Sent as the Viking's Bride

by Michelle Styles

  The tightness of Svana’s face eased. ‘Truly?’

  Ragn made her voice sound positive and hoped her words rang true about the dogs. If her scheme failed, they would at least have a decent meal in their bellies, something they hadn’t had since before they left the north.

  Svana clapped her hands. ‘You will succeed. I know you will. You’re a good cook and you make the best ale. You can show this man that he needs to have you here. I can’t face the sea again and the waves.’

  ‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’

  ‘Most of the time.’

  Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.

  * * *

  Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.

  He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.

  When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.

  ‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’

  Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.

  He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.

  When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.

  He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.

  ‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’

  The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.

  He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.

  He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.

  His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.

  ‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’

  ‘You made stew?’

  ‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’

  He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.

  ‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.

  ‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’

  ‘It certainly smells delicious.’

  ‘I put some dried cloudberries into the porridge for the morning. I always find it best to have it sitting overnight in the embers. Saves time in the morning.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘I like my hands to be busy.’

  ‘My mother used to do that. Cloudberries when she had them for a special treat, but making it the day before. She’d have to chase me out of the kitchen to keep me from sneaking them.’ After he found his family’s bodies, he could not bear anything which reminded him of those times, but now a sharp longing to taste cloudberries’ tart tang filled him. ‘Something I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Then we are agreed—cloudberries for the morning.’

  ‘Earlier...’ he said as she put out several bowls, ones he’d not seen before.

  ‘Shall we leave it in the past?’ She deftly scooped out a bowl of stew and placed it in front of him before serving up two more bowls. ‘Behind us both. A new beginning.’

  He took a taste and the stew was every bit as good as it smelled. ‘It might be best. Hunger always makes me irritable, or so my mother used to claim. She’d ensure I had a bowl of stew when I came home.’

  ‘Hunger does that to many people.’

  Gunnar took another bite. He had been far too hasty in dismissing Ragnhild as someone who was content to be decorative. To his surprise, the bowl seemed to have emptied without his realising it. Kolka and Kefla advanced and sat before Ragnhild, wagging their tails and making little whimpering noises.

  ‘Your dogs are hungry?’

  ‘They have a soft spot for stew.’

  Ragnhild ladled several spoons into wooden bowls and put them in front of the dogs before she put another steaming bowl in front of him. The traitors lapped it very quickly.

  ‘You should eat,’ he said, dipping his spoon into the broth. He’d forgotten how good food tasted, rather the burnt mess he always seemed to create. His stomach growled in appreciation.

  ‘In good time. Svana, come here and get your food. It is going cold.’

  Gunnar glanced over towards the girl sat rigid on the bench, her eyes wide.

  ‘You promised, Ragn! No dogs. Not in here! Not in a kitchen! Please, no!’

  ‘Svana, come here!’ She held out her hand. ‘The dogs are busy eating their supper.’

  The girl got up and made a big circuit about the dogs. The dogs, seeing her, gave sharp welcoming barks, but each time she heard the noise, she visibly shuddered. Her silver eyes grew wider. When she reached Ragnhild, she threw her arms about her and made little whimpering noises. Gunnar frowned. It was unnatural that a child would be that afraid of dogs.

  ‘Svana, what will our host think of you?’ Ragnhild said, picking the child up and carrying her to where her stew sat. ‘His dogs are very well behaved. They will not hurt you. They simply wanted their supper. Time you ate and stopped this nonsense. A full belly makes everything better. Gunnar agrees with me.’

  The girl stopped making sniffing noise a
nd peeped out from behind a curtain of hair. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad. I never mean to be.’

  ‘Eat. Leave the poor dogs in peace to enjoy their supper. Once they have finished, I am sure they will have better things to do than bother one girl who is busy with her supper.’

  Ragn put a few more ladles of stew in the dogs’ bowls before adding another to his.

  The child dropped her spoon and instantly Kefla headed towards it to investigate. The child’s face became white and pinched.

  ‘Your sister’s hands shake,’ he said, frowning as he recalled long-buried memories about Asa his youngest sister, her affliction and how the other villagers had shunned the family because of it.

  ‘The sea voyage has unsettled her.’

  Svana gave another cry of sheer terror and drew her feet up. Kefla stopped, tilting her head in confusion.

