‘Please, my lord...’
‘Lie down.’
Trembling, she lowered herself on to the improvised rug. He joined her a few moments later, pulling a sealskin coverlet over both of them. Astrid shut her eyes, hardly daring to breathe. A large hand closed over hers.
‘Gods, you’re cold, woman. Why didn’t you sit nearer the fire?’
‘I...I did not think it my place.’
‘Your place is where I say it is.’ He paused. ‘Turn on to your side.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do as you’re told.’
Reluctantly she obeyed. Leif shifted position too and curled himself around her. Astrid didn’t move, her body as taut as a bowstring. An arm of steel drew her closer, locking her against him. Blood pounded in her ears. She closed her eyes, waiting for the coming assault. A dozen heartbeats passed and then a dozen more and nothing happened. Nothing, except for the gradual transference of warmth. She could feel it spreading through her body’s core and flowing outwards towards her chilled limbs. Slowly the trembling subsided.
‘Better?’ he asked.
Somehow she found her voice. ‘I... Yes.’
‘Good. It would be most inconvenient if you were to contract the ague.’
The astringent tone rallied her as nothing else could have but she suppressed the retort that came to mind, knowing that she didn’t dare offer any provocation. The lion might be in a benign mood now, but his power was unchanged. If he chose to use it... She took a deeper breath and tried to ignore the quivering sensation in the pit of her stomach.
However, it seemed that he had no such intent. The minutes passed without any attempt at greater intimacy, only the continued sharing of warmth. In spite of herself she began to relax a little. The sealskin cover was soft and cosy, smelling faintly of pine and salt. More disturbing was the scent of the man, a heady mingling of wool and smoke and musk that revived memories of another time when he had taken her in his arms, a time before betrayal and revenge. There might have been a chance for us then. The knowledge of what was lost filled her with sadness and yet here, cocooned against darkness and cold, she could almost pretend that his former feelings were not dead, that he was holding her because he cared.
* * *
Leif felt the tension ease in her but he remained still, not wanting to do anything that might revive it, knowing full well that her shivering was not just the effect of cold. His caustic remark about her catching an ague was a partial truth only. Up behind it were other reasons that were harder to explain. It was concerned with wanting to make amends; with wanting to make up lost ground; with wanting her. That last had never changed. Yet the gulf between them had widened to the point where he could hardly see the other side. Tonight had been an opportunity to do something about it. Of course, he had to let her believe she was still a slave, but this time his motives were good. He sought only to share his warmth, not to force her to do anything else. He would not be equated with that previous violation. From now on she was going to share his bed, but she would do it without fear. She would learn that he could be trusted. From now on, things were going to be different.
* * *
Astrid slept deeply and did not wake until after dawn. She stretched and smiled, enjoying the sensation of warmth and well-being, and then slowly opened her eyes. A pearl-grey sky revealed that day was not far advanced but the camp was already stirring. As memory returned she looked round for Leif but the place beside her was empty. She had no idea when he had left, or why he hadn’t roused her, but was grateful all the same. Grateful too that he hadn’t left her to fend for herself last night, and that he hadn’t forced any more on her than warmth. If he had, no one would have tried to stop him. In their eyes she was a thrall and his rights over her absolute. Yet he had waived those rights in favour of a simple act of kindness. For all he denied it, that was what it was.
Astrid got to her feet and, having straightened her clothing, set about folding the sealskin coverlet. She didn’t hear Leif approaching.
‘You slept well,’ he said.
‘Yes, I thank you.’ She paused. ‘You did not wake me.’
‘You looked so peaceful lying there.’
‘Oh.’ The thought that he had been watching her created a variety of emotions; none of them easy to identify.
‘In any case I was awake particularly early.’
She resumed folding the cover. ‘Will we reach Agder today?’
‘If everything goes according to plan.’
‘I have never been there before.’
‘It’s fair country; good pastureland and forest too.’
‘Does it not bother you, then, to leave it for long periods of time?’ she asked.
