Viking Passion Page 8

  When she finally returned to Erik’s house, Lenora found him toweling himself briskly with a linen cloth. The room she had left so neat was an untidy mess, with Erik’s clothes strewn about it. An empty wooden cup and a bowl half-full of porridge sat on one of the chests.

  “I feel much better,” Erik announced. “I went for a swim in the river.”

  “Thorkell said to tell you that you two will leave for Sven’s home in eight days.”

  “So the decision has been made. Good. He feared Snorri would refuse to marry Gunhilde. Snorri likes to be free.”

  “If I know Snorri, he will be no less free once he is married. Poor Gunhilde.”

  Lenora began to fold the blanket Erik had tossed aside when he rose from the bed. He came up behind her and put one hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him.

  “Thank you for caring for me this morning,” he said softly.

  “It is my duty to care for my master,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. “You need not thank me.”

  He tilted her chin up until she was forced to look straight into his eyes. His fingers wove themselves through her chestnut curls, playing with the ends. His eyes were bottomless green pools, in which she would gladly drown.

  “You are a beautiful young woman, Lenora. Do you know how difficult it has been to lie beside you all these nights and not touch you?”

  “I am your slave,” she answered with false meekness. “You may do what you want with me and I must obey.”

  “I do not want a woman who only obeys.”

  Still his eyes held her. She fought against feelings that threatened to burst out of control and overwhelm her. She wanted to put her arms around him, wanted his arms around her. Most of all, she wanted the touch of his wide, burning mouth on her lips. She put the idea firmly away, reminding herself that because of Snorri, she was repulsive to him.

  “It has not been so difficult for you lately,” she said, knowing she needed to recall herself to cold reality, and that this was the best way. “I have heard gossip about you and Erna.”

  “Erna?” He laughed, poking one finger at the wooden cup and half-filled bowl. “Erna brought me these. Take them back to the kitchen when you clean up.” He saw Lenora’s involuntary glance at the tumbled bed and smiled.

  “No,” he said. “I was too sick for such a thing. And besides -” He stopped, shrugging his shoulders.

  She stood helplessly, watching him, wondering what it was he wanted of her, fearing the longing that would not leave her pounding heart, until he took her hand.

  “Lenora, my sweet,” he whispered, his voice a soft caress, “how I wish Snorri had never touched you.”

  “No more than I,” she said ruefully, as Erik lifted her hand to his lips and held it there.

  “Why do you torment me?” he asked. “Why can’t I let you go and be done with it?”

  “Erik, are you ready to go hunting?” Halfdan’s tall form filled the doorway. “Oh. Shall I leave?”

  “No, I’m coming.” Erik quickly released Lenora’s hand and picked up his sword-belt.

  “Where are you going?” Lenora asked.

  “Don’t question my actions, woman.” The tender moment was gone and Erik was his usual distant self once more, his cold words clearly intended to push her away from him. “Clean up this room. That shirt needs washing. And when you take those dishes back to the kitchen, tell Erna to wait for me tonight if I am late. She can serve my food as well as you.”

  He went out, slamming the door behind him, giving Lenora just a glimpse of Halfdan’s startled face. She thought she heard a low laugh as the men left, and the sound infuriated her.

  “Tell Erna yourself, you Norse animal!” She picked up the wooden cup and hurled it against the door. The sound it made was so satisfying that she picked up the bowl and threw that too. It hit the door jamb and split. Sodden gray porridge dribbled down the door frame and onto the floor. Lenora flung herself onto the bed, sobbing.

  “Erik, Erik,” she wept, pounding on the straw mattress, “I hate you so much. Don’t leave me like that. Don’t leave me. Please.”

  She did not see him again that day and she did not go to the great hall to eat that night. She cleaned the house a second time, took the dishes back to the kitchen, and managed to deliver Erik’s message with some semblance of indifference.

