Sent as the Viking's Bride

by Michelle Styles

  Svana’s eyes grew round. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘My mother used to say that it only appeared when the nisser was happy. I think it is a good place for it.’ Gunnar struggled to keep his voice steady. ‘On the day I left home, she took it down and gave it to me for protection.’

  ‘Will it protect me and my sister?’

  ‘The answer is, Svana, that even a nisser can’t stop bad men. You need to put your faith in someone stronger like a warrior and his dogs.’ He went down to the girl’s level. ‘Dogs are very useful, but you have to use a big voice as sometimes they don’t listen as closely as they should. Try it now. Try calling their names—Kolka is the tan and black and Kefla is the brindle-coloured one.’

  Svana gave another furtive glance at where the two wolfhounds slumbered. She shrank back against her sister. ‘Ragn?’

  ‘Try, Svana,’ Ragnhild said in a sceptical voice. ‘For my sake. Not all dogs are like...like the ones you encountered that day.’

  ‘You’ve walked past them twice when you were intent on finding the nisser,’ Gunnar said, trying to make her understand. ‘You were so close that you nearly stepped on Kefla’s tail when you came back.’

  ‘Gunnar is right,’ Ragnhild said. ‘You did.’

  Svana’s eyes widened, but she stood straighter. ‘I did, didn’t I?’

  ‘Dogs can be great protectors, but first they must know who they are protecting. Hold out your hand and call them to you. Let them know you mean to be their friend.’

  Svana whispered their names. As she did it, Gunnar snapped his fingers and pointed to the girl.

  The dogs obediently trotted forward and sat in front of the girl.

  ‘Kolka and Kefla will be my friends?’ Svana asked in a small voice.

  Ragnhild crouched down and put her arms about her sister. ‘They want to be, sweetling. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Trust Ragnhild, child.’

  Ragnhild glanced up at him and nodded. Her smile made his breath catch. She finally understood what he was attempting to do. A start.

  ‘Now that you have been properly introduced, they will be fine. Remember to use a great big voice with them,’ Gunnar said. ‘And they will have any leftovers from your bowl.’

  Ragnhild’s face softened to stunning and she mouthed thank you.

  With a pleased smile, Svana held out her fingers for the dogs to sniff. After they did so, she tentatively touched Kolka’s ears.

  Svana glanced over her shoulder. ‘My sister as well? Should Ragn use a big voice?’

  ‘I believe my voice is loud enough,’ Ragnhild said, wrinkling her nose in a delightful manner.

  Gunnar bowed towards her. ‘Your sister must do as she pleases. The dogs will only attack if they think one of theirs is being attacked or if I give the specific command to kill.’

  ‘I can assure you that you will never have to use that particular command with us,’ Ragnhild said.

  Her eyes danced with hidden lights. He wondered that he had considered her ill favoured and sallow yesterday.

  ‘Good to know.’ Gunnar called the dogs to him. ‘I haven’t time to waste today, but the dogs are looking forward to a good stew tonight.’

  He had barely made it to the hall when Ragnhild caught his arm. A jolt went through him at her touch. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

  ‘I did it for an easier life. I won’t have my dogs banished.’

  ‘Even still, it was a kind thing to do. You were right—I should have trusted you. You do have a soft heart.’

  Gunnar gritted his teeth. His heart was a tight hard knot. The better part of him had died and lay buried with his mother and his sisters, the family he’d failed. ‘Don’t get used to it.’

  * * *

  The brewing house smelt of yeast, dried barley and a sort of sweet-sickly smell of ale on the turn. Ragn frowned as she started the job of cleaning out the barrels. A well-run household depended on its weak ale for everyday drinking. The remaining ale was barely drinkable, but she wouldn’t risk Svana’s health to unknown water. She’d seen too many people become ill through drinking water unwisely.

  ‘Will you make the Jul ale?’ Svana asked in a little voice.

  ‘Once I get this batch done. There is barely enough malted barley for it—the grain has not been properly stored.’

  ‘I love your ale.’

