He thought he’d won? That she was just another conquest?
She shoved him hard. He lost his balance and tipped backwards, but as he fell, he grabbed her hand and took her down with him. She shrieked as the cold water closed in over her. Laughing, he pulled her up with him, both of them sodden and filthy from the mud their floundering had stirred up. She pushed him away.
“You idiot.” She splashed him. “Now your shirt is gone.”
He splashed her back. “Forget the damned shirt. You liked me kissing you. Admit it.”
“I’ll do no such thing. You had no right to do that. I thought you didn’t force women.” She smacked the water toward him several times as he ducked, grinning.
“That wasn’t force and you know it. At least now you’ve been kissed by a man, not a boy like Turold.” He sent a wave of water over her.
She sputtered. “I’ve never been kissed by anyone, Northman. And I’ve told you, Turold doesn’t love me. He loves Finna.”
He stopped. “Finna? Orri’s daughter?”
“Yes, Finna, Orri’s daughter.”
“Why aren’t they together, then? Doesn’t she favor him?”
“Yes.” She searched through the water for the shirt. In her anger, she’d blurted out the truth. There was no help for it now. “She does. They love each other. But her father won’t let him marry her.”
“Why not? He’s a fine young man.”
She almost reminded him that he hadn’t thought so earlier, but it wouldn’t be wise to antagonize him about this. She’d hold her tongue for their sakes.
“He won’t let them marry because Orri hopes you’ll be attracted to her and wed her.”
“Me?” He cast through the water, helping her look for the lost shirt.
She hid her smile at the sight of the great Rorik of Vargfjell, stooping to rake his hands through the mud. “You. And he’s raised the bride-price so high, no one but you could afford it. He doesn’t think Turold is good enough for her because he’s only a wood worker. Oslafa and he have a good amount of money, but not enough.” She wouldn’t mention the money she’d given them.
“I wondered why she wasn’t married yet, a pretty girl like her. I never knew.”
“They didn’t want anyone to know. Apparently, in your culture, you frown on courtships. They were afraid Orri would take revenge on Turold and force Finna to marry someone else.”
“No woman is forced to marry anyone here,” he said. “Ah.” He came up with the shirt, but didn’t give it to her when she reached for it. “Never mind about all this. You’re cold. Go have a sauna to warm up. The washing women can do this and I’ll warn them that you’ll come after them if they ruin the stitching. That should put the fear of the gods into them.”
She drew herself up to make a retort, but at the humor in his eyes, she had to smile. Lowering her head, she tried to hide it, but he had caught it and grinned with her. A laugh welled up in her that she couldn’t hold back and he joined in.
He was truly dangerous, and not as the world knew it. His weapons lay in his sparkling eyes and wicked smile, his teasing and his humor. They hit her like a shield wall, battering at her until she couldn’t resist any longer.
She shivered and it wasn’t entirely from the cold water. His gaze swept her. And lingered. She glanced down at herself and turned away from him, heat rising into her cheeks. Her soaked dress clung to her like a second skin, the fjord water drawing the tips of her breasts tight. Everything showed. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sloshed onto the shore with as much dignity as she could, though her skirt had come out of her belt and wrapped around her legs in a sodden mass.
She put her shoes in the laundry basket, picked it up to have something to hide behind, and took the path to the longhouse. He was following her, God take him. Probably looking at her rear with the dress plastered against it.
“The men will be in the sauna now, so use mine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Getting you warm is more important than your modesty, or my interest in what hides behind that modesty. Go. I swear I won’t peek. When you come out, there’ll be a robe for you. Leave the dress. The washing women will see to it.”
She didn’t reply. She hurried through the longhouse that, mercifully, was empty. As she set the laundry basket down in her room, he followed her in.
“What are you doing? Leave me alone.”
