These words hit Hulda like physical blows. She said nothing.
“Did you know,” Faðir asked after a few moments, “it was Jute who came to me and argued for you to take up battle training?Let me train her, Faðir,he said.She wants it so badly. And why should a fierce spirit be limited by gender?”
Had she a fierce spirit? Hulda wondered. She remembered, as a girl, longing to take up a sword, ja, but not so much because she felt fierce. It had been because she desired, with a deep and fundamental longing, that no one, no man, should sacrifice his safety, his life for her. She would defend herself.
Some part of Jute had beheld that longing, even though she doubted he recognized the reason behind it. Ja, in their world, women gave life and men took it. Things, though, were rarely so simple.
“Jute stood up for you,” Faðir said heavily, “and so I gave you a chance. This is how you repay him?”
Hulda nearly doubled over with pain. She missed her brother, and at the beginning of the voyage just past would have said there was nothing she would not do for his sake.
Then she had gazed into the Scotsman’s eyes.
“Faðir,” she said desperately, “I miss Jute more than I can say, and I want revenge for his death. But I want it against the man who did kill him.”
“They are Scotsmen! Does it matter who wielded the sword that took Jute’s head? Foolish girl, you kill them all!”
When Hulda said nothing, Faðir went on, “I should have commanded the voyage myself. I am not too old to avenge my son.”
“I will go back,” Hulda said then. “Attack the settlement. A strong settlement it is, well defended. With six boats—”
“Six boats?” The scorn in Faðir’s voice near flayed her. “You think I should place you in command of even one boat again? Get from my sight.”
“Faðir—”
“Go to yourmóðir, where you belong.”
Hulda went out into the air, heart pounding and cheeks burning with shame, Avoldsborg spread out before her eyes. Bustling, prosperous. Founded in blood.
She could not have slit Quarrie MacMurtray’s throat, not even to spare her faðir’s condemnation.
Ah, but she had fallen in Faðir’s eyes. He would not soon listen to her again.
She walked through the gathering twilight around the back of the hall to the family quarters and let herself in. Her móðir worked there beside the hearth, clad in her familiar haus dress, a linen cloth covering her hair. A tall woman, she had gifted Hulda her height and her strong build, though Hulda had her faðir’s pale eyes.
“Dottir?” she said, and glanced at her woman, Rota. Rota had been with Móðir since her marriage, the two women thick as thieves. “Hulda, we heard that your boat had come in, delayed by storm.”
To be sure, they would have heard. There were few secrets in Avoldsborg.
“I have failed to avenge Jute,” Hulda announced starkly.
“Put aside your weapons,” Móðir said gently. “Come and sit down. Rota, get her something to drink.”
Hulda obeyed.
Móðir, as Hulda well knew, had been as destroyed by Jute’s death as she. Her big, strong son, she had always called him. She had not asked Hulda to seek vengeance. More inclined to appeal to Freya for strength and sustenance, she had nevertheless refrained from interfering with Hulda’s intentions.
Now, despite her soft voice, a hint of iron entered her blue eyes as she pushed Hulda onto a bench and took her hands.
“Listen to me, dottir. Vengeance will not bring your brother back. Nothing will.”
“I know that.”
“I am glad to see you returned. I do not need another of my children dying upon a foreign shore.”
Nei, Móðir had never objected outright to Hulda’s pursuit of training at arms. But Hulda had once overheard her saying to Rota,A dottir should be a comfort to a móðir, close at hand.
“Faðir is angry with me,” she said. “He will not sponsor another voyage.”
