The Stepdaughter

by Margit Sandemo

  “Sorry it took such a long time, but it isn’t easy loading a gun while on horseback. Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

  Sol got on her feet unharmed. “I’m alright, I think. It was a very good shot,” she said and fell in his arms. Jacob Skille held her close and was clearly worried about her.

  “Mmm,” mumbled Sol. Enjoying the moment. “There’s much to be said for being taken care of.”

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “Nothing. I’m okay. You’re so big and strong. We’d better go back and see how Jorgen is.”

  “Sure.”

  He let her go with a noticeable reluctance.

  There was nothing seriously wrong with Jorgen. He had difficulties talking and had been cut in the arm. But he was alive.

  “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely to Sol. “You certainly acted swiftly.”

  “What?” exclaimed Jacob Skille. “Did you do this?” He pointed at the two men lying at his feet with their skulls crushed. She nodded eagerly.

  “You poor child,” he said. “You must be deeply shocked. Imagine being forced to do something as brutal as this.”

  Sol tried to show her distress by trembling but wasn’t very successful.

  “Well it was a remarkable thing of you. You didn’t think of your own safety at all. We’re very grateful. What a bunch of fools. Imagine attacking the king’s messengers! But they probably didn’t know. How are you managing, Jorgen?”

  Jorgen was still unsteady on his feet. “I ...I’ve probably lost a lot of blood.”

  It was only now they saw that Jorgen had been stabbed several times.

  “Your wounds must be treated,” said Sol, tearing large strips from her skirt. “You need a good rest. Are there no houses at all nearby?”

  “No,” said Skille. “But maybe if we ride further south towards the sea ...”

  “Yes, let’s do that,” she decided while she dressed Jorgen’s wounds as well as she could. “He can’t ride very far in this condition.”

  “But I ...” protested Jorgen.

  “Sol’s right,” said Skille. “You’ll never make it to Glimmingehus in this state.”

  Jorgen gave up protesting. He knew their plans were for the best.

  When they’d gently put him onto the horse and had ridden for a while, Sol stopped her horse. “Wait a moment,” she said. “I’d like to go back. Is that alright? I’d like to say a prayer for their souls.”

  Skille was about to protest but changed his mind. “Yes, you’re a good girl. Do you want us to join you? Maybe you don’t want to see them again all alone?”

  “No, no. That’s not necessary. I’m just afraid that their spirits will follow us.”

  “I see. We’ll wait here.”

  She hurried back and jumped off the horse. When she’d made sure that her two escorts wouldn’t be able to see what she was about to do, she walked over to the body of one of the robbers, an older man with greyish hair with white streaks. This was the one that Skille had killed and his skull hadn’t been crushed.

  Sol smiled as she cut off the dead man’s hair, which she tied into a knot before putting it away in her bag. Then she hurried back to where her two companions were waiting.

  “Now it’s done,” she said piously. “Peace be with their souls.”

  Skille mumbled something she couldn’t hear and then they continued their journey while Skille and Sol, who were both unharmed, rode with Jorgen in the middle to give him support.

  They soon came to a cluster of farms. They woke the people on the nearest farm and told them about the attack.

  “Thank God,” moaned the peasant. “Those five men have bothered us for a long period of time. So they died at the hands of King Christian’s dragoons, did they? Thank you for getting rid of them! I hope it wasn’t too tough on you, young lady?”

  She and Skille exchanged glances. Actually, it was the young lady who had gotten them out of the corner.

  “With such a brave soldier as His Majesty’s dragoon, Jacob Skille nearby, any young lady is safe,” said Sol demurely.

  Skille turned away, muttering to himself.

  The people on the farm promised to take good care of Jorgen. Sol noticed that the peasant had a sweet, young daughter. That will be good for Jorgen, she thought, because the virtuous, prim and proper Ottilia sounded slightly boring. It would do him good to rest his head in the bosom of a down-to-earth peasant girl.

  Now there were just the two of them as they rode through the moonlit night. But it wasn’t long before the moon also disappeared and grey clouds darkened the sky. A short moment later, long before daybreak, it also began to rain but by then they had reached the sea.

  “Damn,” hissed Skille. “I can’t risk that you catch a cold or worse on top of what we’ve experienced last night. And you’re so slender and frail. I can see a fisherman’s hut over there. Let’s take shelter in it for a while.”

  The fisherman’s hut turned out to be two old, dilapidated boat sheds. Skille went inside one of the sheds and Sol followed him, wet and shaking from the night’s chilly air. “Slender and frail?” Well, well, that was something she’d never been called before. You live and learn!

  “These huts haven’t been used for years,” said Skille, his voice echoing in the empty grey shed. “We can put the horses in here for the night, and we can take the other one.”

  Now it was raining very heavily. The waves from the Baltic Sea pounded against the shore constantly. The horses seemed satisfied to have a roof over their heads, and Sol was also relieved that they’d found shelter from the rain.

  “You’re frozen,” said Jacob Skille while he prepared a small space on which to sleep for the night. “If you sleep here, I can go in and sleep where the horses are.”

