The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  "The babes were of your seed!" Freyda shouted. "A look says they were!"

  With Thora still clutched in his arms, Andor faced Leif. "Thora is adulteress by your word only. She is adulteress only because you thought her too large with child. She was large because she carried two. There is no infidelity here - except, perhaps, by your hand."

  Leif looked among those around him, seeking support. Each person his gaze fell upon turned from him. He looked back to Andor, chin held in angry defiance.

  "‘Tis a man’s right to decide the fate of his wife’s newborns whether they be alive or dead. I have so chosen. Had they survived birth, the choice would have been the same."

  Leif strode to the furthest part of the stern to stare at the horizon. Andor dispatched Thora to Aud’s care and walked to the prow to do the same.

  Freyda sat on her chest and pulled Erik into her arms, as if to reaffirm that he was still with her and well.

  "Is this so?" Gillian asked her. "A husband decides if a child lives or dies."

  Freyda nodded. "If the child is sickly, ‘tis best to let it go. I have heard of poor families with many children who do the same. Also, if a slave girl bears her master’s children, he may have them killed. This, though...." She left the sentence unfinished, but Gillian understood.

  "Poor Thora," Freyda added. "She should have wed Andor."

  "Thora was to be Andor’s wife?"

  "‘Twas hoped for, but Andor spent many years trading. Thora’s parents would not wait, and she has suffered for their haste."

  Gillian pulled the bear fur from her sleeping skin and wrapped it around her in an attempt to shut out the horror of what she had just witnessed. What manner of people were these that they could so heartlessly kill infants? Although it was customary among her own people to leave sickly children in the field to die, Gillian could not condone the Gaill practice of killing excess children or bastards. They were truly as pagan as she had been told. She should have jumped into the ocean herself when she had the chance. Now she was too much of a coward to try.

  A tiny pain seized her. She breathed deep and it passed. Soon her baby would be born. How could she be sure it wouldn’t suffer the same fate as Thora’s children? She snuggled deeper into her fur, folded her hands over her stomach, and prayed while she cried.

  Andor watched Gillian from the corner of his eye, wondering what must be going through her mind. He knew she was distressed - everyone was. He longed to go to her, to hold her in this tragic moment, to assure her this was not a normal event. But his own fury was held too tightly at bay.

  He concentrated on the fist clenched at his side, curling and uncurling it while he toyed with the idea of tossing Leif in the frigid waters. He was leader. Surely he must do something...say something.

  How could Leif have done such a thing? Was his self-worth so low he refused to believe he could hold any woman? He was obviously blind to reality, otherwise he would have seen himself in his sons.

  Thora’s mournful wails tore at his heart. There was, naturally, no comforting her. All Aud could do was rock her while she cried, just as Freyda clutched Erik to ease her own pain. He thought of encouraging Thora to leave Leif and offering her a home, but to do so would only give faith to the tales Leif spun.

  "Your wife has need of you," Rollo said.

  "I know," Andor replied. "I am afraid to go to her. I am afraid that by comforting her my anger at Leif will be unleashed."

  "If she were Astrid, you would go and share the anger and grief."

  "She is not Astrid. The bond is not there. Our worlds are too different. When we arrive in Iceland, I will offer her her freedom, her land, and her money."

  Rollo sighed. "Is that why you share your sleeping skin with her at night? And gift her extravagantly? And smile when you watch her work?"

  Andor spun around, denial on his lips. Rollo’s smirk stopped him.

  "‘Tis true. The bond is weak, but ‘tis there."

  Rollo left him and sat beside Freyda, silently offering his support to her.

  Andor stared up at Astrid’s image, seeking guidance from that icon as if she were a goddess. His blasphemy startled him. He curled his fingers around his amulet, and begged the gods’ forgiveness. Astrid had never put herself equal to or above the gods, and neither should he. Yet, that was exactly what he had done when he had her likeness carved into the prow. Astrid had been delighted. The gods had been angered and had retaliated by taking the lives of his people. Why had he not seen it before? All of this was his fault.

