Her hair flows freely around her body, like a cloud. She wears only her white shift, making her look unearthly. She nods, but stretches her arms to her sides. She jumps.
My scream roars into my ears and I close my eyes.
Moments later, I hear a splashing, then a voice next to me. “Gudrid? M’lady?”
I open my eyes. Linnea stands next to me, dripping wet and looking at me strangely. Then realization hits her, and her hand flies to her mouth. “You didn’t know about the dive spot? I thought everyone knew. Snorri showed me—you must have thought—oh, I’m so sorry, m’lady.”
“Stop calling me that, Linnea. No, I didn’t know of it.” My body trembles and there’s a light, fluttery kicking in my stomach.
“You wanted to talk?” She walks to a pile of rocks nearby and pulls out a large drying cloth and her overdress. As she squeezes out her hair, I note our similarities again. We’re the same in almost every way, yet our faces differ slightly.
Her large green eyes focus on me, and she bites at her full lips. If Leif can’t tear his eyes off me, poor Linnea will be in his line of vision very soon. Now that he has no wife around, he will watch every woman who lives at Brattahlid. Just as I’m a woman who needs a man, he’s a man who needs a woman at all times.
“Linnea, what are your plans now? I know Snorri Thorbrandsson was special to you.”
“Oh, yes’m. We’ve shared so many laughs together. He told me of all his adventures in Iceland. He gave me so much advice. He thought—”
“Yes?”
“He thought I could go home to Sweden, when you and Karlsefni travel to the mainland for trading. If you released me, I could do it, he said. And now you have!”
She smiles, talking about him as an older brother or a friend. Why would he want her in Sweden, when he was traveling to Iceland? Did I imagine their closeness? She isn’t acting like a bereaved lover.
“I’m sorry you found him that way.” She speaks softly. “He told me things about you. Mostly about what a strong woman you are, but he still liked protecting you at Straumsfjord. In the end, he planned to go home to Iceland, you know. He told me he wished he could have fathered children with you, because you’re such a good mother…but I don’t want to speak evil of the dead. He respected your marriage. Even though he loved you, he pretended to like me, so you wouldn’t be upset.”
I stare into those wide green eyes, not finding any words. She continues talking, without noticing.
“He kept a little book, full of charcoal pictures he drew. He showed it to me once. It had the same black binding as his leather pants. From that old bull, he said to me. They were lovely pictures, m’lady—Gudrid. Of you and the boy and our time in Straumsfjord.”
My hand rests on my stomach as I try to hold in my sadness. I feel ill, knowing how deeply Snorri Thorbrandsson loved me. He knew I couldn’t return that kind of love, and it made him desperate.
Linnea notices my hand and concern fills her voice. “Are you well? Did you need to speak to me of something?”
“No, Linnea, you’ve answered all my questions. Please know you are welcome to travel back to Sweden with us, when we go. You’re so good with my boys.”
She beams, sunshine lighting her hair and eyes. “You honor me.”
I should respond, but there’s nothing left to say. I turn abruptly and walk through the dead grass, lost in thought.
Finn meets me, which is unusual during the day. Perhaps something has happened.
Watching his confident, familiar stride, I feel a surge of pride. I picture his strong arm, where his tattoo is, and a blush creeps up my cheeks. When he gets close enough, he notices it.
“And what makes my wife blush so deeply?” His eyes are as light as the ocean today.
“You, my man. We never have enough time together.”
“Agreed.” He wraps his arms around me. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeats. I don’t want to think of the funeral tonight. Please, don’t let him talk about Snorri.
“We have guests today.” He moves a hand to the small of my back, gently rubbing it. “Freydis has been busy. She found some sailors from Iceland. I haven’t heard of them before, but they’ve been in Norway, trading. Helgi and Finnbogi. They bring news of our home.”
Sometimes I forget Iceland was Finn’s home, as well. He grew up far from where I did, on his family farm in Reynines. Even though it no longer feels like home, Iceland does come to me at the strangest times, in dreams and smells and bits of memories.
“And why has Freydis been hunting them down?”
