The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  She frowned. "I do not understand."

  Freyda slipped her fingers over her shoulder. "‘Tis yours. Your bride-price. It stays with you always and passes to the children of your marriage."

  With shaking fingers Gillian accepted the money. She felt a sudden rush of tears. It was she who had become well off, not Rollo. In less than an hour’s time, she had seen more kindness among a people she had been told were barbarians than she ever saw in the year of living with a man of her own kind. Was it trick or truth? At that moment, she couldn’t trust herself to guess.

  "Our stores are low," Andor said to all. "We cannot have a wedding feast ‘til we reach Iceland. But break out the ale so that my bride and I might drink before you."

  There was a bit of scurrying about and in short time two cups of ale were placed in Andor’s hands. In solemn regard, he gave one to Gillian then linked her arm through his. As they drank together, Gillian was aware of the muscle which flexed against her arm. He was as strong as she had first thought - in spirit as well as body.

  Their cups drained, they faced each other once more. Each person aboard drank in their honor, then a cheer went out among the small group, and everyone settled back to their tasks.

  "Freyda, see my wife has the things she needs. I must speak with Rollo."

  Gillian stared at his back as he walked away with the other man. Maybe it was the heady effects of the ale, or perhaps it was simply events catching up with her. Whatever it was, her tongue had finally found itself.

  "Is that it? Am I to be dismissed? You call this a wedding? I call it foolery. I know your ways are heathen and you have not embraced the Christian faith, but you have lost your mind if you think I am willing to accept this as proper."

  She had drawn attention their way once more. There were titters of laughter among her captured villagemen.

  "Maybe the wedding night will make her feel more proper wed," a man shouted from the rear.

  Gillian jammed her fists at her sides and stomped toward Andor. "Is that what this is about? Tell her she is wed and she is yours to bed?"

  Andor stared down into eyes the color of fiery blue diamonds. She had spice to her - he liked that. His property would be well protected by her in his absence.

  "I married to protect you, but I am thinking it might be me who needs the protection...from you." With a smile, he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around until he could pull her back against him. Gillian stiffened.

  "The lady wants a proper Christian ceremony," he said, addressing the crowd. "Is there a man among those captured who might perform this deed?"

  "Seamus trained as a monk," a man called out. "He’ll be knowin’ the words."

  Andor lifted a questioning brow Gillian’s way. She pursed her lips, still unsure as to how proper this would be. Finally, she relented.

  "Unbind our captives," Andor said. "They will travel with us or jump to the sea, whichever suits them. Send Seamus forward."

  A young man with the face of a ferret was pushed to them, and a second ceremony performed.

  "Is there something else you require, wife?" Andor asked when they were done.

  "No, ‘twill do."

  "Then I graciously request leave of you that I might conduct my business with Rollo." He took one of her work-roughened hands in his and bowed low over it. As he righted himself, he paused long enough to kiss her knuckles. After a wink to her, he stepped away with Rollo.

  Gillian caught the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. He had deliberately mocked her and the sanctity of the Christian ceremony she had requested. She crossed her arms on top of her belly and tapped her foot. She felt Freyda’s hand on her arm.

  "I welcome you as sister. I hope we will be as close as Astrid and I were."

  "Who is Astrid?"

  "Andor’s first wife. She, my husband, and several of our people were lost in a storm not long ago. She was trying to save Thora when a wave washed her into the sea."

  Freyda motioned with her head, and Gillian saw an expectant woman sitting near the hold. Her head was bent low, as if she sought to hide herself.

  "You and yours will come to no harm in Andor’s home. You will be protected and well cared for. My brother is a good man."

  Gillian thought it best to make that determination on her own.

  "Come," Freyda said. "I have some bolts of cloth which will do for you and the babe. We must work quickly so the babe does not arrive with nothing to wear."

  She took Gillian to a chest filled with cloth and soft leathers. The colors were striking - red, blue, green, and goldenrod. Gillian caressed the linen. It was well-made and would be comfortable against the skin.

