Her aunt and uncle’s home was similar in size to her own; a large open area with a central fire, benches and tables around the edges with a curtained off section in the back for bedrooms. The ceiling was higher in the center with a smoke hole at the top and the walls were made of wooden planks instead of the woven wattle of her home, but structurally that was the only difference.
The ambiance, however, was a huge contradiction. Where her home was warm, inviting and smelled of wildflowers and lavender, theirs was cold, dark and empty. It was a shelter, not a home; a place to sleep and eat, nothing more. Spending time together was definitely not a priority to them, which when she thought about it, could end up as a good thing. It was less likely that she’d have to interact with Trond as much, well, any of them really. Trond might give her the creeps, but the girls weren’t much better to spend any time with. Heidrun was the oldest and most insistent with her opinions. Malfrid was in the middle. Agnethe knew no one who could whine louder or more consistently than that girl. Solaug was the youngest and held the best opportunity for friendship. She was quieter and more likely to smile at those around her, yet could hold her own against her older sisters in a fight.
How am I going to do this?
Still holding her cat, she scratched his ears, using his internal rumble as a soothing balm to her shaking knees. Peering around at the sparse furnishings, she wrinkled her nose and tightened her lips together at having to leave so many of her things behind.
There’s plenty of room for all of it, not to mention Mother’s decorations would bring life to this place.
“Put the cat outside and come help us unload,” Bierka said as she passed Agnethe on her way back to the wagon.
With one last scruff to Caesar’s chin, Agnethe put him onto the ground near the wagon. “Don’t go too far, we live here now, understand?” She spoke to the cat and smiled at her own silliness.
When she looked up both Trond and Bierka were staring at her like she was a fool. She pursed her lips and grabbed a crate off the wagon, walking away before she allowed another sting of loneliness to hit her. Many times she had walked into the house and heard her mother talking to Caesar. If a person understood love and compassion, it extended to all creatures, she’d been taught. The baffled expressions those two gave her spoke volumes about their hearts.
Setting the crate down on the floor of the room she’d share with her cousins, she understood the space concern. The room was half the size of her old room, had only one bed that seemed as if it was meant for two people, not four, and smelled like dirty feet. Three trunks lined the wall opposite the bed with barely enough space on the floor between to change clothes. A pile of furs, clothes and other items sat in the corner. Pushing the crate as close to the pile as she could, she tried not to take too much of the space. She sat the next crate on top of that one and didn’t attempt to go through them. There wasn’t any room to set anything out, anyway. Agnethe sagged onto the edge of the bed. Staring at her hands sitting limp on her knees, she finally allowed the tears to fall. Tears for her mother. Tears for herself. Tears for the future.
2
Attack In The Night
Two weeks had passed since her mother’s death. Agnethe’s days were spent much as they had been before, caring the for the sheep in the pens and weaving cloth. Except now, her cousins felt it was also her duty to care for their every need as well. By moving into their home, she had become their personal servant. Not wanting to make living among them any harder than necessary, she obliged mostly. Gathering wood, starting fires, fetching water from the well and even mending clothes were not tasks beneath her or she didn’t care to do. In some ways, they gave her breaks in the otherwise dull regularity of her life.
It was the nights she dreaded. As Agnethe suspected the first day she’d arrived, the bed the four girls was to share was far too small. Rather than make room for her, she was given the choice to sleep across the foot of the bed or make a place for herself out in the barn where the two cart horses were stabled. The second option seriously had her considering it until she learned that was where Trond had moved when he was too old to sleep amid his sisters any longer. Once she tried to make a nest for herself on the floor, only to be stepped on several times through the night when each cousin had made random trips to the privy. Resigning herself to accept the way things would be until her father returned, she learned to sleep on the narrowest edge of the bed so as not to be kicked as often, and face the wall so as not to smell the feet that were never washed before bed.
Normally she used the privy before getting settled for the night because if she didn’t she would lose any hope of space on the bed. Exhausted and thoughtless, she had forgotten one night after a long day, falling asleep within minutes of dropping across the rustling cornhusk-filled mattress. Somewhere between the darkest part of the night and the early rays of dawn, she could wait no longer. Grabbing a shawl she headed outside to take care of her business knowing she would need to use the woolen garment for warmth when she finished the night on a bench in the main room. On her way back to the house the sound of heavy breathing ahead on the worn path, woke her fully from her half sleep state.
Before she could decide what to do, Trond stepped out from the corner to face her. Agnethe swallowed hard and clenched her hands to keep the shake in them from showing. Stepping closer to her, she could see his mouth turned up into a half grin in the moonlight. Glistening eyes shone as he moved forward into her personal space. The smell of ale and pipe smoke hung in the air.
“Were you looking for me? You’ve taken longer to come to me than I expected, but no worry we can be together now.” His voice was low and held the hint of a growl. Not the angry kind, but worse.
“I’m not looking for you, let me pass so I can go back inside,” she said with more bravado than her racing heart felt.
Agnethe wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as he let his eyes roam first down to her feet and then back up to her face. Lingering where she held the shawl around her and then again on her mouth, licking his bottom lip before meeting her eyes with a sinister grin. Agnethe’s mouth went dry, and she searched for anything within reach she could use as a weapon to defend herself.
