The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  "Seamus!" The young Irishman whipped his head around. "Leave the oar and man this tiller."

  Seamus leaped to replace him, and Andor grabbed the sail’s guiding ropes. It normally took three to five men to handle the cloth - Andor had only himself. He braced his feet against the mast, wrapped the ropes around his arms, and tried to maneuver the sail to catch the wind. A gust filled the sail and for a moment Andor was pulled upward. He could feel the rope cutting through his sleeves yet held on. With feet wedged to the mast, he pulled back until he was lying on the deck. Unable now to see the whales’ position, he relied on his instinct and the gods to carry them away from harm. He fought the pain in his arms and the ache of his muscles, concentrating only on keeping the sail billowed and on course. It was only when he saw Rollo and Leif standing above him that he realized they were safe.

  "They have left some time ago, and we have traveled a good distance since then," Leif said. "We should be safe."

  With Rollo’s help, Andor pried his fingers open, then rubbed the feeling back into his arms. "Keep the men on the sail and set a watch. We are close to land now. We may spot more."

  Both men nodded in return. Andor turned to check the women and found Gillian standing behind him with a cup of water.

  "I thought you might need this."

  He gulped it down then held it out for a refill. "Is Gwynneth well?"

  Gillian poured from the jug and noticed his hand shook. She tried to catch his eyes with hers, but he avoided her gaze. "She stirred not once and sleeps still. We are all well."

  "I would see for myself." He took a step and felt his knees give. To hide it, he fell against Gillian, making it seem to the others that he was holding her, not struggling to stay upright.

  Gillian felt his muscles trembling from the strain he had put them under. She thought it best for him to sit for awhile, but before she could suggest it she felt his breath against her ear. Unbidden, a shiver ran through her.

  "My legs cannot hold me," he whispered. "Do not let me fall before my men. Help me to our tent. Walk with me." To add to the illusion, Andor dropped a kiss beneath her earlobe.

  "In front of all, husband?" she scolded. "I will thank you to take me to the privacy of our tent first if ‘tis loving you want."

  Andor blessed her for her understanding. "To the tent it is, but I will not let you from my arms ‘til then."

  "I have married a rogue." She wrapped a steady arm around his waist.

  Even though she bore his weight with no problem, Andor tried not to lean too heavily upon her. He kept a smile, congratulating his men on their hard work, all the while concentrating on reaching the tent without stumbling. Once that goal was finally obtained, he turned his back to it.

  "Ale for everyone! Freyda, fetch a portion for Gillian and me. Rollo, ‘tis near midday - check our course again." Then he ducked inside the tent and slid to the pile of skins.

  Gillian knelt beside him. "You are hurt."

  Andor shook his head. "Just exhausted from battling that sail."

  "‘Tis no wonder. ‘Tis a job for five men, not one. You stayed there a might long, too. I was not ready to nurse the babe when we began - now I am full and ready for her to wake."

  Andor raised his arm and winced as his sleeve chafed the skin.

  "You are hurt." She tugged at his kirtle.

  Used to determined women, Andor saw no sense in arguing with her, especially in his debilitated condition. He merely sat up and let her strip the garment over his head.

  Gillian gasped at the rope burns and bruises along his arms.

  "‘Tis not too bad," he said. "‘Tis my shaking that bothers me. My muscles are all aquiver."

  "Are you hurt elsewhere?"

  She didn’t wait for him to answer, but started her own examination. She dusted her fingers over his lightly bronzed chest, searching for any sign of a fresh wound among the thin carpet of blond. There was a scar here and there, and at these she paused overly long, wondering at its cause and what pain he might have suffered as a result. Then she moved to his back.

  Andor let her study him, pleased by her attention and relaxed by her feathery touch. "Aye, that is what I need." With a sigh, he stretched out on his stomach. "Tame those shaking muscles with that wonderful touch of yours."

  "Shall I fetch the ale from Freyda first?"

  "Yes, but do not let her or Erik in the tent. Do not tell them I am weak."

