Golden Surrender

by Heather Graham

  She wondered at the obviously very virile man who had chosen to leave her alone. Of course, he certainly held no love for her, but she would have thought that he would feel compelled to relieve the needs that she knew rose easily in a man.

  Erin suddenly covered her face with her hands. Of course, it was obvious. He really couldn’t care less about her one way or another—and he knew the Irish king would have given him nothing other than a virginal, untalented bride. There must be a woman near, perhaps within this very residence, who was not untalented and not at all adverse to pleasing the great Lord of the Wolves. Good! she told herself. Let him have his whore or whores as long as he leaves me alone. She did hate him more than ever now. And surely there would be a way to escape eventually.

  A choked sob broke from her. Escape … To where? She couldn’t go home. Her father had done this to her … her father, whom she had adored all her life. She was so furious with him, but the hurt outweighed the anger. She wanted to see him. They had parted so badly. She wanted to be held like a child again. She clenched her eyes tightly together, thinking of her mother. Surely Maeve had known nothing about this. If only she could see her mother, feel her aura of gentle strength.

  Erin took a deep breath as her thoughts naturally turned to Bede. She wanted to throttle the sister who had betrayed her. How great a sin was it to peel the flesh off a nun, inch by inch?

  Erin’s headache began to pulse. She was now Olaf’s queen, she was surely expected to perform certain functions. Would the Norse respect an Irish queen? Or would they all know that she was but a tool of compromise, a plaything for the king when he was in the mood to taunt?

  She eased herself into the water, swept her hair into a knot at her nape, and closed her eyes. Take things as they come, she warned herself. Make your mind go blank when you can, or else you will go mad.

  There was a knock. Erin opened her eyes as she heard the creak of the door. She looked at the pretty, smiling face of the woman who ducked her head into the room, and her eyes widened with amazement. The woman who entered smiled a warm welcome. She appeared healthy, rested, and happy. Very happy. Erin gasped out a single incredulous word. “Moira!”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Moira stepped quietly into the room and closed the door behind her. “I’m so glad you remember me, Erin.”

  “Remember you …” There had been times when she could not close her eyes without remembering Moira’s screams, but it didn’t make much sense to tell Moira that. Erin swallowed a little uneasily and blinked. “Of course I remember you, Moira!”

  Moira’s smile deepened softly. “There were some very bad times at first,” she said quietly, “but as you can see, I am fine now.”

  There were a score of things Erin wanted to say, but she couldn’t seem to open her mouth. She hadn’t yet assimilated her shock.

  “I was badly hurt,” Moira continued, moving into the room and delving into a fine cabinet trunk at the foot of the bed, “but I was cared for by Grenilde herself.”

  “Grenilde?”

  Moira hesitated, her lovely gray eyes flashing briefly to Erin’s. “My lord Olaf’s lady,” she said softly. “She is dead now.…” Moira shrugged and returned her interest to the trunk. “Since then I have lived with Sigurd, Lord Olaf’s chief advisor, and I have found my life pleasant.” She selected a gown and laid it upon the bed, then brought a towel to Erin. “You will enjoy Dubhlain, Erin. There is always so much activity! Scholars, chemists, peddlers, priests—they all come to Dubhlain.”

  Moira held the towel. Erin, still stunned, automatically stood and accepted the embrace of the soft linen.

  “It is wonderful that the king of Dubhlain has taken an Irish bride,” Moira said. “For those of us who are Irish it will be such a liaison to the Norse … not that we suffer,” Moira added quickly. “Olaf is a shockingly just man. But sometimes his justice is blind. Wise, but not from the heart. You can be his heart, Erin.”

  Erin lowered her eyes. His heart! She didn’t want to disappoint Moira, but she sincerely doubted she would ever brush the heart of the Wolf.

  She still didn’t seem to be able to speak. Moira kept up a soft chatter that slowly made Erin more comfortable.

  “I have chosen a mauve linen. Will that suit you?”

  Erin nodded, and stood still and dazed as Moira helped her dress. “You have such thick, beautiful hair. I will love dressing it.”

