Loki's Daughters

by Delle Jacobs

  Nay, she should not care.

  "It does not hurt," he replied as if she had spoken her guilt aloud, and a wide grin crossed his face.

  "You seem almost to have forgotten it," she grumbled back.

  He laughed. "It is not something I will ever forget," he said. "They will not let me."

  "They will not?"

  "Nay. Nor will they let Olav forget that he lost his way in the woods, trying to catch up to a laughing Celtic imp."

  "They laugh at you?"

  "Of course. I was stunned by a pair of beautiful green eyes, and let down my guard. They think it’s funny."

  A Viking would let others laugh at him? She could not imagine it. Yet the first time she had seen him, she had noticed the laughing lines around his eyes. Even then he had tried to tease her into laughing with him.

  She recalled what she had thought then, not of making jokes with him, but the tugging of regret at her heart that wished somehow this impossible man might live.

  "They seem to have fared well enough," he said, examining one of the lambs, then setting it down.

  Again, she did not reply. Even though the lambs were fattening already from their first tastes of pasture.

  "As you see, the dogs have no trouble telling your sheep from ours."

  "You merely tease us with your empty promises," she retorted. "Why don’t you just get it over with, Viking?"

  His dark eyebrows flitted up and down in speculation. "Would you like that, Arienh? It would be easy enough. But nay, I think we will take our time. When you are through with your pranks, perhaps."

  Pranks, he called them. He did not even take their efforts seriously. "I want nothing from you, save that you go away, and quit taking what is ours away from us."

  "Ah. But let me see. I give you back your sheep every night. And you may have the plow back now, for Egil has finished plowing the fields for you."

  "You bring back the sheep now. But what about later?"

  "We’ll shear them and give you the wool."

  Arienh snorted. "For nothing?"

  "For your love, Arienh." Laughter crinkled around his eyes in just the way that irritated her most.

  "Aaah!" She threw up her hands and whirled away from him. The man was insufferable. "You think us fools, as well. Do you think we do not know treacherous heathens when we see them?"

  He laughed. "We know what you think you see, Arienh. We are only farmers. But we do not expect you to understand that yet."

  "Hah. Egil said you are a trader, not a farmer." Arienh passed through the paddock gate and closed it, lifting the ragged leather loop over the post. The frayed leather broke in her hands. Frustrated, she whipped off the cord about her waist and tied the gate closed.

  "I was, once. I built my ship, and sailed her both north and south for years. That is the wealth I bring now, to settle."

  "What did you trade in? The slaves you captured?"

  "Nay, I have never trafficked in slaves. The far north has an abundance of furs and goods, and the south has many things the north hungers for."

  "But slaves are more profitable," she guessed. Against her best efforts, she slowly turned back to face him, seeking out his wonderful blue eyes in spite of herself.

  "Aye."

  "Then why should I believe you?"

  "Well, I cannot make you believe me. But it is still true."

  Some strange part of her wanted to believe him. Yet would he admit otherwise? She knew better. It was for slaves that the Vikings raided this coast, since there was so little other wealth. He had been here before, and on that raid, two of her cousins had disappeared. Her brother, not long after.

  But the questions burned holes in her soul. Could it hurt, if she asked? She drew a dark, dangerous breath, wanting to know, afraid of the answer. But she had to know, that very thing she had shoved so deeply inside her she had almost forgotten. "What happens to them?"

  "To slaves?"

  "Aye, to slaves," she said impatiently. "What happens to them?"

  "Some are taken north to Hedeby. The Danes mostly do that, but the Northmen, too. Some go south to the Moors. Pretty young women especially bring a better price with the Moors."

  "But what happens to them?"

  He paused, reluctant. Sad eyes searched hers. "It is not a good life."

  "I never thought it was. But could a person return?"

  "Probably not."

  She set her jaw bitterly, glaring at him. Well, what had she expected, anyway? That they were wined and dined by princes? "So they are as lost to us as if they had been murdered."

  "It is likely. Who have you lost, Arienh?"

  "Everyone."

  "Who?"