“No.” He took her hand and led her out of the room and toward the back door. “I’m making certain you do as I say. For once.” She had no choice but to walk with him to the sauna. When they stood in front of the building, he released her hand. “Go in. Get warm.” He returned to the longhouse.
Sighing, she went inside. Steam already filled the inner room. Warm, relaxing steam. She dropped her clothes on the floor and entered it. How did the servants know he’d need this? Part of her duties was to be certain there was water and wood, but the servants didn’t start the fire until he was ready for it. She dumped water on the hot rocks and sat down.
Something had changed between them, but she wasn’t certain what it was. A shifting in positions of two adversaries who had realized that, perhaps, they were too equally matched? She’d been butting her head against him all this time, yet he’d never come back at her the way he would any other enemy. Why? It would have been better if he had. Then she’d have a target to aim at. Instead, he was as changeable as the wind, and as difficult to hit. She’d done terrible things to him, yet he’d repaid her with beautiful gifts.
Like he was courting her.
As though he’d do that. Then again, there’d been the kiss. Was it just a way to conquer her, get her to acquiesce to his wishes? Soften her up? It’d certainly worked. At least, for that moment. She couldn’t let down her guard again. He was too wily, too much the strategist. To him, it was all a game. To her, it was her future.
He had quickly lost interest in Turold and Finna, changing the subject as he had. So much for his compassion toward his people.
Sighing, she rinsed and went to the outer room. A warm, woolen robe lay on the bench and her soaked dress was gone. She wrapped her hair in a towel, put on the robe, and went to her room, seeing no one. The basket of laundry was gone. On the bed, lay a beautiful new dress with embroidery on the sleeves and bodice, and a soft linen shift. There was an ivory comb, inset with gems, beside it. Once again, at his mere word, lovely things appeared out of nowhere. His every desire was anticipated. It was as though he need only think of something and it was done for him. All he’d ever known was luxury and wealth. The world changed to honor his wishes, bowing to him as he stood eye to eye with his gods.
No doubt, he thought if he gave her all these things, she would bow, as well. Something had shifted between them and he must feel it. But it wasn’t because of his gifts, or his wealth, or even the power of his kiss.
It was because they had laughed together for the first time, shivering in the freezing water of the fjord. And in that moment, perhaps the entire world didn’t change.
But hers certainly had.
Chapter Thirteen
“Finna, would you come with me?” Rorik smiled to ease the awed look she gave him. The other women in the weaving room whispered and stared. Elfwynn wasn’t there. Unfortunately. When he didn’t see her, he couldn’t be certain what plots she was carrying out against him.
The young woman walked outside with him, a questioning look on her face. “Did I do anything wrong, Rorik?”
“Not at all. We’re going to your house so I can speak with your father. Here’s what I want you to say.” As he spoke to her, she nodded, her expression lightening. When he was certain she understood what she was to do, they headed for her house.
He glanced around to see if Elfwynn was nearby. He didn’t trust her. He thought the kiss yesterday would have made her less inclined to try to maim him in some way. But it hadn’t. While it was true he hadn’t found anything wrong, so far, she wasn’t pleased with him.
She hadn’t met his eye when she’d served him last night, and when she played for him, her music was off, as though she couldn’t concentrate. Was it her resentment of him? Or was it the kiss?
He had thought to control her, show her he was in command. Instead, she had taken over his senses. Her sweet scent, the feel of her in his arms, her soft breath entering his mouth, all of it had consumed him. With other women, he had taken and given back only what he chose. But that kiss stripped his thoughts away, leaving him bare. She had to have felt the connection between them. When he’d ended it, he’d looked down at her to let her see his pleasure and joy.
Another woman would have melted. Gazed at him with adoring eyes. Begged for more as she gave in to his every wish.
Elfwynn had shoved him into the water.
He winced. It was no surprise she reacted that way. It was part of what made her so intriguing, if a bit hard on his clothes, saddles, and him. All he ever heard from other women was, Yes, Rorik. If that’s what you desire, Rorik. Whatever you say, Rorik. It all sounded the same after a while, like the humming of bees. With Elfwynn, he could never be certain where she was going to swing her verbal sword. Or how to parry it.
