Читать книгу Sent As The Viking’s Bride - Michelle Styles - Страница 12

A hard, soaking rain lashed down and the pale light from the sky made the looming mountain turn a deep brooding purple, but Ragn knew her feet were on firm ground. Being here with a reluctant host was a thousand times better than being on that ship where, when this storm hit, she and Svana would have been tossed overboard. Best of they’d escaped Vargr’s reach. Small gifts from the gods. She had the most precious of commodities—time.

‘Where are the women of the household?’ Ragn asked as it became increasingly clear Gunnar’s men had deserted his cold hall for their own homes rather than bedding down there.

‘I manage well enough on my own. I can even brew ale and boil meat. My men’s wives turn their hand to the spindle and loom as well as any and I enjoy the silence.’

He gave a superior sort of smile, but one which made his features become breath-taking. One smile and the women in his life must melt and do his bidding. She silently resolved that she would not join the legion of panting followers.

‘Indeed.’

‘Years of warring. In time, when I marry, there will be women, but for now it is just me and my dogs.’

‘Surely you have servants or...’ Ragn hesitated. How to explain that Svana was terrified of the dogs? Any explanation would have to include Vargr. Then there would be awkward questions about the estate, why no man would fight for her rights and why they were on their own. Later, she promised that little voice in her head, once they were warm and dry, once she had formulated a new plan now that there would be no marriage.

His brow lowered. ‘I see no point in acquiring women as then I’d have to endure their prattling and twittering company.’

Endure their company.

Ragn’s heart sank. Eylir had kept quiet about his friend’s views on women and their usefulness. ‘Eylir failed to mention that you disliked women.’

A dimple shone in his cheek. ‘I love women at the right time and in the right place. Other than in my bed, most women flutter about like birds, chirp up all the time about nonsense until my back teeth ache and leave messes to be cleaned up.’

Ragn took three deep breaths of air. ‘The reasons why your friend despaired of you ever marrying become ever clearer.’

‘A few more days and I would have departed for Colbhasa and the start of the Jul celebrations,’ he said, pointedly changing the subject. ‘Not the comfort you must be used to, but it will serve until for the short time you will be here. You depart and my solitude can return. Have I mentioned that I enjoy the quiet?’

Ragn ignored the words about going. Her head pounded enough as it was. She had to concentrate on the positives, starting with not being in the boat.

‘When did you plan to go to the north? To find a bride?’ She deliberately paused, racking her brain for what Eylir had said about his story. The truth was that she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been that grateful for a way out of the shadows and hiding, half-expecting every knock on the door to bring Vargr and his berserker assassins. ‘Or would you have found a reason why you need to be somewhere else rather than bride-hunting?’

‘Eylir has been telling his usual far-fetched tales.’ The planes on his face hardened to chiselled stone. ‘I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride.’

‘And the King’s decree that owners of gifted lands must be married?’

‘There is a great deal of water between me and the King’s shining new hall, the one which shimmers like gold on a summer evening and many other unmarried jaarls who are closer.’

Her heart felt a little easier. It wasn’t her, it was the entire concept of marriage he objected to. Maybe in time... She rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again. If she had looked like Trana with spun gold for hair, pouting lips and a bosom for a man to bury his face in, they would be married. Instead she knew what she looked like—all teeth and no figure with her one beauty, her long hair, burnt away in the fire, along with her dowry.

‘Returning to Viken is not an option. Let me—’

‘I choose my own bride, not Eylir. I will travel to the north to find her, like I vowed on my mother’s grave.’ His blue-eyed gaze raked her form. ‘The sort of bride I have in mind will be entirely different from what you keep offering.’

The words cut far deeper than they should. She should be used to it after Hamthur’s barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late husband had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety for Svana and that meant finding somewhere far from Vargr’s influence.

‘Thank you for the clarity,’ she said in a tight voice.

All the amusement fled from his face. ‘Pardon for any offence. I merely meant my bride will not have to travel on her own. Those men would have killed you or your sister if you’d travelled with them further.’

‘I see.’ Ragn inclined her head and allowed the untruth.