  "There are many-my brother." So Niall would never be back. Angry tears stung at her eyes, but she fought them.

  "I wish I could bring him back to you. But I would not even know where to look."

  "You know too much about slaves, Viking. I do not believe anything you say." Arienh hurried inside her cottage and shut the door. Deny it he might, but he was part of it. And it was unforgivable.

  ***

  In the morning, Birgit answered the rap on the door to find Egil, holding a fishing pole. She stepped outside to keep him from entering. Liam slowly emerged from behind his mother's kirtle, with his eyes trained on the coveted object.

  "You may have it," Egil said as he held out the pole. "But there are rules about catching fish that must be followed. You must agree to them."

  Liam warily nodded and reached out for the pole.

  Birgit clenched her jaw, but did not intervene with the transaction. "Set it in the corner and go to the stream for water, Liam."

  "Water? But we have plenty."

  "I said go."

  "Aw. Why do I always have to go for water?"

  The blond giant raised thick eyebrows into high pointed arches. "Boys who don't do what their mothers ask don't get fishing poles."

  Without another word, Liam fetched the pail and scurried for the stream. As the boy ran down the hill, Birgit turned her icy glare on the Viking.

  "I told you I did not want you around him."

  Egil let a silly smile creep onto his face. "I only gave him a fishing pole."

  "You know better. He is only a little boy, and easy to beguile with gifts. I will not have my son grow up to be a Viking."

  "Northman."

  "Viking."

  "He knows what he is, Birgit. If he thinks badly of us, he thinks badly of himself. Can you not see it?"

  "I can see it. I cannot change it."

  His blue eyes turned stormy grey beneath frowning yellow brows. "He is our kind. If you hate us so much, do you hate him too?"

  "Of course not. He is my son."

  "He has to feel your hatred, Birgit. Let me take the boy with me. I will raise him to be a man."

  "Never."

  "He needs a man, Birgit. You say you love him, but you cannot teach him what he needs to know to become a man. What could be more cruel than to deny a boy the path to manhood?"

  "I will do the best I can. But he will not become a Viking. Stay away from my son."

  Birgit turned on her heel and stalked toward the stream after Liam.

  Egil still stood with his brows wrapped in a frustrated frown as Ronan walked up the hill to his brother. "Did not go so well, then?"

  "Nay. I am only trying to help. Can't she see that?"

  "She is very angry. All of them are. I think there have been far more terrible things in their lives than we have ever considered. It is more than a matter of winning their trust. They are just so very angry."

  "Aye. I cannot see how we will get around it."

  "You aren't thinking of quitting, are you?"

  "Nay. I decided I want her, and I'll have her."

  Ronan clapped a hand to his brother's shoulder. "Well, you have always been a very patient man. Have patience a bit longer. Olav has gone upstream with the others to that pool he found. Let's join them."

  The diversion pl
eased Egil."Aye. It will feel good to get really clean. I am tired of muddy water."

  The path wound along the small stream that cut through the village and between two low hills. Away from the village, the canyon narrowed, faced with tall, dark cliffs. Ronan and Egil followed the path as it grew narrow and steep until they reached a sheltered cove, surrounded by cliffs and split by a small waterfall, about the height of two men. On either side, nearly vertical cliffs towered even higher. In the rock-bottomed pool below it, several men swam and splashed, in water that was pure and clear.

  Ronan didn't relish the thought of the cold water, did not like the idea of being cold again at all. But baths were always hard to come by in the winter, and once in the water, it would not be so bad. He looked forward to the sleek feel of real soap on his bare skin, instead of sand. He had even brought a sharp knife and metal mirror to shave.

  He stripped off his clothes, although not quite as eagerly as Egil, who quickly undid his braids and threw off his clothes before splashing into the pool. Ronan paused at the water's edge, then plunged in. Shock waves of icy cold rushed through him. Invigorated, he surfaced, slung his hair to shake the water away, and lunged into a swim across the pool to the waterfall where the others cavorted.

