by Jianne Carlo
When he still appeared puzzled and concerned, she tried to distract him. “Where will Brom and Rob sleep?”
“Fear not. There are two extra rooms in the back of our lodge. The boys will be within hearing distance. Ahead, on your right is Wilma’s hut. I will wait for you out here and check with the smithy over yonder about some armor he forges for me.” Torsten pointed to an oversize hut in the distance.
“Nay, husband. Wilma will accompany me to Bear Hall. I have need of her for the food being prepared. Please, go about your warrior duties, and I will see to mine. Here, I shall take the basket.” She grabbed the basket’s handle and sent him a happy smile. “I beg of you, Torsten. Have faith in me. I vow never to be alone. You can set your men to follow me, if you wish.”
“They already do. Save for this morn. None will make that mistake again.”
His grim declaration took her askance for a moment. She had not noticed anyone shadowing her. “Even now, your men follow?”
“Nay, I am with you. None else is necessary. Be careful, wife. I would have you safe.”
“I give you my vow.” On impulse, she kissed him again, this time full on the lips. “I will see you at the lodge later? We will go to the evening meal together?”
“Aye. We will. I bid you farewell, wife, before I am tempted to take you back to the lodge and pleasure you again.” He pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, swung around, and marched around the corner of the hut opposite Wilma’s.
Ainslin waited a few minutes before pivoting and nigh racing to the hut where she and Martha had stayed the first couple of days. The door stood open and she hurried inside to find Martha stoking the hearth.
“Milady,” Martha greeted her and made to rise.
“Nay, I know how your bones ache. Finish what you are doing while I tell you my good news. The jarl has given permission for you to stay here in this cottage and you are to be assigned to the kitchens, but not for this day. You will start on the morrow.”
“I am to have this cottage to myself?” Martha asked.
Ainslin could tell Martha was amazed and delighted for she had known only a pallet in Ainslin’s chamber. “You are and I am so pleased. You deserve such good fortune after all you have done for me. Now, I must hurry for I have things to do afore the sun sets. I will see you in the hall later for the náttverðr.”
“Oh milady, I know not how to thank you,” Martha said.
“No thanks are necessary. I will see you anon. Farewell, Martha,” Ainslin declared.
Then she raced out of the cottage and walk-skipped back to Wilma the Wise’s hut. Breathless, she halted for a moment, and then strolled up a pebble-lined path to the healer’s cottage. The door stood ajar. She knocked, “I am Ainslin, wife of Jarl Torsten, come to see Wilma the Wise.”
“Milady.” Helene flung the door wide open. “My mama’s here, too. Have you come to visit?”
“Aye, Helene.” She stepped into the cool hut only to find it empty of anyone else. “Where is your mama and her mama?”
“In the drying room. Come. I’ll take you to them.” Helene tugged Ainslin’s hand and led her past a small table fronted by benches on either side, a wide circular hearth, and through a doorway.
Right away, she smelled dill, sage, and henbane, and a swift sweep of the room showed dried bunches of herbs and flowers hanging from the rafters. Greta and another woman, as tall and slender, gawked at Ainslin from behind a stone table. “Greetings Greta.”
“Milady.” Greta curtsied. “What a surprise. Mama, this is the jarl’s wife, Lady Ainslin.”
“I am so pleased to meet you, Wilma the Wise, for I am in need of your immediate assistance.” Ainslin prayed both women would go along with her plan.
Wilma dipped a quick curtsey. “Welcome, milady. Greta has told me much of your first meeting. I am pleased to help you in any way you need.”
“Helene told me of a flower that makes Lady Helga itch. Do you know of this flower? Is it dangerous? Or is it only Lady Helga who reacts to it?”
“’Tis called Tybast, and ’tis a shrub that bears flowers in the spring. The flowers are harmless, unless eaten. The berries are poisonous as is the bark. And, aye, only Lady Helga gets angry red bumps and itches. She recovers within a day or so.” Wilma’s forehead crinkled.
“Can you locate a flower or two? I am of a mind to have Lady Helga, um, take to her bed for the rest of the day. If you and Greta and Thora will aid me, I intend to take charge of the household, the kitchens, and the keys to the spice chests this day.”