  A shaft of light cut across them as Freyda opened the flap. Gillian spun around to block any view of Andor with her body. "He is unclothed."

  Freyda flushed, handed the two cups of ale to her, and ducked back out.

  Gillian knelt beside Andor. "Here drink these. Gwynneth has begun to stir. I must care for her."

  Andor propped himself against the furs and downed the first cup of ale. The second he took his time with. While the liquid seeped into his muscles to soothe him, he watched Gillian care for the baby. When she put her to her breast, he envied the child’s closeness to her.

  "She looks content."

  Gillian smiled down at the infant. "She is."

  "What a wonderful feeling that must be." He took a sip and sighed. "I was frightened today. More frightened than I was by the storm which took our people. I thought we would all be killed. In my mind I kept thinking how everyone trusted me enough to follow me and that because of that trust we would all die."

  "But we did not."

  "Thanks to the gods."

  "‘Twas your doing, not the gods."

  Andor leaned back and rested his arm over his eyes. "Gillian, please, we have had enough problems. Do not blasphemy the gods."

  "It is not blasphemy," she replied. "You did the work. You guided the sail. Maybe by the grace of God were you allowed to do it, but ‘twas you whose strength led us from danger."

  "And my foolishness which put us in danger in the first place. I should have listened to Mother and settled at home."

  "You are a brave man, Andor. Strong. Handsome. Considerate. Caring...And very good at feeling sorry for yourself. ‘Tis something I would not have expected from someone like you. Are you always thus? If so, tell me now so I might prepare for the next bout."

  Andor chuckled. "‘Tis been a long time since a woman spoke thus to me."

  "You should know I speak my mind," Gillian told him.

  "So I have heard...and discovered." He smiled, but his tone had turned serious.

  Gillian looked away. "I did not know your people had no knowledge of letters. I am sorry for calling you a fool."

  "‘Tis my fault as well," he said. "I should have told you instead of taking offense. As I said, I am not used to a wife who voices her opinions and ideas so...strongly."

  "And are you sorry you have one?" she quietly asked.

  Andor didn’t hesitate. "No. ‘Twill make life interesting, I think. If you wish to stay married to me, that is."

  Gillian’s gaze searched his. "What else might I do?"

  "The land, money, and other gifts are yours. You may use them as you wish if you wish to end the marriage. I would even give you free use of any slaves you desire."

  "You mean...divorce?"

  Andor nodded. "If that is what you wish. Do you?"

  "No," her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "You should know I want more from a wife than a helpmate and a keeper for my house. I want more than one child." It was the most delicate way he could find of telling her he desired her.

  There was a long silence while he waited for her to answer, and Andor was afraid he might have gone too far. He held his breath while he waited. In that time, Gillian finished nursing the baby and placed her back on her pallet. Then she knelt before him.

  "A man is expected to have heirs. As much as you have given to me and Gwynneth, I owe you that much in return. I ask simply that you give me time to recover from the birth of one child before planting another in me...And to be gentle with me."

  Gillian made it sound as if she were offering herself u
p as sacrifice. It was not quite the answer Andor had been hoping for. Her lack of interest stung him.

  "If you will lay down, I will rub your back now," she said.

  Andor snatched up his kirtle. "The ale has calmed me. I have things to do now." He yanked the garment over his head and strode from the tent.

  Gillian stared after him, wondering what she could have possibly done wrong this time.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Iceland, Early Spring, 890 a.d.

  "Land ahead! I see land!" a voice called out across the ship.

  Gillian heard the scurry of feet as people scrambled from their bedding to see. She resented the intrusion into her sleep. The night had been a long one, spent in a tent that seemed as large as a cavern without Andor’s presence. Even Gwynneth appeared to notice his absence, for she was particularly fretful throughout the night.

  Gillian spent her time trying to soothe the baby and wondering why Andor had chosen to stay away. At first she tried to convince herself it was work which kept him from joining her, but the ruse was useless. He had stayed away because he was still bothered by whatever it was she had said earlier. If she could have figured out what she had done wrong, she would have apologized. Anything to have the comfort of his company once more.

