Always an outsider.
‘Which one would you like to learn first?’ he asked casually, not missing the bright spark that ignited within her eyes at his question. He was glad he had offered.
‘All of them?’ she asked hopefully.
Nodding, he lifted the lyre as if to pass it to her. But she stopped him with a gentle hand to his arm. ‘Not tonight. I am exhausted. I doubt I could learn anything.’
‘Of course... Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry, but would you mind...?’ She bit her bottom lip, and he swallowed a knot in his throat.
‘What?’ he coaxed, knowing for certain he would do anything she asked.
‘Would you mind playing something softly for me tonight? To help me sleep? I am used to the noises of a busy Hall, and I worry the silence will be...unfamiliar.’
‘I will play for you until you fall asleep,’ he vowed, and she looked away as if embarrassed.
‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’
After he had tidied up their meal, and given her time alone to change for bed, he settled on his bedroll beside Sten and picked up his lyre, while Embla curled up into the far corner of the bed.
Playing the lyre was awkward at first, as he slowly remembered how to hold and pluck a tune. But after a while, the music flowed naturally through him, and he remembered the joy it gave him. He continued playing well after he heard the even breathing of Embla sleeping.
He watched the flames for most of the night, ensuring they didn’t go out, planning how he might improve the longhouse and their meagre supplies in the days and weeks to come.
Even if Embla was just like Gertrud and would never consider him as a partner, the least he could do would be to ensure she wasn’t miserable while staying here. He would make it as comfortable as possible, prove that he had something good to offer her.
Improve his reputation, even if it were only for the benefit of one woman.
It would be a lot of work, but it would be worth it to see Embla smile.
Chapter Eight
Embla woke up to the sound of Runar pouring a bucket of fresh snow into the water barrel. He was fully dressed, and from the sweat on his brow she would have guessed he had been awake for hours. The sun poured in from the smoke hole above, and the shutters had been opened to let in more light. Thin strips of linen covered the small high windows and held back the worst of the chilly outside air.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, sitting up and hastily smoothing a hand through her bedraggled hair. She tidied the stray hairs that had fallen from her braid and now covered her face like cobwebs. ‘I am so sorry! You must be hungry. Give me a moment and I will make you some porridge fordagmal.’
‘I could not waste the day waiting for you. So, I have already made it.’ He pointed to the cauldron by the fire, and then wagged his finger at her. ‘I have much to do, remember?’
‘Oh, no, you should have woken me. I never normally sleep this late!’ Hot panic flew down her spine, causing her to leap from her covers and hurry to the fire. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she wanted to look busy, and so decided to start by tidying. Expecting it to be cool, she picked up the cauldron by its handle, and then yelped when it burned her.
Runar dropped the bucket with a clatter and scooped a handful of wet snow from the barrel. Then he rushed to her side.
‘What are you doing?’ he cried, pressing the snow directly into her throbbing palm.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered, and tried to fight the tears of embarrassment and pain that threatened to fall.
‘It was only a jest,’ he said softly, and she felt brave enough to look up at him. His brown eyes were full of kindness and regret. ‘It was a poor jest... I should not have worried you.’
She hurried to explain. ‘I am usually up with the children by dawn. Honestly, I am happy to cook for you, and I am not a lazy worker—’
He interrupted her, his words gentle as he pressed the melting snow further into her skin. ‘You are not my thrall, and I thought it best to let you rest. The last two days have been difficult and strenuous for you. It was wrong of me to tease you. If I had known you might take it to heart—’ He sighed miserably, as the snow melted and the skin of their hands kissed. ‘I am...bad with people.’
‘Why do you say that?’ she asked softly, hating that he would talk so harshly about himself when he had been so kind to her.
He shrugged. ‘I spent most of my childhood alone or with my parents. When I did meet with people, in Gudvangen or even with my mother’ssiida—I struggled to make friends. I looked and spoke differently to them, and I didn’t know their games or understand their humour. I was...odd. I suppose I still am.’
‘You are unique. No one would ever forget you and that is a good thing,’ she answered softly, pitying the difficulties young Runar must have faced. She knew children all too well; they could be brutally unkind if they wished to be, and they usually focused their cruelty on children who were different from themselves.