  She turned away from the triumph on Erna’s face, picked up a piece of flatbread, some cheese, and a flagon of ale, and made her way back to the house. There, in a gesture of defiance, she took all of Erik’s books out of the foreign chest and unwrapped and examined each one. She chose one to read and put the others back neatly, but deliberately not in the same order, so Erik would know what she had done. She lit a second and third oil lamp and read all night, slowly, tracing each word with her finger, trying to remember all the Latin her father had once taught her.

  After that day, Erik did not seem to notice anything she did. He ignored her, except when they were at work together in Thorkell’s rooms. He no longer slept in his own house at all. Lenora did not know where he was sleeping, but she thought she could guess who was sleeping with him. She had more than once interrupted the other women gossiping in whispers about Erna’s undisguised desire for Erik, and had seen the sly glances aimed in her own direction.

  Lenora could not look at Erna without wanting to slap the woman’s smug face, and it took all of her self-control to be polite to Erik, to pretend not to notice what was happening. She feared if she made him angry, he would send her away from Thorkellshavn. Lenora did not think she could bear that. She told herself it was because of Edwina. She was surprised Erik had not put her out of his house and sent her to the women’s quarters so he could bring Erna to live with him. So far he had not suggested it, and for that sop to her pride Lenora was grateful.

  When Erik and Thorkell, after an enormous farewell feast, left for the home of Sven the Dark, Lenora felt only relief. What did it matter whether Erik was at Thorkellshavn or elsewhere? He cared nothing for her. Nothing at all.

  Chapter 9

  “Where is Edwina?”

  Erna looked up from her weaving. With her overly plump face and figure she was not pretty, but she exuded an air of bored sensuality that Lenora knew many of the men found exciting. When she saw Lenora, Erna’s hand went to the bronze bracelet on her left wrist, and she wore a mocking smile.

  “Weren’t you told?” she asked sweetly. “Thorkell took her with him this morning when he left for Sven’s house. Thorkell cannot bear to be parted from Edwina, not even for one night. He says she is the best present Snorri ever gave him. That’s very different from the feelings of some other men about their slaves, isn’t it?”

  Lenora did not answer. She would rather die than let Erna know that Erik, like Edwina, had not bothered to say good-bye to her. She sat down on a low stool and leaned back against the cool wall. It was an unusually warm day, with low-hanging clouds threatening rain. The heavy, moist air made her feel sick. She pushed damp curls off her brow, picked some wool out of a basket, and began spinning. She would stay in the weaving room just long enough to make it clear that Erna had not driven her away, and then she would go elsewhere to work.

  Erna continued to play with her bracelet. When Lenora paid no attention, Erna thrust her left wrist under Lenora’s nose.

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  “Very pretty.” Lenora pretended indifference.

  “Erik gave it to me.” Erna’s tone was almost defiant.

  “So you have said, many times.”

  “I please him.” Erna smiled. “I am proud he wants me.”

  “You must be, to talk about it so freely.”

  Erna smiled more broadly and ran her hands along her lushly curved hips and thighs in a sensuous motion. Then, with her eyes fixed on Lenora, she slowly drew her hands across her abdomen, continuing upward to cup her heavy breasts.

  “And he pleases me too. Erik is a strong man.”

  Lenora stared at her coldly. />
  “I can hardly wait for him to return,” Erna went on, wriggling her hips. “He is so big and strong,” she repeated.

  “If you are so eager for him, you will be in a sorry condition by the time he does return,” Lenora told her sharply. “I understand he and Thorkell are to be away for a full moon’s cycle and possibly more. Do you think you can wait?”

  “He will come home to my bed, not yours.”

  “That is his misfortune.” With a sudden motion, Lenora rose from her stool, threw down her spindle and the wool, and started for the door.

  “Where are you going, Lenora? Freydis told me you would be working here all day.”

  “I have more important things to do than listen to a she-cat in heat,” Lenora snapped.

