The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  Gillian had no knowledge of this, no desire for marriage, and no love for Evan. She had sacrificed her happiness and security for a dying man’s peace of mind.

  Andor looked around. The five lot drawers were now of his charge. Although he was not a hard taskmaster, he thought it somehow fitting that the lady whose future they had gambled should now be their mistress. The only exception was Seamus, the young former monk who had married them. Once they reached Iceland, he would be a free man.

  The six remaining Gaedhil slaves were, unfortunately, part of Leif’s house. They would have it rough, but the division of property taken in the raid had to be equal. There was nothing Andor could do.

  "Your wife is a fine cook." Rollo sat down beside him.

  "That she is." Andor puffed up with pride at the compliment. "Is all ready?"

  "I have all that you asked for. When will you give your bride her gift?"

  Andor chuckled to himself as Gillian sat on his wooden chest and, using her stomach as a table, ate her porridge. "Let her eat first."

  Gillian savored the first spoonful she scooped up. Honey was a rare treat for her. She was suddenly ashamed to admit she shorted Andor his share so that she could have extra. Giving him the egg and bread had done little to ease her conscience. He’d done nothing but good for her, and she had repaid his kindness by cheating him. She stared at the bowl and wanted to cry.

  "Something troubles you?" Freyda asked.

  Gillian glanced up. The guilt was too much. She confessed to her new sister, expecting condemnation. Instead, Freyda cast a sidelong glance to Andor.

  "‘Tis always so in our family," she whispered. "To this day, Mother does that to Father. And I did so to Olaf." She giggled and pressed her finger to her lips.

  Gillian’s mood lifted. It was not so great a sin after all.

  Andor watched his sister and wife giggle over the bowls. Conspirators - both, he thought with a smile. "Eat up or you may never get your bride-gift."

  "Bride-gift?" Gillian asked.

  "Among our people, ‘tis the custom for a husband to give his wife a gift the morning after their wedding," Freyda explained.

  Gillian was expecting a token expression of honor. Nothing surprised her more when Andor and Rollo brought a large wooden chest to her. It was similar to the one upon which she sat.

  Andor placed the chest before her. "For you. Your bride-gift." He lifted the lid.

  Gillian gasped with wonder. The chest was filled with everything she could possibly want or need. Jewelry nestled on top of clothing. Necklaces of silver, glass beads, and amber; gold bracelets; and delicately carved bronze brooches as wide as the palm of her hand winked at her. She picked up the brooches and pinned them below her collarbones as she had seen the other women wear them. To each of these she attached the long chains she saw. To her delight, Andor had also provided her with the items to clip to the chains: a knife, a comb made from deer antler, scissors, needles in a small ivory case.

  "Once we are settled, you will also carry the keys to our buildings and properties," Andor told her.

  Gillian nodded and looked deeper into the chest. There were three shifts of fine pleated linen. The blue and red were long-sleeved, the green was without. To go with each was a woolen tunic of lighter color which Gillian likened to an apron. Two white sleeping gowns followed, along with assorted materials to make what she wished. Two woolen cloaks were next - one heavy, one light. Cloth leggings and three pair of ankle boots of softly tanned leather were at the bottom of the chest, hiding spindles and a whalebone board and lump of flattened glass with a wood handle she would use for ironing.

  Uncaring of who might be watching, Gillian pulled off her wood and rope sandals and slipped her feet into the comfort of the boots. The other clothes would have to wait until after the baby was born. She raised her head to thank Andor for his generosity. Before she could speak, he lay a large white fur across her lap.

  "‘Tis from a white bear I killed on a journey last year," he said. "I give it to you to use as you wish. You will need a heavy cloak for winter."

  Gillian wiggled her fingers through the fur. It was soft and warm, the color of snow, and the biggest fur she had ever seen. It was too much for her. With tears in her eyes, she looked up at him.

  "I do not deserve such fine things."

  Andor knelt before her, resting his hand on the fur beside hers. "Why, pray tell?"

