“You know, Tyra, your bread crumbs remind me of a story my children used to love about a boy and girl who got lost in the forest even though they had a plan involving—can you believe it!—bread crumbs. Would you like to hear the story?”
“Yea! Yea! Yea! I love stories ever so much! Almost as much as ducks! Or puppies! Or strawberry tarts!”
“Shush, Tyra,” one of her sisters said. They’d all moved closer, and it seemed Tyra wasn’t the only one who loved storytelling. Some slid onto the bench beside her and others sat on the grass in front.
“The name of my story is Hansel and Gretel,” Ruby began. “Once upon a time…” When she finished the beloved children’s story, the girls begged her to tell it again.
“Will you be staying with us long?” Tyra asked.
“I don’t know. King Sigtrygg has a foolish notion that I might be a spy for some enemy called Ivar.”
“Ivar the Vicious!” several of the girls gasped simultaneously and moved away from her in horror. “A spy!”
“Actually, the king is more interested in investigating my claim of kinship with the Viking Hrolf in Normandy.”
“You’re related to Hrolf?” a once-again fascinated Astrid asked. “I saw him years ago in Hordaland. Massive built he was. Even taller than my father. And handsome as all the gods.” She blushed then at her overexuberance.
“Girls, your mother needs your help,” Olaf called from the back of the house. His daughters turned and ran up the yard to hug him once again. Ruby laughed to hear certain names mixed in their excited chatter, like Hansel, Gretel, Ivar, Hrolf and Ruby.
Olaf raised questioning eyes to Ruby after the girls went into the house by a back door. He sauntered down the yard, looking very pleased with himself, and sank down onto the bench beside her, legs outstretched, totally relaxed.
Men! They were the same throughout the ages. Give them a little love and they became putty. Out of the blue, a niggling idea crept into Ruby’s mind. Maybe she should have done a lot more of that with Jack during the past year. In fact, there was no question about it.
Shelving that guilty thought to the back of her mind, Ruby turned to Olaf and said, “So, it’s that good to be home again?”
“Better,” he countered and smirked. Then he added, “In my excitement over being home, I neglected to take precautions over you. ’Tis my good fortune you did not escape. In the future, one of my servants will guard you at all times.”
“Humph! That’s not necessary. Where would I go? Down to the harbor? I can see it now, me trying to stowaway on a ship bound for America. It probably isn’t even discovered yet, for heaven’s sake!”
Olaf shook his head at her strange words. “Ever do you persist with these far-fetched stories. Did Sigtrygg not warn you about it?”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you would mind.”
“That I do and especially with my children.”
Olaf stood to return to the house when Ruby’s attention was caught by Thork, who approached from downriver, accompanied by two small boys with fishing lines over their shoulders.
When the boys, about eight and ten years old, saw Olaf, they dashed forward, calling out his name. As the dark-haired boys got closer, Ruby’s heart started beating wildly. It couldn’t be possible! Oh, my God! They looked just like her sons did at that age.
Ruby jumped from the bench and ran toward them. “Eddie! David! How did you get here? I’m so happy to see you!”
Before they could react, she hugged each of them, causing their fishing catches to drop to the ground. She felt them pull away from her embrace and saw their eyes roll pleadingly toward Olaf and Thork for assistance.
She turned in bewilderment to Thork, while Olaf told the boys to come to the house with him and wash up before dinner. Both boys looked back over their shoulders at her as they walked up the hill, the older one with some hostility at her familiar embrace, the younger one with a curious longing.
“Woman, you must stop this nonsense,” Thork exploded as soon as the boys were out of sight. “You walk a fine line now between life and death. Risk alienating any more people and someone will give you a push, I wager.”
“But, Thork, they’re my sons…our sons,” Ruby protested hoarsely, swiping at her eyes.
“Nay, no sons are they to you. They are orphans who live here with Olaf’s family. Stop these tales at once or I will be the one to slit your lying tongue,” Thork stated furiously.
