Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Ivar can go first,” Catalina said, stepping back to give him room. He was rather non-plussed by the sudden change in her demeanor from disappointment to cheerfulness.

He took up his bow, nocked his arrow, focused on the apple, and let fly. The arrow hit home with a satisfying thunk, and the apple disintegrated, pieces flying everywhere.

“Ye dinnae ken yer own strength, Braither,” Arne told him jokingly from the sidelines. “Ye’ve smashed the thing tae pieces.”

“Aye, he’s hardly subtle, is he?” Haldor put in laughingly. “The bet was tae cut the apple intae two neat halves, nae to pulverize it.”

“I hit the damned thing, did I nae?” Ivar grumbled, annoyed because he knew they were right.

A fresh apple was affixed to the target, and Catalina positioned herself on the mark to take her turn. There was a holding of collective breath as she prepared to take the shot. Then the string thrummed, and the arrow flew, and it cleaved the apple into two perfectly symmetrical halves, as neatly as if they had been cut with a knife.

“Jesus! How did ye dae that?” he cried out without thinking, stunned by what he had just seen. Gasps of amazement and clapping came from the spectators, who all got up and inspected the two halves of the apple when the servant fetched it for them to view.

“I declare the winner tae be Catalina!” Haldor announced loudly, holding her hand aloft as the others rushed to congratulate her. Ivar noticed that Anastasia hung back a little and cast him a hesitant look before congratulating her sister. He supposed she was worried he would hold Catalina’s victory against her. In fact, he could not help admiring her prowess with the bow. He had the strength to hit the apple and smash it to smithereens all right, but she had the same accuracy of aim with the skill and subtlety to delicately slice it into two. His resentment towards her faded, and he had to admit he was mightily impressed.

While the others stood discussing the contest, Ivar went up to Catalina. “Me congratulations! How did ye dae that?” he asked, sincerely wanting to know.

She looked up at him, all traces of disappointment gone from her face. He expected her to be gloating, but to his surprise, there was no sign of triumph in her smile at all.

“Ye really want me tae tell ye?”

“I wouldnae ask otherwise, would I?”

“’Tis all tae dae with aggression,” she said cryptically.

“What d’ye mean, aggression?”

“Ye have too much of it in ye.”

Ivar was dumbfounded. “Of course, I have aggression in me. I’m a man, am I nae?”

Her eyes flickered up and down him for a tense second before she nodded and said, “I was nae questionin’ that at all. What I said was that ye have too much aggression in ye tae be delicate. That’s why ye ended up smashin’ the apple tae pieces. Too much force,” she explained.

“Right, right,” Ivar nodded, willing to accept the sense in what she said if she would show him how to cut the apple in half.

“I’ve noticed how much of it ye put intae almost everythin’ ye dae, from eatin’ yer dinner tae dancin’.”

“What?” he was startled by the odd reply. “Is this another of yer attempts tae undermine me?”

“Ye asked me a question, and I’m doin’ me best tae answer it. I observed that when ye shoot, every single one of yer movements is saturated with aggressiveness and anger,” she continued, looking him square in the eyes. “But archery is nae about being aggressive—it’s about protecting yersel’ without being exposed tae severe danger, as ye are in close combat.”

“Is that so?” Ivar said, unsure if he was being insulted or not.

“That’s only me opinion,” she told him.

Confused and flustered but determined she should not see it, he said, “That’s right, it is.” And then he stalked away back to the armory, to drop off his bow, not knowing what to make of it, muttering frustrated epithets under his breath as he went. Her words jangled in his mind, making the lump on his head throb. Somehow, the sweet taste of his earlier victory against Catalina had soured in his mouth.

That night, Catalina just could not seem to get off to sleep despite the day having been quite a busy one. And a productive one too, for she’d had her little win over Ivar, although he had won the earlier rounds. Everyone should have been happy. Yet she was undeniably restless, unable to shift from her mind the look on his face when he had left her standing like that.

Catalina looked over at her sleeping sister. When they were younger, she would definitely have woken Anastasia up if she couldn’t sleep, and they would most likely have ended up crowded into Brenna’s bed for hugs and a story. But now, she did not think Anastasia would appreciate her clambering into bed with her.

I ken, I’ll go and fetch a book tae read from the library. That’ll help me tae drop off.

So, she slipped her dressing robe over her nightdress, popped her feet into her slippers, and quietly left the room. No one was about, and the castle seemed deathly silent as she made her way down to the next floor where the library was located.

She did not meet a soul on her way, and upon reaching the door, she opened it as quietly as she could and slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. She let out the breath she had been holding and relaxed. It struck her as a little odd that lamps were still lit, and there was a fire still burning low in the grate but everything was quiet. She headed for the shelves where she knew novels were kept.