  ‘Could they go out?’ Ragnhild asked. ‘Maybe just for the night.’

  ‘My dogs like the fire on a cold and wet night.’

  Ragnhild pointedly cleared her throat. ‘Svana, we need to find you a place to sleep. You are clearly over-tired. Remember we are here on sufferance. Gunnar Olafson has been kind. You hated the storm-tossed sea. After you are rested, the world won’t be as scary as it seems now.’

  The girl screwed up her nose. ‘Will the dogs eat me if I sleep? They are awfully large. If I don’t give my stew to them, they will eat me.’

  Ragnhild pressed her hands on the table as she gave him a nervous glance. ‘Svana. Please.’

  ‘They look like the sort which Mor-Mor told me about—the sort who snap up little girls when they are naughty,’ the girl whispered in a voice which he had to strain to hear as she clapped her hands in imitation of a dog gnashing its jaws.

  Another memory of Asa slammed into him, rising from that forbidden place where he kept all the memories of his family. It was the sort of thing she’d have said and then she’d have given one of her piercing screams to prove her point. She, too, had loved the terrifying stories their grandmother or mor-mor had told on long winter nights.

  The last thing he required right now was a piercing wail which set the dogs off. The entire situation would careen out of control, worse than a long ship which had lost its steering oar.

  He knelt down so his face was closer to her level. She did not shrink away from him, but stared with a solemn gaze.

  ‘Kolka and Kefla are my wolfhounds,’ he said in as soft a tone as he could manage. ‘They listen to me. You are safe here.’

  Svana put her hands over her mouth. ‘I once saw some dogs in a battle. Spittle dripped from their great fangs.’

  ‘Hush, Svana. That is in the past.’ Her sister put an arm about the girl. ‘Things in the past can’t hurt you. Only things in the present. We discussed this.’

  ‘I know, Ragn. Forgive me?’

  ‘Always. Now breathe slowly and finish the stew.’

  The room went quiet as the dogs put their heads on their paws and the child ate a few more mouthfuls.

  ‘Does he know about putting out porridge for the nisser?’ the girl asked in a loud whisper when she’d finished.

  The innocent words sent a knife through his heart. Nissers... He’d nearly forgotten about them. His sisters had believed in them as well, declaring the nisser would only stay if he put out porridge and said goodbye to him. He’d scoffed that last time. By the time he returned in the dead of winter, the farm had failed and his family had starved to death. He abruptly stood.

  Sensing the change in atmosphere, Kefla gave a small whine and the girl cringed again.

  ‘Hush, Svana. You have too many notions in your head. Gunnar Olafson has enough to think about. Nissers indeed.’

  ‘But you put the barley on to seep, that works,’ the child persisted, sounding just like Asa and Brita had.

  ‘No porridge,’ he said, his head erupting with tremendous pain.

  The girl winced and Ragnhild’s mouth pressed to a thin white line. He frowned. The words had come out far harsher than he’d intended. ‘My dogs tend to gobble porridge up given half a chance. Nissers respect hard work. When one realises how hard I’ve worked, then he will come.’

  ‘It is quite a new hall,’ Ragnhild added. ‘Anyone can see how hard Gunnar worked. The stout walls keep out the wind and rain. Remember the ruined hut we sheltered in, Svana?’

  ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.’ Svana stifled a small yawn and her eyelids fluttered. ‘I know a nisser will be here soon. This place is safe and nissers require such things.’

  Safety. A lump came into Gunnar’s throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the old farm safe for Brita, Asa and his mother.

  Ragn put an arm around her sister. ‘My sister needs a place to sleep. She is exhausted.’

  ‘There is a small chamber you two can use. I made up a bed in case Eylir visited. It will suffice for the night.’ He clenched his jaw. The woman might infuriate him, but she had regard for her sister. None of his business. They were leaving in the morning but he would find them somewhere safe, just somewhere away from his farm. ‘I know how women value their privacy. It is unfinished and probably not up to the standard you are used to, but it will serve for now.’

  ‘You have little idea what we are used to. A pig sty would be a luxury after that ship.’

  Swift anger at the implied criticism went through him and he took refuge in it. ‘I believe my hall extends to more comfort than a pig sty.’