Quicker than a cat, Trond lunged forward and grabbed a hold of her shoulders and pulled her hard to his chest, circling his arms around her back, pinning her arms between them. Slamming his mouth onto hers. When she tried to turn away, he slid a hand up and grabbed a hold of her hair, forcing his tongue into her mouth when she tried to scream. Using every ounce of her strength, she pushed her arms against his chest and stomped as hard as she could on his foot. Breaking free she turned and ran, but within seconds he caught her and tackled her to the ground, trapping her beneath him. Mud seeped into her shift and between her toes as she fought to scramble away.
“Get off of me,” she screamed.
He held her tight and leaned his face next to her ear, “You will be mine, there is no use in fighting it. Although it makes it more exciting.” He chuckled and a mixture of horseradish and onions in his breath made Agnethe gag.
“You’re vile,” Agnethe hissed as she continued to push and tried to pull herself out from under his weight.
Finally getting a foothold against a thick clump of grass she pushed and threw her head backwards at the same time, crashing her skull into his teeth and nose. Scrambling forward on her hands and feet like a bear, she managed to get close enough to the wood pile to grab a length of a cut sapling. She turned and swung her arm without aiming or caring, landing a blow against Trond’s forearm as he reached out to grab her again. The force of the blow stopped his momentum, and he grabbed his wrist, spewing a list of foul words as he did. Agnethe used the opportunity of his distraction to swing again, contacting the back of his head this time. Trond crumpled to the ground groaning. Although she’d hit him hard, it was not enough to knock him out, so she ran as fast as she could back toward the house.
When she made it inside, she slammed the door c
losed and brought the rarely used wooden brace into its place, ensuring her safety for the moment. As she stumbled toward the back of the house, some tension released knowing there was only one other door leading to the outside, and that was in her aunt’s room.
He wouldn’t dare come through there and wake up Bierka. Would he?
Plopping hard onto a bench, her entire body shook violently as she wrapped her arms around her middle and huddled over her knees. The shawl had been lost in her struggle and now she was cold, wet and terrified. Wiping at her face, mud smeared into her eye rather than away from it. The stench of Trond’s foul breath still stung her nose, and she leaned sideways, emptying the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Twice more she hurled until there was nothing left and she sat up, shivering and numb. A bucket of well water sat on the other side of the cold hearth fire and she didn’t think she could make her legs move to go rinse her mouth out.
The memory of his tongue in her mouth made her gag, forcing her to stumble over to the bucket and swallow ladle after ladle of water until the front of her shift was soaked and sticking to her. Two barrels sat next to the outside wall behind the bucket, a small amount of space between them. Agnethe squeezed her back between them, pulled her legs tight to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Freezing and too scared to sleep she huddled there staring at the door and waited until daylight when she could hopefully feel safe again.
3
It’s All Too Much
Shadows in the house grew lighter as dawn approached. Agnethe knew it was time to start the hearth fire and prepare for the morning chores, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her spot on the floor. Not because her legs were too cramped to move, or she was frozen stiff, but because her mind was too numb to think otherwise. She sat, staring at nothing, and no longer cared to worry about the wrath of her aunt or cousins. Her father would come home, someday, maybe she’d stay right where she was until he returned. A sick feeling passed through her middle, one that whispered her father wasn’t coming home, but she pushed it out of her mind. The same feeling had plagued her before, weeks ago, when her mother was still alive.
You are just scared, he’ll be back soon. Yet, this time the feeling mingled with her fears from the night before and peace would not overtake her worries.
In the back of the house, bodies shuffled as her family woke. They would have to pass through the house in front of her soon. After their anger over the cold fire, they might notice the barred door and search for her.
What will they think when they find me? A slight shake of her head was all she could muster as she doubted they would take her side.
Malfrid, was the first to wander into the great room, rubbing her eyes with one hand and holding her shawl around her shoulders with the other. Attempting to go outside, she lurched forward and nearly bumped into the door when the unexpected lock held it shut.
“What is this?” she asked. Spinning around, her eyes passed right over Agnethe and called for her sisters. “Heidrun, Solaug—Agnethe! Someone come out here and help me.” Muttering under her breath she tried to remove the beam one handed, failing miserably and getting more irritated. “Aahhh, someone come in here,” she screamed, stomping her feet like a child.
Heidrun and Solaug came running with their mother at their heels. “What is it?” Heidrun asked when they all stood together.
“Look. Someone has barred the door and I can’t get it open.”
“Who would do that? And why? We haven’t ever barred the door before that I can remember,” Solaug said.
“Where is Agnethe?” Bierka asked.
“I don’t know, just help me get this open,” Malfrid whined. “I need to go out, deal with her later.”
Helping to lift the beam and set it back off to the side, where it had sat for ages, the remaining sisters stepped out of the way as Malfrid hurried through the door. Giggling at her expense they turned toward Bierka and saw that she was scanning the room.
