, his continuing proximity made her more hesitant. In all likelihood he wouldn’t believe her declaration of love after all her protestations to the contrary.

  Every day brought them closer to her homeland and if she did not speak soon, the opportunity would be lost.

  The little knorr’s motion did not agree with her and most mornings she spent retching over the sides. Her days were spent bailing and occasionally handling the oars as they pulled into and away from shore. Between her illness and exertion, by the time night fell fatigue claimed her and she slept as soon as her head hit the deck.

  Thorvald behaved much as she expected. Not that he was unpleasant to her, just distant, as if he held himself back. Almost as if he waited for something from her but she didn’t have the faintest idea what. They went their own ways as much as possible on the small confines of the deck.

  One night when the sunset splashed across the sky, they sat together on the beach to watch the beautiful pinks rippling across the indigo heavens, deepening into maroon and finally grey. The grandiose sight moved her, made her feel charitable to Thorvald.

  Gisela turned to him. “Why did you give Sun Meadow to Karl? Is that not what you wanted?”

  “Because I am not my father’s blood son. I’m not the rightful heir. Karl carries the bloodline, and Sun Meadow will be his. Besides, I do have what I want.”

  Her heart lurched as he turned to gaze at her. Did he mean her? “And that is..?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “I’ve proved my innocence and regained my good name in Agdir.”

  “Does that matter now? You choose not to live there.”

  “Does it matter? You Frisians are a funny lot. You’re the one who told me it was important.”

  His intent gaze discomfited her and she looked away, to the foam tipped breakers crashing onto the sand. “What do you mean to do now? After you leave me, of course.”

  “Go a-Viking. Rekindle my arrangement with Rorik. There are more lands to be seen.”

  “You embrace the seafarer’s life, then.”

  “Aye.” He inclined his head and fell silent.

  Oddly, though, he took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. With his other hand, he stroked her fingers gently. She relished the warmth of his fingers, relished the intimacy. This would be the time to share her feelings for him, she thought and opened her mouth to speak.

  “Look.” Thorvald pointed. “The North Star. The friend of all sailors. It shows the way.”

  She shut her mouth. Again the moment had passed.

  He relishes the life of a sailor, she told herself. Not only did he say it now, he also said it to the chieftain. He won the fight and could have reclaimed Sun Meadow but hadn’t. She’d wondered why he gave it to Wormtongue, but now she knew. Thorvald stepped away an honorable man, knowing it didn’t belong to him after all.

  It must be true then, that he sought the sailing life again. He wouldn’t want to stay with her and help her rebuild Falkenstead. Best she held her tongue. She wouldn’t keep him from the life he wanted, of exploration and excitement.

  She remained silent. Savor the moments, she told herself. Soon he will be gone from your life forever and there will be none more to share. She squeezed her fingers and felt his answering press.

  They sat in companionable silence until Gisela’s head nodded with weariness, falling eventually to her chest. Her lips fluttered and a faint snore trickled through the cool evening air.

  Thorvald almost laughed out loud at the unladylike sound. Yet he found it the most beautiful music in the world. He cocked his head to listen before tugging her closer to settle her head in his lap and adjusting her robe around her.

  Thorvald stroked her hair, heart bursting with sorrow. He lied. He didn’t want to continue his life a-Viking but it was easier to let her think that.

  He, a Norseman, did not belong in her world at Falkenstead. Even if he could convince her, he would not be accepted, would always be viewed with suspicion as the murdering marauder.

  The moon crept through the sky and dawn streaked the horizon before he finally pulled away.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Happy Wife bumped into the river’s shore, sending a shiver through the decking, and Gisela clutched the oar handle to stop from tumbling over the side. Excitement made her feel faint and her nerves set up a steady drumming in her stomach. Home. She was home. Falkenstead and hopefully Martinga were only a few miles away. She gathered her belongings and, at Thorvald’s nod, clambered overboard.

  “Wait,” Thorvald said to Magnus and Kraki as he and Gisela disembarked. “I won’t be long, it’s not far.” He slid Odin’s Kiss into his belt.

  They followed the familiar dirt path through trees now yellowed with autumn’s glory. A smile lifted her lips as she recognized where they were. Here the path branched towards the mill, the one where she, Martinga, and her father were to have rendezvoused. A bit farther, it headed upriver to the church, and finally the fork where it led straight to Falkenstead.

  Steady, she told herself. Falkenstead does not stand. Martinga may be dead. Prepare yourself for disappointment. Yet her steps hastened and she hurried on until her breath rasped in her throat and blood pounded her head.

  When they reached the edge of the woods, she stopped and gazed her fill. True, only a charred pile remained where her home once stood, but two huts had been rebuilt. Smoke wisped lazily from the roof of one. Beside it a pen woven of saplings corralled a few goats, and a staked cow chewed cud.

  Falkenstead seemed vacant, yet someone worked the ripened field—a scythe lay propped against a pile of wheat. Other piles of wheat dotted the now harvested field.

  She couldn’t wait to get away from Thorvald and the brooding man he had become. Since their evening watching the sun set, he said not a word to her, avoided her gaze, avoided any contact with her.

  How foolish of her to think she loved him, that he could ever love her in return. Sometimes she caught his gaze but couldn’t understand the constant sorrow filling it. Did he not have what he wanted? His good name? A ship and stout men to sail it?

  “Wait here,” she said. “I wish to go on alone.”

  “Stay here? Nay, you promised me riches. I’ll not let you out of my sight.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes; his jest warmed her heart.

  She giggled. “Catch me, then.” And sprinted off, towards the yard where she knew her chest to be. She rounded what remained of the palisade, looking for the water well. It survived the attack and appeared to be in use, for a bucket with a coiled rope tied to its handle sat on the knee-high rock wall surrounding it.

  She headed for it and pulled up in horror as she drew closer.

  Only a patch of disturbed dirt showed where her chest had been buried. Her heart sank. Someone ha
d found it. Who? Or could it mean Martinga lived, for she and her father were the only two who know its location? If so, where was she? The farmstead appeared deserted.

  Defeated, Gisela tossed her sack to the ground and slumped down beside it, propping her elbows on her knees and holding her face in her hands. Tears seeped out from beneath her fingers and she fought to keep the sobs at bay. How could she pay Thorvald? Would he think she’d lied to him? How could she rebuild Falkenstead with no resources?

  Thorvald moved up beside her and dropped to his knees. “Gisela?” Concern wound through his puzzled voice and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “It’s gone.” She lifted her face to his and wiped away the tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t pay you.”

  He shrugged. “Absolve me of guilt, then. I’ve returned you to your home as you asked. That is enough.”

  “Gisela? Is that you?” A plump dark haired young woman burst from the nearest hut and darted towards Gisela.

  “Martinga!” Gisela jumped up and, arms outstretched, ran towards her. “It is you! Oh, I cannot believe it. I so hoped to see you again but some days it didn’t seem possible.”

  They clasped each other and rocked back and forth, tears streaming down their cheeks.

  “It’s a story I would like to hear.” Martinga finally pulled away and wiped her cheeks with the corner of her apron. A smile creased her rounded cheeks; happiness radiated from her and her dusky brown eyes glowed with pleasure. Their father’s eyes, Gisela realized with a start. How odd she’d never noticed that before, but it made her feel as if her father walked among them still.

  The same happiness filled Gisela and she knew her lips, too, stretched wide in a smile. It was so good to be home. A damaged home, yes, but a home with Martinga. Now that she knew her sister lived, all would be good.

  “I’ll save the story for later.” Gisela gestured to the tall man waiting behind her. “Thorvald makes haste and I mean to pay him before he leaves. Where’s my chest?”