  ‘You need to watch and learn. The making of ale is one of the most important tasks a woman can undertake.’

  ‘It is very close in here.’

  ‘It needs to be warm to get the wort to bubble properly.’ Ragn peered into the barrel. ‘This is part of the trouble—mould. Svana, can you hand me...? Svana!’

  Ragn glanced over. All colour had drained from her sister’s face and her eyes had rolled back. Her limbs started to twitch. In less than a heartbeat, Svana collapsed to the ground in a full-blown fit. A scream welled up within her and she rushed to Svana’s side.

  Ragn whispered prayers to any god who might listening and forced the panic from her brain. After the first few times, she learned that she could only watch and hope. But she turned Svana’s head to one side in case she vomited when she woke as she had done twice before.

  ‘What is the problem? I heard a scream.’ Gunnar stood in the doorway, his hand on his sword and his face as unyielding as ever.

  Ragn moved to block Svana’s unconscious form and forced a smile on her face. ‘Everything is under control.’

  ‘Kefla came to me, whining. Then you screamed.’

  ‘Svana fainted. She must have locked her knees. She hasn’t hit her head and nothing overturned.’

  He peered around her to where Svana lay on the ground. Her lashes were dark against her pale face and her legs convulsed. ‘She needs to be out of here.’

  Without waiting, he pushed past her, scooped Svana up and carried her to the bedchamber. Ragn and the dogs followed in his wake.

  As he put her down on the furs, Svana gave a faint moan and her lashes fluttered. ‘Ragn?’

  ‘I’m here, sweetling.’ Ragn’s heart eased. Her sister would recover this time. ‘You rest.’

  ‘I... I...’

  ‘Don’t worry. The brew house is very hot and you haven’t eaten much.’ Ragn attempted to keep her voice measured. She’d been overly optimistic this morning. It would take more than a good night’s sleep to cure Svana.

  ‘I wanted to make the Jul ale with you, but I’m so tired.’ Svana’s eyes fluttered close, but her breathing was regular.

  ‘Your sister will sleep for a few hours,’ Gunnar said. ‘Leave her. The dogs will get us when she stirs. We need to speak.’

  His tone allowed for no refusal. Ragn reluctantly left her sister and went into the kitchen. Despite the glowing embers in the hearth, she shivered.

  ‘Does your sister faint often?’

  ‘It was far too close in the ale house and Svana only had a little to eat this morning. I will keep her out of the brew house.’

  The planes on his face became harsher. Her stomach became knots on knots. ‘How long has she had this affliction?’

  Ragn wet her lips. Her heart sank. He knew. He would be like her cousins who had turned them from their door, screaming that the spirit of Angrbord the giantess had taken possession of Svana. ‘Fainting is not an affliction.’

  ‘That girl had a fit.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know the signs.’ Shadows flitted across his face. ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘When? When I arrived?’ Ragn allowed the anger at the situation, at him for being narrow-minded like all the others and at the world for allowing this to happen to her innocent sister, to spill over. A queer sort of joy ran through her. Shouting at someone was wonderful. ‘You might have put us back on that boat and they would have tossed her overboard. Or l
ast night, when you were going to send us away to Ile. Or maybe when I begged you to let us stay. Svana didn’t have a fit on the boat. I watched her all the time. I had hopes she was done with them! What do you know about anything! She isn’t Angrbord’s mouthpiece!’

  He put hard hands on her shoulders. His blue eyes bored into her soul. She was certain he saw all the ugly things she’d caused, knew all the reasons the gods had turned their backs on her. ‘I deserved to know. And you are right. She is not Angrbord’s mouthpiece.’

  ‘I’ve lost everything except for her. Can’t you see why I tried to keep it from you?’

  They stared at each other for a long heartbeat. He let her go and the air rushed between them.

  ‘Because I would have done things differently. I would have treated you with more kindness,’ he said in a quieter tone.

  ‘I was afraid,’ she admitted, bowing her head.

  He watched her from under his eyelids. ‘Of your sister?’

