A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Judith struggled to calm her excitement as Cathryn studied her for long minutes before replying. “It’s an excellent idea. Aleksandra is constantly bemoaning my lack of sewing skills.”

  Judith had to smile, but Magnus’s mother held up a hand of caution. “Before you leave this chapel, you must swear before God nothing will pass between you and my son to break the Church’s holy laws. Such congress will not help your case with the Archbishop.”

  Judith thought longingly of the kiss she had shared with Magnus, but his mother was right. “I so swear, my lady,” she murmured, hoping she would have the strength to honor her oath.

  “Good. Now let me show you the new gallery we’ve built.”

  AN ALTAR CLOTH

  A thrill of anticipation tingled in Magnus’s veins as he waited in the gallery with his brother and sister. He wiped his sweaty palms against his leggings. “I can scarcely wait to see her reaction when she catches sight of the chair,” he confided to Katarina.

  Dag punched his arm playfully. “Calm down,” he said with a sly smile. “Such a fuss over an old piece of furniture. Has Mama seen it yet?”

  His sister glared at Dag. “Stop teasing him. It’s sweet of Magnus to make sure she has a place to sit.”

  Magnus chuckled inwardly. Sweetness had little to do with his feelings for Judith.

  “Me too,” Brynhild echoed, still seated on her throne.

  Aleksandra sat stiffly in her own chair. “It’s the ugliest thing I have ever seen,” she said with her nose in the air.

  Magnus should chide her, but he recalled Judith’s advice that the girl needed time to accept the changes she didn’t welcome.

  Approaching footsteps on the stone steps indicated his mother and Judith were on their way up. He beckoned to Brynhild. “Out of there, miss.”

  She scrambled to her feet, and came to cling to her father’s leg. A moment or two after entering, Judith espied her chair and gasped. Brynhild laughed. “Papa brought it for you,” she shouted with glee.

  Judith’s eyes locked with his. She frowned with uncertainty but the gratitude in her gaze was unmistakable. It touched his heart that his mother gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.

  She walked forward slowly and sat in the chair, running her hands over the well worn carved design on the arms. Brynhild climbed into her lap, then slid down by her side so they were both wedged in.

  “It looks more uncomfortable now,” Aleksandra scoffed.

  It was important to be patient. Judith smiled at one daughter, her arm around the other. He had a sudden vision of the future he craved—a happy family, his beautiful wife and daughters enjoying each other’s company. And mayhap sons…

  “Actually it’s comfortable,” Judith replied, “though I admit it needs refurbishing.”

  Cathryn cleared her throat. “You mentioned you enjoy needlework. Perhaps you might undertake repairs to the upholstery someday, after you’re finished the altar cloth.”

  “Altar cloth?” Katarina asked.

  Out of the corner of his eye Magnus noticed Aleksandra had edged forward on her chair.

  “Judith has offered to embroider a new altar cloth,” Cathryn explained to the gathering. “I’m delighted because everyone knows I don’t sew.”

  The two women had evidently made progress in the chapel, but he kept his rising hopes to himself. Judging by the gleam in his mother’s eye, and her deliberate avoidance of including Aleksandra, some plan was afoot.

  “I want to help,” Brynhild said. “Please, Judith?”

  “Can you embroider?” Judith asked.

  “No she can’t,” Aleksandra said scornfully. “Not as well as I.”

  Judith smiled. “It’s settled, then. You and I will teach your sister, Aleksandra, and we’ll make the cloth together for your grandmother. It’s the least I can do in return for your warm welcome.”

  Magnus bit into his fist to choke off the laughter bubbling up in his throat as he watched Aleksandra’s struggle play out on her reddening face. “Wonderful,” he exclaimed. “It may become a family heirloom.”

  Pouting, Aleksandra sank back in her chair and folded her arms tightly across her body, swinging her feet. But to his relief she said nothing.

  ~*~*~

  Torstein, Sonja, Katarina and Dag undertook the journey to Rouen to purchase linen, needles and embroidery silks. Pigments were added to the list when Cathryn decided she would use her artistic skills to paint matching murals on the chapel’s walls.

