It was so tempting, to have the choice taken from her. Then the onus wouldn’t be on her. There was a strange comfort in letting him control her, knowing she couldn’t get away from him. But she’d found, to her surprise, that wasn’t who he was. Nor was it the way she was. “I once believed that about you, but not any longer. I think it may be a decision we both make. Together.”
“So it is.” He kissed her again. “Right now, I think we’ll agree we need to eat. As much as I’d like to enjoy you again, you need to heal and I’m starved.”
She was, as well. Now that he was home, her appetite had awakened. It was most likely well past the morning meal, but all he had to do was speak the word and the servants would have food ready for him. It was probably already on the tables in the hall.
As they dressed, she sighed in relief. Judging by the light in the small window, it was midday. Most people would be about their work elsewhere. The fewer people who saw them come out of her room, the better. It would be mortifying if the village knew where he’d slept last night. With his reputation, there could be no doubt about what they’d done.
He opened the door and walked out first. In their culture, one could never be certain what lay on the other side and it was safer that way. As she followed him, a great shout went up and she jumped.
“Hail Jarl Rorik!” The hall shook with all the people yelling his name. Everyone in Vargfjell seemed to be there and they were all smiling at Rorik and her, shouting and banging their weapons, plates, and cups. Magnus, Leif, and Eirik stood in the front with Silvi and Asa. The other ships must have come in during the morning, so all the warriors joined the crowd.
Her face burning, she hid behind Rorik. Oh Lord. Now they chose to honor him? He pulled her out from behind him and held her at his side.
“I thank you, people of Vargfjell.” They quieted as he spoke. “But you know I’ve never accepted the title of jarl. It is not something I feel I’ve earned or wanted.”
They all shouted again, and cries of “Jarl, Jarl, Jarl” echoed through the building.
Galinn stepped forward. “Rorik, you’ve faced a king to protect us and won. You’ve brought back great wealth in ships and weapons and jewelry. Your power will only grow as more warriors seek to fight for you. There is no one who can stand against you. Your allies and family honor you, your people revere you, and all on the seas fear you. You will not call yourself a king, and yet, if you are not at least a jarl, then who is? We’ve prepared your seat for you.”
The crowd parted. At the head of the room two chairs stood on a dais. Elfwynn had never seen anyone sit in them, but they must have been for the jarl and his wife. Now, the pelts of white bears were draped over them and a fortune in furs covered the ground beneath them.
Rorik’s hand tightened on hers and a muscle in his jaw jumped. She was the only one close enough to see it and she pressed his hand in support. Why did it so upset him to see them that way?
“Men lead by consensus,” Galinn said. “By the consent of all. Even kings. We have agreed that you, Rorik, are the jarl of Vargfjell. Would you go against the will of your people?”
Rorik’s shoulders fell, as though he had tightened them for battle, but then surrendered to the inevitable. He looked at all of them. “It is said the gods write in runes the destinies of those who rule. The people are the chisels that carve those runes. If it is your will, then I agree.”
He turned to her and she nodded with an encouraging smile. He kissed her palm, then left her and walked to the dais. Closing his eyes, he hesitated in front of the chairs. For the first time since she’d met him, he appeared uncertain of himself.
Lifa stepped from the crowd. She wore a blue gown, hemmed with gemstones, and carried a long staff carved with strange symbols. “As it is the will of the people, so have the runes spoken. It is time, Rorik of Vargfjell, to take your place as jarl, as a ruler of men, with all the wisdom, power, and responsibilities of that rank. This, you have earned. Not from your father, or from those who have gone before, but from your own strength, courage, and honor. You have won this by your sword and your heart. None, past or present, shall wrest this from you. So have the gods said.” She banged her staff on the floor.
He stared at Lifa, as though drawing strength from her. Then he inclined his head and sat on the larger chair. A cry went up again, from those gathered there as he gazed out over them. So proud and magnificent, he outshone any man she had ever seen. He was so far beyond her, she might as well be back home already.
She skirted the celebrating crowd as they broke out the wine, beer, and mead, and escaped outside. Walking down the path to the shoreline, she looked at the waters.
Ships lined the beach and the docks, and more were anchored further out. She’d never before seen so many in one place. They were all beautiful, sleek, and deadly. When she’d watched Rorik’s ship burning on the riverbank, she’d thought they were ugly. But now, she saw their beauty, and the skill it took to build them.
And one of them would have to take her home as soon as possible. She sank down on a bench. It had been a mistake to take the time to make the cloth for a shirt for him. Now she was that much further behind. It was a foolish dream to consider staying, even if he sent a message to Wulf. It didn’t solve their biggest problems. His raiding. His desire for so many women. And now, his rank.
She was the illegitimate daughter of a foreign earl and a village woman. No one special. If he ever married, he needed a wife who could bring him allies, political power, and prestige. She could bring him nothing.
“Elfwynn?”
She closed her eyes. Why did he have to come here, just when she was gaining the strength she needed to refuse him?
He sat next to her. “I looked for you, but you weren’t there. Leif said he saw you leave.”
“The celebration is for you and your people.” She continued studying the ships.
