The long darkness had yet to begin but already the air had taken on a chillier feel. Though it was the middle of the night, the sun hung low on the horizon, giving just enough light to show her the way to her favorite spot overlooking the fjord.
She seated herself on the springy turf regardless of the moisture clinging to the grass and curled her legs under her. She loved to come here when the others were asleep and commune with her Lord, forgetting the past and concentrating on the present and possible future.
Before, that future was keeping her family safe. Now, that would no longer be the case.
What frightened her more than anything was the fact that she didn’t know how to be a wife. Her mother had died when she was little and the only example she’d had was Brita, but Brita had been married such a short time before her husband was slain, and Brita had married for love.
A rock tumbling down the hill startled her. She turned, half rising to her feet, when she saw Valdyr’s massive form making his way toward her.
He motioned for her to stay seated, and she eased back to her position though she was far from relaxed in his presence. She fixed her gaze on the sun’s dim reflection on the fjord’s waters. The nearer he drew, the faster her heart beat. She tugged the robe closer about her and willed her breathing to slow.
“Did I waken you?” she asked.
He seated himself beside her and every nerve in her body jumped to life. He bent his knees, resting his muscled forearms on them, and followed the direction of her interest.
“No. I couldn’t sleep.”
She didn’t have the courage to ask what was on his mind. Frankly, she wasn’t certain that she wanted to know.
They sat for some time, the silence growing uncomfortably long.
Valdyr finally leaned back on his arms, his leather jerkin tightening across his broad chest, and cocked his head toward her. “Is this marriage agreeable to you?”
What was she supposed to say to that? One part of her admitted to the strange attraction she felt for the man sitting beside her; the other, more sane part knew that their two competing faiths and strong wills were bound to cause conflict.
Her people were a passionate, heathen race, living their lives in a primeval way that had remained unchanged for many, many years. Even she, before she had accepted the Christ, had lived in such a way, her primitive nature reveling in her successes in battle that even now brought a quickening of her blood.
She glanced at him. “Did my father tell you that I am a Christian?”
His eyes narrowed, and he studied her for several seconds. “No, but I do not see that that is a problem. Most people in Norway have been baptized to accept the Christian faith.”
That was certainly true enough, even though for the most part it was because Harald demanded it.
“Even you?”
His lips thinned, and he turned back to watching the fjord. “No. I would never accept such a weak god.”
So, then, did he see her as weak because she had? She wished that she could talk to Brother Drustan. If only she knew what God’s word said, she would better be able to answer all the questions that were plaguing her mind.
She had at one time been known as Mist in karlsefna, Mist the he-man, and she had been proud of that title. Now, she was called Mist in Kristna, Mist the Christian, and not in a flattering way.
The more she studied the man beside her, the more she realized that she was not the right woman for him. Perhaps the woman she used to be would have gladly fallen into his arms, but she was no longer that woman because of her faith.
She didn’t realize that she had spoken her thoughts aloud until he turned to face her, a frown forming a deep V between his brows.
“What are you saying? Do you find something objectionable about me?”
What was she supposed to say to that? That she feared that primeval Viking male in him that appealed to the primitive part of her Viking nature, the part she was daily trying to fight into subjection? She could feel the threads of attraction trying to pull her ever closer to him. It was as though a dark force outside herself was trying to woo her into forgetting the new life she had accepted in Christ. It was not the Viking way to retreat from a dangerous situation, but Mist decided, in this instance, retreat was the better part of valor.
“Perhaps we can discuss this another time. The hour is late and I find that I am tired after all.”
* * *
Mist started to get to her feet. Reaching out, Valdyr gripped her wrist and held her in place. It dented his pride considerably that after fending off advances from so many women through the years, this woman, who had attracted him from the start, not only didn’t give any encouragement, she was actually discouraging him.
She glanced pointedly at his fingers, the warning in her eyes bringing an instant desire to test her. Did she really think that she could best him if he took up her challenge?
At the same time, he sensed a vulnerability about her that was in direct contrast to the strong woman she was trying to portray. Which was the true Mist? If he pushed her now, she might very well retreat into a place he could not access. The one thing he had right now was time. Well and good. He would give her that time.
He released her, and she hastily climbed to her feet, brushing the wet grass from her tunic. She gave him a look fraught with meaning that almost brought him to his feet, but he forced himself to remain still and not take advantage of it. The yearning in her eyes was plain to see and encouraged him to believe that with time and patience he could win her over.
The only problem with that thought was he found he was decidedly limited on patience where she was concerned.
Chapter 3
Mist awakened to the sound of clanking pottery as Brita prepared the meal to break the fast. Light from the open door spoke of the sun’s having already risen high in the sky. She had slept much later than she’d intended, having spent a restless night tossing and turning, her dreams intermittent, all of them about Valdyr.
