The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  The night before when he crawled into the tent beside her, he lay mere inches from her - so close she could feel his body’s heat. She tensed, waiting for him to make a move of some kind. While she waited, memories of his touch carried her thoughts away.

  With a sharp intake of breath she shivered as she had the night before. Andor’s reaction then had been a sarcastic, "Cold? I would keep you warm by wrapping my arms around you, but that would mean touching you, and I know how you detest such a sinful activity."

  Gillian had snapped the fur over her head to shut him out. Then there was the incident that morning. When she handed him his bowl of porridge, he tucked his hands behind his back and refused to accept it until she set it down.

  "I would not wish to accidentally touch you," he said with a smirk.

  It was all she could do to keep from hurling it at him. She hated being mocked and teased.

  "Ooo!" She slapped his shirt into the basket beside her and picked up another.

  "If you keep beating the clothes that way, you will be spending the next week mending them and making new," Freyda told her.

  Gillian eased up on her assault.

  "I take it you and Andor once more had words." When Gillian didn’t reply, she sighed and went on. "There is so much work to do, it seems your energies would be better spent seeing to that work than to war with each other. What was it about this time?"

  Gillian hesitated. After a quick look around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, she opened her mouth to speak. The words wouldn’t come. It was simply too embarrassing to mention. Even the sentences she formed in her mind sounded ridiculous.

  "‘Twas nothing," she said. "Just another misunderstanding. You are right. There is too much work to keep stewing about it."

  "Mother says it is quite common for newly married couples to have their differences at first. It will pass with time. I remember how it was with Olaf."

  She glanced down at Gwynneth who slept in another basket beside the clothes. A sadness settled upon her. "I sometimes think I think too much of Olaf. ‘Tis hard not to when I see him in Erik. It only makes me miss him more. His laugh. His strength. His touch. His loving...Then yesterday as I watch Gwynneth, I realized - never again would I bear his children. It left an ache in me so great I cannot describe it."

  She began to cry, softly at first, then a heart-rending sob tore from her. Gillian rushed to enfold her in her arms. She rocked her as she would a child, letting her cry unrestrained, then held on until Freyda was ready to push away. When she finally did, she kissed Gillian’s cheek then sat back on her heels to flick away the last remnants of her tears. Gwynneth belted out a cry, and Freyda forced a laugh.

  "I suppose it is your day to deal with bawling females."

  "It is not a thing that bothers me," Gillian said. "We all need that attention at times."

  "The men found some eider duck nests in the fields when they were collecting grass this morning. The feathers in them will be nice for bedding. We lost all our barrels of feathers in the storm. I should collect them."

  "I will join you soon as I set the laundry to dry." Not wishing to cause Freyda any more pain, Gillian waited until she walked away before caring for Gwynneth.

  It was a hurt only a woman could know, and as she soothed her infant daughter, Gillian realized she was condemning herself to a similar fate. She blinked back tears lest she become as overwhelmed by the reality as Freyda was. It was Olaf’s death that had put Freyda in her situation. Gillian’s would be of her own doing.

  "Blithering fool," she scolded herself, and set Gwynneth to nurse.

  How bad would it be to lay with Andor? No worse than Evan. So far he’d done nothing to hurt her - his touch was always gentle. She had not really found it unpleasant. It had just shocked her. No man had ever touched her in such a way. Perhaps it was yet another difference of their cultures. She could accept that and even put up with it if that’s what it would take to bear more children.

  But after her stand the day before, how could she get him back to her bed without damage to her pride? Knowing Andor as she did, Gillian could expect a fair amount of teasing from him if she went to him. There had to be another way. A way to make him come to her first.

  "Why was Freyda crying?"

  Gillian jumped in surprise. She had been so deep in thought she had not heard Andor’s approach behind her.

  "She was grieving for Olaf."

  "Ah." He squatted beside her. "She will probably grieve a long time. There was great love between them."

  "And was there great love between you and Astrid?"

  "Was there with you and Evan?" he asked in return.