“Here. I know you must be hungry.” He held out a cloth with bread and cheese in it.
She took it, but placed it in her lap. “You should be in there with them, celebrating.”
He had another piece of cloth and opened it. Taking a bite of his own meal, he leaned back. “I prefer this, sitting here with you, watching the ships and the water. It’s where I’m most comfortable. Besides, with all the drink that’s flowing, they won’t even notice I’m gone.”
They sat in quiet closeness for a time, watching the breeze play over the fjord. If only it could be this way between them forever. Only the two of them. No crowds, no war, no responsibilities tugging them toward different sides of the world.
Above them in the village, the sounds of a drunken brawl erupted. Rorik rubbed his hands over his face. “I’d better go up there before I have another battle to contend with. Where will I find you later?”
Her eyes met his. “In the weaving room.”
“I see.” His jaw tightened. “So you still intend to finish the sail?”
“Yes. I agreed to do so.”
He nodded. “And after that?”
“It must be as you agreed. I must return home.”
Something in his eyes hardened, like the implacable warrior she’d first thought him to be. Or the jarl he now was. “And if I decide to keep you here?”
Deep inside, her body clenched. “Then I’ll have no choice, now will I?”
He stood. “I’ll come to you tonight.” Without looking back at her, he strode up the path.
She set her meal aside and tucked her feet up on the bench, curling into herself. Perhaps that would solve all of her problems. If she had to live here with the pain of loving him, seeing him with other lovers, and watching him leave on his voyages, eventually resentment would kill her feelings for him. Then nothing could ever hurt her again.
Chapter Sixteen
All that day and through the evening, he’d celebrated with his people. He’d made all the right toasts, served his finest wine like it was ale, and feasted as though it were his last night.
It
might as well be. Elfwynn gave him the peace he longed for. An emptiness had been within him for so long, he hadn’t been aware of it until she’d filled it. It wasn’t just her music and her wit. She was the only person he could simply be with. They’d sat together down by the fjord and he’d never been so content. With her by his side, he’d never feel the need to wonder if what he’d been looking for all his life was just over the horizon. It was here, with her.
How could he send her back to that bastard of a father? A message to her brother should be good enough, and if it wasn’t, he’d bring her mother here to live. Then she’d have nothing more holding her in Northumbria.
This night, he’d be with her, love her, show her how he felt. He set down his cup. Suddenly a nasty little feeling twirled in his gut and it made his blood chill. Something comes.
Nothing could touch him now. The southern jarls waited for an army that would never arrive. Halfdan was weakened by the loss of men and ships, though he didn’t know it yet. Even now, the story was spreading throughout the lands about his victory. So what was it?
Lifa sat within his sight, watching him. When he’d stood on the dais, she’d been his anchor in the rough seas his own people had thrown him into that day. Just seeing the love in her eyes had brought back all that she and Ivar had done for him so many years ago. Their guidance and acceptance of what he was had prepared him for this very day when he would become who he was born to be. She smiled at him and tilted her head to the weaving room. He glanced at the door.
Elfwynn left the room and went to her chamber. Lifa raised her cup to him and drank. Finishing his wine, he gave Elfwynn a short time to prepare for bed, then rose and went to her door. He knocked once before entering.
A single lamp burned on the table beside the bed. She lay there, the covers up around her shoulders, her hair curling over the pillows. His body tightened as he went to the side of the bed and looked down at her. She stared up at him, but he couldn’t read what was in her eyes. Fear? He’d never want that. Uncertainty? Perhaps. He had been short with her by the fjord that afternoon. He was on such a tight leash now, he didn’t dare let it, or himself, loose.
Not leaving the side of the bed, he removed his clothing and slid under the blankets. She was still in her shift, warm, soft, and so inviting. He wanted to sink into her, lose himself in her peace and beauty. He moved over her and took her in his arms. But as he kissed her, she trembled and turned her head.
He continued to rain tiny kisses over her cheek. It was damp. Touching it with the tip of his finger, he searched her eyes.
“Why, Elfwynn?”
“It is who you are. What you are. And I must leave here because of it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re a raider, gone to the ends of the world, leaving everything behind. Including me. They say you always return, but one day, you might not. I’d never know what happened to you. I cannot live with that fear, Rorik. You’re a jarl now, so powerful you topple kings. I bring you nothing, and yet you are everything.”
“I’m the same as I was last night when you said you’d consider staying here.”
“But then today happened.”
“I know, but it’s never been what I wanted. My father was jarl here and I can’t be anything that he is.”
“Any man would want to be what you are. Wealthy, respected, strong. You walk through this world like you own it, never doubting, never uncertain of your place in it. And now, you would own me, as well.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He slid off of her, and gathered her to him so that her head rested on his chest. “I don’t want to own you, Elfwynn. I want you at my side, free and proud. Your fire and spirit is what attracted me to you. Why would I want to chain that? But it’s more than that. It’s the peace you bring me. With you, there’s no need for lamps or light. You are my light.”
“You’ve said something like that before. Why do you need the light at night, Rorik? You speak of needing peace and not wanting your heritage.” She put her hand on his chest. “Let me understand you. Only then can I make the right decision about what to do.”