  “No,” she said hurriedly. “There’s nowhere in there where one can sleep properly and I’d rather not sleep on my own.”

  “I can well understand,” said Skille compassionately. “You’re frightened and cold. I’ll stay here with you and you can trust me when I say that I’ll behave honourably towards you.” Sol wasn’t used to so much consideration. First of all, she didn’t know how to take it, but as she gradually felt the warmth return to her limbs, she began to relax and enjoy it. She let him rub her dry with his big hands and in return she gave him plenty to drink of the wine from the jug the Count had provided her with. She had a modest amount herself. Finally, he wrapped the saddle blankets around them both and they lay side by side, his arm protecting her so that she’d feel safe and warm.

  She stopped trembling.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered drawing her closer to him.

  “Wonderful,” mumbled Sol. “By the way, do you know where black nightshade grows?”

  “Black nightshade? What on earth is that?”

  No, thought Sol. She should have known better than to ask.

  Soon afterwards she was fast asleep and so was Jacob Skille.

  ***

  Jacob Skille, the seasoned warrior, who up until now had considered women an obstacle to his success as a soldier, had had a strange dream.

  He was floating, hovering, rising and falling slowly above a strange lake where the water wasn’t water but something soft and gentle. He was surrounded by ethereal, magical creatures. One of them – he knew it was a female - came close to him and he reached out to hold her. She came willingly to him, encircling his body and radiating a pleasant warmth. Jacob Skille felt something which he knew from the secret dreams he’d had from time to time, only this time the sensation was stronger and his fumbling fingers got caught in some clothes, but she helped him, and suddenly she was free. Her skin was warm against his hands as they sought out her secret places, which were already warm and moist. Jacob pressed himself against her. His body began to shake and an unbearable, burning sensation began to grow in his groin. His own clothe
s were now in the way but small, slender fingers quickly found what they sought ...

  Sol had also been dreaming, but she woke up quicker, understanding immediately what was about to happen. She realised that the big warrior didn’t realise what was going on and that he was in the middle of a dream. She eased herself gently into position, took his hand and placed it where she knew he wanted it to be. She knew that she also longed for this and immediately felt her body begin to tingle with desire.

  When she was ready, he fumbled with his trousers, feverishly and panting heavily, without succeeding. Sol’s hand immediately moved to help him and she gasped when she saw his size. She felt that her body was preparing itself to take him.

  At that moment, Jacob Skille woke up. Sol pretended that she was still asleep. She heard a horrified gasp as he realised what he was about to do but before he could pull back, she moved her whole body and thrust herself quickly down so that he couldn’t resist.

  As he entered her, she ‘woke up’ as if in surprise, letting out a little yelp, sounding like a young puppy. She looked straight into his eyes.

  Skille was scared stiff but was powerless to stop himself.

  “Jacob?” she whispered, amazed. “Jacob?”

  She flung her arms around his neck, her body responding to his passionate rhythm, both letting themselves be absorbed in the sweetness of the passion.

  Some time afterwards, as they lay silently side by side, exhausted and sharing a deep feeling of peace, Skille turned to Sol and said:

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. At first I was dreaming ...”

  “I was also dreaming, Jacob. But it was the power of nature itself that drove us. Both of us have been alone for too long.”

  “Yes, I agree. I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “Was it good for you?”

  “I was in heaven, Sol. It was absolute bliss.”

  “So now you might change your mind a little about what girls are like?”

  He was shocked. “But you’re the only one for me now. You do understand that, don’t you? I can’t let you down now!”

  “Oh, my dear Jacob,” she replied with sadness. “You know I have to leave Denmark and I wouldn’t want to lose my respect for you if you neglected your duty. Let’s just enjoy the short time we have together to the full and remember each other with warmth! You’ve given me a wonderful experience. I thought I’d never respond again to a man’s touch. You’ve cured me, and made me forget that terrible moment when I was fourteen.”

  “Have I? Then I’m truly a happy man.”

  At dawn, they lay together again, this time playing tender, teasing games with each other, learning something about each other and the mysteries of sensual love, trusting each other fully.

  When they parted at a crossroads near Glimmingehus, they both knew that they’d meet again in a few days’ time. They said goodbye to one another, the one going to the fortress that rose majestically from the flat countryside around it, and the other to Brosarps Backar.

  Sol hurried northwards along the Baltic coast. Her horse seemed to enjoy stretching itself across the firm sand as if it knew that she was very much intent on reaching the haze ahead of them.

  The sea was wrapped in a gentle mist, and the waves were long and lazy. Occasionally a sunbeam would break on the surface of the water, exploding the dull grey-blue pastel colours into shimmering brightness.

  She had stopped earlier and asked for directions as she rode along the coast. Now she was almost there. A fisherman she’d just met had disappointed her a great deal. She’d asked very carefully for directions to Brosarps Backar, pretending that she was scared that she might meet witches there ...

  “Witches? What witches?” The man had simply laughed, then asked her what old wives’ tales she’d listened to. No, she had no reason to be afraid at all. Only the very old still told stories of witches.