  "No," she quickly replied. "There was only tolerance. You could not even call us friends."

  Her honesty surprised him. He had expected her to defend the man as she had once before - especially after yesterday.

  "Well, at least I can say that was not the case with Astrid. We were friends...lovers. I cared for her and she for me. We enjoyed being together. But the love did not burn in us as it did for Olaf and Freyda."

  "How very sad for her," Gillian said. "‘Twould be how my father felt when my mother passed on."

  Andor nodded. "I suppose setting up the bed they shared inside her tent is what brought the grief on so fresh."

  "No. ‘Twas Gwynneth."

  Andor looked at the baby. Wide, inquisitive eyes stared back at him. They were still dark, but Andor could see a hint of midnight blue in them. He smiled and caressed her downy cheek with his finger.

  "She longs for more children," she told him. "As any woman would."

  "Including you?"

  Gillian smiled. "I fancy a son with a look of you."

  Andor chuckled. "That would be very grand indeed."

  "Perhaps when I recover from Gwynneth’s birth, we might try." Gillian prayed he would not taunt her.

  Andor’s eyes rolled slowly up to hers. Had he heard her clearly? Judging by her pink cheeks he would say yes. She was yielding to him - not as he had hoped, but in her own way. It was sooner than he had anticipated. He had looked forward to gloating a bit when this time came - now he found he could not do it. If it meant waiting until she was receptive for her to accept him, then he’d wait until that time to show her what it felt like to truly make love.

  "I would be agreeable to that," he said. "You will tell me when this time comes?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I shall look forward to that time in the hope it will give us the son we both wish for." He stretched to his feet to leave.

  "There is one more thing I might ask of you."

  "Which is?"

  "Can you set up our bed now as you did for Freyda?"

  Andor smiled. "Rollo and I will do so this eve."

  Gillian was strangely giddy as he walked away. It was a victory easily won. "‘Twas not so bad, little one," she said to Gwynneth. Then her conscience intruded. Now all you have to do is carry it through.

  Andor stood before his home, legs astride, hands on hips. It was everything he had envisioned. The end result of many weeks of hard work. The building was as long as his ship - a sturdy structure of turf on a stone foundation. Two chimneys poked out of the sloping roof. Inside, the walls and roof were supported by timbers and lined with thin slats of wood.

  The single entryway was a dead space designed to keep the icy weather out when one entered and exited. A shielded archway to the left led to the long lavatory - no need to brave the elements to relieve oneself. Ahead, through a hide of reindeer, was the main hearth. Here they could entertain many guests, the women could cook and weave, and the men attend to carving and rope-making in the winter months. Platforms on the sides were perfect for sitting or sleeping. It was large enough to give them space during the long, dark months of winter.

  If that were not enough privacy, three large bed closets had been built. Freyda’s was to the right, Rollo’s was across the hearth on the left, and Andor and Gillian’s lay ahead. Each had plenty of room for
a bed, the occupant’s possessions and more. At Gillian’s request, pegs were put in the walls for cloaks and clothes. It was such a clever idea Rollo and Andor had done so throughout the building.

  Even as he admired his handiwork, the women were inside setting up their cookware and work areas. Smoke puffed from the chimney - one of them had started cooking. He made a mental note to tell Seamus to have more wood cut for them. They’d have to also make sure there was a good supply for winter. They could concentrate more on that when the outbuildings were complete. Now that the main house was finished, the others were progressing nicely.

  Besides individual houses of the five freemen and their families, Andor planned a slave hut, housing for the animals, separate storage for food and supplies, and a bath house. Rollo’s workshop and forge would be near the main house. In a year or so, when the slaves had earned their freedom, they would also be given a plot of land for house and garden, if they desired.

  While the livestock grazed on lyme grass, Andor had set off several fields with a low rock wall. The lengthening days had given him necessary time to plow and plant barley, wheat, oats, and flax. A vegetable garden was close to the house. Seedlings were already piercing the dirt. Everything was going well. It was more than he could say for Leif.

