Chapter 14

On the way back to Elin's abode, Rangvald stopped to rest, flexing his right hand and rolling his shoulder. The crutch would feel uncomfortable, pushed high into the pit of his arm. He'd not had time to accustom himself nor long to practice in finding the best technique for its use.

He made no complaint, however, instead appearing to admire the view across the sands, out toward the sea.

"‘Tis a fortuitous inlet, gently shelving as it does, and protected on these two sides." He surveyed the steep promontories to the west and east.

"I'm surprised you think it so since the rocks further out caused the destruction of your ship. Of us all, only Astrid knows how to sail a path between them." Elin was immediately regretful. ‘Twas thoughtless of her to bring up the calamity, yet the way he scanned the bay, she had a distinct feeling he might be looking for the wreck.

Why did that bother her?

She knew well the answer. Though the longship had lost its mast and oars, it was not beyond repair. The hull had but minimal damage, being well built.

If his mind ran in that direction, of making good the vessel, what future could there be for the two of them? This was her home, and she could imagine no other. Perhaps other women would feel differently. With their aid, such a plan might be possible—for these men to return from whence they came and to take some of the islanders with them—but Elin could never feel so.

Here, she'd been raised, had been betrothed to Bj?rn, and given birth to her child. Her time with Ulrick had been short, but every memory of her son was bound up in this place and every moment she'd shared with the only man she'd ever cared for.

Until this man came, the one standing beside me.

She looked up at him, but Rangvald's gaze was upon the beach.

Yes, he's looking for the ship. I know he is, though he won't see anything. The vessel isn't visible from here.

He'd made no reply to her comment, his face expressionless.

Elin could have steered their conversation along a different path, but she couldn't help returning to what filled her mind. ‘Twas like picking at the edges of a crusted wound.

"I suppose you notice such things—the advantages of the bay—due to the position you hold, where you come from? Of defending, I mean. You must be anxious about the safety of your town and its people in your absence."

He cast scrutinizing eyes upon her, as if to gauge whether she mocked him.

"I'm sure they manage." His tone was wry. "The approach to Skálavík is vastly different and easier to command, for the fjord is narrow and the sides steep. We're creating a barrier of sorts at the mouth of the inlet, something that may lie beneath the water, then be raised to prevent entry."

Elin was intrigued. The people of his town must be ingenious indeed to be able to engineer such a thing. Her interest was piqued at another level, however, for it was rare that Rangvald spoke of his life before arriving upon the island. Time spent with Viggo had mayhap softened him with fond memories of his home.

"How clever! Though you should be careful trusting me with your secrets…" She couldn't resist teasing him a little. "For all you know, we might have a fleet of longships and a horde more of us upon the far side of the island. We might set out for this wealthy trading town of yours and plunder its treasures."

"And do you… have ships or more women?" he countered immediately.

She gave a hollow laugh. It was true then; ‘twas all he could think about—leaving the island and leaving her.

"Answer me, little Elin." His hand was suddenly cupping her jaw, raising her chin, making her aware of how he towered above her.

She swallowed, wondering what next he might say or do. With his hard-calloused thumb, he brushed her lower lip.

Is he thinking of how I've taken him there, bringing him to satisfaction? Will he make me kneel upon our return and suck him again? Then turn me to bend over the bed, driving into me mercilessly until he floods my womb with his seed.

‘Twas an obligation that would have once made her resentful. She would have scoffed at the idea of obeying such commands. Nonetheless, deep inside, she clenched, responding to the thought with a stab of yearning. Who had she become to think of such things with anticipation rather than disgust?

When he released her, she swayed slightly.

"I've kept nothing from you. We are just as you see, no threat nor entirely defenseless."

‘Twas not entirely true, for the island had its secrets—ones she was in no hurry to share. Rangvald was distrustful enough without being given something as profound as a curse to ruminate on. Though he did not challenge her, Elin sensed he did not believe her, either.

She took the opportunity to change the subject.

"‘Tis you who keeps the truth close, telling me naught. You have someone back home? Is that why you say nothing, for fear you'll let slip some tidbit you wish to keep concealed?"

Elin nibbled her lip. What was wrong with her today? She'd had no intention of interrogating him, yet it had been on her mind since hearing him mumble that woman's name in his sleep.

Why shouldn't I ask? Haven't I the right to know whether he keeps another woman? I'm nothing but a warm mouth and a wet sheath until he can get back to her?

To her surprise, he replied with a weary air.

"I've told you, I live in a bunkhouse by the harbor with the rest of the guard. No women are allowed. If I want one, there are places to go. My coin is as good as any man's."

"But there is someone!" Elin shot back. ‘Twas not the answer she wanted—that he went whoring—though it would explain why he thought always to command. If he paid for services, he would expect obedience.

And how is what I'm doing different? He's simply paying me with something other than gold.

‘Twas only partly true. She took his orders and his seed not just for the sake of a child. She did so because she reveled in his authority. She wanted him to be forceful, telling her when and how to pleasure him.

And she didn't like the idea of him with another woman in that way.

The knot twisted until her jealousy spilled out.

"Who is this Ann or Annie? I heard you say her name, so don't deny it! You were dreaming of her?"

Rangvald's eyes narrowed. "There is no one—" He broke off, giving a sharp bark of understanding, and his mouth twisted. "An-ne, yes? It means ‘mother' in the language of where she came from, the great city of Miklagard. ‘Tis the only place she visits me… in my slumber."