  “Moira.” Erin finally found her voice. “You needn’t serve me, I can care for myself—”

  Moira laughed and the sound was the tinkle of a brook. Erin couldn’t believe she could be so happy. “I am happy to serve you, Erin! It is like having a younger sister. Sit, and I will comb your hair.”

  Dutifully, Erin sat, pensive for several moments before she turned, disrupting Moira’s administrations. “Moira! How can you possibly be so well, and so … How could you have forgotten … forgiven …”

  That same ethereally beautiful smile came back. “At first, I wanted merely to survive, and so I did. Then I was simply treated well. I have not forgotten, but I have changed. I have lived with these people for three years now. I eat well, I am clothed well. And I-I have come to respect my lord Olaf and love many here. Erin, there are some things that will not change. Olaf has Dubhlain and he is here to stay. As rye in the fields bows to the winds, we too must bow when there is nothing more to be done.”

  Erin turned her head around, her eyes shielded from Moira.

  Moira began hesitantly again. “Please, Erin, you must accept your fate. If you were to attempt to run to escape your legal marriage, you would make a mockery of your father’s alliance. The Vikings would be humiliated, they would demand revenge, the wars could all begin again.…” Moira’s voice trailed away.

  Erin closed her eyes tightly, fighting tears. Moira was right. She could not run. If not a single guard roamed the city, she still could not run, no matter how she loathed her situation.

  It was so painful. Life itself had mocked her. It felt as if the world swam in blackness, so deep was her despair. She opened her eyes again, “Don’t worry, Moira,” she said quietly, “I will not run.”

  The strokes of the comb through her hair soothed her scalp. “You will find life here very similar to that at Tara. Most of the Norwegian ladies are kind. Daily tasks are the same. We sew in a lovely chamber with the sun pouring in just like in the Grianan. You will be busy, Erin. There are so many to feed nightly who all must be placed by rank correctly, and now there will be the visiting Irish lords to place as well!”

  Erin passed her fingers over her forehead, rubbing it gently. If she couldn’t escape the humiliation of finding herself married to Olaf, she must, like Moira, survive the situation, and to do that, she would have to place herself above it. She would use all her power to be not only an efficient queen, but a faultless one. She could take comfort in helping her own people, and she would carefully keep clear of her husband. He claimed he didn’t want her to live in misery. He had promised her he would leave her alone as long as she caused no trouble.

  Erin pulled her hair out of Moira’s hands and tilted her chin. “You must help me, Moira, I do not know what will be expected of me. While men may welcome this alliance, I doubt it shall be accepted by the women.”

  “It will not be so bad,” Moira promised. “Many of the men have already taken Irish wives. Hold still so that I may secure your hair and then we shall find your sister and I will take you to the sun room.”

  Erin still wanted to throttle Bede or at least shake her until her teeth snapped together. But when she saw her sister’s strained features and the agony in her eyes as she entered the chamber, she realized she had to control her anger. Bede would have never hurt her unless she, like Aed, truly believed that the sacrifice was for Ireland and was God’s will.

  Bede came to her, hugging her with tears in her eyes. “Sister, forgive me.”

  Forgive, Erin thought. Oh, Bede, you don’t know the half of what you did to me! But
I do love you, and there is nothing either of us can do. And it would not look well for the new Irish queen to strangle an Irish nun.

  She drew away from her sister’s arms and grimaced. “Come, Bede, Moira is going to teach us how to live among the wolves.”

  There were several ladies present in the sun room and only two Irish wives. Erin had never met Norwegian women before, and she was fascinated by their dress. They wore long light gowns of linen with various types of sleeving beneath heavier wool tunics rather than the general, one-piece robe of the Irish. Yet where the Irish took great pride in their mantle brooches, the Norse woman gave great credence to the identical brooches that held their tunics high on their shoulders. They wore many rings and bracelets and armbands and necklaces of gold, glass, and stones. Erin knew that their collection of gold and silver marked them as the wives of the powerful and very rich.

