Chapter Twenty-Two

Brynhild gazed the length of the table, and could still not entirely believe that she found herself here, at the heart of this noisy, laughing family. Vikings and Celts alike drank to her health, and that of her unborn child. A solicitous Fiona kept the bucket close by, ever mindful of the inconveniences of these early weeks. The chamomile tea Brynhild swore by was in copious supply and Mairead offered her own recommendations from her basket of herbal remedies. The love and support of other females was something Brynhild had missed as she grew to womanhood herself and now she basked in its comforting warmth. Murdina and Morag were kind and caring, they had welcomed her to their family. Annag was her rock and staunch ally, and the younger woman's wicked sense of humour a source of endless amusement to Brynhild.

Her little boy brought her joy, as did the other children who scampered about the hall. Njal and Donald were raucous, though they tended to spend most of their days with their Viking fathers. Little Tyra, however, was invariably at Brynhild's house in Aikrig with her mother and was into everything, ably abetted by her devoted little helper, Morvyn. The tiny pair ran Annag ragged .

"So, little sister, another babe. Who would have thought it?" Ulfric raised his tankard yet again, his grin infectious.

"Aye. We shall have another feast in the summer, to celebrate the birth," announced Gunnar. "A fine Viking festival and I shall make sure I am here for that. I wish I had been here to celebrate your wedding, sister. I would have been, had our brother not seen fit to have you whisked off without so much as a word to me. I missed all the festivities whilst I languished in Gunnarsholm in total ignorance."

The Celtic contingent exchanged perplexed glances. Murdina called for more ale to replenish barely depleted mugs and Dughall demanded to know where the musicians had got to. Had he not left specific instructions that a piper be on hand to entertain them? There was to be dancing, was there not?

It took but one sidelong glance at her brothers to know that they were not fooled at all. Ulfric and Gunnar exchanged a look, then her eldest brother turned to meet her gaze.

"Brynhild? What is this?"

"What? What is what?"

"This…" Ulfric swung his hand toward their hosts. "Why the sudden interest in music and sploshing ale into already perfectly full cups. What are all of you trying to hide?"

"Hide? Why should we be hiding anything? You are speaking in riddles, brother, and I do not care for it. I believe I may be feeling somewhat ill…"

Fiona rushed to bring the pail closer. Ulfric was undeterred.

"Gunnar mentioned that he missed your wedding celebrations. Why should that cause such a flurry, I wonder?"

"Yes," agreed Gunnar. "Perhaps you could tell me of that glorious day. I would like to know the details since I could not be present. Tell me of the guests, the feasting, the flow of fine ale and wine. "

"Do not be ridiculous," snapped Brynhild.

Gunnar shrugged and turned his attention to Taranc. "Perhaps you might enlighten us then. Were there musicians? Games? Was the ceremony in the Christian or Nordic tradition?" He balanced his elbow on the table and planted his chin in his hand. His smile was unwavering as he waited for an answer.

"There was no ceremony." Taranc stated the plain truth, bald and undiluted. Brynhild considered reaching across the table and slapping him.

"No ceremony?" Ulfric repeated the words, as though checking he had heard correctly.

"No ceremony," confirmed Taranc. "We are not wed."

"A babe almost a year old, another on the way, and you are not wed? Might I trouble you for an explanation?" Ulfric's tone had hardened.

"We did not choose to wed. We are not suited." Brynhild slapped the table, sending her own mug clattering to the floor. "And it is none of your business in any case."

"I beg to differ." Ulfric now fixed his steely gaze on Taranc. "Do you love her?"

"What?" Taranc glared at his tormentor.

"Is the question too hard for you, Celt? I seem to recall you asked me much the same thing once."

"And you did not answer me then."

"I did not, but you will answer me now. Do you love her?"

"Aye, of course I love her. She knows that."

"And she loves you. We all know that," put in Gunnar. "So, why…"

Taranc shook his head, his expression stony. "She does not love me. She does not wish to wed, and I will not force the issue. We are happy, though, and we shall remain as we are, for as long as we choose to be."

The dark-haired Viking let out a derisive snort. "Thor's balls! How did you two get into such a mess? Brynhild, tell the man, will you? You love the very bones of him. "

"I—"

"Tell him."