Ruby glared at him defiantly. “Threaten me all you want, but I know my own sons when I see them.”
His eyes burned her with their blue fire. “Wench, you have not seen enough winters to bear a ten-year-old child. And I will not have you alarming the boys or Olaf’s family with such foolishness.”
“Thork, I’m thirty-eight years old in my other life. I tried to explain before that—”
“I swear, on Odin’s head, if you continue, I will lop your head off myself.”
“There’s no way in the world you can convince me that those boys aren’t your sons.”
“Argh!” Thork put both hands to his head and pulled his hair in frustration. Then he grabbed her by the shoulder. “Listen to me and listen well, wench. You are not to repeat those words to anyone. If you value the lives of those boys, you will accept that they are mere orphans and naught else.”
Puzzled, Ruby stared at him for a moment. Then she asserted vehemently, “I don’t understand, but I give my word not to betray their paternity.”
He considered her pledge, then nodded. They continued walking toward the house. When they were almost there, Ruby couldn’t stop herself from asking, “You claim to be unmarried. Who’s the mother of the boys?”
Thork shook his head with disgust at her persistence, but, surprisingly, he answered her. “Thea, a Saxon thrall, was Eirik’s mother. She died in the birthing. Asbol, a Viking princess, abandoned Tykir when he was two months old. Mayhap she still lives. I know not.” He shrugged disinterestedly. “She sought a nobler marriage than I could offer, not that I had been willing.”
“Why don’t the boys live with you?”
Thork stopped abruptly, with his hand on the leather door strap, and stabbed her with ice-cold eyes. “Because I do not want them.”
Ruby held a hand to her mouth in horror and wanted to ask more, but Thork spit out coldly, “Tell Olaf I am in the barn saddling our horses. I will wait for him out front.” Then he shoved her through the door roughly.
Thork had two illegitimate sons! And he didn’t want them! What kind of man was he? Jack loved his sons to distraction. This proved to Ruby, as nothing had before, that Jack and Thork must be two different people.
Ruby gave Olaf the message. He introduced her quickly to his wife before giving Gyda a quick kiss on the cheek and rushing out.
Olaf’s great hall, about one hundred feet in length, had a freestanding, rectangular-shaped hearth in its center, about ten by four feet and four feet off the ground, open on all sides. It obviously served as both the heat source and the cooking fire for the household. Smoke escaped through a hole in the high ceiling.
Gyda kept an immaculate home, including the clean and fragrant rushes that covered the hard-packed dirt floor. Not a bit of clutter could be seen anywhere. The Viking household efficiently stored kitchen utensils and wooden dishes on pegs and shelves built near the fireplace, as well as hanging from the roof beams. Wooden vats and barrels holding butter, cheese, curds and milk lay open near the cooking area.
Woven cloth drapes stretched across the walls to hold out the drafts that would inevitably gust into the room during the winter. Built-in benches lined the two longer sides.
Spacious sleeping lofts were located on the second floor at either end of the room. Underneath, on the first floor, at one end there were smaller sleeping chambers, presumably for the two female and three male thralls Ruby saw working around the hall, setting up trestle tables and laying out plates and soapstone oil lamps. At the other end, a loom and spinning wheel dominated a co
zy sitting area, which contained a half-dozen armed chairs, covered with soft cushions.
Eirik and Tykir played some kind of board game off to one side of the room. Although they wore the same loose trousers and handwoven cloth shirts, they’d scrubbed their faces and slicked back their too-long, wet hair. Ruby yearned to go to them, but halted at Gyda’s warning look.
When Gyda finished giving directions to two female servants in the meal preparation, she told Ruby, “I bid you welcome to my home, Ruby. Tyra will show you to a guest chamber where you can refresh yourself afore dinner.”
Tyra led Ruby upstairs to the small chamber which was to be her home for the time being. The plain, cell-like room had only a small pallet, a chest for storing clothing and a wood table holding a pottery pitcher and bowl filled with water, as well as a soapstone oil lamp. Two linen towels lay over a chair.