  He yanked an ax from his tool chest nearby and shimmied to the figure head.

  "What are you doing?" Freyda shouted up to him.

  "Removing the curse I created for us."

  Gillian looked over her shoulder in time to see him whack the nose off the image. She buried her head once more. He was truly a madman. She jerked each time the ax slammed into the wood, as if she could feel each gouge. For all her bold talk the previous morning, she feared Andor’s next bout of madness would be directed at her or maybe even her baby.

  Andor hacked at the image until it was an unrecognizable lump of wood. Then he retrieved his plane from his tool chest and shaved the surface smooth. When he was done, he stood on the deck to survey his handiwork.

  "Are you pleased with yourself?" Freyda asked.

  He turned to find her standing there, arms crossed, foot tapping. It was like looking at their mother.

  "‘Twas necessary," he said. "I should never have put her likeness there. I was not thinking clearly when I did so. I thought only to honor Astrid and in doing so I displeased the gods. That is the cause of our recent troubles. I had to rid us of the image to appease them."

  "Hmm. Perhaps that is so, but did you have to go about it like a half-crazed imbecile?" She jerked her thumb toward Gillian. "You have frightened the wits out of her. Last night you rush to adore the carving, today you hack it to ruin. She is convinced you are a madman."

  "Gillian will understand when I explain it to her."

  "How can she? She does not know our customs. You behaved so wildly even Erik was afraid, and he knows and loves you."

  Andor was undaunted. "I will tell her of our customs and she will understand."

  "And what of the custom which allows a father to toss his wife’s stillborns into the sea without proper burial? How do you expect her to understand that when even you and I question it?"

  Freyda had him there. "Bad rules and customs exist in all societies. Surely Gillian will realize that."

  "Such as the one which caused you to frantically deface a figurehead because you believe that by paying homage to your wife you riled the gods?"

  Andor tossed the plane into the chest. "Stop goading me, Freyda. I did what I felt was necessary." He pushed past her and stomped to the huddle of white fur bunched near the rail.

  Gillian felt the planks rumble with Andor’s footsteps, and clutched her fur tighter.

  "Wife, I would speak with you."

  Gillian could picture his towering presence over her. "I am not well. I wish to rest."

  Andor did not miss the tremor in her voice. He knelt beside her and gently pulled open the fur. Coppery lashes spiked by tears framed her dark blue eyes. She was afraid yet fighting not to show it. It pained his heart that she should fear him. It hurt him more that his actions caused this.

  "Ah, Gillian."

  His voice was like a caress that reached around her heart, and Gillian wondered how she could fear him yet be drawn to him at the same time.

  "You are truly frightened." It was more of a question than a statement.

  She looked at him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she decided she had nothing to lose by honesty. If her words angered him, it was better he do away with her now than for her to live with the constant fear that each minute would be her last.

  "Truly," she said.

  He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away a single tear with his thumb. "No, ‘twas not my intent.

  "I
will explain all later when we are abed. You need not fear me. I forget that you do not know our ways. Freyda, Rollo, and I will teach you. I have behaved unwisely, but I am no madman. Trust me on this."

  Her belly tightened under his hand. Gillian winced.

  Andor jerked back. "The babe comes."

  Gillian couldn’t help it. She took one look at his stricken expression and giggled. "Soon, but not just now."

  "Shall I get Freyda?" Even as he asked the question, he was moving to his feet.

  She held him in place. "‘Tis not time. The pain comes and goes. It is not frequent. Sit with me awhile and tell me why you took an ax to your wife’s image."

  He sat in the fur beside her then leaned against the side of the ship and pulled her to him. With one hand around her and the other resting on her stomach, Andor began.

  Gillian listened without interruption. Even if he did go to extremes, she was beginning to understand why he acted as he had. She had only one god, not the dozen the Gaill seemed to have, but if she thought for a moment she had offended her deity, she would do all within her power to undo what she had done.