"I love him."

"There, I told you so." Ulfric got to his feet. "Now, we will be needing that piper for we are to have a wedding."

"We will require a priest," suggested Fiona.

"Yes, and more food, and tables out in the courtyard, for we shall invite all to celebrate with us." Mairead, too, warmed to their theme. "We could have a priest here by tomorrow, and…"

"No!" Brynhild stood, her face ashen. "I cannot. I mean, we will, but not yet. Not so soon. I must… I am not ready…"

Taranc reached for her hand and pressed her cold fingers to his lips. "Does this sudden reticence concern Aelbeart?" he murmured.

She sank back into the chair she had just vacated, the breath leaving her lungs in a soft exhale. "It is not… I mean, it does not seem fitting that I…"

"We need to leave him in the past, where he belongs. It is time to move on."

"I…" Tears streamed unchecked across her cheeks. She was at a loss. Relief mixed with absolute horror as it sank in that not only was Taranc privy to her deepest, darkest secret but soon all would know what happened. She could no longer hold it within. The truth was about to burst forth, uncontrolled, ugly, brutal in its stark nakedness. She was not ready, would never be ready.

"It is time." Taranc's steady, calm voice cut through the roiling emotions to reach her. "I shall help you. You are not alone, Brynhild. You have your brothers too. And your sisters, those who love you."

Even as her mind recoiled, Brynhild knew he was right. She managed a tearful nod, swiping at her face with her fingers as though she might dry her tears that way. Fiona produced a kerchief and moved to perch on the arm of Brynhild's chair. She ignored the protests, the stiff reserve that was ever Brynhild's natural response and simply took the Viking woman in her arms and rocked her against her chest.

"It cannot be that bad, surely. If Taranc says it will be all right, you must know that it will. You trust him."

Brynhild could only nod her agreement. She heard Taranc bid Annag and Morag take the children from the hall, then he dismissed the rest of the servants. By the time she collected her senses sufficiently to face the gathering again the only people still at the table were her brothers, Fiona and Mairead, Dughall, Taranc, and Murdina.

"So," began Taranc, his smile warm. "Shall I start?"

"Yes, if you please." She had never been more grateful to anyone.

"Very well. This is a story which Brynhild told to me some months ago. I shall try to relate it as faithfully as I may, though she may wish to correct me on some points." He paused, then, "It starts when she was fourteen years old, growing up in her father's settlement in the Norseland…"

Those present listened in near silence as Taranc presented the account of what had transpired between Brynhild and the Celtic thrall. Gunnar interrupted to swear softly and declare that he recalled the cur, a slimy weasel of a man given to laziness and thievery. Ulfric concurred. He was convinced their father would have been rid of Aelbeart soon enough in any case since he was of little use. Both men's eyes narrowed, their handsome jaws flexing as the details unfolded.

"He did what? He actually touched you? The bastard laid his hands upon you even though you told him—"

"He did," confirmed Taranc. "Brynhild has said that it was so."

"Our father would have hanged him, had he known."

"I… I did not want that. Everyone would have known about what he had done, what I had done. I was ashamed…"

"He deserved to hang, or worse." Gunnar got to his feet to pace the length of the hall. "Where were we when this all took place? I do not recall anything…"

"You and Ulfric were away, with our father, raiding." Brynhild had found her own voice at last and was able to fill in the details. "You arrived back at Skarthveit perhaps three weeks later, and by then our mother had had Aelbeart sold. He was gone."

Ulfric nodded. "Aye, I remember now. I was glad to see the back of him and did not ask any more questions. Thralls did tend to come and go in our father's time since he was at heart a trader. I thought nothing of it."

"Our mother knew what he had done to you, you say, yet she said nothing? Not to our father, not to us?" Gunnar seemed incredulous.

"She said we would not speak of it. I… she blamed me."

"Why would she blame you? Solveig was not stupid."

"It was my fault. I was foolish, gullible. If she had not arrived when she did…"

"That was fortunate indeed, but none of what you have told us was your fault. You were a child." These words of comfort came from Fiona. "You have said you hope for a daughter of your own next. Would you not believe her in the same circumstances? You would never blame your child, hold her responsible for the wicked actions of a cruel and self-serving man."