  ‘No! For her. I’d hoped the fits were finished. It is my fault. I know the brew house can make people feel weak.’ Ragn put a hand over her mouth. ‘We will go. It will be easier for everyone concerned. I should not have lost my temper like that at you.’

  ‘How long has she had the fits for?’

  Ragn concentrated on the rushes. ‘Since the fire. She took a blow to the head, a blow that was meant for me. I turned my back on Vargr and I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Were you the one to hit her? Or to order the attack?’ Gunnar asked softly.

  ‘No, I was the one who asked the witch woman to come last Jul which started it all.’ The words tumbled out of her explaining how it had happened and how the old crone had gone into a trance the instant she spied Svana.

  ‘But you didn’t force the witch woman to make the prediction.’

  ‘I keep thinking if the old crone hadn’t spied her, the woman would have said what we agreed in advance. Instead she began moaning and said Svana would cause Vargr’s death. Vargr started issuing orders and making demands. Hamthur threw him out of the hall and, as he left, Vargr vowed his revenge. He took it.’

  Gunnar tapped his fingers together. ‘I’ve seen warriors suffer from the same affliction after a head wound.’

  She stared at him. He knew people who suffered like Svana? ‘Do they recover?’

  ‘Some do.’ He made a steady shrug. ‘It depends on the gods. They remain good warriors for the most part, when they recover.’

  ‘Have you ever known anyone who fully recovered?’ she persisted.

  The light faded from his eyes. ‘One or two. It is no good clinging on to false hope. It is up to the Norns who control all our fates.’

  ‘Did you know what to do because of the other warriors?’ she whispered, hating that real hope had sprung in her breast.

  ‘My youngest sister was cursed by a witch when she was small and suffered the fits ever after. My mother refused to put her outside like my relations advised. She nursed her. Svana reminds me of her. I should have guessed there was more.’

  ‘Did she die of a fit?’

  ‘She died of something else.’ He turned away from her for a breath and when he turned back, the mask of a hardened warrior was firmly in place.

  Ragn pressed her hands together. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Your sister mentioned Jul ale. There is no need for such a thing.’

  ‘Mine was reputed to be one of the best in the Kingdom.’

  His frown increased. ‘Normally I am away at Jul, renewing my oath, rather than entertaining. Who is going to drink all this ale you plan on brewing? Who will see the flaming wheel?’

  ‘If you are a landholder, you should provide something for your followers.’ Ragn’s stomach tightened. She’d promised Svana a proper Jul, the one vow she’d considered she could keep. She tried again. ‘Your bride will expect to entertain and be entertained. I would hardly like your hospitality to be questioned.’

  His eyes blazed. ‘No one should question my hospitality.’

  ‘You failed to provide the captain of the boat with ale he could drink. I noticed how much was poured on the ground.’

  ‘Unexpected visitors. My supplies are running low.’

  ‘Some might take it as an insult. I have discovered the trouble—your barrels were not cleaned properly and the wort stank. There is enough malted barley for another small batch.’

  ‘Are you criticising me?’ Gunnar’s shout resounded off the walls.

  ‘I’m stating a fact.’ She crossed her arms. ‘When your bride does arrive, you will want her to have a warm welcome.’

  ‘Were you always this stubborn?’

  ‘Only when I believe in something.’

  He gave a long sigh. ‘Do you have to make it seem like another woman will be arriving on the next tide? Do they come in threes? Or waves?’

  ‘Don’t you want more brides?’

  ‘You I can cope with.’ A small twinkle appeared in his eye. ‘You are a known irritant.’

  ‘I sincerely doubt your friend will have sent another one. Unless you have other men out there searching for your elusive bride?’

  He pushed his hands through his hair, making it stand upright. Her palms itched to smooth it down again. ‘Eylir is the only one who would dare to do this.’

  The muscles on her neck relaxed slightly. ‘That is good to know. I doubt you have space for any more housekeepers.’

  ‘I do intend on going north. It is a matter of timing.’ His words were far too quick.

