Loki's Daughters

by Delle Jacobs

  "Aye. But I did not say-someone must tell him I am grateful, Arienh. You must go."

  Birgit was not saying what was on her mind, and Arienh could not divine it.

  "Is there not some betony or lettuce you could take him?"

  So that was it. Birgit felt guilty, in the same way Arienh had on that day that now seemed so long ago, when she had first wounded him.

  "Aye, I still have some lettuce syrup made up. I will take it to him." She quickly tossed her cloak over her shoulders, took up the little jug of syrup, and left the cottage.

  A full moon spread its silver over the path and danced on the ripples in the river. The night was bright and clear enough that even Birgit could have made her way with little help. Arienh passed the lone oak and crossed the stepping stones in the little stream that divided the upper village from the lower. The deep voices grew louder as she drew closer to the big cottage that had once belonged to Cousin Weylin, now claimed by the Viking. She hesitated, then pushed against the door.

  The raucous voices suddenly grew louder. The smoky, warm air assaulted her eyes and nostrils. Words spoken in their guttural tongue brought a course of back-slapping guffaws that rippled through the crowd. Something else was said, and sudden silence reigned. Men turned and stared at her with horrified expressions.

  Had she broken some law? Only men allowed, perhaps? But Wynne rose from the platform bed where she reclined with her husband, and speaking calmly to the men, walked to the door.

  She took Arienh's arm and led her away from the cottage.

  "Did I do something wrong?"

  Wynne laughed. "Only caught them at their jokes. Now they are wondering if you understand enough of their language to know what they said."

  "Really? What would make them feel so guilty?"

  "They are making up stories about Loki's daughters."

  Arienh recalled the one Ronan had mentioned, Hel. "Who are Loki's daughters?"

  The small woman who was more Viking than Celt smiled, her every feature clear in the bright moonlight. "That's the secret they hope to keep. According to their legends, their god Loki has but one daughter, Hel, and she is a Northman's nightmare. But Loki is the god of mischief, so they have decided he must have had more daughters, and made them beautiful Celts, to bring them nothing but trouble."

  "Perhaps they should have thought of that before coming here to take over Celtic land." Then Arienh regretted her words, for Wynne was a kind woman and loved her sons.

  Wynne laughed, a warm and happy sound, reminding her of her own mother, who had died with the babe born after Niall. Arienh had been little more than a young child herself, then.

  "They would not be happy if they knew I told you," said Wynne. "But it is very funny."

  The twinkle in the woman's eyes was compelling. "What?"

  "Ronan's story. It's about men coming to the Island of Loki's Daughters. The men are enchanted, and the women lure them into their beds."

  "In their dreams."

  "Aye, that, too. But then the men discover to their dismay that they are the ones who become pregnant."

  Caught off guard, Arienh spewed out her laughter, and Wynne laughed with her.

  "Surely a man did not make up that tale," she sputtered out, still laughing.

  "But he did. You see why they don't want you to know it."

  She answered with a smile and a nod. The woman was more Celt than Arienh had thought, and had clearly been deprived of women too long. "I have not seen you often," Arienh said.

  "I do not get about much, for my husband is not well. But I am glad to see you."

  "I have brought something for your son, if he is in pain."

  "I think Ronan is all right. He does not complain. But then, they are drinking."

  "They drink often."

  "Aye. They do not have women to keep them busy, so they sit around of an evening telling wild stories and singing and drinking their mead. Sometimes it is too loud for me. It is quieter out here." She set a hand to Arienh's elbow, gently guiding her toward the path. "The night is fine. Will you walk with me, Arienh? I do not often have the company of a woman."

  Arienh nodded as they stepped into the shadow of the trees, knowing the darkness obscured her gesture. "You have been long among their kind?"

  "Many years. I was probably younger than you when I was taken from my home by Ronan's father."

  "You must have been glad when he died."

  "Glad?" She smiled. "Nay, I had come to care for him. It must seem strange to you."

