By noon on the following day, Ainslin began to believe that between herself, Greta, Wilma, and Thora they had the food and drink for the wedding feast under control.
Multiple fires roasting beef, venison, hog—Torsten had insisted on hunting for her favorite meat first thing that morn—mutton, swine, duck, and goat had the kitchens so hot almost all working there wore layers of sweat. Wide, shallow cauldrons sat atop the low fires of the kitchen hearths roasting honey and butter drizzled cabbage, beets, leeks, onions, seaweed, peas, and mushrooms. Makeshift fire pits outside the kitchens cooked cauldrons of Fiskesuppe, a stew native to country, made with cod, salmon, turnips, carrots, parsnips, and wild celery.
Though Ainslin had removed her sleeves a while back, perspiration banded her forehead, and she swiped the back of her hand at the moisture. “I vow, the thought of a swim in a tub of snow and cold water sounds wonderful to me right now.”
Greta, who was in command of the sweets to be served at the end of the feast, announced, “We have yet to finish the cloudberry puddings, the crabapple and nut cakes, and the sloes and plum tarts. Milady, I fear your swim will have to wait for a few days.”
“Aye, and the rushes in the hall still have to be changed, the smoked fish needs to be warmed, the casks of ale and wine have not arrived from the village ale house,” Thora declared.
Ainslin frowned, not at the work left to be done, but by something Greta mentioned. “A few days?”
“Aye, milady, the feasting will last for five eves. Each day, the men will hunt, the farmers and their thralls will forage for vegetables, and we will begin cooking again,” Greta explained.
“Five eves?” Ainslin reeled. How had none informed her of this? How had Torsten not informed her? She felt like kicking his shin, or cuffing his shoulder, but ’twould probably hurt her more than him.
A five day feast was unheard of even at King Canute’s court. A celebration lasted at most two days, and, on the third, all departed.
Dismay had Ainslin stymied. The people of the keep would be nigh exhausted by the time the celebrations were completed. Mayhap she should have welcomed Helga’s assistance, but—nay—Torsten’s step-sister would’ve hindered her at every opportunity. Ainslin gathered her mettle and resolved to ensure that the food and drink, not only never flagged, but exceeded in taste and amount each eve.
Greta winced. “Did the jarl not tell you, milady?”
“Nay,” Ainslin replied, thoughts of pinching Torsten’s ears filling her mind. “Know you where is the jarl?”
Thora answered, “One of the thralls said he’s in the stables seeing to new arrivals.”
Before she could ask for directions, Ainslin spotted Torsten in the kitchen doorway surveying the activity. Keeping Torsten in focus, she hastened to him. When she neared him, a knight with a polished helm in his hand appeared at his side. The man had a familiar face, but still wore his hauberk, and she couldn’t place him.
“Ainslin,” Torsten’s voice carried over the din in the kitchen. “Sigrid, Earl of Northdam, has arrived at the same time as your sons and my brother, Jarvik.”
Bile rushed up her throat, her stomach roiled. Ainslin’s nails bit into her palms as she fought to contain her panicked terror. Yearning to sprint to her sons, she deliberately slowed her steps, and took three deep inhales.
“My lords,” Ainslin greeted the two men, dipping a curtsey first to Torsten and then to Sigrid. “Welcome, Earl Northdam.”
The words tasted bitter.
“Ainslin,” Sigrid intoned.
“Pray, my lord. Where are my sons?” Ainslin directed the question to Torsten.
“Your steward and his wife have taken them to the lodge.” He held her gaze, a wealth of unsaid warning in his eyes.
Ainslin near fainted with relief.
Brom and Rob were here.
Feisal and Eileen were here.
But, so was Sigrid.
“King Canute’s representative, Svein Knútsson, also arrived yesterday. He brought a missive for me from the king, and I must needs answer immediately. I will accompany you to our lodge, wife, and attend to my duty while you attend to yours.”
Torsten pivoted to address Sigrid. “Do you hunt, Earl Northdam?”
