‘You’re the best at managing,’ Svana said with a sleepy smile. ‘Far used to say that you magicked grain from any barrel, and ale from the lake—the sort of wife any man would be proud of.’
‘My lack of womanly charms is an established fact.’
‘Hamthur was jealous because everyone looked to you.’ Svana gave a big yawn. ‘Gunnar should marry you like he was supposed to. Once I catch that nisser’s shirt tail, you will see only good things for my sister, the best sister in all the world.’
The best sister. Ragn hated how her throat tightened. Did good sisters cause their sisters to get hurt? Did sisters ruin their younger sisters’ lives by inviting witch women to give predictions? Bitterness filled her mouth. Her great plan for restarting their lives in Jura had come to nothing.
‘Nissers don’t exist.’ She smoothed a lump out in the straw and discovered a small stone figurine, the sort her grandmother used to wear on a string around her neck. She carefully pocketed it before Svana proclaimed it a gift from the nisser.
‘You are his Jul present from his best friend. One should not give presents like that away.’
‘Presents of that sort are best not given as a surprise.’ Ragn swallowed hard. How much of her story Eylir had guessed or been told she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t volunteered. His offer had enabled them to escape Vargr’s murderous clutches.
Had she known the truth would she have accepted Eylir’s offer? Ragn sighed. Undoing the past was futile. She could only make the future better. For the thousandth time, she whispered her new resolution—past behind her and forgotten, the future was the only thing which mattered.
‘Gunnar never asked his friend for a bride,’ she said. ‘I will not hold him to the words Eylir said. Some day we will laugh about it and be glad that he refused me. We have a better future coming, sweetling.’
‘But he allowed us to stay the night and his eyes twinkled, particularly after he ate the stew. That means he likes you.’ Svana gave a smug smile.
‘It is character which matters. I learned that particular lesson the hard way. And Gunnar Olafson is grumpy.’
‘He is a hard worker. He built this all on his own.’
‘He has no interest in me.’
‘His eyes followed you. I saw them. Even if you didn’t. You always believed Hamthur about your looks and never me. Why?’
Ragn’s cheeks burned. She well imagined the sort of woman a man like Gunnar would like and it wasn’t a flat-chested, dried-up stick like her. ‘That is beside the point.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘You are over-tired and emotional. We will be leaving here in the morning for Ile, a great big island with lots of people. I will find a husband there.’
‘But...’ Svana’s bottom lip stuck out.
‘We won’t have to stay in Ile if we don’t like it,’ Ragn continued before the tears started. ‘We can go to another island, or possibly even the Isle of Colbhasa where Kolbeinn rules. He was our father’s friend and will find a place for us at his court. Then, there is Lord Ketil whose word holds sway over the Western reaches of King Harald’s domain. Our father had dealings with him as well. We haven’t travelled all this way simply to starve or give up.’
The hard knot in her stomach eased. The jaarls Kolbeinn and Ketil probably wouldn’t even remember their father, but it was a plan of sorts. From the stories her father told about his former comrade-in-arms, she doubted if Kolbeinn bent his knee to anyone, let alone someone like Vargr who thrived on the intrigues at court, rather than on the battlefield.
‘You give up too easily, Ragn.’ Svana looped her arms about her knees. ‘Nissers are happier where there is a family. Mor-Mor told me that. He will want us to stay so he can have a really real family to look after.’
Ragn was very glad she had not mentioned the little carved man she’d found. There would have been no stopping Svana’s pronouncements and then there would have been a full-blown fit when she realised that they would have to leave despite her predictions. ‘The self-proclaimed expert on nissers must get her sleep. Tomorrow will be another long day. Sleep.’
Svana started to get up. ‘If I sit beside the porridge, I can catch him by his shirt tail and force him to make Gunnar fall for you. Mor-Mor said nissers must grant wishes if you catch their shirt tail.’
‘You talk an awful lot of nonsense.’ She placed a kiss on her sister’s forehead. ‘May your dreams be pleasant ones. Your eyes are closing.’
Svana stifled a yawn. ‘In the morning then, I’ll go looking. He is probably hiding from those pesky dogs.’
‘Only if you do the tasks I set first. We must show Gunnar that we are grateful for his kindness. And that means working hard while we remain on this island.’
‘When I catch the nisser, you will have to admit you were wrong.’
Ragn sighed. Admitting that she was wrong was something she spent far too much time doing lately. This journey had seemed like the right thing to do back in Kaupang, but had she dragged Svana halfway around the world for nothing? Another mistake to beg forgiveness for?
‘It is not our home.’
Svana snuggled down into the bedding. ‘This time, Sister, I am right.’
In the morning she’d find a reason to distract Svana and hopefully her brain would work better. There was no point in believing in things you couldn’t see as you set yourself up for disappointment. She’d learned that lesson the first year of her ill-fated marriage.
Hard work and a pragmatic attitude were what was required. She had managed to get them this far. No one, particularly not Gunnar Olafson and his arrogant attitude, was going to force her to give up. She simply needed to find a plan which would work.
