Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Late afternoon on the thirtieth day of the men's sojourn on the island

Turning her back on her patient, Elin ground the assorted plant matter in her mortar. At last, she'd found a combination that seemed effective in relieving Rangvald's pain. More Valerian root and poppy seeds were the answer. Not that he deserved her efforts, for he did nothing but criticize.

She'd hoped his mood would improve—being able to spend more time sitting upright and furnished with clothes once worn by Bj?rn—but he was as foul-tempered as ever.

The mixture was a sedative, of course; at least when he was asleep, he wasn't complaining. When he was being particularly obnoxious, she was tempted to raise the dosage to an amount that might knock him out for good. Her compassion prevailed, but only just!

Nursing and feeding him was one thing—for she'd taken on that responsibility when she'd accepted Rangvald into her home—but the cur was deluded if he expected she'd bow and scrape as if he held autonomy over her. It might suit some women to behave as if their menfolk owned them, but Elin wasn't among them. As for all that sweet talk, it had clearly been a ruse. It shamed her that she'd been so gullible, letting herself be seduced into intimate acts.

How long can I go on like this?

Day after day of living with him was driving her to distraction. A whole cycle of the moon had passed since she'd taken him in, and the rancor between them could hardly be more acute.

Her fertile time was coming soon, but regardless of Rangvald being restored enough to safely perform the mating act, he'd made himself abundantly clear—he'd share no such favors unless she obliged him in a role of subservience.

She pounded harder with the pestle, not caring that it was making her shoulder ache.

He could go whistle!

Nevertheless, the desire for a child nagged—even a child fathered by such a man. For the sake of that yearning, was she willing to compromise?

There was another aspect to consider, to maintain her sense of what was right. If she were to convince him to call a truce on the antagonism between them and to share his seed with her, he ought to know her intent.

Though, perhaps, he'd guessed or knew more than he let on. Rangvald was no fool, and he'd spoken with his jarl. Eldberg had made himself useful on the island and gained more liberties than some thought wise. How many of their secrets did he know? As unlikely as that seemed, he and Hedda had formed a bond.

Elin pressed the heel of her hand to her temple. Hedda wasn't the only one to have grown fond of the guest she harbored. On her visits to Astrid and Grethe, Signy and Frida, Elin had seen how they looked at their menfolk; it was evident that attachments were forming.

Was she the only one failing? Not that it was her fault. Rangvald was foul-tempered and arrogant, and she hated his domineering attitude.

Well, perhaps not entirely hated . When he'd first taken the upper hand, directing her to… perform for him, then told her how much he wanted to taste her woman's place, she'd found his commanding manner quite arousing.

Elin had thought about that a great deal, mostly at night. ‘Twas not the ‘commanding' she objected to in the context of bed-play. Rather, she disliked that he thought her weak-minded and himself superior, believing he deserved her submission.

That she could not allow.

He'd had time to muse on it, too. This past day or so, he'd been less argumentative. In fact, he'd barely spoken, wrapped entirely in his own thoughts. Either he was plotting something, or he was beginning to see things from her side.

She sensed the weight of his stare upon her. Despite his sullenness, perhaps he wanted to converse. The worst sort of punishment was to ignore him, especially as he'd spent a large part of the day alone. Did that make her the vicious one—making him spend more time than was necessary with only his own company?

When she looked over her shoulder, a flicker of something hopeful entered his face, though his neutral expression swiftly returned. Elin took that as a sign. They could not continue as they were, not if she wanted the situation to change.

Beneath that gruff, overbearing stance, is there a man I want to learn about?

She wasn't sure.

That doesn't mean I shouldn't try. Everyone needs to feel wanted, to feel… tenderness.

In her marriage, Elin had been cherished and given devotion in return. Had Rangvald ever known something of the kind? To think that he hadn't evoked her pity. Not that she'd ever tell him; he'd despise that.

"You should be drinking more." Pouring a mug of water, Elin took it to him.

"Haven't you had enough of emptying my piss pot?"

The crude words were the first he'd spoken to her in nigh two days, but she was determined to build bridges, no matter how cantankerous he tried to be.

He took the cup from her, in any case.

"It must be hard… this lack of privacy. You'll be glad to get home at last." It was not a subject they'd broached in any of their brief, snappish conversations, but it was only natural his mind would take him to that prospect.

She didn't see how it was possible as things stood, but the Norns wove strange patterns upon their looms. Some twist in the threads had brought the men to this place. If the gods willed it, a way would be presented for them to leave. As to whether the women on the island would permit that to happen, who could tell…

"I sleep in a guard hut on the harbor, shared with thirty other men." He shot her a fierce look. "What privacy do you think I'm accustomed to? Before that, I resided in the longhouse."