  Her hopes seemed to be dashed, and she was overcome by a sudden feeling of despair. Nevertheless, she wanted to know what the very old would say about witches. If she had come a hundred years ago, she’d almost certainly come across witches. Then the spirits would have led her to the burial mounds, raised stones and the hills from pagan times. But now ...? No, not now. A gentle peace now lay over Brosarps Backar.

  While speaking to the fisherman, she had squinted into the sun to hide her revealing eyes. She thanked the man and said that she felt relieved, but with sly questions she’d managed to find out where the oldest people in the village lived.

  She had no intention of giving up. She would keep searching until she knew for certain that she was the only one in the Nordic countries that possessed these strange powers. Well, nobody except Tengel, but he didn’t really count.

  Despite the sadness she felt at being a century too late, the beauty of the countryside lifted her heavy heart. At long last, she saw Brosarps Backar in front of her. This must be one of the most beautiful spots on earth, she thought. From the picturesque village of Haväng by the coast to the soft rounded hills covered with cowslips and anemones, there were many small cottages with typical high-pitched roofs dotted all across the Linderöd Ridge.

  Everything was so incredibly beautiful that Sol ached with joy.

  As she rode on, searching for the houses of the very old, she passed a dolmen, an old burial mound. Had they been here...? Her wish to speak with like-minded people was more intense than ever because now she was afraid that she’d been denied her last hope of finding them.

  But at last she arrived at a small cottage that matched the description the fisherman had given her. She got off her horse and tied it to an apple tree that was in full bloom.

  A very old couple with bent backs greeted her kindly. They brought her some food, which did her good because in her eagerness to reach Brosarps Backar, she’d quite forgotten to eat at all.

  With these people, she couldn’t pretend to be scared of meeting witches since she wanted to ask them a great many questions. She needed to come up with a new strategy.

  So she told them that her maternal grandmother had told her stories of how the witches would meet on Thursdays at full moon, and so now that she was here she wanted to know whether these stories were true.

  The old woman listened while she was busy with her pots on the stove.

  “Oh, yes,” said the old man, lowering his voice. “That’s probably true because I saw them once. This was when I was a young boy, before they were chased away.”

  Sol felt how her heart skipped a beat. “Chased away? But surely they all died?”

  “No, not at all. The lord of the manor at Glimmingehus brought several men and seized them. But then they’d already been warned and had fled. Actually, my mum was the one who warned them.”

  Sol immediately felt great sympathy for his mum.

  The old man had a dreamy expression on his face as he spoke.

  “I remember the incident as if it were just yesterday. I woke up in the middle of the night by the sound of a strange singing and as it was a hot summer night, I sneaked out to see, and then I saw them.”

  Sol knew that old people were often able to recall events from their childhood clearly and in great detail and that their short-term memory was often shrouded in mist. Childhood tended to be crystal clear. She could see how the old man cheered up. It was as if he was made to believe that he was something special.

  He went outside. Sol and his wife followed.

  “Over there. It was over there by the dolmen that I saw them. They were many and would come from far away to meet here. After all, it was only in summer that they could meet. They couldn’t meet at wintertime. But you’d know that, of course.”

  They managed to understand each other fairly well. Sol would speak Norwegian and Danish, having known Charlotte Meiden for so many years and due to her recent stay in Copenhagen, while the old man and his wife spoke
the Scanian dialect, a mixture of Danish, Swedish and Old Norwegian that was difficult for a Norwegian to master.

  The old man stared ahead for a while.

  “They had something lying on the dolmen stones,” he continued. “Never in my life have I been so scared as when I saw and heard them.”

  “You said that they fled. But where to?”

  The old couple glanced at each other.

  “It’s one hundred years ago,” said Sol. “There can’t possibly be any more of them left? I just want to follow in their footsteps. I certainly don’t want to hurt anybody. I’m not on friendly terms with the authorities.”

  “What do you mean a hundred years ago?” laughed the old man. “I’m not that old yet!”

  “No, of course not,” smiled Sol. “I’m sorry. How many years ago do you think it was since you saw them last?”

  He half-closed his eyes while he tried to figure it out.

  “I’d say about sixty or more years now. I’m now more than seventy years old and I was probably ten or twelve at the time.”

  “Sixty years ago?” Sol felt happier now. Her hopes had just risen by forty years!

  “But I suppose you don’t know where they fled to?” Sol asked again.

  “I heard one of them mention something to my mum,” the old man said with hesitation. “But I don’t know ...”

  “Oh, go on. It won’t matter so many years after the incident,” said the old woman. “They’re all bound to have passed away by now. The lord of the manor got them all many years ago.”

  “Well, yes,” said the man after he’d thought long and hard. “But I promised my mum that I’d never speak about it.”

  Sol rummaged in her bag. She still had the silver coins she’d received from the lady she accompanied on the boat from Norway. She thought that they’d come in most handy in this home. Not just for her but for the old couple as well.

  “Here, take these,” Sol said. “One for each of you.”

  Their eyes widened, and with trembling hands they took the money. They said that they’d never owned so much money before.