He stopped in mid-dress, one boot on, another hovering in the air. He looked from me to the boot and back again. “I left our salmon hanging in a tree. I thought you might be hungry.”
“Oh.”
He lifted my chin with his hand and kissed me. “I will be back.”
He swung on his boot and disappeared into the darkness. I stared at the fire and then dropped my head in my hands. Gods, I was being a fool. The light of the moon threaded through my fingers. Perhaps the Goddess Aine had cast a spell over me, blurring the edges of wisdom with her lunar magic. I climbed back into my clothes, self-conscious that he should find me naked.
He returned with the fish, deboned and filleted. “I caught these earlier today.” He placed them on the fire.
I retrieved the satchel from my horse and presented Ealhswith’s wine. “This is a gift from a friend.” I set the flask down on the log. “To celebrate our…” What—tryst? Future? I grimaced. “To us,” I ended succinctly, picking the flask back up and taking a healthy swig.
“To us,” he said, taking the proffered liquid and downing a good measure.
We ate and drank in silence.
By the time the wine was finished, I was feeling warm and languorous. “You’ve been to Francia and Ireland, but where is home?”
“I am from Västergarn, Gotland, an island off the eastern coast of Sweden. My grandfather is jarl there.” He leaned against the log, the fire between us. “And you are from England.”
“I live a day’s ride from here. It was quite the adventure to meet you this evening.” I proceeded to tell him about Ealhswith and her daring plan to help me with my deception.
“I am forever in her debt.” He poked the fire with a stick, sending a procession of hot orange embers floating upward. “I had not thought of the means necessary for you to meet me. I was focused solely on what it took to make my way back to you.”
It hadn’t occurred to me there would be challenges for him, either, but I felt rather pleased with the notion that he had gone to some length to see me again. “What could possibly stop a Viking from getting what he wants?”
The distance between us evaporated, and he pulled me onto his lap, my skirt rucked up to my waist, his intentions hard and clear beneath me.
“Nothing,” he said, and proved it.
* * *
When morning intruded on our sanctuary, the sun blazing a reminder that our time was up, I hadn’t slept a wink, greedy to hold onto and savor every drop. Alrik, however, was fast asleep.
I shifted as silently as I could, placing my elbow just beside his ear. Watching his breath for any sign of waking, I lifted myself until I could rest my head in my hand and gaze down at his beautiful face. He was absolutely perfect. I could easily imagine the gods creating him in their image, carefully chiseling each feature out of the earth. Methodically carving the oval curve of his face, sculpting his high cheekbones, dipping their quills, and anointing his face with golden highlights, frosting eyebrows, lashes, upper lip, and jawline. My gaze lingered on his neatly trimmed beard, a beard that, only moments before, had been grazing my neck. That slight divergence in thought sent shivers up my back. I drew my attention higher, admiring his soft, full mouth. Lips that had kissed every inch of my body, leaving no freckle or mole undiscovered.
Desire kindled and I shifted, brushing my thigh against his. He roused slightly at the touch, and a stray tendril of hair fell across his cheek. I reached out and tucked it behind his ear, letting my finger chart a path along the side of his neck.
I sighed in repletion and settled back under the blankets, drawing myself closer to his body. He stirred and pulled me tighter to him. He smelled of musk, and leaves, the ocean, and the night. He was a creature untamed and wild, and his raw energy roused a constant wave of passion in me. I traced the outline of a small scar on his chest. His body quivered from the touch. Emboldened, I ran my finger down the middle of his chest to his stomach and the mass of flaxen curls that betokened possibilities slumbering mere inches lower. I paused, resting my hand on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.
A sign of great encouragement rose up from those curls. I laughed. “You weren’t asleep, were you?”
“No,” he admitted, rolling on top of me.
Cupping my breasts, he leaned down and paid considerate attention to my nipples. His tongue circled and flicked the tight, strained tips. His mute kisses moved thoroughly down my body until they reached my right thigh. He slid down, lying between my legs, his breath hot and moist against my skin. His fingertips brushed up and down my leg. I shivered with anticipation.