‘The steading is in good hands. Aron was one of my father’s crew until he lost a leg. Now he takes care of the farm and oversees the workforce. There are several other tofts round about, all belonging to various kin. From there I can draw on the support I need.’ He relieved her of the cover and stowed it in the sea chest. ‘In the meantime, we will be safe there.’
‘Will we?’
‘Have no fear. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
Her gaze met his. ‘Ah, yes, you always protect your interests, do you not?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Should I find that reassuring?’
‘That you should, since it means that no other man will touch you.’
The ramifications of that were enough to bring a tinge of colour to her face and neck. She ought to have been repelled, but the recollection of his arms around her, his nearness now and the expression in his eyes all contrived to create a sensation that was quite different. Unable to think of a reply, she looked away in confusion and began folding the rest of the bedding.
Chapter Thirteen
The steading in Agder was large and prosperous. As the ship entered the inlet Astrid could see several timber buildings and, beyond their shingled roofs, meadows in which cattle and horses grazed. Above the pasture, rowan and birch clad the lower shoulders of the hills before giving way to pine. After that the slopes grew steeper, leading the eye away to distant peaks of naked grey rock and patches of snow.
Their arrival had been noted. As the ship’s keel crunched on shingle several men hurried to meet it. One or two called out greetings which were as warmly returned. The crew lost no time in going ashore and soon the air rang with men’s voices. The atmosphere was definitely one of homecoming. Standing in the midst of the crowd, Astrid felt oddly isolated and more than ever aware of her ragged appearance which only served to underline her subservient position. She could only suppose that her life as a thrall was about to begin in earnest. It was a lowering thought.
‘Well, well. What have we here?’
She looked up quickly to see a stranger. He was big and heavy set, dark of hair and beard; dark too were the eyes surveying her now. Astrid looked away. A large hand reached for her chin and forced her head round.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all.’
Indignantly she jerked free of his hold. ‘Get your hands off me.’
He chuckled softly. ‘Spirited too. Better and better. I’ll wager she’s a lively piece in bed.’
‘Speculate all you like, Gunnar,’ said Leif. ‘The only bed she shares is mine and you’d do well to remember it.’
Gunnar spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘No offence meant, my lord. Just admiring the goods.’
Broad grins greeted this and Astrid’s cheeks turned crimson. However, she suppressed her anger, knowing better than to give it utterance. Leif seemed unperturbed.
‘You may look,’ he replied.
The rest was left unsaid. No one else ventured a comment, though the men exchanged knowing glances. Gunnar laughed and the moment passed. Presently the whole group headed towards the buildings Astrid had seen earlier. Since there was nothing else to be done she went with them.
As they drew nearer her eyes widened a little. This was indeed th
e house of a wealthy man. She guessed it must be at least thirty metres long. Great carved pillars flanked the main doors and carved finials projected like antlers above the shingled roof whence smoke curled up from a central hole.
No sooner had they reached the hall than a man appeared in the doorway. To judge from his grizzled hair and beard he was in his late forties, but, save for a wooden leg, he looked hale and strong. On seeing the new arrivals the man let out an exclamation of delight and hastened to meet them. Moments later Leif was embraced in a bear hug.
‘Welcome back, my lord! It has been too long.’
Leif grinned and clapped him on the back. ‘It’s good to see you too, Aron.’
‘What brings you here?’
‘A series of misadventures.’
Aron’s smile faded a little and he drew back looking properly now. As he took in the short hair and healing cut his eyes narrowed. ‘It would seem you have much to tell.’
Leif nodded. ‘That I do, but it will keep awhile.’
‘As you say. Meanwhile, come in and take a cup of ale.’
They entered a large living space where several women were preparing food by a central hearth. The smell of cooking mingled with wood smoke and the delicious aroma pervaded the whole space, reminding Astrid that she hadn’t eaten for many hours. Not wishing to be seen staring, she let her gaze move on to the wide sleeping benches running down the sides of the room. The household retainers and servants would sleep there. The rear of the hall was divided off into other living quarters for the jarl and his family.
