The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  In the privacy of Andor’s tent, Gillian slipped on her new clothing. It felt good to finally be strong enough to get around. Gwynneth’s birth had been harder on her than she expected. After a week of convalescence, she was glad to be self-sufficient once more.

  She smoothed the cream-colored tunic over her blue shift. It was soft against her skin - just as she knew it would be. She touched the brooches at her collarbones then let her fingers drift down the chains that dangled from each - an idea whose practicality Gillian more than appreciated.

  All the little things she needed for work hung from those chains. Everything was a grasp away - no matter where she might be. It had already come to good use. While she recovered, Gillian made a bunting for Gwynneth and a fur cloak with hood for herself. There was still enough of the white fur remaining to cover any bed she shared with Andor.

  Gillian smiled at that thought. Andor sought her company many times throughout the day. He was careful not to disturb her rest, yet on occasion Gillian would open her eyes to find him staring with wonder at Gwynneth. She enjoyed watching him in those unguarded moments as much as she enjoyed talking with him. But it was the darkness she treasured.

  After a tender caress to the sleeping baby, Andor would crawl in beside Gillian, curling his body around hers. Sleep would follow. No demands. No drunken surliness. No raucous snores or other bodily noises. Just peace, warmth, and contentment. It was a joy Gillian could not begin to describe. And at that moment she wondered how she could have feared him.

  She wrapped her light woolen cloak around her shoulders and secured it in front with an oval brooch. A quick peek at Gwynneth assured her the baby slept well. It was difficult to leave her lie when all she wanted to do was cuddle that tiny life to her. But toting a baby around on a ship was foolish. One good roll could send Gillian tumbling to the deck. Better to leave the child uncuddled than to have her hurt or, worse yet, killed. The rolls of skins surrounding Gwynneth kept her securely in place. Still, Gillian couldn’t resist kissing her downy redhead before opening the tent flap and stepping into the bright spring day.

  Freyda greeted her with a smile. "‘Tis nice to see you around. I was about to bring you some porridge. Come sit and eat. Are you certain you feel well enough?"

  Gillian gave a light laugh. It was good to be fussed over for a change. "I am well."

  Freyda studied her as she sat down to eat. There was certainly more color in Gillian’s face than there had been a week ago. Freyda wasn’t sure then if Gillian was going to make it. She had lost a great deal of blood. She plied her with herb teas to control the bleeding and broths to build her strength. Andor helped when he wasn’t fretting over Gillian’s welfare. He even ensured her porridge had the extra honey she loved so well.

  Andor’s concern had the ability to warm yet sadden Freyda’s heart at the same time, for while she was pleased that he cared so for his new wife and child, she also realized how very much she missed Olaf.

  "Your husband has not eaten," Freyda told her. "Perhaps you can convince him to take the time now."

  Gillian scanned the deck for Andor. She spotted him at the rail near the tiller, looking out to sea with Leif, Rollo, and several of the other men.

  "What are they looking at?"

  Freyda shrugged. "He was there at sunrise to take a reading on where we are. I have never known it to take this long."

  Gillian glanced at the sun. It was well passed sunrise. What could have Andor so engrossed that he would ignore food? One thing she had learned about him was that he was a hearty eater. She scraped up the last of her porridge then refilled the bowl for him.

  "If Gwynneth should wail, give me a shout," she told Freyda, then let curiosity take her to the stern.

  "Ho! There!" Rollo pointed toward the horizon.

  Gillian stretched up on tiptoe, but could see nothing. Whatever it was delighted the men, for there was a great deal of laughter and self-congratulations. Andor turned to say something to Rollo and spied her. With a broad smile he pushed through the men and hurried toward her.

  She held the porridge before her. "I brought you something to eat."

  Still smiling, Andor took the bowl in one hand and draped his free arm around her shoulder. "Come. See." He led her back to the men. They parted to let her stand by the rail. With the bowl, Andor pointed to a far stretch of water. "Watch."

  Gillian kept her gaze peeled to the ocean while Andor ate. Within a few minutes she saw a plume of water shoot into the air. Two more followed in quick succession.