  Ronan loved the first swim of the year as much as the first bath. This place would be a joy. Throwing himself into the frolic, splashing, jumping, diving, Ronan let the great pleasure flow through him, of being wet and cold below and warm with the bright sun above. Of being alive, free, with all his dreams at the tips of his fingers. This green valley with its verdant fields. The beautiful woman for whom he had yearned for so long.

  Standing in the shallows, he dipped into the little vat of soft soap and worked a lather into his hair, then spread the soap over his skin, scooping up handfuls of sand to aid his scrubbing. Then he threw himself into the water, diving under, then breaking the surface with a rush like a seal.

  Above him, Egil leapt from the high cliff, drawing into a ball, and smacked the water like a great rock. Instinctively, Ronan ducked just as the splash slapped him. He grabbed Egil by his long, yellow hair as he surfaced and shoved him back beneath the water. But Egil's great, hammy arm lashed about Ronan's neck and dragged him down to the water with his brother.

  Shouting voices above them called out wagers on which brother would come out the winner of the impulse match. Egil had the edge this time, having launched the attack. Ronan knew his cause was lost as his feet slipped from under him, leaving him with nothing to grasp but his opponent. Under he went. Egil came out on top.

  Ronan dove for Egil's legs, normally a fruitless ploy. But Egil stood on the same slippery rock where Ronan had been, his footing equally vulnerable. With a whoop, Egil slipped under, and Ronan stood victorious.

  A great cheer rose from half the men. The other half who lost the wager would all be poorer by at least one silver coin.

  "Enough for me," said Egil, slinging his dripping yellow hair out of his eyes.

  A disgruntled Tanni showered Egil with a huge wave of water from his hand. Egil dove for Tanni and a second match was on. Tanni was smaller, but wiry and wily. Ronan chuckled quietly and crawled upon a level ledge to watch while he absorbed the warmth of the sun. He had not yet regained all his strength, but it was coming back. As sure as summer was coming, he could feel it.

  He leaned back and allowed his gaze to roam across the water, taking in the beauty of the sparkling pool enclosed by forbidding dark cliffs. New green leaves dappled the shrubs where the men had draped their garments.

  A small hand on a slender arm groped through the greenery, snagged a jerkin. The jerkin disappeared into the bush.

  So had everything else.

  "Hey," he shouted. "They're stealing our clothes!"

  All heads came up. Men rose up, shedding water in rushes. Ronan dove into the pond, stroking furiously toward the far side. Others sloshed with wild strokes alongside him. When his feet struck bottom, he waded, forcing the bulk of his body through the water to the rocky shore with frustrating slowness.

  "Thor's hammer. Gone. They got everything." Voices around him echoed his thoughts.

  "Every damn boot and tunic."

  "They can't have gotten far. Come on." Egil hobbled over the pebbly shore, and Ronan followed, quickly realizing how tender his feet had grown through an entire winter of wearing boots.

  "Ow! Damn!" Tanni stumbled, lifted his foot, hopping.

  "Ow!" Shouts, grumbles, oaths colored the air.

  "Ouch! Hel's tits! Thorns!"

  Stinging pain stabbed Ronan’s foot. He bent to examine it. "Burrs!" He yanked the barb out of his skin.

  Ahead of them, the trail was littered with burrs, scattered like grain sown in the fields. And there they stood, naked as the gods had made them, in the chilly, bright day, and nothing for it but to set out walking, very carefully.

  The rocky trail soon smoothed into fine dirt, and the scattered burrs grew scarcer as they came closer to the village. The path widened as the valley spread out and trees thinned.

  "Let's hurry," said Egil.

  Ronan spread out his hands as sudden inspiration seized him. "Nay, let's not. Odd, that they should pick such a ploy. Maybe there's something they're curious about."

  "What?"

  "The obvious. Or at least, it's going to get obvious. Take a look." He pointed down the path. "They're hiding in the bushes to watch something."

  Egil slowed, checking out the shrubbery ahead. "Aye, there's something they've come to see."

  "Damn women," snorted Bjorn. "Got no respect, that’s what."

  "No fear, I’d say," Olav retorted. "We've been too easy on them. They need something to worry about. A good scare."