  "It does. How could one care for such a man?"

  "He was good to me. I was fortunate that he did not sell me but kept me for himself. My life could have been far worse. Yet he did not understand for a long time why I did not appreciate his efforts. After a while we struck a bargain. I agreed to stay with him and try to get along with him for a year. And then if I still wished to leave, he would honor the Celtic custom and would take me back home."

  "But you did not go?"

  Wynne paused. Arienh wondered if perhaps she had not been heard. Then with a wistful sigh, the older woman began again. "By then, I was with child. But I lost that child. He won my heart when I watched that great, crude warrior cradling that tiny infant in his hands and crying, before taking her out to bury." Wynne chewed on her lower lip. Her eyes seemed too bright in the moonlight. "So I stayed another year. And then I had Ronan."

  "But he died. Ronan's father."

  "You know how Gunnar took Ronan away from Hrolgar?"

  "Egil told me."

  "Tonight, my sons celebrate their triumph over Hrolgar. He is an evil man. I hoped we would never have to see him again."

  "Did you never wish to have a man of your own kind?"

  "Perhaps. But a woman could not do better than Gunnar. Or one of his sons."

  "You brag too much, mother."

  Startled, Arienh turned. Egil's yellow hair shone almost silver in the moonlight as he walked noiselessly up to them.

  "Go away, son, this is woman's talk."

  "I came only to see if everything is all right. Do you seek my brother, Arienh?"

  "I only meant to bring him something in case the pain bothered him."

  "He is feeling no pain. Or if he is, he doesn't know it."

  Wynne laughed. "Egil means he is drunk. It is also a way to treat pain."

  "I was afraid..."

  Egil smiled as if he knew the rest of her thought. "The wound has not opened. Hrolgar's kick would not have mattered at all if there had been no wound. I will tell him you have come."

  "Take this to him." She held out the jug. "If he does not need it, it must be saved, for it is the last, until summer."

  A pleasant chuckle rumbled through the man, and he pushed it back to her. "He will not take it, not from one of Loki's daughters, lest he spend the rest of the night running to the pot. Take it back. He will be all right."

  Wynne suppressed a snicker.

  "Birgit sends a message. She is grateful for Liam's life."

  Egil smiled. It was odd, how his wicked-looking eyes could sometimes seem so warm and affectionate.

  "We have all made our decision, Arienh," he said. "We are here to stay. And we will protect all of you with our lives."

  She knew that, and knowing it made things even harder. If there were only some way that Egil would still look upon Birgit with loving eyes after he learned how little she could see. But when that happened, he would not recognize how much Birgit could do, but how little. Not enough to be considered a satisfactory helpmate. Nor, when Ronan understood that Arienh was sworn to take care of Birgit, would he be willing to take on the added burden. Nor would they leave. She knew that now. The Vikings would rule the valley, not the Celts.

  "I must go now," she said. Arienh turned away and plodded back up the path. Her feet felt weighted with lead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Clouds had formed in the night, then vanished with the dawn, leaving a sparkling coat of dew on the new blades of grass. Arie
nh stood on the green, arms folded, observing the gathering.

  Women stood in a half-circle around her, men around the Viking. Everyone was there, even Old Ferris, his black eyes as full of hatred as ever. She doubted Old Ferris would ever give it up, so intent was he on his vengeance.

  Like her, Ronan folded his arms. But unlike her, he strode about, confidently studying her and her women from all angles. She refused to show her relief, but it pleased her to see Ronan stride about with no signs of pain, with fresh garments, cleanly shaven, even with his rich brown hair neatly trimmed. No trace remained of his fierce battle the day before, except the man himself, and the natural power that radiated from him. His great size made her feel insignificant as she faced him, standing in front of the cluster of Celts.

  It took all of them together, including the children, to outnumber the Vikings. How could she win?

  She controlled what the Vikings wanted. Yet giving it to them would mean losing.

  "Well, Viking, you have called us here. Get on with it."