  ‘When you have the time and then you can search for your bride in the certain knowledge that your lands are well cared for in your absence.’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘Give me permission to do Jul properly and you will see. A little kindness and thoughtfulness pays large dividends.’

  His mouth became a thin white line. ‘Jul happens elsewhere.’

  ‘Your new bride will expect it. Once it has been done, you will know what needs to be done for the next year.’

  ‘You think I don’t know? My mother brought me up well. I choose to ignore it.’

  ‘What I think is unimportant,’ she said, choosing her words with care. Svana deserved her Jul celebration. ‘You can ignore everything as it happens. You can be in splendid isolation while I do it all.’

  ‘Do you ever listen? We do things my way or not at all.’ He rose from the table and clicked his fingers. The dogs trotted behind him. ‘Look to your sister. Forget Jul.’

  The door reverberated from his slam.

  ‘But I promised,’ Ragn whispered. ‘And I will find a way to keep that promise.’

  Chapter Five

  The pile of split logs stood several feet higher than when he first began earlier. Sweat poured down Gunnar’s back. There was a certain amount of satisfaction in working off his anger—at Ragnhild, at himself and most importantly the time of year.

  He hated thinking about Jul, his mother’s favourite time of year. It had been during Jul that his family perished. The house had been raided and his family were left with nothing and starved. Some had tried to blame it on the wild hunt, the spectral hunting party which caused violence and mayhem at Jul, but Gunnar had known who was ultimately to blame—himself. He could have prevented the tragedy, but he’d lingered too long in Kaupang, falling for Dyrfinna who had declared her love and then betrayed him, rather than thinking about his responsibilities.

  Ever since then he had tried to forget Jul even existed. He showed up to whichever warlord he pledged his sword to for the swearing of oaths, joined in the wrestling and became blindingly drunk, but then departed.

  He gave a loud curse as he split the final log. Ragnhild was right—his men would expect festivities, complete with feasts and dancing. And the child, she’d expect one. She’d lost everything, but she still believed in the nisser.

>   It was better he endured a proper Jul with someone who would not mind if he was surly. Ragnhild had seen him at his most inhospitable and stood her ground rather than fleeing in terror.

  ‘Gunnar!’ Ragnhild ran out with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. The wind whipped her skirts back against her legs, revealing the graceful curve of her calves. He’d been a fool to reject her when she’d stepped off the boat and now they had their bargain.

  ‘Is there something else that I should be doing?’ he said and immediately regretted his tone.

  Her brows drew together in confusion until she spied the massive pile of split logs he’d accumulated in a short period of time. ‘I wondered what the sound was.’

  ‘Is the sound of chopping wood offensive to your delicate ears?’

  She caught her upper lip between her teeth as she examined the pile of split logs and the neatly stacked one just behind him. Her eyes sparkled as if she knew his bad mood wasn’t really directed at her. ‘You’re determined we will not run out of fuel this winter.’

  Gunnar followed her gaze. Given the number he’d split, they would be lucky to run out by next summer. ‘I seized the opportunity. You said you would have to malt more barley and that takes fuel. My men will need to renew their oaths.’

  ‘Precisely. This hall needs a proper Jul to give it life.’

  ‘Just the oath-taking. And my hall has life.’

  ‘It is a cold and barren place where no one wants to linger.’ She clasped her hands together. ‘Jul is about remembering that we need others to survive. Tradition binds people. You want to bind your men to you and keep them faithful. One never knows when one might have need of a faithful ally. Real things, not stories, are what gives Jul its true meaning.’

  He picked up the axe. ‘I prefer not to discuss Jul.’

  ‘What will I tell Svana? She was in tears at the thought she spoilt the Jul ale.’ Ragnhild made a gesture with her hand and her gown fell back, revealing the vivid red scarring on her wrist. ‘Never mind. Time she grew up.’

  Asa had been like that as well. He’d teased her and pulled her long braid, saying that Jul wouldn’t come. It hadn’t come for her ever again because of him. He examined the pile of logs. ‘Make the Jul ale. My dogs dislike tears.’