  She had never worn much jewelry even as her father’s favorite daughter. Moira had fastened golden clips in her hair, but other than that, she was unadorned and simply dressed in the linen. She wondered vaguely if the Norse ladies had silks, or if such fine material was hers only because Irish merchants traded heavily with the Catholics of Spain and Italy.

  She froze when she entered the room where busy fingers worked looms and needles and thread. She was an outsider, cast upon them. But Bede, always confident that her God would guide her, swept on through. Moira introduced Bede as a Christian sister and princess of Tara and then she announced Erin as the queen of Dubhlain.

  Erin felt like laughing. He was not her husband, she could not think of Olaf in that light, and so she was no queen. She was a game piece for her father and the Wolf.

  The ladies did not immediately welcome Erin into their fold, but as Bede watched Erin, she knew her sister had made the best possible impression. Some of the natural resentment faded from the eyes on Erin as she spoke softly and asked their assistance.

  Erin spent three hours listening to the suggestions that began to reel in her head. Moira, who hovered in the background, finally interrupted her and said she must come and meet the mistress of the kitchen. Erin looked to Bede to accompany her, but Bede shook her head imperceptibly. Knowing that her sister hoped to either learn more for her benefit or to attempt to make more converts for her God, Erin nodded and left her.

  “Moira,” Erin asked as her eyes wandered over the elaborately carved staircase that brought them from the second floor to the massive banqueting hall, empty now except for a few old-timers who whittled by the fire and smiled as they passed, “why did you not join in the discussion? It seems to me that you know far more—”

  Moira’s chuckle with just an edge of bitterness interrupted her. “Those ladies are wives of Viking heroes. I am but Sigurd’s woman.”

  “They shouldn’t have any more rights than you,” Erin said.

  “Leave it be, Erin,” Moira said. “I am content, but that does not change the fact that I was a prize of war.”

  Erin could say little more because they passed out of one wing of the U-shaped residence into a small garden and she was startled as she saw men sparring with swords and axes in the distance on a hill.

  Moira caught her glance. “They exchange their expertise in the art of warfare,” Moira said. “I believe a few of your brothers are out there, and your cousin Gregory.”

  “My father?” Erin heard herself ask thickly.

  “Your father has returned to Tara.”

  Erin swallowed a lump of pain. He had left her and, in time, Bede would be gone. She would be alone in a nest of hornets except for Moira, who had been turned into a well-kept servant.

  Moira brought Erin into the second shaft of the U. The vast workings of the house were there: the kitchen, a smithy, the laundry, food storage, and housing for some of the animals. The kitchen was a large room with a huge central hearth of clay and stone. Cauldrons hung over the fire of the hearth, and spits were set upon heavy chains. Clay bread ovens lined one side of the vast wall; utensils were stacked and stored on wooden shelving. Erin was astonished to see also that water flowed at the turn of a lever from wooden logs into huge vats. Both men and women servants—most apparently Irish—tended meat upon the spit, stirred the cauldrons, and kneaded dough at huge planked tables. A young girl sat in a far corner plucking fowl; another skimmed fresh cow’s milk for the cream. The aromas in the kitchen were delicious.

  “You will meet Freyda,” Moira said. “She is in charge. When something displeases you. you must tell her.”

  Moira glanced anxiously about the busy structure, then suddenly she froze. Erin followed her glance to see a voluptuous woman with long wild hair and a low-cut robe snapping out orders to a harried little man who turned a spit of beef. The monologue—the snatches she caught—was in Irish, which was not surprising because the woman was very dark and certainly didn’t appear Norse.

  “Moira, what is it?”

  “Nothing.” Moira shook herself. “Come, I see Freyda.”

  Freyda was a pleasant woman, plump and beautifully cheery eyed. She had a warm smile for Moira, then openly assessed Erin. “You’ll do quite nicely, girl,” she told her. “A pretty one for our good King Olaf.”