  Freyda pulled a length of blue out and draped it over Gillian’s shoulder. "‘Twill be difficult to size while you are with child."

  "The wait is not long," Gillian said. "I can make do. My wee one has naught."

  She nodded. "Then we shall plan for the child now and you after. If need be, we might borrow from Thora."

  Still suspicious, Gillian listened to Freyda plan for the child, adding a preference from time to time. From the way of things, it looked like her baby would have more than she had managed to gather in the eight months previous. Gillian felt her discomfort ease, then drew herself up short.

  Where is your grief, girl?

  Evan had been killed only hours before. Why hadn’t she cried? Why didn’t she mourn? She rested her hands on her belly and stole a glance at Andor - her new husband. He and Rollo sat with their backs to her, their heads bent close in conversation. A strange man he was. To lose a wife and take another? To protect her, he said. And to have a helpmate for his lands.

  Gillian narrowed her eyes. And for what else? What man didn’t want that? They were all nothing more than rutting beasts. Well, you wed him so now you have to do your wifely duty, her conscience scolded.

  It couldn’t be as bad as the first time with Evan. Still, he was a stronger man. Gillian felt tears prick and blinked them back. She’d get through it, just like with Evan.

  When night had fallen and she eased into her sleeping skins, Gillian kept telling herself that over and over. One by one those around her settled down. A few snores drifted to her ears. She prayed he would not seek her out, but he did. As he approached, Gillian’s courage failed. She squeezed her eyes shut and lay stiffly on her back. There was a draft of cold air as Andor raised the skins and furs, then she felt the warmth of his body beside her.

  "Please have a care." Her voice quivered with apprehension. "Be done with me quick and please do not hurt my babe."

  Andor leaned up on his elbow to study her face in the pale moonlight. She was genuinely frightened. He recalled his wedding night with Astrid. She, too, had been afraid, yet her trust in him had been implicit. He had not disappointed her. There was no trust in this one. No desire. No love. Only his need, his responsibility, to protect her.

  "I have only just lost my wife and the babe she carried. My heart is still too wounded to want another woman."

  Her blue eyes flashed open. "But you wed me."

  "To protect you from Leif, not to take you to my bed," he replied. "But we will not let the others know our secret or Leif might say our marriage is invalid. Agreed?"

  Gillian nodded her consent, and Andor lay back down.

  "There is one thing I would like of you," he said.

  "That is?"

  "May I touch the babe?"

  She groped for his hand and placed it on her belly. The baby responded with a kick. Andor jerked back.

  Gillian giggled. "‘Tis all right." She put his hand back.

  Andor marveled at the life rolling within her. His fingers followed the movement, softly caressing the mound.

  Tears welled up in Gillian’s throat. It was so tender a gesture, so unexpected. How had she known what she missed from Evan until this moment? She started to cry for the emptiness of her life with Evan, for the generosity of people who were supposed to be barbarians, and for this man who had lost his belo
ved wife and child.

  Andor gathered her close. "Hush now. All will be well. I meant not to hurt you."

  Gillian couldn’t speak for her tears. All she could do was put his hand back on her belly and cry against his welcome shoulder.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  No pinks or golds touched the predawn sky - it was going to be overcast and gray. Andor was reluctant to leave the warmth of his bedding and the feminine form curled against him. It was the pressing need to relieve himself that decided his course of action.

  Careful not to disturb Gillian, he eased from their nest of furs and skins, and walked to the rail. There he jerked open the drawstring on his trousers and let loose a welcome stream.

  "Would you care for a meal now, husband?"

  Andor jumped at the sound of Gillian’s soft-spoken question. He scrambled to readjust his clothing, then tried to face her as if nothing unusual had occurred.

  His well-kept beard could not hide his embarrassment at her having caught him answering his body’s call. Gillian felt her face warm in response. An apology would only prolong their discomfort. She chose to ignore the incident.

  "I thought a bowl of porridge with fresh milk would be filling for you."

  "That it would."

