Chapter Thirty

 

The Happy Wife bumped into the river’s shore, sending a shiver through the decking, and Gisela clutched the oar handle to stop from tumbling over the side. Excitement made her feel faint and her nerves set up a steady drumming in her stomach. Home. She was home. Falkenstead and hopefully Martinga were only a few miles away. She gathered her belongings and, at Thorvald’s nod, clambered overboard.

“Wait,” Thorvald said to Magnus and Kraki as he and Gisela disembarked. “I won’t be long, it’s not far.” He slid Odin’s Kiss into his belt.

They followed the familiar dirt path through trees now yellowed with autumn’s glory. A smile lifted her lips as she recognized where they were. Here the path branched towards the mill, the one where she, Martinga, and her father were to have rendezvoused. A bit farther, it headed upriver to the church, and finally the fork where it led straight to Falkenstead.

Steady, she told herself. Falkenstead does not stand. Martinga may be dead. Prepare yourself for disappointment. Yet her steps hastened and she hurried on until her breath rasped in her throat and blood pounded her head.

When they reached the edge of the woods, she stopped and gazed her fill. True, only a charred pile remained where her home once stood, but two huts had been rebuilt. Smoke wisped lazily from the roof of one. Beside it a pen woven of saplings corralled a few goats, and a staked cow chewed cud.

Falkenstead seemed vacant, yet someone worked the ripened field—a scythe lay propped against a pile of wheat. Other piles of wheat dotted the now harvested field.

She couldn’t wait to get away from Thorvald and the brooding man he had become. Since their evening watching the sun set, he said not a word to her, avoided her gaze, avoided any contact with her.

How foolish of her to think she loved him, that he could ever love her in return. Sometimes she caught his gaze but couldn’t understand the constant sorrow filling it. Did he not have what he wanted? His good name? A ship and stout men to sail it?

“Wait here,” she said. “I wish to go on alone.”

“Stay here? Nay, you promised me riches. I’ll not let you out of my sight.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes; his jest warmed her heart.

She giggled. “Catch me, then.” And sprinted off, towards the yard where she knew her chest to be. She rounded what remained of the palisade, looking for the water well. It survived the attack and appeared to be in use, for a bucket with a coiled rope tied to its handle sat on the knee-high rock wall surrounding it.

She headed for it and pulled up in horror as she drew closer.

Only a patch of disturbed dirt showed where her chest had been buried. Her heart sank. Someone had found it. Who? Or could it mean Martinga lived, for she and her father were the only two who know its location? If so, where was she? The farmstead appeared deserted.

Defeated, Gisela tossed her sack to the ground and slumped down beside it, propping her elbows on her knees and holding her face in her hands. Tears seeped out from beneath her fingers and she fought to keep the sobs at bay. How could she pay Thorvald? Would he think she’d lied to him? How could she rebuild Falkenstead with no resources?

Thorvald moved up beside her and dropped to his knees. “Gisela?” Concern wound through his puzzled voice and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s gone.” She lifted her face to his and wiped away the tears. “I’m sorry, I can’t pay you.”

He shrugged. “Absolve me of guilt, then. I’ve returned you to your home as you asked. That is enough.”

“Gisela? Is that you?” A plump dark haired young woman burst from the nearest hut and darted towards Gisela.

“Martinga!” Gisela jumped up and, arms outstretched, ran towards her. “It is you! Oh, I cannot believe it. I so hoped to see you again but some days it didn’t seem possible.”

They clasped each other and rocked back and forth, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“It’s a story I would like to hear.” Martinga finally pulled away and wiped her cheeks with the corner of her apron. A smile creased her rounded cheeks; happiness radiated from her and her dusky brown eyes glowed with pleasure. Their father’s eyes, Gisela realized with a start. How odd she’d never noticed that before, but it made her feel as if her father walked among them still.

The same happiness filled Gisela and she knew her lips, too, stretched wide in a smile. It was so good to be home. A damaged home, yes, but a home with Martinga. Now that she knew her sister lived, all would be good.

“I’ll save the story for later.” Gisela gestured to the tall man waiting behind her. “Thorvald makes haste and I mean to pay him before he leaves. Where’s my chest?”

“Oh, we have it. We’ve not opened it, though. I knew you would return and be angry with me if I did. You always were if I took something of yours,” she teased.