  Where his slow, rhythmic breathing had lulled her to sleep, the silence now kept her awake. Where the warmth of his body made her feel secure, vulnerability assaulted her even under a pile of skins and furs. She missed watching him with Gwynneth. All these things she recalled until weariness had pulled her into sleep in the predawn hours.

  She longed to tuck herself under the skins and block out the flurry of activity around her, but Gwynneth’s morning cry wouldn’t allow it. Before she could move, the tent flap opened.

  Gillian squinted against the bright sunlight, trying to see who was there. Her heartbeat paused in the hope it was Andor. A second later, when she realized it was only Thora, it resumed again.

  "Who are you? Why have you hidden my babies from me?" She darted for Gwynneth.

  Gillian blocked her way. "This child is mine, not yours."

  Thora’s expression fell. "Where are my babies? I keep hearing them call to me, but I cannot find them. Have you seen them?"

  Gillian stared at her in dumbfounded shock, not knowing what to say. If Thora couldn’t remember her children were dead, what right did Gillian have to remind her of that tragic event? Yet wasn’t having her madly search for her babies just as cruel?

  She saw Thora eyeing Gwynneth and scooped the baby into her arms. Gwynneth rooted for a meal, and Gillian gave her what she sought.

  Thora blinked and stared into Gillian’s face. "Who are you? I do not recall seeing you in our village before."

  "I am Gillian, wife to Andor."

  Thora narrowed her eyes. "Astrid is wife to Andor."

  "Astrid is dead...Olaf as well. Now I am wife to Andor."

  There was a moment of clarity in Thora’s face, then she slowly turned and walked out.

  The air inside the tent was stifling. Gillian gathered her skirts in one hand and hurried outside, Gwynneth still clutched to her bosom. She was afraid to release her for fear Thora would snatch her up and claim the child as her own. Even now Thora sat only a short distance away watching Gillian. She seemed relatively harmless at this point. The breeze ruffling her white kerchief made her appear angelic. Gillian wondered if she shouldn’t mention the incident to someone, then worried about what Leif might do to Thora if he learned her sanity had momentarily slipped.

  "Gillian, over here!" Freyda beckoned her to the rail with a wave of her arm.

  After a sidelong glance Thora’s way, Gillian hurried forward. Freyda cleared a space between herself and Andor

  - obviously unaware of the friction between the couple.

  Gillian expected Andor to tense up by her presence or move away. He did neither, but he also did not acknowledge her. She heaved a sigh and looked across the horizon.

  Gray-green peaks jutted toward the sky, hiding their snow-capped tops among the clouds. Her new home. They were still some distance away, but she felt herself drawn to the hope of a new life this sighting gave her.

  Without turning she spoke to Andor. "We are so close you can almost touch it. Do you still wish you had never come?"

  "‘Tis a difficult question to answer," he replied. "We have lost many good people. I cannot be happy about that, even if I am excited about settling in a new land. ‘Tis a strange guilt which lays upon my shoulders. We left Northland with such high goals. Now there are only a third of us left."

  "Yet, if you stayed, you might have starved."

  "True."

  "When will we land?" she asked.

  "Morning."

  "Then we have much to do. I promise you I am fit and strong to work. You need not worry about me lazing around." She had meant to reassure him, but her words held a sarcastic note.

  Andor twinged with guilt from the heated words he had flung the day before. He opened his mouth to form an apology but the words wouldn’t come.

  "I will get your porridge shortly." Then she walked away, leaving Andor to stare dumbly after her.

  "At odds again?" Freyda asked.

  Andor watched Gillian sit with her back to him. "So it seems. Last night I offered her freedom when we reached Iceland. She did not want it. Yet when I told her I expect a wife in all ways, she behaved as if she were a sacrifice to the gods."

  Freyda tsked. "I cannot believe you would behave with such insensitivity."

