The Viking's Woman (46 page)

Christmas Day came upon them and was celebrated with Christian fervor. Eric presented Rhiannon with an elegantly jeweled and golden filigreed mantle brooch with a Celtic design, and her gift to him was a very fine dagger she had purchased from one of the peddlers who brought in Viking treasures from the Baltic lands and a fine tunic sewn with gold thread that she had fashioned herself in the long months when they had been gone.

It was a happy occasion for her. She had come to love Dubhlain and Eric’s family very much, and it was difficult to remember that she had loathed and despised the very idea of coming here.

Two things disturbed her, though. One, that Rowan had died, and had met his death in a foreign land, one where he had come—albeit indirectly—because of her. The second thing that disturbed her was that she had long, empty hours to dwell on Rowan’s death, because after the night in which he had offered her comfort, Eric had chosen to move across the hall, stating that he was afraid to disturb her or the babe.

Her son was still her absolute delight, and it seemed that when she would she let her mind
wander to the pain of losing Rowan, Garth would cease his suckling and stare into her eyes with wisdom and wonder, and she would smile again and be eased.

There was Daria, too, so close to her own age, such a very good friend. And Olaf the White, King of Dubhlain, who sometimes spoke with thunder, more often with gentle tones, and who was definitely the master of his house. Erin, with her quick smile, was as beautiful as any young girl, a whirl of energy and sweet wisdom. In truth, Rhiannon enjoyed all of the household, all of Eric’s many brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces. It was a home filled with laughter, and sorrow, too, as on the night when Aed Finnlaith had departed to his heavenly rest. Yet they were all fiercely together in their sorrows and their joys, and perhaps that was the enchantment of the place.

But even as the January winds whipped and tore at the great stone walls of the town, Eric rode out daily. His ships were repaired and provisioned for the journey eastward, toward her home. It seemed that he was far more eager to leave than she.

A date was set for the end of the month. Rhiannon found her husband in the simply furnished room he had taken as his own and protested their departure. “You would bring your son across a frigid, wind-tossed sea! Eric, we must wait—”

“I cannot wait,” he told her impatiently. Seated before the fire, he carefully honed his sword blade with a stone. He called the sword Vengeance, she knew. Even the death he wielded had a name. He looked up as she remained there, his eyes as frosty a blue as she could ever remember, distant, chilling.
Nothing had really changed. He was master of his own destiny, and she was still his property to command, even if he did love his son. “I cannot wait! I vowed my sword to Alfred of Wessex. I left him to do battle for my kin, which Alfred understands, but he plans his assault on Gunthrum in the spring, and I must be with him.”

“Eric—”

“My lady, it is a matter of my honor.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Is death so very honorable, then?”

His eyes fell upon her once again. “Indeed, milady, ’tis the only entrance for a man into the halls of Valhalla.”

She swung about and left him. They seldom spoke as the days passed, and Rhiannon watched the gray and forbidding skies. Then came the date that he had set, and she was relieved to see that the wind had calmed somewhat, even if the sea did still seem to be alive with froth.

Rhiannon found her father-in-law and pleaded with him to attempt to stop Eric, but Olaf smiled gently at her and offered no help. “He must return. He has sworn to support Alfred. He has taken the land, he has taken you as his wife, he has his fine new son. He must return.”

“But—”

“Rhiannon, there is no stopping him. Come, it will be well. Mergwin has predicted a fine sailing, and he is never wrong about such things. Indeed, I shall miss him most sorely.”

“He is coming with us?”

Olaf nodded and wrapped his arms about her
gently and kissed the top of her head. “It is time. There is no other course that a man can take. If you ever wish to return, if you ever need us, do not hesitate. The sea is truly not such a vast distance between us.”

There would be no help for it at all. They were leaving. But Mergwin had said that they would be safe; yet he was coming with them. If he was so certain that they would be safe, why was he coming when his heart lay in Ireland?

The household came to see them depart down the river. Rhiannon found herself clinging fiercely to Erin, who assured her that there would be better times ahead and that they would meet again. Rhiannon thanked Eric’s mother for her hospitality and expressed her condolences again for the loss of Erin’s father. The queen smiled and assured her, “I feel that Father merely bided his time since we lost my mother a few years ago. I believe that they are together again and that they guard us all. Take care of my son and grandson, I beg you.”