Ainslin paused when Greta snickered.
“Greta, ’tis not Christian to wish ill on others. Helene, go play in the other room.” Wilma sent the girl a stern look.
“Can I have cheese and honey?” Helene wheedled.
“May I. Of course, sweeting,” Greta answered. She waited until the little girl left the drying room. “’Tis wicked you are milady, but I find your solution appealing. Very appealing.”
Ainslin thanked the lord for her meeting with Greta, Helene, and Thora earlier. They were women of like minds.
“I will do the deed myself. I know ’tis somewhat devious and mayhap a sin, but ’twill be for the good of all. On the morrow, Jarl Olsson, Lady Helga’s betrothed, arrives for the feast. Whilst the good lady’s recovering, we’ll transfer her belongings to the jarl’s ship, and bid her a blessed goodbye.” Ainslin waited for Wilma’s response to her scheme, she already had Greta’s.
“Methinks, you have the right of it, milady. You will avoid all the dissent Lady Helga will try to sow, and, in truth, we are all weary of her rule here. I will procure the flower for you right now.” Wilma removed her apron and exited the room.
“Greta, I have a pretty trinket in the trunk in my chamber. ’Tis a small box painted in navy and scarlet with gold engravings. I will take it to Lady Helga as a peace gift, but first I will rub the flower all over it. And then I will tear the petals into pieces and lay them in the inside. Will you fetch it for me? I’ve promised my lord to go nowhere unaccompanied.” Ainslin added, “And we will keep this between us—no?”
“Aye. I’ll go right away. And I’ll find Thora too.” Greta doffed her apron, picked her skirts up, and winked at Ainslin. “Keep an eye on Helene for me please, Ainslin. I think the holding fortunate to have you for its lady!”
Not thirty minutes later, Ainslin approached the kitchens. She carried the picnic basket with the hand-carved box, which had belonged to Hadrain’s first wife, hidden below the blanket. A tad nervous, she sent another prayer to God pleading for forgiveness for the sin she was about to commit. Spreading her lips and curving them at the corners, she sauntered through the doorway.
Just as it happened before, the hustle and bustle of chamber died away in snail-like increments as her people became aware she stood in the room. Helga was, again, the last to notice. Her slow, smarmy smirk, one of certain victory, provoked a rustle of whispers and snickers.
“Good eve, all. Helga, my new sister, I come to bring you a gift of peace.” Ainslin kept her spine rigid, her bearing proud, and her garish smile fixed in place. She wore one of her finest velvet gowns, with a gold and green tunic, and sleeves edged with Frankish lace.
Helga harrumphed, but at the mention of the word gift, a greedy glint glistened in her beady, watery blue eyes. “A gift of peace?”
“Aye.” Ainslin halted in front of her nemesis and stared her down. She set the basket on a nearby table, lifted the blanket, and pulled out the beautiful box.
Admiring ahs and oohs swirled around the chamber.
“I thank you for the lovely picnic my lord and I enjoyed this day. The food and drink had us lingering for hours with each other. Why, I had to insist he return to his men, that I could bring you this present.”
Helga stiffened, her unctuous smirk dipped.
Greta told Ainslin that Torsten had never lingered with his first wife, had never taken her on a picnic, and trained constantly with his warriors. Now, Ainslin had declared t
he great extents to which Torsten had gone to show his esteem of his new wife. ’Twould be clear to all and sundry that Helga’s former influence waned while Ainslin’s waxed.
“Inside the box are the crushed petals of flowers from Normandy. Their perfume is heavenly. Please accept this small token of my husband’s and my appreciation of all of your hard work.”
Ainslin noticed Helga’s mouth canting into a sour line, but when she offered the box to the vindictive witch, Helga snatched the gift.
“I wish you enjoyment of the beauty of the box and its contents.” Gracious to a fault, Ainslin bowed to Helga, and ambled out of the room.
She forced a sluggish pace not wanting any to guess of the thundering of her heart in her ears. As soon as she was out of sight of the kitchens, she near ran to Wilma’s cottage. The door was ajar and it opened wide when she hurried up the path.
Helene, Greta, and Thora ran out. “Well?”
“’Tis done.” Ainslin fair panted the words.