The room was L-shaped, and as she turned to the left to find the shelves she sought, she got the shock of her life and nearly fell over backwards. She had to steady herself by leaning on the back of a nearby chair.

“Oh! Ye’re here,” she mumbled, coming face to face with an equally startled looking Ivar. He was down to his shirt and small kilt and was reclining on the sofa where she’d wanted to sit, with a volume in his hand. His eyes were fixed on her, a gleaming silvery blue in the flickering lamplight. “I’m sorry tae disturb ye. I didnae expect tae find anyone in here at this time of night. I couldnae sleep, so I came down tae get a book tae read,” she found herself burbling.

Ivar regarded her silently for a few moments without expression, the hollows of his face in shadow.

“I’ll just pick somethin’ tae read, and then I’ll go,” she said, feeling distinctly unwelcome with his steely gaze upon her. Being alone with him like this made her so nervous, she wanted to pick up her skirts and run. She felt embarrassed at being caught in her nightwear. Her thin robe and nightdress felt far too skimpy as she walked across the room, and she felt her shawl was not covering enough. But she did not want him to know how he was affecting her, so she forced herself to act calmly. Turning away from him, she went over to the shelves she wanted, keen to find something suitable and be gone before he could start anything.

She tried to read the titles of the books in front of her, but the letters danced before eyes, and she could not make any of them out. Then, suddenly, a dark shadow formed over her own, overtopping her and seeming to swallow her up. Alarmed, she turned around to be faced with a solid wall of white linen, open at the neck and allowing fine golden hairs to peep over the edge. Her mouth went dry. Eventually, she looked up.

“Did ye–did ye want somethin’?” she asked nervously, backing against the bookshelves as his eyes pierced her.

“Only tae tell ye that ye did well today. Ye deserved yer victory. Congratulations.” His deep voice seemed to resonate through her frame.

“Thank ye. That’s high praise comin’ from ye,” she replied politely, trying to remain calm, while her heart was fluttering madly. She actually put a hand to her chest to try to still it.

“I’ve never seen anyone dae that afore, except at fairs, and certainly nae a lassie. But ye’re nae like other lassies, are ye?”

“Pardon?” What on earth does he mean by that?

“Ye ken what I mean,” he said laconically.

“Nay, I dinnae ken what ye mean at all.”

“Well, ye’re nae the average lassie, are ye? Fer one, ye attacked me in the woods, apparently fearlessly, wavin’ a dirk in me face. Then ye kicked me in the head and laid me out, and now I find ye’re as good a shot with a bow as me. How’s yer embroidery?”

Catalina was amazed to see the corners of his lips curve upwards, and she suddenly realized he was joking.

“Terrible,” she admitted. “Are ye tryin’ tae be nice fer a change?” she asked, truly interested.

He shrugged. “That thing with the apple, ‘twas very impressive. I misjudged yer abilities and I feel the need tae apologize. Where did ye learn to shoot like that?”

“Oh, here and there. Our faither thought it was good idea tae teach us girls tae defend ourselves, so we had lessons and trainin’.”

“He had nay sons, so he made up for it by teachin’ his daughters tae fight. I like it. I think me and yer faither’ll get on,” he said with a dry smile.

“Ye will as long as ye treat Anastasia well,” she could not resist saying.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Why should I nae? She’s a sweet lassie. She’ll be me wife soon, and I want her tae be happy.”

“D’ye promise?”

“D’ye doubt me then?” he looked worried for a second.

“Well, ye havenae exactly given me a warm welcome.”

“A kick in the head is nae exactly warm either,” he pointed out. He bent down his head and pointed at a spot. “Feel it, go on.” To her surprise, he took her hand and placed her fingers on a lump beneath his golden hair.

“Ow, that’s big!” she cried, feeling it and snatching her hand back.

“Aye, and it bloody hurt too, I can tell ye.” As if to prove his point, he rubbed at it gently. “I cannae even train until it goes down because I cannae fit me helmet over it.”

Catalina could not help herself; she laughed out loud at his woebegone expression. He just looked at her and shook his head as if in disbelief. “I’m sorry,” she told him eventually, “I shouldnae laugh after I hurt ye so much. I truly am very sorry.” Somehow, the laughter seemed to lessen the tension between them. The sense of threat departed, her heart rate returned to something almost normal, and her confidence returned.

“Aye, so ye’ve said,” he remarked laconically.

“Ye sound very skeptical.”

“That’s the way I feel about most things these days. I find it serves me well,” he replied with an odd sigh, moving a few feet away so she could not see his face. She spent some moments choosing a book, a romantic adventure as far as she could tell. She decided it would do and tucked it under her arm before she turned back, intending to leave.

