Garth

by Sassa Daniels

  It was a pity she felt so ill at ease amongst them because she would have loved to get a closer look at one of their boats. Several of the impressive vessels were anchored in the bay. They were magnificent longships with enormous figureheads adorning their prows. From what she understood, their hulls were decorated with intricate carvings. There was a beauty in the art of the Vikings that belied their savage reputation. It was a contradiction she saw reflected within her own husband. Gentleness and aggression seemed to vie for dominance within him. She suspected that some level of brutality would always win out, but she knew he would never cause her harm.

  Once she’d clambered up the dunes and come out onto the path through the village, her gaze drifted towards the largest of the houses where their chieftain, Domnall, languished. She hoped he was not suffering too greatly. Things were hard enough for Feidelm and Eithne at the moment. Although Brandr was recovering well from his wounds, they also had the Viking, Bjorn, to take care of. Ytha was not sure how it had come about, but Bjorn had been seriously injured by Eithne’s hot-headed sister-in-law, Rhiannon. She was now being held captive by the Vikings, and if Bjorn died, her life would be forfeit. If he lived, her punishment would be for him to decide.

  Ytha could summon up little sympathy for Rhiannon. She had acted impulsively, putting all of them at risk. If Eithne had not been able to appeal so eloquently to Brandr, the Vikings might have slaughtered them all in retribution. If anything, it was Eithne she felt sorry for. She could not imagine what it would be like to be in her shoes. If her own sister’s life hung in the balance, Ytha had no idea how she would cope.

  She walked on through the village, nodding in greeting to anyone she encountered, but not stopping to make conversation. Eager to get back to her husband, she practically ran the last three hundred yards along the path that would take her to her home. When she pushed open the door, she discovered, to her surprise, that Garth was still in bed. In the two weeks that they’d been man and wife, she hadn’t known him to sleep so late. She put her basket with the shellfish down on the table and tiptoed towards the bed, so as not to wake him. When she got closer, she realised he was not asleep. He was clutching his head and groaning in agony. She reached out and touched his forehead to check for signs of fever, but he angrily batted her hand away.

  “Do not touch me, woman!” he screamed, staring at her with wild, blood-red eyes. “Stay away from me!”

  Ytha shrank back. It was clear he was in pain, but there was little she could do to help unless he let her close. Whether he wanted it or not, she was going to tend to him. She fetched a linen rag and went to soak it in the bucket of cold water by the door. She wrung out the excess and cautiously approached the bed.

  “Here, this may help soothe your pain.”

  “What is it?” he growled suspiciously. His eyes were fixed on her, but she was not sure he could actually see her.

  “Just a cloth for your forehead, nothing more.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She took that as permission, and he did, indeed, allow her to lay the cool, damp rag across his brow. Even that light touch seemed to hurt him, and he moaned. He was still for a moment, and then, suddenly, his whole body appeared to seize up. He clenched his fists and pressed them against his temples as though trying to squeeze the pain from his head. His groans were pitiful. He screwed his eyes up, and his whole face contorted in agony. Struck by sudden helplessness, Ytha just stood and looked at him. She tried to think what might help. Willow bark would, undoubtedly, be the best thing. Its sap cured many ills, but she had none in the house and she didn’t want to leave Garth alone while she went to fetch some. There was another trick she might try, something Nessa had taught her to help drive out the pain that came with her monthly courses. It could work for a headache.

  “Can you sit up?” she asked.

  The grunted response told her nothing. Taking charge, she put her arm beneath Garth’s shoulder and heaved him into an upright position. It was clearly a struggle for him to sit, so she would have to work quickly. She got up onto the bed behind him and placed her hands on either side of his head. She spread her fingers out through his thick, dark hair, she pressed her palms flat against his skull. With firm upward strokes, she rubbed his head. Nessa had told her that pain could be taken from the body in this way, but only if it came from within. This technique was no use for healing wounds inflicted upon a person.

  “Imagine the pain being drawn upwards,” she murmured, hoping he could hear her. “Imagine it being pulled out through the top of your head.”

  Humming softly, Ytha continued to work her magic. She fixed an image in her mind of a darkness being dragged towards the light and she stroked his head. Suddenly something shifted, and Garth groaned, not from pain, but in relief. Her fingers, it seemed, were doing the trick. After several minutes, the tension drained from his body, and she knew she had done all she could. She moved to his side and eased him back down onto the bed. She leaned over him, smiled fondly and placed a gentle kiss on his brow.

  “Sleep a little, husband,” she whispered. “You will feel better for it.”

  As she stepped back, his lips quirked upwards, and then he relaxed. A surge of happiness that she’d been able to help him welled up in Ytha. Words she had not intended to utter slipped from her lips.

  “I love you, Garth.”

  “I love you, too,” he murmured, and her heart soared. “I love you, Maud.”

  Ytha felt as though the floor had shifted beneath her feet. Just who the hell was Maud?

