God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga)

by Heather Day Gilbert

  He doesn’t answer, looking at the floor. “Are those new boots?”

  Why does he talk so seriously about boots? “Yes, Stena gave them to me, because my others got ruined by the mud at Straumsfjord—”

  He speaks quickly. “I know many things happened when I was away from Straumsfjord. Snorri told me much of it, but not all. I figured out what he wasn’t telling me. The man was transparent as glass. I knew he loved you, from the time he was young. He couldn’t stop talking about you, telling me about your family in Iceland and your godparents, Halldis and Orm. He also spoke often of your hair and your figure and your eyes—things other men would never have mentioned to me. But I thought he was only like a friend to you, and I couldn’t pick a better protector while I was gone.”

  “And so he was,” I say.

  Finn’s foot taps on the floor in a regular rhythm. “But lately he was distracted by you—so distracted, he neglected his work. You’re a distracting woman, Gudrid—I wonder if you even know it? Leif, too, watches you openly, like a hungry wolf. He’ll regret this if he continues.” His foot rests on the floor. “So I talked with Snorri this morning. I told him to marry Linnea or take his goods and go back to Iceland.”

  I breathe slowly, but inside I’m in turmoil. My husband has seen all the things I thought were hidden. I nod at him slightly, so he’ll continue. He has never talked this openly with me before.

  “He was upset, Gudrid. He tore off on that stallion, the one Leif couldn’t tame. Any other man would’ve had sense to pick a better horse. You haven’t seen Snorri in a rage. I did once in Iceland—the time he got an arrow run through his thick neck.”

  He sighs deeply, looking at the unicorns dancing on the tapestry.

  “I’ve done wrong. I’ve been living with this guilt,” he says.

  What? He didn’t cause Snorri’s death. I did.

  “Do you remember that night? When Hallstein was leering at you, and his men were doing the same?” Finn focuses on the small window, as if looking back in time. “I knew he was drunk when he was in the longhouse. I knew they were stupid and desperate for women. And then Snorri told me about Hallstein’s remarks to you. I left early, and hid behind our hut…I was going to jump out and kill Hallstein if he came anywhere near you.”

  He had been aware of the danger that night. He knew.

  “I waited…then I heard Vani’s steps and saw his huge shadow. I let him scratch around at the midden heap, looking for an entrance to the house.”

  Why? Why would you do this? Your wife and child were inside.

  “I needed to know, in my mind, that I was justified in what I had to do. I knew you would protect the main door, and I knew you’d kill anyone who came in. You’re quite a fearsome woman when it comes to your children. But I’d posted Snorri in front of the hut, so I wasn’t worried about anyone coming in that way.”

  If only I had known that night! Instead of fearing for my life, gripping my seax until my hands were numb, I could have rested secure, knowing I was protected.

  Finn’s eyes finally fix on me, dark blue and bright. “So I let him dig in the waste, pig that he was. He started hacking at the wood frame, and then would you believe he started pulling his trousers off? That was enough for me. I took my knife and cut into his throat—not very cleanly, I’m afraid. I would never let him hurt you.”

  His foot starts tapping again. “Soon after this, Freydis came behind the huts. She carried her knife. I stood behind her when she tripped over the body. I put my hand over her mouth and wrenched the knife from her, then shoved her out of the way, in case anyone else came. She was smart enough to run the other way, toward the forest. She never realized who I was.”

  His eyes search my face, waiting for a response. I can’t move, and my face feels frozen. Finn was there all along. He risked everything to protect me—if Hallstein had found out, the men would have demanded punishment. Finn would have lost his position as leader. And, if they’d followed Althing rules, he would have lost his life. Now I know why he got to Linnea so quickly—he was already positioned outside, listening for trouble.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it, as if to wake me. “Hallstein wanted to blame Freydis, since she liked to threaten him. I tried to protect her when she returned with you. I told the women Vani was sick, so we could burn him quickly, before any of the men looked closely at his neck. Of course, Snorri Thorbrandsson knew I’d killed him, but he wouldn’t tell anyone about me. He would have killed that troll himself, given half the chance.”