“Big plans. I heard from the ever-present Deirdre that Leif might loan her a ship to find more grapes and wheat. He’s feeling like a poor man, since his thieving wife ran off.”
I giggle, feeling a bit treacherous. Finn has no high regard for Leif—that much is clear.
“And Ref?” I wonder how Freydis’ mild husband responds to her planning.
“You know him—he can’t say no to her. And it’s a pity he won’t. I love Freydis like my own family, but she’s so headstrong. She needs a man who loves her enough to stop her. Ref never pushes back.”
My husband talks with me so often, it’s like a geyser has burst open inside him. Maybe he has to confide in me, now that Snorri Thorbrandsson is dead. Yet I wonder how much he truly confided in Snorri, knowing he was in love with me?
Doubtless, Suka is what drives Freydis to return to the new world. She hopes for a renewed relationship with him. I picture him there at Straumsfjord, with no one but the hulking Tyr for support. I hope these Icelandic sailors can’t retrace the journey to that inlet. Ref and Suka would surely have a fight to the death, with Freydis in the middle.
Finn shields his eyes, looking to the lake. “Who’s that lying on the bank?”
“Linnea. She’d like to travel with us if we go to trade in Sweden.” I wonder when that will be. Our baby should be born in early summer. “Finn, do you think Linnea looks like me?”
“She does…everyone’s seen that. She could be your sister. Perhaps that’s why Snorri liked her.”
I don’t answer. He doesn’t need to know Snorri spent time with Linnea only to hide his desire for me.
Finn leans in to kiss me, fingers entwined in mine. “Tonight.” He speaks in a low tone, laced with desire.
“Yes.” I pull him close and kiss him again. His sweet, yet salty taste stirs all my senses.
As we walk back, he holds me loosely, yet there is possession in his touch. His other hand rests on his sword, and he watches the woods. Why didn’t I see how closely my own husband guards me? Or has he just started acting this way in Greenland?
Freydis interrupts our comfortable silence, running toward us from the longhouse. Finn gives a small sigh, dropping his arm.
“Gudrid! You’ll never believe it! I found a couple of sailors from your homeland! They’re going to sail me back to Straums—to Vinland!”
Her eyes have that distracted, far-off look, but then she focuses on me. Her excitement dies. “Deirdre told me about Snorri Thorbrandsson.”
Her eyes flick guiltily to Finn, as if she’s said too much. She remembers Snorri’s hand on mine that night at the campfire. But Finn is distracted by the horses kicking in the pasture.
“I’m so sorry you found him.” She pulls at her loose overdress.
“Yes.”
Her excitement returns. “Today was the only day Helgi and Finnbogi could come. Then they have to travel back to Lysufjord. I wanted Leif to talk with them and see what good sailors they are. Then he’ll support me.”
“Does he even have resources for this trip? And why do you want to go back this winter, of all times?” I ask.
Her blue eyes sharpen. “Because we need more goods, of course. That witch Gunna stole Leif’s gold and jewels—all the things he got from the king of Norway…besides, Helgi and Finnbogi bring many stories about Christianity in Iceland, which I’m sure you’ll want to hear.” She’s trying to divert my atten
tion.
Though Freydis herself has no interest in Christianity, I would like to hear from the Icelanders. And I don’t want to stoke the fires of her determination by arguing with her. “Yes, I will enjoy talking with them. I’m sure Finn would, too, as they’re fellow traders.” I nudge his arm gently, and he swings back around.
“Looking forward to it.” He excuses himself to oversee the men, busy transferring his goods into Leif’s storehouses for winter.
Knowing Freydis’ contrary nature, I don’t even mention Suka. I try a different approach.
“I wish you would stay long enough to help me with the birth. Nerienda isn’t back yet, and I’ll only have Stena to help.” Freydis should feel the obligation of returning my favor, when I helped with her birth.
Her face twists into her half-grin. “I’m no good at it; you know that. Nerienda should be back by summer, surely, unless…where is Bjarni, anyway? I thought he’d made this trip so many times.”
She speaks my own thoughts. If Bjarni docked elsewhere in Greenland, we should have heard of it by now. I remember how Inger helped me during the sickness. I pray she and Geisli will live to marry someday.