‘Jarl Leif!’ A woman’s voice broke into her thoughts and she looked round to see a lady of middle years hurrying in via a side door. Her figure was full and her dark hair greying but her face was still handsome for all that. ‘Welcome back.’
‘Ingrid.’ Leif smiled. ‘You look well.’
‘I am well, I thank you.’ She returned his smile and then, as she too noticed his altered appearance, her smile faded a little. ‘You have been in the wars or I miss my guess.’
‘Wars enough,’ he replied.
‘Well, here you shall have a respite from fighting.’
‘A respite only. My enemies must be dealt with.’
‘Your enemies are ours, my lord.’
‘Don’t stand there gabbing, woman,’ said Aron. ‘Fetch ale for Jarl Leif and his men.’
‘Of course I’m going to fetch ale,’ she retorted. ‘What do you take me for?’
With that she hurried off. Aron shook his head. ‘I swear her tongue gets sharper with every passing year.’
Leif grinned. ‘She’s a fine woman and you know it.’
His companion scratched his chin meditatively. ‘She has her moments.’ He paused and glanced at Astrid. ‘Speaking of fine women, where did you get that one?’
‘I carried her off.’
‘Ah, yes, of course. She’d be a welcome addition in any man’s bed.’
‘I didn’t take her just to warm my bed. She’s instrumental to my plans.’
Under the weight of the blue-grey gaze Astrid bridled. His manner towards her might have softened a little but otherwise nothing had changed.
‘Is she indeed?’ Aron regarded him in frank curiosity. ‘Well, well. I look forward to hearing this.’
Just then Ingrid returned with two thralls carrying cups and ale, and the conversation turned to other things. When the men had refreshed themselves Aron told them where to stow their gear. For a moment or two Leif looked on. Then he summoned Ingrid and spoke some words for her alone. She heard him in silence and then nodded.
‘As you wish, my lord.’ She looked at Astrid. ‘Come with me.’
For the space of a few heartbeats Astrid met Leif’s gaze but he merely jerked his head towards the rear of the hall. ‘Go.’
Taking a deep breath, she followed the older woman, wondering what her allotted tasks were going to be. They went through the rear of the hall, passing several curtained sleeping places, and out through a back door towards another smaller building. To Astrid’s astonishment it was the bathhouse.
‘You can wash here,’ said Ingrid. ‘There is water, soap and comb. In the meantime, I will fetch you some clean clothes.’
Without waiting for a reply she left again. Astrid looked around in bemusement but, nothing loath, began to remove her makeshift gown. The water was cold but she didn’t care. The chance to be clean was too strong a lure. It was a luxury to have good quality soap too: beechwood ash and goat fat instead of the harsher lye. She scrubbed herself all over until her skin was pink, then combed out her hair before making use of the linen towel.
Ingrid returned with an armful of garments and a pair of leather shoes. ‘Try these. They are likely near your size.’
Astrid thanked her and turned her attention to the clothing. There was a clean white shift, and a fine yellow woollen gown with a shorter russet overdress edged with green decorative binding. The shoes were slightly big but not unduly so, and a vast improvement on going barefoot.
Ingrid surveyed her curiously. ‘That’s better.’
‘It feels better.’
‘You might almost have been taken for a thrall, except of course that your hair has not been cropped.’
Astrid winced inwardly, knowing the words for truth. Thralls of both sexes had their hair cut short to demonstrate their lowly status. Leif could have humiliated her far more than he actually had.
‘My clothing was the best that could be contrived in the circumstances.’ It was a half-truth only but she was reluctant to go into details. Events were too recent and too raw. ‘Thank you for the garments.’
‘Thank Jarl Leif. It was done on his instruction.’