* * *
A faint noise made Ragn glance up from where she lay next to the softly slumbering Svana. She knew she should sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames which had nearly engulfed her and Svana. She’d vowed then to keep Svana safe and she would.
The bumping noise sounded again. As if something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Svana, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the noise and gave a soft snore.
‘Is something wrong?’ she called out and reached for her shawl. ‘Was I wrong to leave the fire banked?’
Gunnar stood looking at her from the doorway. The light from the hearth silhouetted him and the bundle he carried.
‘I’ve brought furs. It can be cold and damp at this time of year.’
Ragn scrambled to her feet, aware that all she wore was her under-gown. She contemplated reaching for her proper gown, but decided it was silly. The darkness obscured her form, not that there was much to see. She winced, recalling Hamthur’s jibes. ‘You brought furs? Whatever for?’
‘I can’t risk you or the girl getting sick. You will have to stay longer if you do.’ He dropped the furs on the ground beside the door. ‘Do what you like with them, but don’t go blaming me if you are uncomfortable or cold.’
‘Thank you for them. My sister will be appreciative.’
He stared at her a long time. ‘Thank you for the meal earlier. It has been a long time since anyone laid things out for me. The dogs appreciated it.’
Saying that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room before she said anything further.
Ragn rushed over to the bundle and withdrew several thick pelts. And there were so many that they could easily cover both Svana and herself. Gunnar made a show of being harsh, but underneath he had a kind heart. She needed to reach the man behind the rude mask, the one whose eyes had deepened to summer-sea-blue when he spoke of cloudberries. She shook her head—mooning over Gunnar’s eyes and the width of his shoulders would not solve her immediate problem.
She held the little figurine in her hand. There had to be a way of making him want to keep them there, just until she figured out somewhere safe for Svana, somewhere where Va
rgr and his followers would never think to look. Her actions had taken away so many things in that girl’s life, starting with their mother’s life and ending with Svana’s health.
She gave a half-smile as she recalled one of her grandmother’s sayings. Faint hearts never won anything except a cold. Acting now while she had her courage was better than regretting the missed opportunity in the morning.
* * *
Gunnar stirred the embers of the kitchen’s fire as the faint snuffling noises from the pair made sleep impossible. Not that sleep was ever easy. He worked himself to exhaustion to avoid the dreams.
In the morning, once the current was right, he’d take Ragnhild and her sister to Ile and when he returned, he’d be back to his peace. It was what he wanted. He cursed Eylir for his rashness in sending them and hated that he kept trying to guess why his friend sent Ragnhild and her sister when he recollected Eylir teasing him about buxom blondes. He should have no interest in unpicking her mysteries. He shouldn’t have enjoyed the aroma of her stew, clashing wits with her earlier, or even watching her mouth relax into a smile. But he had.
A rustle made him glance towards the door. Ragnhild hovered on the step. Her hair was unbound, but far shorter than he had previously thought. A woman of her quality should have long hair. He narrowed his eyes. In the firelight, the vivid scars on her feet and ankles were visible. They were at most a few weeks’ old. The woman had been through a fire and possibly a raid. That fire and the girl’s fear of dogs were related.
Rather than trying to get rid of her to pursue the cousin, had Eylir sent her to the one place where she’d be safe? Where he trusted his friend would look after her?
Gunnar ground his teeth. Speculation did no one any good. Keeping someone safe and marrying them were two separate things entirely. He intended to get Ragnhild and her sister to safety—away from here and out of his life.
‘Yes? Do you require more furs?’
‘I found this in the bedding. I assume it belongs to you and is not a gift from any stray nisser.’ She held out a small carved man with a smile.
Time and his breath stopped. Her lips softly parted as she leant towards him with it. Their fingers brushed, sending a warm pulse jolting through him. She jumped backwards, dropping the stone.
Even as he caught it in mid-air, he knew it would be his good-luck charm, the one he’d misplaced weeks ago and had spent days searching for. His temper had become so foul that even his dogs had avoided him. He’d finally given up all hope and had become resigned to its loss.
His fingers curled around the amulet, warm from her palm. The anguished part of his soul eased. His last tangible connection to his family had been regained.
‘You found it in the bedding?’ he asked, trying to puzzle out where it had fallen. ‘You mean in the furs that I brought in?’
‘In the straw. If Svana had found it, there would’ve been no stopping her. Her belief in nissers inhabiting this place would have been proved true. She’d have clung to the doorframe to stay and see one.’ Her slight frown indicated that was the last thing she required.
His eyes widened. ‘And you know what it is?’
‘My father’s mother had a stone-man amulet like that. She used to swear it kept her safe. Perhaps it worked—she lived a long and prosperous life. It went missing after her death.’ She ducked her head and he saw how the fire had left her fringe long but burned the back of her neck. Her sister showed no such signs of injury.
Gunnar frowned. She and her sister would be safe...in Ile where she would be able to choose a better man than he as a husband. An unexpected twinge of jealousy at the unknown man stabbed him.
He pushed it away. It was for the best. His fate had been sealed the instant he spotted the soothsayer abusing those girls. An older warrior would have turned a blind eye, but he had acted to save those girls. Unfortunately, they had been too injured and died later. Now he lived with the consequences of the dying soothsayer’s prophecy.
