When Ruard informed Torsten in the clearing that not only had guests started to arrive in droves for the feast on the morrow, his brother also told him that the king’s son, Svein Knútsson, had arrived with a message from King Canute himself.
Had Sigrid found out about his sons and petitioned the king for Ainslin?
After greeting Svein and the captain of his warriors and bid them to establish their camp in the field designated for the wedding guests just outside the holding’s buttressed walls, Torsten took the missive to the hut he used for planning battles. His brothers, Ruard and Njal, joined him before he finished reading the king’s commands.
“What does Canute the Great say?” Njal braced his head on the far wall while he tipped the bench he sat on.
Relief swamped Torsten when he read the last word. Not a single mention of Sigrid in the short message.
“We are ordered to Trondheim for his coronation. The king offers my wife and me the honor of a marriage mass after the ceremony.” Torsten shrugged. “I have no interest in this Christian god, but my wife prays to him fervently.”
“’Tis hopeful she is fervent in all things, brother.” Ruard teased, his brows waggling. “In truth Njal, when you meet our new sister, Ainslin, at the evening meal you will find her serene and humble, but beautiful and kind. Torsten chose well.”
Torsten ignored Ruard’s comments and addressed Njal who had just returned from travels throughout the Norse lands. “Word has it that King Olaf has fled to his ally, King Anund of Sweden.”
Olaf Haraldsson the Second, who had ruled over the Norse for nigh on thirteen winters, had recently been deposed by Canute the Great.
“’Twas a bloodless coup,” Ruard pronounced. “Olaf the Big saw King Canute’s dragon fleet and he ran, the coward.”
“I counted three score dragon ships. Mayhap I would have turned tail too.” Njal’s lips flattened. “King Olaf commands a pithy dozen ships. When all the jarls refused to provide leidang to triple that number, defeat was cert.”
The public levy Olaf imposed on all free farmers and jarls had been widely opposed by all Vikings. The tithe had been invoked in haste and panic and none believed a fleet could be raised before Canute’s invasion.
“Aye, and when a score of us offered Canute the Great leidang instead, Olaf the Big had no choice but to flee.” Torsten folded the king’s scroll and tucked it into a pouch that he placed into a box on a small table.
“While I admire what Canute has accomplished, I cannot believe he can hold three lands so disparate and so distant for more than five winters.” Njal, known to Norse warriors as The Peacemaker, had a hatred of senseless battles, and a thorough understanding of the laws of the three lands over which Canute now ruled, Norway, Jutland, and England.
“I am agreed with you, Njal, but there are matters here that require immediate attention. My wife has no knowledge Earl Sigrid of Northdam is in the vicinity. And I will not tell her of this until we are cert he travels to Stjórardalr. He may be here for the coronation.” Torsten held a slight hope his words would prove true, but he intended to plan for the worse scenario—Sigrid attempting to kidnap Ainslin.
Njal snorted.
“Sigrid’s presence troubles and puzzles me.” Ruard jammed a shoulder into the hut’s wall and crossed one ankle over the other.
“Sigrid is not to be trusted,” Njal growled. “Gossip has it that he murdered Hadrain of Cumbria.”
“Nay!” Torsten bounded out of his chair. “How? When?”
“’Tis suspected, but none can find proof. Hadrain had seen many years, but he was a hale and hearty man. His sudden illness after a visit from Sigrid sowed rumors. Court gossip speaks of Sigrid’s three dead wives. That all had been heiresses who, once the dowry was spent, suddenly died.”
Njal’s declaration snaked chills along Torsten’s nape. “So Ainslin has told me. You know Sigrid was a neighbor to her former husband, Hadrain?”
“All know and talk widely of his lust for Ainslin of Castle Næss. ’Tis said Sigrid tumbles any maid with gold hair and green eyes and takes them by force if needs be. Sigrid is but a day away from Trondheim and he travels with a full retinue. ’Tis but a morn’s sail from Trondheim to Stjórardalr, brother.”
“I am well aware of that, Njal.” Torsten paced the length of the hut. No longer could he keep Ainslin’s and Hadrain’s secrets. “As to my newly acquired sons, there is much I needs tell you both.”
Picking his words carefully, Torsten told them of Ainslin’s maidenhood.
“A wife of four years a virgin bride and an heiress.” Ruard winked at Torsten. “That the gods strike me with such fortune.”
“What of the sons Jarvik escorts here?” Njal rubbed the back of his neck. “I like not this news.”
“That no man save me has touched her is a boon.” Torsten hesitated and then added, “Sigrid raped Ainslin’s maid.”
Njal groaned. “And these lads were claimed by Hadrain as his for these past three winters. If Sigrid suspects—”
“I fear he does.” Torsten told them the rest of the tale, and his brothers lapsed into silence.
“We must pray that these lads bear no resemblance to Sigrid. What Canute will make of such a mess, I have no notion. For then, if the eldest boy inherits as Hadrain and Canute contracted, and Sigrid can prove him his, then all the lands and riches Ainslin brought to you on your marriage reverts to Sigrid during his lifetime.”
