“Aye,” Lauga smiled, so much for intelligent dialogue. She inched away the moment she realized Randvior was headed back.
The musicians were done playing, and slaves reassembled the tables. A troupe of skalds wearing festive robes entered the hall with all the pomp and ceremony expected of their kind. They waved their hands, encouraging men and women to sing. Norsemen have a soft spot for gifted storytellers—a fondness for poets who they believed were divinely inspired. Randvior returned to his seat at the high table and signaled for the performance to begin.
“LordlyJarl,gentlemen, and ladies…” The master of ceremonies established the credentials of his troupe by introducing each artist individually and listing their accomplishments. Randvior grinned a bit drunkenly, tilted his goblet, and drained it. He banged a fist on the table and held his glass up. A thrall rushed to refill it.
In bits and pieces, the skalds magically wove their enchanted tales, gripping the souls of everyone who listened. Even Randvior sat on the edge of his seat, entangled in the story of Valkyries and warriors. The latest story ended when the bravest and most celebrated warrior in the land shed tears for the woman he would never get to marry, as he laid dying on the battlefield. His only reward was the aubergine-eyed Valkyrie that comforted him by ensuring his passage into Valhalla.Fear not noble man, Odin has heard your war cry. You are chosen for his table.
Randvior eyed his lady as she clapped enthusiastically, dazzled by the talents of these men. Most stories were told in Norse, some in English or Gaelic. Brandon leaned close and translated. Randvior tolerated it. He knew of the limited entertainment offered in English courts. Master musicians, acrobats, clowns, dancers, and actors graced King Sweyn’s hall,but never a skald. The English were not blessed with an ear for epics. The last performer took his respective place in the middle of the room, a wiry youth with eyes as translucent as a spring.
Randvior felt encouraged, always interested in hearing new talent. But the young man seemed distracted by Noelle; his voice wavered and cracked like an untrained adolescent. The boy started and stopped, but was promptly rewarded with catcalls from the impatient crowd. With great effort, he bowed toward Randvior and picked up a miniature lyre. Skalds rarely accompanied their words with music, but he began a new verse.
A lord shall always honor those who serve loyally
With innumerable gifts of silver and gold.
But this time he rewarded us with a rare flower from across the sea of ice,
From a land for centuries laid low.
He brought forth a maiden with a countenance as fair as any I’ve beheld—beneath Odin’s goodly skies.
A woman with warmth breathed into her silky curls, a hint of winter maiden.
And after the lord jarl is taken up to Asgard, his just rewards to collect,
May her womb blossom and be opened in Freya’s abounding light—
“What insult is this?” Randvior bolted from his chair, stormed across the hall with his battle-axe raised above his head.
Neverin all his years did he see a performer so eager to part with his head by paying homage to a virtuous woman in public—especiallyhiswoman. Simply not done! Not in his court. A great commotion sounded from behind as Randvior towered threateningly over the singer who had dropped his instrumentthe moment he had attacked. The boy cowered and trembled, fell to his knees in complete supplication.
“Wait!”
Randvior turned abruptly at the sound of the familiar voice. Noelle bent down and shielded the skald with her body.
“Go back to your seat!”
“What unforgivable sin did this boy commit?” she asked, her brown eyes opened wide, demanding explanation.
He ran his hand through his hair as if to clear his mind; her obstinacy was an even greater insult than the singer’s words. It reflected badly on him. “It’s forbidden to single out a woman in verse. It draws unwanted attention, compromises…” He spoke through tightly clenched teeth.
“Her maidenhood?” she finished.
He knew exactly what the sharp-tongued little shrew was insinuating.Wait until I get my hands on you…Noelle ignited a flame inside him that might never go out.
All of his thoughts fragmented as she suddenly crumpled on the floor at his feet.
Chapter Ten
A Matter of Trust
Voices bombarded Randvior’sears as he leaned over Noelle. Brandon, Starri, Unnr, and Katherine rushed to his side; but he didn’t really see them as he dropped his axe and forced everyone back. He wished now he hadn’t acted so rashly with her. He cradled her in his arms. She was burning with fever, her skin scarily ashen.
“Upstairs!” he roared. “Summon the spaewife, find the physicians.”
He started up the steps, taking two at a time with Aud at the lead. Randvior crashed through the door and laid her out on the bed. The spaewife must have been nearby; she arrived within minutes. She quickly assessed Noelle’s condition and flashed a concerned look at Randvior.
“Clear the room,” she ordered. “I can’t work with all these people breathing down my neck. If you want a proper diagnosis,Jarl, I require complete privacy.”
