Chapter Forty

Alodie and Birna

Alodie shut herself into the cool darkness of the hut, her morning meal sitting in her stomach like a bucket of mud. A blessed moment alone while Birna took a final word with Thorvald.

She took one shaky breath after another. Eyes closed, she saw herself brandishing the knife at the jarl. Taking care of herself, as she’d termed it just now. True. Against one old man whom she’d caught by surprise, she had been able to take care of herself.

The question Alodie been trying to ignore by thinking of carving the jarl was finally too much to overcome: would the trajectory of their lives have changed if she’d told Thorvald the truth about herself?

Certainly it would have. But for the better? Would they both have gotten what they wanted?

And what did they want? After all that had happened, did she still want him? Was there hope with a man like Thorvald? He was stubbornly loyal. Or so he appeared. What was really going on between him and the jarl?

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine being Thorvald. Strong. Powerful. Determined. Aggravating as an ox refusing to plow a ready field.

No. None of the derogatory nonsense bubbling up. That was inconsequential, colored by their personal interactions.

Alodie pressed a fist against the center of her chest. Underneath everything else was a man…she could hardly dare admit what she’d hoped.

The lonely echoes of an empty heart would forevermore be her constant companion.

She went to the pail of clear water set next to the fire. There was a wooden ladle inside, and Alodie availed herself of a long drink.

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath, letting the coolness settle in her stomach. She imagined the water radiating outward, calming the fibers of her muscles, soothing the aches, and gently easing the weariness.

Without quite meaning to, she found herself leaning over. Please, whatever she saw reflected back at her, let it not resemble the jarl.

Hardly daring to breathe, she opened her eyes, peering over the edge into the surface of the water. For a long time, she stared at the reflection. She reached up and touched her face.

Sadness had always clung to her mother—once Alodie had been old enough to understand. As a child, she’d felt it, but only as she’d grown had she found a name for it.

With her, her mother had been warm. Affectionate. There had been embraces aplenty. Tears and wounds soothed by running into her mother’s open arms. They’d shared a small bed and she’d slept in her mother’s arms, lulled to sleep by the gentle breathing. Once, her mother had even kissed her atop her head and said, “We’re supposed to love God first, above all else, and yet He gives us the gift of such impossible love for our children.”

She’d never doubted her mother cherished her. But what else had her mother seen when she’d looked into Alodie’s face? The terror of that vile heathen demon inflicting unimaginable horror—

Birna returned, making Alodie jump back. The woman’s expression was troubled. But when she saw Alodie, her face relaxed into a smile. “Do you weave?”

Alodie set the ladle back into the water and glanced to the contraption standing adjacent to the door. It was a simple question, but the response took a short span to form. Her mind was elsewhere. Her heart too, if she were truthful. Had there ever been any part of him that had been real?

Yes. The man who’d mourned his companion. The man who’d bolstered the youth by letting him win their fight without making young Hrolf aware of the deception—harmless deception, but deception nonetheless. The man who showed every sign of being able to be the leader the others so clearly craved.

And the heat between them. The way he’d looked at her…had it been no more than simple lust?

The idea cut. Maybe it had been for him like it had been for her and the blacksmith. Mere curiosity.

Birna gave her an encouraging nod. Alodie shook her head, inhaled a long breath, and let it out again slowly to set herself to rights. There was a whole world here that needed attending. If she wanted to think, she could keep her hands busy while she did so.

Right. Busy. With…oh, yes. Weaving. Weaving. She had to think about weaving. “Do I weave? Forgive me, no. No, I do not.”

The other woman brightened. “Let me show you.”

They stood together before the loom. Alodie had never had to pay much mind to such matters back home. She’d had other duties.

“It looks complicated.”

“There’s nothing to it. You’ll see. And few things are as relaxing and rewarding. Whenever my mind is troubled, this is where I come and spend a little extra time.”

Alodie touched the part of the fabric that had already been woven. The fiber had not been dyed, but was woven from varied shades of wool, everything from creamy white to almost black. “It’s a pretty pattern.”

“Here, look.” Birna put her fingers under the threads and pulled them forward and pointed with her other hand. “They pass over this one here then under several more. That makes these diagonal parallel ribs.”

“I’m…” Alodie studied the arrangement. Until a moment ago, it hadn’t looked quite so complicated. “Not sure I do quite see.”

“It will make more sense when I show you. First, don’t worry about the process of arranging the threads. All you need to do is worry about these rods, this comb, and this…” She picked up what apparently was not a stray stick smoothed flat on either side. “Batten.”

When Alodie had accomplished a few snug rows, Birna smiled warmly. “It will be a while before it doesn’t take so much attention. Practice a little every day and you’ll get there sooner than you think.”

The older woman had a way about her. She wasn’t only skilled, knowledgeable, and level-headed, but motherly and welcoming. The type of person whose good opinion mattered. It was easy to want to please her.

The morning grew late. They’d not been disturbed since Thorvald had come up. At first, every little rustle outside the door sent Alodie’s heart tumbling about in various directions. Spiraling into confusion or raising in hope, then invariably sinking again when it turned out to be nothing more particular than the everyday noises of the outdoors.

While Alodie practiced, Birna stood by with her spindle in her hands, from time to time offering gentle advice and encouragement.

“You take a rest.” Birna brought a stool over. “And I’ll have a turn.”

“I don’t mind—”

Birna waved at her. “You’re not here to wear yourself to the bone. There will be plenty to do, mark my word.”

“I’m used to working hard. I like it.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Nevertheless, Birna shooed her away from the loom.

Once she’d taken the seat, Alodie’s feet declared their gratitude for the respite. Maybe those days at sea had made her soft. In her old life, there had always been something to do. Taking a day of rest meant being too ill to work.

She moved side to side, flush with the unwelcome awareness of what Thorvald had so recently done to her backside…and what it had led to.

Birna began to work. Weaving was not a quick task, and she didn’t move with any particular hurry to see it finished, either. Instead, she moved methodically through the actions, attentive of everything she did, every movement she made.

“Tell me about your princess.”

Alodie’s attention snapped up. “I hardly know where to begin.”

“You took her place. That couldn’t have been an easy thing. But she must have been worthy of what you did.”

“She…” How could she describe the princess? The princess was a presence. A force. “She…has a keen insightfulness into others and can utilize her talent to navigate treacherous waters.”

Birna gave Alodie a sidelong glance, brows slightly together in curiosity. “Sounds like Jarl Erlendr.”

The jarl? Everything in Alodie balked at the very idea. She shook her head decisively. “No. Not at all. They’re nothing alike. The princess sees our—her—borders protected, her people fed, safe, and prosperous. The jarl puts people in servitude.”

And manipulates them. Like whatever he used to keep Thorvald in thrall.

“Two reflections in the same mirror.” Birna fiddled with some of the threads on her loom.

Alodie frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They can easily share the same strengths and apply them to wildly different purposes. Two reflections. Your princess is a reflection into daylight. Our jarl…”

A reflection into night.

“Could the same be true for one man?”

Birna glanced back. “What do you mean?”

What she’d meant was—could one man be split into two reflections? A reflection into day and a reflection into night.

“Never mind.” Alodie bowed her head. She wasn’t going to think about him anymore today.