"He was a slave, I was of the Jarl. I should—"

"He was a predator, a beast. He should have been punished for what he did to you. He got off lightly, in my view. Solveig was never usually so tolerant, except with him." Ulfric jerked his thumb in Gunnar's direction. "I do not understand why she did not have this Aelbeart put in chains to await our father's justice, whatever the shame that brought on you. I do not wish to cause you any additional distress, little sister, but our mother was never one to pander overmuch to our finer sensibilities as I recall. She would do her duty, do what was right."

Brynhild shook her head, her tears welling afresh. "I know. I know that. That is why, deep down, in her heart, I know she held me responsible, not him. If she truly believed me to be blameless, she would not have let him go, would never have let him live to do such a thing again elsewhere. She would not have left me wondering if, when, I might next turn a corner in the marketplace and come face to face with him once more."

Silence descended upon the hall as those present digested the truth of her words. Neither of the Freysson brothers disagreed with Brynhild's assessment of their mother's character.

The clearing of a throat in the doorway to the kitchens brought eight pairs of eyes swinging in that direction. A tall Viking thrall stepped forward, bowed to Gunnar, then to Brynhild. "Jarl, lady… I believe I may be able to be of some assistance."

"Weylin? What are you doing here? Eavesdropping?" Gunnar scowled angrily at the man.

Brynhild peered at the slave, and thought she remembered him. He had been her father's thrall first, then the man left with Gunnar when her brother set up his own settlement at Gunnarsholm. The thrall was older now, and had a hardness about him she did not recall though she had barely known the man. It seemed strange to her that Gunnar would bring a thrall with him on this visit since it was not customary to take slaves on Viking raids, but she had not questioned it.

"I asked to come, and you allowed it, Jarl. I… I believed I might be needed."

"Yes, you did. An unusual request but I assumed you had a hankering to see your homeland again and I saw no reason not to permit it. Your service has been loyal over the years."

"My home is some distance to the south, Jarl. I… I wanted to be here for this. You see, I was there, that night. I saw what happened. Or some of it, at least."

"Did you, indeed?" Gunnar's tone was dangerously low. " Then I think you had better share your knowledge with us now. And whilst you do, I shall be trying to make some sense of the fact that you have chosen not to share it before."

The thrall swallowed, his throat working hard as he sought to control his nerves. Brynhild knew her brother to be a tolerant and lenient Jarl. His thralls fared well enough, better than most, but he demanded loyalty and would punish dishonesty harshly. Weylin would do well to quake in his shoes.

The thrall rallied under his Jarl's stern glower. He cleared his throat again, and began. "I… I shared the thrall barn at Skarthveit with Aelbeart. He arrived there about half a year after I did. We were friends, at first, of an age."

"Go on," Gunnar prompted when the man stopped.

"He complained. All the time, he complained. Always moaning, always finding fault. He sowed discontent all about him. Soon we all became tired of his peevish whining. The life of a thrall is hard, it is natural to be… resentful, especially at first, but eventually we all must settle to our lot and find our place. Aelbeart would not, and he would not allow anyone else to either. He was unpopular and soon found himself isolated among the rest of the slaves. That… that is when he turned his attention to the wee lady. The Jarl's daughter."

"What do you mean?" breathed Brynhild.

"He used to boast about befriending you. He would tell the other thralls that you followed him about, like a puppy, though in truth it looked to be the other way round to the rest of us and we would laugh behind his back at his delusions. He would watch for you, find ways of making sure his duties brought him close to where you might be—at the river, in the meadows, in the granary. He was a pretty enough fellow so it was not a surprise, perhaps, that you liked him. He could make himself very amiable, could Aelbeart, when he chose to make the effort."

"So, you think he made a fool of me? Is that it? "

"I would not say that, exactly. Though he did flatter you and he took advantage of your youth. You were confused, I daresay…"

"That sounds like a fair enough description." Gunnar leaned one hip against the edge of the table. "So, that night? What did you see?"

"I knew that Aelbeart had taken to meeting the wee lady in secret. He bragged about that, too. I told him he would regret it, that as soon as the Jarl found out—and he would—it would end in disaster for him. He laughed in my face. He was arrogant, believed he could not be stopped. He intended to use you, Lady Brynhild, to make his escape. You were to steal food and valuables for him and aid him on his way, then he would abandon you once he had no further need of you."