Sigrid of Northdam didn’t bother to hide the insult he felt. “Better than even King Canute himself. No man bests me in the hunt.”
“Then you will be pleased to accompany the hunt my brothers, Njal and Jarvik, are about to lead.” Torsten signaled and Njal and Jarvik, appeared at his side. “Allow me to introduce them to you. To the right is Njal, to the left, Jarvik.”
“A pleasure,” Njal inclined his head.
“The Earl and I met earlier at Stjórardalr’s harbor. Howbeit, I have not met my new sister. Lady Ainslin, I am Jarvik, youngest brother to your husband.” Jarvik favored Ainslin with a flamboyant bow worthy of a royal courtier.
Discombobulated and dizzy, Ainslin sank into a low curtsey. “Welcome Jarvik, I thank you for your service.”
For bringing her sons to Stjórardalr safe and sound, Jarvik would have her undying gratitude. She could scarce bring her gaze to Sigrid and the nearness of his feared countenance had panic shattering her reason. She attempted to collect the questions rioting through her mind.
Why had the king sent Svein? What did Sigrid know?
She fought to keep her turmoil from her face.
Njal clamped his palm to his chest. “We will see you at the feast anon, brother. ’Twill be our pleasure to keep Earl Sigrid entertained while you attend to your duties. Earl, Jarvik informs me your ship is of the new design now favored in Mercia. Mayhap you would give us a tour after the hunt?”
At once she understood Torsten’s strategy. Sigrid would not have a moment alone betwixt now and the feast. Some of her hysteria receded.
“’Twould be my pleasure,” Sigrid said, his tone frustrated and infuriated.
Ainslin had heard that tone before when Hadrain had forbidden Sigrid the carnal use of a serving wench and banished the girl, for her safety, to the care of the burly blacksmith, her father.
Torsten uttered not a word, but simply watched the three men, Njal, Jarvik, and Sigrid, leave the kitchen. He gestured again and one of the warriors wearing his colors, blue and gold, appeared. “Take another man and follow Earl Northdam. One of you report to me at once if he manages to escape my brothers’ guard, the other stick to Northdam like a tick on a bull.”
“Aye, aye, milord.” The warrior repeated the same chest touching gesture Njal had given his brother moments before.
Torsten extended an arm. “Make me acquainted with my new sons.”
His sons? He won her heart once more with the claim. Tears of joy pricked at Ainslin’s eyes. She met his gaze and smiled, laying her hand on his. As they walked through the hall, Torsten murmured, “All will be well, Ainslin.”
“Why is he here now? Lavanya has been dead three winters,” Ainslin whispered.
Torsten kept their pace to a lazy stroll even after the longhouse vanished from sight, while all she yearned to do was gallop to her boys.
“Fear not, Ainslin. You and the boys are mine now. I will see no harm befalls any of you.” Torsten placed his other hand on hers and gave her a little squeeze. “We will speak of the feast until we are safely ensconced in the lodge. How goes the preparation for our wedding feast?”
All at once her ire returned. “Think you, you could not have informed me ’tis to last five eves, my lord?”
“Take care, wife. You well know I dislike your my lording. Choose to use that title when you wish to pick a fight. Methinks you should have more pressing concerns at the moment,” Torsten warned.
“How was I to know? ’Tis one thing to plan food for one eve and one morn, but five?” She sighed, knowing her upset with him didn’t matter anymore.
“Ask Helga to stay if you need help,” Torsten suggested.
Ainslin rolled her eyes. “Nay. I will manage.”
“I can assign some of the squires and pages to the kitchens if that will help.” He offered.
He could be so thoughtful and so dense. “Aye. ’Twill be of great assistance.”
Their lodge came into view and her excitement soared. How she craved to touch and hold her sons. That she had not birthed the boys meant naught. She loved them as if they were her own.