  "You do understand. I can see it in your face," Andor said.

  She nodded slowly. "How confusing it must be to you to have so many gods. ‘Twould be simpler to have but one."

  "As you do."

  "Yes."

  "I have traveled far. Seen many different things and people. Who is to say one is better than the rest?"

  "How can you know unless you try?" she asked. "You try different foods. Why not try different customs?"

  "You mean I should try your one god?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said with a nod.

  "Then you are just as willing to try my gods."

  Gillian snapped her head around and saw the mischief in his eyes. He’d caught her in her own trap. She returned his smirk. "You have me there, husband. Teach me of your gods and I will teach you of mine."

  "Agreed, wife." His smile faded as another stronger contraction hit.

  Her fingers gouged into his thigh. Andor drew breath to call his sister. She was by Gillian’s side before he let out so much as a peep. Freyda shooed his hand and replaced it with her own.

  "‘Tis gone now," Gillian told her.

  "Is it the first pain?"

  "The third since I sat here."

  "But each one is getting worse," Andor added.

  Both women turned their heads in his direction. It was difficult not to laugh at him. His face was a mixture of awe and concern.

  "Off with you," Freyda scolded. "We can manage fine without you hovering about."

  Andor scowled at her dismissal. Nevertheless, he rose to his feet.

  "Take this with you." Gillian pulled the white fur from under her and pushed it his way. "I will not have it messed by the birthing."

  Feeling helpless, Andor folded the fur as he watched Freyda settle Gillian for the birth.

  Rollo chuckled. "I can see. You care naught for this one."

  Andor flashed him a dirty look then stomped away to take a reading on their bearings. He also noted the position of the sun. By his reckoning, the birth of Thora’s twins had taken about eight hours. Gillian’s baby should arrive sometime after nightfall. It was really not so long a wait, he told himself, and tried to stay out of the women’s way, by occupying his time with simple tasks.

  "Andor is anxious for you and the baby," Freyda said.

  After eight hours of labor, Gillian was also beginning to worry. "How can you tell?"

  She mopped the sweat from Gillian’s brow. "I have seen him pace the length of this ship at least a hundred times. Would you like a sip of broth?"

  Gillian shook her head. "Water...please."

  She gratefully sipped her cup of water then sank back down. It felt like someone was stabbing her with a knife. Each contraction ripped into her and seemed never-ending. She longed to scream or shout, but refused to break the word she’d given to Andor and herself.

  Another one hit. She balled the skin beneath her with her fists, struggling to breathe with the pain. It could not last much longer.

  At daybreak she still had not delivered. She looked at Freyda’s weary face then at Andor’s, yet knew neither of them could feel as exhausted as she was.

  "‘Tis no use," she panted after another pain had passed. "The babe just will not come."

  Freyda cast a pained look Andor’s way. In three long strides he was beside them.

  "What is wrong?"

  Gillian grasped for his hand, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. "The baby will not move."

  He looked to his sister. "Could it be backward?"

  "I do not think so. Gillian is just having a difficult time of it. She is getting weaker."

  Andor stared down at the woman who so recently became his wife. If something didn’t happen soon, he would lose her. Rollo was right. There was a bond here between them. The idea of losing her and the child pained him as much as Astrid’s death did. Perhaps a little more. He felt closer to Gillian’s child than he had his own. He had felt that young life move beneath his touch. To lose it now...he shook the thought away.

  "Have the waters broken?"

  "No," they answered together.

  "Once we had a cow who had trouble delivering. Father broke the bag of waters and the calf came sliding out."

  "I am not a cow." She clutched Andor’s hand as another contraction assaulted her.

  He waited for it to pass, wishing he could bear the pain for her. "The principle is the same."

  "How are we to break the bag?" Freyda asked.

  "With your fingers," he replied.

  Freyda looked at her small hands and shook her head. "I do not think it will work."

  "Then I will do it."