  Cathryn and Judith spent many hours discussing patterns, colors and stitches. The original notion of embroidered edges metamorphosed like a butterfly into a design intended to cover the entire cloth.

  Brynhild traipsed behind them from gallery to hall to chapel, listening intently, offering her enthusiastic opinion on their decisions.

  Cathryn inked a copy of the final design on vellum and Judith marveled at the beauty of it. They enlisted the help of Bryk’s scrivener who made notations on the pattern as to what kind of stitch and what color was to be used.

  When it was done they sought approval for the plan from the men, who expressed amazement at the complex artistry. The admiration in Magnus’s eyes caused a flutter in Judith’s heart, but she resisted the temptation to preen at his lavish praise after she’d explained the embroidery frame and winding bobbins they would need.

  “Everyone’s curiosity over the simple frame we’ve often used in Bruggen underscores that we are not in a household of women interested in sewing,” she confided to Beatrice.

  Magnus seemed to take pleasure in supervising the joiners in the manufacture of the large frame and rollers, as well as the wooden trestles she explained they would need.

  Aleksandra showed no outward interest, but as one sennight of waiting for the materials to arrive followed another she failed to hide her growing impatience. Magnus reported she plagued him with questions. “How long does it take to get to Rouen and back? What if they cannot locate the right silks? Will they be back soon? Why did you send Sonja and Katarina who cannot sew?”

  Judith had wondered the same thing, but it was evident she wouldn’t be allowed to go and she admitted inwardly she preferred to be wherever Magnus was.

  The sewing project provided her with a welcome distraction. During the day it kept her thoughts off pining for her beloved’s touch, though he called upon her frequently to approve progress made on the frame and trestles. In the presence of laborers they spoke cordially, and Judith averted her eyes from his face.

  The evening meal proved more difficult. There was no possibility of avoiding him, seated as they were side by side, thighs a mere hand’s width apart. They had discussed the importance of observing propriety and he was careful not to touch her, but the heat emanating from his body melted her bones.

  She thought she had kept her feelings hidden. However, Beatrice informed her one morning while she was helping Judith with her gown that talk of her relationship with Magnus was on the lips of the servants. “What are they saying?” she asked nervously.

  The corners of her maid’s mouth edged down. “Some say you’d make a fine wife for the next comte. Others think you’re a brazen adulteress.”

  Fire burned her cheeks. “But Magnus and I…we haven’t…I mean…”

  Beatrice embraced her. “I know, but there are those who gossip and others who believe the falsehoods they spread. And you can’t deny you’re fond of him.”

  Judith slumped against her faithful maidservant. “Fond,” she murmured wearily. “I’m in love with him, Beatrice. It’s hopeless. I hope my brother pays the ransom to end this torture.”

  Beatrice stroked her hair. “Be careful what you wish for. Surely you don’t want to go back to Bruggen? Those girls need you, not to mention the handsome Magnus of Montdebryk.”

  Without warning, Brynhild burst into the room. “They’ve been sighted,” she exclaimed breathlessly, grasping Judith’s hand. “Come. They’ll be here soon. We can get started.”

  Excitement bubbl
ed up in Judith’s chest. She realized she too had been anxious for the arrival of the supplies. She only wished Aleksandra had shown some sign of enthusiasm.

  NEEDLE AND THREAD

  Given the numbers of people coming and going throughout the day, the Great Hall was deemed unsuitable as a location for the sewing project. The danger of food and drink soiling the precious linen was another consideration. The frame, the bobbins, the trestles and the parcels brought from Rouen were hauled up to the gallery and the chairs shoved aside.

  Cathryn, Judith, Brynhild, Sonja and Aleksandra surveyed the scene. Katarina had stated flatly she wasn’t interested in participating. The vellum was rolled up in a corner, the silks and needles had yet to be unwrapped from the cloths in which they’d been bound. The fine linen lay folded atop a small, newly scrubbed table, also brought up from the hall.

  “What do we do first?” Brynhild asked excitedly.

