Lord of the Seas

by Sabrina Jarema

  She pursed her lips. “And I trust you didn’t, and yours wasn’t.”

  He deepened his voice, which had brought women all over the known world to their knees. “You have no idea.”

  She crossed her arms. “A point I am very glad of, I assure you. If you’ll excuse me, I find I’m quite hungry. For food. And more pleasant company.”

  “Everyone in there is still stinking of beer, passed out in their own drool on the floors and tables, or wishing they were.”

  “As I said, more pleasant company.”

  He barked out a laugh as she spun and headed for the longhouse. He watched her, bemused. Words didn’t come out of her mouth, icicles did. Very sharp ones. He should reprimand her for her lack of deference. It was so unexpected, he found it amusing and, worse, interesting. Women simpered and cooed around him. Like Gunnhild. They couldn’t jump to do his bidding and please him fast enough. It had always been that way and became all the same after a while. As long as she didn’t deride him in public, he might let this play out. A verbal battle with a beautiful woman would be intriguing and novel.

  His little Christian was a force unto herself. His? When he had made love to Gunnhild last night, for the first time he’d seen another woman beneath him. Elfwynn. It had startled him, for when he was with a lover, he focused solely on her. Her pleasure, her desires. Why had that changed? And why had he envisioned her?

  Shaking his head, he looked up to see Leif leaning against a post, grinning. “The easiest target, indeed.”

  He strode past him. “Shut up, Leif. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Leif burst out laughing and kept it up all the way down to the ships. To kill a family member was one of their few offenses punishable by death. Leif, damn him, was family now. If he kept this up, though, it just might be worth it.

  * * *

  She’d done it again. Let the Northman incite her. He was a heathen, letting his lover feel him all over, right in the street for anyone to see. It was no business of hers what he did, but to allow it in public bothered her. That, and his teasing eyes that made her constant, simmering anger toward him burst into flames. One presumptuous look, one goading word from him, and she wanted to strike out. She needed to avoid him. Hide. Run away if she saw him. It was going to cause trouble for her if he became angry. But it never irritated him. He seemed to enjoy it. Maybe that was what these Northmen wanted in their women.

  She entered the longhouse. Oslafa picked her way between the inert bodies strewn about the hall, heading toward the tables of food. Didn’t any of the men go to bed? Or did they just drink until they fell over where they’d sat?

  Most likely the latter. She found the sideboards and filled her plate with eggs, cheese and fruit. As she poured a cup of buttermilk, Oslafa came to her.

  “This is pathetic. Let’s not eat here. I know a better place and you can meet some of the women.”

  Rorik’s women? After the stares they’d given her last night, she didn’t need that. As she followed Oslafa through a doorway, a familiar sound came to her and she relaxed. Rorik’s women certainly wouldn’t be here. Maybe this would feel more like home now.

  She stepped into the weaving room. Six large warp-weighted looms stood against the far wall, women at two of them. Rolls of yarns and threads lay stacked on shelves, and bolts of cloth were folded on tables. Bags of wool waited to be carded and then spun on the distaffs lying on chairs.

  Elfwynn set her food aside and went to the looms. Four of them had cloth in them. She leaned closer to see if the weave was familiar to her. It was. The first she examined was a plain tabby weave with single weft threads passed over and under the warp threads. The cloth in the second loom was a twill pattern. The weft threads passed over one thread, then under two others, forming a diagonal pattern. They were well-known weaves and seeing them brought a sense of comfort to her. This was not so foreign.

  “Elfwynn, I’d like you to meet Finna and her mother, Kolla.” Oslafa placed her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “They are the two most skilled weavers we have. They speak only Norse, though.”

  “I’ve learned a little.” She smiled at them, trying to remember what Kaia had taught her during the journey. “Good morning to you. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Elfwynn.”

  They laughed and nodded their encouragement. Oslafa gave Finna a kiss on the top of the head. She was a cute, blonde girl, with large blue eyes and a round face.

  Oslafa brought her plate to a table and pushed aside a pile of wool to clear a spot. Elywynn did the same and they settled into their meal. She buttered her bread. “You and Finna are close?”