  "I fear I have wronged you."

  He fought back a smile. "We have been wed less than one day. How can this be so?"

  "I gave you but half the honey due you and took the rest for my own."

  Andor chuckled and took her fingers in his. "‘Tis something the men in my family are accustomed to. Mother would like you."

  Gillian’s eyes widened. "You are not angry then?"

  "By far." He kissed her knuckles then straightened and waved his hand over the chest. "These things are for you. You need them."

  "My humble thanks, husband."

  Her tone was sincere, but Andor did not miss the sparkle in her eyes. His gift, no matter how necessary, was a treasure trove to her. It was a pleasure to watch her, and he did so many times throughout the day when other tasks did not occupy him.

  Her smile was quick as she planned meals and clothing with Freyda. For a woman so recently widowed, there was not a hint of grief. Then he recalled her tears of the night before. If not grief, what then?

  From all tales her husband had been nothing but a lazy drunkard, content to let his wife toil while he reaped the benefits of her labor. How could she mourn such a man? The life Andor had just given her was far better, he was sure of that. Yet he had to hear it from her - his ego demanded it.

  He waited until the ship settled down for the night. Once he had assured himself all was in order, he sought their sleeping bag.

  A sense of contentment settled over Gillian as she watched Andor near. She longed for the warmth of him beside her and the comforting caress of his hand upon the babe. He would be pleased when he discovered she had arranged the bear fur in their bag. Even now it cocooned her in a bliss she never thought possible. She scooted over to give him room as he crawled in beside her. Strange that she should welcome his presence, yet have dreaded Evan’s.

  Andor turned to face her. The full moon had nudged away the overcast sky and bathed them in a silvery glow. Her coppery hair framed her face in a swath of waves. He caught a strand and curled it around his finger. It was as soft as the finest silk he had ever seen.

  "What was your husband like?"

  Gillian jerked her head back. How could one answer such a question? Her mother had always told her it wasn’t wise to speak ill of the dead, but what good could be said of Evan? That he hoisted a fine mug of ale?

  "Evan was a...fine man."

  "Hmmm." Andor brushed the strand of hair across her cheek. She shivered in response. "So fine a man, he was still abed mid-morn while his expectant wife was burdened with seed ready to work the field."

  What could she say? It was the truth. She cast her gaze downward to avoid his eyes.

  He caught her in a lie and they both knew it, yet Andor couldn’t fault her for defending the man. It was an honorable gesture. He traced the bow of her mouth with his thumb. What would it be like to taste her lips? Did he dare? She was his wife. It was his right. He remembered the first kiss with Astrid. She had been hesitant. He had even had to tell her to open her lips. Gillian would need no such prompting...or would she?

  His hand felt like fire against her cheek, a fire that urged her heart to beat faster. It was his right to have her if that was what he wished. Fear kept her in place. He had promised no harm would come to her child, and she had to trust that vow. She lifted her eyes to those the color of a forest glade.

  Andor lowered his lips to hers, nibbling gently. Gillian released a slow breath. He echoed it. Nice, soft, willing, not like the first time with....

  He yanked back in alarm. His wife was not gone a fortnight and here he was
kissing another. He looked at Gillian - that expression of hers, so like yet so unlike Astrid. A frown creased his forehead. What had Astrid looked like? He could not remember. His wife barely gone and he could not remember her! The prow. Her image was on the prow.

  Gillian’s heart leaped as he jumped from their bag. She clutched the fur to her neck and watched him climb to the prow like a man possessed. What had happened? Was he enraged that she had lied? That had to be so - nothing else had been said. This time she had truly wronged him.

  He had reached the tip of the prow and wrapped his arms about it. A strange custom for controlling anger. Yet hers of speaking well of an undeserving dead man must seem as strange to him. They had much to learn of each other’s ways.

  Gillian eased back the skin and furs to go to him. She would try to explain. To ease the anger before it was directed back at her.