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand upright. ‘I’m more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It is something I must work on before I travel north to woo.’

‘Ladies do expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they are wooed.’

He gave a rich laugh which warmed her to her toes. ‘You possess a tart tongue and are unafraid to mince words. Perhaps you should learn honey-coating as well.’

‘Curbing my tongue has always been a problem. Allow me to try again.’ She made a curtsy. ‘I’m pleased you have taken pity on me and my sister and have allowed us to stay. I will trust your assessment of the captain who brought me. No good would have come of our returning to the north.’

‘Your family would not welcome your return.’

She examined the dirty rushes. His words were far too close to the truth. She need to seize control of the conversation and steer it away from tricky subjects like why her family would not assist her. ‘Perhaps one day I will thank you for choosing not to marry me. I know I certainly have no wish for an unwilling husband. However, I believe in looking forward, not harping on past mistakes.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ His laugh rang out. ‘My temper is far too short. I’ve a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women have detailed my defects.’

‘Then we should be friends as we’ve both avoided something that was destined to make us unhappy.’

He examined her from hooded eyes. ‘Can men and women ever be friends?’

‘I like to think they can be.’ Ragn hoped she was telling the truth. Her parents had had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. ‘I consider you one for giving me and my sister a place to stay instead of forcing us back on that ship. You saved our lives.’

He bowed his head. ‘I’ll take you to Ile in the morning. The commander, Sigurd Sigmundson, is a friend. He can find you passage on a ship northwards when the ships begin to move in the spring.’

Ragn firmed her mouth. She had heard of Ile. Vargr had had something to do with it a few years before, but she believed the commander of the fort had changed. ‘The captain and his crew feared Svana’s eyes. I sacrificed a gold necklace to calm the sea. If such a thing happened on the return journey, I doubt I could prevent it.’

‘Fools.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘As if how a passenger looks matters more than the skill of the navigator or the pilot. They should remember Odin only has one eye, but still manages to navigate his ship. Your sister has two good eyes, even if one turns inward.’

A dog’s howl made him stop and cock his head to one side.

‘Is there something amiss?’ Ragn asked as Svana froze at the sound. In another breath Svana would throw herself on the ground and reveal precisely why the sailors feared her.

‘I shut my dogs in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’

‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.

‘You and your sister remain here out of the cold and damp. Wait here until I return.’

Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’

Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’

Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.

When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.

In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’

‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’

‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’

Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’

‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’

Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’

‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to think straight when your belly rumbles. Remember I brought dried herbs and mushrooms in our trunks. I spied the kitchen building when he had the trunks dragged up here. No need to stay in this ice palace.’

Svana wrinkled her nose, but her face lost its terrified expression. ‘How will that help us stay?’

‘His friend said that he longed for the old country, perhaps once he has a taste of it...he will be in a better mood. And as a general rule, dogs stay out of kitchens so you will be safe there.’

The tightness of Svana’s face eased. ‘Truly?’

Ragn made her voice sound positive and hoped her words rang true about the dogs. If her scheme failed, they would at least have a decent meal in their bellies, something they hadn’t had since before they left the north.

Svana clapped her hands. ‘You will succeed. I know you will. You’re a good cook and you make the best ale. You can show this man that he needs to have you here. I can’t face the sea again and the waves.’

‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’

‘Most of the time.’

Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.

Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.

He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.

When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.

‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’

Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.

He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.

When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.

He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.

‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’

The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.

He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.

He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.

His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.

‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’

‘You made stew?’

‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’

He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.

‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.

‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’

‘It certainly smells delicious.’

‘I put some dried cloudberries into the porridge for the morning. I always find it best to have it sitting overnight in the embers. Saves time in the morning.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘I like my hands to be busy.’

‘My mother used to do that. Cloudberries when she had them for a special treat, but making it the day before. She’d have to chase me out of the kitchen to keep me from sneaking them.’ After he found his family’s bodies, he could not bear anything which reminded him of those times, but now a sharp longing to taste cloudberries’ tart tang filled him. ‘Something I’d forgotten.’

‘Then we are agreed—cloudberries for the morning.’

‘Earlier...’ he said as she put out several bowls, ones he’d not seen before.

