“I look forward to showing you your new home, introducing you to our people,” he said. He spoke in her own language of Brythonic, strangely accented but understandable. The knot of worry in her chest loosened slightly.
“Thank you,” she said. She swallowed, trying to quell her fears. He knew her language. It was a small comfort, one which gave her hope for her future with this man.
The cart reached the crest of the hill and passed by a clump of trees. On one of the branches, two ravens sat staring at her. One of them tilted its head to one side and croaked. Were these the same birds she had seen at the abbey? Were they following her?
Both creatures took flight and soared above her. Hope flared again within her. Maybe this was her fate. She looked again at the wild-looking, heavily armed war band around the cart and sighed again. If it wasn’t, there was certainly going to be no escape, anyway.
Strangely, she felt safer with them than with her father’s men—not least because none had cast a single lecherous nor fearful glance toward her. Curious stares now and again, however,all had averted their eyes when she looked at them. Of course, none of them knew about her curse—her father would hardly have mentionedthat.
She got the distinct feeling they believed she had some value, undoubtedly tied to the fact they thought her father cared enough about her to not want her dead. Would they feel differently when they discovered this was not the case? Not that she was going to be the one to tell them. She was certain these were not men who were afraid of killing anyone. She would have to simply hope and pray her father honoured the alliance.
One man stood out from the rest due to his scars. Deep wounds covered all the skin visible on his face and hands. She shivered when she looked at them. What pain he must have suffered. And how strong must he be to have survived?
“Aoife?” She jumped at the sound of her name, although her husband spoke gently. “We are nearly home. I hope it will be to your liking.”
“Would it matter if it wasn’t?” she said, regretting the comment as soon as it had passed her lips. She steeled herself for a blow or harsh words. None came.
“I would have my wife happy,” he replied after a pause, his expression revealing nothing.
She opened her mouth to speak but could form no words.
“Is that not a husband’s duty?” Tormod asked her.
“Makes for an easier life,” the man who rode alongside them said loudly and laughed. “And Tormod is known for his ability to make women very happy.”
“Björn!” Tormod chided him, but the other man grinned. “My cousin has no manners.”
Aoife looked ahead, her cheeks heating.
“But if he keeps you happy, it will mean an easier life for us too,” Björn continued. “If your father keeps his word.”
Aoife glanced sharply at him. Her father keep his word? Unlikely, especially if her stepmother wanted something different. “What did my father promise you?”
Björn laughed loudly.
Tormod gave her an appraising look, as if trying to judge whether it was worthwhile answering her or not. “You, for a start.”
She stared at him for a moment. The tone of the laughter from both him and the others suggested it was simply a joke — not any kind of threat. He reached out a hand as if to cup her face, but let it fall back to his side when she involuntarily recoiled.
“We are allies and he has promised not to contest my ownership of this land,” Tormod said. “And to help us defend it if necessary. After all, what father would risk his daughter’s safety?”
Aoife wasn’t sure she wanted to answer the question. She could only pray he was right. “So, I am a sort of hostage?”
He shook his head. “No. Whatever else you are, you will be a jarl’s wife, with all the status and responsibilities that entails. You are still a free woman. You have choices. Even the choice of divorcing me. Although that seems a bit extreme already.”
“Divorce?” The Church never allowed such a thing. And what did he mean about being free? Married women were the property of their husbands.
“I think we should at least try being married first,” he said, grinning. “You may even enjoy it.”
The warriors around them laughed.
“But…” She couldn’t believe he was amused by the notion rather than anything else, and the knowledge she still had a choice made her feel better. Still, they were married now. Bricius had performed the ceremony, albeit the shortest version Aoife had ever witnessed. Her father had decided she was to marry this Norseman and there was no alternative. Besides, no Briton would want a woman who had been married to a Norseman. Not that any of them had wanted her in the first place, not after Alt Clut. She could only pray Tormod was right about her father not wanting her dead.
A thought occurred to her—if her father was going to help them defend their land…
“You plan to stay here?” she asked.
“We do. Our village is nearly complete and there are many farms in the surrounding area.”