  “My son is sweet on her, and she on him. We all hope they’ll marry one day.”

  “What’s stopping it? Surely she’s old enough.”

  “Oh yes. But her father sets his sights higher than Turold and has raised her bride-price to an impossible level. He wants her to marry Rorik, but that will never happen. You’ve seen the type of woman Rorik is attracted to. As pretty as Finna is, she’d never catch his eye. I doubt Rorik will ever marry unless it’s to produce an heir, and he seems in no hurry to do so. Besides, she returns Turold’s affection. He’s a hard-working young man, but he doesn’t earn much doing farm labor. That’s not good enough for Finna’s father. I make money for my dresses and I save it for Turold since Rorik gives me all I need to live, but it will never be enough for the bride-price. I don’t hold much hope for the two of them.” She sighed and ate her eggs.

  Elfwynn took a bite of the fresh wheat bread. Oslafa had been so kind to her, giving her a place to stay, being a friend she so desperately needed in this strange land. If it weren’t for her, she’d be more lost than she was now. If only there were something she could do to help.

  There was the silver and gold coins she’d brought with her. But they might be her only way to buy passage back home once she got to Hedeby. She couldn’t imagine the grief her mother was going through, not even knowing if her daughter was alive. The thought of it ate at her. Would the sorrow sap more of her strength away? Would she fade even more? No doubt Wulf would take care of her, but could he encourage Rohesia to live until Elfwynn found her way home?

  This wasn’t just about her. It was her mother’s very survival. She had to put that first and keep the money in case she had the chance to buy a way home. However, she’d made money before by weaving, and she could do so again.

  She set down her slice of bread. “I’m known for my weaving skills at home, and my cloth brings a great deal of silver. Could I use one of these looms to weave cloth for you to sell or make into clothing? I’ve created unique patterns no one here will have seen before. I think you could fetch a good price for it. It would help you raise money toward Finna’s bride-price, and give me something to do while I’m here. It’ll bring a bit of home to me. I won’t feel so lost.”

  Oslafa frowned. “I would never ask recompense for my hospitality. But needing to do something, I can understand. If it would make you feel more at home, I’m certain you can use one of the looms. I have thread of my own you can work with. I won’t take any payment, though.”

  “Then consider it my way of thanking you for the dresses you said you’d make for me. An even exchange.” She took her hand.

  “That, I can do.”

  “Then we have an agreement.”

  A warm touch of lightness spread in Elfwynn for the first time since Rorik had taken her. She couldn’t tolerate being idle, and at least she had a goal now, a purpose. It might help the numbing pain of missing her mother, giving her something else to concentrate on. She would have to weave quickly, though, to make a full length of cloth. She didn’t intend to be here long.

  The only problem was that she was determined to avoid Rorik as much as she could. In Oslafa’s house, it wouldn’t have been difficult. But here in the longhouse? He lived here. Still, it wasn’t likely he’d risk entering into this woman’s domain. If she could come and go undetected, she should be safe. With the
unpleasant fire sparking between them, he had no reason to seek her out.

  In time, he’d probably forget she existed. As long as he remembered his promise when it came time to leave for his trading voyage to Hedeby, that was fine with her.

  * * *

  Elfwynn blinked as she stepped out into the sunlight. She’d spent all morning setting up the loom and once she returned to Oslafa’s house, she could pick out the thread she wanted to use to start her cloth with.

  She stretched as she looked at the fjord. Rorik’s men were preparing for their voyages. At the shoreline, they loaded ships, made last minute repairs, and checked the rigging. Were they going to trade? Or were they heading out to raid and plunder? How could Oslafa see this every summer and not remember what the Northmen had done to her village? Just watching the activity made her think of Rorik’s ships pulled onto her shore at home when he was talking with her father. It sent a chill up her spine. What misery would come of the journeys they were preparing for?

  Troubled, she started up the road to Oslafa’s house. She froze. The three men who had stared at her earlier had left their work and stood in the road, blocking it. Their smiles were not comforting.

