nine

Gwyn wound a batch of wool around a short wooden stick. She studied her sister carefully, frowning when Arietta jumped once again as the door was slung open and Helga raced inside.

Grabbing her carved wooden horse, the little girl once more raced back outside, slamming the door behind her.

“You certainly are jumpy today,” Gwyn quietly observed.

Arietta glanced at her briefly, her face coloring hotly. She took the rod Gwyn handed her and carefully twisted a small portion of yarn into a thread, attaching it to the distaff wheel. She stood, ignoring her sister’s probing look.

“Are not Sidroc and Wulfric looking for a place to grow crops?” she asked Gwyn.

Gwyn’s look told Arietta that her sister knew she was avoiding the subject. Shrugging off the unspoken message, Arietta positioned herself with the pole cradled against her shoulder and the distaff wheel hanging down.

Gwyn set the distaff spinning. She sat back, picking up her carding brushes, and answered Arietta’s earlier question. “The men are looking for crop land. Though the Norse have a reputation as bloodthirsty killers, most live like everyone else. They grow crops and animals, and they live a relatively normal life.” Gwyn’s look became grave with hidden remembrances. “But the good Lord help everyone when boredom sets in.”

While Arietta continued to spin, Gwyn took her brushes and began to card more wool. She smiled at Arietta. “I really appreciate your help. Sometimes, spinning is a tedious job.”

Arietta returned her smile. “I have found that it is when I do my best thinking.”

“What do you think about?”

Just then the distaff wheel touched the floor. Gwyn set aside her carding tools and wound the lengthened thread around the distaff and set it spinning again. Arietta thanked her, then continued letting out small tufts of the wool. “Lately,” Arietta said, “I have been thinking much about the Scriptures.”

Gwyn looked up at her, her expression solemn. “I wish that I knew them as you do.”

“I can teach you.” Arietta’s eyes lit up with the idea. “I could teach Bjorn and Helga as well.”

Gwyn wound the thread as Arietta continued to spin. The carding tools lay forgotten in her lap, and Gwyn’s sparkling green eyes met her sister’s with resolve. “I would love that.”

Arietta nodded with pleasure. “Then we will do so.”

They worked throughout the morning until it was time to prepare the first meal of the day. Arietta continued spinning, while Gwyn prepared food for her family.

“Arietta.”

Something in her sister’s voice alerted Arietta, and she paused in her work. “Yes?”

“I understand that Edwynn has postponed your wedding.”

Arietta used the pretext of winding the spun wool to look away from her sister’s worried look. “That is so.”

Gwyn set down her knife and crossed to Arietta’s side. “Winter is setting in with a vengeance. What will you do? Edwynn can no longer care for you.”

Arietta shrugged her shoulders, still not looking at her sister. “Then I will care for him.”

“Sidroc says that the animal’s skins are much fuller this year. He says that it will be a long, hard winter.”

Finally meeting Gwyn’s eyes, Arietta frowned. “Gwyn,” she remonstrated. “I will get by. I always have.”

Gwyn’s look was full of frustration. “But always before you had Edwynn to help you. It will be some time before Edwynn is healed well enough to do anything, and even then, his arm will be useless.”

“What do you suggest, Gwyn? That I leave Edwynn to fend for himself after he has cared for me for so many years?”

Sighing, Gwyn pressed her lips tightly together. “No, but you could move in with us. Sidroc would be glad to have you. He has already told me so.”

Tingles shot through Arietta’s body at the suggestion. Her breathing quickened, the mere thought of being in such close proximity to Wulfric threatening her poise. “I cannot.”

“Because of Wulfric?”

Gwyn’s knowing look did nothing for Arietta’s composure. Of late, Wulfric had taken a much too personal interest in her welfare. It hadn’t surprised her that he had been waiting this morning to escort her to Gwyn’s house. He still considered Aelwyn a threat. The thing that bothered Arietta the most was not knowing what it was that Wulfric wanted from her.

“I cannot because I need to be close to Edwynn.”

Gwyn shook her head in disbelief. “That is not why at all.”