‘Shall we leave it in the past?’ She deftly scooped out a bowl of stew and placed it in front of him before serving up two more bowls. ‘Behind us both. A new beginning.’

He took a taste and the stew was every bit as good as it smelled. ‘It might be best. Hunger always makes me irritable, or so my mother used to claim. She’d ensure I had a bowl of stew when I came home.’

‘Hunger does that to many people.’

Gunnar took another bite. He had been far too hasty in dismissing Ragnhild as someone who was content to be decorative. To his surprise, the bowl seemed to have emptied without his realising it. Kolka and Kefla advanced and sat before Ragnhild, wagging their tails and making little whimpering noises.

‘Your dogs are hungry?’

‘They have a soft spot for stew.’

Ragnhild ladled several spoons into wooden bowls and put them in front of the dogs before she put another steaming bowl in front of him. The traitors lapped it very quickly.

‘You should eat,’ he said, dipping his spoon into the broth. He’d forgotten how good food tasted, rather the burnt mess he always seemed to create. His stomach growled in appreciation.

‘In good time. Svana, come here and get your food. It is going cold.’

Gunnar glanced over towards the girl sat rigid on the bench, her eyes wide.

‘You promised, Ragn! No dogs. Not in here! Not in a kitchen! Please, no!’

‘Svana, come here!’ She held out her hand. ‘The dogs are busy eating their supper.’

The girl got up and made a big circuit about the dogs. The dogs, seeing her, gave sharp welcoming barks, but each time she heard the noise, she visibly shuddered. Her silver eyes grew wider. When she reached Ragnhild, she threw her arms about her and made little whimpering noises. Gunnar frowned. It was unnatural that a child would be that afraid of dogs.

‘Svana, what will our host think of you?’ Ragnhild said, picking the child up and carrying her to where her stew sat. ‘His dogs are very well behaved. They will not hurt you. They simply wanted their supper. Time you ate and stopped this nonsense. A full belly makes everything better. Gunnar agrees with me.’

The girl stopped making sniffing noise and peeped out from behind a curtain of hair. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad. I never mean to be.’

‘Eat. Leave the poor dogs in peace to enjoy their supper. Once they have finished, I am sure they will have better things to do than bother one girl who is busy with her supper.’

Ragn put a few more ladles of stew in the dogs’ bowls before adding another to his.

The child dropped her spoon and instantly Kefla headed towards it to investigate. The child’s face became white and pinched.

‘Your sister’s hands shake,’ he said, frowning as he recalled long-buried memories about Asa his youngest sister, her affliction and how the other villagers had shunned the family because of it.

‘The sea voyage has unsettled her.’

Svana gave another cry of sheer terror and drew her feet up. Kefla stopped, tilting her head in confusion.

‘Could they go out?’ Ragnhild asked. ‘Maybe just for the night.’

‘My dogs like the fire on a cold and wet night.’

Ragnhild pointedly cleared her throat. ‘Svana, we need to find you a place to sleep. You are clearly over-tired. Remember we are here on sufferance. Gunnar Olafson has been kind. You hated the storm-tossed sea. After you are rested, the world won’t be as scary as it seems now.’

The girl screwed up her nose. ‘Will the dogs eat me if I sleep? They are awfully large. If I don’t give my stew to them, they will eat me.’

Ragnhild pressed her hands on the table as she gave him a nervous glance. ‘Svana. Please.’

‘They look like the sort which Mor-Mor told me about—the sort who snap up little girls when they are naughty,’ the girl whispered in a voice which he had to strain to hear as she clapped her hands in imitation of a dog gnashing its jaws.

Another memory of Asa slammed into him, rising from that forbidden place where he kept all the memories of his family. It was the sort of thing she’d have said and then she’d have given one of her piercing screams to prove her point. She, too, had loved the terrifying stories their grandmother or mor-mor had told on long winter nights.

The last thing he required right now was a piercing wail which set the dogs off. The entire situation would careen out of control, worse than a long ship which had lost its steering oar.

He knelt down so his face was closer to her level. She did not shrink away from him, but stared with a solemn gaze.