  "What is it?"

  "A pod of whales," Andor replied.

  "Whales?"

  "A fish - most as big as this vessel."

  Gillian’s eyes widened as she tried to imagine such a thing. "Bless the heavens above."

  "They are something to behold up close."

  She turned a startled face his way. "You have been close?"

  "Aye. Hunted a few. The meat is good. The hide is tough. The blubber makes good oil."

  "How can you hunt a creature so gigantic?"

  "‘Tis difficult. It takes great care and skill."

  Gillian looked back as another plume shot to the sky. "Will they harm us?"

  He shook his head. "We shall be safe. Danger only comes when we hunt them. They are our first sign that Iceland is not far. Soon we shall see the guillemots, puffins, and other birds. Then...the mountains themselves." His tone was filled with reverence.

  Gillian felt an excited pattering in her heart. She craned her neck, hoping for a glimpse of land. Her efforts earned her a chuckle from Andor.

  "Look again in the morn," Rollo said.

  "I shall, but how can you be sure of where we are?"

  "The sun, the stars, and a bearing wheel," Andor said. "Show her, Rollo."

  Leif snorted. "Why waste the time?"

  "We have little else to do," Rollo replied.

  "But a woman?"

  Andor lifted a brow. "I seem to recall your mother uses a bearing wheel with the greatest of accuracy. Is she not a woman?"

  Leif stomped away. The other men ignored his departure. Gillian wished she could. Each confrontation with the man set her nerves on edge.

  "This is our bearing wheel," Rollo said. "If used properly, it guides our direction."

  He held up a short wooden dowel with a flat disk centered over the end. Notches were carved along the circumference of the disk and a pointer was attached to the center extending outward. Also in the middle of this circular piece of wood was a slender continuation of the dowel. Half of the disk was shaded darker than the other.

  Gillian puzzled over how this device could help them find their way. It looked more like a child’s toy. "How does it work?"

  Rollo held it before him like a torch. "In the morning, as the sun is creeping over the horizon, you point the wheel to the north. The sun casts a shadow over the stick in the middle. Where the shadow falls is where we are. Where the pointer is, is where we wish to be. We follow that course until we reach Iceland."

  "But how do you know that pointer is for Iceland?" she asked.

  "From those who went before," Rollo replied.

  "But what if someone moved it?"

  Andor reached between them and flicked the pointer aside. "‘Tis marked."

  Gillian looked closer and saw the small scratches in the wood.

  "I marked it myself when I was there a year past," Andor said.

  "Do you have a wheel for each place you go to?"

  "No. I made this one special. My old wheel is in with my tools," Andor said. "Come, I will show you."

  She followed him and Rollo back to the prow. With great flourish and pride, Andor whipped the wheel out of his tool chest and presented it to her. The surface of the disk was covered with marks and scratches at almost every position.

  "How do you know what land the mark stands for?" she asked, and Andor explained each one.

  A few names were familiar to her. Most,
the ones with exotic-sounding names, were not. Some had no names at all.

  "But how do you know?" she asked again when he was through.

  "I made the marks. I know what they mean."

  "You could forget. There are many here."

  "I would not forget."

  "But you might." She pointed at a set of the marks. "Here you have two marks side by side. Each is the same. Could you not mistake the two?"

  Andor tried to keep his tone light, but her inability to grasp this simple concept was beginning to irritate him. "I cannot mistake them because one is higher on the wheel than the other. ‘Tis Greenland. The lower is Iceland."

  "And you will always know this?"

  "Aye."

  "But what if someone else wanted to use it? How would they know?"

  "I would tell them."

  "What if you could not? What if you were hurt or sick or dead?"

  Andor flung the wheel into the chest. "This is a stupid conversation. I should never have expected a Gaedhil woman to understand something as complex as a bearing wheel."

  Gillian jammed her fists onto her hips. "I will tell you what is stupid...marking your wheel with little lines and scratches when any fool knows ‘twould make more sense to just write the blithering name there."