"Bastard," murmured Ulfric under his breath.

Weylin nodded. "Aye, I thought so too. I… I followed him, that night. I saw him slipping out of the barn, a blanket rolled under his arm. It did not take much to work out what he intended to do. It was too much, he went too far." The thrall paused as though collecting his thoughts together. "I knew that the Jarl was away, as were you and your brother. But Solveig was at Skarthveit. Her finest sow had just farrowed and produced a litter of fine piglets. She was well pleased with them. I… I opened the gate to the pen as I passed and the wee things scattered across the village. Of course, it was not long before their squealing attracted attention and your mother was quick to respond. She came from the longhouse threatening to take a switch to whichever fool left the gate unfastened, but she soon had most of them rounded up again."

"So what has this to do with Aelbeart?" Ulfric glared at the thrall.

"Solveig knew she had piglets still missing and was determined to find them all. She set off to search further afield, where squeals and scuffling could be heard by the old granary. I went with her. She found another pig on the way there and grabbed it, then handed it to me to take back to the pen. She continued on alone."

"You. It was you who brought her there." Brynhild could only stare at the thrall who twisted his hands together nervously. "She did not arrive by chance."

"No, not entirely. I am not certain what happened next, but I heard a shout, a man's voice I thought, and more squealing from another of the loose piglets. I shoved the one I had back in the pen and ran back in the direction Solveig had taken. You passed me on the way, lady, running hard. You were crying and you did not see me."

"No, I did not," agreed Brynhild.

"There was shouting, at least at the start, all of it from Aelbeart. With all that din it was easy enough to find them, but by the time I got there, he was dead."

"Dead? He was dead?" Brynhild gaped. "Are you certain? How…"

"A knife wound to the chest. Solveig's dagger."

"She killed him."

"Aye, it looked to me as though she did."

"She told me she had him sold."

"I daresay she preferred not to reveal the truth of what happened, in order to protect you."

"She killed him. For me. You actually saw this?"

"No, I arrived after. But someone did see. There was another man there when I arrived. He and Solveig were talking. He offered to help her dispose of the body."

"Who? Who else was there?"

Weylin shrugged. "I do not know. It was a stranger, a Celt, but not from our village. I had never seen him before. I wondered, after, if it was he I heard shouting as I returned the loose pig to the pen but I had no opportunity to ask."

"It probably was." Taranc regarded the group from his seat next to Dughall. "I recall I did yell something, to gain the lady's attention."

All eyes turned to him. "You?" breathed Brynhild. "But how…? "

Taranc inclined his head. "Aye, it was me. I was the stranger who happened upon to be passing that night and became embroiled in the altercation."

"But it was ten years ago, and in the Norseland. How could you have been there?"

"Ah, my Viking friend." Taranc grinned at Ulfric. "Do you suppose you were the first raider to ever arrive on these shores? I was taken by Vikings once before, though not from here. I was caught up in a raid on a village to the north of here. I was knocked unconscious, and when I woke up it was to find myself on a longship bound for your fair land. I was every bit as dissatisfied with my lot then as I was the second time your hospitality was forced upon me, and far less inclined to bend to the Norseman's whims. I escaped on the second night I was there and started to make my way down the coast in search of a boat.

"Naturally, I avoided villages and settlements, but I had eaten nothing save a few sour berries for over a day and I was hungry. From the brow of a hill I saw a village. I spotted the barn, set apart from the rest of the village, and the livestock in pens. It was dusk, so I settled down to wait for a couple of hours, intending to help myself to a chicken once the village was asleep. When it was full dark I crept closer, heading for the barn in the hope there might be something stored there which I could eat.

"I heard voices, so I hid in the shadows. The couple passed close by but I could not see them. They went behind the barn and soon I heard the scuffles and giggles that suggested some sort of tryst was going on. I made to move away, but before I could do so the sounds changed. I did not understand the words as I had no knowledge of the Norse language, but it was clear to me that the girl was no longer a willing participant. I turned about and soon found them. He had pinned her to the ground and she was crying. At the same time, all sorts of commotion was starting up in the village itself. I could hear shouts, the squealing of animals—pigs, it sounded like—people running about. Not that any of this seemed to matter to the man who was attacking the girl. He was oblivious to all of it. The more she struggled, the more brutal he became.

