“They didn’t trust her and told me she was lying to me but I refused to see it. Ulf had seen her leaving the village more than once and had followed her back to the hut we had met in. When I confronted her, she said it was because it reminded her of when we had first met.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“No, she told me that she was worried no one in the village trusted her, said my cousins were trying to poison me against her.” He stopped and put his head in his hands. Then he shook his head and sat up. “Later, I learned she was meeting her lover there. But I believed her and did not listen to my cousins as I should have. What sort of a jarl does that make me if I cannot see through the lies of my own wife?”
Aoife bit her lip and tried to push aside her own guilt. She wasn’t betraying Tormod. Not like that.
“But you were not jarl then?”
Aoife swallowed when he shook his head. She was not being entirely honest with him either, and struggled to work out what to say to him that would not reinforce his negative view. “She, too, paid a high price.”
Tormod frowned. “She did. It was a terrible way to die.”
Abruptly, he left the room, leaving her with more of an understanding of his reluctance to have a child. The knowledge was a relief in so many ways although if it were only over the child, she wasn’t sure why Tormod seemed so distressed. She was sure there was more to the story that he was not willing to share with her. Perhaps one day he would trust her enough for that.
Chapter Twenty-five
Weeks passed with nofurther attacks on the village. Then one morning they were woken by the shouts of a watchman.
“They are coming! They are coming!”
Tormod hurried from his bed into the hall where he met the guard. He had brought his axe, but the man shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, his expression joyful.
“No, not the Britons. Our own people. My wife may be amongst them. They are already part of the way up the firth and the winds are strong. They will be here soon!”
Tormod acknowledged his words, then let the watchman go to spread the news to the others. He returned to his room to find Aoife almost dressed. The uncertainty on her face made his heart twist. It seemed like every time their life together settled, something happened to disrupt it. Although at least in this case, it was a positive rather than a negative event.
“What is it?” She put her hands over her mouth, then took a deep breath and clenched her fists at her side. “Is it my father?”
“No.” Tormod smiled, pleased more of his people were arriving. He should have asked how many boats but had been too relieved that they were not under attack to ask. Aoife swept her hair to the side and began to braid it as he watched. “You must have been used to having someone do that for you.”
“At one time. But not for a while. In the abbey…” She swallowed. “It is strange also to have my head covered only by a scarf, but Ragna has been teaching me ways to plait my hair and… And I am sure you do not need to hear about such things. How many people are arriving? Are there homes for them all?”
“I must go and find out,” he replied, moving close behind her and drawing her back against him. He laid his chin on her shoulder and sighed. She twisted her head around and kissed him. Soon he turned her to face him, his body pressing into hers, their kisses making him want more.
Shouts from the beach reminded him that he had new arrivals to greet and, despite the news from the guard, he must ensure that they were ready for foe as well as friend.
He set Aoife away from him. “Later,” he whispered, and smiled when she blushed.
“What will they think of me?” she asked just as he reached the door.
“They will think you are their jarl’s wife.”
She studied his face and pursed her lips. “I hope so.” She returned to plaiting her hair. “I will join you when I am ready.”
He paused, realising that it might make it easier for her to be accepted by the new arrivals if the two of them presented a united front from the outset. “I will wait for you.”
“Then do not distract me.”
His heart lifted when she laughed.
When they arrived on the beach, Tormod counted seven boats moving up the firth and into the sea-loch. The shield designs on the foremost boat he recognised as from his father. Even so, the warriors led by Björn, Ulf and Arne were ready in case the visit was not a friendly one. Everyone who waited was armed and, although there was excitement in the air, there was also a ripple of tension. At a far-flung outpost such as this one, news of changes of powerback home was often slow to reach them, so even folk they had left as friends could have changed allegiances.
Tormod shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Living amongst a foreign enemy was affecting him and he saw intrigue everywhere. The boats were likely little more than settlers arriving, as they were expecting. As they waited, people from the farms all over the peninsula joined them.
When it drew close enough to shore, Tormod took one look at the man at the prow of the foremost boat and hurried towards it, tugging Aoife along behind him.
“Who is it?” she asked him.