Astrid barely managed to conceal her surprise. She had no idea why he had done it, but she was grateful all the same. Until her recent captivity she had taken fine clothing for granted; something that was an automatic part of her status as a noblewoman. Without it there was nothing to distinguish her from the lowly. Bound up with that was the matter of self-esteem. Humiliate someone long enough and they might become the thing their persecutor wanted them to be. She shivered, trying not to think of what might have happened if Leif’s crew hadn’t come to find him.
Ingrid saw that tremor and frowned. ‘You’re cold. Come and sit outside awhile until your hair dries.’
Having directed her charge to a bench behind the hall, Ingrid departed on other errands. When she had gone Astrid shut her eyes and turned her face to the sun, enjoying the warmth and the temporary solitude. In the distance she could hear men’s voices but not the words of their conversation. No doubt the new arrivals were relating their recent adventures. When her connection with those became known they would regard her with suspicion and possibly hostility. Family loyalties were strong and so was the oath that bound men to their jarl. Death was preferable to breaking it since the man who did that was a nithing. Betrayal of one meant the betrayal of all and vengeance was swift. She’s instrumental to my plans, he had said. Astrid sighed. Vengeance had many forms.
‘Are the clothes a reasonable fit?’
Leif’s voice jolted her out of thought and she rose quickly. ‘Oh! Yes, they are.’
‘The colour looks well on you.’ His gaze swept her from head to foot. ‘It’s an improvement all round, I think.’
‘Very much so.’ Her gaze met his. ‘Apart from you, who else do I have to thank for this kindness?’
‘No thanks are necessary.’
‘These clothes must belong to someone.’
‘Not any more. The woman who owned them is gone.’
‘Won’t she be back?’
‘No, she won’t be back.’
Astrid made a sudden leap of intuition. ‘They belonged to your wife.’
For a moment she glimpsed a flicker of something like pain in his eyes. Then it was gone. ‘She left them behind when the marriage...broke up. I didn’t know, not for some time afterwards. When I found her things I moved the chest into storage and it’s been t
here ever since.’
She was quietly astonished. Most men would have used them to make a bonfire, but then, he wasn’t most men. Nor was his behaviour predictable. In this case, though, there seemed to be only one possible inference.
‘You hoped she might come back.’
His expression hardened. ‘There was no way back for us.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t waste your pity on the matter, and don’t feel any concern about the dress either. When all’s said and done it’s just a piece of cloth.’
With that he turned and walked back into the hall. Astrid sank back on to the bench, her mind whirling. She hadn’t meant to pry into his past but somehow the question had just come out. For all that he asserted otherwise, it was clearly a difficult and painful subject. At the same time, it left her wanting to know more, to understand what had happened. If she understood that she would be closer to understanding the man. It ought not to have mattered but she knew it did.
* * *
Leif walked through the hall and kept on going, needing a little time apart. He skirted the buildings and came to the edge of the meadow. There he stopped and leaned against the wooden rail, ostensibly surveying the cattle in the pasture beyond. In reality his mind was otherwise engaged. For all he had pretended otherwise, the recent conversation had unsettled him. Astrid was perceptive, disconcertingly so at times. He ought to have foreseen that she might ask about the origin of the dress. Of itself it didn’t matter. It was what followed that had thrown him off balance, not least because the memory still had the power to hurt. He’d thought himself stronger, proof against the past. Time had helped but it hadn’t entirely eradicated pain. He never spoke of it to anyone and those who knew respected his silence on the subject. It was better that way. Given the choice, he would never have returned to the steading, but he couldn’t avoid it: the place was woven into his wyrd. He ought not to have been surprised: the Nornir were known to have a cruel sense of humour.
His gaze travelled on towards the edge of the trees and the small fenced area located nearby. He hadn’t been back there in ten years, not since he’d buried his son. If he went, what would he find? A grassy mound and a couple of marker stones, mute witnesses to a night of horror. His gut tightened in response and for a moment he relived the griping pain and the sickness in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the sensation to pass. Eventually it did, as always. He turned away. The past was done; what he needed to do now was secure the future.
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