Chapter Eight

“Mother!”

Claus watched as his wife threw herself into Mistress MacAieth’s arms. They stood all on the shore at Straithaidh where his ship had been met by what looked like every able-bodied man of the clan, a pitiful showing. He could not imagine that he or his men were welcome here. Yet he had seldom been more relieved to step ashore.

A miracle they had come through that storm in one piece, and all alive. He tore his gaze from his wife’s happy tears and looked at the ship, which rode in the bay behind him. It bore only superficial damage—a chip to Dasher’s antler, and some snapped lines. His men were similarly wounded—rope burns and an abundance of bruises. The worst of it had been the blow Magnus took from his own oar when it got away from him. Claus had been sure they would lose him then, just before they began to come out of the storm.

Now they stood on this shingle beach with hard looks directed at them and hatred he could feel. The whole world around Claus looked gray—gray waves shushing and sucking at the gray shingle, iron-gray frost everywhere, gray sea and sky.

His wife’s joy made the only splash of brightness anywhere.

Nels stepped up to him. A livid bruise decorated Nels’ brow and uneasiness filled his eyes.

“You think we will survive two nights here without taking a dirk in the back?” he asked ironically. “I do not.” He nodded at Tinnie and her mother. “And about what do they jabber?”

Claus could not catch it all—the words came too quickly, and tainted by strong emotion.

“My wife, she explains our purpose in coming.”

Nels lifted his brows. “She tells her mother you seek her favor in your bed? It still seems a small reason to risk all our lives.”

“You did not have to come.” Claus reminded him. Of course, he acknowledged silently, the men who had chosen to accompany him so loyally had not wagered on that terrible storm. Quite possibly they had since changed their minds.

“You do realize how near we came to being eaten by the dragon at the bottom of the sea? And we need still to get home again—that is, if we survive these folk who long to slit our throats.”

“Ja.” Claus hoped Tinnie’s mother would give his men lodging, but could not count on it. “I am sorry for your risk. I will pay you handsomely.”

Nels scowled. “I doubt any of us came for the pay. Claus, we want to see you happy. But”—he eyed Tinnie and her clansfolk, now flocked around her—“I have my doubts.”

****

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Tinnie told Claus. He could hear excitement in her voice. “Will we have the ship unloaded by then?”

“Even now my men work at it. I go thence to help them.”

“I will come with you.”

“Nei, you visit with your mother. I cannot tell when you will see her again.” By spring, Odin willing, she would be great with his child and unable to sail.

But instead of rushing off to join her mother in the hall, she turned to him. Her gaze appraised him slowly and with care.

“You are injured there, on the side of your face.”

He would not tell her of the rope burn on his arm, how the line had nearly pulled him overboard, nor of the countless bruises and the flap of skin loose on one leg. He longed for her to step into his arms so he might have the healing balm of holding her, but this she did not do. Only her gaze touched him.

He smiled wryly. “I think I aged ten years during that storm. You see my hair is now more white than yellow.”

“It never was yellow but far too pale for that.”

He sobered suddenly. “Your folk, they do not want us here.”

“They will reconcile themselves as soon as we begin distributing the food and supplies you brought.”

“They are proud and will accept no gifts from me.”

“You are right.” She smiled sweetly. “That is why we will give not to them but to their bairns. I know my people, and I understand their want. They do not hate you enough to deny their children what they will need to survive this winter.”

Half dazzled by that smile, Claus merely nodded.

She went on, “I have sent word that parents should bring their bairns to my father’s dun tomorrow morning. Och, there will be such joy in it! Thank you.”

Two words, but they were the softest ever she had spoken to him. She did not call him “Claus” or even “Husband,” but the words spoken sounded sweet.

He nodded again. “Much work has this been, and the danger of the storm, but all worth it if it brings you happiness.”

Embrace me, he begged in his mind, but she caught Frost up in her arms, and cuddled him instead.

****

Ah, what a day it had been! Tinnie, to her own surprise, could scarcely remember one better. Her father’s hall was warm with company, good will, and laughter—a measure of relief, also, as clansfolk went away with desperately needed supplies in their arms. No one would perish of want this winter, so long as Tinnie had a say in it.

Her folk had even left off glaring at her husband’s men so hard. Och, no one felt very happy with each other, but the faces of Claus’s men had brightened as they watched the bairns, ragged and blue with cold, receive what they needed so terribly.

Claus had even brought along a number of things without her knowledge: there were brightly colored trinkets and balls, and tiny, wooden ships among the other goods. The smallest of the bairns went away with toys as well as necessities.

Claus… She turned her gaze on him where he stood speaking with several of his men, a smile on his broad face. How different he looked when he smiled! And what a great laugh he had, rich and inviting of laughter from those around him. More than once this day had she heard it boom out.

She could see how happy it made him, to make others so.

Yet, she had to remind herself sternly, her people would not be in this position were it not for him. Och, what was she to do, how deal with what she felt toward him?

He caught her gaze upon him and strolled over to where she stood beside the much diminished piles of goods.

“Well, Missus, and is your heart content? Have I made up in small measure for the great harm I caused your folk?”

“You have,” she was forced to admit. “Tomorrow, on Christmas morning, the bairns will awake with filled stomachs and glad smiles.”

“This is important to you.”

She nodded, but then frowned as a sudden thought struck her. “Aye, but—”

“What is it?” His blue eyes filled with concern.

“I have just realized, we have provided for all those who came, but what of my people outlying, who cannot journey so far?”

“Ah, well, but we will leave the rest of these things here, and when the snow goes they will be able to come for what they need.”

“But the snow may last many weeks.” Foolish tears welled in Tinnie’s eyes. “And there will be bairns who still wake cold and hungry on Christmas morning.”

Claus looked away. He seemed to ponder something. “These outlying cottages with bairns—there are many?”

“Not so many, but enough.”

“The things they need could be taken to them.”

“How?” Already the cold dark, so early at this time of year, had come down outside.

“I noticed when we came in there is a sledge,” Claus began.

“My father’s sleigh, aye.”

“If a pony might be found, we could load these things and take them, before morning comes.”

“Take them?”

“Ja, so the children will have what they need, when they awaken.” His gaze challenged her. “But you will need to direct me, if you dare.”

Tinnie thought of the tiny huts nestled out on the cold breast of the land, and the miracle of children waking to a Christmas feast. Her heart rose unaccountably.

“I think,” she said decidedly, “that is a fine idea indeed.”