  "Stay," Freyda whispered from nearby. "I will speak to him."

  "‘Tis my fault," she told her.

  Freyda stood and patted her arm. "No, ‘tis something other. Sleep. I will see to my brother."

  Refamiliarizing himself with Astrid’s features did little to ease Andor’s guilt. Each time he closed his eyes to recall the vision, he saw Gillian instead. Shoeless and without his cloak, he shivered in the night air. Staying at the top of the prow would serve no purpose.

  He inched down, feeling the fool for his actions. As his feet touched the deck, Freyda wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.

  "Do you remember how Olaf looked?" he asked, his gaze on the figurehead.

  "I need only look at Erik to see his father’s image," Freyda replied.

  "I forgot Astrid’s face. I still cannot clearly recall. All I see is Gillian."

  "Astrid was a good wife...was there love when you married?"

  "I cared for her."

  "Did you burn for her as Olaf and I did for one another?"

  It was a question which needed no reply, for Freyda already knew the answer. "As I have said, Astrid was a good wife. It would have been a good marriage. But now she is gone, and you have taken another as wife, vowing to protect her and care for her. Do not slight her for what you have lost. ‘Tis not Gillian’s fault. As there was no love with Astrid, there was regard, perhaps the same will be true of you and Gillian."

  "And what of you?" he asked. "Do you seek love and a mate again?"

  "I do not seek it, but if it finds me I shall be wise enough to accept it. Olaf would want me to be happy and not alone...as would Astrid of you," she said. "Good night, brother."

  Andor returned to the sleeping bag. A part of him was reluctant to join the woman he now called wife. Thinking of her warmth already awakened parts of his body he preferred would stay at rest. Still, it was the only place left to sleep. He crawled inside and kept his back to her.

  "I will not lie to you again, husband," Gillian said softly. "Evan was a poor husband. I married him to please my father."

  Andor sighed and rolled over. "I fault you naught. Rest, wife." He placed a gentle hand over her belly and let sleep overcome him.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 4

  Gillian lay listening to the sounds of the ship. The wind snapping the sail. The water sloshing against the sides. The creak of the wood. All taking her to a new land, a new home. Iceland - the name alone conjured up an inhospitable world, but stories from Irish monks who once lived there told differently.

  Mountains spewed fire from the center of the earth, yet there were lands and valleys so fertile they begged to be farmed. True, it was cold, but there were waters so hot one could bathe in them. Streams were clear as a crystal. It was land unencumbered by surplus population. A land where a hard-working person could live well. For someone who had not ventured outside her village in her entire twenty-three years, Gillian found the prospect exciting, even if she did worry about the people to whom she had allied herself.

  She studied Andor’s face in the moonlight. Gone was the distress she had seen before. He looked as restful as a small child. She tried to imagine what he would look like without that neat beard of his.

  How could a man who seemed so gentle change to a madman in less than a blink of an eye? She had heard of people being possessed by evil spirits and wondered if that might be so with him.

  She shivered with apprehension. At least with Evan she always knew what to expect - he was constant. This man, this stranger, could turn on her at any moment - like Leif, but with no warning. This time he had run up the prow, next time it might be her who had to deal with his burst of madness.

  Her gaze wandered to the top of the prow. Why had he been drawn to that figurehead? Freyda had not been surprised by his actions. Was that a normal place of solace for him?

  Careful not to wake him, Gillian eased from the bag to take a look. She squinted in the moonlight, trying to catch the details of the face she saw carved there. It was probably that of one of their goddesses - they had many from what she had been told.

  "‘Tis an image of Astrid," Freyda said.

  Gillian spun around, startled by her sudden presence.

  "I did not mean to frighten you," she said. "I only thought to explain."

  Gillian turned back to the figurehead. "His wife."

  Freyda nodded. "My brother is an honorable man. While watching you, he forgot what Astrid looked like. He felt he had betrayed her memory."

  "He must have loved her greatly."