“Are you cold?” He looked up at me over the gentle slope of belly and breasts.
“Yes.”
He blew softly between my legs. “Would you like me to make you warmer?”
I nodded. My voice escaped me.
His tongue caressed me slowly but purposefully.
Fever surged through my body. I closed my eyes. Red flames danced beneath my eyelids. I didn’t think I would ever be cold again.
* * *
“I don’t want this to end.” My ear rested on his chest, and I snuggled into his side. Lying on his back, he held me firmly to him with one arm. His hand, fingers splayed, was planted squarely on my rump, cupping it effortlessly like it belonged there.
We were silent for some time. The ocean breeze, laden with damp and heavy with moisture and brine, lifted the forest’s leaves in its embrace and left them quivering in its absence. The birds sang, calling out in eager anticipation, waiting for a lusty reply. All around me life ebbed and flowed. The world was moving, getting on with its day, but I wanted to freeze this moment forever. I wanted to lose myself in the rhythm of his heartbeat, the texture of his breath.
He pulled away. “It is time to go.” He got up, his broad back to me, and started to dress.
I retrieved my clothes from the log, breaking the spell and closing the door on this fantasy once and for all.
After disbanding camp, we sat down to eat a light breakfast of bread and cheese. He didn’t say a word. In fact, he didn’t even look at me.
I wasn’t sure why he was being so cold. I had thought this meant something to him, that perhaps I had meant something to him. But the more I watched him ignore me, the more determined I was to leave, to put this whole disorienting experience behind me.
We had shared a thrilling moment in time, and I would never regret it, but I tried to make this assignation into something it wasn’t. This connection was merely a fleeting, visceral experience. No ties, no questions, no commitments. Being with Alrik was wonderful, but we started and ended with one night, nothing more than that.
The sun had risen higher, the brilliance of morning done. If I left now, it would be dark enough by the time I returned to Bath. My eyes swept over to where he sat, still silent, still rigid. He was right. It was time to go.
I tucked the rest of my uneaten breakfast into the satchel and fastened it to the saddle. I led my horse out of the clearing, back to the beach, away from his silence.
Near the edge of the tree line, his hand reached out from behind me and grabbed my arm, spinning me around.
“I cannot let you go.” He grasped my other arm and held me there, searching my face. “On Odin’s eye, I do not know how to make this work, but I must see you again.”
The look of pain and urgency on his face made my heart beat faster. Hope surged to the surface. “I want to be with you. But it’s impossible.” He drew me forward, the soft wool of his tunic warm against my cheek.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To Sweden. Be my wife.”
I backed away from him. “I can’t leave England.”
“I can give you a good home, a good life.”
“I…” I faltered. This proposal, this man was everything I had ever wanted. But it meant traveling to a distant land, away from my family, my people. “I can’t.”
He paused. “I will sail back to I
reland, band with my brother once more in his fight against the Irish, and in three months’ time, I will return.” He grabbed my horse’s reins and led us both onto the beach. “That will give you plenty of opportunity to pine for me and change your mind.”
His ship was drawn up on shore. Its crimson sail was furled, and thirty shields painted in brilliant reds, blues, and yellows covered the oar ports. Several men milled about on the beach, others were engaged on the boat, and all were just as frightening as the ship. Large, unshaven, and unkempt, each man carried some sort of implement of mortality. I looked at them warily. Could this be my fate?
I rested my hand on Alrik’s arm, making him pause. “I promise to be here when you return, but I won’t leave England—not in three months’ time, or six.”
He flashed a confident, knowing smile. “We will see.” He lifted me onto my horse and laughed. “I will see you on the third full moon, Seiðkana.” He slapped my horse’s rump, and I sped off, blazing down the beach—away from the Viking ship, away from Alrik, and away from a potentially glorious future.
ELEVEN
Ealhswith’s face was flushed and damp with perspiration. “Where is the rutting swine? I’ll rip his cock off!” She collapsed back against the pillows, the contraction easing.
