Björn did not respond.
“What will you do if she marries someone else?”
“There are always other women,” Björn replied, shrugging, the pause before he spoke enough to make Tormod grin, although he wondered at his cousin’s apparent lack of ambition. He had never quite worked the other man out, no matter how close they were. He knew he could both trust and rely upon him, however, and for now that would be enough. He and his three cousins were getting older, their priorities changing, and he was sure Björn would soon settle down. If not through his own choice, then thanks tohis mother’s nagging. Ragna was nothing if not persuasive, and Tormod doubted that in a battle of wits with Ylva any man stood a chance of winning.
Tormod grinned again, then dressed before heading towards the village to find Aoife and join in the dancing.
Chapter Seventeen
From her seat onthe dais beside Tormod, Aoife spotted some of the villagers regarding her with suspicion or at best, curiosity, but their eyes lowered quickly when she caught their gaze. Others, however, seemed to have accepted her and she was beginning to get to know some of the unfamiliar names. Tormod had made sure to be very attentive towards her in public, more so than he was in private, and she was grateful.
His efforts to encourage his people to accept her made her feel more secure, although it still bothered her that she had not told him the whole truth. Every night before she fell asleep, she prayed she would not call out her dreams in her sleep and give away all of her secrets.
She should try not to worry so much. She was dreaming less, given how tired she was each night before she fell asleep. Her days were long with a list of chores that took up many hours and occupied her mind most of that time, even with Ragna’s assistance. Learning a new language was also tiring and her head often ached at the end of each day. However, she was learning and she had even begun to dream in Norse.
Added to that was the fact her husband kept her occupied every night in bed and sometimes in the morning, too. At least his attentions made her believe that one day there might be a real connection between them, although he was still careful to makesure that he would not give her a child. That troubled her. As well as a child making her position here more secure, it would give her the chance of family she had always wanted. She had tried to ask him about it again, but he had simply said there would be time in the future for children and refused to speak any more of it.
They had been not been married long, she told herself. There was plenty of time. When the winter came, she would ask him again. She glanced sideways at her husband and smiled. Her husband. It was beginning to seem normal to her. This may not have been a marriage she would have chosen, but she was well aware it could have been so much worse. She remembered Rhiannon and the fear in her eyes when her husband’s name was mentioned, the dark bruises on her arms. The brute had left her face alone and yet, knowing that he was dead, had Aoife even more concerned about her maid. Why had she sent her son here? Were things at her father’s fort so bad?
She sighed. She noticed one of the thralls staring at her and realised most people had finished their food and the drink was starting to flow. She took a mouthful of food. The smell and taste of the hearty mutton made her smile. Then she felt lightheaded and caught at the side of the table. The mouthful of mutton suddenly tasted like ashes. The last time a vision had hit her quite like this had been at Alt Clut. As she raised her head, the hall and villagers faded away before her eyes, replaced by an image of the stone walls of her father’s fort.
She heard the clang of swords on swords, of swords on stone. Smelled the coppery tang of blood. Heard the screams of the wounded and then the silence of the dead.
Was this going to happen there? When? Perhaps it already had. Her visions were not predictable in any way.
Then she felt an arm around her shoulders, a hand closing around her own. The noise and heat of the hall surrounded heronce more, and she was left with a deep-seated worry for her father.
“Is everything all right?” Tormod whispered close to her ear.
His breath on her skin sent tingles down her spine. Unable to put her feelings, her worries, into words, she said, “I am just tired and ready for bed.”
Tormod grinned. “You cannot wait to bed me again.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help blushing at his statement. “Did I… did I say anything?”
“Just now?” Tormod asked. “No, apart from saying that you would rather be pleasuring me in our bed.”
She pushed him away playfully, grinning. “That is not what I said at all.” But he didn’t seem perturbed, which was good.
Just then, Björn spoke from his other side and Tormod turned to answer him.
Aoife slumped in her chair, trying to gather her thoughts. Had Car Cadell been attacked already, or was what she had seen the result of Tormod’s planned visit? It was frustrating to not see enough in her vision to know. Whatever it was, she suspected Ula was behind it and that death lay ahead. She could only pray it wasn’t her own. Or her husband’s.
At that moment, she knew she had no choice than to agree to visit with Tormod. While it may reveal the truth about her curse, she couldn’t continue to live in such a state of uncertainty. She returned her attention to her food and found she had more appetite than she had thought. When she finished, a thrall hurried over and took the plate from in front of her and scurried back a few minutes later with a plateful of berries in a sweet, syrupy mead.
Tentatively, she tasted the first bite, then ate the rest as quickly as she deemed ladylike. Once she was done, she stared at the syrup left in the bowl. Tormod leaned in front of her and picked up the bowl, then held it to her lips for her to drink every last drop. Their eyes met, and he smiled, not taking his eyes from hers as sheswallowed. He pulled the bowl away and immediately his thumb caught a drip at the edge of her mouth, which he then sucked off. She stared at him, mesmerised by the simple movement. Maybe the mead in the syrup was stronger than she’d realised.
“I can see it will not be long before you are greeting another son, Tormod,” Björn said.
Aoife pursed her lips and dropped her gaze, her hand moving involuntarily over her stomach even though there was no hope of a child.
When she met her husband’s gaze again, his expression was stony. “I am in no hurry.” He turned to Björn, put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. “There is plenty to amuse ourselves with before we need to think about children.” Tormod laughed, although it didn’t sound happy.
She didn’t resist his touch, but her stomach turned to lead. What was he waiting for?
Björn leaned around Tormod to talk to her. “You mustn’t let him exhaust you. What with you walking to the farm every day to teach Magda Brythonic and taking over so many of my mother’s tasks with running the village. She is grateful, you know. I have seen her smile more in the past few days than in the past year. Tormod works everyone to the bone. Thinks there are unlimited hours in each day. And night.” He laughed and slapped Tormod on the back.
“I hardly think I need your advice on how to keep my wife happy,” Tormod said. “Perhaps you should consider your own future instead of worrying about mine.”