That was what made life worth living—the thrill of battle and standing steel to steel against a worthy adversary. The blood raging in his veins, the battle cry tearing from his throat, the thrill of triumph as he raised his sword high to the gods, his enemies at his feet.
In some ways, Elfwynn gave him that. Every victory with her was that much sweeter for being so hard-won. He could buy the smile of any woman, except her.
She hadn’t worn the expensive dress or the necklace or the new shoes he’d given her. But then, why should she? All she did was clean up after him and serve him. When he’d seen her in the fjord, washing his shirt, something had twisted in him. It wasn’t right. She was too fine for that. When he got back to the longhouse, he’d tell her she wasn’t to serve him any longer. She could spend the time as she wished.
That would most likely be weaving. Which meant she’d finish the sail sooner and he’d never see her again. Unless he won her affection before that. Thorir had said if she were his, she wouldn’t want to leave him. Over his dead body.
It would be his pleasure to make her feel that way about him, if he survived it.
Orri was working in the small garden beside the house when Finna and he walked up. The older man saw them together, and his eyes widened. He smiled as he wiped his hands and came to greet them. “Rorik, welcome. What brings you here with my daughter?” He looked back and forth between them both, his grin spreading.
This was going to be entertaining. “A question of marriage, Orri. I hear you wish for Finna to marry.”
“Oh yes, Rorik. She’s a sweet girl. Pretty. Talented. She’ll make an excellent wife for a good man.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, other men have been courting her and she doesn’t want to give offense by choosing another who came later, over them.”
“Young girls often don’t know what’s the best for them, do they Rorik?” He kept up his smile, but it was strained. “We men have to decide these things.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t sit well with me to force a woman to marry against her wishes. You know that, Orri.” He gave him a hard look. “I would hear what she has to say.”
“Of course. Of course. Well, girl, what do you say to all this?”
She glanced down as though she was flustered. “I don’t know, Father. Alfarr has spoken to me quite nicely. And he’s handsome.”
“Not him. I won’t have you marrying a boy younger than you.”
“You’re right, Father. That wouldn’t work well.” She paused as though considering and Rorik quashed a smile. She should be a skald, telling tales for the people’s enjoyment.
He put his arm around her shoulders. “Who else, Finna?”
“There’s Dagrun. He gives me flowers and nice things.”
“When did he do this? I’ll teach him to try to bribe my daughter into his bed. You’re not marrying him.”
Rorik almost rolled his eyes. Fathers. No wonder courtship was one of the most dangerous times for any man. Just a hint of impropriety could mean death to the suitor.
“Is there anyone else?” Rorik drew her closer and smiled down at her. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and dreamy.
“Yes, Rorik. I favor . . .” She hesitated and Orri leaned closer.
“Yes, girl? Who is it?”
“Turold.”
“What?” He threw up his hands. “I told you that whelp wasn’t to come near you. I forbid it. He doesn’t have enough for the bride-price and he’s only a wood worker. Nothing.”
“Now just wait, Orri.” Rorik released Finna and stepped up to him. “According to our customs, a father can refuse two suitors that his daughter names. The third one, he has to accept. That would be Turold.” He’d spoken with Osalfa this morning and she’d told him the mundr Orri wanted. “Your bride-price is three times what it should be. Lower it. The young man has the money for that. As for his being a wood worker, he’s so skilled, I’m making him a shipwright’s apprentice. I’m increasing my fleet, so he’ll be very busy. It pays well and holds a prestigious place among our people. Most important of all, Finna will be happy. As a father, you cannot ask for more than that.”
“I suppose not, Rorik.” He sighed as Rorik crossed his arms and glared at him. “I agree, Finna. Marry Turold if he’s who you want.”