"There was a woman. I could see her silhouette in the moonlight. She was trying to round up the loose pigs and headed toward the couple on the ground, but she stopped and seemed to turn away. I shouted, then, to get her attention, but it seemed she would still be too late. The bastard had his hand over the girl's face, to stop her from crying out. I had no alternative. I stepped out of hiding and landed my boot in his ribs. It winded him, enough to allow the wench to get free of his clutches. Then the woman was suddenly there. She confronted the attacker, and never even saw me as I slid back into the undergrowth. It was my intention then to slip away and continue my journey, but I could not simply leave her."

Taranc paused and allowed himself a wry chuckle. "I need not have worried. The man continued to rant at the woman in the Norse tongue but she had nothing to say to him at all as far as I could tell. She simply waited until you had left, Brynhild, then she stepped forward, her dagger in her hand, and she gutted him with it."

Brynhild could not breathe. She gaped at Taranc. "She… did what?"

"It was quick, I grant you that. I doubt he felt much, nor even saw it coming. One moment he was on his feet, haranguing the lady, the next he was in a crumpled heap at her feet. I do not think she believed his delusional ravings, and she certainly did not allow him to live to repeat his lies to others."

"So it is true. He is dead? All this time, he has been dead?" Brynhild whispered.

"Yes, sweetheart. He is dead."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. I could see that she could not dispose of the body without help so I showed myself and offered my aid in exchange for food and clothing, a weapon. The lady was agreeable to my terns so I carried the remains to the cliff edge and flung the worthless bastard into the sea. He was dead all right, you may be quite sure of that."

Brynhild sank back in her chair. "She did not let him go? She was not tolerant, not lenient with him?"

Taranc shook his head. "Oh, no, that she was not. She killed him on the spot for what he did to you. Of course, I did not have the opportunity to know her well, but the impression I had was that Solveig loved you very much and would do anything to protect you. She was not disappointed in you, my Viking, and she blamed the one who was responsible. She was no fool, and you take after her. She would be very proud of you."

"Why did you not tell me of this, when I first told you about Aelbeart?"

"I did not see the girl clearly. She was never more than a shadow, and I had never been to Skarthveit before so did not recognise the place. It had changed a great deal by the time I was there next. The barn where all this occurred was gone…"

"Yes, my father had it cleared and built a new one."

"And you never saw me. You never even knew that another Celt was also there."

"No," agreed Brynhild. "But it was because of you that Aelbeart lost his grip on me and I was able to escape. Because you attacked him, distracted him for a moment until my mother arrived. Even then, when you did not know me and you might have been captured, you still helped me."

"I could not let him hurt you. Had Solveig not arrived when she did, I would have done more."

"I can't believe I never knew, never realised…"

"Why would you? Why would any of us? Solveig was dead by the time I returned. I am sure I would have remembered her, though there have been moments when I almost recognised her in you. When you told me the story you said your mother believed Aelbeart and had him sold at the slave auction so I had no cause to question that. I certainly did not connect it to the killing I witnessed, the body I helped to dispose of. But Weylin's account, along with yours, brought everything together. The picture was complete, the truths along with the falsehoods, and at last it made sense."

"She believed me. And you saved me. All those years ago, you were there and you saved me. I assume my mother kept her side of the bargain?"

"She did. Two hours later she returned to the place we agreed to meet and brought me food, clothing, a sword. She even provided me with a hammer and showed me how to remove the shackle from my ankle, though she made me swear not to do it until I was well out of earshot of the settlement. With the supplies Solveig gave me I was able to continue on, and soon found a small boat moored in a cove. I stole it and managed to make the crossing back to Scotland. Naturally, I hoped not to encounter Vikings again, though the good Lord saw fit not to bless me in such a manner. Still, I should not complain…"

"I am glad you were there. I wish I had known…"

"I am glad too. Glad also that the truth is out now, and complete."

"Aye, there is much to be said for having the complete picture," observed Dughall from his seat at the head of the table. "Much to be said. Life is indeed a complex tapestry and we can never know quite how all the threads will be intertwined. Now, I believe we were discussing arrangements for a wedding."