Loki's Daughters

by Delle Jacobs

  From the darkness of the pit, the little lamb bleated as if he knew the plot.

  Tanni reached out his hand and grabbed Selma's wrist to pull her and the dangling rope closer. With a swift scoop, he had both rope and Selma in his arms, and pulled her to safety. Selma sighed genuine relief as she rested her head against the rugged chest. A gentle hand rubbed affectionately across her back. She didn't mind his rumbling chuckle. Perhaps he did think her silly. He wouldn't for long.

  "Thank you," she whispered, as if a whisper was all she could manage. "I don't know how we will get the little fellow out."

  Tanni held the reed torch over the rim of the pit. "It is a long way down. He must be injured."

  The lamb bleated pitifully.

  "Perhaps," Selma told him. "But we cannot afford to lose him, as we have no rams now. We must rescue him."

  Tanni's warm grin almost strutted across his face. "Well, I will get him for you."

  Selma felt her own flirtatious smile fade from her face. Suddenly she didn't want to do this. But she had promised. They were depending on her.

  With cocky pride, the man swung out on the rope and descended into the darkness. She held her breath as she shone the torch over the edge and watched the leather rope play between his muscular legs until he reached the rock beneath.

  "The torch," he called, and Selma tossed it down to him.

  His hands skimmed over the lamb, which bleated and rubbed against him. "He is not hurt. How could he have fallen so far?"

  Elli shrugged. "If you will tie him onto the rope, we will haul him up."

  With the extra length of the hide rope, Tanni fashioned a sling around the lamb. The two women pulled upward, bringing the lamb out of the pit, and shooed the little creature out the cavern's entrance.

  "Maybe we shouldn't-" said Selma.

  "Don't be silly." Elli signaled to Mildread above, who suddenly unfastened the rope and let it drop into the pit.

  "Hey!"

  "Oh, dear," said Elli. "The rope has fallen."

  "How am I going to get out of here?" shouted the Viking.

  "I don't know. We don't have another rope."

  "Then go get another one." Even the man's desperation seemed to echo in the hollow chamber below.

  "Aye," said Selma, glancing hopefully at Elli. "We could do that, couldn't we?"

  Elli glared back, then smiled sweetly to the Viking. "There are no other ropes."

  "Then ask my friends," the man shouted back. "Send one of them for me."

  "There's another way out, Viking," Elli said. "If we can't find help, I'm sure you can find the way."

  Mildread slid down from her hiding spot, into the passage beside Elli and Selma. "Come on," she whispered, "let's get out of here."

  The three women skittered for the cavern's entrance, but not before Selma turned back to give a rueful glance at the man they abandoned in the pit.

  ***

  Ronan walked along the edge of the valley where steep, forested hillsides abutted gently sloping grassland, carefully surveying his valley. The battle for the land had been the easy part, but the women themselves would not be won in a day.

  Perhaps he had been a bit naive. Ronan had really expected these women to be a bit more grateful. They were being saved, after all, even if they did see it as a conquest.

  Four of the smaller abandoned cottages in the lower valley had been made over to house his men. New pens enclosed horses and sheep awaiting the greening of pasture land in the high valley. Over Arienh's objections, he and his men had patched thatch, repaired enclosures, and begun the plowing and sowing that had been dangerously neglected. But the women went about their business as if the intruders were not even there. He could not get even one of them to look him in the eye.

  "Somebody? Help!"

  Ronan stopped, puzzled, his ears straining at the sound.

  "Help. Anybody out there?"

  A man's voice, faint, echoing, indistinct. With a frown, Ronan studied the hillside and saw a cavern scooped into the steep grey cliff, about a man’s height above him. The echoing sound seemed to come from there. He scrambled up the rock to the cave. A dim glow came from the dark, damp air, but he could not see his footing.

  "Help!"

  "Who is it?" he called back, feeling his way along rough rock.

  "Tanni. Is it you, Ronan?"

  "Aye. Tanni, where are you?"