It had been a fortnight since I was with Alrik, and much to Ealhswith’s dismay, the babe had taken its time arriving. The midwife attending the birth was a spritely woman. Round, squat, and rosy as an apple, she whistled tunelessly, fussing over Ealhswith, propping and fluffing pillows, fetching water, and feeding the hearth.
The room was stifling. I wore a thin underdress, but the soft linen clung to my back, and sweat dripped between my breasts. The walls of Ealhswith’s room were covered in thick woolen wall-clothing, dyed in brilliant reds, yellows, and greens. They were a godsend in winter when drafts threatened to chill every inch of your skin, but it was May and, combined with the heat of the hearth, the extra insulation made me feel like a pillar of wax melting onto the chair. Formless, I sat beside Ealhswith’s bed, caught in the throes of anxiety and her relentless grip on my arm.
I felt helpless, unable to ease her pain, and I was terrified. Thoughts of my mother holding the lifeless body of my newborn brother, her weakened body caught in the grip of death, were embedded in my mind. I watched the midwife carefully, judging her reactions and mood for any signs of alarm. As long as she was happy and calm, I could maintain a shred of composure.
“Get it out!” Ealhswith curled into a ball on her side. I brushed sweat-soaked hair from her face and stroked her hand.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” I mumbled to the midwife as she whistled by.
“M’lady is doing just fine. Won’t be long now.”
No sooner had Ealhswith stilled than she was writhing again. “I’ll make him a eunuch. As Christ is my witness, I’ll tear it off with my teeth!” She leaned forward on the bed and screamed to wake the dead.
My heart leapt into my mouth and hung there, pounding. The midwife merely laughed.
“Changing my mind, m’lady—’tis time.” She moved to Ealhswith’s side and helped her down onto the floor over a soft pile of clean linens. There was a rope looped over a beam in the ceiling and she handed the ends to Ealhswith. “Up on your feet, m’dear.” She positioned Ealhswith into a low squat, with me sitting and supporting her from behind. “Let’s bring this willful child into the world.”
After a half hour of insults, threats, blasphemy, and pushing, Aethelflaed, a beautiful baby girl, was born.
With mother and baby wrapped up in blankets, the one cooing, the other suckling, I removed the sodden underdress, pulled on my kirtle, and left the confines of the room, seeking fresh air. The sky was overcast, but there was a warm breeze coming from the west. I filled my lungs gratefully and leaned against the wall.
The manor at Bath was bustling. Men repaired fences and buildings, the woodworker turned bowls on a pole lathe, selling his wares near the gate. Several women worked outside on standing looms at the weaving shed. Children laughed and squealed, chasing frantic chickens. Cattle were milked in their pens, pages scurried to the kitchens with jugs so the maids could churn butter and form cheese. And pacing back and forth outside the main entrance to the hall was the new father, Alfred. He had arrived a few days before, expecting to see his newly delivered child. I waved in his direction, and he bounded toward me.
“How does she fare?”
“Both Ealhswith and your daughter are resting well.”
His shoulders dropped away from his ears. “The midwife came and announced the birth in the hall but would not permit me to see them.” He looked longingly at the door, but then something changed. He inhaled sharply. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and his pallor washed ashen white.
“Are you all right?” I asked, reaching out to him.
He placed one hand against the wall; the other gripped his middle. “Just a small discomfort.”
I was about to run for the manor leech, but the pain seemed to pass as quickly as it came on. He took a moment to compose himself, brushing down the front of his vibrant orange tunic, and then his eyes once again focused on the door to his wife’s chamber.
“Come,” I said, taking his hand. It was cold and clammy. “I’ll sneak you in. The midwife has gone to harry the kitchen for some pottage.”
“Thank you.” His smile was full now, and I couldn’t help but appreciate how handsome he was. His hair was the color of chestnuts. His beard, a shade lighter, was flecked with blond. He had a youthful exuberance that twinkled through his eyes.