“We?”

“My husband and I. I bade him wait inside. I didn’t want to scare you.” Martinga held out her hand and raised her voice. “Come meet my sister.”

A man with cropped white-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes strolled out. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Thorvald.

“Sam!” An ear to ear grin on his face, Thorvald stepped out from behind Gisela and approached the other man. “You disappeared and we left without you. Arni told me you would land on your feet, but I’m surprised to find you still here.”

“Thorvald!” Sam clapped Thorvald on the back. “Aye, I had thought to eventually make my way north, but I discovered this place suits me well enough. I have a fine wife to share it with.” He cocked his head. “I’d not thought to see you again. You wanted one thing only, and that was to return to Agdir.”

“Aye, well a man can change. I’m going a-Viking again.”

Sam turned to Gisela. “Welcome home.”

“You’ve looked after my sister well.” Gisela nodded. “I thank you for that.” How odd, to think Martinga had a husband already. Martinga, the shy, reserved one, of the plain face that had attracted no suitors.

Gisela squashed her envy. Who knew what horrors Martinga had endured after the Vikings attacked? From it she had found a husband. A husband she loved, for her contentment made her ordinary features beautiful. She, Gisela, should not be envious, for she was home and was that not what she wanted?

Sam looked back to Thorvald. “Martinga’s sister is your woman?”

“Nay.” Thorvald shook his head and held up his hands. “I merely brought her home.”

Hurt and disappointment rushed through Gisela at his actions. He could not have made it any clearer that he had no feelings for her.

She swallowed a sob and closed her eyes for a second to gather herself then turned to poke Martinga. “Where is my chest? I promised to pay this man for my return and I mean to keep my word.”

“It’s inside.” Martinga clapped her hands. “Fresh goat simmers in the pot and I think I have several flagons of wine. We shall feast. What a celebration we will have!”

Gisela turned to Thorvald. “Will you stay?” The invitation burst from her lips and mentally, she kicked herself. Why torture herself further with his presence?

Because good manners dictated she offer a hungry traveler food. She herself was famished and she could only imagine how hungry he was.

“Nay.” He shook his head. “You are safe. Your sister is alive and well. There’s nothing more for me here and my men wait for me.”

Was that regret or relief she felt? Relief, she decided, for the sooner he left, the sooner she could forget him. “Wait. I’ll unlock my chest and you must choose what you want.”

“I have no need of your riches.”

Gisela tilted her head. “Truly? How can I repay you then? Wait, I know.” She rooted around in her sack and pulled out the woven piece she’d made at Sun Meadow. It reminded her of happier days there when she first fell in love with her Viking. How apt that he should have it.

Shyly she held it out to him

He gave her a puzzled look before taking it from her. He gently stroked the fabric in his hands before returning his gaze to hers. “You spent many hours on this. It is a fine piece and I would be honored to keep it.” His tone was solemn.

She could see the gift pleased him. “Then it is yours. Perhaps you will think of me when you see it.” As I will think of you. Every day.

Her words surprised him, for his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something and the breath caught in Gisela’s throat. What would he say at her bold words?

“You must at least eat.” Martinga interrupted them, unaware of the tension sizzling between Gisela and Thorvald. “I will send along something for your men as well. They may as well know our hospitality. Come, Gisela.”

“Aye,” murmured Gisela, casting another glance at Thorvald. He stood head down holding the woven piece between his hands, looking at it as if it burned his skin.

She had thought the gift pleased him but now had second thoughts. Did he not like it? What does it matter? It’s a gift, she told herself as she followed Martinga. He would take it and do with it as he wished. She would never know, for he would be out of her life forever. Her heart ached at the thought. Stop it! His leaving is what must be.

The two sisters entered the hut and Martinga busied herself with putting out bowls and spoons on the small planked table. “The wine is there.” She pointed to a few skins hanging from one of the rafters, “and the goblets there,” pointing to a shelf. “And stir the pot when you go by.”

“Since when did you become so domineering?” Gisela picked out four goblets and arranged them beside the bowls.

“Since I learned not to be a scared little mouse.”

“You have changed.”

“I’ve had to, as I’m sure you have as well.” Martinga suddenly grabbed Gisela’s arm and pulled her around. “Is he the father?” Her eyes shone with understanding.

