Strict rules applied to arm wrestling matches, no matter how informal. Brandon would act as referee and appoint seats for the challengers. Massive right hands folded together across the high table.
Brandon circled, checking their form from every angle. Upon final inspection, the Scot straightened their wrists until he was sure neither had a starting advantage.
On the count of three, Brandon whistled and the match began. Sveinn displayed raw skill first and locked Randvior’s wrist in a vulnerable position. Randvior indulged the younger man by allowing him to dominate and spend his strength early. Each time Sveinn attempted to slam his hand down, Randvior forced him back to the starting position.
He grinned as Sveinn dug his long fingernails into the palm of his left hand and drew blood. He loved competition for the sake of a fight and twisted Sveinn’s wrist so hard it cracked loudly as he banged it down in decisive victory. The sickening sound drew the boy’s worried father to the tableside. After a quick inspection, it was realized only to be a severe sprain.
Fald seemed relieved. “It’s a long ride home and my son requires rest and time to mend his pride.”
“Aye.” Randvior agreed. “Go with my blessing.” He greatly appreciated Fald, but his son deserved the sharp end of his sword.
Chapter Fourteen
The Weaving Room
Compelled by traditionto leave Noelle untouched until their wedding night, Randvior avoided spending any time alone with her. Days blurred into weeks. And although Noelle enjoyed improved eminence in Randvior’s house, Lauga continued to encourage the women to treat her as an outsider.
She searched for ways to keep herself entertained. Conversations with servants and reading books helped some. But she had grown dependent on their daily lovemaking on ship and the days before their betrothal to help keep her thoughts off home. Now, only his eyes spoke intimately to her. Thankfully, they spoke a language she understood—they always undressed her.
Most evenings they ate together and enjoyed the entertainment of traveling musicians who visited the hall to earn coin to support their families. She also took the time to learn the routine of the household, assisting the chambermaids with cleaning and laundry duties. However, the kitchen remained unapproachable. Lauga, who never seemed to want to go home, spent most of her time there planning the meals.
The month of December came and the men slaughtered the weakest livestock and dried meat for storage. Slabs of venison, beef, pork, and mutton were hung or buried in deep pits, left for days or weeks to cure in mixtures of salt and herbs. A smallerbuilding was used for processing fish. The men who worked there gave her strings of smoked white fish to snack on as she watched.
Today, the women pickled vegetables and jarred fruits in the kitchen. Everyone worked together—even Randvior labored between the smokehouse and the great hall.
One particular morning, a sharp rapping on Noelle’s bedchamber door wrested her from sleep. Katherine greeted the unannounced visitor. Randvior stood at the doorway holding a tray of food.
“Come in, my Lord.”
“You may leave us.” Randvior dismissed her and stepped inside.
Noelle sank further below the sheets. He pulled the blankets back and stared down at her, clearly amused.
She pinched her cheeks and combed her fingers through her hair to avoid appearing disheveled, hoping to win some time in bed with him.
“No need.” He assured her. “If you wore rags and covered your face with ashes I’d still consider you the most beautiful woman in the northern hemisphere.”
She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, patted the bed invitingly, and flashed her white teeth, pleased with herself. She needed to put an end to this ridiculous separation.
The teasing obviously irritated him. “I’m only here to eat, and then escort you to the weaving room.”
She stopped and looked at him dumbly. His rejection stung and she groaned mentally. Whether he wanted her or not, he was still too handsome to ignore. He motioned for her to precede him to the table.
Fine—the window of opportunity to seduce him slammed shut. Well, it had been worth a try.
She allowed her displeasure to show on her face as she bustled ahead and chose a seat. And even managed to keep from yelling… although he had mentioned that torture chamber—the weaving room. It was where women gathered to work—apparently English women weren’t permitted. On more than one occasion, she overheard the gossip coming from the room, and most of it centered on her.No. She wanted nothing to do with it.
“Has anything changed significantly in the past few weeks where an invitation to the women’s quarters will be considered a friendly gesture? I think not. They will consider it impertinence, and I look at it as an intrusion.” Noelle nibbled on a piece of cheese.
He stared at her for a long moment and dropped his bread on the plate. “You will be mistress of this household soon enough. These women will serve you, and it’s time to establish your command.”
“This isn’t a military exercise, Randvior.” She reached for the robe draped over one of the chairs.
“Don’t put anything else on.”
First, he cruelly rejects my invitation and now he wants to ogle me in my nightdress.
She didn’t want to stay seated at the table with him any longer. The floorboards were very cold against her feet as she slinked to the bed to retrieve her slippers. She bent down to get them and couldn’t help noticing the look on his face. His eyes betrayed him.
