“The four of them are inseparable, and Tormod is their leader,” Ragna explained. “He is named after the thunder god.”
“I see. I have met Björn.”
“Ulf and Arne were there as well to accompany you here. You will get to know them soon enough. Björn will be a loyal friend to you as long as you and your husband get along together. The others… they may take some time to accept you. Arne is the scarred man.”
The way in which the woman spoke made her think there was more significance to this than she was currently grasping.
“We will feast later to celebrate the wedding of our jarl. Before then, you will bathe and we will find you nicer clothes.” Ragna let go of her arm and stepped back to look at her carefully. “Why are you dressed like a holy woman? I thought they were not allowed to marry?”
“These are novice’s robes. My stepmother sent me to the abbey, but I had not yet taken my vows,” Aoife explained. “My mother died when I was young, birthing my brother.”
A sly grin spread across Ragna’s face. “Ah, so it was your stepmother who sent you to the Church? And married you to a Norseman?”
“Sort of, yes.” It seemed like an easier explanation, and it wasn’t as if it was completely untrue.
“That explains much. Well, you will not need those clothes again,” she said, gesturing for the two thralls to assist her. “Now we will get you ready for your wedding.”
Aoife froze for a second. Surely Ragna wasn’t expecting her to undress in front of them? Ragna clapped her hands and the two thralls began to help loosen her cloak and then her robes, ignoring all her attempts at covering herself.
“We are not afraid of our own bodies here,” Ragna said, smiling at her in amusement. “Now step into the water and let us wash you after your journey. You Britons do not wash nearly enough—and you have the cheek to call us barbarians. The bathhouse is not yet finished, so this will have to suffice for now.”
Aoife hid a smile. She had noticed that very thing about Tormod as they’d travelled here. He lacked the stench of so many of her father’s men and even some of the monks.
She was urged to climb into a large half-barrel and found herself standing in warm, soothing water. Once she was clean and her hair washed, she did, indeed, feel much better.
Ragna busied herself laying out new clothes and undergarments and removed the brooch from Aoife’s cloak before casting it into the pile of unwanted robes. When she turned to look at Aoife, her hands flew to her mouth.
Too late, Aoife realised that, although the pain had now gone, her skin still bore the marks of her latest beating. She’d been at Mass when she’d had a vision of a burning field, the stench of the smoke strong enough it had made her sick to her stomach. Brother Pasgen had not been amused.
“You have been beaten,” Ragna said. She spoke to the thralls and one of them hurried out of the room while Ragna walked in front of her and gasped.
Aoife glanced down and saw the dark blue-black bruising on her knees.
“Why was this done?” Ragna touched one of the bruises, causing Aoife to wince. She didn’t feel she could refuse Ragna’s demand to explain, and neither she could she tell them the truth, not yet. Maybe when she became a wife, the curse would leave her? She hoped so.
“I became unwell during Mass… and it angered the priest.” That was true, just not the whole story. “And my knees are bruised from praying.”
Ragna regarded her for a long moment, then tsked. “If Tormod gets his hands on the man who did this to you… He would never treat a free woman this way, nor allow it in his village.”
“Truly?” Aoife asked before she had thought it through.
Ragna’s eyes narrowed. “For being unwell? Of course not. Our punishments fit our crimes here. And Tormod is a fair man. It would not befit his position as jarl to mistreat his wife. Welcome him to your bed and give him strong sons and you will not displease him.”
“What if I displease him?” Aoife wasn’t sure why she asked. This woman was Tormod’s aunt and more likely to side with Tormod than with herself. However, in the absence of any other support Ragna’s advice was all she had. “I’m not sure what to do.”
Ragna smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, then gave it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Tormod does. He will be gentle with you.”
Aoife couldn’t express the feeling of relief sweeping over her at Ragna’s words. One of her concerns about her marriage had been laid to rest even as she still worried what welcoming him to her bed would be like.
By the time she was clean and dressed in an ankle-length dress, sitting by the fire with Ragna combing out her long hair, she felt better than she had in years, even if her gut was churning with anxiety about her wedding night. The thrall had brought ointment for her bruises, which had helped with the pain. These peoplewere showing her more care than she had experienced before and she felt safer now than she ever had in her father’s fort since her mother’s death, and far, far safer than at the abbey.
“Now,” Ragna said. “You must rest before the wedding feast begins.” She indicated the furs piled thickly on the bench at the side of the room. “I will return later and help you dress.”
Aoife didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. However, as soon as she lay down and pulled the furs around her, warmth and exhaustion overtook her.
Chapter Seven
Tormod looked across thetable at his friends. He’d eaten well and then fallen asleep on the benches in the main hall — something he hadn’t done since his own rooms had been completed. He hoped this was not an indication of how his marriage would be, however, Ragna had insisted on him giving Aoife the use of his room to prepare for the ceremony.