The opening of the door effectively ended their conversation. Sidroc entered, followed by a laughing Wulfric and the two giggling children.

Sidroc glanced from the tense expression of his wife, to the even tenser expression of his sister-in-law. The smile left his face. He and Wulfric exchanged brief glances, Wulfric’s eyebrows lifting slightly.

“Is our food ready?” Sidroc asked, trying to ignore the tense atmosphere.

Gwyn gave her sister a final look and turned back to her kitchen area. “Soon. Be seated, and I will serve it.”

Arietta met Wulfric’s eyes, then quickly glanced away. There was a “biding my time” look about him that unsettled her.

Helga and Bjorn shuffled to their places on the bench, while Sidroc took his place at the center in his high seat. Gwyn placed the porridge, dried mutton, and buttermilk on the table before them, then seated herself at her husband’s side.

Arietta hesitated. The only place left open to her was at Wulfric’s side. He grinned in amusement at her indecision, somehow sensing her feelings. Lifting her chin slightly, she seated herself beside him, being very careful not to touch him in any way.

Although Arietta tried to ignore him, every time Wulfric handed her a bowl, he made a point of touching her hand. She became so nervous that she dropped the plate of mutton, watching its contents scatter across the wooden table.

Glaring at Wulfric’s smug smile, Arietta apologized to Gwyn, then picked up the meat, returning it to the wooden plate and passing the plate to Bjorn. She avoided looking at anyone else, sure that they would all be staring at her.

After the meal was over, Wulfric got out his hnefatafl board and set it on the table. He looked at Arietta, his eyebrows raised. “Ready?”

Sidroc settled on one of the bunks, relaxing. After taking a much needed break, he and Wulfric would resume readying their equipment for the spring planting. He met his wife’s eyes, and she rolled them at the ceiling, shaking her head. Grinning, he turned back to the game Wulfric and Arietta were playing.

Wulfric closed his palms over two of the pieces, one dark, the other light. Placing his hands behind his back, he then shifted them several times, holding them out to Arietta to choose.

Arietta’s mouth went dry. It would be better to have the light pieces, for they were the most numerous and therefore one had a greater chance of capturing the other opponent’s king. However, the one with the king got to move first, and with Wulfric’s skill, that could be dangerous.

She tapped his left hand, and he turned over the light piece. Her relief was short lived when she glanced triumphantly into his eyes. They met hers with a full assurance of victory.

“Shall we make a wager?” he asked.

Arietta quickly shook her head negatively. “No, I think not. Games are meant for sport and enjoyment, not profit.”

The provocative twinkle in his eyes increased her nervousness.

“As you wish,” he murmured.

Wulfric set up the pieces on the nine-by-nine blocked board, then leaned forward to decide his first move. He slid one piece forward six spaces, then sat back, watching Arietta.

She was painfully aware of his close scrutiny and knew that it would muddle her ability to concentrate. Bjorn came and stood next to Wulfric, while Helga crawled into Arietta’s lap. She snuggled the child close, feeling somewhat safer with the child as a shield between them.

After six moves, Arietta realized she was in serious trouble. Though Wulfric had started with only eight pieces and a king, he had managed to diminish her sixteen man force to half that size. Gnawing her lower lip with her teeth, she lifted her hand to move a piece, then hesitated.

Glancing up, she tried to discern if it would be a good move by Wulfric’s face, but his features were closed and unreadable. Trying his own tactics, she leaned forward smiling provocatively and batting her eyelashes at him. His eyebrows flew up, then a slow smile curved his lips.

“It will not work, Arietta,” he told her softly, his eyes dark and intense.

Her face filled with color, and she looked hastily away. It just wasn’t in her to be wanton like Wendella. Moving the piece, she drew in a sharp breath when Wulfric quickly closed it in with a second piece, removing it from the board. Now she had only seven men left, to Wulfric’s six. They were right when they said Wulfric was quite a master at this game. How had Wiglaf managed to defeat him?

Several plays later, Wulfric removed her final piece from the board. Arietta looked at him, swallowing hard at the profound look of victory on his face.