“Relax now, wife. I have guards stationed all around the lodge. Five warriors are assigned to guard you and the boys at all times. Are you ready, elska?” He halted and ran his knuckles over her cheek. “’Tis wonderful to see your eyes shining with happiness.”
All feeling save that of gratefulness and affection dissipated. In less than three days, she had come to care for Torsten more than any other save her Mama and Papa. “My thanks, Torsten, for everything.”
They climbed the steps and he opened the door.
Another notion occurred to her as they entered the hearth and dining front room. “How did Feisal and Eileen get here so quickly? I only told you of them two eves ago.”
He chuckled. “When Jarvik arrived at Castle Næss to pick up the boys, your steward and his wife refused to give Rob and Brom to Jarvik unless he agreed to take the two of them along.”
She owed Feisal and Eileen more than she could ever repay. “’Tis exactly what I have come to expect from them, but that they arrived at the same time as Sigrid. ’Tis cannot be a simple coincidence. Can it?”
“I am inclined to think not. Worry not, sweetling, you will all be safe. Now, ’tis time to greet our sons, so shake off that frown.” He twined their fingers together and pressed his lips to her temple. “Feisal and Eileen have one of the back rooms, and our sons, the other. Their presence plus ours will ensure that Rob and Brom are never alone.”
Reassured by the protective measures Torsten had taken, she let the tension seep from her rigid spine, and her stiff neck muscles. “I cannot wait to see my sons.”
’Twas only then she realized that he had said our sons not once, not twice, but thrice today. “Beg pardon, husband. Our sons. I have long thought of them as mine alone, but from this day forward no more.”
He guided her down the hallway, past their chamber, past the entrance to the log hut that contained the hot stones and the springs, and around a bend. Here the corridor widened into a small room with two open doors at either end.
She glimpsed a chestnut mop of hair, a chubby torso wearing a knee-length tunic, and a pair of bare legs, and two feet with wriggling toes.
“Rob,” she called
The boy whipped around and nigh overbalanced, but righted himself. “Mama!”
At the sound of Rob’s high-pitched wail, Ainslin dropped to her knees and flung her arms wide. Her child ran into her embrace. “Rob. I am so happy you’re here.”
She stroked his back and sniffed his hair. “Where’s Brom?”
“Here, Mama.”
Ainslin looked up to find Brom standing next to Eileen in front of the open doorway, waving a chunk of bread in the air. She lifted Rob, who straddled his long legs over her hipbone, and rose to her feet.
“I rode a horse, Mama. I saw the sea. And I sailed a ship,” Rob bellowed in her ear.
“Did not,” protested Brom as he toddled in her direction, chewing on the crusty end of the morsel.
When he reached Ainslin, Brom craned his neck to stare at Torsten, who stood at her side. “Are you our new papa?”
“I am,” Torsten answered.
“Brom, Rob, meet your new papa, Jarl Torsten,” Ainslin said.
“What is a jarl?” Rob piped as he wriggled free of her hold and slipped to the floor.
Ainslin didn’t anticipate Torsten’s reaction. He chuckled, squatted, and scooped a boy in either arm. “A jarl is a leader of men.”
Rob touched Torsten’s clean-shaven face. “You lead men in battle?”
“Are you a warrior?” Brom asked before he crammed the remaining chunk of bread into his mouth.
“I am,” Torsten replied. He glanced over his shoulder, and flashed her a grin. “And this is your new home.”
Her eyes filled with unshed tears and she wanted to swear fealty to him, to let him know he had her undying loyalty from this day on.
Both Brom and Rob began peppering Torsten with questions, their voices growing louder as each brother attempted to garner the Jarl’s sole attention. Torsten wore a bemused expression Ainslin knew well. Her sons were not of the strong, silent warrior bent and she frequently wished for blessed silence.
“Nay,” Torsten near bellowed. “One question at a time. Who is the elder?”
Rob pouted and then wailed, “Mama, ’tis not fair. Why did you not have me first? Why is Brom always first?”