  "In a pit. Be careful."

  As Ronan groped his way into the cavern, the light grew brighter, reflecting off water-slick cavern walls. As it brightened more, he spotted the pit before him, and looking down, young Tanni below with a torch in his hand.

  "Tanni? How did you get down there? Are you hurt?"

  "No, I'm not hurt. Get me out of here."

  "How did you get there?"

  "With a rope. But the rope has, uh, fallen in. The sides are too slick to climb."

  "But why?"

  "Never mind why. Just get me out of here!"

  Never mind why? That didn't bode well. He shrugged. He'd get it out of him later.

  "I'll go for help," he suggested.

  "No. No, just-just catch the rope and pull me out."

  With a thud, the coiled rope landed at Ronan's feet and he snagged it before it could slide back down into the hole. Ronan looped one end around a column of rock the size of a man, and tested it for safety. The other end, he threw back to Tanni.

  "Climb."

  Tanni shinnied up the rope, and as soon as Tanni had solid rock beneath his feet again, Ronan grabbed the man's jerkin and pulled. As they emerged from the cavern, Ronan checked him to confirm Tanni was unhurt.

  "All right, Tanni, how did this happen?"

  A flush crept onto the man's cheeks as he studied the ground. "I uh, went after a lamb."

  "Where's the lamb?"

  "It's already out," Tanni mumbled.

  "Out? How did you get it out, and leave yourself behind?"

  "I-never mind."

  "Ah. The women. Well, they said they'd make us regret coming here."

  The smaller man's light blue eyes pleaded for protection. "Don't tell anybody, Ronan."

  Ronan agreed it was a secret worth keeping, although it was probably hopeless to try, just as it had been futile to expect Egil to keep quiet about how he'd got his wound. His men loved nothing more than a thorough teasing of their fellows. He had been right, he'd never live that down. But it would behoove them to be more vigilant in this little war.

  ***

  Tanni was in a rare fit, and drunk, to boot. Hardly surprising, Ronan thought, considering the humiliation he’d suffered this afternoon. Tanni was usually the first to tease, so it was his turn.

  "So why can't we just pick the ones we want and take them?" Tanni demanded.

  "Nay."

  "Why not? Stop their pranks." Tanni guzzled ale from his horn. Much more, and someone would have to carry him home to his bunk.

  "Nay," Ronan said again. "You wouldn't do that to women back home. You'd give a girl a proper courting, and that's what you'll do here."

  Olav swirled the mead around in his horn, frowning, instead of drinking. "A girl back home wouldn't be pulling pranks like this. Maybe they really just need a strong hand, Ronan."

  "And a hard rod. That's what a woman really needs." Bjorn, too, had been drinking hard all evening. He tilted back his horn so far that the liquid dribbled down his red mustache.

  "Not this time," said Egil. "They've had too much of that."

  "Aye, your Birgit, has, it's obvious. Beyond me why you want another man's leavings."

  Egil got up from his bench and the room went silent. In three deliberate strides, he faced Bjorn, the smaller man by far. Egil folded his arms. "Never say that again, Bjorn, or you will not live to face the morn."

  Bjorn shifted his startled glance about him and found no supporters, not even Tanni.

  Ronan stiffened. This was dangerous. For a young man, Egil had an even, mindful temperament, but he had a line he would not
allow to be crossed. Bjorn, no longer young, had never learned moderation. Bjorn was the one who worried Ronan the most because he didn't know much about the man, beyond that he was an adventurer, battle-scarred and hard, but a good blacksmith.

  But Ronan did not intend to let him cross Egil’s line, and stepped between the two men.

  "Nay. We propose to stay here, and live with these Celts," Ronan said. "But all that they have suffered teaches them not to trust us. So we will earn their respect and trust. You agreed to this, Bjorn. If you have changed your mind, we will see you back to the Green Isle or the Manx Isle in less than a day."

  The man grunted and turned away. He raised his drinking horn and downed the contents in one long gulp. Still grumbling, he pushed his way past his companions and stalked out the door.