Bjorn shouted loudly at Wulfric’s win, while Helga looked regretfully at her aunt. “He beat you,” the child said sorrowfully.

“He certainly did,” Sidroc said with a laugh. He smiled at Arietta apologetically. “But do not worry, Arietta. He is not invincible.”

Arietta wasn’t so certain.

“Just be glad you didn’t wager with him,” Gwyn reminded.

The morning quiet was suddenly pierced by the sharp sound of the warning horn. Three short blasts were followed by another three short blasts, then still others.

Wulfric was on his feet in an instant, as was Sidroc. Wulfric grabbed for his ax, while Sidroc reached for his sword. To-gether they ducked out the door.

Gwyn stood in the doorway, fear contorting her face. Arietta placed an arm around her shoulders, her own body trembling with terror. “Come, Gwyn. We must hide the children.”

Gwyn shook her head. “No, if they are Norsemen, Sidroc, Wulfric, and the others will take care of them.”

“We cannot take that chance,” Arietta urged. “They are few against many.”

Gwyn remained adamant. She closed the door and began clearing the table with shaking hands.

Arietta stood wavering between her desire to flee and her equally strong desire to stay. All her life she had been taught that the three horn blasts meant that the Norsemen were coming. Their ships were so fast that the villagers barely had time to flee before the Vikings would be upon them. There was no time for indecision.

But she couldn’t leave her family. Not again. Determinedly, she took a seat, pulling Helga onto her lap and waiting for certain death—or worse.

❧

Wulfric topped the hill first, Sidroc right behind him. They skidded to a halt and stood looking down at the banks of the river as Norsemen jumped from their ship into the water and waded toward shore. Wulfric’s voice rang out with warning. “Hold!”

At the sound of Wulfric’s strong voice speaking their native tongue, the Norsemen glanced up in surprise. Their eyes went wide when they noticed the two hulking men standing just above them, their weapons at the ready. Before the invaders could react, Ingvar, Godfred, and others plunged from the forest in front of them.

Trying to be accepted by the villagers, some of the Norse-men had taken the English way of short hair and clean faces, but they were easily recognized by their girth. Swords and axes drawn, they faced the invaders boldly.

One man stepped forward from the ship, wading through the turgid water. He was a giant, with flaming red hair and beard. Though he wore the fur vest of a Norseman, his pants were in the tunic style of the Moorish people. He lifted a hand in salute.

“My brothers,” he shouted, his voice rumbling through the forest, “it is a joy to see you.”

Wulfric and Sidroc slid down the hill to join the others. Sidroc stepped forward slightly, his frown fierce. “What are your intentions here, my brother?”

The giant held both hands out to the side, shrugging his shoulders. His laughter rang out boyishly. “We are here to trade with the English in this village, but if you have staked a claim on this land, then we will gladly trade with you.”

Recognizing that the ship they were sailing was a trading vessel and not a warship, Sidroc relaxed slightly. Wulfric, however, stood tense and ready for anything that might occur.

The leader of the invaders stepped closer, stopping when Wulfric lifted his ax slightly. The leader’s eyes met Wulfric’s, and the other man stepped back quickly.

“They call me Rusbeard,” he told Sidroc, still watching Wulfric carefully.

“I am Sidroc Ivarrson, and this is my brother, Wulfric.”

A look of recognition passed through the man’s eyes at the name. “You are sons of Ivarr of Hedeby?”

“We are,” Wulfric agreed, his quiet voice losing none of its authority.

The other man smiled. “I have heard of you. Your reputation has spread far and wide.”

Wulfric looked skeptical, but the other man lifted his eyebrows. “It is so. You are Wulfric who bested Askold of Trond-heim in the games.”

There was truth in what the trader said, but Wulfric re-mained dubious. When Rusbeard turned to his compatriots and commanded them to store their arms, the other men from the village relaxed slightly.

Rusbeard turned back to Sidroc. “Perhaps you have things you would like to trade?”