"With your jarl? You're close to him, are you not?" She was determined to be amenable.

"‘Twas my home, if you might call it that, long before Eldberg came to Skálavík, back in the days of Jarl Beornwold." His lip curled in disdain.

"I see." She was stumped for a moment. He wasn't making this easy. "But you are a man of importance." She offered a small smile. "If you wished it, you might have a place of your own, a wife even…"

"Women are always willing to lift their skirts. I've no need to marry one. As for menial tasks, there are thralls for those. In either case, it avoids the need to listen to female prattle."

He bore a look of contempt, but she was resolved not to rise to his goading. She could only think he wished to inflict a degree of hurt, just as he was hurting…

"There's more to marriage than bedsport or being fed and looked after. It's a partnership in other ways." She kept her tone calm.

Someone to confide in, to share life's joys and woes. To trust. To rely upon.

Was he capable of understanding that?

"And you never wished for children?" she went on.

He grunted something incomprehensible.

"You must know, bedding is quite different when two people care for each other." She was determined to wear him down.

"I'll take your word for that," he sneered. "All I see is that men and women fuck."

His words were abrasive, but Elin noted he was no longer meeting her eye. Not for a minute did she believe he was immune to the lure of receiving love. Everyone desired that, even if they doubted their ability to demonstrate the emotion in return.

"You must know some marriages where the couple are devoted. Your own parents, or?—"

He cut her off with a snarl. "Cease your jabber, woman! 'Tis better to be alone than assaulted by your tongue flapping. Away with ye! Leave me in peace!"

It was the first time he'd truly raised his voice to her. Elin ran for the door, the clatter of Rangvald's cup following as he flung it across the room.

Hateful man!

Outside, Elin steadied her breathing, pulling back the tears that threatened. She refused to cry for him.

I'll go to Bothild and tell her I can stand no more. Let him go elsewhere and see how he likes it!

With clenched fists, she set off along the curve of the bay in the direction of Bothild's hut.

The sun was starting the first portion of its slow descent, casting a subtle glow upon the water. It would be a beautiful evening—made for sitting outside, enjoying a platter of fruit and cheeses, and reflecting on the events of the day. She and Bj?rn had oft done so, with Ulrick asleep inside or playing with the other children upon the dunes. How distant that life seemed, though ‘twas not so long ago.

At the far end of their settlement, where Bothild's hut was placed, Elin saw that several islanders had gathered to sit before her door. The sound of their laughter carried. She was glad for them. ‘Twas mostly the older women, and they had need of company.

As do I.

Her days were filled with activity. She was relied upon and respected by women who'd known her all her life and wished her well in all things.

Yet a hole burned in Elin's heart.

There was love inside her and no place for it to go.

She looked back toward her own home. The man inside was a stranger, bringing nothing but angst. Why, then, did he fill her mind? His barbed words and surly looks pained her because she saw the pain from which they sprang. A pain deeper than splintered bones.

Closing her eyes, Elin stilled her mind. She listened for the waves down upon the sands and the cries of the birds in the forested hillside. She was part of this place, as the island was part of her, and Freyja was their guardian, watching over all things.

Will this man ever love me?

Elin tried to picture it—Rangvald's eyes filled with nothing but tenderness, his arms coming gently about her, his lips meeting hers. However, the imagining turned darker as his hands pushed her down, making her kneel, and he raised her chin to look up at him. His eyes contained desire, possession, and a ferocity that frightened her.

Elin shook the image away.

Bothild was wise, and Elin valued her advice, but she could not bring herself to go there—not with so many others present. There was only one other person Elin trusted. Someone who might see what lay ahead, for she had the gift. Elin believed it, though others doubted, and Elin needed reassurance.

‘Twas more than chance that the strangers' longship had been cast upon their shore. Some higher power was at work. However inexplicable, was this man meant to be hers in some way she didn't yet understand?

Elin turned back the way she'd come, passing by her own hut and that of Hedda. She kept walking until she reached Frida's door.

Seeing Elin, Frida had brought her charge, Gunnar, outside. Naturally, she wished to have his ankle inspected, and Elin was pleased to deliver promising news.

"You've made good progress." She smiled in encouragement.

With the verdict given, he took up his crutch and declared he would stretch his legs directly. Frida watched him hobble off with a look of anxiety.

Elin rubbed her arm. "All men need their independence. Let him regain strength at the pace that suits him."

‘Twas true, of course, but Elin had other motives in letting Gunnar depart. He would not go far, but it would give her a chance to speak privately with Frida.

They'd been friendly all their life, though Frida was a few years younger. Frida had always been set apart—of her own choosing, partly, Elin was sure, but also because others tended to be apprehensive of her. There was something uncanny in the way she spoke, as if she was half-reading others' minds.