  His laugh had a hollow sound as he turned to face her. "Get on with it? Aye, we will end this feud, Arienh. You have nothing to gain by it."

  "You think we will gain by giving all to you?"

  "It is simple enough. We give all we have to you as well. You have what we need. We have what you need. Together, we can all prosper."

  "We do not want what you have."

  His hands went to his hips, and his fascinating blue eyes fixed on her. "Have you asked the others, Arienh? Are you sure they would rather go hungry, watch crops fail, see their cottages fall to ruin?"

  She met his gaze, equally determined. "If we give you what you want, we will no longer be Celts. We will be no more than possessions of Vikings."

  "Northmen."

  "Blood will tell, Viking. You have not shown us you are anything less. Like all those raiders before you, you have come to take from us. Only this time, you have come to take it all."

  "We do not take without giving back, and you know that."

  "It is because you would have us believe we can trust you. But we learned our lesson about your kind a very long time ago."

  His eyes flinched, as if the barb had stung them. "Very well," he said, "have it your way. If that is how you insist on seeing it, then I claim this valley as mine. But all your bitter words will not chase us away, nor will your tricks and traps. You live in my valley now, and you would be wise to learn to live with us."

  "It is not your valley and never will be." Arienh felt uneasiness stirring behind her. The Celtic women were losing their zest for a fight, and Arienh herself wished for a better way. Perhaps she was being too strident. "But we will listen to what you propose."

  He knew he was winning. She could see it in the narrow gleam in his eyes. His hands propped on his hips. The man could strut, just standing there.

  "You do not have men to do what men must do, and so you try to do it yourselves. You are much to be admired that you have not simply given up. But no one can lead two lives, Arienh. You may try to plow your fields yourselves, with nothing but a stick to do it, but you take time away from the things that women must do to survive.

  His eyes scanned over the Celts, then glanced back at his horde of Vikings. He continued. "We need what you have to give, too, just as you need our skills. We can provide venison and barley, but we cannot make it taste very good."

  A chuckle rumbled through the Vikings. She wondered just how terrible their cooking was.

  "Wynne cannot continue to cook for all of us, and we waste too much good food with our clumsy attempts," he continued. "We can tend the flocks, shear the fleece, but then, who is to card the wool, spin it, weave it?"

  She snorted. "I cannot tell if you want wives or slaves. Or if you know the difference."

  "You cannot? Is that not the difference between sharing and taking? We know it, Arienh. We are not the animals you make us to be."

  "We will not be your wives, either."

  "Aye, so you have said." And he grinned knowingly at her. She prayed he would not suddenly decide to divulge her secret. Yet why had he been so willing to keep it when he could so easily use it to gain control of her? Then she realized his game. He needed only the threat of exposure to control her.

  And it was working. But if she watched for her opening, maybe she could beat him at his own game.

  "And we have something you need even more," he said, his eyes narrowing slyly.

  "Do you, Viking?"

  "You wish to defend yourselves, yet you have no weapons. We can help you with that."

  A low murmur coursed through the women.

  Arienh sneered. "Swords? Then we would be dependent upon you for the making of them."

  "Nay, a sword would be a bad choice. You are all too small, and your sword arms too short. A balanced sword for you would be little better than a dagger."

  "Looks to me like she did all right with a dagger," said Egil. A hearty chuckle rumbled through the men. The women smirked quietly.

  "And they can't always count on luck, Egil," Ronan snapped back, yet a silly grin tugged at his lips. "They need something that doesn't put their size to disadvantage, something easy to make of ordinary materials."

  "What then?"

  "Bows."

  "Archery?" snorted Olav. "You'll make archers of women?"

  "Why not?"

  Egil laughed back. "Aye, why not? Bows, arrows, bowstrings, quivers, all of it they could make themselves, and the materials are common. Only the arrowheads need to be forged. Perhaps the bows would not be as powerful, but they still would serve."

  It was too good to be true. "And what if we turn what you teach us against you, Viking?"

