by Jen Black
She sighed, stared at the bowl and then stripped off her clothes. Raised pink blotches stood on her skin where fleas had bitten and her mouth compressed to a tight line. Another grievance to hold against him.
Fairness made her shake her head. She had decided to sweep out of the hall and sleep in the hut. In all fairness the decision had been hers, and nothing to do with Flane. Or partly to do with him. If he hadn’t pressured her…
If she’d stayed he would have…would have used her body without her consent. He’d left her with no choice. Some of the blame must be his. She grabbed the soap beaker and slammed it down on the wooden floor at her side and worked up lather in the warm water, soaped herself liberally and rubbed what was left into her hair. Still working at a furious pace, she picked up the bowl and stepped outside onto the lakeside boards.
The sun had cleared the hill tops and the air was warm. She dithered at the top of the wooden steps. The water might look inviting, but she knew how cold it was. Should she jump in and get the shock over with, or walk down the steps?
“I’d jump if I were you.”
She whirled around before she remembered she was naked. “Flane! Go away!”
He seemed amused. He should not see her naked, especially not with unsightly pink blemishes on her skin. She looked round, but there was nowhere to hide and nothing she could use as a cover. Emer took one swift stride and jumped into the loch.
The water was indescribably cold. With a cross between a scream and a gasp, Emer wrenched around to see Flane on the bank at the side of the hut, laughing.
“Go away!”
It came out as a reedy gasp. She could hardly speak. Groaning, struggling to take a decent breath she trod water, and hoped her hair flared around her for at least that would obscure his view of her body.
“You look like a mermaid.”
His voice held laughter. She blinked water out of her eyes and looked at him. He doubled over, grasped one boot and tossed it aside. Emer forgot the coldness of the water. Surely he wasn’t proposing to join her in the water? Dear Lord, please no!
She stretched her toes down to find the bottom and immediately went under. She came up again, spluttering, blowing and shaking water out of her eyes. Dazed with cold, she flung out her arms to stay afloat.
Flane straightened, tossed the second boot to join its companion and moved forward. “Wait there till I join you!”
“Flane Ketilsson!” Remembering they were supposed to be bathing without attracting attention, she made violent motions with her arms. “Go away! Go away!”
He took no notice of her, calmly stepped out of his trousers and undergarment and made a low, fast dive into the water.
The water rippled in widening circles where he’d disappeared. From her low vantage point, Emer could see no sign of him but she had a nasty suspicion he would make straight for her. Sure enough, hands grasped her waist so suddenly that she gasped, and he came up in front of her in a shower of sparkling water drops.
Without a word he bent his head and kissed her.
Emer drew a frantic breath through her nose, and beat at his shoulders with her fists. He did not let go. Instead he wound his arms around her and pulled her against him. She would have gasped, if she’d had any air with which to gasp, for the shock of his body was immense. Her blood thundered in her ears and her efforts to beat him off only brought a gurgle of laughter from deep in his throat.
“Oh, Emer, Emer!” He murmured against her ear, but she hardly heard him, for she could feel the warmth of his chest and belly pressed against her own. Water flowed around them but could not pass between them. Struggling to be free, she felt his increasing hardness, looked up, met his intense blue gaze and stopped struggling, shocked into some dizzy region where there was no such thing as coherent thought.
His hands, already spread across her spine, moved, drew her even closer. His lips found hers, teased and tasted them. Sensation drowned her. Her eyes closed.
He drew back a little. Cold water surged between them and Emer shivered violently. His silver hair, darkened with water, hung over his brow and suddenly his blue eyes were serious. He wasn’t laughing.
“Flane…” She cleared her throat and began again. “Flane, this is dangerous. What if Katla should see us? Or someone else, who would carry tales to her?”
“I know. It’s stupid of me. But when I saw you, I couldn’t…I couldn’t resist you. Just like the first time.” He drew a deep breath and she rose and sank in the water as his chest expanded and deflated. “But you are right. I shouldn’t have done it. I think…I have some serious thinking to do.”