“What?” Gisela couldn’t believe her ears. “Father?”

“You are with child. I see it in your face, and your waist thickens.”

“Nay, I am not.” Gisela shook her head vehemently. Her head slowed and stopped as she remembered her bouts of dizziness and her retching on board ship. She counted on her fingers, trying to recall the last time she had her woman’s flow. She had missed two cycles at least. “How foolish that I did not see it.”

“There is more you do not see. Thorvald loves you and you are a fool to deny that love. Why do you spurn a good man? Join me and Sam. There is plenty of land and plenty of work for willing hands. Together we can rebuild Falkenstead to its former glory. Nay even greater glory.”

“He’s never said he wants me as his wife.” A sob broke her voice and she struggled to swallow it back. “He doesn’t want to farm. He wants to sail the seas and find new adventure.”

“That might change if he knew he had you and a son. You must tell him and soon, or he will walk away forever and you will be left to raise a child on your own.”

“You wouldn’t help?”

Martinga tapped Gisela smartly on the side of the head with a firm finger. “You know what I mean. A child deserves to know his father. And his cousin.” She looked shyly at Gisela. “I too carry a babe and I am excited.”

Once more, Gisela looked at her sister in a new light. Quiet and retiring Martinga was no more. A woman took her place, a confident woman with a husband and home of her own and soon to be a mother.

A child, thought Gisela. Of her and Thorvald. And she smiled. Perhaps now she had a reason to compel him to stay.

A child. Would it please him?

She didn’t know, he’d not talked about children. If she could convince him to stay for the sake of the child at least, perhaps she could compel him to love her.

However, she didn’t want to hold him back. If she spoke of the child, he might feel honor bound to stay. Nay, she corrected herself, he would feel honor bound to stay whether he wanted to or not.

Tears trembled on her lashes. He wanted to resume his life and she would let him. She shook her head. “I’ll not tell him.”

“You are a fool,” Martinga said starkly and stalked from the room.

 

* * *

 

Thorvald put off his leave-taking as long as he could. He glanced at Gisela from time to time, but she avoided him, busying herself with cleaning up after the meal. She stayed close to her sister and didn’t look his way.

At all. Quite a feat in the close confines of the hut.

He glanced out the door to the early autumn sky. The sun began to set below the line of trees and purpling hues edged the horizon. Long shadows crept across the ground, and he knew he could wait no longer.

He stepped across to her. “Night comes. Magnus and Kraki wait for me. I must go.”

Against his better judgment, he maneuvered her outside to pull her close and brush his lips against hers in farewell. Why did he torment himself so? he wondered. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of her scent. Wild roses. The scent of spring in Agdir.

He opened his eyes. Gisela remained silent, gazing at him with her beautiful indigo eyes. Eyes he would only see in his dreams. His heart lurched at the thought.

He brushed his lips against hers again. She didn’t pull away, but neither did she draw closer. Rather, she looked at him, lips trembling and eyes bright with unshed tears, as if trying to memorize his features.

“I’ll not forget you,” she whispered.

“No? Why not?” Waiting for her answer, he held his breath. “Could it be you care?” Could it be, he thought, hoped, that you love me?

She shook her head. “You have shown me not all Norsemen are murderers, and you have shown me I can be strong. Thank you. Thank you too for seeing me safely home.” Her features were wooden, her voice flat.

Thorvald nodded and when she didn’t say anymore, dropped his arms and stepped away. He turned and strode off, yet hope suffused him. Surely she would call out for him to stop.

But nay. She had what she wanted and it didn’t include him, he reminded himself. He reached the remnants of the palisade and slowed.

Nay. He fought the urge to turn around and look at her one last time. That would only show his weakness towards her.

He moved through the gate and advanced towards the trees and the path leading back to the river. He listened but heard nothing.

It could not be. She did not hail him. His heart sank, and with great effort he kept his back straight and shoulders erect.

“Wait.” Her voice, low and melodious skipped across the harvested field. Goosebumps rippled across his arms and joy rippled through his soul.

Slowly he turned to find Gisela standing just beyond the rubble of Falkenstead, eyes full of love, and both slender hands extended towards him. “Can you forget the sea and make your life here?”

His head reeled. What did she mean?

“I would have the father of my child stay with me.”