“Why are you here so late in the year? You will never make it back to the north,” Wulfric’s suspicious eyes searched out each man.

“We are wintering on Lidasfarne.”

Wulfric recognized the name of the island on the eastern portion of England. It was the very first place his people had landed when they’d begun their invasion of the area—a bloody time, and one he hoped would not be repeated. It would not do to anger King Alfred any further and destroy the fragile peace. But if these were men of trade, as they said they were, then they would already know that.

Rusbeard motioned to one of his men. The man quickly jumped aboard the ship, returning with a small chest. He threw it to Rusbeard, who caught it nimbly.

Opening the chest, he held it out for Sidroc’s inspection. “Something for your wife perhaps?”

Sidroc ran his fingers through the small chest of jewelry. He lifted an amber necklace, the nuggets reminding him of his homeland where they rolled in from the sea on a regular basis.

Noticing his interest, Rusbeard smiled. “It is yours. Free of charge.”

Sidroc glanced at him distrustfully.

“To show our goodwill and pure intentions,” Rusbeard assured them. He smiled at Wulfric. “You choose something too, for your wife.”

Wulfric took out a silver brooch for fastening a cloak at the shoulder. He clutched it tightly, testing its strength. Nodding at Rusbeard, he placed the item in his pouch.

As they continued to barter, tensions relaxed. Before long, the men mingled in familiar camaraderie. The invaders exchanged stories of their homeland, while the villagers shared their experiences on English soil.

Sidroc invited them to make camp on the shore of the river near their boat, but Wulfric made clear his warning when he advised the visitors to stay close to their ship.

When the villagers heard of the tradesmen, the shore came alive with people wanting to buy, sell, trade, or swap. The ealdorman came and made a pact with the foreigners that they could stay a fortnight. The whole area became like one great market, and with the festive atmosphere also came drinking and revelry.

❧

It was turning dusk when Arietta topped the rise to look on the scene below. She watched from afar, not certain that she wished to join the boisterous group. Wulfric saw her standing hesitantly on the fringes of the crowd and came to her. He held out his calloused hand in invitation. “Come. Join the party.”

Arietta placed her hands firmly behind her back, quickly scanning the area to see if she could locate her sister and family. She did not miss Wulfric’s lowering brows.

Aggravated, Wulfric took her by the forearm, dragging her along after him. “They are over here.”

With the coming of night, the temperatures were rapidly dropping. A roaring bonfire was ignited using a chemical fire that the traders had brought with them. Arietta marveled at the incredible intensity of the flames that had burst into life in such a short period of time.

Off to the side, a smaller fire was lit. Men were laughing as they added small sticks to the blaze, kindling it into an even larger flame, yet careful to keep the flames burning low. Several Norsemen stripped to their waists, and several of the village men followed. Wulfric and Sidroc joined them.

“What are they doing?” Arietta asked her sister, huddling near the larger fire for warmth. “They will freeze like that.”

Gwyn shook her head ruefully. “They are going to play Pull the Skin.”

Arietta’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Play?”

“You will see.”

When the fire was burning to the men’s satisfaction, two groups formed, the village Norse on one side, the trading Norse on the other. They took hold of a long piece of leather skin, taking their places near the fire.

“The object is to pull one side into the fire,” Gwyn told her, and Arietta could hear the dread in her voice.

“This is play?” Arietta’s voice squeaked with surprise.

Rusbeard took his place at the head of his men, while Wul-fric was chosen by the villagers to be the lead on their team.

The firelight from the bonfire lit the whole area around the crowd, but the light from the smaller fire shone on Wulfric’s tense face. Arietta saw the same fierce concentration there that had been on his face earlier when they had played hnefatafl. He would not give up easily.

Rusbeard recognized the look as well. Eyes narrowed, a sudden grin split his face. He spit into his palms, rubbing them vigorously together, then picked up the hide.

Muscles played against muscles as each man strove to win the competition. Even in the chill air, sweat poured from their faces and chests. The teams were well matched, and the contest went on for some time before, with a cry that lifted the hair on the back of Arietta’s neck, Wulfric gave a mighty pull, drawing Rusbeard into the blazing fire.