“’Twas fast, milady.” Wilma was framed in the doorway.
“We’ll go now, and come and get you when Helga crawls to her bed.” Greta linked hands with Thora. “I cannot wait to tell you all, Ainslin.”
“Ww will have much to do to get the evening meal ready in time,” Wilma warned. “But, we’ll do our best.”
“Me too,” Helene piped.
Wilma was proved right. It took longer than expected for Helga to succumb to effects of the flowers and by the time Ainslin addressed the women in the kitchen the sun was low in the sky.
“As Lady Ainslin, wife to Jarl Torsten, I expect to come to know you well over the next few moons. I want to learn of your thoughts and hopes, of your likes and dislikes, and especially of aught that is wrong or not working. My way is not to quarrel, never to hit or strike a single soul, but to enjoy each other’s company as we work to improve things for us all. Now, I fear we must rush to finish the náttverðr. You must correct me if I pronounce your Norse words incorrectly for I do not want any to be ashamed of me.” She clapped her hands. “To work, my ladies.”
Chapter Eleven
When Ruard informed Torsten in the clearing that not only had guests started to arrive in droves for the feast on the morrow, his brother also told him that the king’s son, Svein Knútsson, had arrived with a message from King Canute himself.
Had Sigrid found out about his sons and petitioned the king for Ainslin?
After greeting Svein and the captain of his warriors and bid them to establish their camp in the field designated for the wedding guests just outside the holding’s buttressed walls, Torsten took the missive to the hut he used for planning battles. His brothers, Ruard and Njal, joined him before he finished reading the king’s commands.
“What does Canute the Great say?” Njal braced his head on the far wall while he tipped the bench he sat on.
Relief swamped Torsten when he read the last word. Not a single mention of Sigrid in the short message.
“We are ordered to Trondheim for his coronation. The king offers my wife and me the honor of a marriage mass after the ceremony.” Torsten shrugged. “I have no interest in this Christian god, but my wife prays to him fervently.”
“’Tis hopeful she is fervent in all things, brother.” Ruard teased, his brows waggling. “In truth Njal, when you meet our new sister, Ainslin, at the evening meal you will find her serene and humble, but beautiful and kind. Torsten chose well.”
Torsten ignored Ruard’s comments and addressed Njal who had just returned from travels throughout the Norse lands. “Word has it that King Olaf has fled to his ally, King Anund of Sweden.”
Olaf Haraldsson the Second, who had ruled over the Norse for nigh on thirteen winters, had recently been deposed by Canute the Great.
“’Twas a bloodless coup,” Ruard pronounced. “Olaf the Big saw King Canute’s dragon fleet and he ran, the coward.”
“I counted three score dragon ships. Mayhap I would have turned tail too.” Njal’s lips flattened. “King Olaf commands a pithy dozen ships. When all the jarls refused to provide leidang to triple that number, defeat was cert.”
The public levy Olaf imposed on all free farmers and jarls had been widely opposed by all Vikings. The tithe had been invoked in haste and panic and none believed a fleet could be raised before Canute’s invasion.
“Aye, and when a score of us offered Canute the Great leidang instead, Olaf the Big had no choice but to flee.” Torsten folded the king’s scroll and tucked it into a pouch that he placed into a box on a small table.
“While I admire what Canute has accomplished, I cannot believe he can hold three lands so disparate and so distant for more than five winters.” Njal, known to Norse warriors as The Peacemaker, had a hatred of senseless battles, and a thorough understanding of the laws of the three lands over which Canute now ruled, Norway, Jutland, and England.
“I am agreed with you, Njal, but there are matters here that require immediate attention. My wife has no knowledge Earl Sigrid of Northdam is in the vicinity. And I will not tell her of this until we are cert he travels to Stjórardalr. He may be here for the coronation.” Torsten held a slight hope his words would prove true, but he intended to plan for the worse scenario—Sigrid attempting to kidnap Ainslin.
Njal snorted.
“Sigrid’s presence troubles and puzzles me.” Ruard jammed a shoulder into the hut’s wall and crossed one ankle over the other.
“Sigrid is not to be trusted,” Njal growled. “Gossip has it that he murdered Hadrain of Cumbria.”
