Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  She kissed Tig on his neck and stroked his mane. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, my friend,’ she promised as she turned around.

  ‘So, you prefer to kiss your horse rather than your husband?’ Eadmund smiled as he stood in the doorway of the stables, covered in a thick dusting of snow. ‘I see now why you ran away. I must say, it’s unexpected, but I do understand, he’s a handsome creature.’

  Jael frowned, unhappy at being caught off guard. She squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Well, we have been together a long time, Tig and I. We’re very close.’ Her eyes did not reflect the smile in his.

  ‘I see,’ Eadmund said stepping forwards. ‘But then, I’m your husband, and that entitles me to certain rights that your horse can never have.’

  Jael wanted to step backwards, but she couldn’t move; she was already hard up against the door to Tig’s stall. He kept getting closer and closer. ‘Rights?’

  ‘Yes, don’t you remember our vows that day? It was not so long ago, was it?’ He stopped just in front of her, brushing the snow out of his beard, reaching a hand out to touch her face.

  Jael flinched, her eyes sharp on his. She pushed his hand away and stared at him coldly. ‘From what I remember of that day, you were so drunk you couldn’t stand, so how you can remember anything that was said, I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, you forget, I’ve been married before,’ he smiled. ‘I have suffered through those vows, twice now, so I do remember how you promised to love and obey me, to care for me, nourish and nurture me, to share a home with me. So...’ he continued, putting his hand out to grab hers, but she shook it away again. ‘I think it’s time for us to do just that, don’t you? You can either come back to my shit-heap of a cottage, or I can come here. But one thing I know for sure, Jael, is that you are my wife and where you are is where I’m going to be, whether you like it or not.’ His eyes softened, and there was a small flicker of uncertainty in them. ‘I’ve wasted enough time in my life. I’m not going to waste anymore.’

  Jael stared at Eadmund with as much fury as she could muster. She hated being told what to do; despised it more than anything. She had been ordered about by Lothar, and Eirik, and now Eadmund decided he would come and claim his husbandly rights. After all this time? She wanted to punch him in the face.

  Eadmund’s smile faded as he looked into her angry scowl, his warm, hazel eyes full of sadness. ‘Don’t run away from me, Jael. You didn’t save me to push me away, did you?’

  Tig whinnied and banged his head into Jael’s, nudging her closer to Eadmund. She stumbled and lost some of her composure then. Eadmund laughed and reached out to grab her, pulling her reluctant body into his snowy cloak. She didn’t push him away this time but stood stiffly in his arms, rigid beneath his hold; she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  ‘You’re not drunk then?’

  ‘No? Why would I be?’ he wondered to the top of her head. ‘You cured me, didn’t you? You and that evil bitch of a tincture.’ He smiled and stepped back, lifting her chin. ‘And now I’m here to get you.’

  Jael’s eyes darted about, and she tried to think of what to do. She tried to think of Aleksander, but all she saw were Eadmund’s eyes and nothing else. And then all she could feel were his lips, as he leaned forward to kiss her, and his hands as they gripped her head, and his body as it pressed against hers. And then there was no time for thinking, as the snow blew like an angry ghost outside, and the horses whinnied impatiently in their stalls, and the hay rustled under their feet, scratching her back, as Eadmund laid her down and smiled.

  51

  His willpower had most certainly deserted him, or was it something about her in particular that he found so hard to resist? Perhaps he was just desperately lonely and tired of being broken?

  ‘Why do you drink so much?’ Hanna wondered quietly as she lay her head on his chest.

  Aleksander wanted to ask her to move, to lie away from him. He didn’t know her, didn’t want her to be so close; as if they were something more than what had just happened. Again. Why had he let it happen again?

  ‘I suppose it’s something to do,’ he said distantly, not wishing to reveal anything about himself. He wasn’t looking for a friend; he wanted to leave.

  ‘Well, seems to me that you should find something else to do,’ she murmured. ‘You’re making yourself known as trouble. They don’t like trouble in the temple, the elders. People who cause trouble don’t stay around here long, especially outsiders.’

  Aleksander frowned, pulling the furs up around his naked chest. He was cold to the bone and too thick headed to make much sense of Hanna’s warning. ‘Why do you care so much about what trouble I get into?’