  When Garth woke, he was relieved to find that no trace of his headache remained. Usually when he was afflicted with these pains, they lasted for hours, if not days. His vision was often distorted, as was his sense of smell. He sometimes vomited violently until the contents of his stomach were purged and then retched helplessly for hours afterwards. When he recovered from the headaches, he tended to feel weak, but not today. Something was different—Ytha. She had forced the worst of the pain from his head and given him the gift of peaceful slumber. For that, he owed her immense gratitude.

  He sat up and reached for his tunic, pulling it on over his head. His wife was not in the house, but he could hear her singing to herself outside. He got up and finished dressing before going to find her. It did not take long. She was around at the side of the house, sitting on a log.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Preparing your dagmal,” she said and then amended, “natmal, now, I suppose.”

  It was clearly late in the day. Although the sun was still out, it had lost that golden glow of the early afternoon, and Garth realised he had slept through the entire day. He had intended to do much to begin to improve their dwelling, but today had been a waste. For Ytha, however, it seemed to have been more productive. Raking away a pile of leaves with her hand, she revealed an earthenware pot buried in a hole in the ground. The dying embers of a fire close by told him she had been busy cooking.

  “How is your head?” she asked him.

  “Better. What is it you did?”

  “I took the pain from you, cast it out,” she replied. “Do you suffer such headaches often?”

  Garth nodded. “Since I was a boy. They come on quickly and might last for days.”

  Ytha murmured sympathetically and then looked away.

  “Shall we eat out here?” she suggested. “It is a fine evening.”

  Garth agreed and sat on a tree stump opposite her. It was so low that his knees ended up almost around his ears, so he stretched his long legs out in front of him. He was going to have to do something about their furniture situation soon. He watched Ytha wrapping cloths around her hands to lift the pot from the makeshift oven, where the food had continued to cook after being removed from the fire, and set it down. She got to her feet and disappeared inside the house, returning with two clay bowls and a large chunk of bread which she handed to Garth. He nodded gratefully as she ladled some broth into a bowl and passed it to him. It looked delicious and s
melled of the sea. A quick taste confirmed that it was every bit as good as it had promised to be.

  “This is very nice,” he complimented Ytha.

  “Razor clams. I collected them this morning.”

  “You went down to the sea?”

  His wife nodded. Garth was not sure he liked the idea of her going down to the shore alone when so many men were still camped there. Although most were good men, they had been away from their womenfolk a long time now, and there was no telling what a man overtaken by lust might do. Ytha clearly did not realise it, but she was a beautiful young woman, and those breasts of hers were temptation enough for any man. He took another mouthful of the broth she had made, and all thoughts of chastising her for going to the sea unaccompanied shot straight out of his mind.

  While he ate, he scanned his surroundings, and it occurred to him for the first time that while she had a thriving vegetable patch, there was no enclosure for animals.

  “You keep no livestock?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t like to see animals penned in. There is a cruelty in it.”

  Hmm. That was not something he’d expected to hear. He’d assumed she had been unable to afford to buy herself a few pigs or even some chickens. It had not crossed his mind that she refused to keep animals on some high-minded principle.

  “But you do eat meat?”

  She had eaten the rabbit stew she had prepared for them the other night, and clearly had no qualms about cooking shellfish which were, after all, living creatures.

  “I do, but only what I can catch in the forest.”

  “What? Rabbits, pheasant, that sort of thing?”

  Ytha nodded. “And venison, too.”

  “You took down a deer?” His tone was incredulous. “Surely not on your own?”

  “Yes, on my own. I have taken down many deer in my time.” There was clear pride in her voice. “A boar or two as well.”

  Boar? She was lucky not to have been killed. Those creatures were savage, and he knew of several strong and capable men who had been gored by their vicious tusks. He wanted to reprimand her for her past foolishness, to tell her she was never to hunt again, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It was obvious she revelled in her hunting prowess, and he found he didn’t want to take that from her. He resolved, however, to go with her the next time she decided to venture into the forest in search of a meal. He needed to see how skilled she was for himself.

  “It would be practical to keep a few chickens, at least.”

  “As you wish, husband.” Her lips pursed in disapproval, but a moment later her face softened. “It would be good to have a ready supply of eggs, I suppose. It is tiresome to have to barter with the neighbours for them.”

  Garth grinned approvingly at her willingness to compromise. She was, so far, shaping up to be just the kind of wife he wanted. She was firm in her own thoughts but able to bend when necessary. He didn’t want a woman who obeyed him without question, but he did not want to fight at every turn either.

  The rest of the meal was eaten in amiable silence. Ytha served him two more helpings of the broth, and after he had eaten his fill, she cleared away their things. Although no harsh words passed between them, when they went back inside, he sensed her pulling away from him. She undressed quietly and got into bed. No fire burned tonight, but she took the expected position, farthest away from it. In both their societies, the most important member of the household slept closest to the source of warmth. Garth did not require her to sacrifice her comfort for his, but as the night was balmy, he saw no need to discuss it now. Stripping off his own clothes, he got under the fur coverings behind her and drew her close. She did not resist, but her reluctance to be held by him was obvious all the same.

  “What is the matter?”

  She stiffened then.

  “Nothing.”

  “There is something on your mind,” he said. “Tell me.”