  At times, new warriors at Redbank had harassed her, thinking that, as a single woman of the village, she would be an easy target. They’d learned differently. She’d held her own with her wit and sharp tongue and had emerged unscathed. Plus she’d had the protection of her father’s name. Here, she couldn’t even speak to these men, tell them she was Rorik’s guest.

  She raised her head, looking directly at them. “Oslafa’s house.” She pointed behind them.

  Their unpleasant grins became wider as they moved toward her. They said things she couldn’t understand, then laughed. She looked around for help, but the road was empty. Oslafa had gone back to her house early. If she tried to run for the longhouse, they’d catch her before she could reach it. There were men near the ships, though. They would hear her if she screamed loudly enough.

  She drew a deep breath. One of the men went down with a yell, clutching his leg. Kaia strode from the doorway of a house behind them, drawing her sword. The injured man tried to rise but his leg gave out. A long dagger was embedded deep into the back of his thigh, and his blood poured onto the dirt. Kaia must have thrown it. The two other men backed away from her, their hands up.

  After kicking the wounded man back down, Kaia bent and withdrew her knife from his leg. She stood over him, and shouted at them in Norse. They spoke fast, looking at Elfwynn and shaking their heads. The shieldmaiden regarded them with narrowed, hard eyes, her shoulders back, her hand gripping her gleaming sword. She was magnificent.

  From behind, Rorik stormed past Elfwynn, stopping just in front of her. Leif and several other men followed him, their swords unsheathed, and stood between her and the men who had threatened her. All of them spoke at once until Rorik held up his hand. His voice, usually so deep, was even lower, harsh, as though he spoke through clenched teeth. He advanced on the men, his fists tight. They knelt, cowering in front of him.

  She couldn’t understand much of what they said. She was trembling too hard in fear and shock to concentrate. But she caught enough words to know the men lied, saying she had encouraged them to join her in a tryst. When she heard that, it was too much. She snapped. Surging forward, she tried to rush past Rorik to scream at them, but he grabbed her. He pulled her against his body, his arm around her waist.

  “They lie.” She twisted to get away from him. With everything she’d been through in the past few days, she had reached her limit. It was bad enough she had to live here, among these pagans. But for them to threaten her, then lie about her, was too much to bear. “I didn’t live all those years, dodging my father’s men, avoiding the Northmen, and now selling my soul to you to keep the women in my village from getting raped, only to have it happen here.”

  “No one is getting raped. You’re safe now.” He spoke into her ear. His breath was warm against her skin, his words deep. They spiraled into her, making her feel protected and secure. She quieted. He caressed her waist for a moment. “Kaia heard the entire exchange. Thank the gods she can throw a knife.”

  Still holding her, he spoke to his warriors and they hauled the protesting men away, the injured one still clasping his bleeding leg.

  “Are you injured? Can you stand?” He loosened her just enough to turn her to face him.

  “I’m fine. What will happen to them?” She tried to push away from him, but he didn’t let her go.

  Kaia spoke Northumbrian as she walked to them. “Since they didn’t actually rape you, we can’t execute them. Unfortunately. Rorik, you got here too soon. I was just getting warmed up.” She sheathed her sword, then cleaned her knife on the ground.

  “I’ll decide what to do with them later. All men here know my stance on taking an unwilling woman. They have no excuse. I let everyone know Elfwynn is under my protection.”

  “It appears she still is.” Leif looked at Rorik’s arm.

  Rorik let her go and she stumbled back, a bit unsteady. He’d been so strong and solid beside her. He was like a great shield against anything that might harm her. But that was insane. He was the one who had caused the greatest harm to her. Or was it her father? She wasn’t thinking straight.

  “Kaia, I want you to teach Elfwynn how to handle a knife,” Rorik said. “Nothing fancy. She’s not a shieldmaiden.”

  “Thank the gods for that, or you’d have been dead back in Northumbria.” Leif chuckled.

  “True. Kaia, show her how to keep a man from her so she can protect herself, if need be.”