  She ran across the end of the great hall and out the side door. The clouds had fulfilled their threat: it was pouring rain. She dashed into one of the buildings near Thorkell’s chambers. It was a storeroom, recently swept and scrubbed. It stood empty, awaiting the fruits of the harvest that would begin with the next full moon. She hurried across the room to a second door on the far side. All of the buildings on this side of the great hall were close together. Those that did not have connecting doors or hallways were only a few steps apart, for easy access during the cold, snowy winters. At the far side of these buildings, set a little apart from them, was Erik’s house. Lenora knew she could scurry from one building to another and reach the house in a relatively dry condition. She moved quickly, wanting the privacy of her own place. She went through a second and a third room, then entered a fourth. She stopped suddenly, her skirts swirling about her ankles.

  Halfdan and Freydis were there, alone. They stood several feet apart, but the tension between them was so great it filled the room. They did not notice Lenora at first, then Freydis slowly turned her head and looked at Lenora out of dark blue eyes wet with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” Lenora said quickly. “I was trying to keep dry. I’ll go now.”

  As she passed them, Lenora saw Halfdan reach out one huge hand and lay it against Freydis’ cheek. Even with his back to the light, Lenora could see the sad look on his face.

  Lenora burst out the door and ran straight to Erik’s house, not minding the drenching rain. She slammed the door shut, barred it, and leaned against it, weeping and shuddering, though whether her sobs were for Freydis and Halfdan or for herself she did not know.

  That night Halfdan sat beside Freydis during the evening meal, and in the morning he rode away.

  “He says he is going to visit his father,” Gutrid, one of the kitchen wenches, told Lenora. “Tola says he and Freydis sat up late in her room, talking. I wonder if talking is all they did.”

  “Tola is a gossip, and so are you,” Lenora said. But she wondered, too, about Halfdan and Freydis, and about the reasons Halfdan had once given her to explain why he and Freydis could not marry. In spite of her determination not to like any of the Norse, she felt sorry for them both.

  Freydis kept to her chamber the day Halfdan left. The following morning she appeared early, looking as if nothing had happened, and took charge of Thorkell’s household as usual. She did not mention what Lenora had seen.

  Soon the harvest began, and there was much to do to prepare food for winter storage. Although these processes went on all summer long, now the pace of activity quickened. Haying season had come, and everyone at Thorkellshavn, men and women alike, was required to work until this important harvest was done, for hay provided the only fodder for cattle, sheep, and goats during the winter.

  At carefully determined intervals from now until the darkest days of winter, pigs and cattle would be butchered. The meat would hang in a coldhouse made of stone, through the center floor of which a diverted stream ran in a stone channel, its icy water helping to keep the meat cool. At the same time, fish and some of the meat would be dried, smoked, or preserved with whey or salt, for longer storage than the coldhouse afforded. Peas, beans, apples, and berries were dried and carefully stored. Nuts were gathered and piled in baskets or large wooden bowls in the storerooms. Freydis directed the making of cheeses. Thorkell’s storerooms began to fill with wooden vats and tubs, with soapstone bowls and with baskets, overflowing with provisions.

  After the haying was over, Lenora was spared much of the heavy labor that other servants were made to do. She spent part of each day working on Thorkell’s lists and accounts and the rest of her time in the weaving room or assisting Freydis as she directed the household. Lenora was trying to weave a piece of cloth for a winter cloak for herself, but with her lack of skill at the loom she began to wonder if she would freeze to death before it was made.

  The moon grew thin and then fat, and thin again, and now the nights were growing noticeably longer. Soon would come the time of equal day and night. A few bushes turned rusty-red and began to lose their leaves, and the green trees had developed a golden tinge. One quiet evening a rider appeared, his horse covered with foam, to announce that Thorkell and his son would arrive home the next day. Freydis ordered a welcoming feast prepared.

  “I am eager to see my father and brother again,” she told Lenora.

  “I wonder if they were successful. Has Sven’s daughter agreed to marry Snorri, do you think?”

  “I am certain of it. My brother is too good a match for Gunhilde to reject him. Snorri himself will surely return soon, too. He should have been here to help with the harvest. He will at least want to be here for the harvest feasts.”