  Sonja smoothed a hand over the linen. “I hope this is suitable. It was the finest they had.”

  Since everyone had gasped in amazement at the quality of the linen when the travellers had returned the previous day, Judith sensed Sonja’s nervousness had some other root cause.

  Cathryn apparently knew what it was. “It’s more than suitable, Sonja, especially since it’s already been shrunk, but don’t worry, we don’t expect you to do any of the sewing.”

  Sonja’s face brightened. “What a relief. I can help with the simpler stitches, but—”

  Cathryn shook her head. “You have enough to do assisting Torstein in the stewardship of this fortress.”

  Sonja looked disappointed as she said, “I’ll stay to help to get things set up.”

  Judith gathered up the packets of silks. “Would you like to prepare the threads, Sonja? The joiners made these specially spaced bobbins. If we wind the silks around them and then cut to that length, it will save time.”

  “Can I help?” Brynhild asked.

  “Of course,” Sonja said, accepting the packets. “Do you want to assist us, Aleksandra?”

  To Judith’s dismay, Magnus’s eldest daughter rolled her eyes. “That’s tedious.” But her hopes lifted when the girl asked, “How do we fix the linen to the frame?”

  “Good question,” she replied, adjusting the wooden structure atop the trestles to make sure it was unlikely to fall off. “Since we won’t be working on the whole thing at one time, we can roll part of it on the end roller.” She picked up the linen and passed it to Cathryn, taking hold of one of the short ends, which she lay across the rounded wood. “Now, Aleksandra, you must turn slowly and I’ll guide the material so it will wind tightly. Be careful not to dislodge the roller from its slots. You see it has a hole in one end. When we have enough of it secured you push the wooden peg into the hole.”

  Aleksandra stared hard at the contraption, then slowly turned the roller, her tongue between her teeth and lower lip. Judith fed out the fabric, making sure it wasn’t rolling unevenly. “Put the peg in now, please,” she said softly.

  Brynhild wandered over to see what her sister was doing. “I want to push it in,” she said.

  Aleksandra glared. “Judith gave me the job,” she retorted. “You’re supposed to be measuring threads.”

  Brynhild pouted but returned to where Sonja was winding silks around the bobbins.

  Aleksandra pressed her thumb firmly atop the round piece of wood designed to keep the roller in place, then asked, “What’s next?”

  Judith resisted the urge to share her delight with Cathryn at the flush of pleasure on Aleksandra’s face. She wound a smaller amount of the other end of the fabric around the second roller and secured it. “Now we have to find the woolen skeins and the bigger needles.”

  Sonja rummaged through the packages, passing one to Judith. “Here’s the wool.”

  Brynhild tore open another bundle and brandished a wickedly long needle. Judith’s heart stopped beating, but Cathryn quickly took it from the child’s hand, rolling her eyes at Judith. “Perfect. Thank you, granddaughter. Exactly the one we need.”

  Judith swallowed hard. “Now we use the wool to sew the outer edges of the panel to the holes in the frame.”

  “I wondered what the holes were for,” Aleksandra said, then frowned when she seemed to realize she was betraying her interest.

  Judith broke off a length of wool. “Can you thread this into the needle?” she asked.

  The girl’s face reddened. She squirmed, glancing at her grandmother, but finally admitted, “I sometimes have trouble with the task.”

  “I’ll show you a trick,” Judith whispered with a wink. “If you fold the wool tightly over the thin end of the needle to make it round, like this, it passes through the eye more easily.” Relieved when the trick worked the first time, she pulled out the wool and passed it and the needle to Aleksandra. “It works with the silks too.”

  It took three tries and Judith had to strengthen her resolve not to rush to help, but Aleksandra managed to thread the needle. A broad grin lit her face. Judith was cautiously optimistic they’d made progress. The child was beautiful when she smiled.

  Close to two hours later they had successfully attached the edges to the frame and stretched the fabric tight enough for the next step.

  Brynhild was yawning. Sonja had long since left to supervise the cooks. Judith was elated with the progress they had made, but her shoulders ached.