“Mother says I am not to pester you,” Tyra commented, lingering in the doorway, obviously hoping Ruby would invite her to stay.
“Oh, I don’t think a sugarplum like you could ever be a nuisance,” Ruby stated truthfully. “You’re too sweet.”
Tyra flashed another of her engaging, gap-toothed smiles and asked, “How many children do you have?”
“Two boys,” Ruby answered without hesitation. “Eddie and David.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Very much.” Ruby hadn’t had much time to dwell on her sons. Her heart ached at the prospect of never seeing them again. How would they manage without her? Of course, Jack would come home, but did they think she was dead? Or what?
No! Ruby refused to think about all that now. Survival was the number one priority. After that, she’d find a way to return to the future. If that failed, then and only then would she somehow deal with her loss.
Just like she would have had to deal with her separation from Jack. Oh, Lord, was it only today that he’d left her? Or a lifetime ago?
“Will you tell me the saga of Hansel and Gretel again?” Tyra begged sweetly. “After dinner?”
“Of course, sweetheart…if it’s all right with your parents. But they might not like me telling you stories.”
“Nay!” Tyra said quickly. “They love tales ever so much. We all do.”
After Tyra left, Ruby removed her clothes and washed herself all over with the linen towel and a white, unscented soap, like the kind her great-grandmother made out of wood ashes for laundry. After she dressed, Ruby went downstairs where the meal was being placed on the tables.
Olaf, who’d just returned, sat at the head of the table, with Gyda on his right and Ruby on the left. The girls sat on either side of the trestle table, and Thork’s sons sat beyond them.
Olaf explained awkwardly, exchanging quick looks of embarrassment with his wife, that Thork had stayed in the city and would stop at the house in the morning before going on to his grandfather’s estate. Ruby felt heartsick at the look of disappointment on Eirik and Tykir’s faces. And she couldn’t deny how much she missed him already herself.
Before they ate, Ruby was surprised to see everyone bow their heads.
“Thank you, Lord, for this good food…and for bringing husband and father home to us safely,” Gyda said.
“And thank Odin and Thor, too, for our good fortune,” Olaf added wryly.
Ruby’s amazement at their mention of both Christian and Norse gods must have shown on her face.
“We practice both religions here,” Olaf explained. “Baptism to the Christian faith is the price most Vikings pay for settling in foreign lands. Most often ’tis a political expedient, nothing more.”
“Nay, husband, some of us are true converts,” Gyda argued.
Informal conversation flowed throughout the dinner, plain, delicious fare including an unleavened flat bread called bannock which Ruby learned was baked daily by the Vikings. Even the children talked freely as the family caught up on all the news that had happened while Olaf was gone.
Gyda told of unexpected deaths, new babies born, marriages made and growth in the city. “’Tis claimed there are now more than thirty thousand adults living in Jorvik. Could that be true?” Gyda asked her husband.
“Mayhap an exaggeration, but ’tis a fact the city grows like wild weeds. At least, there is still some order to the growth. I noticed as we walked from the palace that the gate pattern is being followed in an orderly fashion.”
“Yea. We now have Coppersgate, Petergate, Andrewgate, Skeldergate, Bishopgate—”
Ruby interrupted, “What does gate mean? In my land, a gate is a door in a fence.”
“Gate is a Norse word for street,” Olaf explained, “’Tis how we name our roadways.”
The children gave Olaf all their important news. Tyra showed off her missing teeth and told of five kittens born just last week to an aging cat which had apparently been around before Olaf left on his voyage. Astrid asked shyly about the handsome Selik, which seemed to disconcert Olaf. The other girls told of talents learned, minor injuries, gossip and trifles they wanted to purchase.
Thork’s sons remained silent, except to whisper among themselves. They seemed a part of, but separate from, this warm family. Lonely, Ruby thought. They were neglected, lonely children.