Torsten cared less about Ainslin’s wealth. He would be outlawed before allowing Sigrid to take his wife. He studied the grim line of Njal’s mouth. “You are the one of us who is the most knowledgeable on Canute’s laws. Can you see no way around this?”
“Nay, not at this time. I will have to study the decrees further, but let us pray it does not come to that.” Njal dragged his hand through his inky hair.
The five brothers were wrought of three different mothers and bore little similarity to each other save for their immense height. While Torsten and Njal had hair as black as a raven’s, Ruard, Magnus, and Jarvik all had the golden hair for which the Vikings were known, but their experiences in the Jomsvikings had bound them together and their loyalty to each other stronger than their liege bonds to any one ruler.
“Why not tell your wife of Sigrid? Forewarned is forearmed,” Ruard advised.
“We have spent but nigh two days together. Ainslin is still wary of trusting my word. She is anxious to have her sons here and safe. Jarvik will arrive with the boys soon. I will not worry her unless there is real reason.” His wife had yet to deal with Helga and he waited to see how well that battle had gone.
“I am weary and stink of horse and road. Join me for a brisk swim, Ruard? I wager our brother intends to play in his stone and hot springs hut with his bride before the meal.” Njal lurched to standing. “Well, yay or nay?”
“Need you ask?” Ruard clapped Njal on the shoulder. “A few succulent females are amongst the arriving guests. One a widow.”
Torsten shook his head knowing full well both of his brothers would be tickling the gizzard late that eve, but then again, so would he. He had not told Ainslin that term and had remembered a few more that he intended to share with his curious wife. Grinning he said, “I will see you at the head table, anon.”
When he arrived at the lodge Ainslin was not there. Impatient, he washed and then changed into a clean tunic and new breeches. He waited for a while pacing the floor, but then there was a knock on the door, and he hurried to open it. “Ruard, what do you do here?”
“Your wife sent me to inform you that she is at the longhouse attending to the meal with Greta, Wilma the Wise, and Thora. She asks that you pardon her tardiness, and that you join her at the head table.” Ruard’s eyes glistened with wicked intent. “Best you come at once. She is everywhere at once fussing and adjusting.”
His interest spiked, he demanded, “What of Helga?”
Ruard’s mouth twitched. He broke into loud guffaws. “She…”
More chortling. “Bumps…”
He slapped his thigh and shook with laughter.
Torsten rolled his eyes. “Walk, brother. And when you can contain your amusement, talk.”
It took a full five minutes for Ruard to contain his hilarity. “It appears Helga reacts to certain flowers and berries. When she comes into contact with them, she breaks into itchy bumps. From what I can make out, your wife gifted Helga with a beautiful carved box filled with dried and perfumed flowers. By chance, these flowers happened to be the one and same to which Helga reacts. Our stepsister is moaning and groaning and howling in her hut.”
Against his will, Torsten’s mouth quirked. “By Thor’s toes, how did Ainslin discover this?”
“I know not, but your wife is now in full charge of the hall and she takes her duties most seriously. I only wish I had been there to see the all of it.” Ruard sniggered again.
Torsten tried to picture his sweet and seemingly innocent wife deliberately gifting Hela with an itching box. He struggled to contain his mirth, but hooted and snorted out loud all the way to the longhouse.
’Twas not much later when he joined his demure wife at the head table. Prettily flushed, bristling with excitement, she beamed at him when he bowed to her, captured her palm, kissed the back of her hand, and then sat.
“You are much pleased with yourself, Ainslin.”
“Aye, Torsten, I am. For the problem of Helga is no longer. She readily yielded the spice keys to me, and has decided to leave with her betrothed after the feast on the morrow. Indeed, most of her belongings are ready to be loaded onto Jarl Olsson’s longship.”
Right then, Njal took his place on the bench to Torsten’s left. “Njal, meet my wife, your new sister, the lady Ainslin.”
“’Tis pleased am I to finally greet you, Ainslin. Torsten has spoken of naught but your beauty and your gentle nature, but he did no justice to your exquisite emerald eyes, your ruby lips—”
Torsten elbowed Njal’s ribs. “Desist at once, Njal. Ainslin, pay no attention to my brother’s flowery words and over-flattering praise. Howbeit, I have charged Njal with the defense of the holding and you must obey his commands in my absence.”
Alarm glittered in Ainslin’s eyes. “You are leaving Stjórardalr?”
“Nay, sweetling.” Njal sniggered and Torsten turned to glare at him, before returning to look down at his wife.
“’Tis a precautionary practice of the Jomsvikings to name a second in command for a holding. What smells so delicious?” The aroma of yeasty fresh bread had his mouth watering. Licking her puss and having a spigot licked, or in this case, stroked, had worked him ravenous.
“Fresh baked bread, my lords. I, too, am most pleased to meet you, Njal.” Ainslin signaled a wench carrying a basket who hastened to her side. She plucked a fat loaf from the basket and offered the round to him. “Pray, my lord, have a loaf of bread. ’Tis warm from the ovens, and was made by my hand.”
He blinked. “You made the bread for all gathered here?”