“I thought you’d already done the serious thinking,” Emer observed tartly. “You’ve chosen Katla. Everyone knew except me.”
It was no good. She simply could not control her tongue.
His arms tightened and lifted her so he could drop a kiss on her nose, and then let her go. She floundered, almost sank and received a brief view of Flane’s long, muscled back and legs as he heaved himself out onto the boards with practiced ease. He grabbed his boots and clothes and disappeared through the door.
The bones of her feet hurt in the coldness of the water and Emer groaned as she washed the soap out of her hair. Her teeth chattered as she made her way to the steps and caught a glimpse of a half-naked Flane loping back to the hall. She clambered out, paused briefly to squeeze the water out of her hair and scampered into the hut out of sight of prying eyes. Once there, the urge to smile fought with the urge to weep.
Water dripped and pooled on the floor about her feet. She was glad of the fire he’d lit, but stared, shivering, at the tunic lying in a crumpled heap where he’d left it. He’d said she should use it as a towel, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to pick it up.
She sighed. There was nothing else. She held it to her face and at once the smell of him overwhelmed her. She should have expected it, of course.
She held it out and examined it. The colour had once been bright green, but it was much faded. The cloth was old, and soft on the hand, but it had been expertly woven. The stitching was neat and even. His mother? Nothing his mother made would fit him now. Someone he paid to do it for him? There was no way she could know without asking him.
She shook out her clothes over the fire to be rid of any small invaders, dried off and got dressed, then sat and combed out her hair very carefully with Flane’s comb. The teeth were close together, so she could be sure she left nothing crawling in her hair. It occurred to her suddenly that if word of their meeting this morning did reach Katla, it might perhaps spur her to speak to Flane or her father about sending Emer back to Pabaigh. Emer smiled, and began to comb with more vigour. Suddenly, it seemed worth it to run the risk of Katla’s displeasure.
***
Everyone was awake, dressed and scooping porridge out of the cauldron when she walked back into the hall. Oli waved his spoon at her, Grendel ran to greet her and Flane, she saw with a spurt of indignation, had Katla clinging to his arm. His hair was still wet and already he smiled at another woman.
After the time they had spent in the bathing hut, it jarred her. Emer turned away and tried to school her face, unable to contemplate what Katla might be whispering in Flane’s ear. What upset her most was that he was listening, and smiling. The man could not be trusted at all.
She grabbed a heel of bread, slipped out through the door to the byre before anyone saw her and headed for the rough tangle of bushes behind the buildings. It was a relief to escape the constant watchful eyes of the settlement if only for a few brief moments.
Within a very short time, she heard the patter of feet behind her and a slim, agile black and white shape shot into view. Oli’s dog pranced along at her side. She looked back and slowed until the boy caught up.
“Where are you going?”
Emer shrugged. “For a walk. I thought I’d be on my own for a while.”
His face fell. “Can’t I come with you?”
“Of course you can. What I re
ally meant—” Emer bent so she was level with him. “Can you keep a secret?”
Hazel eyes shining in a snub-nosed face, Oli nodded.
“I really want to avoid the lady Katla. Now, please don’t tell anyone I said that, will you?”
“I don’t like her much, anyway.” He skipped along beside her.
Emer tossed her hair back, and opened her arms to take in the bushes and young trees all around. “This is all new to me. Why don’t you take me for a walk? I promise I won’t speak to any strange men this time.”
He grinned, grasped her hand and tugged. “I’ll show you my den! It’s secret, too. You won’t tell anyone, will you? Not even Flane?”
“I thought Flane was your friend?”
“He is. Everyone is,” Oli muttered, “until they want me to do something and then it’s Oli, do this! Oli, go there—”
“What! Even Flane?”
Oli pulled a face. “Well, sometimes he does.”