“Well, I’m determined about this.” Freydis smiles. “I think you worry too much.”
“I worry about you, sister.”
She sets her chin and tosses her head, much like an unruly horse.
I continue. “And don’t tell me you can take care of yourself, because I clearly remember you cannot.”
I visualize Freydis—keening outside the caves, unable to accept her baby’s death. She looks thoughtful for a moment, but dislikes the truth in my words. “Come and meet the sailors, Gudrid. I’m sure they have news of your family.”
What family? Most of my family is dead. I was the only child of my parents. My foster parents had no children, either. The only thing I want to hear about Iceland is that Christianity is replacing paganism—and the volva.
Freydis takes my hand, pulling me toward the longhouse. There’s lively talk inside, mingled with the smells of smoked pork—Leif’s favorite.
“I need to check on my boys.” I pull my hand from hers, my appetite vanishing.
“But—” Though Freydis calls to me, I continue striding toward our house.
Inside, Hol and Hellir are eating their meals at our small table. “Why aren’t you in the longhouse?” I ask before I remember that they don’t speak our language.
Hol shakes his head and points. “No longhouse.” The words are clear.
They’re learning to speak without me!
“Where’s Snorri?” I wonder how many words they know.
This time Hellir stretches his long, brown finger and points at the door. “Deirdre.”
Magnus must have been teaching them, or Deirdre. They have been spending the most time with them. I must remember to give the older couple my thanks. But why aren’t my boys eating in the longhouse? I kiss their heads. So help me, if Leif kicked them out, Finn is going to know about it.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Men fill the longhouse, from Brattahlid and other towns. There are hardly any women here besides farm slaves and Freydis. The children's table is empty, so Leif must have ordered them all to dine elsewhere.
My stomach heaves at the smell of the meat. With this child, I feel I could live on cabbage and celery, not the heavy smoked meats often served here at Brattahlid.
Leif notices me and calls me over. To show respect for him as the head of the farm, I walk to his chair. Ignoring him would get us all thrown out, family or not. I’m glad Finn is not in the longhouse yet.
Leif throws his long arm around me, fingering my belt. “This is my father’s ward, Gudrid, famed for her beauty. Well, she’s mine now, I suppose!” He laughs too heartily and too long—he has already drunk too much of the good wine. “She made the trip to the new world—can you believe it? Her husband brought back my ship, loaded with goodies. Now, have any of you heard tale of Bjarni? Where’s that old man and my other ship?”
One man with carrot-colored hair speaks up. “No word of Bjarni, but we do know of your third ship, the one Hallstein used. It’s docked off the coast of my hometown in Ireland.”
I pull away from Leif’s fingers, which have been tracing the embroidery on my belt. Hallstein, alive? He probably didn’t find treasure, then sailed around Greenland’s coastline to avoid Leif. But now he has even more reason to fear, because he took Leif’s property.
Leif slams his fist into the table. “Ireland, is it? That fiend! That demon! He’ll regret this!”
The Irishman speaks up again. “He’s telling everyone he was blown off-course. He says he plans to return your ship, but there are men who wish to purchase it from him.”
Leif’s light eyebrows tighten, and he frowns. Hallstein has a price on his head now. Plenty of men in Ireland would love to gain favor with Eirik’s powerful son by capturing Hallstein for him.
I start to sneak away, but Leif remembers me again and grabs my skirt. The men chuckle. But I’m not his slave. I yank my skirt back, smacking his hand away.
“I’m going to find my husband.” I move toward the door.
“Wait, Gudrid! Meet the men Freydis has brought us.” He gestures to two men, obviously Icelandic. Their hair is almost white; their skin and eyes light. They could be twins.
The man on the left stands in respect. “Good day, Gudrid Thorbjarnardottir.” It’s the first time my full name has been spoken for years.
The other man stands and bows shortly. They obviously have good manners, treating me as a chieftain’s daughter. And so I was, once.
“Finnbogi and Helgi.” Leif gestures from right to left. “Or maybe it’s Helgi and Finnbogi." He laughs. “I can’t rightly tell them apart!”
