Chapter 5

Bethóc’s Wedding

I woke to find Angus’s damp fur pressed firmly against me, slobbering, and breathing heavily. Rolling onto my back, I blinked up at the ceiling as the memory of my meeting with the Jarl came flooding back.

Nobody had ever frightened me, not even my father but standing there before the Jarl and seeing the way he looked at me his expression terrified me. I was nothing more than a Norse whore. Giving myself to such a monster so that my father could keep his power.

Outside the spring rain was still falling. The constant thump, thump, thump in time with my heart. I shivered as I slipped my bare feet from beneath the covers, moving as quietly as I could trying not to wake my sisters.

Bethóc stirred, sending her red curls across her face, content with the life that was stretched out in front of her filled with husbands and babies and weaving and sowing. A life of obedience. She would give him grandchildren who would one day rule in his place.

I dressed in haste, fumbling over fastenings, and pulling on my shoes. I needed to escape. I needed to breathe. It would only be a short ride with the wind in my hair and my horse beneath my legs. Bethóc lay on her back snoring like a stuck pig. She’d be so busy clucking around readying herself for her wedding that she would not notice my absence for at least a little while.

I slipped through the archway and out into the morning air. Dawn broke in shards of orange and gold through the mountains. The fine spring mist cast a rainbow, a sure sign that God would be watching.

I snaked back and forth, past the blacksmith before emerging with the beasts, Angus padding behind. Goats and sheep lay sleeping in mounds of hay. I slipped between their small paddocks, trying desperately not to disturb the hens. The shrill noise of the cockerel was enough to wake the dead. I stepped as quietly as I could while he roosted on the top of a post, his women dotted about the floor beneath him.

Father’s ponies were in the last paddock, dozing lazily in the early morning drizzle. My bay mare gave a soft whinny at the sight of me. I saddled and mounted the pony and took off at a trot, my hawk on my wrist and Angus kept a steady pace at our side.

The fortress fell away, along with my ill feeling. Now, with the Jarl and my father waiting for Bethóc’s wedding, there would be no one out looking for me. I could hear nothing but the dawn chorus and for the first time in days, I felt finally at peace.

I reined my mare northeast, towards the mountains, pushing further on, passing herds of red deer shielding fawns in the long grass, too early to be hunted from the shadows by wolves. I wished I had my bow.

In the distance wisps of smoke spiralled skyward from the homes of my father’s tenants. I dug in my heels and pushed on, hooves thundering into the soft earth, shattering the stillness. A fine sheen of sweat gathered on my mare’s neck under the strain. My breath hitched. My heart pounded. I felt alive.

Women, on the whole, are meant to be calm. At least, good Christian women were. But women feel just as men feel, we have fire in our bellies. It is only men who feel we should be confined to being no more than something to adorn their arms. To this day my fire still burns fiercely, although it may be dulled with age. No man will extinguish it.

I did not see him standing there in the shadows. I felt the muscles beneath the saddle stiffen. I heard the snort of fear but for the life of me, I could not see what it was that frightened my mare. I tried to hang on to the reins, as she twisted, pushing my feet more firmly into the stirrups.

‘Shhh… it’s alright,’ I soothed, but no sooner than the words crossed my lips she was up on her hind quarters rearing full height before she cast me to the floor and bolted into the distance.

‘Damned horse!’ I shouted after her.

I found myself sitting in what could only be described as a bog, thick with a slurry that would have shamed a hog. Drest was no doubt halfway back to the mews. Angus, not knowing what else to do, licked my face.

‘Lady Olith.’ The sound of his voice filled me with enough fury to light the nights sky aflame and even more when he gave me his hand.

‘You?’ The Jarl stared now at me with a half-cocked smile, that I wanted to wipe from his face. ‘Clearly, they do not have horses in Norway,’ I hissed, refusing the offer of his hand, and slipping around onto all fours to try and extricate myself from the sludge that threatened to take my gown with it.

‘We have lots of horses, but ours don’t seem to frighten as easily. Maybe it is just your inexperience or the poor breeding of the animal.’

Always with the insults. He never changed. It always set the fire between us.

‘My inexperience? My apologies, Jarl Sigurd, I forget that I am but a lowly woman standing before a great horseman.’ I clambered to my feet, trying to dust myself off although all I seemed to do was to spread the streaks of mud further across my skirts. ‘I should know my place.’

‘It would not take much to teach you.’

I could not believe what I was hearing. ‘You will teach me? Jarl Sigurd, I have ridden horses my whole life. Perhaps, I could teach you that prowling around in the tree line like some kind of wolf is enough to make the calmest beast shy.’

‘I am pleased to see that you are not afraid.’

I was more afraid than he would ever know, but any fear I had, had been swallowed by my temper.

‘What are you doing riding this far from your father’s fortress, and with a hawk on your arm?’

