"The water is getting cold," Andor said. "We should be getting ready to leave."
"Aye, that we should." She pulled the stopper from the drain. The water would empty onto their vegetable garden just outside.
They dried in silence then Andor wrapped the fur around them both and carried her back to their room to dress. The tender regard did little to help her feelings. She felt like she had been used as any whore might have been. Where were all the tender endearments of before and after love? Where were the soft words and caresses that went with the act? It was cheap. At any minute she expected him to toss a piece of silver her way and bid her good-day.
"Is your chest ready?" he asked.
"Yes, I will get the bed furs in a bit. Go on with you."
"The tent will be up before we sail. ‘Twill give us a little privacy when we wish it."
Gillian mumbled her thanks and gathered their furs while Andor carried her chest to the ship.
She was surprised to see that Freyda and Rollo had risen while she and Andor dressed. Thora also sat at the hearth with them. The couple greeted her with broad smiles. Thora made no attempt at a greeting. Gillian ignored her and envied Freyda and Rollo their happiness.
"You look weary," Freyda said. "Rest yourself over a good breakfast and let Rollo help Andor load the ship. Thora, pour Gillian a cup of that tea you made."
Gillian was perfectly willing to rest, but eating was beyond her. She sipped her tea, picked at her porridge, and put it all down to nerves.
"I shall miss you," Freyda said.
"And I you," Gillian replied.
"Mother and Father will make you feel welcome. Hildy, our youngest sister, will be delighted with meeting you. She enjoys getting to know new people. You will find Björn and Asa a joy to be around, but try not to let their sons bother you or cause you to think about your loss too much."
Gillian tried to smile. Just because she had lost her child, she was not about to begrudge Andor’s brother and his wife their offspring. "Perhaps when Andor and I return, you will give us news of a little one on the way."
"And you will give us similar word," Freyda said.
Gillian’s smile faded. Freyda covered her hand with hers. "I know it hurts. Time will make things better. Trust that. When I lost Olaf, I thought my world was over. Now I have been blessed with another good man. I do not love Olaf any less, but I do love Rollo, too."
Gillian nodded. There was nothing more she could say.
Within the hour she was standing at the rail of Andor’s ship, waving good-bye. Although saddened by their departure, she was relieved to know she would be returning. A last-minute passenger stood by her side.
Having appointed himself as Andor’s right-hand-man, Seamus had been onboard long before Andor that morning. Andor had not asked him along because the man was still plagued with headaches. But once he saw him packed and ready for the voyage, Andor didn’t have the heart to force him to remain home. Gillian was glad. His would be a familiar, friendly face on the long trip.
"Ya lasses best be havin’ a seat," Seamus told her and Thora. "We’ll be comin’ to open sea in a wee bit and ya don’t want to be losin’ yer balance."
Gillian sat on her chest near to where Andor had set up their tent. She had learned over the time with Andor and his people that this was a symbol of his importance and his sole right as owner of the ship. In the past he had never used the tent. He did so now to honor her. Gillian admitted she liked the consideration, but she could have done with a little less honoring and a simple vow of love.
From the corner of her eye she watched Thora sit beside the box of sand they would use for their cooking fires. So far this morning Thora had been quiet and kept to herself. It was a respite Gillian knew would not last long.
She felt the ship begin to rock. They were at the mouth of the river. Gillian’s stomach joined the upheaval, turning upon itself as Andor negotiated the choppy sea. She fought the urge to dash to the rail, swallowing repeatedly the rush of salty saliva that filled her mouth. Finally, she had no choice.
Praying she would not be tossed overboard, she ran to the rail and heaved over the side. Seamus was at her side in seconds. Embarrassment made her want to shoo him away; distress kept her from doing so.
It seemed she was there for hours, retching until all she could manage was dry heaves. Seamus bathed her face from time to time, telling her all was well and that Andor would be there as soon as he had navigated to open sea. When she finally looked up, land was still within easy sight. She had been there only minutes, not hours. She took a step away from the rail and collapsed.
Andor shouted for someone to take the rudder, then leaped over men and crates to reach Gillian. She lay in a crumpled heap at Seamus’s feet, looking up at him through glazed eyes. He scooped her into his arms.
"I will turn about and take you home," he said.
"No, I just need rest. I have eaten naught and am very tired. Let me rest. Please."
Andor felt Thora’s hand on his arm.
"All will be well," she said. "Let her rest. I can care for the men and her, if necessary."
Andor hesitated then, against his better judgment, he carried Gillian into their tent and put her to bed.
Gillian’s eyes opened the second she awoke, but she lay there a few minutes more, trying to get her bearings. It was still daylight, but was it morning or afternoon? The stiffness in her joints said she hadn’t slept all that long. Her mouth and throat were dry and scratchy, but the thought of quenching her thirst did not set well with her stomach.
Rolling over and going back to sleep appealed to her, if it weren’t for the fact that her bladder was so full it threatened to burst. She pulled herself up. After a brief battle for balance, she ventured from the tent and straight to the bucket.
