Authors: Jen Black
Flane pulled a face. “It’ll probably still be there when your gown is washed and ready, but if it isn’t, tell me.”
The door burst open behind them. “By all the gods!” Flane whirled to face the blast of fresh air, his bulk shielding Emer from view as he greeted the newcomers. Emer heard the feminine giggles and gathered some of the women wanted to use the bathing place. She grabbed the clay pot that held her chemise, and squatted by the hearth. She had to do something to hide the way her face burned with embarrassment.
Laughter continued at the door as Flane chatted with whoever had arrived. Emer smoothed her hand over her hair, glanced around and saw a small but clear blood stain on the sheepskin. She froze, and then lurched forward to try and hide the clear evidence of what she and Flane had been doing in the hut. She tripped, knocked the pot over and her chemise slid out on a tide of water to hide the incriminating stain.
Flane turned at the commotion, and three women peered around him. “What happened?”
“I tripped,” Emer said. “I’m so clumsy. But I’ll make sure the skin dries out properly.” She glanced worriedly at the three women, and recognised Steini’s mother among them.
Fortunately, they laughed. The eldest said, “Put it outside on the boards, Emer. It’ll soon dry in the sun.”
She glanced at Flane, who winked and nodded toward the loch. Emer scooped up the wet skin, bundled her chemise back into the bowl and took everything outside. The door closed behind her, shutting off the sound of chattering voices and she stood alone, staring across the vast expanse of the loch. Shivering in the cooler air, she sighed and knelt on the boards beside the water.
Her reflection showed the horrendous tangle of her hair. Emer bit her lip. The women would surely guess what she and Flane had been doing in the hut. Splashing her hand into the reflection dispersed the image and a handful of cold lake water would soon get rid of the incriminating stain.
Chapter Ten
Tempting as it had been to sit on the boards overlooking the water and enjoy the tranquillity while contemplating the wondrous thing that had just happened, Emer hurried back to the hall with the wrung-out roll of her chemise. While it dried, she could sit and think what to do about Flane, for the man was an enigma. Every time she decided she understood him, he displayed a side of himself she had not seen before.
The feelings she had now were an added complication. Memories of his body brought hot blood rushing to her cheeks and disoriented her so much she tripped and almost fell. Strange warm feelings lingered within her. She touched her fingertips to her mouth, wondering if her lips looked as swollen as they felt. Her breasts flared and tingled beneath the green linen tunic. The special place, the place that gave her so much pleasure, still felt moist and a pang ran through her flesh whenever she thought of Flane.
She looked out for him as she walked back to the hall, but he had vanished like one of the will o’ the wisps that haunted the marshes. She couldn’t decide if she were glad or sorry to be free of his presence. When he was nearby, her mind did not function properly; but when he was not there, she felt vulnerable and somehow bereft. Her understanding of him veered from clouded to clear and back again within the space of a few heartbeats.
She understood from her mother that Viking women tolerated bed slaves and concubines, but it was perfectly obvious that Katla would never agree to Flane doing so. Yet Flane had insisted, ever since the day he split his sides laughing at her suggestion of marriage, that she would stay with him. He honestly believed he could live with both of them.
There was little she could do, for she was hardly in a position to dictate what anyone should do in this community. She did not even have a maidenhead to bargain with now. She nibbled at her lip, guilt and doubt settling on her shoulders like a matching pair of crows.
Nothing was certain. Without the protection of her family, she had to find a way of living amongst a community whose customs were strange to her. These people did not share her blood, or her religion. Flane could repudiate her tomorrow, and maybe would, if Katla and Skuli Grey Cloak insisted he should. Selling her would rid him of a problem and earn him good silver. A living death of slavery might yet be her lot in life, but she preferred to believe that the last hour had meant as much to Flane as it had to her.
She halted on the threshold of the hall and glanced around. Oli, who sat by the fire playing a lonely game of knuckle bones, looked over and caught sight of her. He scooped up the bones and raced toward her. “Come and play knuckle-bones with me!” Oli grasped her arm. “Grendel keeps trying to eat them!” Relaxing at the sight of his merry face, warmed by his obvious delight, she followed him back to the fire with Grendel, plumed tail wagging, prancing beside them.
