“Love may be a little premature, but I do like him.”
“I cannot wait to see his castle,” Vigdis said. “The MacAlpin told me all about it and I cannot imagine a structure so high above the ground.”
“You have become quite interested in the thingsthe MacAlpinhas to say, sister. I believe you like him.”
Vigdis blushed bright pink and lowered her gaze. She appeared rather uncomfortable and so Saga did not press the subject.
“Come let us get you to bed,” Freydis said after a time. They had been talking for hours now whilst the din in the hall had grown louder.
Freydis removed her trews and tunic. Tomorrow morning she would take the cleansing bath but for tonight she must remove her warrior’s clothing and don a shift that had belonged to her mother. She had not discussed her status in Giric’s household and suddenly realized as she folded her clothes, that he may take issue with them.
“What if I am not permitted to wear these in Giric’s castle?” she asked.
The two other women shared a glance with raised eyebrows.
“He seems to be agreeable where you are concerned, Saga. I do not believe he will set out to change you entirely,” Freydis said.
Vigdis giggled. “As if he could. Really, sister. You are the strongest-willed woman I have ever known. I cannot imagine what it would take for anyone to change you.”
She supposed that was true. She’d never been good at listening to what someone else wanted, especially if it conflicted with what she wanted. Having said that, she had always been disciplined when it came to training. A part of her was disappointed that Gunnar wanted her to leave when the village was under possible threat, but she understood the value in this alliance. They simply did not have the numbers to fight Short-Beard on their own regardless of their collective courage.
A soft knock on the door drew their attention.
“Who could that possibly be?” Freydis asked.
“It’s her lover come to beg for a kiss goodnight,” Vigdis said.
Saga crossed the chamber and opened the door to find a wide-eyed and shaking Aslaug.
Drawing her inside, Saga said, “Aslaug, what has happened?”
“Someone has set fire to one of the market huts. The men have gone to douse it, but it looks like there will be damage to the tannery and possibly the pottery.”
Saga’s heartbeat picked up. “Are we under attack or does Gunnar think it is one of our own?”
Aslaug wrung her hands and shook her head.
“Well, tell me,” Saga said, grasping the woman by the shoulders.
“Saga, give her a chance to answer you,” Freydis said.
Drawing a shaky breath, Aslaug said, “Magnus thinks it is mischief made by one of the Scots.”
Cold needles of dread seeped into Saga’s belly. It was no small crime to damage the property and livelihood of another. If it could be proved there would be a hefty fine.
“The chief has locked everyone in the hall under guard until he and Magnus can find out who did this.”
“Thor’s breath, this will end badly,” Vigdis said.
“There’s more,” Aslaug said. “Magnus insists that your marriage cannot go forth on the morrow as planned and that the Scots must leave at daybreak.”
“And what does Gunnar say?” Saga asked.
“He does not contradict Magnus,” Aslaug said.
Saga closed the door and pulled her shift up and over her head and tossed it on the floor. She grabbed her clothes and put them on as quickly as she could. If a Scot was responsible for this they would be punished, on that she did not disagree. But to cancel her wedding because of it was ridiculous. And if it took her finding out what had happened, so be it. But she could not sit idly by while Magnus filled Gunnar’s head with his own biased theories.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Freydis asked. “You cannot go out there.”