She sought the place where Valdyr and his men had made their beds but the area was empty and the pallets had already been removed to allow for the daily jobs that needed tending. Most of the thralls who helped with the inside work had always made their bed in the longhouse with everyone else. With the coming of Valdyr and his men, they had been relegated to the smaller longhouse with the field thralls. Valdyr and his men required a lot of room.
She shivered as the early-morning cold blew in the open door. She quickly rose to help her sister with the meal, throwing her apron over her kirtle and pinning it at the shoulders with her favorite brooches.
Her father’s thralls were already busy about their chores. Gudrun was deftly spinning the wool that would be used to make new clothing. Standing for hours as the wool was spun by dropping weights from the shoulder was backbreaking work, yet Gudrun seemed to enjoy it. She had told Mist that it allowed her time to think. Mist could only wonder what the woman thought about; she rarely spoke to anyone.
Ari, a young man who had been purchased by her father several years ago, was bringing in wood that had been hauled to the farm from farther inland. He had barely seen fifteen years and, despite the fact that he was a slave, he was a joy to be around. Mist was thankful that his longing for his home in Northumbria dwindled with each passing day, but she couldn’t help but sympathize with his situation.
Drustan had told her that slavery was wrong. She could well understand why. God’s holy word said that others should be treated as you would wish to be treated yourself. For her part, she would rather be dead than be someone’s thrall. She had tried to make her father see that, but it was futile, as were all of her other attempts to teach him about the Christian way. As for herself, she had determined that she would never own a slave.
Which brought her thoughts back around to Valdyr. He would be the hea
d of their house, so she would have to find out how he felt about slavery, because it was an area she refused to compromise on.
She joined Brita at the table where she was cutting slices of cheese and putting them on a wooden platter.
Brita glanced at her. “God morgen. Did you sleep well?”
Since Mist didn’t want her sister worrying, she told her, “Well enough. What can I do to help?”
“Find Astrid,” she responded immediately, exasperation evident in her voice. “She rose early and I haven’t seen her since. She is supposed to be carding the wool for Gudrun.”
Mist lifted a slice of cheese from the platter, saluted her sister with it and proceeded outside.
She stood waiting for her eyes to adjust to the bright light after the darkness of the house. Already the farm was alive as everyone went about their chores. Several thralls were already preparing the field for a second harvest of barley. With the hours of daylight here so long, they were often able to get up to three harvests a season.
Her aunt was busy in the garden behind the house, tending the vegetables. “Have you seen Astrid?”
She slowly straightened from her cramped position, placing one hand at her lower back. Pushing back the gray hair that had escaped from her braid, she pointed in a direction away from the farm.
“I saw her earlier. She went that way.”
Mist grew suddenly uneasy. Why was her sister going inland when she knew there was work to be done?
“Was she alone?” Mist asked.
Her aunt nodded and then turned back to her work. The foolish girl. Anything could happen to her wandering alone out there. An immense white bear had been spotted near the farm and some of the sheep had come up missing, their mangled bodies found farther inland where the bear must have made its home.
“Thank you, Tante Adisa,” she told the older woman. She sighed. There was no help for it. She would have to go after her.
She hurried back to the house and went to where they kept their stored weapons. Since she had yet to regain the full strength of her arms, she chose a smaller, lightweight sword and slipped the baldric over her shoulder, settling the end against her waist.
Deciding to add a spear to her arsenal, she again chose one that was lighter in weight than what she would have preferred. It suddenly occurred to her that choosing to give up her sword was not a wise thing to do. There were other creatures besides man that were a threat to her family. She decided then and there that it was time to begin practicing again.
She passed the thralls who were building a rock wall to surround their farm and its outlying fields. They waved and she waved back. Unlike her father, she thought of the thralls as her friends rather than slaves, and they responded to her in kind.
She searched for her father, but he had left earlier to show Valdyr and Bjorn around the farm. Leaving a message for him with one of the thralls that she would return soon, she quickly went in search of her sister. She didn’t dare mention Astrid to anyone. Her secretive actions lately had caused Mist concern. She should have confronted her sister long ago, but she had been too caught up in feeling sorry for herself.
The rain from the night before had freshened the air, and she took a deep, cleansing breath after hours in the smoke-drenched house. She stretched, easing the kinks out of her body, and a scripture that Drustan had taught her came to her mind. It was from the book of Jeremiah, the prophet, and it said that if one searched for God with all of one’s heart, He would be found. A strange sense of contentment stole over her as she traveled farther inland.
It soon became apparent from her tracks that Astrid had gone to Mist’s refuge spot again. Mist grew unreasonably irritated. She had jealously guarded the spot from prying eyes, but she couldn’t begin to explain why. Perhaps she was afraid that if her father knew about it, he would destroy it. He had not been particularly happy about her conversion to Christianity.
Before Mist reached the rock formation that housed her little sanctum, she could hear voices raised in heated anger. She quickly rounded the bend and stopped in amazement as she found her sister and a young man embroiled in some sort of argument. It took her a moment to sort out the scene, but then she recognized the son of the chief of the farm many miles away. Anger surged through her, her hand tightening on her spear.
