The Temperate Warrior (18 page)

She lifted her chin and forced a smile so she would not steal attention away from the men who were more deserving. She walked along side the horse, not daring to reach across its withers and touch Gustaf’s hand that rested in its mane. It was a risk at best, one she was not willing to take given he made every effort to keep his distance from her. The fact that he didn’t even introduce her to one single person cut her to the bone.

Watching as his men embraced their family members with exuberant glee filled her lonely heart with sorrow. This was not how it was supposed to be. She and Gustaf were so perfect together and yet they couldn’t be farther apart. In an assembly of many, she never felt more alone.

As they were ushered toward a large wooden building in the center of many surrounding longhouses made of wood and reeds, Æsa’s focus was directed to Ketill and Ulfr. They remounted their horses and trotted in a circle, rallying the others.

Ketill, being the more dominant, announced their plan. “Let us hunt together as brothers united. Who is with me? Father?”

Jørgen lifted his head from the haven of his wife’s neck. Holding fast to her body, he eventually shook his head. “You will have to forgive me, son. I have other intentions this day.”

Suggestive remarks and jests flew about with no remorse. Ulfr even covered his ears as the insinuations were made about his parents.

“Surely not every man is as weak as my father.” Ketill winked at Jørgen as he searched the faces of the many able-bodied men surrounding him. “I would hope some of you still get hard with the thrill of a hunt.”

Snorri was the first to pipe up. “That would be me.” With as much fervor as his words evoked, he mounted his horse and trotted up beside Ulfr. “What say you, Gustaf?”

To Æsa’s dismay, Gustaf didn’t think twice. He grabbed a firm hold of mane and kicked his leg up over the horse. “Count me in.”

Her heart sank and a hard lump knotted in her throat. Her hand caught his knee before she realized she’d touched him. “What should I do in your absence, m’lord?” Her voice fractured as she spoke and she hated that she felt so weak in looking up at him, desperate for just one kind word to fall from his lips.

“You can stay back with the rest,” he said coldly. “I suspect you will get along just fine, as you are well accustomed to consorting with strangers.”

He was the first to break eye contact, whipping his head around and slapping his reins against the horse’s flank. As he tore away with the few others who’d enlisted, she was left to suffer the blow he so callously delivered. She felt ill. Embarrassed. Flushed and nauseated. She clutched her stomach and, with her other hand, reached for stability. Air was the only thing she had within reach and her balance wavered.

One of the women grabbed her hand and steadied her by the elbow. “Are you all right, my lady?”

She tried to focus her blurry vision. The woman split into two separate bodies and spoke with two distinct voices in unison. “You look not well. Perhaps, you are spent from the long journey.”

Æsa nodded and squeezed the woman’s hand tighter. She felt like the ground was slipping from under her. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against a firm chest. A male’s chest, muscled and warm.

“I will watch over her.”

The familiar voice belonged to Øyven and she swiveled her head to see if she was mistaken. She caught a glimpse of his youthful face and wondered why the shy warrior bothered to assist her.

Before she could voice that her condition would improve with a few given moments of reprieve, he hoisted her limp body upon his horse. In seconds, he mounted behind her.

Sitting sidesaddle, she teetered as the horse danced beneath her. Øyven’s arms detained her on both sides; one forearm steadied her from flipping backward, while the other rested beneath her bosom. His hands took charge of the reins and she found a strange comfort in his bold behavior.

“Might there be a stable for my horse?” he asked of the woman lingering behind.

“Of course.” She pointed to the far end of the village. “I will send for my brother to aid you.”

“No need.”

Even in her delusional state, Æsa could tell the woman wished to get acquainted with Øyven. She was close in age to him and her eyes, piercing through long dark lashes, sparkled with interest.

“Shall I fetch you some water,” she asked, bestowing one last desperate offer as an innocent ploy to see him again.

He patted the pouch at his hip. “I have plenty, but thank you.”

With a click of his tongue, the horse lunged forward and Æsa fell sideways, her body leaning into Øyven’s torso from the momentum of the quick start. She pushed away, struggling to sit upright, but his arm pulled her back down.

“Sit still.”

His command unsettled her, but she gave no fight over his unusual dominance. The sway of the horse wreaked havoc on her tumbling stomach as well as her befuddled brain. She never knew the assertive side of Øyven and wasn’t certain what to make of it. “Why?” was all she could muster amid her confusion.

“Why what?”

Why are you doing this? Why do you waste your time with me when you could be elsewhere, becoming friendly with that lovely girl who was taken by your handsomeness?

All those questions and more raced through her mind, but only one surfaced. “Why did you not go hunting with the others?”

His breath blew out of his lungs in one hearty scoff. “Unless the people of
Dal Hinna Dauðu
have a hankering for rodents and small hares, my bird and I would be useless on the hunt. Besides, I need you.”

Æsa stiffened. She had no idea what he meant by the term “need,” and she worried what Gustaf would say to such an intimate statement. “You need me?”

He laughed at her now. “You are the only one my falcon feels safe with. Who else is going to watch her while I tend to my horse? What did you think I meant?”

She smiled inwardly, breathing a little easier after his innocent explanation. She should have known better than to think a loyal subject of Gustaf would be so aggressive as to make advances right under his nose. Øyven was a perceptive fellow and a benevolent warrior, two traits that distinguished him from the rest, and he’d be the last person who’d ever betray Gustaf.

They came to a halt at the entrance of a wooden barn and the potent smell of fresh manure and old hay invaded her nostrils. She swallowed back the urge to gag, thinking she was still woozy from the emotional extremes she’d encountered throughout the day. In the morning, she’d felt breathless, bursting with uncontrollable excitement as Gustaf had finally unleashed himself. Vindication was a foreign experience for her. Then, in the blink of an eye, she plummeted to rock bottom. She ruined everything with a few insensible words. Spoken only to prove how deeply she loved him and how much she was willing to sacrifice, she’d probably done irreparable damage to their relationship. The thought sickened her to tears again.

