“Careful, now. You will be groggy for a bit, but you needed that much tincture to stop your head from pounding for days. And what a strong one you are. You have a welt, but no bruise on that pretty head of yours. Nothing a nice wreath of flowers won’t hide.”
Saga sat back on the bed and held her head in her hands. The room spun quickly at first but eventually slowed. Then something Freydis said clicked in her mind.
“Why do I need a wreath of flowers to hide my welt?”
“Your brother sent word that you and your sister are to dress properly for the feast tonight.” Saga’s belly coiled at the thought. She’d never been comfortable in a gown and much preferred the leather trews the tanner had made for her like the ones her brother, Magnus, wore.
“Come now. I brushed your hair whilst you slept, and it is almost dry. Come and sit by the fire while I braid it for you.”
“Where is Vigdis?”
“She is gone to find a dress for you both. Though she was unsure when you last wore one and so went to fetch the weaver too.”
“This seems like an awful lot of fuss. I should wear what I have on now.”
“Really?” Freydis asked, prompting Saga to look down.
Instead of her leather trews and fur tunic, she now wore a delicate sleeveless shift made of the finest linen. It was sheer and soft against her skin which was not unpleasant, however quite different from the woollen ones she normally wore to bed.
Saga sat quietly while Freydis worked on her hair, braiding it away from her face. From time to time the woman would compliment her powerful body and beauty and wondered why she insisted on keeping it hidden beneath man-like furs and shaggy hair.
“I found the perfect gown for you,” Vigdis said from the doorway a short time later. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Saga. “You are a vision, sister. I wish you could see yourself as I see you now with your hair in neat braids.”
Saga was not used to such talk. Their mother had always spent more time fussing over Vigdis, so much that it had turned her from spending so much time on her appearance. She would much rather learn how to properly shoot a crossbow than how to plait her hair.
“Show me the gown,” she said.
“Here. It was our mother's. I had forgotten about it until now. You and she were close in height.”
Saga took the blue sleeveless gown and tugged it over her head. She had to admit, she liked the way the garment fell to the floor at the perfect length, something that had always seemed like a problem. Vigdis produced two heavy golden brooch pins containing sapphires that glinted in the light to pin the shoulder straps. With a couple more tugs and a few pokes and prods, the woman stood back from her and smiled.
“Where have you been hiding those breasts?” Freydis asked.
Saga looked down to see her bosom spilling from the gown, revealing her deep cleavage. “There is no way I am entering the hall like this,” she said, tugging at the shift to cover herself.
“Stop that,” Freydis said, swatting her hands away. “You don’t need to cover it all. Just a little. There’s nothing wrong with showing off your assets, Saga. Think of it as one more weapon you have to keep a man distracted while you bring him to his knees.”
Was that what everyone thought of her? How wrong they were. She did not want to best men, she wanted to be treated with respect.
The whole thought of entering the hall and all eyes falling to her made her head ache again. She did not object when Vigdis and Freydis placed golden arm bands on her upper arms, though they had to stretch them a couple of times to get them to fit properly. They placed earrings in her ears and a small wreath of hawthorn on her head.
“There. You are perfect,” Vigdis said.
“It is you who is the perfect visage, sister,” Saga said. “I feel ridiculous in this kind of clothing,” she said and made to grab her trews, but Freydis was too quick.
“Nay! You may have these back on the morrow with a full report of every conversation you had with those attending this evening.”
“Do not worry,” Vigdis said. “There is only one man who will be able to keep her attention tonight.”
“Who?” Saga and Freydis both asked at the same time.
“A certain Scot who has not been able to tear his eyes from you all day,” she said.
“Ridiculous,” Saga said, scoffing at them both. That man was a schemer, and she wanted no part of him or his political aspirations. She shook off the image of him standing close to her with his strong hand on her shoulder.
“Is he attractive, Vigdis?” Freydis asked her.
“Ja, he is tall and very muscular. He has dark hair and even darker eyes. He looks at her like she is something delicious to eat,” Vigdis said and laughed.