"You were calling for your… mother?" Elin wasn't sure whether to believe him, though Rangvald wouldn't care about upsetting her feelings. If he'd some other woman, it would amuse him, no doubt, to flaunt the fact before her. "This Miklagard… I've never heard of it."

"‘Tis far in the southern seas, a place like no other, gleaming with riches, and the people there have great handsomeness, being dark of hair and skin. The sun is strong, blinding white in the summer, and the sky an endless blue." He spoke with unexpected fervor.

It explained the darker hue of his skin, she supposed, if the place was hot. Her own skin browned if she spent long outside in these warmer months.

It was hard to picture a female version of Rangvald, but his mother would have been beautiful, with lustrous hair in that same soft black, framing fine features, and eyes almond-shaped and thickly lashed, like those of her son.

"She traveled to your town? With your father?" Now he'd revealed something of his family, Elin was eager to know more.

Rangvald grimaced. "In a manner of speaking. She was purchased by him, so the traveling was hardly her choice."

"Purchased?" Elin was momentarily thrown.

"She was a thrall," he snapped back at her. "You have something to say about it? That you are better than she? Or that I am less because of it?"

"No, I would never…"

Despite Elin's protest, Rangvald moved off again, moving as fast as the crutch would allow.

Heat came to her cheek. She'd never thought of the thralls who'd lived among them as being ‘less' in any way—merely unfortunate. Since the men's departure, those women had been given their freedom, to labor as equals rather than as possessions of their masters. Their lot was improved, although Elin still had compassion for them. She pondered on whence those women had come and the families from which they'd been torn. Of course, there were many ways a woman might come upon such a fate, including being sold into thralldom by her own kin.

"Rangvald, stop, please!" Hurrying, she ran in front, halting before him. He was obliged to pause or trip over her. "I'm sure your mother was a fine woman."

His face was closed, a tick working in his jaw. "Her gentleness and her beauty are what I remember, and the way he treated her…"

"Your father?" Elin was afraid to push too far, but this was her chance. Rangvald was always so angry, as if a ball of fury burned inside, the flames fanning at the slightest provocation. His mother's unfortunate fate might explain his constant fury.

"Beornwold!" He spat the name. "His abuse of my mother was bad enough when his wife was alive but far worse after her death. He beat her not just in punishment but for his own amusement and made free with her whenever he liked. She had no voice in the matter. I was too young to understand all, and the other serving women would usher me away, but I saw, and I did not forget. As I gained in years, I understood only too well."

Rangvald had been all ire, but it drained from him now. Always so filled with emotion, his eyes held only sorrow—a terrible bleakness.

Beornwold.

Elin recalled the name from their conversation. He'd been jarl of Skálavík, hadn't he, before Hedda's man, Eldberg, had taken charge? Rangvald had mentioned the old jarl some while back.

"I'm sorry for it. No one should endure that…" Elin struggled to find the right words. ‘Twas unforgivable, but she'd known other men as vicious. Rangvald himself had a touch of cruelty in his nature, or his harshness was born of that past. Every man and woman could permit hate to rule their heart if they so chose.

A shudder passed through him. "I'm thankful she died when she did. ‘Twas a release, and I'd only then to think of myself. I was fortunate he'd little interest in me."

"But you were his son…"

Rangvald's face pulled into a sneer. "As my mother told me. The cur never spoke of it. No doubt, there were others. I was nigh eight years of age when I began scrubbing boats and mending nets, making myself useful. It suited me to be there, far away from him, and the watchmen let me bed down in the harbor longhouse."

"He was a brute." Elin's heart ached for the boy Rangvald had been. As a boy with no mother, who had there been to show him love?

Rangvald shrugged. "He died, and Eldberg became jarl. Much changed. I'd long been part of the Watch by then."

"And Eldberg recognized your worth. He elevated you?" Elin prompted.

"Not at first, but I served him faithfully. Trust and loyalty must be earned, and I made sure he believed in mine." Rangvald's expression softened, and he asked, half-teasingly. "Have you heard enough secrets for today?"

"Yes, enough." She made her reply in as light a tone as she could manage, though her heart remained heavy. This talk of his lamentable boyhood brought to mind her own son.

Ulrick was always in her thoughts, but she yearned for him suddenly with searing wretchedness. He'd been only four, hardly more than a baby.

Why did he have to die, and Bj?rn with him? They shouldn't have been taken. No matter how I beseeched Freyja, no remedies helped. I was powerless to save them.

If I could have but a day with Ulrick, I'd hold him close and press my nose to the softness of his hair, breathing his sweet scent.

Elin's sob rose in a great gulping rush. She was alone, with more sorrow than she knew how to bear.

However, the next moment, she was wrapped in the warmth of Rangvald's chest. His arms held her as she unburdened her tears. He said naught, merely keeping her there, rocking gently.

There was nothing else but him, and she surrendered to his comfort. How long they stood, she couldn't have said, but he waited patiently while she cried. At last, she felt that his right arm no longer held her so tightly.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't be… You're not…" She sniffled against his damp tunic. As she tried to step back, he held her firm with his stouter arm.

"I'm strong enough."

Elin was aware of his head bending to hers and the brush of his nose. When his kiss found her, it was gentle, a caress that began with the lightest friction. She closed her eyes, and the world fell silent, time passing in heartbeats. His tongue slipped inside, and she responded with the wet stroke of her own. There was nothing forceful; rather his mouth was as yielding to her exploration as Elin's was to his.

Loose-limbed, she was melting, cradled in Rangvald's embrace. He continued kissing her tantalizingly slowly. She could have remained held like this forever. He'd let go of the crutch and was holding on to her as needfully as she clung to him.