  He could see his neighbor’s fields from where he stood. They had been plowed within days of landing, yet they still sported no growth. Leif’s house was still a skeleton of timbers. Maybe it was time to offer him a hand. Of course, it would have to be done in a way that did not suggest Leif was incompetent.

  That would not be easy - Leif’s feathers ruffled at the simplest of things. Andor wondered if Gillian and Freyda might have any ideas, but when he approached them a few minutes later, all they did was look at one another and shrug.

  "‘Tis not much help," he told them.

  "‘Tis a difficult problem," Gillian replied.

  "Thora does not even wash the laundry when we do," Freyda added. "She seems to avoid us. We have only seen her from afar."

  "But there has to be a way to help them. If they do not get things done soon, they will not survive the winter," Andor said.

  They dwelt on that while Gillian divided bread dough into loaves and rolls. "Seek his help in some manner, then he would have to accept yours in return."

  Andor jammed his fists to his hips. "What could I possibly need Leif’s help with?"

  "Well...I was thinking how nice it would be if that hot spring were a wee bit closer."

  "You want me to move the house?"

  Gillian laughed. "No, but is there not a way you could have the water come to us...Like a stream would."

  Andor scratched his beard. The idea did have its merits, but it would take a good deal of planning. He would have far better luck working with Rollo. Leif was not inventive.

  "It does not appeal to you?"

  "The idea, yes. Discussing it with Leif, no."

  "Discussing it is one thing. You do not have to use his ideas. Treat him as you would a small child who thinks he is grown. If you do not, you will not be able to give him the help he is too proud to ask for."

  "True...I will not be long."

  Andor walked rather than take his horse. It gave him extra time to think of the best way to approach Leif. He saw Thora first, working on her loom outside her tent, and walked toward her. She had to hear him - he was far from quiet - yet she didn’t turn his way.

  "Thora?"

  Her hands stopped in mid-air, then she dropped them and slowly turned his way. Andor gasped at the sight of her bruised and swollen face. No wonder she had avoided Freyda and Gillian. He would not shame her by asking her what happened - it was already painfully obvious.

  "I was looking for Leif."

  "You will find him on the other side of the house, cutting new supports." Without another word, she turned back to her work.

  Andor balled his fist at his side. If he saw Leif now, he’d be too tempted to batter him as Leif had Thora. He pivoted on his heel and strode back to his own homestead, covering the distance in half the time it had originally taken. He didn’t bother to tell Gillian and Freyda he had returned. Instead, he grabbed his ax and headed for the trees to work off his anger by chopping firewood.

  Gillian dusted the flour from her hands just outside the entrance of the house. By chance she looked up in time to see Andor marching away.

  "Is that not Andor?" Freyda asked from over Gillian’s shoulder.

  "Aye. The talk must have gone bad."

  Freyda sighed. "I suppose I should go after him."

  "No. ‘Tis a wife’s place. Watch Gwynneth. I will not be long."

  She hurried away before Freyda could stop her. It was the first real time Gillian had been able to catch Andor alone in two days. She wanted nothing to stand in her way. It was more than concern over his talk with Leif that urged her on. Her recovery was complete, and she had not been able to fulfill her promise to tell him. Before her courage failed, she plunged into the tree line.

  The steady whack of the ax drew her toward him. She paused when she caught sight of him. He was dressed in only his breeches. His kirtle was draped over a rock. Sweat polished his tanned torso to a glossy sheen. Gillian was mesmerized by the smooth motion of his back muscles as he seated the blade into the tree’s flesh. Each gouge echoed the thud in her heart, and for the first time she knew what desire was.

  She closed her eyes and brought forth the image of his nude body, recalling how solid he had looked. Smooth, sharp angles had defined him. There was no waste - he was perfectly designed.

  Gillian suddenly felt hot. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flashed open, and she took a step forward. A branch cracked beneath her foot. Andor spun around, reaching for the sword at his side as he did so.

  "Gillian...you startled me."