  "Off with you, woman. Freyda needs a hand. See to the babe and your chores. You have rested long enough." He shoved his empty bowl into her hands and stomped back to the stern.

  Gillian weighed the bowl in her hand while she considered the tempting target his back made.

  "‘Tis hard to resist, I know," Freyda said. "But save it for when you are in your own home. If you do it in front of Andor’s men, he will have no choice but to punish you for it. If he did not, he would lose his standing and their respect. Do not put him in that position."

  "He would not dare!"

  "He would not like it, but he would do it. If you do not believe me, throw the bowl."

  Gillian shot a glance at Andor. He was too far away now to reach, otherwise she might have tested Freyda’s theory.

  "‘Twould serve no purpose," she said with a shrug. "He has already made a fool of himself before his people."

  "‘Twas not him who was made the fool - ‘twas you," Freyda said.

  Fire blazed in Gillian’s eyes. Before she could spew out a denial, Freyda explained.

  "None of us can write letters. Only a runemaster may do that. And few of us can read what the runemaster marks."

  Gillian’s anger dissipated with Freyda’s words. "What is a runemaster?"

  Freyda pointed to a brass plate on her storage chest. Gillian noted the lines and curves carved upon it.

  "What does it say?"

  "It reads, ‘Freyda owns this chest.’ Father had the runemaster mark it when I was but a child. He passed on only last year; the runemaster, not Father. Now his son is runemaster. All in my family can read the runes, but we cannot write them. ‘Twould do Andor little good to mark the wheel. Not all men read the runes. ‘Tis Andor’s wheel - his way is best."

  "But what of your books, letters from kin far away, edicts from your king?" Gillian asked.

  Freyda’s smile was painfully indulgent, as if she were dealing with a child. "News from kin and king comes by messenger. Books? Father has told me of such things in foreign lands yet I have never seen one."

  Gillian hid her astonishment as best she could. Her parents had often told her their tiny village was blessed to have an abbot who was willing to pass his knowledge on. There was not a person there who could not read and write - some more so than others. Gillian knew there were those less fortunate than she. In some communities only the high-born learned such things, but never had she imagined an entire race of people could be illiterate. She had indeed made an unfortunate social error by pressing the matter with Andor, yet he could have stopped the discussion at any moment by telling her the true nature of things.

  Gillian set her jaw at a stubborn angle. "If I am to be the fool, I fault no one but Andor for it. He should have told me this was so."

  Freyda rolled her eyes to the sky and tossed up her hands. "By the gods...Stubborn is as stubborn does. You and Andor deserve each other."

  "Mother! Mother! Come quick and see the whales!" Erik jumped up and down beside Rollo at the rail.

  Freyda smiled and waved. "I am coming. Is that what held their attention this morning?" she asked Gillian.

  "Yes. Andor said it means we are close to land."

  Freyda nodded. "It has been many years since I have seen a whale. Come with me while I look."

  The last thing Gillian wanted at that moment was to be near Andor. Yet to refuse Freyda’s invitation would be rude and might cause her to lose what seemed to be her one ally. Reluctantly she followed the other woman.

  The whales had moved closer. Gillian held her breath as one dove. A tail the size of their sail waved above the water. Before she could recover her awe, another leaped from the ocean and returned with a resounding splash. The moment would be forever etched in her memories. The gray-black body, the sun glistening off its water slick surface. The wonder and fear the creature inspired. The sense of exultation in the glory of living that leap from the ocean represented.

  She tore her gaze away to see what Andor’s reaction to this scene might be. His eyes were upon her, his look intense. From the scowl on his face she guessed he was still angry. Let him be. Stubborn fool. She tightened her jaw and looked away.

  Hard-headed and stubborn, that is what she is. Andor had learned that shortly after they wed. That knowledge hadn’t bothered him until now. She had called him a fool in front of everyone - argued with him about methods she had no knowledge of. He was not used to such behavior and definitely did not like it. The haughty manner in which she turned her head away from him, stretched his anger to a slender thread.