“Nay!” Torsten bounded out of his chair. “How? When?”
“’Tis suspected, but none can find proof. Hadrain had seen many years, but he was a hale and hearty man. His sudden illness after a visit from Sigrid sowed rumors. Court gossip speaks of Sigrid’s three dead wives. That all had been heiresses who, once the dowry was spent, suddenly died.”
Njal’s declaration snaked chills along Torsten’s nape. “So Ainslin has told me. You know Sigrid was a neighbor to her former husband, Hadrain?”
“All know and talk widely of his lust for Ainslin of Castle Næss. ’Tis said Sigrid tumbles any maid with gold hair and green eyes and takes them by force if needs be. Sigrid is but a day away from Trondheim and he travels with a full retinue. ’Tis but a morn’s sail from Trondheim to Stjórardalr, brother.”
“I am well aware of that, Njal.” Torsten paced the length of the hut. No longer could he keep Ainslin’s and Hadrain’s secrets. “As to my newly acquired sons, there is much I needs tell you both.”
Picking his words carefully, Torsten told them of Ainslin’s maidenhood.
“A wife of four years a virgin bride and an heiress.” Ruard winked at Torsten. “That the gods strike me with such fortune.”
“What of the sons Jarvik escorts here?” Njal rubbed the back of his neck. “I like not this news.”
“That no man save me has touched her is a boon.” Torsten hesitated and then added, “Sigrid raped Ainslin’s maid.”
Njal groaned. “And these lads were claimed by Hadrain as his for these past three winters. If Sigrid suspects—”
“I fear he does.” Torsten told them the rest of the tale, and his brothers lapsed into silence.
“We must pray that these lads bear no resemblance to Sigrid. What Canute will make of such a mess, I have no notion. For then, if the eldest boy inherits as Hadrain and Canute contracted, and Sigrid can prove him his, then all the lands and riches Ainslin brought to you on your marriage reverts to Sigrid during his lifetime.”
Torsten cared less about Ainslin’s wealth. He would be outlawed before allowing Sigrid to take his wife. He studied the grim line of Njal’s mouth. “You are the one of us who is the most knowledgeable on Canute’s laws. Can you see no way around this?”
“Nay, not at this time. I will have to study the decrees further, but let us pray it does not come to that.” Njal dragged his hand through his inky hair.
The five brothers were wrought of thr
ee different mothers and bore little similarity to each other save for their immense height. While Torsten and Njal had hair as black as a raven’s, Ruard, Magnus, and Jarvik all had the golden hair for which the Vikings were known, but their experiences in the Jomsvikings had bound them together and their loyalty to each other stronger than their liege bonds to any one ruler.
“Why not tell your wife of Sigrid? Forewarned is forearmed,” Ruard advised.
“We have spent but nigh two days together. Ainslin is still wary of trusting my word. She is anxious to have her sons here and safe. Jarvik will arrive with the boys soon. I will not worry her unless there is real reason.” His wife had yet to deal with Helga and he waited to see how well that battle had gone.
“I am weary and stink of horse and road. Join me for a brisk swim, Ruard? I wager our brother intends to play in his stone and hot springs hut with his bride before the meal.” Njal lurched to standing. “Well, yay or nay?”
“Need you ask?” Ruard clapped Njal on the shoulder. “A few succulent females are amongst the arriving guests. One a widow.”
Torsten shook his head knowing full well both of his brothers would be tickling the gizzard late that eve, but then again, so would he. He had not told Ainslin that term and had remembered a few more that he intended to share with his curious wife. Grinning he said, “I will see you at the head table, anon.”
When he arrived at the lodge Ainslin was not there. Impatient, he washed and then changed into a clean tunic and new breeches. He waited for a while pacing the floor, but then there was a knock on the door, and he hurried to open it. “Ruard, what do you do here?”
“Your wife sent me to inform you that she is at the longhouse attending to the meal with Greta, Wilma the Wise, and Thora. She asks that you pardon her tardiness, and that you join her at the head table.” Ruard’s eyes glistened with wicked intent. “Best you come at once. She is everywhere at once fussing and adjusting.”
His interest spiked, he demanded, “What of Helga?”