Emer laughed. “They smell like food to him, I suppose.” She held out her wet chemise. “I must hang this somewhere to dry.”
Oli stared dubiously at her feet. “I can see your ankles.”
“I know. I washed my chemise, and I need to dry it quickly so I can wear it. Then I’ll look normal again. I don’t have anything else to wear.”
His hazel eyes came up to meet hers. “You’re wearing Flane’s old tunic.”
“My gown smelt horrible after I fell in the midden, and I had to wash it—”
He goggled at her. “You fell in the midden pit?”
Emer nodded. “Strictly speaking, I was pushed. Katla pushed me.”
A wide grin broke across Oli’s face.
Emer waggled a stern finger under his nose. “Don’t you dare laugh!” She fixed him with a warning glare, and waited.
He clapped a hand over his mouth to hide the smile, and somehow held the laughter in.
“I didn’t have anything else to wear, so Flane gave me this old tunic. I’ll have to wear it until mine is dry.”
Oli looked dubious.
“I have to wear something!” If Oli thought wearing Flane’s tunic was wrong, then she could expect comments from the adults of the community. She thought of Katla and groaned silently. If Katla saw her in Flane’s old clothes, she would be furious.
“I like your ankles, though.” Oli took his hand away from his face and revealed his mischievous grin. “I don’t normally see women’s ankles.” He nodded toward the chemise in her hands. “Put it on the drying rack. There’s a gown there already. It might be yours. I’ll show you.” He dashed off to the sidewall of the hall, climbed on someone’s bed platform and unwound a piece of twine from a hook. Slowly, jerkily, a long horizontal pole descended from the roof space.
Someone had washed her gown and hung it on the pole to dry. Emer checked for her ring and relaxed when she found it still in place. Since the washer woman could hardly have missed it, she must be honest. The marks had come out of the fabric, but so had a lot more colour. She turned the still damp cloth, spread her chemise beside it and with Oli’s help hauled the pole back into place where it would catch the rising heat from the fire. No doubt it would reek of smoke by the time she could wear it again, but she couldn’t help that. They sat by the hearth to keep an eye on it in case either of her two precious garments fell into the fire. “Oli, have you seen the lady Katla this afternoon?”
He shook his head and shoved the bones toward her. “You go first.”
Emer sat down on a three-legged stool. Very conscious that her ankles were on show, she tugged the tunic down as far as she could before she threw the bones up in the air. She caught two thirds of them on the back of her hand and put them to one side with a quick grin at Oli. She hadn’t lost her skill. Oli clutched one knee to his chest and watched as she threw a bone in the air, neatly picked up some of the scattered bones out of the dust of the hall floor and managed to catch the thrown one as well.
“You’re good at this,” he said.
“I played a lot when I was younger.”
“Who did you play with?”
“My brother,” she said slowly, thinking of Donald. “I played with him until he grew more interested in swords and spears.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “It seems a long time ago. I played with other girls in my village and they’re all married now, and gone to live with their husbands.”
“Are you married?”
“No.”
It was Oli’s turn to make his play, and he frowned in concentration as he grabbed for the bones.
“Those girls were older than me,” Emer continued, more to herself than as an explanation for Oli. She hunched over, her forearms across her knees and watched the boy catch bones. “But I would have married this autumn, once the harvest was in.” Resting her chin on the back of her wrist, she wondered if anyone told Angus his future wife was as good as dead. “I never met the man my father suggested as future husband.”
Oli fumbled a bone, dropped it and scowled. “Did you want to get married?”
She’d never thought about what she expected of a husband, but she had looked forward to the new rôle it would have given her. Every woman wanted a household of her own. She smiled at Oli. “That’s a strange question from a small boy. Why do you ask?”
Oli shrugged. He jiggled the bones in the palm of his hand and looked at her from under his heavy fringe. “Sometimes girls want to get married and sometimes they don’t.”
“Is that so?”
He considered her carefully, as if unsure he should confide in her. “The lady Katla is keen to marry Flane, but Flane is not so keen to marry her.”
Surprised, Emer opened her mouth and hastily rephrased her question to suit a small boy. “And how would you know, you wretch?”