  Eyebrows furrowed, Andor whipped his head around. "Insensitivity?"

  "Yes...She may be your wife but you are still a stranger to her. How can you speak of marital responsibilities?"

  "I wanted her to know exactly what I expect," he said, angry that Freyda was not with him in this matter.

  "She has been a wife before. She knows what it entails. Where is your patience? Why not woo her as you did with Astrid? Are you so blind to your own needs that you would plod ahead with no consideration for hers?"

  Andor jerked a finger toward Gillian. "You behave more like her kin than mine."

  Freyda lifted a brow. "But she is my kin. Your marriage has made her so. Can I not be as concerned for her welfare as I am for yours?" With a sweet smile, she patted his bearded cheek then joined Gillian.

  "How is young Gwynneth this morning? Enjoying a bit of sun?"

  Unshed tears glistened in Gillian’s eyes as she looked up. She blinked them clear when Freyda sat beside her.

  "‘Tis a difficult thing to please a man whose moods change like night and day. At least with Evan he was a constant - always drunk. I give Andor what he asks for and it only angers him. How can you deal with such a man? I fear he will always mourn for what he lost. I am not one for acting the replacement. Yet I believe that is what he is looking for."

  Freyda smoothed a wayward lock of Gillian’s hair. "Ah, men, who can figure them out? It can drive a woman mad trying."

  "True enough. Last eve he tells me he wants a wife who will bear him heirs. After all he has done for me, I would be willing and I told him so. Do you think he was pleased? No. He runs out like I had the pox."

  Freyda hid a smile. "Perhaps it was the way you told him."

  "What other way might there have been?" Gillian demanded to know. "He asked for heirs and I agreed."

  "I think, in his own unique way, Andor was trying to tell you he wished to lay with you. A union which occasionally brings heirs."

  "Oh." Gillian flushed. "Oh!"

  "I believe he was hoping for a warmer response from you."

  Gillian stared down at Gwynneth, who fought sleep while she nursed. "He is my husband. ‘Tis his right."

  "That much is true, but he still sought to know if you were willing."

  Her eyes widened. "Why should it matter? ‘Tis a wife’s duty."

  "It matters to Andor. Wife or not, he would force no woman to his bed...There are too many others willing," she added with a
sly smile.

  "Then if it is a romp he is after, he can just as well go elsewhere. I have better things to do than spread myself beneath a man just for the sake of passing time."

  "My brother would never dishonor you by consorting with another woman." Freyda stood and shook out her shift. "‘Tis time to put the kettle on."

  Gillian sighed and as she did so felt Gwynneth’s hold on her nipple break. With Thora occupied with cooking on the other end of the ship, she felt it safe enough to put the sleeping infant back in the tent. Still, as a precautionary measure, she tied the flaps closed then kept a careful watch out while she helped Freyda prepare their morning meal.

  Freyda was distant. Gillian accepted this rather than allow it to wound her. After all, she had verbally attacked her brother. Judging from their closeness, Gillian deemed it only natural that Freyda would take offense to Gillian rejecting Andor in this manner. She held her tongue. It would do them good to spend some time thinking about what she had said. She was certain Freyda would tell Andor. Once they had accustomed themselves to the idea, Gillian believed they would have no problem co-existing peacefully. When it came time for Andor to beget an heir, Gillian would accommodate him as she had agreed.

  But when Andor sat with them to eat, Gillian found herself studying him in a different light. The giggle of a flirtatious girl, and the secret sounds of lovers were not an alien thing to her. As she matured to womanhood and beyond, Gillian had looked forward to exploring the mysteries of a physical relationship.

  Life with Evan had ruined those dreams, and until now she had let them stay buried. Yet the memory of Andor’s lips on hers, his fingers gently caressing, made her wonder anew if she had somehow been cheated out of something.

  She let her gaze drift casually down Andor’s body wondering, not for the first time, how a man would look unclothed. Again, Evan had cheated her out of this, for he bedded her always in the dark, clothed in his nightwear and she in hers.