  Kaia gave him an innocent smile. “Are you quite certain, Rorik? You might regret that one day.”

  “Just teach her. And find her a knife she can carry starting now.”

  “Don’t I have a say in any of this?” She crossed her arms.

  “No.” Rorik, Kaia, and Leif spoke at once.

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, at least I know I don’t have a choice.” Then again, learning to defend herself might make her feel better. She never wanted to feel so vulnerable again.

  “Come.” Rorik took her arm. “I’ll walk you to Oslafa’s house.”

  She tried to pull away from him, but couldn’t. “I think I can walk down the road by myself.” When he ignored her, she said, “I always thought the women here had many rights and laws protecting them.”

  “They do. But they apply to Norse women, not foreigners. The story has spread of how you came to be here and some still aren’t certain of your status. Hostage, captive, slave, guest.”

  “The last, or so I’ve heard. If that’s true, you need to enlighten them more than you already have. Then let me know, since even I’m not certain.”

  “Guest, I assure you. And we have a long tradition of hospitality. Therefore, I’m walking you home. Call it my responsibility.”

  “You’re known as the lord of the seas, but not even you could walk across them to take me home to Northumbria.”

  He laughed, his fingers sliding along her arm. He didn’t appear to realize he’d caressed her, but the sensation shot through her like an arrow and she edged away from him as far as she could. So much for trying to stay out of his sight.

  When they entered Oslafa’s house, she was sitting at the table with a young man. She rose, giving a pointed look to Rorik’s hand still holding Elfwynn’s arm. Clearing his throat, Rorik released her.

  Oslafa gave a rap on the shoulder to the young man who stared at Elfwynn, his eyes wide. “Stand up, Turold, when Rorik comes in.”

  “Sorry.” He rose. He was tall and slender, with the promise of great width in his shoulders, a fine-looking youth about her own age.

  The older woman sighed. “Elfwynn, please meet my son, Turold of the bad manners. He’s not usually so wooden-headed. He speaks our language, of course, so feel free to berate him as you need to.”

  “It’s good to see you here visiting your mother, Turold,” Rorik said. “How are you
r repairs coming on the barns?”

  “Quite well, Rorik. There wasn’t as much winter damage as we feared. We’ll have them finished soon.”

  “Excellent. You do fine woodworking.”

  “Sit and have something to drink, Elfwynn.” Oslafa hurried to the sideboard. “May I offer you some wine, Rorik?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “Thank you, Oslafa, but I have to go. I have business to discuss with my men. Perhaps they’ve recovered enough from the feast last night to form words now.”

  “They’ll only start drinking all over again once they can walk straight enough to get to the ale.”

  “Then I’d best hurry.” He inclined his head. “I’ll see all of you at the evening meal.”

  When he left the house, it seemed like the air had gone with him. Elfwynn sank down at the table, light-headed.

  “Are you well, child? Can I get you anything to eat?” Oslafa patted her on the back.

  “I’m all right. I just had a bit of a fright.” Over wine, she told them what had happened.

  Osalfa set down her cup. “Rorik’s warriors would never do that. But those were bondsmen, working off debts they’ve incurred. I can’t imagine why they felt they could try for you, unless they thought they could force you to say it was consensual. With the three of them against one foreign woman, another man might believe them. Not Rorik. He’ll always listen to the woman first. They didn’t realize that. Here, Rorik’s word is law. He’ll decide what is to happen to them.”

  Turold’s face hardened and he didn’t look as young anymore. “I have some time off. I’ll stay here and keep an eye out for you. Rorik is too busy. I promise you, Elfwynn, it won’t happen again.”

  She smiled her thanks. No, it wouldn’t. At home, her father’s name was her protection. But here, in spite of what Rorik had said, she had no one else to depend on except herself. She’d learn how to handle a knife and wouldn’t be so complacent about her safety. Just because she wasn’t a shieldmaiden didn’t mean she was weak. She’d survived vicious threats from Mildburg, villagers looking down on her because of her birth, and living in a region infested by Northmen all her life. This was only a few distasteful weeks, at most.