No wonder she hadn’t met him at the lodge. Over five score were seated at the trestle tables and benches in the hall.
“Nay, husband, I baked one basket of bread, which will serve the head table.” She pushed a crock of butter to him.
After breaking the loaf in two, he buttered both halves, broke off a morsel, and fed her the chunk. She glared at him and motioned for him to taste her offering.
He bit off a large hank and chewed, soft, moist, and flavored with dill and crusted with bits of salt. He savored the taste before swallowing and whispered in her ear, “’Tis delicious, Ainslin. You are a woman of many talents. You can make bread and tickle my pickle.”
She pinched her mouth together, then giggled, and whispered, “Tickle your pickle. Is that what I did this aft?”
“Aye.” He set his palm above her knee and squeezed. “And you did a magnificent job of it.”
Ainslin’s first náttverðr went, for the most part, smoothly. The food was plentiful, ale and wine flowed, and the conversations in the hall lively and amusing. True, ’twere a few spills, arguments, and fisticuffs, but naught of import.
Chest tight with pride, Torsten felt compelled to raise a toast to his wife. “Hear, hear. I thank my wife, the lady Ainslin, for this wonderful meal. ’Tis eve, we retire early in preparation for the jousting in the morn, but on the morrow eve we will feast the night long and celebrate our union. To Lady Ainslin.”
The hall broke into a deafening din with warriors bellowing the toast and banging metal and wooden mugs and horns on the tables.
Knowing the drinking would continue into the wee hours, Torsten helped Ainslin to stand, lifted their joined hands high, and bowed to his people and the wedding guests.
Instead of walking back to the lodge, Torsten signaled for his steed, and he and Ainslin made short shrift of the twenty-minute stroll. His wife’s exertions were beginning to show in her frequent yawns and her drooping head. By the time they arrived at the lodge, she had fallen asleep.
Ignoring the cockstand that arisen at the beginning of the meal, he carried Ainslin to their bed, and when she showed no signs of awakening, undressed her tenderly. For some time he watched her sweet repose, but then shed his garments, and slipped both of them under the furs. He tucked her back to his front and stifled a groan when her naked, plump bottom abraded his erection. ’Twould be hours before he slept.
To his surprise when he opened his eyes, Ainslin was staring at him. He, whose warrior training made him awaken at the slightest movement or sound, had not been aware of the change in her breathing.
“Good morn, husband. The sun peeks over the horizon and I must leave you to see to the morning repast. But I was loath to wake you—you slept so deeply.” She brushed a lock of his hair from his cheek, the touch so tender it felt as if a dagger had pierced ’tween his ribs.
She smelled of wildflowers and spring and was so beautiful in the faint light, he could not bear the thought of her leaving his embrace. He nuzzled her nape and muttered, “Let the women see to the repast. They prepare it every day.”
“Torsten,” she coaxed, “I beg you. Let me not be tardy on this my first morn as the lady of Stjórardalr. I need your support.”
For a moment his temper and urgent need to spill his seed almost made him refuse, but he understood the necessity of her establishing her command. He met her gaze, brushed his lips first to one arched brow, then the other. “I will take you to Bear Hall, lady mine, but you must promise me to return to here at noon, and grant me an hour of your time.”
“You are the best of husbands.” She kissed him full on the mouth and dared to tease his open with her tongue.
He growled, the rumble echoing into her, and broke the kiss. “You kiss me at your own risk of tardiness, wife. Come. Let us dress and while we don our garments, tell me the tale of how you gained victory over Helga with flowers and itching.”
Ainslin shot him a wary peek. “You are displeased? But truly, ’twas the only way I could think of to remove Helga and establish my authority. If she were around, she would’ve sown—”
Torsten stood, pulled her off the bed, and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. “You misunderstand. I care not the how of it. I keep trying to picture Helga, the gift, and the bumps, and I needs know the details.”
Ainslin explained her plan and the roles Greta, Wilma, and Thora played. “Thora came to get me and Wilma. When we arrived at the kitchens, Helga was screaming and scratching and cursing the gods and all the ungrateful people of Stjórardalr. In truth, I was so overwhelmed with guilt that I nigh confessed, but Wilma swiftly intervened and told Helga that she could ease her suffering.”
Surprised when Ainslin ducked out of his embrace and hurried to the other side of the bed, he grabbed his breeches from his garment chest, and followed her. “Is aught amiss?”
She promptly burst into a fit of violent giggles and collapsed onto the bed.
“Ruard could not stop laughing when he told me what he knew last eve,” Torsten commented, he sat next to her, and patted her back. “Catch your breath, elska.”
It took Ainslin some time to regain her composure. “Oh, Torsten. ’Twas a sight to behold. Helga, naked and submerged in a tub of snow and water, angry red bumps over every bit of her skin. She called me a witch, Wilma a sorceress, and vowed never to set foot on Stjórardalr again. She nigh threw the household keys at me, and those to the spice chests. I will have to confess my sins to the priest.”
Torsten palmed her beautiful face. “You cannot stop grinning. Methinks the deed will be worth whatever penance your priest doles out.”