Frida insisted it wasn't so, only that she had an inkling, on occasion, of how things might turn out. Bothild was the same in many ways, except her intuition was deemed to be the wisdom of a life long-lived.

People didn't warm to Frida in the same way.

It had hardly helped that she'd seemed to know of the tragedy befalling their men before it had been evident to anyone else. ‘Twas no wonder others kept their distance. People always feared what they didn't understand, and there was much about Frida that was mysterious.

Even Elin felt that way, but she believed Frida's heart was true. Whatever gift she was blessed with—for all talents, however strange, surely came from the gods—she had never used it for evil-doing, Elin was certain.

Seeing how Frida watched Gunnar as he took his faltering steps, it was clear her feelings were warm. From what Elin saw of the man, he was a gentle soul, a good match for Frida, however she might be fretting.

Whatever troubles she thought she had, they could be nothing compared to those Elin faced with Rangvald. She only hoped Frida could help her now. Few among the women knew that Frida read the runes. ‘Twas something she kept to herself, but Elin had come upon her once, long ago, brooding over the strangely carved pieces. Frida had tried to hide them but had relented at last, revealing to Elin that Freyja spoke to her through the marked stones and bones.

‘Twas not a thing Elin comprehended, but not all things were meant to be understood—only accepted.

Drawing close, she spoke softly. "I seek your advice or, to be more exact, the counsel of your runes. Can you help me?"

Frida looked taken aback, though not displeased. She nodded, guiding Elin inside toward a seat by her hearth. There, she shook the contents of a soft pouch into Elin's outstretched palms.

"Ask the gods to show you what is to be."

Elin was glad Frida hadn't asked her to speak her question aloud, though perhaps she could guess it.

Frida glanced toward the door, which she'd left ajar. Her mind was upon Gunnar, Elin could tell.

These men! How they rule our thoughts!

Elin focused intently on the runes, squeezing them tightly, though some of the edges were sharp against her skin.

Mighty Freyja, did you send Rangvald to win my love? Do you intend him for me? If it be so, show me some sign that I may keep my faith.

She closed her eyes, repeating her query.

I must know—do his somber moods hide softer feelings?

At last, she cast the runes before her.

Frida leaned forward, saying naught as she studied where the pieces lay.

"What do you see?" Elin was aware of the pulse beating in her chest—half excitement and half fear. She needed only the smallest encouragement. If the gods told her to be patient, she would be so. If it was her destiny to be with Rangvald, she would endure anything to bring him to a place of love.

Frida looked from the runes to Elin and back again.

"I need to know about Rangvald. Does he care for me at all? He's usually so angry about everything, ‘tis hard to tell…" Elin gave an awkward laugh. "Sometimes, I even think he detests me."

Still, Frida said nothing.

"What do you see?" Elin prompted again. "You garner their meaning?"

Frida pressed her lips tight before asking, "Have the two of you been intimate?"

Elin blinked in confusion. ‘Twas not a question she'd expected Frida to ask, nor was it one she was comfortable in answering. What did that matter? The joining of bodies was a pleasure and a way of begetting children, but it was her desire for a deeper connection that had brought her here.

If all she sought was physical satisfaction, she might have had that from Rangvald already. She had only to comply with his ridiculous desire to see her behave with submission. Nevertheless, to admit she hadn't been intimate would reveal her failure—she'd been unable to tempt Rangvald into sharing his seed. His strength was returning daily, so he was able to spend far longer sitting upright. Soon, with assistance, he might be able to stand, for a short time at least.

She made herself shrug. "You know menfolk. ‘Tis no great feat to lure them into bedsport. They take it where they can. ‘Tis a release, no more."

Frida frowned and bit her lip.

"What say the runes? Does Rangvald mask his true feelings?" Elin prompted again.

"‘Tis unclear." Frida's reply was snappish, not at all like her usual self.

"Really?" Heaviness descended upon Elin's shoulders. She'd been so hopeful of guidance. "I thought there would be something…"

"Nay. There shall be healing and struggle, but I see nothing more definite." Scooping up the pieces, Frida returned them to the bag.

Elin sat, looking at where they'd lain upon the ground, feeling bewildered.

It can't be all. I was sure Freyja would have some message.

However, Frida was rising, clearly desiring Elin to leave.

"There's nothing to fear. All shall be well."

She was being dismissed. Frida had her own preoccupations and nothing more to say to Elin.

‘Tis not her fault. I allowed my hopes to run away with me.

Elin forced a smile, thanking Frida. "I should leave. Rangvald will wonder what's keeping me."

If only that were true. Elin dreaded returning to her hut. What awaited her there but combative words and ill-tempered scowls?

She was no closer to discerning the path forward.

The gods knew what lay in Rangvald's heart, but they hadn't chosen to share the knowledge with her.