He remained silent, as afraid as he had been during his first battle. What if she learned the truth about him and what he was? She would leave him in disgust then, and never come back. Was this the danger he had felt a short time ago? A turning point in his life? A ripping apart of all he knew, as Lifa had seen in the runes? He had never stepped back from battle, never shirked what he must do.
It was said that when Asa told Eirik of her past, it released the pain she had been carrying all those years. She was so happy now with Eirik. Could it be the same for him? Lifa thought so. She’d always said it was better to cut open a half-healed wound than let it fester, to let the poison out so the wound could heal inside as well.
The people of Vargfjell knew, for they had lived it with him. But they didn’t know what it had done to him. Only his sisters did, for they were the same as he. Lifa, Eirik, and Silvi knew. If it weren’t for them, he’d be dead. Or worse, like his father.
Perhaps it was time. If he wanted to give Elfwynn his future, he first had to give her his past.
“My father’s name was Kolr and my mother was Gudrid. She was the sister of Eirik’s father, Ivar. By all accounts, when they married at a young age, Kolr was a fine man. His ancestors were from north of Hålogaland near the Malengenfjord. They came south with the ancestors of our neighbors in Lade and conquered this area. Vargfjell was his, though at that time it was called by a different name. I was born soon after they married.
“When I was only a few years old, Kolr and his men fought the enemy of his family. They were taken captive. They say he was forced to watch his warriors die one by one, in horrible ways. He, too, was tortured. But death was too good for him, they said. Too easy. They set him free to return home, but he brought with him the memories. Little by little, they chipped away at him until, like a stone that is carved too much, his mind cracked and broke apart.
“Among our warriors, we have those who are called berserkers. They eat a mushroom that makes them fearless and overly violent in battle. They chew their shields and are the first to engage the enemy. They are mad for a time. He became like that all the time. He killed many of the farmers and raped the women of the village. The good men who could escape with their families did, and others who wanted only to destroy and pillage came to join with him. He became the scourge of the lands here.”
He swallowed and glanced down at her. She kept her wide, beautiful eyes on him, never wavering. “He brutalized and raped my mother repeatedly and she couldn’t escape. That’s where my two sisters came from. She would have had even more children, but she lost many of them due to his beatings. Often, he locked me in a dark place while he assaulted her and my sisters. Ellisif and Kaia were only infants. I had to listen to it, unable to do anything about it.”
“That’s why you don’t like the darkness.”
“I don’t fear the dark, itself. I see him there. And hear their cries. I still do, in my dreams, but at least when I wake, I see the bright room around me and know it’s a dream. If it’s dark, the nightmare continues.”
She placed her hand over his heart.“What happened to them?”
“My mother found two good men here. She sent them to Haardvik to tell Ivar what was happening. They couldn’t take a ship. They had to travel overland and it took months. My father eventually figured out where they had gone. In a rage, he dragged my sisters and me outside and stabbed my mother in front of us. He did it in a place on her body so she wouldn’t die quickly, but bleed to death over a time. We were held there to watch. The last thing she said to me was, Run. With the last of her strength, she threw herself on him and tried to kill him. In the chaos, I grabbed a seax from the belt of the man who held me and slew him. As my father slaughtered my mother, I took my sisters, escaped to the forest, and hid them there.”
“Oh my God.” Her tears fell on his skin. “How old were you?”
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“Seven winters. Kaia was five and Ellisif was four.”
“So young, and you killed a man?”
“In this land, there are accounts of children as young as six winters who have carried out blood feuds, slaughtering entire families.”
She paled. “How did you survive?”
“Some of the women from the village brought us food and supplies. We lived there for a long time, alone. It is why Ellisif still stays there. She was so young, all she knew was the safety of the woods. She was so hurt, all the emotion was stripped from her. She thinks that if she doesn’t feel, the memories won’t control her. Kaia just hates everything. She carries a great deal of anger within her.”
“So she became a shieldmaiden. Did the men reach your uncle?”
“Yes. When they told Ivar about Kolr, he called together all his ships and those of his allies and came here. He slew my father and the men who followed him, then he had the women find us and bring us back. We saw our father lying bloody and broken on the ground. I took his sword from his dead hand to try to prevent him from going to Valhalla.
“We all were little more than angry, wild animals by that time. Ivar brought us to the best healer he knew—Lifa. She touched us and we felt her love. Ivar left men here as regents until I came of age. They rebuilt the village. Most of the people who had left came back. In the meantime, we lived at Haardvik. My uncle taught us of honor, respect, and self-discipline. Lifa taught us of love, control, and empathy.” He gave a dry smile. “I think they were only partly successful, but at least we could rejoin society.”
“I think they were very successful. Look at all you’ve done here.”
“When I returned, I vowed I would not be my father, would not even take his title or his name. That’s why I’m known as Rorik of Vargfjell, not Rorik Kolrson. I wanted to make it up to the people here for all the atrocities he committed. I know in my mind it wasn’t my fault, but in my heart, I still feel that it is. If only I had done more to stop him. Instead, I ran.” In spite of himself, his voice shook.
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