  "‘Twas a marriage of convenience, arranged by their families, but he had grown to care for her and she for him. He mourns her loss as you must mourn the loss of your husband."

  No, she did not mourn Evan. How could she explain that? How could she explain that she felt as if her soul had been set free? How, when she could not understand it herself? They heard footsteps coming their way and turned as one. It was Thora and another woman Gillian knew as Aud.

  "What is wrong?" Freyda asked.

  "‘Tis time for the birth," Aud replied.

  "‘Tis too soon!" Thora cried.

  Freyda patted her arm. "‘Twill be all right."

  Gillian expected a show of joy from someone, but only Freyda displayed a glimmer of a smile. And Gillian felt that was more out of compassion for Thora than it was excitement for the impending birth.

  "We shall settle over here, Aud." Freyda led the women to a place as far from the others as they could manage. There she arranged some furs and skins until she was certain Thora was comfortable.

  "Is there something I might do?" Gillian asked.

  Freyda answered without looking her way. "Draw me a pail of water then try to get some sleep."

  Getting the water was an easy task, sleeping was not going to be. Gillian had just crawled into her bedding when Thora shrieked with pain.

  Andor bolted upright so fast, he took the bag and Gillian with him. In the same motion, he grabbed his sword. She caught his arm before he could move further.

  "‘Tis Thora’s time."

  He took a deep breath then exhaled slowly as he sheathed his weapon. Others around, also aroused from sleep, settled back down. Thora cried out again.

  "‘Twill be a long night." Andor snuggled against her and caressed her belly. "I hope the birth will not cause you great pain. That I would not like."

  "I vow to you that, no matter how bad the pain, I will not screech like a banshee."

  Andor chuckled. "‘Tis a vow I will not hold you to."

  The night was punctuated by Thora’s groans and cries as she tried to give birth, and Freyda’s soothing words of comfort and encouragement. No one slept, yet all remained abed. At Freyda’s direction, Rollo lit a torch for her then held it aloft while discreetly looking away. That seemed to be the cue for the others to mill about.

  While Andor stood at the rail with a few of his men, Gillian boiled water for hot tea. She thought it strange that Leif kept to himself, and that no one sought him out. Each time she caught Andor’s gaze, he would glance away. At daybreak the baby arrived, but no cry cut the air.
/>   "You have a son," Freyda said. "I am sorry...He did not live."

  Thora turned her head away. Freyda cut the cord, swaddled the infant, and stood.

  "Wait!" Seconds later Thora pushed a second child from her. It too was stillborn.

  A tear slipped down Freyda’s cheek. "I am so sorry, Thora. It was no wonder you were so large. But the birth was too early for them to survive."

  Thora bit her knuckle in a vain effort to hold in her grief.

  Gillian felt Andor beside her. "What happens now?"

  "They will be buried at sea with a proper ceremony."

  Gillian glanced around. The somber atmosphere had deepened with the twins’ stillbirths.

  Once the second infant was bundled, Freyda took a child in each arm and walked back to Leif.

  "What goes on?" Gillian quietly asked.

  "He still must approve of his sons and name them," Andor whispered.

  Leif met Freyda halfway. Anger etched his features.

  "Your wife has birthed two sons." She parted the buntings for him to see. "They did not survive."

  Leif glanced at the boys then opened his arms. Freyda placed the children in his care. He eyed one infant then the other before leveling a glare at his wife.

  "No," Thora cried. "By the gods, no!"

  Without removing his gaze from her, Leif hurled the bodies into the ocean.

  Thora screamed and struggled to her feet. Andor ran to hold her in place. She collapsed against him as grief absorbed her.

  "How could you rob them of proper burial!" Freyda cracked her palm against Leif’s cheek.

  Rollo’s looming presence behind her kept Leif from retaliating. Rollo took a gentle hold of her arm and pulled her back.

  Leif whirled around to their people. "‘Twas a witch’s trick to confound me to accept children who were not mine. The bastards of my adulterous wife!"