  It was her air of superiority then that bothered him most, as if she suddenly considered him beneath her. The urge to shake her into submission was overwhelming. It was the first time in his life Andor had ever felt the need to discipline a woman. He wished he could say the thought shocked him, instead he was aroused. Not by any submission on her part, but because he knew she would spark with fire against him. His eyes grazed her profile, slender now when a week before she had bulged with child. And he wanted her. Wanted to hear the heat of her words as she rallied against him in anger. Wanted to feel her nude body strain against his in the heat of passion. He pictured her writhing beneath him, his fingers tangled in her coppery mane, her head tossed back in ecstasy, her ivory neck exposed to his lips.

  Andor felt himself surge and reigned his rambling thoughts to a halt. It was too soon - in many ways.

  The ship rocked in the wake left by the whale. Andor released a slow, shaky breath and turned his gaze back to the pod. His forehead wrinkled with concern. The whale was moving closer.

  Freyda eased up beside him. "‘Must you scowl so? The discussion was as much your fault as hers. You could have ended it at any time by telling her the truth. You also had no call to accuse her of being a layabout. She could have easily died this past week. You know that."

  Her words barely punctured his concentration. "Get Erik and Gillian and go into my tent. Cushion the infant as best you can."

  "But, Andor - "

  "Do not argue. I will tell you when ‘tis safe." He spun away. "Man the oars! Douse the cook fires! They are making for us!"

  Gillian was halfway to the tent before Freyda moved. Even before Andor had spoken she had seen the danger the whales’ nearness presented. She whipped open the flap and curled her body around Gwynneth. Seconds later Freyda and Erik ran in, snapping the flap back in place. The baby didn’t stir. As they settled down beside her, Gillian heard Andor’s final warning.

  "Everyone hold tight! ‘Twill be a rough ride!"

  "Mother, maybe the whale is really Jormungand in disguise," Erik said.

  He was trying hard to be a man, but his true age was winning. His eyes were wide and tearful. />
  Freyda hugged him close. "No, ‘tis only a whale."

  "But Jormungand took my father and Astrid and all the others. Maybe he is coming to take us also."

  "Hush now. All will be well."

  But Gillian could tell by the look in Freyda’s eyes that she did not believe her own words.

  "Who is Jormungand?"

  "A hideous sea monster," Freyda told her.

  "He is so big his body circles the land and he can take his own tail in his mouth," Erik said. "Sailors fear him. His venom is the deadliest of venom. He and Thor fought when Thor fished him from the ocean. Thor hit him on the head and Jormungand slithered back into the sea."

  Freyda hugged him to her. "But we are safe, for Njord protects us." She gave Gillian a half-hearted smile. "Njord is one of the sea gods."

  "So is Aegir, but sometimes he can be bad," Erik piped in.

  Gillian shook her head. More gods and legends. How many did the Gaill have? "The whale cannot be this Jormungand. It cannot take its tail within its mouth. Surely a creature so large could not disguise itself as a creature smaller."

  "Gillian is right. Jormungand is not a shape changer."

  The boy seemed to consider this. He opened his mouth to say something more when the ship pitched upward. He squealed and grabbed his mother while Gillian cushioned Gwynneth. The bow crash back onto the water so hard it vibrated the planks beneath them.

  Andor’s voice was distant, he was at the tiller, yet they still could hear him shout, "Put your backs to it, men!"

  Gillian held her breath and closed her eyes.

  If there had not been so many women and children onboard, Andor would have enjoyed the game the beasts seemed to be playing. He may have even hunted one of the creatures. But too many lives had already been lost for him to indulge in acts of whimsy. The very thought of losing what remained of his family frightened him beyond words. He griped the tiller until his fingers turned white from the effort, making himself one with the ship as he tried to outrun the beasts beside him.

  They swam in parallel formation less than a quarter mile from the ship. Their cavorting created waves that tossed them around like a bowl in the surf. Andor held his breath each time a whale breached the surface. He feared its descent would land it within closer range. Those massive tails could smash their ship into splinters. Every able-bodied man was at the oars, yet they were still not at their full rowing strength. Half the rowing spaces were vacant.