Emer chuckled. “Never mind. It is certainly better than being ignored, don’t you think? There’s nothing quite as bad as living with people who behave as though you don’t exist.”
The boy stopped pulling on her hand and half turned while he considered her words. His hair fell over his eyes, and he flicked it out of his way. “Maybe.” He launched forward again. “Come on!”
He plunged on and soon they were in the gloom of tall trees, walking on pine needles that muffled all sound. The scent of resin filled the air.
Emer followed without a murmur. There was no trail, but her small guide knew where he was going and led her to a clearing where sunlight speared down through the branches and illuminated a dome-shaped heap of grey stones.
Oli grinned at her over his shoulder. “This is my den. I’ll go first.”
Surprised, she watched as he dropped to his knees and crawled into the small entrance tunnel. “Oli, is it safe? What if the roof falls on you?” The dog wriggled after him, white tail waving like a plume against the grey stones.
Oli’s voice echoed eerily from the tunnel. “It is bigger than you think. Come in.”
Emer crouched down and peered inside. The ground sloped down, and light reflected from Oli’s eyes and teeth in the gloom. The big stones fitted snugly together and they looked firm. Taking a deep breath, Emer crawled inside and tried not to think that each rock, if it fell, would break her arm or leg. If that happened, she and Oli and his dog would no doubt be found squashed flat one day far in the future.
It was cramped inside, with just enough room for her to squat beside Oli. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she examined the roof arching up just over her head, stone upon stone, all completely dry and lichen free. “Well! Isn’t this strange? And wonderful,” she added, in case he thought she did not like it.
“I hide here sometimes,” he said. “When I don’t want anyone to find me. Even the dogs couldn’t get in if I blocked the door.”
Grendel’s head was warm and smooth under her palm as he nestled against her. She looked down. “But you wouldn’t keep him out, would you?”
He ruffled the fur around the dog’s throat. “No, I mean the hounds. If they ever sent them out to look for me, I’d hide in here and block the door.”
“Hounds? Oli, you don’t mean they hunt people with hounds, do you?”
“Sometimes they do. A man stole something once, and they chased him with hounds. I never saw him again.” He looked at her and opened his eyes as wide as they would go. “The dogs had blood on their muzzles when they came back.”
“Oli!”
The boy giggled and laughed, and Emer managed a weak smile. “I see,” she nodded. “You have just made a joke of me.” Privately she thought it was just as well she hadn’t taken one of the broken combs from Katla’s room after all.
Chapter Seven
Oli and Emer slipped back into the steading without attracting attention, and Emer noticed a lot of activity on the wooden jetty. Oli saw it too, and gazed so intently at the line of young men unloading small boats that he tripped over his own feet. “Why don’t you go down and see what’s happening?” Emer suggested.
With a swift grin, he skipped happily down to the waterfront with Grendel racing at his side, and the young men welcomed him with breathless good humour. Emer paused and watched him, wondering what the future held for the self-reliant lad. Perhaps he had already navigated the years when he most needed parents. In many ways, he reminded her of her brother Donald at that age, and she suspected it would not be long before Oli started dreaming of sailing with Flane and Skuli Grey Cloak.
Emer went quietly unto the dimness of the hall and was much relieved to find it almost empty. She sat well back in the corner of Flane’s sleeping space and hoped no one would find her there, for she had nowhere else to go. She hated not having anywhere of her own. If she rattled the curtain across her bed space at home and flung herself onto her heather mattress for an hour, she could be certain of privacy. Here there was none, and the lack made her fretful.
She frowned. A half-formed idea had been simmering in her mind all through the morning, and at last she could concentrate on it. If Flane abandoned their bargain, which she suspected he might, she needed a plan. Not only was life as a slave unthinkable, but she doubted she would survive it.