  His eyes search mine. “And now you know why I’ve felt so guilty. Freydis was with child. What if I killed that baby, when I scared her behind the hut? Or when she was accused of murder? I should have stepped up, but the men were on the verge of mutiny and I wanted to keep as many loyal to me as I could, so I could be there for you. Hallstein’s men wouldn’t have had mercy on me.”

  Everything falls into place so neatly in my mind. Snorri’s talk of men who needed killing, his eyes travelling to the back of the longhouse. Freydis’ knife, knocked into the bush. The mark on the neck not matching her knife. Finn’s lie about Vani being sick.

  And his feelings of guilt could be grounded. It is possible for shock to kill babies.

  All this time, I never really believed Freydis when she denied killing Vani. But all she had done was try to protect me, prowling behind my hut with her knife.

  Finn leans closer. He chews on cloves, and his spicy scent warms me. He loves me enough to risk his position, his wealth, and even his life for me.

  I take his bearded chin between my hands, pulling him toward me on the bed. He will know of my forgiveness, and that will be forgiveness enough. No one else will ever know what happened that night—least of all, Freydis.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Along with the bright reds and yellows of sunrise comes a clearness I haven’t felt for years. It’s as if God has taken all the lies I’ve believed about Finn’s carelessness and burnt them on a funeral pyre.

  Morning also brings news. Deirdre wakens us with her insistent knocking. When Finn opens the door to her, I fear for my boys. Wearing only my shift, I slide from the bed, racing to her side.

  She sees my worry and stops it, holding up her hand. “The boys are fine. Gunna left, in the middle of the night. She took her son and her witch. One of Leif’s men left with her. Those two had been close for some time…but now Leif is throwing things around and shouting. Thjodhild is afraid he’ll make his way to her chapel or even to her house, and break all her valuables.”

  Finn pulls on his boots. But if he walks into this, both men will get killed.

  “I’ll talk with him,” I say.

  Finn sighs heavily, as if this family’s problems weigh on him. “You don’t have to fix this. I can do it.”

  “He won’t hurt me, because I’m family.” I hope I’m right.

  Deirdre gives Finn a look, but nods. “Truly, Gudrid may be the only one he’ll see.”

  I throw on my red shawl, another gift from Stena. I’m surprised Leif even misses Gunna. Perhaps he’s angry she took Gils with her.

  Glass crashes against Leif’s door as we approach. Deirdre sucks in her breath. “Do not let him get behind you,” she whispers. I wonder what she means, until I remember that he once strangled a man for his father, walking up behind him and wrapping one arm around his neck.

  I murmur a quick prayer, asking God to bring Leif to his senses and calm him for me. Then I push the carved, honey-colored door open.

  Leif holds a box in one hand, a vase in the other. He throws the vase toward me, but I duck.

  “Sorry…sorry! I thought it was someone else,” he says.

  His eyes are dazed and his hair tumbles over his shoulders. He wears only his trousers, seemingly unaware of his lack of a tunic.

  He turns the dark box over, and its little drawers crash to the floor. “She took it all, that wench. She took every bit. There was a wife who had no business having my keys.”

&nb
sp; Viking women still keep the keyrings, a tradition since the days when their men went out plundering. It shows the transfer of power. Keys can be for anything, from barns to storehouses to treasure boxes. This last is what Gunna has raided, I’m sure. She would have needed gold and silver for the trip. She probably also traded her huge emerald brooches that were gifts from her father.

  “I’m sorry.” I lean against the wall to protect my back. I can’t be too careful, although I’m almost sure Leif wouldn’t hurt me. But Snorri Thorbrandsson’s last words about Leif echo in my head. “You can’t be alone with Leif,” he’d said. What did he mean? Did he know something I don’t know?

  To my dismay, I start shaking, revealing no small measure of doubt.

  Leif comes over to me, and instead of meeting his gaze, I notice how the golden hair on his chest matches his beard. He takes my arms in his hands, and I look into his eyes, more gray than blue today. He towers over me, making me feel small as a child again. His lips crook halfway up and his eyebrow raises. He’s waiting for me to say something.