She could not take care of Eric, no one could, but she did not tell Erin that. She kissed her mother-in-law’s cheek again, and Erin bundled the fur of her mantle high about her throat as Megan kissed her and handed over the well-bundled Garth. Then Rhiannon discovered that Daria had decided to accompany them, and she was very glad.

Rhiannon had already stepped aboard her husband’s vessel when she saw Mergwin
saying
good-bye to Erin. He held her like a daughter, hugged her close, whispered something in her ear, and embraced her very tenderly again. Then he, too, came aboard.
Moments later he had come past the rows of sailors and sat with her at the bow of the ship. Daria, Rhiannon saw, was sailing on Patrick’s vessel.

Cries and commands rang out, and on that very gray morning she watched the magnificent walled town of Dubhlain slowly fade from her view. Warm fingers curled over hers. She turned to see Mergwin’s eyes upon her. “It will be well,” he assured her.

She nodded and held his hand tightly. She thought of his great age and wondered again why he had chosen to make the journey.

The sea was choppy indeed, and it seemed that they were constantly tossed about. The wind whipped at Rhiannon’s face and hair, chilling her greatly.

Hours out, Eric at last left his stance at the dragon prow and walked back to her. “Are you faring better this time?” he asked. It was a polite question. It seemed distant, though, and nothing other than a courtesy.

“I am faring very well, milord. I am an excellent sailor, as long as I am not with child.”

“Ah, well, if you had thought to mention to me that you were with child, milady, I might have been better prepared to make your voyage more comfortable.”

He did not wait for a reply. Swinging about, he headed for the prow once again and took up his vigil. She glanced at Mergwin and saw that he was smiling slightly. But then she noticed, too, that the smile did not quite reach his eyes, and she was worried. “Are you ill?” she asked him anxiously.

He shook his head. “Somewhat sad, that is all.”

“Why?”

“I will never see Ireland again,” he told her softly.

A chill settled over her. “You mustn’t say that!” she told him. “Please, you mustn’t—”

“Speak the truth? I am a very old man, Rhiannon. Very old.”

“But I need you!” she insisted.

“And I will be here as long as you need me,” he assured her. Then he swiftly changed the subject. “His temper simmers slowly at times, you know.”

“Eric’s?”

Mergwin nodded. “What makes him so tense, I wonder, like a great caged wolf prowling about his ship?”

“The mere fact that he is an arrogant Viking male,” Rhiannon retorted quickly.

“A wolf alone, prowling about. They mate for life, wolves do, you know, milady. And if a wolf loses his mate, he prowls the woods and howls out his pain and fury.”

“Ah, but does the wolf love his mate?”

Mergwin’s smile deepened, and his ancient eyes seemed to glisten with silver. “I’ve seen this wolf in love once before—a long time ago on a distant shore. She was killed, and I watched him suffer and prowl until there came … you. Yet even then, you see, it was different. It was a different time, a different life. I do not think that he knew the full meaning until this time. You hold the wolf within your hands, Rhiannon. You have only to see that.”

“He is going to war again,” she said softly. “He will always be going to war.”

“A tempest precedes a calm. This will be Alfred’s
last great battle, and he will prevail and go down in history as the only king the English will call ‘Great.’”

“But will we survive the tempest?” Rhiannon asked.

He was slow in answering. The wind came hard upon them, and his hair and beard were lifted. Garth, who had been whimpering, quieted, and it seemed that even the sounds of the shouts of the men and the whipping of the sails grew silent and subdued.

“You must survive it!” was all that he would say.

Then Mergwin, too, rose and strode to the prow. Alone, Rhiannon held Garth very close to her heart and tried to cease the shivering that had begun inside her.

They did make the winter’s crossing, and made it very well. By nightfall she was home, stepping upon the soil of Wessex. Adela was there to greet her, and there was a hot bath prepared in her room, and warmed mead with cinnamon awaited her on the fire. That night, as soon as she had bathed and Garth had been fed and put to bed in the tiny nursery that adjoined her master’s room, she fell into her own bed and slept, too exhausted to feel hurt when Eric did not join her, too exhausted to do more than hope that Daria had been well cared for.