‘Kolka and Kefla are my wolfhounds,’ he said in as soft a tone as he could manage. ‘They listen to me. You are safe here.’

Svana put her hands over her mouth. ‘I once saw some dogs in a battle. Spittle dripped from their great fangs.’

‘Hush, Svana. That is in the past.’ Her sister put an arm about the girl. ‘Things in the past can’t hurt you. Only things in the present. We discussed this.’

‘I know, Ragn. Forgive me?’

‘Always. Now breathe slowly and finish the stew.’

The room went quiet as the dogs put their heads on their paws and the child ate a few more mouthfuls.

‘Does he know about putting out porridge for the nisser?’ the girl asked in a loud whisper when she’d finished.

The innocent words sent a knife through his heart. Nissers... He’d nearly forgotten about them. His sisters had believed in them as well, declaring the nisser would only stay if he put out porridge and said goodbye to him. He’d scoffed that last time. By the time he returned in the dead of winter, the farm had failed and his family had starved to death. He abruptly stood.

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Kefla gave a small whine and the girl cringed again.

‘Hush, Svana. You have too many notions in your head. Gunnar Olafson has enough to think about. Nissers indeed.’

‘But you put the barley on to seep, that works,’ the child persisted, sounding just like Asa and Brita had.

‘No porridge,’ he said, his head erupting with tremendous pain.

The girl winced and Ragnhild’s mouth pressed to a thin white line. He frowned. The words had come out far harsher than he’d intended. ‘My dogs tend to gobble porridge up given half a chance. Nissers respect hard work. When one realises how hard I’ve worked, then he will come.’

‘It is quite a new hall,’ Ragnhild added. ‘Anyone can see how hard Gunnar worked. The stout walls keep out the wind and rain. Remember the ruined hut we sheltered in, Svana?’

‘Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.’ Svana stifled a small yawn and her eyelids fluttered. ‘I know a nisser will be here soon. This place is safe and nissers require such things.’

Safety. A lump came into Gunnar’s throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the old farm safe for Brita, Asa and his mother.

Ragn put an arm around her sister. ‘My sister needs a place to sleep. She is exhausted.’

‘There is a small chamber you two can use. I made up a bed in case Eylir visited. It will suffice for the night.’ He clenched his jaw. The woman might infuriate him, but she had regard for her sister. None of his business. They were leaving in the morning but he would find them somewhere safe, just somewhere away from his farm. ‘I know how women value their privacy. It is unfinished and probably not up to the standard you are used to, but it will serve for now.’

‘You have little idea what we are used to. A pig sty would be a luxury after that ship.’

Swift anger at the implied criticism went through him and he took refuge in it. ‘I believe my hall extends to more comfort than a pig sty.’

Her cheeks went pink. ‘I didn’t mean...’ she said. ‘My tongue sometimes runs away. I merely didn’t want you to go to any more trouble. You’ve been too kind already.’

Kind was the last word he expected her to use. Remorse tugged at him. He held up his hand. ‘My friend sent you on a fool’s errand. Nothing more. Nothing less. But abandoning women to the wilds... I was raised better.’

‘There are not many who would have taken us in. I am pleased that we won’t have to go back on the boat.’ She bit her bottom lip, turning it the colour of summer berries. ‘I worry that Svana would not have survived the return journey.’

‘I have the chores to finish. This farm doesn’t run on its own. The dogs always assist me. I would suggest you and your sister are in bed before I return to avoid misunderstandings.’

The corners of her mouth curved upwards. ‘You mean your nisser fails to live up to expectation? What a surprise!’

His smile answered hers. ‘Nissers only assist those who are prepared to put the hard work in. If you had trouble in the past, perhaps you failed to work hard enough.’

‘My problems stem from something other than hard work.’

‘Would you care to tell me about them?’ The words tumbled out before he stopped them.

‘My problems, not yours.’ She quickly busied herself, collecting up the bowls.

Rather than answering, he made a clicking noise at the back of his throat and the dogs followed him out of the hall. One night, then his life returned to its predictable pace. He liked the solitude. He ignored the little voice which called him a liar.