“Thank you, Father.” She embraced him.
“I was only looking after you, girl. To be sure you’d have a man who can take care of you. You know that.” His voice was gruff.
“I must return to the longhouse,” Rorik said. “We leave for battle tomorrow and I have much to do. We’ll have the handsal tonight.”
Finna left her father and stood before him. Her eyes were bright with happy tears. “Thank you, Rorik. I’ll never forget this.”
“It’s nothing. Let me know when you wish to marry and we’ll have a grand celebration.” He walked back to the village. At least that was done and he had witnessed it. That was why he’d seen to it himself, so Orri couldn’t deny it. Turold wouldn’t have a reason to sniff around Elfwynn any longer. And it pleased him to see to the happiness of each of his people.
Oslafa had told him some interesting things that morning about Elfwynn, including the role she’d played in getting Finna and Turold together. He needed to speak with Elfwynn about that.
She was in the weaving room, no doubt having gone there after he’d left with Finna. He went to her loom and examined the cloth she was making for the sail. It was of the highest quality, tight and thick, the weft straight and even.
She said nothing to him, only continuing her work even though she came close to bumping into him as she moved to the right side of the frame.
“Elfwynn, I need to speak to you. Will you walk with me?”
“I have much to do, Northman. I don’t have time for pleasantries like some do.”
“Please?”
She stopped weaving and stared at him, shock on her face. The word sounded strange to him, as well. Then, pressing her lips together, she nodded. He led her outside and down to the fjord. There were benches along part of the shore for people who wished to enjoy the water and watch the ships at the nearby docks. His new ship, the one to replace The Sword of the Waves, was taking shape on top of blocks a short distance off. Other vessels were on the beach, including Eirik’s and Magnus’s.
The ships that had been out patrolling and gathering information had returned. There was a large fleet heading north from the Sognefjorden. He was uncertain where they’d put in to unload the men who would help the jarls. Tomorrow, he’d start out with the ships once Thorir arrived. One never knew what the Norns had woven into one’s destiny, so he wanted to make things right with Elfwynn before he left.
He indicated one of the benches and she sank down on it. He sat beside her. “I thought you’d like to know that Turold and Finna
are getting married. I spoke with her father and he agreed.”
She smiled as she looked out at the fjord. “I’m so happy for them. When you didn’t say anything more about them yesterday, I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care about all my people. I had already formed a plan in my mind, but I had to talk with Oslafa and Turold about it. I did so this morning. She also told me some interesting things about what you did for them. The cloth you wove before we went to Hedeby, for instance. You gave it to them to raise silver for the bride-price.”
“I wanted to help and it was all I could think of to do.”
“And then, you and Turold made it seem as though you were interested in each other to throw Orri off the scent.”
“They didn’t want me to say anything about it, so I couldn’t tell you. Though in the end, I did.” She blushed.
“And it all worked out. But there is one more thing.” He drew out of his belt pouch the bag she’d given them with her silver and gold in it. “You gave them this money. Why?”
She looked at the bag, everything she had in the world, held in one of his hands. “I’d been saving it for a long time and I had it with me when you took me. Now I’m stuck here, and by the time I leave, it most likely won’t matter any longer. I didn’t need it and they do.”
“They don’t need it either.” He took her hand, put the bag in it and folded her fingers over it. “This is yours. I made Orri lower the bride-price to what it should be. Turold has more than enough and now he’ll start working on my ships. So he’ll be quite well off and Oslafa insisted that this be returned to you.”
She nodded, not looking at him. “Is that all you wanted? I should go back to work.”
No, he wanted her, and if she were any other woman, he could tell her that. But it would never be. She’d rejected all his gifts, and him, but there was still something he could give her. Not her freedom to return home, for there was the issue of compensation for his lost ship, and upholding his reputation. However, he could still please her. He might be cutting his own throat by doing this, but if it made her happy, he’d wield the knife.
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