The one on the left raises his sleeve. A scar runs up the length of his arm. “I am Helgi. My brother has no scar.”
Eirik's men look impressed. One man pulls up his trouser leg to reveal his discolored, jagged scar. Several others adjust clothing to point out their own. Typical Vikings—comparing whose scar is the biggest.
Freydis rolls her eyes at the corner of the table. “I was telling Leif that these men have sailed around the coasts of Iceland and Greenland. They’ll doubtless be able to make the trip to Vinland with me." Her eyes slant a bit, suddenly intense. "And they’re honest men, so everyone says." Why does their honesty concern Freydis so much?
Ref sits silently on a bench, apart from his wife. I wish he would say what he thinks of her crazy idea. No one should be putting out to sea at this time of year. Instead, he watches the Icelanders and chews his food.
“We bring news of your cousin.” Helgi speaks to me.
My cousin! I have wondered about her. The last time I saw her was at Mother’s hanging.
His speech is practiced, its familiar Icelandic inflections soothing. “Yngvild is married and has four children now. She owns your mother’s farm, Laugarbrekka. She’s married to Einar Thorgeirsson. They’re very prosperous.”
Einar. The trader’s son who wanted to marry me so long ago.
“I am happy to hear that.” It is good that my cousin prospers, and that Einar maintained his wealth, despite what my father thought of him.
Both brothers smile with their tidings of good news. They’ll have no other word of my family, because the rest are dead.
But Finnbogi speaks up. “Christianity has swept into Iceland. There have been many miracles—the volva fight to maintain control.”
I lean against the wall, their news finally overwhelming me. When I was last there, the volva held the entire island in their stranglehold. No one dared contest them. If only Christianity had come years earlier, my mother would still be alive.
Like a pebble tossed into a pond, Finn strides into the longhouse. The men ripple around to make room for him. Benches are pulled out; hands extended. Every man wants to sit by my husband, the trader who’s returned victorious from Vinland.
He sits next to Ref. No longer doe
s Snorri sit by him, a source of advice and unquestioning loyalty. I can’t look at Finn’s face, knowing we’re feeling the same loss.
But my husband notices I stand near Leif. "Gudrid?" His smile invites me closer.
I willingly leave my post to stand behind Finn, resting my hands on his strong shoulders. In one of his possessive public gestures, he covers my hands with his own. The warmth and strength of his grip flows into me like heat from a fire.
The men's chatter doesn't break my newfound peace. Iceland is changing for the better. I close my eyes, remembering...the earth, alive with the blood of volcanoes and geysers coursing through it. The rocks, jutting over the ocean, covered with gulls. The yellow poppies I’d pick in bunches for Mother, the same color as her hair.
Stena suddenly appears by my side. She whispers in Finn's ear, then guides me out of the longhouse. She takes my hands in hers, steadying me for her news. “Thjodhild isn’t well. She was playing with your Snorri, and she fell to the ground. Deirdre is with her.”
We rush to Thjodhild's house, where Snorri toddles over, grabbing my skirts. I whisk him up. Thjodhild lies wrapped in blankets on Eirik’s gigantic bed.
She tries to smile up at me. “Your son is a delight. He has all the charm of my Thorstein.”
She does not think clearly, so I don’t remind her that Snorri isn't Thorstein's son. I feel her forehead. There’s no fever, but she’s wet and cool. The heartbeat in her wrist is irregular.
I take Stena aside. “What did the healers say of her condition? Or the doctors from Norway?”
“She only saw one doctor. He was from the king’s court, sent by King Tryggvason himself. The doctor said it was a disease he sees sometimes, a mass that eats the body from inside.”
I’ve seen this disease only once, in Iceland. The man had a peculiar smell before dying. Thjodhild has the same smell now.
“Did he leave medicines? Herbs?”
“Yes, an Arabic cure Leif paid for dearly. It has done nothing.”
“We must make her comfortable, then, at all costs.”
Stena nods. “I will bring your herb box."
God's Daughter (Vikings of the New World Saga) Page 23