  Ytha sat up and turned to him, her eyes narrowed, and he realised then that while he had enjoyed companionable silence, she had actually been brooding over something.

  “Who is Maud?” she demanded.

  Of all the things she might have said, that was the least expected. Maud? Why the hell was she asking about some slave girl? He had left her behind in Norway, where she belonged.

  “She is no one.”

  “No one?” Ytha challenged. “You said that you loved her, so clearly she is someone.”

  Garth groaned. In his confusion earlier, when his mind was wracked with pain and uncertainty, he must have uttered the slave girl’s name.

  “She is nobody, a slave.”

  At that, Ytha’s eyes seemed to flash with anger. Before he could move to stop her, she had leapt from the bed. In all her naked glory, she stood there, glaring down at him. She was magnificent in her fury, and Garth found he wanted her now, more than ever.

  “You kept slaves?”

  Garth shrugged. There was nothing unusual about that.

  “My brother did. It is the way of the world. The strong take the weak.”

  “Am I weak?” Ytha demanded. “Am I your slave?”

  “No,” Garth said carefully as he got out of bed and reached for her. “You are my wife.”

  She shrugged off the hand he placed on her shoulder.

  “But if that bargain had not been struck…”

  Her voice trailed off as though she could not bring herself to ask the question. He was glad of that, for he knew no answer. It was entirely possible that she and the other womenfolk could have ended up as slaves, taken to his homeland to work the fields, tend the animals, and clean their homes. She might have ended up as Maud had on many occasions, warming the bed of her master.

  “The bargain was struck,” Garth said firmly. “You are my wife, and that is an end to it.”

  The fire in Ytha’s eyes told him she did not agree.

  “But what about this Maud, this slave girl? Where did she come from?”

  “Northumbria, I believe. My brother bought her from a Danish trader to help his wife run their household.”

  “So what was she to you?”

  He could see the jealousy raging inside her and, as much as he hated to admit it, he liked the thought that she envied the women who’d come before her.

  “As I said, she was a slave in my brother’s household. I fucked her a time or two.”

  Actually, he had spent almost every night for a year with the woman. In return for her allowing him to fuck her as he saw fit, he had protected her from the worst of his brother’s violent outbursts.

  “You loved her,” Ytha accused.

  Garth shrugged. Perhaps he had cared for the wench, but it wasn’t love. How could it have been when he’d left her to the mercy of his brother without a second thought for what she might suffer?

  “I do not love her. I love you.”

  The words were a lie, and he knew Ytha saw straight through them. Their relationship was far too new for him to feel that way about her, but he said what he thought she wanted to hear. If it took a declaration of love to persuade her back into bed, he was willing to make it.

  “You do not love me,” Ytha hissed. “I doubt you even like me.”

  He took a firm hold of her and pulled her close, pressing his erection against her belly.

  “I do like you, Pict. Feel what you do to me.”

  He pushed her onto the bed and came down over her. She struggled, clawing at his face like the wildcat the people of Katanes were named for.

  “That’s it, kottr, fight me.”

  “No, I don’t want this. Get off me.”

  Lust fired through him as she bucked her hips, trying to throw him off her. He took her hands and stretched her arms up over her head, so her breasts were pulled taut. Taking a rosy nipple into his mouth, he sucked hard, drawing it up into a tight peak. Still she wriggled, feigning reluctance, but the heady scent of her arousal hung in the air. He moved both wrists into one hand and slipped his other down between her legs t
o find her wet and ready for him.

  He held up his fingers, glistening with her feminine juices, and smirked at her.

  “Your body does not lie. You want me.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “Not like this.”

  When he positioned himself between her legs, she thrashed about violently beneath him and began to cry.

  “Don’t,” she wailed. “Please don’t do this to me.”

  Shocked by the vehemence in her voice, Garth loosened his grip on her wrists and pushed himself back from her. Tears ran down her face, and she looked afraid.

  “You are serious?”

  “I am. I don’t want this.”

  “You would deny me my rights?”

  Ytha shook her head. “No, but I beg you, please don’t do this to me.”

  With an explosive string of curses, Garth released her wrists and climbed off the bed. He dressed quickly and strode towards the door.

  “Where are you going?” his wife cried.

  He offered no response. She could not have it both ways. She either wanted him, or she didn’t. Right now, it seemed she didn’t, so he would give her what she wanted. Slamming the door so it shook violently, he went to seek solace with his countrymen.

  6

  After barely sleeping all night, Ytha found herself in a sour mood when she arose the next morning. Her body was sore from being flung down on the bed by Garth. Tossing and turning for hours on end had not helped either. What happened last night had upset her deeply, but it was in his favour that Garth had stopped short of taking her against her will. The truth of it was that, as her husband, he had the right to take her whenever he wanted, whether she protested or not. In the eyes of the church and the custom of his people, her body was his to do with as he pleased. It was what she had agreed to when she’d married him. That he had chosen not to exercise his rights spoke volumes about his character. He had released her when he’d realised her struggles against him were genuine and not part of some game to rouse his passions. It helped to assure her that he would never hurt her. Not physically, anyway.