  "I meant not to. I saw you come this way and followed."

  He reach for his kirtle.

  "There is no need to dress."

  A flush warmed her cheeks when he looked at her. She felt awkward as she pondered her next move. Now that he was before her, how could she say the words?

  "I was spreading it out so you could sit. The grass is damp."

  He snapped it in place, and when she sat down, he went back to his work.

  Gillian smoothed her shift over her lap. "What did Leif say?"

  Andor seated the blade with a sharp thwack. "I did not speak to him. I could not."

  "Why?"

  He heaved a sigh and plopped down beside her. "I saw Thora first. He beat her again. Her face was swollen on one side and bruised. I was so angry that if I had seen him then, I might have killed him."

  "Poor Thora. He is crazed."

  "They loved each other so when they wed. He has let his jealousy ruin that. I remember her bright laugh - she would laugh a lot. Not a flirtatious laugh like some girls, but a happy one. She was active, too. She and Freyda had quite a few adventures."

  He chuckled. "Once they let out all the sheep at shearing time. It took hours to round them up. Our fathers were furious, but by the time they caught the girls, they found them asleep on a haystack with a lamb between them. They still got switched, but not ‘til the next morning and not as bad."

  Andor folded his hands behind his head and leaned back to stare at the treetops. "Thora was a beauty then. She had so much life in her. She was my first love. I kissed her once and knew what it felt like to be as high as the gods. I was not the only one who wanted her, but I believed I was the only one she wanted. I will never forget the hurt I felt when I came back from a year of trading and found she had wed Leif. She seemed happy, though, and that was all I cared about. I left to trade again."

  It was something that had happened long ago, Gillian knew that. They were both tied to other people now, she knew that too. But neither of those rationales could prevent the jealousy that boiled up inside her. She saw in Thora a rival for Andor’s affections - affections she had really not cared about until then.

  "Ho
w could she be happy with a man who beat her?"

  "He did not always do so," he replied. "‘Twas only after she told him she was expecting. They had been married for five years and she had not conceived. He believed she was unfaithful."

  "And so he beat her."

  Andor nodded. "And continued to do so worse each time...Women should be respected and loved."

  "You make me feel like you respect me."

  He leaned up on his elbow. "But do you feel loved?"

  Gillian’s heart jumped to her throat. She couldn’t speak, even as he was taking her hand into his and pulling her down beside him. Her mind seemed void of all thought except that she must keep from breaking the spell those forest green eyes wove about her. He placed her palm against his chest and she unconsciously curled her fingers through the blond fur there.

  "Can you feel the beat of my heart?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "It beats for want of you."

  His lips fell upon hers in a slow, searching kiss that Gillian fully returned. She would let her body say what she could not. With shaking hands she unclasped her brooches and set them aside with her tunic. Not once did she break the seal of their lips.

  She was his and ready for love. Nothing must spoil this moment for them. She was an unvirgin virgin, and Andor was determined to correct that oversight. He tried not to think of how Evan had ill-used her and concentrated only on making her his.

  He fumbled to loosen his sword belt and the cord of his trousers. As he did so, she pulled loose the drawstring at the top of her shift. With a gasp, he broke off his kiss and stood long enough to undress. Through passion-hooded eyes he watched Gillian wiggle from her dress. Then she lay at his feet, open, ready, arms reaching for him. Her red hair was spread beneath her like a silken fan. He eased into her embrace.

  Gillian was distressed that he did not join with her. She was ready - more ready than she’d ever been in her life. She puzzled over his actions while he drew her against him. A nip at her neck sent shivers through her. He moved lower, targeting her breasts for his gentle assault. Gillian tossed her head back in oblivious abandon while he nipped around the tender globes and drew wet circles around the tips. A soft cry left her throat and with it any final inhibitions she may have had. Her legs parted as she felt his hand dust its way past her navel and over her belly to the coppery curls below. He paused long enough to take her hand in his. He kissed her palm then slowly drew each digit into his mouth.