  In spite of her cheerful words, Freydis did not look happy. Lenora thought she did not like the prospect of another woman at Thorkellshavn, trying to run Thorkell’s household in a new way. Lenora herself did not like the idea of meeting Snorri again, but she was pleased and excited at the thought of seeing Erik. Her earlier hurt and anger at him had dissipated during his long absence.

  The water in the little pool along the stream was by now uncomfortably cool. Most of the women had taken to using the bath house behind Thorkell’s chambers, where the water could be heated, but Lenora went alone to the pool to bathe and wash her hair and then put on a clean shift. She did not want to hear whatever the other women might have to say about her careful toilet. She had no new outer garment, so she brushed and shook out the same blue woolen one she had worn all summer, fastening it at the shoulders with Freydis’ brooches. Her uncontrollable hair she simply combed and left unbound.

  Thorkell looked tired. He swung wearily off his horse and embraced Freydis.

  “I am happy to be home,” he said. “I am growing too old for travel. Lenora, it is good to see you again. Have you worked well in my absence?”

  “I have tried to, Thorkell.” Lenora was shocked at her own pleasure in greeting the Viking chieftain. Thorkellshavn seemed more complete, and safer, with his dignified presence in residence.

  Edwina had not changed. She was as thin and pale as ever, and her huge blue eyes followed Thorkell worshipfully. She gave Lenora only the briefest greeting before hurrying after her master as he strode toward his chamber.

  “Lenora.” Erik stood before her. In a new scarlet tunic embroidered with gold and a red head-band, he was far more handsome than she remembered. His smooth, blue-black hair gleamed in the sun, the white streak catching the soft autumn light.

  “Welcome home. Are you well, Erik?”

  “Well enough.” He picked up his bundle of belongings and headed for his cottage, nodding to her to join him. “And you?”

  “I have completed all the work you left for me.”

  “I knew you would.” His smile nearly stopped her heart with its warmth. He entered his house as though he had never made a habit of staying away from it and began to unpack. He had brought her a heavy, oblong silver brooch.

  “You will need it to hold your winter cloak,” he told her.

  Seeing a second brooch made of gold, Lenora asked, “Is that for Erna?”

  “Who?” He looked at her blankly. “Erna? No, this is for Freydis. I always bring her a gift when
I return from a journey.”

  He was changed, although she could not have said what the difference in him was. While he washed the dust of travel from his face and hands and carefully combed his hair before the small silver mirror Lenora held up for him, he asked for details of the work she had done for Thorkell and questioned her about the harvest.

  “We must talk more,” he said. “Later. I have much to tell you.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “How serious you are.” He laughed. To her surprise, he bent and kissed her cheek. ”I promise you, nothing is wrong. It is only that, away from Thorkellshavn, I have had time to think. Since last you saw me, I have grown a little older and I hope a good deal wiser, and soon you will know everything I have decided. For now, come with me to the great hall. We can’t insult Thorkell by being late.”

  He slipped an arm about her waist and pulled her out the door. He kept his arm around her until they reached the hall.

  The feast that night was a happy one. In addition to the usual boiled mutton and roasted pig, a haunch of venison had been turning on the kitchen spit all day, watched over by a young male slave. With Snorri and his men absent, there were no violent incidents, but instead good-natured joking and laughter among the men of Thorkell’s hird as they welcomed home their companions who had gone with Thorkell. Many casks of ale and mead were broached, and there was Frankish wine, a gift to Thorkell from Sven the Dark.

  Erik had a new Rhenish beaker of pale green glass, which he filled with wine and handed to Lenora.

  “I like this better than ale,” Lenora told him.

  “Don’t grow too fond of it.” He laughed. “It’s very rare and expensive. We will only drink it on special occasions.”

  “Tell me about your trip,” Lenora urged, encouraged by his obvious good humor.

  “The marriage is agreed upon,” Erik said, and he began speaking about the details of Snorri’s marriage contract. These were not private, but were being discussed openly by most of those in Thorkell’s hall that evening.