‘What I was doing, Jarl Sigurd is none of your concern.’

‘I trust that your father knows that you were this far out?’

‘I do not have time for this,’ I huffed, trying to straighten my skirts. ‘I have my sister’s wedding to attend. I bid you farewell.’

He walked over to a horse he had tethered. ‘You will ride with me.’

It was not a question.

‘I will no,’ I said hotly. ‘My mare will come back, and I will make my own way to the ceremony.’

‘As you wish, Lady Olith.’ He nodded, pushed his heels into his beast and rode off. I watched on as his silhouette disappeared back towards the fortress. I balled my fists and started walking in the same direction. My blood felt as though it was about to boil.

To be his wife was always infuriating, but I would give everything back to spend just one more day with him.

?

The church stood in a patch of sunlight that broke through the gathering clouds, as though God himself shone down on it. Two black crows hopped along the nave roof, in a ruffle of clicks and inky quills.

A small crowd had gathered, through a sea of heads and fidgeting men the Thane could not tear his gaze from Bethóc. She stood at the doors of the church, her back to me in a gown of red and gold silk. Her hair cascaded to her waist in waves.

The Thane looked every inch the King he would grow to be. Broad of chest and tall and strong. He looked a great warrior, which he turned out to be. I would never forget his tunic and leather silver studded sword belt. He wore it the day we buried Bethóc beneath the ash tree, only that day, he had hung the ornate crucifix she had given him on their wedding night.

I hurried through the crowd, casting my travelling cloak to the floor while I tried to make myself look presentable. No easy task when I was slick with sweat and caked in mud. My cheeks glowed with the redness of one who is too stubborn for their own good and has walked entirely much further than they intended, just to prove that did not need the help of a man.

My father stood proudly with another of his concubines draped about his arm. Even Bethóc’s wedding would not bring my mother from her chamber. The Jarl stood to his left, looking pleased with himself. He smiled and nodded in my direction and then glanced over his shoulder to the two horses tethered at the side of the church. One of them being my disobedient mare. I tried to smile as sweetly as I could manage, bowing my head in thanks but I could not hide my anger. If I had bitten my tongue, I would have poisoned myself. He tossed his head back and laughed.

I searched the crowd trying to catch sight of Donada. She was clearly still furious and did not want to be found. We had often argued, but this time it was different. She was making it clear that any hope of forgiveness, would be gone the second I boarded the Jarl’s ships.

I snaked my way closer, hoping that my father had not noticed I had been missing from the wedding party. I slipped into my place, shielded behind his concubine.

‘And where have you been?’ my father growled. ‘The Jarl has been waiting.’

‘I couldnae find Angus.’ My hand roamed around for the dampness of his fur. ‘He’d gone off chasing a herd of deer. I found him near the edge of the wood.’ I lied.

I could feel the Jarl’s eyes upon me. I held my breath and pushed out my chin, hoping he would be too polite to call me a liar.

‘At least she is here now.’ The Jarl gave me a sideways glance.

He was almost bare to his chest. I could see his tattoos so clearly; it was as though they were moving. Animals looped between coils of dragons, slithering, and turning against the sinew. On his chest, an inky crow sat in the branches of an ash tree watching me.

‘Jarl Sigurd.’ I bowed. ‘A blessed day.’

‘It is.’ He bent down low so that he might whisper in my ear. ‘It is good to know that I am marrying an honest woman.’

I felt my cheeks flush as I turned my gaze back towards the ceremony on the steps just to see my sister and her new husband exchanged rings. Wearing the dress that her husband had helped her pick; she knew her place.

‘It is done,’ my father shouted to a cacophony of cheers.

My sister beamed. It was the happiest of unions, which saw children and a love that was truly envied. The thane adored my sister until the day she died. Even after her death, there was not another woman who came close to Bethóc.

As we walked, I held myself close enough that he might talk to me but not close enough that his hands could roam about me. At the edge of the path, he turned to me. ‘You are a vision, my queen,’ he gestured, holding out his hand. He smiled and it reached all the way to his eyes.

‘I am no your queen yet, Jarl Sigurd.’ I hesitated, feeling my father’s eyes upon me. My hand was dwarfed by his as he slipped it into the crook of his arm and we headed back towards the hall.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Jarl,’ I said, arriving at the entrance.

‘Won’t you stay, Olith? So we can talk a while?’

He gave me an intense look. What could we have to talk about? Back then, he was a heathen, and I was a pious Christian. If you read it in the parchments, it was to be a match made by the Devil himself, no good could come of it.

I stopped. ‘Jarl Sigurd, I must retire and make preparations for our long journey.’

As I said the words, my world fell away. I had saved my sister.

‘Will you attend later?’

‘Aye, but I have much to do first. If you’ll excuse me.’

‘Then I’ll look forward to your return.’