Skarfr could not believe how difficult it was to make a formal complaint. After finding Rognvald, he had to ask for a private word and the furrows of the Jarl’s brow suggested this was not a good time.
Nevertheless, Skarfr owed it to Hlif to persevere and so he insisted.
‘Well?’ snapped Rognvald, when nobody was in earshot.
Which is when Skarfr realised he had no idea what words to use for the thing that had happened. He knew it was wrong and he knew it shouldn’t be allowed to happen but he was speaking on Hlif’s behalf and that tied his tongue.
He had to say something, if only to stop the Jarl glaring at him. ‘Sire, I witnessed Lord Thorbjorn…’ What had he seen? He couldn’t describe the state of Hlif’s clothes without seeming vulgar. Skin like fine lace. Clouds of red freckles on white marble.
He swallowed and tried again. ‘Sire, I witnessed Lord Thorbjorn being unmannerly towards Hlif.’ Rognvald looked at him sharply and Skarfr corrected himself. ‘Towards Lady Hlif, your ward. Physically unmannerly,’ he stressed, hoping Rognvald would get the message. ‘I’m bearing witness, making a formal complaint.’
‘Are you indeed.’ The Jarl looked down his nose at the source of such an unpleasant statement. ‘Has my ward been injured?’
Did he mean wounded or did he mean raped? Or both? The answer was the same in either case.
‘No,’ said Skarfr ‘but if I hadn’t been there…’ He tailed off, thinking of who else had been there.
‘If is a horse nobody rides,’ responded Rognvald curtly. ‘My ward was no doubt behaving in an unseemly fashion yet again, attracted Lord Thorbjorn’s attention and you misunderstood the situation.’
‘No!’ blurted out Skarfr. ‘I did not misunderstand the situation.’
‘Was Lady Hlif alone, far from the village?’
‘Yes but…’ Rognvald had entirely the wrong impression. What could Skarfr say to put him right? ‘She meant for me to accompany her but she hadn’t found me.’
Now the Jarl’s eyes narrowed. ‘There were no other suitable protectors available?’
‘No. I mean yes.’ Skarfr flushed, knowing full well Hlif’s friendship with him would not please the Jarl.
Rognvald’s tone was icy. ‘You’re right. I should speak to my ward about her reputation. So forget this nonsense about Lord Thorbjorn and forget my ward. You’re not a boy anymore and although her looks are against her, she has other qualities. But she’s not for you or any man.’
Skarfr couldn’t believe his ears. Rognvald thought he was a threat to Hlif. He stuttered a protest but Rognvald cut him short.
‘No doubt you think I’m cruel, withholding consent to her marriage. You imagine the joys of the marriage-bed, children…’ He held Skarfr’s gaze and repeated heavily, ‘Children. Whose grandfather murdered a saint, whose mother has passed this cursed blood on to them. The lure of her youthful body would quickly pass and no marriage would survive the curse of Hlif’s lineage.
‘It is because I care about her that I forbid marriage! She will never watch a husband’s eyes accuse her of destroying his life. She will never see her children doomed to end their line or pass on such a curse.
‘As my housekeeper, Hlif has a worthy occupation, respect and security. No man who cares for her would take that from her! Do you understand yet?’
‘No,’ said Skarfr stubbornly.
‘Then stay away from her until you do. And then stay away from her because you do. That’s an order. She is not your concern. Nor is Lord Thorbjorn.’
Banned from seeing Hlif. Not until the sentence had been passed on him did Skarfr realise how much their time together meant. He had seen her as a friend, not… Fine lace freckles on porcelain skin. It was unjust. Thorbjorn should be the one rebuked by the Jarl, ordered to stay distant from Hlif.
‘My reading lessons…’ he queried tentatively, hoping.
‘Are ended.’ Rognvald exploded. ‘God’s blood! Don’t take me for a fool. If you haven’t learned to read in however many years you’ve been taking lessons from my ward, you never will.’
Skarfr turned to leave, knowing his resentment was expressed in every stiff line of his body.
‘I haven’t dismissed you,’ growled the Jarl. ‘And there are more important matters brewing. You can put your restless mind to work as witness to Sweyn’s petition and my judgement.’
Witness again. But only when it suited Rognvald.
‘Lord Sweyn has returned?’ Skarfr asked, curious despite himself.
‘He has settled his wife and sons on Gareksey and sent word that he comes here today. You may expect him to be foul-tempered and, unlike Lord Thorbjorn—’ the Jarl fixed Skarfr in an accusatory stare ‘Sweyn has no loyalty to Orkneyjar or its rulers.’
Foul-tempered was an understatement. Sweyn paid the barest of respects to Rognvald before launching into a tirade against his erstwhile bosom friend Holbodi, which finished with, ‘bastard runt of a spineless litter shall not cruise the Western Isles with his new friends the Bretlandmen thumbing his nose at Orkney.’
Skarfr gathered that Holbodi had left Sweyn in the lurch to form a more profitable alliance with his former enemies, the very raiders he’d enlisted Sweyn’s help to pursue. The falling-out was due to a miscalculation on Holbodi’s part. Seeing Sweyn’s dragon ships outnumbered, he had withdrawn his own from the battle, expecting Sweyn’s death and a negotiation with the victors in calmer times. Instead, Sweyn’s superior skill had triumphed over his opponents and he’d survived the encounter despite Holbodi’s cowardice. But he’d lost one ship and a younger brother. He was not in a forgiving mood. He wanted ships. And vengeance.
‘Again,’ said Rognvald. ‘Why should I risk men and ships again, this time for your quarrel with Holbodi, the very man you begged me to help last time you petitioned me?’
Sweyn threw his head back and laughed, enjoying the confrontation. He was made for battle, his body as honed as his axe. If rumours were true, his Irish princess wife held little sway over him and his sons would only claim his attention when their blades were steel not wood.
‘For plunder, Sire,’ Sweyn told him. ‘Lend me four of your ships, with your best captains, and we will bring back riches beyond your dreams.’
‘That too I have heard before,’ said Rognvald but his tone had changed. Cathedrals were expensive to construct.
Sweyn knew he had the attention of the men listening. ‘Thorbjorn,’ he called. ‘Sister’s husband. Would you sail with me and be a wealthy man?’
Skarfr had avoided looking at the man he’d named to Rognvald as a criminal but his eyes were drawn to the tall, dark lord in well-oiled leathers with his gold brooches, torque and arm-rings. That he displayed wealth was evident but whether a man in his position could afford such tastes was debatable.
Thorbjorn spoke to Rognvald not to Sweyn and the balance of power shifted again.
‘The Bretlandmen are an irritant too near our islands. I could spare the time to make an example of them. Relieving them of their ill-gotten gains seems our Christian duty, don’t you think, Sire?’
Rognvald nodded heavily. ‘I’ll listen to my advisor.’
Thorbjorn smiled. The message had been sent but Sweyn was too busy detailing ships and personnel to show any reaction to how he had got his way.
Giving his own instructions, the Jarl did not forget Skarfr. ‘You go on Thorbjorn’s ship,’ he told him. ‘You’ll need seaworthy clothes and a pack. Get them from the armoury. And when you return, you will have forgotten the grudge you bear.’
Skarfr’s stomach clenched. ‘Yes, Sire,’ he said and rushed off to find Hlif.