“There she is,” Solaug said. Walking across the room, she knelt down in front of Agnethe. Of all the women, Solaug had the most amount of empathy. “What are you doing there, Agnethe? Are you hurt?”
Agnethe swallowed hard and tried to speak, but her voice cracked and only a small squeak escaped her throat. Bierka and Heidrun stood behind Solaug staring down at Agnethe’s huddled form.
“Pull her up,” Bierka said.
Solaug took hold of Agnethe’s hands and pulled without success. “Help me, I don’t think she can stand.”
Heidrun took one arm, Solaug the other and between them they dislodged Agnethe from her spot. Although the assessment was correct and her legs buckled under her when they tried to let go. With her arms stretched over their shoulders they led her to a bench and lowered her down to it, then stepped back.
Agnethe looked down into her lap. Dried mud was caked all over her shift and hands. It itched on her face as well and when she reached up to rub her cheek, dust rained down onto her legs.
“What happened to you, child?” Bierka asked.
Clearing her throat, Agnethe spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I went to the privy, he attacked me.”
“Who? Who attacked you?”
“Trond.”
“What? You are lying,” Heidrun said, “Trond would not do such a thing.”
“Hush. Why do you think it was Trond?” Bierka asked in a clipped tone.
“He stood facing me, before he grabbed me,” Agnethe said. Daring to glance up, she saw her aunt’s expression. It was blank, yet the muscles in her jaw twitched.
She is trying to decide if she believes me.
“Mother, you are not believing this are you?” Heidrun was closest in age, as well as spirit, to Trond.
“Help her to my room. I want to speak to her alone.” Bierka turned and headed off toward the back of the house and Solaug immediately reached out to help Agnethe stand.
“Heidrun, help me. Mother will figure all of this out,” Solaug said to her sister. Reluctantly Heidrun helped Agnethe walk to her mother’s room and with a frown and pursed lips left her there to speak privately.
“Agnethe, you are young and your mother spoiled you. I will not permit this story to leave this house, do you understand me?” Bierka stared at Agnethe with a cocked eyebrow and a stony expression.
“I don’t understand. How can you not believe me?” Agnethe put a hand over her middle and took deep breaths trying to keep her wobbly legs from falling out from under her.
“I did not say I didn’t believe you. I’m sure you believe Trond was trying to attack you because you have not had the way of things explained to you. You should not have walked around outside in your night clothes if you did not wish to draw his attention.”
“What are you saying? I should not have fought back, I should have allowed him to force himself upon me?”
“Trond is of the age to marry and so are you. You are obliviously unaware of the nature of relationships or you would have understood his intentions. . .”
At that moment Heidrun burst through the curtain, wild eyed and short of breath. “Mother, there are men here. They bring news, come quick!”
Without another word, Bierka and Agnethe both accompanied Heidrun outside. People were running down the road in front of the house toward the center of town. Agnethe followed, but then realized she was still in her mud covered shift and wrapped her arms around herself before heading back inside. Bierka herded the other girls inside as well as admonishing all of them to hurry and dress.
Minutes later, they were hurrying down the street pinning brooches or braiding hair as they ran. A large crowd had gathered in the open air market place where meetings and special occasions were held. A group of about ten men stood near the center and one of them was talking, but Agnethe couldn’t make out what he was saying. She pushed forward through the crowd, picking up pieces of the message as she went. A battle, men lost, ships sunk, Alfred of Wessex; it all painted a terrifying story. Finally, Agnet
he made her way to the front and could hear the man for herself.
This can’t be happening. Please Odin, do not leave me an orphan.
“Are you sure they are all dead? Some could have escaped,” a woman to Agnethe’s right called out.
“Yes, some did. They stand before you,” the man said with sadness in his eyes.
“How do you know they were from Saxebi? Are you sure they were our men?” Agnethe asked without thinking he may have already explained that before she arrived.
“We traveled together for quite some time. What is your name, child?”
“Agnethe.”
The man glanced to the ground before looking back at Agnethe with a down-turned expression and his arms hanging loose at his sides. “I knew your father well. Leid was a friend as was your brother Maks. I’m very sorry for you and your mother.”
A tightness gripped Agnethe’s chest and everything slowed down; movement of those around her faded away. Her vision blurred and her legs buckled causing her to fall to her knees in the mud. What am I going to do? How can this be happening? I can’t stay with my cousins. I can’t.
Someone leaned down and rubbed her back and said words she couldn’t understand. It was as if she were drowning, the words coming from above while she sunk lower into the water.
I’m all alone.
Everything swirled around her, then there was an arm around her shoulder and another under her knees pulling her up from the ground like a child. A brief thought that it might be Trond crossed her mind, but the touch was too gentle. Letting her head fall against the unfamiliar chest, she closed her eyes, releasing her feeble grip on consciousness.
4
A Helpful Stranger
Agnethe woke to the sound of muffled voices outside of her bedroom curtain. Not her bedroom, she realized, the one she shared with her cousins, yet she was alone. Tucked under the covers with her head laying on a pillow, she struggled to understand. Until the flood of memories washed over her—remembering the strangers who’d appeared and assured her that her father and brother were dead.
The Viking Maiden Box Set Page 74