  "Aye," Tanni agreed, suddenly hopping on one foot again, picking at his sole. "Let’s shake them up a bit."

  Aye, it was about time. Time they really got even. "Then let's show it to them. Think, men. Think about those tits."

  "What do you want to do, Ronan?" asked Egil with a laugh. "Start an orgy?"

  "Just show off. Use your imagination. Tell me you haven't thought about what's under those kirtles. Just think about it. Imagine yourself with one of them in your arms, what you'd be kissing. Show them what they're missing."

  Hearty chortles spread through the group as they marched, Ronan at the lead. He figured there wasn't a one of them that didn't have plenty to display.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "They're coming. Hide." Selma dashed up the path and ducked into the bushes at the edge of the ash grove, gasping for breath.

  Arienh winced at a bad idea that was getting worse. The men had discovered the plot far too soon. They weren't ready, but she seemed to be the only one worried about it. Not even Birgit. But then, Birgit had always been ridiculously daring.

  Raucous male shouts came from the forest path.

  "Maybe we should go, Birgit," she urged, tugging on her sister's arm.

  Birgit shrugged her off. "Not yet. I've got to see who wins."

  "I'll concede. I'll do Mildread's laundry. I’ll do it for a month. Come on, they'll see us here."

  No one seemed to hear her. Birgit shook her head and peered through the bushes, squinting hard as if that somehow might improve her sight.

  The very ground pulsed with heavy footfalls. Naked men tromped around the bend in the path, Ronan in the lead. Arienh gulped.

  "Well, what do you think?" asked Birgit, straining her eyes.

  "That they're all nude," Elli whispered, her eyes big as daisies.

  "Well, I know that. How big are they?"

  Selma craned her neck around Elli to see through the dense shrubbery. "Don't look so big to me. Maybe the cold does shrink them."

  Elli shoved Selma aside so she could peek through the opening. "Well, they've got cold enough in that water to shrink them right off. How can they stand it?"

  "It's probably nothing to them," said Mildread with a quiver in her voice. "Maybe Arienh is right."

  Arienh tugged at B
irgit again. "They're Northmen, remember." By Arienh's experience, it would make no difference at all. Ronan was no bean sprout, even in the freezing rain.

  "I heard Vikings never bathed. That's what Father Hewil said." Elli scowled, yet couldn't take her eyes off the men.

  Mildread grumbled something under her breath. "I'd say he was wrong," she said. "Maybe we should-"

  "The question is, who wins the bet?" Selma asked, still peeking around Elli. "They look pretty large to me."

  "Come to think of it-oh, dear." Mildread grabbed Elli's arm.

  "Oh, dear, what?" asked Birgit. She stood up, trying to see.

  "They're-erect."

  "Erect?" Birgit strained to see.

  "Aye. As in-erect," Arienh replied. "Get down, Birgit. They'll see us." She tugged her down by her arm. "I think Mildread and Elli will be doing lots of laundry."

  "A month's worth," agreed Selma, her eyes wide with fright. "Let's get out of here."

  Mildread bolted.

  With a bevy of squeals, Selma and Elli spun around and scurried down the path.

  The strutting men broke into a trot.

  Arienh's anxious gaze quickly scanned the lot of them. The closer they got, the bigger their organs became. Her eyes caught Ronan’s attention fixed directly on her. She gulped. "Come on, Birgit, let's go."

  "Wait, Arienh. I want to see, too."

  "You don't understand. They're-they're coming, Birgit. And they're not just nude, they're-erect. And really big. Can't you see it?"

  "Of course not. Are you sure?"

  "Birgit!" Arienh tugged at Birgit's arm, but Birgit just stood there.

  The pack of naked men marched closer, coming within Birgit's range of sight. Birgit’s pale green eyes rounded as her jaw dropped open. She froze where she stood.

  A battle cry roared out, like berserkers on the attack as the Vikings dashed forward. Arienh's courage failed. She dropped her sister's arm and fled. She screamed as Ronan's huge arm snagged her waist and swung her up into his arms, then over his shoulder. Her fists pummeled futilely against his back.