She had her own score to settle with the men. It was not all about Torsten, even if he’d almost been killed. She had almost been raped that day, and then handed over to a man who wouldhave used her for his amusement before likely disposing of her. It was not insignificant.
“You’re very brave, you know that?” she heard Wolf say.
Aife shook her head. “I don’t think I am. Your daughter Eyja is the brave one.”
“Eyja is brave to the point of foolishness sometimes.” Wolf’s mouth quivered, betraying his immense tenderness for her. “But it’s not because she is that you can’t be as well, in your own, more sensible way. She’s notthebrave one, butabrave one, amongst many. You don’t think there is only one brave person in each given village, do you? One clever one, one funny one, one determined one, and so forth? Most people are a bit of all this, in different proportions.”
Well, Aife felt rather silly because she had thought something along those lines up until not too long ago. She’d been unable to pinpoint what her special achievement was and thought herself unworthy of interest because of it. But perhaps Wolf was right. Perhaps everyone had their own unique set of skills and abilities that made them special, and if they happened not to have one obvious or rare one, it was not a problem. She was brave like Eyja, if an admittedly different way, compassionate, even if perhaps not as much as Bee, sociable, though unlike Rowena, she felt sometimes ill at ease in front of strangers, and just as helpful as Cwenthryth, in the right circumstances. She was also a fearless and accomplished swimmer, good at finding cockles, devoted to her friends and family, and she had been the one proving to Torsten that he was a man like any other, her proudest moment.
Torsten… Despite all he had been through because of her, he certainly had never given her the impression that whatever she was, was not enough.
“Thank you,” she told Wolf, moved. This conversation would mark a turning point in her life. It would be a first step toward acceptance of who she was and what she could do.
As if sensing she needed time to absorb what he’d just told her, Wolf launched his horse into a canter, preventing further discussion. She followed, trusting Grendel unconditionally despite her recent fall. At this speed, the city walls soon came into view.
They entered through the south gate and did not stop until they had reached the reeve’s residence. To Aife’s relief, it wasn’t hard to convince him of the validity of her idea. It was as Wolf had said—the man seemed happy enough to pursue the two Normans and go to interrogate Ranulf, but first he needed to be given irrefutable proof of foul play to protect himself from any accusation coming from his wife’s family. This was what she would hopefully provide.
“As soon as the men exit the gaol, they will see me in the street, stationed as if waiting for someone. I’m certain they will not resist the temptation of coming to see me.”
“We will take John, one of my guards, with us,” the reeve decided. “He’s one of Ranulf’s closest friends. Having him corroborate the story will protect me from his family’s ill will. It will be clear this is nothing personal, only a necessary investigation, and he will lend a hand if we need to restrain the men.”
Wolf nodded, satisfied. “Go and tell the bastards they are free to leave, then.”
The knock wasself-assured and masculine, nothing like the tentative and feminine one he’d been waiting to hear. Torstenclosed his eyes in disappointment. Over the last few days, he’d received many a visit. His parents, Steinar, Moon, Haakon, even Aife’s brothers, Eirik and Elwyn. He’d hoped to see Aife herself but it would seem that she was avoiding him. Since Sigurd and Björn had brought him back to the village, she had not visited him once. Why? Did she feel guilty for causing his injury, as she had hinted at the Saxon village? Or had she lost interest in him, now that he could do naught but lie on his pallet? He dearly hoped not, but unfortunately, he could not just go to her and find out. He could have asked someone to carry him to her hut, of course, but he refused to leave his house other than on his own two feet.
A second knock, more forceful, made it clear the visitor was not going to be dissuaded so easily. Torsten wasn’t sure he wanted to answer, only to be seen in such a pitiful state by someone who was not a close friend. Nevertheless, he called out.
“Enter.”
Feeling more powerless than ever, he watched Sven walk inside the hut with his usual swagger. What wouldn’t he give to shoot up to his feet and give him a slap on the shoulder, as they usually did.
“Brother. Good afternoon.”
To his credit, Sven behaved as if nothing was amiss, as if it were normal that someone his age should lie on his pallet like a crippled old man in the middle of the day.
“What do you want?” Torsten asked none too graciously. Unlike his carefree brother, he was having difficulty pretending everything was as it should be.
“Mother came to see me this morning. She gave me some roasted trout for my dinner tonight. But I’ve been invited to eat with Elwyn and Bee. I didn’t have the heart to tell her but I don’t want the fish to spoil. So, here, you can have it.”
With those words he deposited a wooden plate on the table. On it was the roasted trout, as well as a chunk of rye bread and some freshly churned butter. Mm. This seemed like a ploy to provide him with food, but Torsten didn’t comment. His brother was only trying to help without making him feel bad. He was a good man, one of the most personable he knew, which was probably what had drawn countless women to him, including Aife.
Aife. The thought of her was a punch to the gut. Was she still in love with Sven?
After their heated encounter the other day he had done his best to ignore the question, but spending his day lying on his pallet with nothing else to do than think meant that he’d tortured himself wondering if her feelings for his little brother had changed. He’d also wondered if Sven was interested in her. And if he was, did he intent to act on his desire? It was not impossible. Torsten had changed his mind about a woman who’d been a childhood friend. Why wouldn’t his brother, who had a notorious roaming eye, not consider bedding another beautiful, willing conquest? Aife had done all she could to attract his attention.
So, had she succeeded?
Taking a deep inhale, Torsten decided to ask the difficult question. He might not be able to will himself onto his feet, but he could at least set his mind at rest once and for all. And perhaps knowing he had nothing to worry about would help motivate him regain his strength. He refused to think of the other option—that he would have his worst fears confirmed and lose Aife.
“Tell me,” he said while Sven started to brush the cold ashes from the fire pit into the small wooden shovel he’d taken from the hook on the wall. “What do you think of Aife?”
“Aife?” The arched eyebrow and the surprise in his tone were enough to indicate that Sven didn’t think much of her, aside from the fact that she was a friend. “What do you mean? That I should resent her for what happened to you? Well, I don’t. It was an accident.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I know she is not to blame, as you say, it was an accident. I mean, have you ever considered bedding her?” There. It could not be clearer.
“Aife?” There really was no mistaking the shock in Sven’s voice. He had not entertained the idea once, would likely never do. The knot in Torsten’s chest started to loosen. Perhaps he could set his mind at rest. He wouldn’t have to watch as his charming brother whisked her from under his nose. “Sigurd’s daughter? No, of course, I have not! Why would you even think such a thing? Have you gone mad? Next, you will be suggesting I bed Eirik.”
Torsten’s mouth quivered at the idea of the two brawny men in bed together. “Well, no, I would not, for it is not quite the same, is it?”
