And so for the next few days Aife had desperately clung to that hope without quite managing to believe all would be well. She didn’t dare go visit him and see for herself how he was faring. If she saw him lying down on his pallet she would start sobbing or blurt out what she had understood that day at the beach, that she had fallen in love with him. Neither would be a useful option, or wise. Indeed, why would he want to hear such a declaration from her, the fickle woman who’d once been attracted to his brother, the friend who had told him only daysago that they should forget all that had happened between them, the person responsible for the ruination of his life?
To add to her misery, that week was a series of unfortunate events.
She woke up one morning to the indignant clucking of her chickens. She rushed out, too late to prevent the fox that had managed to jump the high fence from carrying away one of her hens. The next day, lost to her thoughts of Torsten, she overloaded the wicker basket her father had given her as a present when she had moved out of the family house. The handle broke before she reached the hut, scattering turnips everywhere. For a long moment, unable to think what to do, she just stared at the broken basket. No doubt her father would make her another, equally beautiful one, but she had loved this one, which had marked the start of her independent life. That same morning, still upset by the loss of the beloved gift, she’d burned herself whilst frying a piece of pork.
Fortunately, that afternoon, Cwenthryth visited with baby Sanna, otherwise Aife would have spent the day in bed, crying and hugging herself. Her friend, sensing she needed distraction, sat down and accepted a cup of dried chamomile sweetened with honey. Since she had tasted it on Torsten’s fingers, honey had become Aife’s favorite treat and she used it everywhere.
While they sipped at their tisane, Cwenthryth shocked her by telling her that Knut the blacksmith’s son had been caught kissing Brenna, the butcher’s youngest daughter, the previous night, behind the forge.
“Neither seemed particularly sorry to have been seen and there is now talk of them getting married. And yet Steinar tells me the two of them spent their childhood fighting.” She laughed, as if amused by the turn of events.
“They did,” Aife confirmed. This was what made this particular announcement shocking, not the fact that two youngpeople had been kissing. There was nothing more normal than this. “And now apparently they are in love?”
“Apparently,” her friend confirmed, settling her daughter at her breast. “Such unions seem to be a regular occurrence in the village, which I suppose is not so surprising when you consider how close a community it is. Moon and Eyja, Rowena and Thorfinn, Bee and Elwyn… There seem to be many couples here who grew up as friends. Thank God Steinar gave the outsider I was a chance and did not instead choose to marry someone he’d known all his life.”
Couples who grew up as friends… Yes, indeed there were many here, and if Aife had her way, there would be another soon.
“Talking of friends who start seeing one another differently,” Cwenthryth started cautiously. Aife’s heart missed a beat. Was she ready to discuss what was happening between her and Torsten? In truth, she wasn’t, not until she had discussed it with him and found out where she stood. “How is it going with Sven?”
Sven? It took Aife a moment to remember that, as far as her friend was concerned, she was still trying to ensnare him. How much had changed since that conversation outside her hut…
Slowly, she shook her head. “It’s going nowhere. You were right, he is not the man for me, and I was never truly in love with him. I know that now, so you need not feel sorry for me.”
What would be the point in telling her friend that she was now in love with Sven’s brother? She would think it another whim, and it would be hard to blame her. It did look as if she was going from one infatuation to the next. Except that she had never felt that way before and she knew it was not the same. Two trees might appear identical at first glance, and only when you felled them could you see which was rotting on the inside and destined to die, and which would make the perfect, solid foundation for your hut.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Cwenthryth said, placing a hand on her baby daughter, who seemed to be falling asleep. “Things happen when they are supposed to happen, not a moment before. Why worry in the meantime about what you think you’re missing? You might not have a husband but you have a good life here, surrounded by friends and family who love you. Enjoy it.”
Yes, her life was good. Her friend should know. Before meeting Steinar she had been subjected to the cruelty of a man who’d claimed to be her half-brother to come live under her roof. He’d taken advantage of her father’s illness and used her body for his pleasure for months. Indeed, compared to that, Aife’s life was perfect.
Humbled, she gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
Cwenthryth nodded and swallowed, visibly reliving the nightmare she’d endured until Steinar had put an end to the bastard’s life. “You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better take Sanna home to have a rest.”
“Of course.”
That evening, thanks to her conversation with her friend, Aife felt better than she had for a while, and the following day even went without any mishap, providing a welcome respite from the succession of alarming incidents. Then she had an unexpected visitor.
Aife was filling a pitcher with the ale from the cask brought by her uncle Björn the evening before, when the door opened on the man she had most dreaded to see. Wolf.
Her whole body tensed. Had he come to berate her for placing his son in danger at the beach? For getting him almost killed again? She forced herself to stay calm. He didn’t appear angry, even if his mouth was set in a determined line. She suddenly had an inkling of how Torsten might appear later on in life, strong and dependable.
Ifhe ever regained the use of his legs, of course. His recovery was still not assured.
“Good morning,” the Icelander told her, closing the door behind him.
“Good morning.” She placed the pitcher back onto the table. Her hands were shaking and after the week she’d had, she didn’t trust herself not to drop it.
Heart in her throat, she waited for Wolf to explain why he had come. When he spoke, he said the last thing she had expected him to say.
“Aife. I need you.”
They set off without delay,Aife having not entertained the possibility of refusing Torsten’s father. Even though he hadn’t explained what he wanted from her, she followed him to the field where the horses grazed. Knowing that Moon wouldn’t mind, she borrowed Grendel and Wolf took his stallion, Devil, an enormous beast with a coat black as night. As they nudged the horses into a trot in the direction of the town, the Icelander started explaining why he needed her help.
“It took me a while, but I have finally located the Saxon called Ranulf and the Normans who attacked you and Torsten the other day.”
“You have?” Aife exclaimed, taken by surprise. She had not thought for a moment that would be what this expedition was about. Not that she had forgotten the attack, of course, or did not want the men punished for what they’d done, but so much had happened since then that it felt like months ago.
“Yes. In fact, that was why I was in town the morning Sigurd and Björn went to get my son from the Saxon village.”He sounded grim, as if he regretted not having been there to offer support. “I hope to see the bastards punished, because it is clear from the information I have gathered about their little ‘clan,’ as they call themselves, that they intend to harm the Norse community.”