  She sat up and looked at him, shyly covering her breasts with one arm. ‘I don’t. I just thought you needed to know,’ she muttered, dropping her head to avoid the scowl in his eyes. ‘You looked very sad. Alone.’ She lay back down, on her side of the bed.

  Aleksander was caught between wanting to throw something and needing to cry; his head hurt too much to do either, though. ‘I suppose I am,’ was all he could get out, his voice heavy with pain. He rubbed his head. ‘I should go.’

  Hanna looked up at him, worried. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’

  ‘Of course.’ He sat up, thinking of Edela. He worried about her and felt disloyal for abandoning her, but he couldn’t go back there and face her. What else had she seen of his mother? He didn’t want to know. He could never believe it; no matter what she said, no matter what she saw.

  Aleksander turned around and looked at her. ‘I have some coins in my cloak pocket...’

  ‘For what?’ Hanna looked insulted. ‘What do you think I am?’

  He cringed, caught in the awkwardness of the moment, wishing he was anywhere else. ‘I... I thought –’

  ‘You should go.’

  Aleksander reached for his trousers, which he’d dropped by the bed. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me.’ He slipped his thick, woollen tunic over his head. ‘I’m sorry.’ He didn’t look at her again as he grabbed his cloak and belt, and headed for the door without bothering to finish dressing.

  Ayla opened the door with a heavy sigh. ‘My lord,’ she gasped at the shivering figure who stood knee deep in a large snow drift outside her door. ‘Please, come in.’ Her face burned with the memory of Ivaar’s recent visit, and she struggled to meet Eirik’s eye, wondering why he had come.

  ‘You are Ayla?’ Eirik murmured as he gave her his wet, fur cloak and took a stool by the fire. ‘Tuuran?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am.’

  ‘And how did you find your way to Kalfa, then? A long way for a Tuuran dreamer to go.’ She was incredibly beautiful, he thought to himself. She reminded him so much of Rada, with those large, dark eyes.

  ‘My husband, he was a merchant from Silura. I left Tuura to be with him.’ She tried to smile, but her lips barely moved as she poured ale into a cup. ‘We stopped at Kalfa once and decided to stay.’

  ‘In Kalfa?’ Eirik raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you,’ he nodded, taking the cup of ale.

  Ayla came and sat down opposite him, nervously running over all the reasons he may have come. ‘Well, my husband liked its location. Closer to Alekka. He had good trading opportunities there.’ She had told that lie so many times that the words fell off her tongue without much effort.

  Eirik took a sip of ale and glanced at the fire. ‘How do you see me dying then?’

  Ayla swallowed hard, unsettled by his bluntness. ‘I... I don’t see your death at all, my lord.’

  He glared at her coldly. Her curls bounced nervously over her chest. She was shaking, but was it from fear? He couldn’t tell. ‘I am surprised. Was it not you who advised Ivaar that he would be coming back to Oss? Did you not prepare him for that? Warn him? Tell him I would die soon?’

  ‘Well...’ Ayla felt trapped. ‘I saw that you would send for him. I saw Ivaar as King of Oss. I saw your pyre. I saw all those things, but never your actual death. I’m sorry.’ She hung her head, wanting
respite from his piercing, blue eyes. ‘I cannot tell you about that.’

  Eirik gritted his teeth impatiently and sighed. ‘It seems as though no one can tell me about that, which is a shame, as it is all I can think about.’ He peered into her eyes, pulling his stool towards hers. ‘My death and what will become of Oss, my children, my legacy. Tell me what you have seen. All of it.’

  Ayla squirmed. He was much like Ivaar with those penetrating eyes, which could turn so cold and demanding. They searched her face, desperately seeking answers she didn’t have, and information she couldn’t give.

  She couldn’t. Ivaar held the key. She couldn’t help his enemy.

  Where had his father gone?

  Ivaar scratched his beard distractedly as he leaned back in the chair that he’d placed beside the fire. Mads sat wailing on the floor next to him, and he kept glancing around for Isaura or any of her countless servants to come and get him. He was trying to think, and that constant whining was not helping.