  “We are tired,” Cathryn said, “and the light is dwindling.”

  Aleksandra pouted. “But I’m not tired. Can we not continue?” she pleaded, but her eyes brightened when Magnus appeared at the door. “Papa! Look! We’ve got the cloth on the frame. On the morrow we’ll—”

  She glanced at Judith.

  “On the morrow, we’ll transfer part of the pattern to the linen,” Judith explained, basking in the glow of Magnus’s admiration as he inspected the frame.

  “Now I see why you wanted the holes evenly spaced,” he said, but she sensed his pleasure derived from his daughter’s obvious enthusiasm.

  LOYALTY IN QUESTION

  “I suppose I am typical of most men,” Magnus confided to his father as they sat in the hall two days later. His daughters had hastened off with Judith as soon as the midday meal was over. Servants were clearing away the last of the trestle tables.

  Bryk Kriger pulled a nearby footstool closer to his chair then crossed his ankles atop it, his legs stretched out. “May as well get comfortable since we’ve been kicked out of my new gallery,” he complained. “What do you mean by your remark?”

  Magnus glanced around to see if there was another stool, but his father had laid claim to the only one, so he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “That’s part of what I’m referring to. I’ve always considered sewing to be an inconsequential thing most women do to pass the time while they chatter.”

  Bryk slapped his thigh. “Ha! Best not let the gang in the gallery hear your opinion.”

  “Precisely. The altar cloth is more than a simple sewing project. I was aware my mother was a skilled illuminator, but have you seen the pattern she designed? And now she’s started the mural on the chapel wall, painting from memory.”

  Bryk smiled. “I remember the first time I saw her work, in the library at Jumièges. Stunning.”

  “You were smitten,” Magnus teased.

  “I was,” his father admitted, wiggling his brows, “but her artistic skills weren’t the main attribute that drew me to her.”

  Magnus had never doubted it was his parents’ obvious love for each other that bound the family together and helped them prosper in good times and survive in times of turmoil. But he and his father had never discussed affairs of the heart man to man. He deemed this as good a time as any. “How did you know she was the one?”

  Bryk Kriger stroked his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a difficult question, and you have to remember things were different then. I was a Viking invader and—”

  Impatience pricked at Magnus. “I�
�m aware of the history, but at the root of it, how did you know?”

  His father looked him in the eye. “My heart recognized that no matter the difficulties, I wanted to spend my life with her. Like you, I’d been married before, but Cathryn became essential to my happiness.” He winked. “And my body craved her.”

  Magnus let out a long slow breath. “Those are exactly my feelings for Judith,” he said. “It was different with Ida.”

  “You were fond of Ida, as I was fond of Myldryd,” his father replied, making a rare Sign of the Cross. “May God grant them eternal rest.”

  Magnus was taken aback by his father’s candor and the unusual display of Christian fervor. “Hindsight is a strange thing, isn’t it?”

  They sat in silence for long minutes, then Magnus asked, “Did you watch how Judith transferred the first part of the pattern to the linen? What did she call it?”

  “Pouncing,” his father replied. “Impressive, especially using the ashes to dirty the needle, leaving a temporary imprint.”

  It pleased Magnus that his sire was evidently as impressed as he was. “But more importantly, have you noticed the difference in Aleksandra?” Emotion choked off the rest of what he’d intended to say.

  Bryk nodded. “She’s a patient woman. I’d have lost my wits showing your girls over and over how to do the different stitches.”

  Magnus inhaled deeply. “It’s early days, but I pray Aleksandra will come to love her.”

  Bryk Kriger rose from his chair, stretching his arms high above his head. “The child seems to have lost some of her anger. It’s a good thing you came home when you did. Your mother’s patience was coming to an end. However, only time will tell, and you’ve still the matter of the marriage to resolve. Torstein spoke to the Archbishop when he was in Rouen but the cleric said these things take time.”

  Magnus had already heard this from Torstein. At least the Archbishop was aware his influential father had taken an interest, but he wasn’t prepared for Bryk Kriger’s next remark.