  “She was an ill-tempered woman; we all saw that, Leif.” I hope this is what he wants to hear. I don’t mention that his own behavior toward her was far from honorable.

  “And you came here to tell me that, shivering in your thin shift?” He smiles as if we are conspirators. “Yes, you’re right. She never wanted to be here, and she poisoned Gils against me, always making me out to be some kind of fool. Still, he could have had this farm someday.”

  His eyes wander across the room, taking in the damage for the first time. “What’ve I done? Probably broken half my mother’s trinkets. Many thanks for coming over when you did.” He pulls me to him in a sudden hug. I try to pretend it’s what a brother would do. But the way his hand trails down my back isn’t so brotherly. I need to leave, now.

  “Tonight will be the burning for Snorri Thorbrandsson.” I try to distract Leif while I slip away from his wandering hand.

  He blocks my forward movement, catching a stray piece of my hair and twisting it in his fingers. “Won’t you stay for awhile, my beautiful sister?" His hand slides to my shoulder, as his other hand smoothly moves to my waist.

  A little laugh sounds from the doorway, and Stena’s youngest daughter comes running straight toward me. Her little round face scrunches in a smile, and she extends her arms. Thankful for the interruption, I pick her up. Her brown eyes smile downward, just like Stena’s.

  I don’t even know her name yet. “What are you called?” I point to her chest.

  She grins shyly. “Gudrid,” she whispers.

  “No, I’m Gudrid...who are you?”

  It’s Leif’s turn to laugh. “She was named after the woman who brought her into the world.” He points to me.

  Stena named her daughter for me…my thoughts fly to my sister-in-law, remembering the way she clung to me after Thorvald’s death. She needed someone with her all the time; to feed, bathe, and dress her child. It was as if all her will-power had been taken away when her husband died. Even when we had to leave for Vinland, three months after she’d given birth, Stena still hadn’t named her baby.

  But now, I have my own namesake—this radiant, loving girl in my arms.

  Leif watches my face, not even looking at the girl. I carefully put little Gudrid down, trying not to cry. “There are funeral preparations to make,” I say. “I’ll send a slave here to clean for you.”

  “Many thanks.” Leif’s eyes hold my own a moment too long, breathing new life into my nearly-forgotten dreams of him. Fresh guilt floods me. Was I truly thankful little Gudrid interrupted Leif's enticement? Or does some part of me feel privileged to hold sway over such an esteemed, powerful man?

  I follow little Gudrid outside, pulling the heavy door shut. Deirdre and Stena wait nearby. Stena’s eyes are on mine, and we both know she sent her daughter in for a reason. “You didn’t tell me she’s my namesake!” I try to scold her, but she sees my proud smile. “And thank you, for…distracting Leif.”

  “Of course,” she says. “Thjodhild was worried sick. She’s taken to her bed—she didn’t even go to the chapel today. Her health is failing.” Stena’s deep eyes tell me she understands how ill Thjodhild is; perhaps better than I do. She was a reindeer herder, after all. They always had to watch for sickness or disease among their animals.

  “I’ll go to her.” I turn to Deirdre. “Do you need help preparing the body?” I cannot put feeling into my words.

  “No, indeed.” Deirdre looks at my stomach. “You’ve seen enough. Go, help the mistress.”

  Thjodhild has always been the mistress of Brattahlid, from the time Eirik established it. I find myself wondering again who’ll replace her, now that Gunna is gone.

  Fights, sickness, and death follow me everywhere. Why do I spend all my time running from one disaster to another? I must talk with Freydis about this journey she plans. And I must speak with Linnea about her plans for the future.

  I miss seeing my own children here at Brattahlid. I had looked forward to teaching Hol and Hellir our language. Instead, I have more responsibility here than at Straumsfjord, between my daughter-in-law duties and the never-ending burdens of family struggles on the farm. I’m sure Finn feels my absence, as well.

  Thjodhild’s in a state, walking back and forth in her house, cursing Gunna with pagan curses I haven’t heard since my childhood in Iceland. I don’t stop her rant, since she isn’t cursing with the real God’s name.