  Ivaar rubbed his head, trying to gain some clarity. He was losing control of himself, losing grip of his plan. Because of her. Jael. She was inside his head more than anyone else these days, and that was a problem. His goal was Oss; becoming king, destroying Eadmund. But trying to play games with Eadmund by playing with his wife had only ended up confusing him, and now he felt like the one being played with.

  Ivaar shook his head angrily. ‘Will somebody come and pick up this fucking child!’ he yelled furiously into the quiet of the hall.

  Mads stopped grizzling instantly and stared up at his father in shock. Ivaar looked down at his little blonde head, remembering when Eskild had come and taken his father away from him and his mother. She had given Eirik a new son, a better son, her son, and his father had never wanted anything to do with him again. Until now, when Eskild’s son had ruined his chance, finally, and now Ivaar had his again. He wasn’t about to let it slip away from him. No matter what Eadmund did, no matter what Eirik thought or wanted, or what games Jael was playing. Nothing was going to stop him claiming what was rightfully his. Not this time.

  A servant rushed over to Mads, but Ivaar shooed her away. He bent down and picked up his son, sitting him on his knee. No one was going to stop the vision he had for Oss and the revenge he had been dreaming of.

  ‘Is Ivaar so powerful that you fear what he will do to you if you tell me the truth?’ Eirik was frustrated as he leaned towards Ayla. He could tell that she knew more, despite her insistence that she had told him everything.

  ‘My lord,’ Ayla said nervously, her eyes shifting about. ‘Ivaar knows all that I have told you, and I have told Ivaar all that I know. There is nothing more. Perhaps Eydis can see things that I can’t?’ she suggested, hoping to distract him.

  ‘Well, the gods do not seem to think my death very important at all, do they?’ Eirik grumbled as he stood up, shaking his head. ‘I’m sure you think you are doing the right thing, Ayla, choosing the right side. But the choice about Ivaar is mine, entirely mine. Almost no one wants him here. Almost no one wants him for their king because they remember him, and they do not like the things they remember.’ He reached for his cloak, which Ayla had placed to dry by the fire. ‘But I have chosen him to lead my people when I’m gone, to grow my kingdom, to keep my family safe.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘If I had another option, I would choose a different man, but I don’t. That is just the way it has to be. But if there is a chance that my decision will end up destroying everyone that I love, I would not make that choice. Do you understand me?’

  Ayla nodded slowly as she stood, her eyes hooded.

  ‘Perhaps you can dream on that for me? Perhaps you can try and see if I am making the right choice for my people? For Eadmund and Eydis?’

  Ayla followed him to the door.

  ‘Eydis likes you, I hear,’ he turned to her, wishing he was a younger man, as he looked down on that attractive face, her smooth, olive skin glowing in the firelight. ‘You could help her with her dreams. Maybe the answers I need will come to her.’

  Ayla blinked, an idea flickering inside the darkness of her mind.

  Eydis.

  Thorgils trudged through the deep snow, happy to finally be freed from his mother’s company. What a torturous Vesta that had been! Imprisoned. Forced to listen to her grating nag and endure her tasteless cooking, for two whole days! And it had all started so well. He sighed sadly, remembering how beautiful Isaura had looked as she sat at the high table, next to Ivaar, who had barely even noticed her. But Thorgils had, if only out of the corner of his eye when he had checked to make sure no one was looking. He wondered how he would ever speak to her again, ever snatch a moment when it could be just the two of them alone? As much as he hated the idea, perhaps Jael needed to take Ivaar off on another ride. He laughed to himself; he doubted she would be in a hurry to do that again.

  The blizzard had wreaked havoc for two days and nights and then vanished as if it had never been, leaving behind shards of roofing and walls, and a sky so blue that it glinted in the sun with a blinding force.

  Thorgils stopped by the Pit and blinked as he watched two figures approaching. Surely not? It was Jael and Eadmund, leading Tig and Leada. He couldn’t help the smile that quickly replaced his grumbling; perhaps Vesta had not been so bad for everyone?

  ‘Thorgils!’ Eadmund smiled. ‘You’re alive! I thought Odda might have killed you with her tongue!’