“What are you doing here, Balder?”
He lifted his chin, straightening to his full height, which, even for her people, was considerable. His handsome face was marred by the fierce frown he leveled at Mist.
“I am here to see Astrid.”
Her sister’s guilty look made it clear that this was obviously no chance meeting.
“And why is it necessary that you two meet in secret?” Mist asked. Balder’s eyes went from the sword hanging from her shoulder to the spear clenched tightly in her hand.
Astrid spoke. “I was just telling him that I would no longer meet him here.”
Balder growled an objection to her words, and Astrid took a hasty step in retreat. Mist stepped between them, her glaring eyes a direct challenge.
“You have some disagreement with that?”
Again Balder’s eyes went to her sword. Mist’s reputation as a shield maiden was well-known on the island. The look on Balder’s face assured her that he had yet to learn of her weakness. Thankfully, this gave her the advantage. Balder swallowed hard, his face creased with frustration.
Mist turned to her sister, keeping one eye on the angry young man beside her. “Go home. You are needed.” As Astrid turned to obey, Mist told her, “We will talk about this later.” Her sister’s shoulders dipped with remorse, and Mist knew she was already regretting her clandestine affair. More than likely a good part of that had to do with Bjorn.
She turned back to Balder and, despite the fact that she had never really liked the young man, she was grieved that he had to be hurt. “Go home, Balder. If my father sees you near our farm, it will not go well with you.”
Before the arrival of the bear, her father’s herds had been raided and he had suspected that it was Balder’s clan that was doing it. What was her sister thinking meeting him here? And how had she even managed to get to know the boy in the first place?
Nostrils flaring in anger, Balder looked like he was about to object. Mist slightly lifted the spear, her warning evident.
He hesitated, his dark blue eyes glittering with malice. Grabbing the cloak that he had discarded on a rock nearby, he glared hard at Mist. “This is not over yet,” he said. He turned on his heel and stormed away.
Mist let out a relieved breath and watched until he was out of sight. She quickly scanned the area around her. It had always given her pleasure to know that she had a spot that was unknown to others, a seemingly pristine sanctuary where she could retreat from the world. Now it seemed to have been desecrated. She didn’t think she would ever think of this place the same way again.
Sighing, she followed her sister home, her thoughts in a tangle. Balder somehow made her think of Valdyr, though truth to tell, the two were as different as night and day. Both were strong and determined, but Valdyr seemed the more reasonable of the two. She had noted the same strange possessive look in Valdyr’s eyes last night as she had seen in Balder’s today, yet she could not imagine Valdyr being as violent. But, then again, not having the same beauty as her sisters, she couldn’t imagine that her looks would ever inspire such a great passion in a man, either.
* * *
Valdyr looked up from watching the blacksmith forging the iron that Valdyr had brought as a gift to Egil and saw Astrid come storming into the compound. Eyebrows lifted, he glanced at Bjorn, who looked equally surprised. Shrugging, he turned back to the forge. A moment later, Mist followed after her sister, a sword slung in a baldric over her shoulder and a spear in her hand. The look on her face boded ill for the recipient.
Once again
his brows lifted in surprise. Egil had told him that since his daughter’s return from the battle in Norway, Mist had given up her sword. Seeing her fully armed and in an obviously savage frame of mind, he quickly made his way to her side.
Head bent, she was so focused on her thoughts that she didn’t even see him until she rammed into him. He gripped her shoulders to keep her from tumbling to the ground. Palms against his chest, she stared up at him in surprise.
He glanced behind her and then fixed an inquiring gaze on her face. “Is everything well?”
“Everything is well,” she told him, trying to push out of his hold.
Strangely reluctant to let her go, he held her more firmly. “Then why the weapons?”
Instead of fighting him, she softened her stance. “Our men spotted a white bear close to the farm. Astrid foolishly went afield without protection.”
He studied her face, only half hearing what she said. He could feel the bones protruding from her shoulders, the seeming fragileness of her making him feel suddenly protective. Truth be told, she couldn’t be considered a comely woman. In fact, her features were quite unremarkable, especially compared to her sisters. So what was there about her that so intrigued him?
“And what did you intend to do with those weapons? Tickle him?”
The sword was child-size, the spear so light it would take a great amount of power to penetrate a rabbit much less the thick skin of a white bear. Surely the woman had been moonstruck if she thought to go up against a bear so ill equipped.
She gave him a look that would have quelled a lesser man. He could see in her eyes that she knew he spoke the truth and it frustrated her. Whatever she had been capable of before, she could no longer match him, or any other man.
Pushing his hands from her shoulders, she glared at him briefly before she started to walk away. He moved into step beside her.
“Just so you know, we intend to go out looking for the bear. It needs to be slain before any more sheep go missing.”
The Viking's Bride Page 3