  “She took Gils! He was the heir of Brattahlid, and my grandson!” Her pale eyes are frantic. “I told Leif not to marry her. She trapped him with that baby. She would've liked to take Leif away from Brattahlid and put him under her father’s heavy thumb. At least he had the sense to make her come here instead.”

  “True, true.” I try to calm her.

  “And now she’s run back to papa! Weak and hateful hag! I’ll disinherit her boy!”

  I ignore the fact that she has no power to disinherit. “Thjodhild, I have some herbs that might help you.”

  “I don’t want to be calm! I’m angry! I’ll say what I want!”

  “Of course you will. Maybe you’d like to visit the chapel?”

  “I’m too upset.” She still paces the room.

  “People will expect to see the woman of the farm at the funeral tonight.” I know she won’t refuse her duty.

  She stands straighter. Thjodhild is a woman who always wants to appear strong in her position as owner of Brattahlid.

  “Yes...perhaps I should rest for a while. Are there enough hands to help with preparations?”

  “More than enough—Brattahlid has plenty of slaves.” I know she’ll take this as a compliment.

  “Yes.” She sighs. “I suppose I could have one of your herbal teas.”

  I take my leave and retrieve my herb box. In the longhouse, I instruct the slaves how to make a calming tea for Thjodhild with dried chamomile and lemon balm. Stena meets me there to discuss our mother-in-law.

  “She’s not so unreasonable as she was when I married Thorvald, but she still forgets herself sometimes.” Stena looks at me. “Did you rest last night?”

  At some point in the night, I suppose I did, despite Finn’s revelations swirling in my head. I nod. “Where’s Freydis? I haven’t seen her for so long.”

  Stena’s eyes darken. “She’s plotting. Ref isn’t able to talk sense to her.”

  “Plotting what?”

  “Plotting a return voyage to Vinland, so Leif avoids her. She talks of nothing but how she’s going to be as wealthy as Finn someday and make everyone respect her position as Eirik’s daughter. I heard she rode up the coast to meet some sailors visiting from Iceland.”

  “When did she leave?” I ask.

  “Two days ago.”

  So Freydis doesn’t even know about Snorri Thorbrandsson. She will probably return in time to see the flames of his pyre. Another death, which could push her further out of her mind.

  At least I can do one thing now—talk with L
innea. Stena tells me she is washing clothes at the waterfall. Past the field, there’s a waterfall that gushes down the high rocks, into a deep green lake. I went there often after Thorstein the Red married me. We would sun ourselves on its banks and chase each other through the deep grasses. Even though he was proud, when we first married, he loved me as much as he loved himself.

  It is the same field Leif and I walked through years ago. He knew I was loyal in marriage, even then. Now he seems to ignore my married state, goading Finn with his remarks and touching me every chance he gets.

  He picked the wrong husband to joke with. I remember when he’d argue with Thorstein, but they were brothers, so things were usually resolved with a wrestling match. Sometimes, Thorvald would jump in to smooth things over, reasoning with them both. Neither brother could argue with Thorvald’s orderly mind, but they’d always try to outsmart him anyway. Pranks were common among those three men, but they never involved their wives.

  One mid-morning meal, Thorstein the Red raged into the longhouse. Someone had shattered the glass in his three mirrors. He thought some slave wanted to bring him extremely bad luck. Of course, I knew it was just Leif, trying to show how attached Thorstein was to his own good looks. Leif never admitted his guilt, but I noticed when he returned from Norway, he brought back a few mirrors for his younger brother.

  Now two of those brothers are dead. Death lurks everywhere, for Vikings. I let the sunlight blind me and murmur my question toward the sky. “What’s the point of living if you lose everyone?”

  My eye travels to the top of the waterfall, and I freeze in shock. Linnea stands on the ledge, poised to jump onto the jutting rock pile below.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I race to the edge of the lake, my legs finally functioning. "Stop!"

  To my surprise, Linnea straightens up, looking down at me.

  “You?” She leans forward slightly.

  I breathe slowly, trying to calm down. “I need to talk with you about Snorri.”