  Her cheeks went pink. ‘I didn’t mean...’ she said. ‘My tongue sometimes runs away. I merely didn’t want you to go to any more trouble. You’ve been too kind already.’

  Kind was the last word he expected her to use. Remorse tugged at him. He held up his hand. ‘My friend sent you on a fool’s errand. Nothing more. Nothing less. But abandoning women to the wilds... I was raised better.’

  ‘There are not many who would have taken us in. I am pleased that we won’t have to go back on the boat.’ She bit her bottom lip, turning it the colour of summer berries. ‘I worry that Svana would not have survived the return journey.’

  ‘I have the chores to finish. This farm doesn’t run on its own. The dogs always assist me. I would suggest you and your sister are in bed before I return to avoid misunderstandings.’

  The corners of her mouth curved upwards. ‘You mean your nisser fails to live up to expectation? What a surprise!’

  His smile answered hers. ‘Nissers only assist those who are prepared to put the hard work in. If you had trouble in the past, perhaps you failed to work hard enough.’

  ‘My problems stem from something other than hard work.’

  ‘Would you care to tell me about them?’ The words tumbled out before he stopped them.

  ‘My problems, not yours.’ She quickly busied herself, collecting up the bowls.

  Rather than answering, he made a clicking noise at the back of his throat and the dogs followed him out of the hall. One night, then his life returned to its predictable pace. He liked the solitude. He ignored the little voice which called him a liar.

  Chapter Three

  ‘The dogs obeyed him. Instantly. Hamthur’s dogs rarely obeyed him,’ Svana declared, stifling another large yawn. ‘Are you certain we will have to leave tomorrow? I thought you were married to Gunnar.’ Her brow furrowed with concentration. ‘A proxy marriage.’

  ‘I gambled everything on a few vague promises. I should have seen Gunnar’s friend only wanted to impress Trana.’

  Ragn forced the bitter bile back down and kept her hands moving, reshaping the straw in the mattress into a serviceable bed instead of a heap. The straw had seen better days, but it was clean and smelt of summer meadows.

  Cleaning the kitchen had gone far more quickly than she’d anticipated, with Svana, having recovered from her earlier fright, eagerly drying the dishes, carefully sweeping the floor
while humming a little song about how the nissers always help the helpers.

  Hearing Svana’s lisping tones had lifted her spirits and made her long for easier days, when she, too, had believed in such things.

  Rather than give her a lecture about making friends with the dogs, Ragn banked the fire in preparation for Gunnar’s return and marched Svana into the tiny cupboard of a room.

  ‘You must be able to do something.’ Svana’s hand clutched hers. ‘A reason to keep us here. Our luck is changing, Ragn. I can feel it. My hands are all tingly. See.’

  Ragn’s breath caught in her throat. Another of Svana’s attacks? They were there on sufferance already. She pushed Svana’s hair from her forehead. Her skin wasn’t clammy, a good sign. Gunnar might not mind the inward-turning eye, but if he discovered Svana flailing about and foaming at the mouth? What would his great dogs do then? Might they not be better off just leaving? Ragn worried her bottom lip. They had a roof over their heads here and she had no idea of what the conditions were like on Ile.

  ‘Hopefully I can convince him that he requires a housekeeper, instead of relying on a magical sprite. He certainly needs help.’ Ragn’s breath caught. She knew how to make a household prosper despite Hamthur’s extravagances. However, she’d utterly failed in the marriage bed. She’d been young and eager to please at the start of the marriage, but nothing she did seemed to please him. Hamthur had rapidly grown disenchanted with her efforts and mostly sought other women’s beds.

  When she’d first heard he’d been waylaid and murdered, she had felt relief. It was only later she’d learnt that Vargr had ordered the murder as retribution for Hamthur’s continued refusal to kill Svana. If she had known that he cared or even had done it out of selfish interests to protect his own skin, knowing his brother would find another excuse to attack or because he was in no mood to yield to his brother’s demands, she might have behaved differently, might have insisted that he take armed guards, instead of accepting his easy assurance he was a grown man.She accepted that she could never know for certain why he’d protected Svana, but he had and that was enough to make her feel sorry that she hadn’t tried harder to protect him. She should have guessed that Vargr would have behaved in that fashion.