Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Gisela awoke the next morning and found herself alone in the dim longhouse. Only grey ash remained in the fire pit, leaving the air cool. She shivered and sat up, pulling the fur up around her shoulders.

In the drab light of dawn remorse nudged her. Her inner thighs were sticky, she smelled of Thorvald and her scattered clothes spoke of her wanton behavior.

She tried to stoke the flames of anger that had sustained her previously, but she couldn’t. How could she berate him? She gave herself to him last night of her own free will. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, her feelings towards him were changing.

The door swung open and Thorvald strode in, carrying a bucket of water. He smiled at her. “Your kiss did not disappoint.” He placed the bucket beside the fire pit.

“Nor did yours.” Gisela lowered her gaze. Heat prickled her cheeks and she knew she blushed.

“There’s no shame in what passed between us last night,” he said gently. He reached down and tipped up her chin to look at him. “What’s done is done. I shall not abandon you.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“Is that for me?” She pointed at the bucket. When he nodded, she took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Then leave me so I can wash and dress.”

An eyebrow quirked, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you telling me to leave my own house?”

“Aye.” She tossed her head. “I am. I feel—” She stopped. She meant to say dirty but she wasn’t sure how he would take that.

“You feel—?” he prompted. A mischievous glint filled his gaze.

He knew his presence discomfited her and she searched for something to toss at him. All she could find was the leather thong she used to bind her hair and she grabbed it off the peg from where it hung, bundling it into an untidy heap and throwing it as hard as she could.

He laughed and stepped aside as it flew past him then picked it up from the ground. He dangled it in front of him. “Don’t you need this? Come, here it is.”

“No, I don’t need it. I’ll not bind my hair today.” She sniffed and turned away. The man teased her as if they’d known each other a long time. The thought made her feel warm and cherished, and she clasped her arms about her midriff to hold fast to the pleasant feeling.

“I think you might want to, today we visit Bertrada and Arni. I have need to speak with him.” He waggled the leather thong in an attempt to persuade her. “The wind on the fjord can be strong.”

“Turn around, then. I’ll not provide you with a naked display,” she announced.

He chuckled and tossed the thong on the bed. “We’ll leave after breakfast.”

 

* * *

 

Gisela and Thorvald sailed up the fjord in the boat Magnus had used yesterday. Thorvald rowed until the small striped sail caught the wind, then he settled in the stern to man the tiller.

Gisela sat in the bow, her back to him, the wind catching the occasional strand of hair. The sun warmed the air and soon she threw off her shawl, baring an expanse of silken neck. His love play had left its mark for faint bruises mottled her skin just below the swell of her jaw line.

His mark. His chest swelled. No one could mistake his mark on her. His manhood bulged at the idea and he briefly contemplated the idea of putting into shore for a quick coupling to lessen the tautness in his groin.

Nay. He shook his head. Having her was all the more pleasing because she had come to him of her own volition, offering a kiss for a man wronged. She had no idea how gratifying he found it, that she believed in his innocence.

Besides, today was meant to dispel the awkwardness of what passed between them last night.

He shifted to ease the pressure in his leggings and concentrated instead on coaxing as much speed out of the little boat as he could.

 

* * *

 

Bertrada must have known they came, for she waited for them on the rocky shore of Arni’s farmstead. At the sight of her, Gisela could scarce contain her excitement, and she clambered over the side of their little vessel as soon as it scraped bottom. She pelted pell-mell towards her friend and threw her arms around the familiar form.

“Bertrada!”

“Mistress!”

“Nay, not mistress,” admonished Gisela, holding up a hand. “Gisela. Remember, in this land, we are equals.” She leaned back and took a searching look at the other woman, scouring the other’s plump face before nodding, satisfied. “You look well.”

Bertrada blushed. “Arni treats me well. I look after his household as he said I would. He hasn’t failed me. And you. Your Viking is a good man?” She eyed Gisela’s neck, hard pressed to keep a knowing smile from her lips. Instead, she formed her mouth into a firm line although her eyes twinkled.

“What is it?”

“Bruises. On your neck.”

Gisela’s hands flew to her neck; heat surged across her cheeks. Her disgrace lay open for the world to see.

“Pull your hair around and no one will notice,” said Bertrada. “You didn’t answer my question. Your Viking, he is a good man?”

Gisela didn’t answer right away. She gazed past Bertrada’s shoulder, to the three longhouses scattered across the grassy field, yellowing with the onset of autumn. A dog barked, smoke curled from the roof of the farthest. Someone cooked, warned, no doubt, of impending visitors.

“Aye,” she said finally, turning her gaze back to Bertrada. “He is a good man.” She did as Bertrada suggested and pulled her braid forward.

“That’s good.” Bertrada nodded, satisfied. “This is your life now.”

“Nay, he has promised me my freedom if—”

“If what?” Bertrada prompted.

“Nothing.” Gisela jammed her hands in her pockets.

“—if you help him find the truth,” guessed Bertrada. “Even now you hold that thought?”

Gisela nodded.

Bertrada sighed. “An impossible task.” She shook her head. “Why do you face the sorrow of failure when anyone can see Thorvald is taken with you? Truly, Viking customs are agreeable. You would find yourself happy here, especially with the love of a strong man.”

“Have you forgotten our ways?”

“Nay.” Bertrada pulled her beads from her pocket. “I pray every day. I pray the harvest will be good. I pray the winter will not be hard. I pray Arni will come to understand my beliefs, but if he doesn’t I cannot be foolish and spurn him. He is good to me, and I am content with that.”

“I don’t know if I can be. Living here is not what I would choose.” Gisela hoped she didn’t sound petulant. It wasn’t Bertrada’s fault they found themselves in this northern land.

“Enough.” Bertrada pointed to the longhouse with the cook fire. “We’ll eat and catch up.”

She linked her arm in Gisela’s and chattered on while they made their way, not expecting any response from Gisela.

For that, Gisela was grateful. Last night had been wondrous and she’d found glory in Thorvald’s arms, glory she could quite easily and eagerly seek again. She could understand the beauty of life here in this harsh land with Thorvald to share her days.

Guilt consumed her. Her faith decreed she must be wed to lie with a man but not only had the man in question not mentioned one word of marriage to her, he did not follow her beliefs.

Too, her family was no more—dead—and she could only hope, buried and properly consecrated while she now lived with the man responsible for the carnage.

A heathen man, yet a good man who suffered injustice through no fault of his own.

It was difficult to let go of her longing for Frisia; yet to live in the past did her no good.

She stepped into the longhouse and immediately found Thorvald’s eyes on her. He smiled and held out his hand towards her.