  "I will prepare it after I get my milking done."

  Andor caught her elbow before she could walk away. "The ramp down to the hold is steep. You will not go down. I can do the milking for you."

  "She and the horse will be needing their feed. It’s woman’s work - "

  "You take care of the chickens and the food. Leave the stock to me. I have other animals that need tending, too."

  Gillian cocked her head in wonder as he walked to the hold. She was accustomed to a man helping around the farm - that was the way of her parents. But living with Evan had dimmed her memory of that type of family environment. She was used to doing it all on her own. Now that she did not have to, she felt at a loss as to what she should do.

  It would be nice to take her time and prepare a hearty meal for Andor’s group of people, instead of throwing things together. But first she needed to tend to her own morning needs. After discreetly using the slop bucket, she dumped the contents over the side rail and set about preparing her meal.

  Gillian arranged some kindling in the box of sand used for the cook fires. It was a clever invention, she decided. Much more practical than having cold meals for their entire journey. With the stone and small iron bar she found beside it, she struck a spark, smiling when the flames ignited. After adding a few more pieces of wood, she set the cauldron to heat. How much porridge to make? The evening before she counted forty-three people, yet noticed Freyda only prepared food for those under Andor’s care. Thora and the women who traveled with Leif were responsible for their people. Still, Freyda had shared extra bread with them and they their meat with her. It was a nice gesture.

  She saw Thora had risen and begun preparing their meal. If she were to be part of these people, it would be best to extend courtesies as soon as possible.

  Gillian fed her chickens a measure of grain while she checked them for eggs. She retrieved only four, but was grateful for that. In these new surroundings, she was surprised they had laid at all.

  After pouring softened oats and barley in the cauldron of hot water, she carefully set two of the eggs on top to cook. With the other two eggs cushioned in her hand, she walked to the rear of the ship where Thora was struggling to start her cook fire.

  As she passed the hold, Gillian couldn’t resist taking a peek at Andor. She was surprised to find him smiling up at her.

  "Checking to see if I am doing it right?"

  Gillian couldn’t resist a smile back. She held up the eggs. "We have four this morning. I thought to take some to Thora."

  "She will be grateful. All of our chickens quit laying once we set sail. Take her this also." He set half a pail of milk on deck. "It comes from their cow. I thought to spare Thora the burden of climbing down here."

  "I will tell her not to worry about it then." She wondered at Andor’s consideration of the woman when her own husband seemed not to care. Even now Thora looked fearfully over her shoulder at Leif while she fought to light the fire. The more failures she had, the more her slender fingers shook.

  Gillian waddled forward, careful not to slosh the milk. Thora looked up. Tears glistened in her deep brown eyes. Gillian’s compassion for the woman overwhelmed her. She fought the urge to gather her in her arms.

  "Here, let me. It has a way of being stubborn." She gently took the stone and iron from her. "I brought you these and milk from your cow. Andor will care for her ‘til we reach Iceland."

  Thora stared at the eggs placed in her hand as if she weren’t quite sure what they were. Gillian struck a healthy spark and the kindling caught.

  Thundering footsteps rattled the planking. Gillian knew without looking that Leif was coming their way.

  "What is this woman doing in my camp?"

  Thora shrank from him and held out the eggs in offering. "She brought these and a pail of milk."

  "My wife does not take charity from slave girls, no matter how high they marry." He kicked the wooden bucket over.

  Milk flowed toward Gillian’s feet, seeping between the planks before it reached her. "Fool! The milk was yours!"

  Leif took a step forward, his hand poised to strike her. The point of a sword appearing over her shoulder stopped him. Gillian felt the protective curl of Andor’s arm around her shoulders and leaned into his warmth. But her gaze never left the dark-bearded man before her.

  "You refuse a gift from my camp to yours?" Andor asked.

  Blood feuds had started for lesser reasons. All those around waited for Leif’s answer.

  "Only from whom it came," he finally replied.