“A warrior does not bewail the order of things,” Torsten explained. “Nor does he seek his mother’s assistance. Do you not aspire to your own sword, Rob?”
Eileen’s gaze met Ainslin’s and both women smiled. Ainslin ran over to the woman, who was part mother, part friend, part advisor, and hugged her tightly. “My thanks, Eileen, for coming without my even asking.”
“Feisal and I could not allow the twins to travel alone. And I missed you dearly.” Eileen returned her attention to Torsten and the boys. “Your Jarl will soon have the boys sorted.”
“He is a good man. I have been most fortunate. Where is Feisal?”
“Right here, milady.” Feisal walked out of the second door. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
Ainslin, Eileen, and Feisal followed Torsten and the boys back to the main chamber, Ainslin marveling at the boys’ sudden silence. Torsten’s long stride took him out of hearing distance in mere minutes.
“Eileen, how comes Earl Northdam to the Norse lands?” Ainslin linked arms with the steward’s wife.
Feisal, walking alongside Ainslin, answered, “’Tis we who are with him, my lady. The earl journeys in support of King Canute who would be King of England, Denmark, and Norway. Jarl Torsten’s brother arranged our passage on his ship.”
Eileen set her mouth to Ainslin’s ear. “Earl Sigrid does not suspect.”
“How can you be cert?” Ainslin met the other woman’s glance. “Rob and Brom have dark brown hair nigh the color of Sigrid’s, and both have three dimples like he does Their eyes are the color of honey, again, the same as his. My eyes are green and my hair is the color of daffodils. Hadrain’s eyes were blue. I know not what his hair color used to be since he was bald most of my life.”
“Both Feisal and I are cert, my lady. Do not worry.”
Ainslin knew Eileen wanted to reassure her, but she couldn’t help wonder how Sigrid could not see the resemblance.
“We listened when he spoke Norse to his warriors and not once did he speak of the boys. Indeed, he banned them from his presence. Methinks he dislikes babes and children.”
Sigrid had banned the boys from his presence? Surely, that was a good omen. Ainslin had forgotten Eileen’s fluency in the Norse language.
“Eileen, what does elska mean?” Ainslin regretted the blurted query immediately.
“’Tis Norse for dearling or sweetling, my lady.”
A blush warmed Ainslin from head to toe.
Torsten had deposited the boys on a rug in front of the hearth, where a low fire popped and crackled. To Ainslin’s utter shock and delight, the boys were playing with a wooden array of toys. Each twin had in front of him a tiny bear, a hog, a sheep with two little lambs, a helmeted warrior carrying a shield, and a small wooden sword.
Rob and Brom couldn’t decide which toy to play with and kept picking up one in each hand, and then squealing and dropping their handful for two others.
Amazed at the abundancy of carvings, she lifted her gaze to Torsten’s, only to find him looking abashed. “Torsten? I have never seen two children with so many toys. How on earth did you accumulate so many?”
He shrugged. “Last winter was particularly dark and gloomy and devoid of visitors. I enjoy carving.”
Speechless, she could only gape at him. He had carved the toys himself. For boys not of his loins. If ’twere not for Eileen and Feisal and the twins’ presence she would have thrown herself into his arms. No doubt existed in her mind any longer. She had fallen in love with her Viking husband.
“I needs leave you, now. I have to deliver this answer to the king’s message. He has invited us to attend his coronation in Trondheim. Earl Sigrid is also invited. So, worry not, wife. Sigrid’s destination is Trondheim, not Bjarndýr Skáli.”
Ainslin let out the breath she didn’t know she held. “But, he is here. Why?”
His hand firmed around her neck, his thumb stroked her jaw, and the storm in his eyes told Ainslin of his desire. “My brother, Njal, spent much time at the king’s court in Mercia. He says the gossip there is of how he lusts after you. ’Tis said that he tumbles only women with your hair and eye color. He came after you. Methinks in the hopes of tupping you should you be dissatisfied with your barbaric Viking husband.”