She didn’t want to look any further but did so now out of morbid curiosity. There were additional tapestries woven in the same artistic style as the one before her. The second depicted priests holding crosses over the dead Vikings. The third were Scots with their heads bowed surrounding burial fires. And the final one made her breath catch in her throat. this one was prominently visible above the hearth. In it, a Scot who could have been Giric, grasped arms with a Viking who could have been Gunnar. All those surrounding them cheered.
“These were woven in my father’s time,” Giric said.
“I do not know what to say.”
“You do not need to say anything, but I urge you to enjoy this hall. You may examine any and every thing here. This is my gift to you.”
“You wish to give me everything in this hall?’
“Because you are the lady of this castle.”
“You have strange ways, husband,” she said and shook her head. She did not have a need for so many things, and would not accept them but wanted to explore more of this hall of his.
Saga had never seen such a sight in her life. In between the images was an array of weapons including swords, shields, axes she definitely wanted to view closer, and something with a long handle and chain protruding out of the top fastened to a metal ball with spikes surrounding it.
In the centre of the hall was a long, wooden table, surrounded by heavy looking intricately carved chairs. She was certain it could seat nearly as many as Gunnar’s hall could contain. Giric motioned for her and her sister and Freydis to be seated to the right of the head seat. Osgar and Aislin sat at the left and Giric sat at the head.
Giric had asked his steward to summon everyone in the castle for the announcement of their marriage and for the first time in her life, Saga felt an odd sensation creep into her belly.
Looking around the hall at those gathered thus far, one thing rested most commonly on their faces—fear. She compared the gowns she and Vigdis wore to Aislin’s. Where hers was sleeveless and fastened at the shoulders with heavy brooches, Aislin’s had a fully stitched upper bodice with long sleeves and ties at the sides. Saga couldn’t imagine how restrictive that must be on the woman’s arms. Could she even raise them over her head?
Just then a man entered who had the look of Giric, but was far shorter and wore a scowl and pout that was almost humorous. He reminded her of Earl Einar. The man did not hang back with everyone else in the hall, rather he strode with purpose directly to her and Giric.
“You have brought the enemy into our home,” he said to Giric, as he flicked his head in her direction.
Giric stood so suddenly, his chair teetered before resting upright. “You will take a seat and show fealty to me, brother, or you will leave this hall.”
“I have a right to speak my mind and I will do so.” Pointing to Saga he said, “She and her kin will destroy our homes and glory in our suffering.”
“I said be quiet, brother!” Giric’s fists clenched at his sides.
Saga watched the two men glare at one another. While she understood why Giric wanted to speak to everyone at once, surely silencing a voice of concern was not the answer to anyone’s fear. She had to admit, she was in uncharted territory. At home if there was word of an attack or an actual attack, they would prepare and fight and the gods would decide who lived and who died.
Here the people seemed to thrive on their fear instead of face it and deal with it. Thor’s teeth, no wonder her people had been raiding here for so many years. Their indecisiveness made them easy prey.
Saga wanted what Giric wanted, but realized acceptance could not be forced upon people. The tension in the room was thick when she stood. Whether from fear or submission, Giric’s brother took a step back and returned to the others along the hall’s periphery.
Giric stood beside her and smiled. Not really knowing what else to do, she squeezed his arm. He glanced at it quickly then winked, sending an odd flutter in her belly.
“Thank you for attending, everyone,” he said. His voice carried well in the large room. “As you know by now, I have taken a wife. Her name is Saga Haraldson and she is the sister of Chieftain Gunnar Haraldson of Lagavulin.”
A low murmur grew in the hall. No need to worry yet. No one questioned or outright jeered at Giric. But the dissent was apparent from the frowns many wore.
“Our people have been attacked by my wife’s people for decades. This union will put an end to all of that. Gunnar and I have struck an accord and we will both honour it. Saga, her sister, Vigdis, and their healer, Freydis are our guests. You will treat them no differently than you would any other guest in this castle.”
“How do we know she won’t slay you in your sleep?” someone asked from the back.
Saga scanned the hall, but could not tell who it was. Mayhap the brother, stirring trouble, but it really could have been any one of them.
“Because he has my word too,” she said before Giric could answer. Her comment drew audible gasps.
“Aye, she speaks our tongue. So if you think to trick her, you will be disappointed. You should also know, Lady MacDomnail is a shield-maiden, which, as some of you may know, is a warrior and I will add that her skills in battle can rival many of the men I’ve seen fight over the years. So do not think to challenge her either. She is your new lady, and I expect her to be treated with the same respect you show me. If that is a problem with anyone, the door is there and you may leave at any time.”
More rumblings erupted among the servants and those gathered. It didn’t take long for the din in the hall to rise enough for Giric to raise his hands to settle them.
“I know this may not be what you expected, but this is the best way forward. And now you may all return to your duties. I wish to feast this eve with my new wife.”
As the crowd disbursed, one man wearing long black robes came forward. He bowed to Giric and held out his hand to him, who promptly took it and kissed the ring on the man’s little finger.