  "If it came from my wife, it came from me," Andor said. "Your cow gave the milk. The eggs came from us. You have foolishly wasted the one, do you wish to do the same with the other?"

  Leif held out his hand to Thora, and she gave him the eggs. "Since I have acted the fool," the word came out on gritted teeth, "I have no right to your offering."

  Andor would have accepted their return - two things stopped him: the barely controlled fury in his new wife’s beautiful face and the longing in Thora’s. He recalled Thora had a fondness for eggs.

  "I would ask, then, that I be allowed to offer them to Thora in thanks for the help she gave to Astrid on the first part of our journey."

  Leif’s black eyes turned cold, but there was no way he could refuse Andor. With a gracious nod, he gave Thora the eggs then stomped to the rail.

  "Enjoy them, Thora," Andor said.

  "I shall. Thank you."

  With Gillian still under his arm, Andor sheathed his sword and walked back to the prow.

  "Why is she so fearful of him?" Gillian whispered.

  Andor stooped to pick up their own pail of milk. "Leif has taken to beating her."

  "Is there nothing you can do?"

  "In my country as in yours, no man may interfere with another’s marriage. ‘Tis not a thing I like, but...." He shrugged.

  "I would not put up with any man laying hands on me."

  Andor looked down at her fine-boned features and laughed. "Strong and feisty you might be, but you would be no match for a man bent on beating you."

  Gillian tilted her head his way, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Aye, ‘tis true, but he would be taking his food from me. He would not be the first to die from the wrong mushrooms."

  Andor tossed back his head and laughed. "Remind me to have a care what nourishment I take from your hands."

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Remind yourself not to be raising a hand to me."

  He stopped and cupped her chin in his hand. "That I would never do."

  They were close. A foot more and their lips would be touching. Andor expected to see her cheeks redden, then he realized - this was not Astrid.

  Gillian felt an awkw
ardness rise up in the absence of their banter. Even though they’d slept in the warmth of each other’s body, this new closeness unnerved her. It was she who pulled away first.

  "I will take this from you." She took the milk and set it near her cauldron of porridge.

  The rest of his people had arisen in their absence. Gillian greeted each with a smile as she ladled milk into cups they presented to her. Freyda was content to sit aside and work on baby things while Gillian took her rightful place as Andor’s wife.

  Once the porridge was done, Gillian filled a bowl and topped it with milk and a drizzle of honey. In a separate bowl, she broke up pieces of bread and cracked the egg over it. Then she held up both for Andor. The message was clear - she would feed him but she would not serve him.

  She did not fawn over him. Andor was not certain if he liked that about her or missed the doting he got from Astrid.

  He had wanted a strong wife, an equal. It appeared as though the gods had granted his wish. Their cost? Astrid’s life. Now in death he appreciated those special qualities he had found annoying in life. Her unqualified adoration of him was among them. In Astrid’s eyes he was her god and she placed him high upon a pedestal to worship and care for.

  This wife would never consider him for more than what he was. One step toward a pedestal and she would knock it over, bringing him back to the level of human. A bit of reality he sorely needed in a group which looked upon him to solve any and all problems.

  So what else was there to this woman he had sealed himself to?

  While he ate, he watched her dish out the meal to others. Rollo received the second egg. Gracious and fair, more admirable qualities.

  But the stories he heard from her villagemen gave him mixed emotions. She was a strong woman, unafraid of hard work. Although her figure was hard to determine at this point, she was beautiful. A sharp tongue didn’t bother him. He needed a woman who knew her mind. It helped in the months a man was gone from home to know his wife could manage in his absence. That had always been his concern with Astrid. He had been counting heavily on Freyda to help her. Now that was no longer necessary.

  What bothered Andor about Gillian was the cold-hearted way she had been given in marriage to her first husband. If the tale were true, her father had gone to the local pub and offered a fine dowry for her. Her strong-willed ways were well known, but her father was dying and worried for her future. Six men present drew lots - the loser was the one selected to be her husband. After the wedding and her father’s death, the men divided her dowry among them.