He stood stock still. My child? What of love? he thought dismally. Did she not love the father?

Yet a child, his child, was a compelling reason to stay here in Falkenstead. He didn’t know what to say.

His silence must have unnerved her, for all of a sudden she blurted her words, stumbling over them in her haste to speak.

“I would also share my life with the man I love. As his wife.” She squared her shoulders. “As his wife,” she repeated.

He shook his head. Had he heard correctly? She, his beautiful golden haired woman, wished to wed him?

Slowly he moved back towards her to grab her hands in his. “How can you love me? I am heathen.”

She nodded. “Aye, you do not share my beliefs nor I yours. But we can learn from each other and, who knows, maybe we will share our gods. You are a good man, loyal and true to those you love. Those are fine qualities.”

“Do you think so?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned in towards her.

And—” She gazed at him defiantly. “I think you love me too.”

“I am a Viking. I cannot change that, and so you must accept me as that. I attacked Falkenstead. Your father is dead because of me.”

“Aye. But he did not die by your hand, for you were with me that day.” She turned her head to watch two goats butt each other playfully, then turned back. “I saw what you did in Kaupang. You spared Karl Wormtongue’s life even though, according to your laws, you had the right to kill him. I don’t know why but you showed mercy.”

“I thought of you. It was you who stayed my hand. You and your god of love.”

“I love you.” The words sprang from her lips and she looked at him with widened eyes. “I never thought it to happen but it did. You freed me, but my heart remains enslaved. I am yours always.” She leaned back a little to gaze up at him and bit her lip, as if she worried about his answer.

A shaft of evening sun spilled through a gap in the trees, gilding her hair and turning her eyes into glowing gemstones. He dropped one of her hands and reached out to stroke the molten gold of her hair. His treasure, he realized. Not coins or a sword or a ship but a living, breathing woman.

A woman who declared her love for him. The greatest prize of all. Joy surged in his breast, banishing all doubts. Aye, he loved her, and to tell her so did not make him weak. Rather, it made him strong.

He pulled her close, savoring the feel of her in his arms before lowering his head to kiss her. He kissed her slowly, savoring the silkiness of her lips and the honey sweetness of her mouth before he pulled away to gaze into her face. “And I love you. Is this what you meant to tell me? We would have spared each other a lot of heartache if you’d but shared your feelings sooner.”

She swatted him playfully. “What held your tongue? Are you not a brave warrior?”

“Aye, my sword speaks much easier than I do.” He pulled her close. “But to make amends, I’ll make another promise.”

“Aye?” She looked at him with eyes full of love.

“To love you forever.”

“And that is a promise you shall keep.” She waggled a finger at him in mock severity.

“Gladly,” he whispered, bending his tawny head close to hers to gaze fully in her eyes. “Gladly.”

 

The End

 

 

 

Author’s Note

 

As a writer of historical romance fiction, my job is to place you, the reader, in the time period without overwhelming detail. In the end, romance is the main plot and my characters will always get their Happily Ever After! All characters are fictional except for Rorik of Dorestad, a Danish Viking who lived in different parts of Frisia between 841 and 873 AD.

This novel contains a lot of references to the Christian god and the Norse gods. I don’t consider this an inspirational work because this is my interpretation of, and attempt at, explaining the belief system of the times.

Vikings generally have a bad reputation but I discovered that in fact they were a highly advanced and healthy people for that time, and taller than the usual. I would guess this would be a result of their diet and cleanliness.

I suppose part of their reputation is that the written work of that time was done by monks who were of course attacked by the marauders from the north. No doubt that would color their perception a bit of what the Vikings were really capable of.

Some of their most amazing achievements were the design and practicality of their longships, and their ability to navigate across the ocean. Women were treated equally. Vikings had a sophisticated legal system complete with courts which they referred to as a “Thing.”

In reality, a lot of Vikings invaded other countries with the objective of settling down as they were looking for lands of their own to farm as they outgrew Scandinavia. You can actually see this in the place names of, for example, English towns that end in –by, the Danish word for burg, or town.

Research usually gives me the idea for a story and that’s how I came across the idea of Thorvald needing to earn blood money to pay off the family of the murdered man. This in turn would clear his name.

Then I made the poor fellow have to choose—Gisela or his good name! By now, you know how that turned out. 