CHAPTER NINE

 

Sigurd growled from fury and frustration on the way to his bedchamber after a hard day of work. It was good that he’d had to work physically the whole day, otherwise he’d need to start a fight because he itched to punish someone. The stubborn female drove him crazy. She’d almost started an open resistance against him. But, despite himself, he could not help but to admire that she’d managed to make Asa and Thorsten side with her, and convince practically all women of the village to act against their jarl.

She had a nerve.

A nerve, and a brain, and a tongue.

He was looking forward to teaching her a lesson.

The bedchamber was empty.

Disappointment hit him like a blow to the gut, then worry knit his eyebrows together. Where was she? He walked through the great hall, but she was nowhere to be seen. Muffled giggles and moans ran across the darkness: warriors had fun with their bed slaves on the benches. Servants and thralls were cleaning after dinner. She could not have gone back to her time, could she?

Sigurd’s stomach knotted. What had she gotten herself into? If one of his men wanted to repeat Geirr’s mistake— He ground his teeth, scorching heat flushed through his body as he imagined another man’s hands on her, and his fists clenched so tight, his fingers ached.

He checked that his ax hung on his belt and walked outside. It was still bright; the days of early summer lasted as long as the song of a lousy scald. He went around the village, almost calling her name. As the prospect of her leaving became real, his stomach roiled and icy sweat broke through his skin. He sped up to a trot, and every time he looked behind a house, his pulse jumped in anticipation of seeing her figure. But each time she was not there, his chest tightened more and more until it began to hurt.

After a while, Sigurd ended up at the beach. And through the part unobscured by the palisade, he saw her figure facing the water. It was her, he recognized her even from a distance. Relief flooded him, and he began breathing easier.

Sigurd approached Donna and stood by her side.

“I looked for you,” he said after a while.

“Oh, you thought you’d find me warming your bed, did you?”

Sigurd gritted his teeth. “That’s what I told you to do.”

She turned to him, her face stiff with anger. “Oh yes? And of course, I must obey. Why?”

Was it strange to think she looked glorious when she was so angry? Her eyes shone, full lips pressed together, cheeks flushed. If she’d had a sword in her hand, she might have looked like Brunhild, the legendary shield-maiden.

He suppressed the urge to take her by the shoulders and cover that willful mouth with his.

He turned to face her. Why should she obey him? Well that was obvious. “I am the jarl.”

“You are not my jarl. You are no one to me.” Even though it was true, the words stung. She continued, “Ah. Wait. Of course. I should obey you because I am a woman!”

Sigurd studied her. She sounded like his sister. Vigdis had often complained that if she were a man, she’d already have been on raids, on negotiations, hunted with kings and jarls and had her own ship.

He clenched his fists. This was the same beach where he had learned of Vigdis’s betrayal. The same beach where his father and many more great warriors had parted with their lives because of her.

And now Donna. Same words. Same attitude.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “A woman,” he spat. “Indeed, you are a woman. I learned painfully that I could never trust one. I thought you were different because the Norn sent you to me.” He eyed her up and down. “But I was wrong.”

Hurt and confusion distorted her face. “What?”

“All you want is power, isn’t it? To have a say at the great table, make decisions, and rule.”

“What are you talking about? I want to make decisions about me. To be in charge of my life. To be equal with men. Not to be regarded as a property.”

Sigurd shook his head. “And just what are you prepared to do to gain all these privileges?”

He heard the venom in his own voice, poisonous as the Midgard Serpent—the snake that coiled around the center of the world.

Donna studied him with a frown. “They shouldn’t be privileges. And I am ready to fight for that. To never give up.”

“To betray. Backstab. Lie—”

Sigurd shut his mouth before he could say anything more that would open his wound. He groaned. Anger and hurt boiled in his throat and threatened to spill from him in a tidal wave.

Donna watched him, wide-eyed. “Backstab and lie? I would never—” She was silent for a moment, and he almost craved for her to go on, to pull the information out of him like a rotten tooth. “You are not talking about me, are you?”

Her voice brushed him like fur. Tenderness gave her more power than any force.

He swallowed a painful knot. “No.”

“What happened?”

He looked at her, searching for the final push that would tip him over the edge and make him talk. The desire to tell her about the most painful experience of his life itched like an old battle wound. Why did he feel he could confide in her? Why did he want to share with her that pain?

Maybe because she was an outsider. And a bit like a goddess.

Or maybe there was just something about her that made his world brighter and more hopeful.

She eyed him as if waiting for his next step. In her eyes, he saw pain that resembled his own.

And then he let go.

“It’s my sister. She married our enemy instead of negotiating peace. I entrusted her with the task, even though my father told me his whole life not to trust women.

“I did not want to believe he was right. I resisted. I thought maybe it was just him, that he was stuck in the old ways.

“My father often said that he could not rely on my mother in anything. She had weak health and was often in bed instead of managing the household. She lost many children, and he wanted many sons. For a long time, I was the only child.

“Still, I think he loved her. He forbade her to have any more children, too afraid that she’d die, and she promised him that she wouldn’t, that she’d take herbs. But she wanted to be a good wife. And a good wife gives her husband many sons.

“Once, when father raided overseas, a wealthy merchant came to the village. I saw them in the washhouse—back then I thought they wrestled. After he left, she soon began feeling sick. The same kind of sick she felt every time before her belly would swell.

“My father came back and became furious with her. I did not know it all back then, but now I understand that she broke her word to him. She also got pregnant with another man’s child. And my father never knew.”

Sigurd glanced at the fjord, seeing his father and himself in a fishing boat. He remembered how Vigdis and he had run around the beach as children and gathered pebbles. He remembered longships with sails of different colors arriving. He used to hold his breath in anticipation of guests, stories, and merchandise from overseas.

All that was gone now. Because he’d trusted women.

“She gave birth to Vigdis and died in childbirth.”

He turned to meet Donna’s eyes. They were wide and full of emotion.

“My sister brought death to my people. My father died in that battle as did half of the men from our village. I was such a fool to have trusted her. All my fault, I sent her to Fuldarr. My father was right after all—women can’t be trusted.”

Sigurd turned towards the fjord. Despite his bitter words, he was surprised to find how good it felt to have poured out all the venom, like pus from a rotting wound. The secret of his sister’s birth had eaten at him, corroding his faith and his trust.

Donna was so immobile, she might have been a statue, her eyes watching but not seeing the fjord. It was as if she struggled with her own inner pain. The air itself was silent and still, and in that stillness, her voice sang a spell. “Saying that all women are mistrustful is like saying that all cats are black.”

Sigurd chuckled. His heart felt light, and he had a new feeling of peace in his chest, as if his lungs could fully expand for the first time in years. Her warm hand grasped his forearm, shooting a bolt of fire through him. Gods, she had such an effect on his body. He wanted to take her right then and there, but this was not the time.

“You can start with trusting me,” she said. “I am a woman.”

Sigurd wished he could do that.

She had organized the womenfolk today like he could never have done. Even though he had growled and sent them away, he had later seen that all the work they’d done was good. The fortress had grown faster today than it had on the best day with only men. She did not have an agenda, did she? If the Norn had sent her, she must be here to help. Because the gods wanted him to succeed.

Besides that, she was an outlander. Something was so different about her… Yet it was as if some part of him had known her all his life. Maybe even beyond.

He needed to know.

He turned to her and brought her towards him, wrapping his arms around her. It felt right, like she belonged there. “Can I? Trust you?”

Her lips parted. She was as affected as he was. She nodded.

He swallowed. “Show me.”