She was probably better off dead than someone’s slave. She scowled down at her intertwined fingers, and decided she must somehow find her way to the other settlement and beg to be taken to Skye. Once there, she would find her aunt, who would send for Father and he would take her back home. The memory of her one and only meeting with Aunt Ailis was so faint that she had no memory of her aunt’s appearance, but she had no doubts that she would be accepted as family.
The slap of bare feet on the packed earth made her look up. A ragged urchin appeared at the corner of her bed space. “The lady Katla wants you,” he said breathlessly. “You are to follow me.”
Anxiety surged through Emer. She heaved a deep sigh, and did not move at once. The boy was perhaps six years old and his tunic, patched and no doubt handed down from an older brother, was several sizes too large for him. When she finally got to her feet, relief filled his face.
She followed him across the grass toward one of several small cabins that dotted the grass between the hall, the byre and the duck pond. Built of wood and wattle, they reminded Emer of a round duck-house with a conical roof. The child halted before the most dilapidated, and pointed. Emer sighed, moved to the four steps leading down into the hovel, ducked her head and looked inside.
There was no window, and the dank odour made her nose curl.
Dug out of the ground to a depth of three feet, and with wood and daub walls built above, the earthen floor was damp. The sleeping benches, slotted into the curve of the wall, were nothing more than benches with a straw mattress on top. Worn blankets lay on each bench.
Katla stood to one side of the central hearth, her arms folded. Her long blue gown was the only bright thing in the room.
Emer offered a tentative smile. Whatever she faced now, she guessed it would not be pleasant.
“This is where you will sleep,” Katla announced. “It is not seemly that you share Flane’s sleeping space.”
Dismay filled Emer. She glanced around, and saw that the hut was shabbier than the one she had slept in last night, and that had been bad enough. A wooden beaker and a couple of clay cups stood beside the cold ash of the central hearth.
“Am I to sleep here alone?”
Katla emitted a snort of unladylike laughter. “Did you imagine I would give you a private place to meet Flane? Two female slaves already share this hut.”
A shiver of distaste ran through Emer. Annoyed by the gloating triumph in Katla’s face, Emer tossed her hair back and looked the other girl straight in the eye. “You should not do this. I am as well born as you.”
“Nevertheless, you are a slave now.” Katla’s gloating expression revealed how much she was enjoying Emer’s distress.
Since Flane had bought and paid for her, Emer could not refute the statement. “Then I must ensure that my master agrees with you.” Hopefully, Flane would disagree. “We spoke earlier of my aunt on Skye,” she said. “If you could tell me of a ship—”
Katla shook her head. “There are no ships available.”
“Perhaps in a day or two—”
Katla shook her head. “Perhaps. But meanwhile you cannot stay with Flane. It is I who will marry Flane Ketilsson, not you.”
Stung by the implicit accusation, Emer said, “Believe me; I have no wish to marry him. I stay with Flane only because—”
“Because you want him!”
“It is he who wants me,” Emer said flatly. “It was his desire that prompted him to buy me in Dublin. My wishes had nothing to do with it. I stay with him only because I need his protection in this steading.”
Katla smirked. “No one will harm you here unless you are disobedient.”
“Already a man called Gamel threatens me.”
Katla shrugged that aside. “If you work hard and earn your keep here, no one will hurt you. But if you refuse, then you will be punished.”
Emer held on to her temper, hoping she could to persuade this woman to help her escape. “If I stay here,” she said quietly, “you will never be free of me. Would it not be preferable to let me go?”
Katla made a gesture of dismissal. “If you displease me, I shall sell you to any man who will buy you. There is always Gamel. Perhaps he will take you.”
Emer felt sick and screwed her fingers together to stop them shaking. “What have I done that you should treat me so callously?”
Katla considered her. “You have tried to take Flane from me, and I cannot allow it.”
Emer sighed. “I tell you again, on my hope of Heaven, that I don’t want Flane.”
“It matters little what you want,” Katla said. “Once Flane and I are wed, I will have the running of his household in my hands, and I will dispose of you as I wish.”