  "We came expecting to have to fight for a place," said Olav. "Bjorn is a good man in a fight."

  "But it's all he knows, Ronan," said Egil. "And smithing. He's never been a farmer or trader like the rest of us."

  "Nay, we'll give him a chance."

  The door burst open again, and Bjorn dashed back inside. "Damn women!" he shouted. "The horses!"

  From the darkness came the roar of hooves pounding the earth, raucous neighs, dogs barking. Men raced for the door, out into the chilly night as the last of the horses sped through the breach in the paddock and across the open meadow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Damn women, indeed.

  Grabbing the flowing tail of a galloping horse, Ronan hurled himself into the flow. As he groped for the mane and leapt onto the animal's back, a flash of sympathy for Bjorn's attitude surged through him. It was the women’s doing. He’d checked the paddock, himself.

  As another horse galloped past, Ronan snagged its mane and yanked, reining it in as it slowed with a harsh whinny. Tanni caught up with him and alit on the horse's back.

  Ronan dug his heels into the flanks and raced after the stampeding herd to cut off and slow down any beasts he came upon. In the light of the waxing moon, he saw other riders who had also captured horses. Bjorn rode up, then Egil. The roar of hooves drowned out their voices, so he waved to signal directions. The two tore off toward the river after part of the herd.

  A good thing about horses. They didn't run headlong very far. The creatures slowed as their stamina faded and fear abated. And the valley was narrow, so there weren't many places for the animals to go. Soon, the Northmen had gentled most of the horses and coaxed them back toward the fold.

  "Still three missing," Egil said at last as Ronan and Bjorn closed up the gap in the enclosure.

  "Only three, we can find. They'll probably wander back by themselves when they discover there's more grain in the paddock than grass on the ground."

  "Aye. They know what's good for them."

  Unlike women.

  ***

  "Damn women," Bjorn snarled, "must've used this place for a sheepfold. Never saw such a mess."

  Ronan repressed a smile as he watched the blacksmith fuss about the abandoned smithy, sweeping debris with a broom that was in such bad shape it needed to be discarded. The forge had gone unused for a while, that was obvious, but it was hardly a mess.

  "The mill's worse," Ronan replied.

  "Well, then, the mill's no use at all, is it?"

  "Only because the millstone's cracked. Not anything the women could help. I’ve sent a ship for a new one from Caen. You know that."

  "And you're all a bunch of fools," Bjorn insisted. "They'll put rings in your noses and lead you about like pigs to market. A man's got to take a firm hand with a woman."

  "Don't lay a hand on any of them, Bjorn."

  Bjorn's gaze flicked at him dismissively. "Didn't say I'd hit them. There's ways to control a woman without hitting her."

  "And it works better to persuade her she wants to do things your way."

  "Bah. Bunch of women yourselves. Should've stayed on the Green Isle."

  Ronan snickered as he watched Bjorn turn back to his task of refurbishing the old forge. The man puzzled him. He didn't know if he was dangerous or just a grouch. What he did know was Bjorn was a good blacksmith, and their community could not survive without a smith. Maybe he'd watch the man more closely.

  Despite Bjorn's grumpiness, Ronan left the forge feeling invigorated. His strength seemed to surge back into him.

  The day was bright, although still chilly. A knot of women gathered near the stream, which still ran muddy and strong. As he approached, their chatter silenced, and all eyes turned to him. Then as if he were of no significance, they all looked away. The women parted, then dispersed as if they had intended to leave anyway.

  Only Arienh remained, along with the village sheep, swinging her crook and encouraging the flock away from the river bank.

  A dog. She needed a dog. Better yet, someone to help her with the flock. But she had already turned that offer down.

  "Good morning," he said.

  She looked at him silently, muted anger still seething in her eyes. But something else. Was it a flicker of scheming satisfaction at the success of her mischief? There was plenty of that in her.

  His entire body hummed in anticipation of challenge. Should he ignore it as he had before? Or was this the time for confrontation? His men were getting impatient.