The days passed. Rhiannon anxiously wondered about her sister-in-law’s impressions of her home after the grandeur of Dubhlain. But Daria was enchanted with the place, and Rhiannon was relieved and grateful.

The preparations for war went on. In the cleared courtyard men practiced with their arms. The blacksmiths were busy forging weapons of steel. At night
men honed their weapons. The messages had come in. When the spring broke, Eric must meet with Alfred, and they would attack the Danes, led by Gunthrum.

A cold war was already taking place within the house, Rhiannon thought. She could not understand why Eric stayed away from her for so long. Garth flourished, and Eric enjoyed the babe and was comfortable with him, and yet he continued to sleep elsewhere. Hurt, she felt her own temper rise, and the awkwardness of her situation added fuel to the flames. Had Eric wanted her, he simply would have swept her into his arms and taken her. She hadn’t the strength to carry him off anywhere. And she had too much pride to ask for his presence. He had held her and promised that he would never let her go.

And he hadn’t touched her since.

February turned to March. The day came nearer and nearer when he would ride away, and she did not think that she could bear it. Mergwin was edgy and said nothing, and so she was very afraid. Determined to say something to Eric before he could leave, Rhiannon made her way to his room. She tapped upon his door, and as it had stood ajar, it opened of its own accord. She saw that Eric was deeply ensconced in a steaming bath. And there was no young serving lad at his side to assist him but the doelike maiden Judith.

He had not heard the tap, and he did not see her there, as a hot cloth covered his face while his head rested on the rear of the tub. Rhiannon lifted her head proudly and moved into the room. Judith’s eyes widened at the sight of her. Rhiannon smiled very
sweetly and indicated that Judith should leave, closing the door behind her.

“Ah, Judith, give my back a scrub, eh?” he said.

Rhiannon emitted some strangled sound of agreement and came around behind him, stripping the cloth from his face. He edged forward, baring his back to her. She dexterously scrubbed his back, biting her lips to keep from lashing out at him. At his next words she started violently. “Now you’ve done my back, lass, how about my front?” The husky edge to his voice gave very little question to his meaning.

“Oh, my lord! I should just love to take care of your front—permanently!” she snapped out. And before he could respond, she had splashed up the water, soaking his face and beard. And then she was done with him. Spinning about, she tore from the room, tears stinging her eyes, fury raging in her heart.

“Rhiannon!” he bellowed after her in sharp command. She ignored him and kept running.

Down the stairs she ran, past Patrick and Rollo and the men in the hallway, past Adela and Daria, both of whom sat at a tapestry.

“Rhiannon!” he thundered again. She caught up her heavy mantle at the door and went racing to the stables. Brushing past the lads, she bridled a mare and leapt upon her bare back, then galloped past the sentries at the gates.

She didn’t know where she was going. She rode for what seemed an endless time, and then realized she must give the poor mare a rest. When she had slowed her pace at last, she became aware that it was snowing and that the night was bitterly cold. Darkness lay
all about her, and she, who knew this land like the back of her hand, was very nearly lost.

It didn’t seem to matter. “Damn him!” she cried to the night wind. And then tears trickled down her face. She paid no heed to her movements and was taken entirely by surprise when the mare suddenly whinnied and reared. Rhiannon grasped with her thighs too late and went sliding off the animal onto her backside. Stunned, she lay upon the ground.

Then the traitorous little mare went tearing off alone—toward home, toward warmth, toward a stable of hay.

Rising and dusting off her bruised derrière, Rhiannon felt her heart tug even as she started to shiver. Garth! He slept through the night now, but he would awake in the morning, hungry and crying and alone. They would see to him, surely. Adela and Daria were there; they would never let him suffer. There was goat’s milk for him to drink ….

She could die out here. No, she would not die; she knew her way, she just had to start walking ….

The thunder of a horse’s hooves came to her, and in seconds she saw Eric appear out of the darkness, on the great white stallion. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to right her snow-dampened hair and mussed clothing. He stopped before her, staring down at her, and she was certain that there was amusement in his eyes. How dare he!