But Ivar was still there, looking at her, his expression unreadable. But at least he was not scowling at her. It felt like progress, and it emboldened her.

“Ivar, now that we’re actually talkin’ tae each other, can I ask ye somethin’?”

“Ye can ask, but I’ll nae guarantee ye’ll get an answer,” he said bluntly. As he spoke, she noticed lines of strain about his mouth and eyes. He looked terribly tired, and Catalina’s heart warmed to him almost imperceptibly.

“Why are ye so bitter all the time?”

He gave her one of his cold looks and frowned. “Why are ye so bloody nosey?” How d’ye ken I’m bitter anyway? Ye only met me a few days ago. Ye ken naethin’ about me.”

“Me faither always told me that ye should judge a person by their actions and nae their words. So, I’m judging ye by the way ye’ve acted towards me. Considerin’ ye’re about tae marry me sister, ye havenae exactly been warm,” she said.

He went and threw himself back down on the sofa. “I’m nae arguin’ with ye again,” he told her wearily. “I came in here fer some peace.”

“I think I might be able tae guess what’s troublin’ ye,” she dared to say, expecting an explosion any moment.

“Is that so?” he yawned, staring at her.

“Aye. Dahlia told us earlier about yer twin braither. I was very sorry tae hear of yer loss.” She watched his face and noticed a tic start up beneath his left eye. “That must have been terrible. Loosin’ yet braither is bad enough, but yer twin. That must feel even worse. Is that what’s made ye so bitter?”

He suddenly flared up. “’Tis none of yer business, Catalina, so keep yer nose out. What would ye ken about it?”

“I’m sorry. I dinnae mean tae pry, but I dae ken somethin’ about grievin’ fer someone ye’ve lost. Me and Anastasia, we lost our sister Brenna last year. She caught a fever, and the next minute, she was gone. I think about her all the time.” Her heart began its old familiar ache at the memory, and a painful lump formed in her throat.

A heavy silence full of unspoken words fell between them as they contemplated each other. She was surprised to see the taut lines around his eyes and mouth soften somewhat, and she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.

“I wasnae aware of yer loss. I’m very sorry tae hear about it,” he said eventually, his voice gruff. “Me condolences tae ye.”

“Thank ye,” she replied with a small sniff, determinedly holding back the tears pressing at the back of her eyes. “So, ye see, I dae ken somethin’ about grief and loosin’ those ye love.”

“Aye, I’ll grant ye that, and I dinnae mean tae be rude, but ye still ken naethin’ about me and Thor. And I dinnae want tae speak of him.”

“Well, that’s just stupid,” Catalina said, fired up by his words. “Me and Anastasia speak of Brenna every single day. That way, she’s still with us, and we make sure she’s never forgotten.” She spoke passionately because she fully believed she was right. “D’ye nae wish tae remember Thor and honor him? D’ye want naebody tae speak of him until he’s forgotten, just so ye dinnae have tae feel the pain?”

The stricken look on Ivar’s face gave her pause. “Thor will never be forgotten. He’s here, in me heart, all the time, a part of me,” he rasped, banging his chest with his fist. Then he shook his head sorrowfully. “I dinnae want tae speak of him. Ever.”

The sympathy Catalina felt for his loss mingled with fresh annoyance at the way he was so selfishly clinging to his grief, using it as an excuse for his ill-tempered demeanor, when others were grieving too. She found herself putting her book down on a nearby table and going to stand in front of him.

“So, ye think yer grief is worse than everybody else’s, dae ye? Is that it?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “Me grief fer Brenna cannae compare tae yer pain over yer braither, I suppose. Or yer siblings’ grief fer Thor?”

He groaned. “Ach, that wasnae what I meant. Look, will ye go away and leave me in peace, please? I told ye, I dinnae wantae argue with ye anymore.”

“Dinnae fash yersel’, I’m goin’. Good night tae ye.” In high dudgeon, she hurried to the door and left him there, muttering to herself as she went back up the stairs to her chamber.

It was only when she got into bed that she realized she had forgotten to bring the book. Deciding she certainly was not going back down there to fetch it and risk another row with Ivar, she huffed and turned on her side to try to sleep.

Immediately, Ivar’s face came unbidden into her mind. For all the darkness in him, he was strangely beautiful in a way she never imagined a man could be. Every feature was finely chiseled, the hollows and planes perfectly symmetrical, the pale, icy blue of his eyes reminiscent of tales of Viking fjords in the far distant northern land of his ancestors. Just looking at him was enough to make her melt.

But that’s wrong! He’s nae marryin’ me. He’s marryin’ Ana, and he’ll soon be me braither-in-law. So, I’d best dae as he says and mind me own business.

She pushed Ivar’s image from her mind, and by an effort of will, finally managed to drop off to sleep.