  Erin blushed slightly as the woman unabashedly touched her hips, measuring their size. “You’re thin, but wide where it counts. I’ll see that you eat proper, and our king should father a score of sons!” Erin glanced down at the stone floor uncomfortably, but Freyda merely chuckled. “I will check with you each morning to see if the evening fare pleases you. Today I have already chosen the meats, unless you would care to change it.”

  “No,” Erin answered quickly. “I trust your judgment far more than my own. I will learn the palates of the warriors soon.”

  Erin realized suddenly that the voluptuous woman who had been scolding the cook was staring at her. She turned her gaze to the woman, wondering how she could feel so instinctively cool toward a fellow countrywoman.

  The eyes were leveled mockingly, challengingly, upon her. Then the woman turned and left the kitchen, her hips swaying suggestively.

  Her interview with Freyda ended and Erin suddenly realized that she hadn’t eaten all day. “Moira, might we eat something—”

  Moira’s eyes widened with horror. “I’m sorry, I forgot. Our main meal is at night, and all are usually present. I’ll bring you food in the morning from now on. I’m so sorry.”

  “Moira, please, don’t be sorry.” It made Erin miserable to have Moira serve her, although she was pleased with her company. “Let’s just find something to eat now.”

  They were given large slabs of succulent beef, which Erin enjoyed until she remembered that Olaf’s cattle were also prizes of war. It is Irish food I eat, she thought as she chewed the tasty morsel, and Moira is an Irish servant to the swines in her own land.

  Then she was suddenly remembering the other Irishwoman, the one who had watched her so insolently.

  “Moira,” she demanded, “who was that woman who stared at us?”

  Moira made a pretense of licking juice from her fingers. “That—that was Mageen.”

  “Was she also taken in a raid?”

  “Originally, yes. By the Danes, I believe. She lived in Dubhlain when Olaf took the city.”

  “She looks as if she has free run of the place. Has she not been made a servant too?”

  Moira’s second hesitation was fractional, but Erin sensed it. “Mageen … yes, I suppose she is a servant. Come, we must finish, for there is much more I am supposed to show you.”

  Erin spent the rest of the afternoon learning more about her new home. She met with the dressmakers, the laundresses and various servants. She learned that she was to have a special room for audiences with those wishing to be hired for court entertainment and that she was also expected to rule over the petty disputes between the women.

  But more than that, she learned that the Norwegians were people, which was a curious experience for her. Beyond warfare, they had the same basic concerns of family
and home. She had discovered that she could actually like Norwegians, for she did like little Rig and Freyda.

  As dusk turned to darkness, she returned to her chamber to wash for the evening meal. She did so hastily, not wishing to be so engaged if Olaf returned. As she dried her hands and face nervously, she found her mind turning to the strange woman in the kitchen. Mageen, who had stared at her with sardonic insolence. Mageen of the voluptuous body and swaying hips and sultry eyes. Erin realized instantly that only one thing could give a woman such a look. Mageen was Olaf’s whore. A shaft of red-hot pain seared through her.

  What do I care? she demanded of herself, recovering quickly. Hers was no love match. She had the best she could hope for in a world gone mad. She would not experience humiliation again as she had this morning and last night, because she intended to stay away from Olaf. She was forced to accept the situation, and therefore she would make no more foolish attempts against him.

  In spite of her acceptance, she still felt as if she were screaming inside because, obviously, everyone knew about Mageen.

  Unable to bear any more thought of Mageen, Erin fled the room. She retraced the steps to the banqueting hall, and then a barrage of nervous flutters attacked her stomach. She had to sit for a meal beside her husband as the queen. To her vast relief, she saw Niall and Bede already standing before the fire that warmed the great hall. She approached them gratefully.

  “Niall!”

  Her brother’s eyes were wary and speculative and pathetically appealing as they fell upon her. “Erin.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “Awhile. Then I must return to Ulster.”

  She wanted to hug him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But if she did, she would start crying. Bede finally broke the awkward silence. “Many Irish women will be staying, Erin. You will not be alone. And did you know that Olaf condones and promotes the study of Christianity? This will quickly become home, Erin.”