She drew her brows together. ‘Is everything all right? Did you intend to lose the amulet? Is it bad luck?’
‘It belonged to my mother. All I have left of her.’ There was little point in telling Ragnhild that his mother had wanted to ensure he returned safely home for the start of Jul.
He turned the stone man over and over, feeling its familiar carvings. He almost heard his mother’s laugh as she told him that it would help him find the right partner in life.
He remembered Dyrfinna’s scorn about the crudely carved man when she discovered it. She’d pulled it from around his throat, saying it frowned at her. He’d intended on proposing marriage to her that evening, but her reaction made him question their relationship and possibly even saved his life. Rather than adoring him as she had pretended, Dyrfinna owed a debt to the soothsayer Gunnar had slain and had been determined to avenge his death. However, thanks to the stone man, they’d been arguing instead of being wrapped in the throes of passion when the assassins entered her house. The attackers were no match for his sword that day. But Dyrfinna had perished in the ensuing fight. Her last words had been that he’d been a gullible fool to love someone like her. Gunnar had hunted down the men until none remained.
Why did this woman have to find it? His mother would have approved of her—she was a good cook, came from the north and had a fine manner about her. And she was in trouble. His mother had raised him never to turn his back on women who sought his help. To be fair, it was the coming from the north part which his mother would have approved of most.
The walls pressed in on him. Ragnhild was standing a mere breath away. Her mouth was softly parted and her eyes large. Her lips would taste of summer strawberries or possibly cloudberries. They were ripe for the nibbling. All he had to do was to take her in his arms and declare he’d changed his mind, that he wanted her for his bride after all.
What would he look like then? ‘A gullible fool’—the words resounded in his brain, dripping with Dyrfinna’s precise intonations.
He shook his head to clear it and walked over to the hearth, putting the man next to his silver horn with a bang. ‘I will choose my own bride.’
The dogs and Ragnhild looked at him strangely. He rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
‘The King’s decree about marriage you spoke of earlier,’ Gunnar said quickly before she started asking awkward questions and he confessed about his mother’s prediction. ‘I must go north for a wife in the spring. The Lords Ketil and Kolbeinn will hold off enforcing the decree on me until then.’
She gave a half-shrug which revealed the swanlike beauty of her throat. ‘If you think you have until then.’
‘I do.’ He drew a breath and regained control of his wayward thoughts. ‘Kolbeinn will give me time to choose a bride, rather than forcing me to accept the first one who crosses my path, once he learns of the decree.’
‘Bringing you that stone man was an act of kindness, not an expectation of a marriage offer.’ Her laugh sounded hollow as she started for the door.
‘Stay. Keep me company.’
She halted so quickly the material flattened against her, revealing the shapeliness of her legs. ‘Is there something more we can say to each other? Returning the amulet was the only reason I bothered you.’
He knew she lied. The deep hollows into which her eyes had sunk betrayed her. Ragnhild disliked her dreams every bit as much as he disliked his own dreams.
‘Your sister is far too thin,’ he said in desperation to change the subject. Ragnhild was not the sort of lady who would agree to the only thing he was prepared to offer a woman—one night of pleasure to keep the bad dreams away. ‘You can see her collarbones.’
‘I know. Once she ate like a horse, but the sea voyage failed to agree with her. She was often sick. Her appetite will return in time.’
‘The dogs like her, even if she doesn’t like them.’ He leant do
wn and fondled the tan dog Kolka’s ears. ‘I trust their judgement. They are rarely wrong about people.’
Ragn watched him with wary eyes. She longed to ask what the dogs thought of her. Gunnar had clearly not meant to say the earlier words about choosing his own bride aloud. Once she’d taken it for a positive sign, but that was the problem with believing in such things, one ignored reality.
Right now, the marriage was unimportant, the staying here was. And his remark about going north in the spring had given her an idea. ‘There are not many who have been kind to Svana lately.’
Gunnar motioned to her to come closer. Both dogs looked up briefly and then settled their heads on their paws. They seemed to accept her. The stew had worked with them, if not with him. ‘And you? How did the men react to you?’
She carefully shrugged a shoulder. The men had kept their distance. ‘They were less than kind and I no longer expect kindness.’
‘But it is welcomed when you receive it.’
‘I’ve no wish to seem ungrateful or forward. I fear I might have been. I find it hard to be idle. I see a task which needs to be accomplished and I start. But worse than that my tongue runs away with itself when I have ideas for improvement.’
‘My mother was one like you.’
She gave a careful laugh, aware that one wrong word and the chance would slip through her fingers. ‘I hope that is a good thing. Finding your charm seemed to alarm you more than anything.’
He took a stick and stirred the fire so that bright sparks leapt in the air. ‘Night-time is the right time to sleep. We can speak in the morning as we cross the channel to Ile.’
‘My mind races far too much to sleep,’ Ragn admitted, pressing her hands together to keep them from trembling. Gunnar’s mood had improved from earlier and there was an intimacy about the night which would vanish with the sunrise.
Sent as the Viking's Bride Page 5