  He grinned, that irritatingly disarming grin that made her want to kiss him and slap him at the same time. "We will not give you the opportunity, my beautiful little Celt. If you want what we have to give, you will have to cease your pranks. We will teach you to make and use the weapons, and we will benefit as well, knowing that you can defend yourselves if we are not around. Think of it, Arienh. Imagine a sudden onslaught of those such as Hrolgar, met with a hail of arrows from women they thought defenseless. Tell me, all of you, does it not thrill your heart?"

  A speculative giggle came from a women behind her. Arienh suspected it was Selma.

  "And you, men, you all know Hrolgar, and hold him in great disgust. Perhaps not as much as I, but would you not like to see his vicious career cut short by the very women he would enslave?"

  "I for one," said Egil, "would personally go back to the Green Isle to spread the news. Aye, Ronan, I support this wild scheme of yours."

  "Aye," rose the chorus from the men.

  Despite herself, Arienh blinked at the sudden response. What was he up to, and why did his men support such a proposal? Did they really despise the Viking Hrolgar that much? "But you would not like it if we should shoot some friend of yours."

  "Our friends do not raid, Arienh, so there is no concern."

  She eyed him suspiciously. What purpose could his strange plot have? It surely could not be merely revenge against his uncle, no matter how much he hated the man. "What could you possibly gain from this, Viking?"

  "'Tis simple. To teach you we are not Vikings."

  He was quick to exploit an advantage, mischievous and sneaky. He meant to gain far more than that, but she could not tell what. Arienh folded her arms again and turned her back to him, facing the collection of women.

  "What could it hurt, Arienh?" Mildread asked.

  What? It would give them an opening. Closer to Birgit, and danger.

  "Even if they leave, we would still be able to defend ourselves," said Birgit. "We would not have to go all the way to the cavern to be safe."

  "Aye," said Elli. "Anyone can carry a bow and a few arrows around. We could have it with us all the time."

  "Silence, girl." Old Ferris shoved himself between Elli and Arienh. "You'll have no truck with their kind and stay in my house."

  "N
o, grandfather, you are not thinking. Such a skill could be used in many ways." Elli's brown eyes focused intently on her grandfather.

  The old man frowned, confused. He stepped aside to mull over what Elli had said. By itself, that puzzled Arienh, for Ferris had never been one so easily silenced.

  But she sized up where everyone stood, and realized what they wanted. Yet they expected her to find some way to preserve Birgit's safety, too. How?

  "We will do your cooking then, Viking, if you are so bad at it. You will provide what must be cooked."

  His blue eyes widened suddenly. Perhaps he had not thought he would win a point so quickly. Looking about her, she saw the women were as equally taken aback.

  "And we will spin and dye and weave. We will do the chores that have always been for women to do, and you will provide in the way men do. But we will not share our houses with you, or clean up after you. You will live south of the stream only, and we will stay to the north. You will not come to our houses."

  "But if something needs repair?"

  "We will negotiate it. And if a man has a need for a service that is not usual, that will be negotiated."

  "It would best be done if a man chooses a household and provides for it." One dark eyebrow arched expectantly.

  She saw the guile behind the seemingly innocent suggestion. "Nay, for we do not wish your companionship. You asked only how we may get along together in the same valley. You will bring your provisions here, to this place. We will divide them up and return them properly prepared here, to this place. You will bring your laundry or mending here, and it will be returned here. The wool, when it is sheared, will be dealt with here. And we will decide among us who will do which task."

  "It need not be so complicated, Arienh."

  She knew it. She didn't want what she asked for, either, but it was necessary. "I find it easier. Then we need not worry about what game you may be playing. You are sly, Viking, but we will not be fooled. We will not become wives to heathens."

  He shrugged and his bright blue eyes took on a merry twinkle. "If that is all, we will convert. Send for your priest."

  "We do not send for Father Hewil. He comes when he comes."

  "Then we will wait. He cannot be long."