Relieving herself did a lot to make her feel better. As she emptied the bucket, she was curious enough to look around for land. There was none in sight. She obviously had slept longer than she intended. Using her hand as a shield, she glanced up at the sun.
It was halfway to mid-sky, but, since she wasn’t sure of their direction, she had no way of knowing whether it was pre-noon or past-noon. In any event, some meal needed to be prepared.
She wondered why Thora was sitting by the opposite rail instead of tending to it. She passed it off as more laziness on Thora’s part and walked to the box of sand to start a cookfire. To her surprise, she discovered a cauldron of stew already cooking. With a sigh of relief that she needn’t have to cook, she sat down on Seamus’s trunk to ease her quivering legs.
A part of her wished she could be pleased that Thora had things under control, but Gillian hated the woman so much that this act of consideration only angered her because she could not find fault in Thora.
"There you are." Andor hurried toward her.
Gillian’s heart warmed to the smile he gave. He sat beside her and took her hand in both of his.
"How do you feel?"
"Like I need more sleep," she said.
Andor’s eyebrows inched together. "Are you ill? I had thought a full day’s rest would refresh you."
"It might if I could take it."
"You just did, love," he hesitantly replied.
Gillian stared at him in disbelief.
"‘Tis true," he said. "A full day has passed. Perhaps you are still a bit groggy. Thora, fix Gillian a bit of broth and a cup of tea. ‘Twill help you wake," he said with a smile.
Gillian wanted to refuse anything that came from Thora’s hand, but she was too weak to protest. Besides that, she was beginning to feel hungry. With a half-hearted attempt at cordiality, Gillian accepted broth and tea from Thora.
Andor watched Gillian sip, willing the nourishment to stay down. She looked abnormally pale and burdened by a weakness that was not like her. He put it down to exhaustion. The trying days after Gwynneth’s death, the trial, Leif kidnapping her, and her nonstop preparations for this voyage had all taken their toll. All Gillian needed was a few d
ays of pampering to get back on her feet. And he was going to see she got it, whether Thora liked it or not.
He clenched his jaw at the thought of Thora. Since Gillian had taken to bed the day before, twice Andor was forced to order Thora to see to the food. He’d never known a woman to be so lazy, and was beginning to understand why Leif took to beating her - not that he approved. A lazy woman and a foul-tempered man were not a good match, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else who would have either one of them.
"How do you feel now?" he asked as Gillian set her cups aside. "Did it set well with you?"
"I think so but ‘tis difficult to tell," she said. "I would like to sit by the rail ‘til I can be certain. Would you get me a fur from our tent? I feel a chill."
Andor quickly obliged her and was back to help her settle comfortably before she could reach the railing. After she snuggled against the bags of wool there, he kissed her forehead.
"If you need something, call out," he said, and left her to rest. She was going to be all right. She was merely exhausted from the pace she had set for herself.
"Thora, please offer Gillian tea and broth from time to time. When she is able to handle that with no problem, offer her a bit of bread."
He walked on to the stern before his irritation showed. He would have preferred Freyda caring for Gillian, but unless he turned back, that was not possible. He had to trust Thora to be responsible enough to care for Gillian. Still, Andor kept an eye out in case Thora was negligent.
The day passed well with Gillian gaining a little color and strength toward evening. By sunrise she was back at the rail, hanging over the side.
"Is it the motion of the ship which makes you ill?" he asked as he bathed the cold sweat from her face.
"I traveled with you before with no ill effects," she managed to say.
"But your body carried and birthed Gwynneth then. Perhaps that made the voyage easier."
Gillian slumped against the bags of wool. "Yes, that could be so."
"You cannot keep on this way. I will turn the ship about and head for home."
Gillian grabbed his sleeve. "No, there are too many people counting on you for you to turn back. I will not have it said that your wife ruined your standing. You worked hard for their respect...You have to keep on. I will be fine. You just have Thora keep me in tea and broth and all will be well."
Andor warred with himself over what was the best course of action. What Gillian had said was true, this voyage was important. Yet he wasn’t willing to risk her health for it. In the end, he depended on Gillian to know her own limitations. He pressed onward.
It was one of the most difficult decisions he’d ever had to make. Gillian’s condition deteriorated with each day’s passing. As daylight lengthened, he cursed himself for not turning back sooner.
Gillian spent all of her time by the rail, at times so weak it was all she could do to pull herself up to retch over the side. He and Seamus took turns caring for her while Thora tended to other men and continually encouraged Gillian to sip the liquids she provided. That kindness alone increased Andor’s opinion of Thora. She might be lazy, but in a crisis she was dependable.
As they neared the Faroe Islands, Andor made ready to land to give Gillian some respite. Weak as she was, Gillian begged him to continue on.
Andor’s patience snapped. "Are you trying to kill yourself? We will stay for a few days until your strength is back."
Gillian shook her head. "‘Twill take more than a few days for that. Continue on. Once we reach the home of your kin, I will rest. And it will be better rest knowing I will not be boarding this vessel for awhile."
With a muttered curse, Andor went on, mad because he understood how Gillian felt and furious because there was nothing he could do to help. Several times a day he prayed to his gods to keep the wind in his sails and keep the weather clear. They answered by carrying his ship on a swift course to Northland.