“You’re crying.” Øyven’s words weren’t so much a perception as it was a statement depicting his befuddlement over what he should do or say to comfort her. His arms hesitated to hold her, but eventually they found their way around her. “He meant not what he said, Æsa. Gustaf is a good man.”

“I know he is good.” And it only made her feel worse. “I hurt him, Øyven. I insulted him. I—” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him how. Her shame was like a rampant fever, thieving her of intellect and strength of body. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball in some remote place and hide away for the remainder of their stay.

Øyven didn’t encourage her to divulge any more than what she’d already given up. Instead, he lifted her in his arms, swung his leg over the saddle and jumped to his feet. He carried her inside the barn and found a pile of uneaten hay in the corner. Laying her down, he presented a sympathetic smile, nothing more.

Like her, his tongue was tied. He stood up and left to retrieve his horse, his movements quick but calm.

Æsa took this moment to collect herself, and she assumed in some strange way, Øyven was too. She looked around the spacious barn. She found comfort in the solitude provided here, though she could still hear the enthusiasm of the celebration outside.

Her thoughts wandered back to Gustaf and how he’d left in haste to hunt for the feast that would take place this night. She wondered if she plagued his mind as much as he plagued hers. The image she had of him, barreling through the forest on a galloping steed, his dark blond hair whipping against the gray wolf-skin cloak at his shoulders, brought a sense of pride to her wounded heart. He was all she ever wanted in a man; valiant and righteous. Charming and charismatic. Dignified with a rugged appeal to his handsome stature. His gentleness was beyond compare and his occasional lack of temperance was quickly becoming her favorite quality.

She assumed he thought of it as a fault, as he blamed her offer of taking a mistress on his unrestrained actions akin to the men of her past. But she regarded it as an attribute of his authority and power with a slight trace of weakness. She would like to think she was his weakness. However, after getting the cold shoulder the only thing he lacked was the ability to forget what she’d said.

Would he ever forgive her
?

“Of course, he will forgive you child.”

A frail woman’s voice from out of nowhere startled Æsa and caused her thoughts to scatter like frightened ducks on an early morning pond. She whipped her head in the direction of the voice and caught sight of a gray-haired woman of tiny build entering the barn. She stood no taller than an adolescent girl but the wrinkles harassing her face proved her age-old maturity. Her slow, unsteady gait demonstrated that the strength in her bones had failed long before the sharpness of her mind and the crooked smile fixed on her lips prefaced that she harbored no resentment toward the hardships life had given her.

Æsa felt uneasy with the elderly woman and her keen sense of foresight. She sat still as the woman approached and sat beside her in the hay. Long, bony fingers reached for hers and took hold. The chill of the woman’s skin presented a whole host of indefinite feelings and before she could ask her name, the old woman spoke again.

“You needn’t worry yourself. You have only injured the man’s pride.”

Æsa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can hear my thoughts?”

“I hear everything. As soon as one steps foot within the boundary of the rune stones, their thoughts do not go unheard. ‘Tis a curse of mine at times.”

The woman turned her head and regarded Øyven standing beside his horse. He stood as a silhouette, the details of his youthful face lost in the shadows as he held fast to the bridle in one hand and a bird cage in the other. Æsa could not see where his gaze lay, but she felt his scrutiny just the same. In Gustaf’s absence, he’d become an overly protective figure, much like his chieftain.

The old woman spoke before Øyven could ascertain her name or her purpose. “I heard your thoughts too, young man.” A gray brow lifted above her harsh gaze despite the implication of amusement in her smile. “That was my granddaughter you looked upon with wanton eyes. Shame on you.”

Øyven cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. In one swift remark, she’d all but stripped Øyven of his dominance and sent him on his way with his tail tucked between his legs. The shy, subservient warrior had returned and he hunched over like a scolded child. “Who are you?”

“I am Halldora, the condemned heretic—or the guardian of
Dal Hinna Dauðu
, whichever you favor. I prefer the latter.”

Æsa recalled the grand story Gustaf had told her about Harold ‘the Fairhair’ and his horse that lit up in flames due to Halldora’s spell. To her, it seemed like an imaginary tale too far-fetched to believe, but now she wasn’t so sure. “Is it true you cursed the King of Norway?”

The grin on the old woman’s face pushed more wrinkles around her eyes. “The truth lies within the circle of the rune stones. Unless the old bastard dares to cross it, we may never know. Yet, ‘tis with great certainty that I can attest to the proud king’s trepidation. To date, he has failed to muster his bravado for such an attempt and I doubt he ever will as long as there is breath in me. ‘Tis my only hope that I outlive the old worm.”

“The spell dies with you?” Æsa asked.

“Naught is forever, child. That is the will of the gods.” Halldora reached up with a trembling hand and stroked Æsa’s hair. “And just like the curse that will one day cease to exist with my death, so will Gustaf’s bitterness. He will not stay mad for long…especially when you tell him you are with child.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I beg your pardon?” Æsa asked, uncertain she’d heard Halldora correctly.

She turned her attention back to Øyven who had begun to untack his horse. “If you still doubt my ability to hear your thoughts, my good man, then perhaps you should cease to think at all. But since you continue to wonder about the innocent beauty who has captured your attention, you would do best to treat her with as much respect as you have given Æsa.”

Øyven’s hand paused over the girth momentarily before he jerked the leather strap free. The young warrior seemed quite offended that his personal thoughts had been invaded and publicly disclosed. Æsa wasn’t sure what could have possibly run through his mind, given his outward gentlemanly demeanor, but it must have been something short of appropriate for Halldora to call him on it.