  "You look tired this morning," he said impishly. "Did you not get enough rest last night?"

  "I am rested. You look like you could use more sleep."

  "Horses got out last night. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

  "I don't know much about horses." She concentrated her attention on her flock.

  He stepped up beside her. "I see. And you wouldn't know how the saltwater got into the mead, either, I suppose."

  "Saltwater in mead? As I have never been to sea, I cannot imagine what you might have done to cause that."

  "Mm. Nor would you know why three young women forgot they had left one of my men stranded in the bottom of a pit after he rescued their lamb."

  An evasive glint passed her eyes before she quickly turned away. Ah, as he thought, she was the mastermind. As if he had said nothing at all, she riveted her attention on her unruly flock, swinging her crook to urge them up the trail.

  Ronan pounced into her path. "I can think of other things I would rather do with my nights than chase ponies, Arienh. Making love, perhaps."

  "Vikings make love?" she retorted with a sneer, pushing him aside. "I would not call it that. I doubt you know what love is."

  "I could keep you happy."

  "Nay, only a man could do that. Vikings do not qualify."

  He had not forgotten kissing her. The memory of her body flexing against his sent a shiver of energy through him. It had been more than mere sympathy for an injured man. He reached for her arm.

  "Do not touch me. I want no part of you."

  "Yes, you do," he replied, laughing. "You want a very specific part of me." He drew her close. She squirmed free.

  "You are but a beast. Stay away from me. And keep your brother away from Birgit. If he hurts her, I will kill him myself."

  Again, she shoved at him with her free hand, and he reluctantly released her. She shooed at her flock to hurry them away from the water toward the upper valley. The sheep continued to move at their same ambling pace.

  She had no great skill at herding, and too many sheep for one small woman to control. Ronan picked up a fallen branch and hacked it clean with his knife. With a few bounds, he caught up with her, and swung the makeshift crook at the animals to move them in the direction she had chosen. He scooped up a young lamb that couldn't keep up and draped it around his neck.

  "Go away. I don't want your help."

  "But without it, you will not make the upper valley until midday tomorrow."

  "That is my affair." Even in profile, he could see angry frustration flashing in her eyes.

  "Then I make it mine. How will you manage the sheep and still do what you must do at home? Tanni is a good shepherd, with g
ood men and good dogs. He can tend the flock for you."

  "Birgit will tend to things at home. I take care of the animals."

  He said nothing, but kept swinging his improvised crook, redirecting strays. She could hardly deny it took both of them to move the flock along.

  Earlier this day, he had sent his men up the valley with their flock of black-faces for the first time, and Ronan suspected that was likely the reason she sought to move her animals now. Sheep were notorious for cropping grass too close. She must fear that the Northmen would find and use up all the good pasture before she got there. Ronan wished he could find a way to persuade her he meant to help.

  "It is a good thing Tanni's bitch will whelp soon. You are going to need some good dogs."

  "We can do without."

  "But why do you want to, Arienh? You need not suffer any longer, nor the other women. We have more than enough for all."

  "We would rather die than to take from your kind. You do not fool us with your gifts."

  He sighed. "There are those of us who wonder if we should not simply take brides and be done with it."

  "Slaves, you mean. You have already taken our land. Do not think we will come so easily. Celtic women will never submit."

  "Perhaps we could make an agreement. We will tend your flock for you, and in exchange, take some of Birgit's fine cloth."

  "We do not want to deal with you. We only want you to go away."

  "But we will not go away, Arienh. Ask Birgit if she will trade."

  "She cannot. The cloth she makes now is already promised. It is Mildread's wool she weaves now."

  "Oh? She weaves for everyone?"

  "Aye, as she cannot-she is the best weaver. So everyone spins for her loom. They bring her other things in return."

  "Oh. Well, it is a good thing. She does not seem to be of much use at anything else."

  Arienh's jaw dropped open. "She is not useless. She can do anything anyone else can do. She just chooses to weave."