  He looked well, Thorgils thought. Better than he could remember, and that smile? ‘Well, it is true, I nearly ran out into the blizzard, hoping it would sweep me away!’ he laughed. ‘Thankfully, my mother likes to sleep, so it was not always so bad.’ He nodded towards the horses. ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jael said quickly. ‘Training!’

  Eadmund smiled happily. ‘You should go and get Vili, come with us.’

  Jael looked at him sharply. ‘Us?’ She shook her head. ‘No, there’s no us. You can stay here and find Torstan. Thorgils and I are the ones leaving.’

  Thorgils’ laughed as he helped himself to Leada’s reins. ‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said tartly. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Eadmund glared at Jael. ‘Torstan?’

  ‘You’re no use to us,’ Jael said shortly as she stuck her foot into a stirrup and threw herself onto Tig’s back. ‘We have to train hard. We don’t have time to be teaching you how to use a sword again. So try Torstan.’ She turned to see that Thorgils had mounted, and clicked her tongue, nudging Tig along through the dense snow; it was going to be a slow ride. ‘We’ll be back later.’

  ‘Much, much later,’ Thorgils grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He tapped his heel gently into Leada’s flank, and they fell in behind Jael and Tig.

  Eadmund glared after them but neither one of them even looked back. He frowned and turned towards the Pit, his shoulders sinking with disappointment and frustration. Torstan?

  Torstan had him on his knees within minutes. ‘This will go much better if you keep to your feet, Eadmund,’ he laughed, turning around and walking back to his spot.

  Eadmund scrambled to his feet with a groan. The ground had been cleared, but slush still lingered, and Eadmund was wet through already. He didn’t feel defeated, though; the memory of his wife leaving with his best friend was enough to have him crouching again, sword ready, determined to do better this time.

  ‘Don’t say you’re going to enter the contest, Brother,’ Ivaar laughed as he and Tarak approached the Pit. ‘That would make things very interesting. At least for a minute. I think that’s all it would take, don’t you, my friend?’ He looked towards Tarak, who stared at Eadmund with eyes full of scorn.

  ‘Well, not as interesting as what I plan to do to his wife if I come face to face with her.’

  ‘Eadmund,’ Torstan warned through gritted teeth as Eadmund straightened up and stalked towards the railings.

  ‘My wife?’ he frowned. ‘You have met my wife, haven’t you Tarak? The angry, fighting one? The one who knows how to use
a sword? That one?’ He smiled and turned back. ‘I wish you luck with your plan, but I fear it will end with a sword stuck up your arse. But then again, perhaps you’d like that?’

  Torstan’s mouth hung open as Eadmund crouched before him again, his back to Ivaar and Tarak.

  Tarak looked ready to lunge into the Pit, straight through the railings, but Ivaar put a hand out to stop him and shook his head. ‘Cool your anger,’ he warned. ‘They’re only words. Big words from a weak man with a strong wife. Perhaps you can hide behind her when we attack Hest? If you can manage to stay on your feet by then?’ Ivaar was in no mood for games. He had control of himself again. He had slept well and felt much calmer today. Eadmund’s time would come. There was no point in rushing things. He didn’t want to unsettle his father or give him any reason to see him as a problem, especially in light of Eadmund’s sudden turnaround.

  They trained without swords. Thorgils wouldn’t stop grumbling as she wrestled him to the ground, time after time.

  Fyn sat watching, laughing, as somehow, every time, Jael managed to twist and turn Thorgils against himself until he was wrapped up in a tangle, lying on the ground.

  ‘I think it’s time young Fyn here swapped places with you,’ Thorgils growled as he got up and shook the snow from his sleeves. ‘Let’s see if I can wipe that arse-crack of a smile off his hairless face!’

  Jael grinned, happy to take a seat. She wondered how Eadmund was faring with Torstan and grinned even more, remembering his jaw-dropping shock as they had left him behind. He might have felt as though he had come so far, but it was a good thing for him to realise how far he still had to go, she thought. He was only at the beginning. He needed her help and Thorgils’ to get better but not now, not when they had the contest to prepare for. They had to do everything they could to defeat Tarak. They had no time for Eadmund; even Fyn was better than him at the moment.