“I listen a lot.” Oli grinned cheerfully. “They take no notice of me, and sometimes they don’t even know I’m there. I’ve heard Flane and Skeggi talking about it, too.” He put his finger to his lips, his eyes on someone nearby.
Emer looked round. Two slaves carried a heavy black cauldron between them and hooked it onto the chain above the fire. The unmistakable smell of fish drifted on the air and made Emer’s stomach rumble. Oli heard it and giggled. Emer poked him reproachfully in the ribs, and he giggled even more. The slaves swung the cauldron into position over the fire and walked away.
Emer turned back to Oli. “What else did you hear? How do you know what the lady Katla feels?”
“I heard her talking with her father, didn’t I?” Oli was offhand about it. “She said she must have Flane, no one else would do. Her father wants to marry her off to Snorri Longnose over in the next bay, but she won’t have it.”
That was interesting. “You seem to hear an awful lot, Oli.” The slaves set up trestles, placed boards across them and distributed baskets of bread evenly along their length. Emer watched, her thoughts whirling. If Oli’s information was correct, it was proof that Skuli Grey Cloak’s daughter loved Flane Ketilsson. She must have courage to stand up to her father and refuse to marry the man he had selected for her. “How far is it to where this Snorri Longnose lives?”
Oli shrugged. “A two-day ride, perhaps. I’ve heard folk say it’s easier to sail round the headland.”
Emer thought quickly. A two-day ride would mean at least a three-day walk, but she could manage that without help. She was used to walking. But how would she know the path? “Do you know the way to Snorri’s camp?”
Oli looked up. His bottom lip thrust forward as he stared at someone behind Emer. “No.”
A shadow fell over her. “But I do, Oli. Who wants to know?” Gamel sank to his haunches beside them. The boy’s face turned sullen and a whiff of rank sweat caught Emer’s nose. She coughed, sat up straight and tucked her feet modestly beneath her. “We were talking of Snorri Longnose’s camp. Perhaps you know it?”
“Of course I know it.” Gamel’s small dark eyes roved her face and body until Emer felt uncomfortable. He hadn’t earned the creases around his mouth by smiling, and she saw none of Flane’s kindness in him. “I understand they are our nearest neighbours. Is it easy to get there?”
“It’s a long, rough walk around Coigach and Stac Polly. Far too rough a track for the likes of you.”
Emer hid her disappointment by looking down at her hands.
“She didn’t say she wanted to go,” Oli muttered.
Gamel ignored him. He sniffed, and stretched his hand toward Emer. She flinched and tucked her legs even further beneath her. However hard she pulled at Flane’s old tunic, she couldn’t quite cover her ankles and feet. The heat of embarrassment rose in her face.
Gamel’s rough hand trapped her ankle, and tugged. “Oh! That hurts!” He slackened his grip but didn’t let go. He was strong, too; for all his stringy appearance, there was unsuspected strength in the man. Emer’s heartbeat tripled at the greedy look in his eyes.
Oli, still on his knees, shuffled silently backwards, away from her. She swallowed nervously. There had been no one but Oli in the hall when she arrived. The slaves had gone back to the cooking area. Should she scream? Attract attention?
Oli was on his feet and bolting toward the door.
“That’s Flane’s old tunic.” Gamel stared at the garment. His tone made his statement an accusation.
Emer cleared her throat and gestured toward her gown high on the drying rack. “I fell…mine has been washed. I had nothing else to wear.” Warily she glanced over her shoulder. Oli had vanished.
Gamel leered, and ran his palm up and down the length of her shin bone. “You’re a pretty girl.”
The unease she always felt near Gamel strengthened into anxiety. She tried to get to her feet, but he kept his grip of her ankle. “Please let go of me!”
He yanked so hard Emer slid off the stool and thumped to the floor in front of him. His hot dark eyes feasted on the length of calf and thigh thus revealed, and when she tried to wriggle free, he tightened his grip of her ankle. She kicked out, but realised her struggles increased his excitement.
Already she was much too close to him, and the air she breathed was clouded with his odour. He scented the air like a dog, his eyes flicking from side to side. The man was revolting. What could he smell? A dog would scent food, meat. Her stomach plunged as she remembered. Surely Gamel could not smell the dribble of blood that occurred when she lost her virginity?