How could Thork be gone for two years and not spend his first night with his sons? Why did they live with Olaf’s family? If Thork could not care for them himself, why not the grandfather Dar that Thork had mentioned? Something was wrong here. Ruby shook her head in confusion, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. She yearned to help the boys but remembered Thork’s warning. Later! she vowed. Later she would go to them, Ruby promised herself. She couldn’t wait until Thork’s return, though. She had a few choice words to deliver to him.
“Thork!” Olaf exclaimed suddenly, and everyone turned with a start to the doorway where Ruby’s wayward Viking stood with wide shoulders propped against the doorjamb and arms folded across his chest, listening with amusement to the domestic conversation. “You said you would be staying at the palace tonight,” Olaf accused.
In truth, Thork couldn’t believe that he had returned to Olaf’s house, against his better judgment. For years, he had followed a wise policy of avoiding his sons in public or in front of strangers, like Ruby. He could not let his enemies know these were the fruit of his loins. Holy Freya! His brother Eric would kill the boys in a trice to protect his accession. Or if he thought he could hurt Thork in the process.
It was Ruby’s fault. She had woven her magnetic siren’s web about him, and for some inexplicable reason he had felt compelled to return to Olaf’s house. He made eye contact with the mysterious wench and felt an intense rush of warmth surge through him. He inhaled sharply.
Why did the man-woman affect him so? It could not be her questionable beauty. She was not uncomely, but, in truth, he knew many women more pleasing to behold, though not half so enticing. Mayhap it was the manner in which she sometimes gazed at him with her heart in her eyes, thinking he was her husband.
More likely I have been too long without a woman and must needs get my mind out of my braies, Thork berated himself. Or hers!
Involvement with this woman spelled peril, pure and simple—to her, to him, to his sons, to Olaf’s family. And yet, knowing this, he had defied the warning bells in his head and come back anyway.
“Thork, what do you here?” Olaf asked. “You said I would not see you until the morn.”
Thork shot a cryptic, warning glance at Olaf. He deliberately avoided looking at his sons, even as he realized sadly that the boys could not hide their joy at his unexpected return.
Gyda stood to get another plate, and Thork took her seat opposite Ruby. Everyone at the table watched him with open mouths, clearly surprised by his out-of-character behavior. Odin’s ears! He should jump up right now and return to the castle where he could relieve all this pressure boiling inside him in Esle’s arms.
Instead, Thork studied Ruby intensely and said in a more husky voice than he intended, “I changed my mind.” Rub
y’s open delight at his presence disarmed him, and his fingertips drummed a tension-filled melody on the tabletop.
“Humph!” Olaf muttered under his breath, recognizing the carnal flush on Ruby’s cheeks and the smoky sensuality on his friend’s loosely parted lips. “’Tis not your mind, but another part of your body, lower down, that has taken over, I wager.” Olaf threw back his head and hooted with laughter at Thork’s discomfort over his all-too-correct insight.
Thork flashed him a forbidding glare, and Olaf finally managed to get his mirth under control as Gyda placed goblets of ale in front of them both and a plate heaping with food at Thork’s place. Thork ate ravenously as conversation resumed once again around the table.
When the others looked away, Ruby whispered, loud enough for only him to hear, “I thought you would be back at the palace screwing the Viking bimbo from the harbor.”
“Screwing? Bimbo?” At first, Thork didn’t understand her words. When comprehension dawned, an easy smile tipped the edges of his lips. “You mean Esle?” he asked innocently. His smile widened at the hot color that flooded the face of the sharp-tongued wench who was shifting uncomfortably now.
“Not that I care who you sleep with!” she added defiantly, and Thork felt a deep pull inside at the sure knowledge that she lied.
“Thor’s balls! You have a blunt manner of speaking.”
“No more blunt than those coarse Viking swear words of yours.”
Thork found himself relishing this strange word sparring with Ruby. He frowned in concentration. In truth, he could not remember the last time he had cared what words came from a woman’s mouth, only what she did with it. How odd!
He leaned forward across the table and told her in a warm, silky voice, “If I had more time for dalliance, wench, methinks I would enjoy you.”
Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 01] Page 7