  Gillian pushed to her elbows. "Husband or no, I will not have you putting your fingers up me." Another contraction changed her mind.

  "Do we have a choice?" he asked.

  Gillian fell back. "Do it...but not for all to see."

  "Rollo, help me set up my tent."

  "Get Seamus to help you," Freyda told Rollo. To Andor she said, "If you intend to act as midwife, you will have to prepare. Gillian is no cow. Roll up your sleeves and wash your hands and arms good...soap and water. Mother always said, ‘Clean hands, healthy birth.’"

  Andor didn’t argue. At that point all he wanted was Gillian to be free of the pain which racked her body, and for her and the baby to be well.

  The tent was erected over her where she lay. Once Freyda was certain Andor was cleansed, they joined Gillian inside.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "I wish I still had my cross," Gillian said. "I wore it ‘round my neck on a gold chain my mother gave me. I sold it two months back for feed for my animals."

  Andor silently cursed her worthless husband for causing her to live that way. "I have something which may do. Freyda, take the amulet from my neck and give it to Gillian."

  "What is it?"

  "Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer," he said.

  "Thor?"

  "One of our greatest gods. The god of thunder. The god of law and order. He protects our homes and farms."

  Gillian rolled her eyes.

  Andor smiled. "Time for you to try one of my gods."

  Deciding it looked somewhat like a cross, she clasped the amulet in her hand. "I am ready then."

  Andor took a deep breath and slipped his index finger into the birth canal. She was fully distended and he could feel the child’s head. As gently as possible, he pulled his finger over it. A contraction followed and with it the bag burst.

  Gillian gasped. "It moved. ‘Tis coming."

  Andor let Freyda take over. He knelt behind Gillian and pulled her to a sitting position.

  "Push with the next pain," Freyda said.

  When she did so, Andor helped her strain forward then eased her against him. Another push and he placed his hands gently behind the slowly receding bulge. A shrill cry cut the atmosphere. Gillian collapsed ag
ainst Andor, exhausted yet elated.

  "You have a daughter," Freyda said with a smile.

  "And she has already caused her mother a great deal of anguish." Andor eased Gillian back and stood. "Present her to me now. We all need some rest."

  He stepped outside while Freyda wrapped the baby in one skin and the afterbirth in another. After setting the second bundle out of the tent, she scooped up the baby.

  Fear overwhelmed Gillian. As weak as she was, she had to see for herself what he intended to do with her child. He stood by the rail waiting.

  "Your wife has birthed a daughter." Freyda parted the bunting for him to see.

  Andor opened his arms and took the baby. He looked at her for only a moment then dipped his hand in a cup on the barrel beside him. He chuckled at the baby’s scowl when he sprinkled the water over her.

  "Much like your mother you are." Then, in a voice for all to hear, he said, "I have a daughter. She is the daughter of my house. Her name shall be," his gaze fell to Gillian, "Gwynneth."

  With tears of joy streaming down her face, Gillian watched Andor bring the child back to her. How could she have thought him capable of murdering an innocent newborn? He had helped birth her, accepted her as his own, then honored Gillian’s mother by giving the child her name. She was blessed - truly blessed.

  "Inside with you, wife. You need rest and the babe needs suckling," he gently scolded.

  Gillian lay back down and opened her arms for Gwynneth. Andor watched as she opened her gown and put the infant to her breast. She nuzzled for only a moment before finding what she sought.

  "Bless you, for all you have given me," she told him as she blinked back tears. "I swear I will be a good wife to you."

  Andor caressed the tiny cheek with his finger. "She is as beautiful as her mother, and she means much to me. I truly feel she is my own. You let me touch her before her birth. Astrid would not allow that. I will be a good husband for you, Gillian. I swear it.

  "Rest, wife."

  Gillian snuggled into the furs, letting peace wrap its arms around her. A nice feeling, but was it true? She was too weary to question it. She was a survivor and would do whatever was necessary to keep her baby and herself safe. Now, if only her sharp tongue would cooperate.