I opened the door to Ealhswith’s chambers and gave a cursory look around. Certain the way was clear, I turned to her. “There’s someone here who wishes to see you.”
She looked up from the bundle asleep in her arms, and her eyes alighted upon her husband. A tender smile graced her face as she reached out her hand. He seemed to float toward it. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her forehead and knelt at her side, eyes fixed on the face of his new daughter. I closed the door behind me.
“Mistress Avelynn.”
I turned to see Aluson, Wedmore’s messenger, approaching me.
“A letter has arrived from Francia for you.”
He handed me a well-traveled piece of parchment. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. With a slight tremor, I opened the letter. It was written by a monk at the St. Denis monastery.
Dearest Lady Avelynn, Daughter of Eanwulf, Ealdorman of Somerset, I am writing to inform you of a sickness that has afflicted your father’s party. It is my sincerest regret to inform you that two men have succumbed to their illness: Wulfstan, son of Wulfstan, the Earl of Devon; and Willibald, son of Willibroad, ironworker of Wedmore. Your most noble father, humbled before the most glorious God, prays for the deliverance of their souls unto Him, asking for His beneficent mercy. He asks you send his sincerest condolences to the families of these brave men, who in selflessness served Him and His humble servant, your esteemed King Aethelred, here on this earthly plane. May God receive their souls.
It is also with great sadness that I inform you that your brother, Edward, has taken ill and is too weak with fever to continue on to the most Eternal City of Rome. Your betrothed, Demas of Wareham, has also been stricken. I have taken it upon myself to see to their recovery, or if it be His will, their passing. If by the grace of God they should be healed, they will return home. I ask for your prayers and thoughts for their welfare and hastened recovery.
Farewell in Christ,
Brother William, St. Denis
I slid down the wall, my skirt crumpling onto the dusty sand.
“Are you well, my lady?” Aluson stepped forward, but I raised a hand, imploring a moment.
Dear Gods, this letter would have taken over a fortnight to reach me. While I was lost in Alrik’s embrace, Edward could have been struggling for his last breath. He could right now be dead, buried in foreign soil far from home.
I rubbed a rough hand across
my face. And Wulfstan, the sweet, kindhearted boy who had sought my hand … dead. I thought about when I had seen him last at Christmas, eager to embark on the hunt. How full of life he had been. How was this possible?
A light mist had started to fall, just enough to dampen my upturned face and make my hair heavy and limp. I closed my eyes. I knew I should feel concern for Demas; after all, he was suffering too, perhaps teetering upon the edge of death, but deep inside I felt a sense of hope. That didn’t mean I wanted him dead—I wasn’t that cold and heartless—but perhaps he could be too weak to return to England. Maybe he would head back to Rome, where the clime would better suit his weakened condition. Maybe he would stay there.
I exhaled, chastising myself for my insensitivity and selfishness, and promised to say a prayer to the Goddess for his soul and well-being.
I opened my eyes and peered through the tiny droplets that hovered on the edge of my lashes. The sky was darkening. I needed to get home. I had to inform Wulfstan’s and Willibald’s families of the men’s death, and I wanted to be there in case Edward returned.
I turned to the young man waiting patiently for my response. “Aluson, get to the kitchens, take what sustenance you need, and have them pack two satchels for us. Inform the stable master that we will leave at first light on the morrow. You can sleep in the hall tonight.”
“Of course, my lady.” He bowed and ran off.
Aluson and his twin sister Dearwyne had been orphaned when they were only seven years of age. My father had taken them in and found a place for them in the manor. Aluson was lean, tall, and restless—admirable traits in a swift messenger—while Dearwyne had a keen eye and a quiet, serene focus that belied her years. At fourteen, she was better than many of the older women in weaving and embroidery.
I knocked softly on Ealhswith’s door. Waiting a moment, I opened it fully and stepped inside. The room was still stifling and the small family remained intimately absorbed in one another.
I cleared my throat. “I must leave.”
Ealhswith turned in my direction. “Why?”
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