The other man came quickly out of the flames, patting his pants where small holes of scorched material smoked from the embers. His teammates, losing their advantage were thrown to the ground, some into the flames.

Arietta feared for Wulfric when the giant with the red hair faced him, but the other man laughed heartily, slapping Wulfric on the shoulder. Both Gwyn and Arietta sighed with relief.

Sidroc came and sat next to them, pulling his jerkin over his head. He grinned at his wife in unabashed pleasure. “We won.”

“So I saw.”

Arietta looked past Sidroc, expecting Wulfric to join them, but he was being borne off to a spot where a wrestling match was being held.

Gwyn frowned at her husband, but he shrugged good-naturedly. “He is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”

Since Wulfric was otherwise occupied, Arietta decided that now would be the perfect time to leave this ostentatious show of male pride. She got to her feet, brushing down her skirt. “If you will excuse me, I think I will return to the village and see how Edwynn is doing. It seems everyone else is here.”

Sidroc started to get to his feet. “I will walk with you.”

Arietta shook her head, pushing him gently back to his place. “No, you stay here with Gwyn and the children. I will take a torch from the fire. I will be fine.”

Sidroc would have argued, but Arietta did not give him time. Taking a burning stick from the fire, she made her way back to the village.

As she had supposed, Edwynn was lying alone in his hut. He turned his head when she entered, a small smile creasing his face.

“Hello,” she called softly, dropping her torch into the fire and taking a seat at his side. “How are you today?”

“I am well,” he responded, though he flinched with pain when he moved slightly to a sitting position. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Viking traders. The whole village has turned out for the festivity.”

She stopped suddenly, afraid that she might have offended him. He smiled ruefully.

“Except for me, you mean.”

She nodded, and he shrugged. “That is fine with me. I have no desire to be with a motley crew of savages.”

Since the entire village was involved, she thought that a poor assessment. Resolving not to argue with him, Arietta changed the subject. “I was told that Wendella has been caring for you today.”

He shrugged again, turning his eyes away. “She feels in-debted to me for her brother’s life.” He looked at her then. “Was she at the gathering too?”

Arietta nodded but refrained from telling him of Wendella’s wild actions. If Edwynn truly did care for the girl, it would be painful for him to know how brazen she could be. In her mind, Arietta could still see the Norse girl floating from man to man, inviting their attention.

Arietta took Edwynn’s hand, stroking it reassuringly like she would a child’s. “Is there anything you would like me to get for you? Have you eaten?”

“I do not need anything. I am fine.”

“Nothing?” Arietta teased, reaching forward to slide her fingers down his cheek. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You have shaved!”

Color rose to his face, and he quickly glanced away. “Wendella did that for me.”

Arietta noticed the tense set of his shoulders and wondered what had transpired between the two. “I did not think she would know how!”

The smile he gave her did not quite reach his eyes. “Norse-men may not shave, but they certainly know how to wield a knife.”

He twisted Arietta’s hand, pulling it against his chest. His eyes were serious, their normal sparkle swallowed up by some nameless worry. “Arietta, did you mean it when you said you would still marry me?”

Arietta felt her heart stop, then thunder on. She hoped that he wasn’t suggesting what she thought he might be. “I meant it, Edwynn.”

He tilted his head back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “I have had a lot of time to think. There is no reason that I cannot farm and raise sheep. Other men have done so with greater disabilities than I have. I believe, after all, that I could take care of us.”

Arietta had to force the words past the obstruction in her throat. “Of course you could. Did I not say so?”

Letting go of her hand, he wrapped his hand behind her neck and pulled her close until her face was mere inches from his. His eyes glittered strangely, and Arietta frowned, perplexed.

“Then I will marry you,” he declared.

Several seconds went by before Arietta could answer him. She licked suddenly dry lips, striving to regain her composure. Before she could answer him, a deep voice interrupted him from the doorway. “I do not think so.”

They both turned in surprise to find Wulfric standing at the open door.