At the first sight of his home land, Andor wanted to cheer. He cautioned himself against premature elation. Northland was within reach, but they were still many miles from his parents’ home.
Gillian was too weak now to do more than sip an occasional cup of water. Her once lustrous red hair had dulled and was beginning to fall out. Weight loss made her skeletal. All he wanted was to get her to dry land and put her in his mother’s capable hands.
The minute he spotted that familiar fjord leading to his father’s lands, Andor ordered the oars put to water. If he could have pushed from behind to get them there faster, he would have. Instead, he had to be content with guiding the ship to safety.
He saw the lookouts from atop the cliffs. They ran off to spread the news of his return. A bend to the right and another to the left and he could see the settlement. His father’s people pointed and rushed about preparing for Andor’s ship to land. Closer still, he heard his youngest sister, Hildy.
"Mother, come quick! Andor is home!"
Then his mother appeared in the doorway of their home. She wiped her hands on her tunic while she stared toward the shore. A few seconds later, she was running to meet him as the ship touched land.
"Throw out that ramp now!" Andor shouted as he ran to Gillian’s side.
She made an almost imperceptible groan as he lifted her in his arms.
"All is well now, my love. We are here. Mother will care for you."
His long strides bore them forward.
"My son, who is this?" his mother asked, puzzlement in her deep green eyes.
"Gillian, my wife. Help her, Mother. I fear she may be dying."
Then, with no warning, he broke down into tears.
* * *
CHAPTER 13
Andor expected condemnation of some kind. That was what he had gotten in his childhood years from his older brother. Yet here he sat with his father and Björn, blubbering by the family hearth and all he got was the sympathy he had traveled so far to find.
He was a child of the house of Sven. The weight of leadership slipped from his shoulders. He no longer had to keep the facade of strength in place.
For a moment he thought that his hysterical display might have embarrassed them to silence, and though he longed to stop, he could not. He poured from his heart the pain of Gwynneth’s death and the fear of losing Gillian while his mother and Asa, Björn’s wife, cared for Gillian in his old bed closet.
Each time Hildy scurried to the hearth for fresh water, Andor held his breath hoping for some word. Hildy would merely glance his way then dart back to his mother.
The ale his father pushed to him slid down more quickly than intended. It took half a dozen before Andor was calm enough to gain control over his emotions.
"I know you must think me weak," he began to say.
His brother interrupted. "I think you are a man very much in love. I could not bear to lose Asa or one of our sons. I would wish to die myself."
"And after losing Astrid and the baby, it is understandable that the loss of another wife and child would be upsetting," his father added.
Andor looked away. He couldn’t face him directly for fear he would see the truth. His ploy had little effect.
"It is different. Is it not?" he asked. "When the heart is involved."
Andor’s shoulders sagged. "Yes, Father, very different."
"I cannot say whether I am glad or sad that you have finally learned this."
Andor looked up to find him smiling.
"Astrid would have been a good wife to you. The affection would have grown with the years. But a woman who grabs your heart from the outset." His father shook his head in dismay. "They turn you inside out. They frustrate, annoy, amuse, and make you burn for them. Like playing with fire one moment and ice the next. Unpredictable. Astrid would have been easier, but this one will make life more interesting."
"If she survives." Andor buried his head in his hands. "I should have turned for home when she first became ill."
"But you did not," Björn said. "In fact, ‘twas Gillian who insi
sted you keep on. Frustrating you as Father said. Tell us how you came to meet this woman."
Andor jerked his head up. Of course, they wouldn’t know. Their party had separated before the raid on Ireland. After another long pull on his ale, Andor told them how Gillian had come into his life. When he was finished, his father patted him on the back.
"Your bride is in good hands. Your mother will surely nurse her back to health."
No matter how optimistic the words sounded, Andor could hear the doubt in his tone. His mother was skilled in her healing, but she claimed it was merely a blessing from the gods which enabled her to heal in the first place. She never tended someone without invoking their help. As he recalled that, he watched Hildy set a tiny statue of Thor upon a stool to pray for Gillian’s recovery.
Would the Norse gods be willing to help a Gaedhil woman? He doubted it, especially after she had cursed them when Gwynneth died. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop Hildy. It would involve more explanation than he cared to give at this time.
"Björn," his mother called, "go for the physician."
Andor’s heartbeat quickened as he watched his brother hurry away. The sickness was beyond his mother’s abilities. Prayers to gods Gillian thought of as heathen were useless. She was slipping away from him and there seemed nothing he could do...unless....
"I need a walk in the woods." He hurried out before his father could offer to accompany him.
He knew the place he sought - a quiet clearing near the center of the forest. There no one would bother him. There he could talk to Gillian’s deity.
Andor wasn’t certain of how this could be done. He didn’t even know her god’s name. But he did know, from his travels, that it involved a cross of some kind.
He broke off two small branches on his trek through the woods, then fastened them together with his leather headband. By the time his cross was made, he had reached the clearing. He strode to the center and stuck it in the ground.
The Quest for Gillian’s Heart Page 18
