Authors: Jen Black
As she and Flane drew near, she saw the churchman was of mature years. He blinked in the sunlight as if he did not often emerge from his stone cell, but nodded and smiled at whatever Snorri Longnose put to him. Snorri beckon Flane, who walked over and inclined his head politely at the introduction.
“This is Father Peedar,” Snorri said. “Flane Ketilsson, Father.”
Emer edged closer and listened while trying to look bored.
“So this man is the bridegroom?”
Emer wondered why the cleric thought Flane was the bridegroom rather than Snorri Longnose. She looked round curiously. Father Peedar tilted his head back and inspected Flane, who nodded briefly. “My lady stands ready, though this will be a surprise for her.”
Emer stood rigid, her eyes wide and unseeing on the seagulls circling above her. Behind her, she recognised outrage in the cleric’s voice.
“It is an abduction? Then I cannot—”
Flane’s voice broke in swiftly. “It will be a surprise to her, Father, but she will be happy about it. She is of your church, and I do not want her ever to regret our marriage. I want it to be done as she would wish.”
Mollified, but with a thread of suspicion still present in his tone, the cleric asked, “May I speak with the lady?”
“Of course.” It took all the willpower Emer possessed not to turn and face Flane until he touched her shoulder. Hoping her face showed nothing more than polite curiosity, she allowed herself to be led forward and introduced. Father Peedar took her arm, briskly led her around the corner of the church and came to a halt by the side of the sun-warmed stone where Flane and Snorri could not see them. The sharpness of his bright blue eyes surprised her.
“This man Flane Ketilsson wishes to marry you here, today.”
Emer heard the words and could have thrown her arms around the little man and hugged him. Happiness bubbled inside her, and she could not prevent the smile spreading across her face, but the chilly authority in Father Peedar’s eyes did not lessen. She took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts together to make a coherent reply.
“That would make me very happy.”
Flane watched the corner where Emer and the cleric disappeared, his brows drawn together. Snorri nudged his arm. “Fear not. He will marry you in a little while. He has done this before, when a Viking and a Christian come together.”
“He seems to take a lot of convincing,” Flane muttered. “Either that or she’s changed her mind.”
Snorri snorted. “He simply likes to be sure. His conscience has to be clear.”
A little while later, Emer rushed back to Flane, her eyes sparkling in her rosy face. “You did this? You organised this? You and—”
At Flane’s nod of the head, she turned to Snorri Longnose. “Thank you, my lord chief.”
Longnose stepped forward, laid hands on her shoulders and saluted her cheek with his lips. Emer uttered a little gasp of surprise and pleasure. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can get to Pabaigh.” Snorri grinned. “And the sooner I can get back to that new wife of mine.”
Sunlight warmed the cool stone of the church and brightened the daisies growing in the grass by the door. Snorri watched the young couple and recognised a love match when he saw it. He wondered briefly if he and Katla might find love in the years to come. Their bedding had been achieved with satisfaction on his side, and he thought on hers too; but he saw the sidelong glances Emer and Flane exchanged and felt a twinge of envy. Emer looked ecstatic, and Flane’s mouth kept stretching into a wide grin. There was more than satisfaction between them.
The other couple were watching all that went on, and he saw the girl looked meaningfully at Skeggi, but the lad merely waggled his eyebrows in return. Behind them, his crewmen stood a little way back, chatting quietly while seagulls sailed above their heads, swooped down over the harbour and perched on the masthead of the
Wave Walker
. Green water moved gently into the harbour and rolled sluggishly up to the rocky wall below the church. The sound of the sea formed the background to the voices of the bride and groom as they made their pledges to each other and received the church’s blessing on their union.
Happiness welled up in Emer and spilled over as she gazed up at her husband.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I told you we would do this,” he said softly. “I keep my promises.” His slow smile made her heart leap as it had so often in the past. If she guessed correctly, he was thinking of pleasures to come once night fell, when they could decently withdraw from company. The thought warmed her, and she rose up on her toes and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. Her eyes closed, his head came down over hers and increased the pressure.
“Are we going back to the ship now?” Oli’s voice wasn’t far away. Flane and Emer broke apart, smiled into each other’s eyes.
“I love you,” he said softly, then glanced over her head. “Yes, Oli, we can go back to the ship now.”
Together they thanked Father Peedar, left some of Flane’s silver for his treasury and headed for the
Wave Walker
. Flane ruffled Oli’s hair as they overtook him. “Impatient brat,” Flane said cheerfully. “We’ll have to teach you some manners.”
Oli laughed and ran on ahead. Emer tugged at her husband’s arm. “I thought we were destitute,” she said. “Where did the silver come from?”
“Ah, I haven’t had time to tell you,” he began. “Last night, after the feast, Skuli Grey Cloak came looking for me. He thanked me most courteously for the compensation I paid him and wished me a good journey through life. We are welcome back whenever we choose to visit, so that is good to know. But best of all, he gave me a parting gift — half of the silver I had given him!”
***
Later in the afternoon the
Wave Walker
turned the headland and Pabaigh lay before them. Emer caught her breath and gripped the gunwale with hands that were white at the knuckle. The tide was full, and the shallow turquoise water covered the vast expanse of beach. The steersman turned
Wave Walker
into the deep channel beneath the headland, and Emer stared out at the strip of white sand, the dunes, the hummocky green slopes and the great hill behind it all.
She blinked hard and concentrated on the green strip where she had once lived while her heart beat in small, fast thuds. So much had changed in such a short time. A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up and found Flane behind her.
“I will go ashore, but I want you, Frida and the boy to stay here. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. and watched as Snorri, Flane, Skeggi and half a dozen others slipped over the side and waded ashore. Furious that he had been left behind with the women, Oli stared after Flane with mutiny in his eyes. “Why couldn’t I go too?”
Emer hardly heard him, so intense was her concentration. The settlement looked strangely peaceful. No one moved between the cabin, byres and store sheds settled in the shallow valley running back from the beach. Emer frowned as she looked along the foreshore.
“Where is everybody?” Oli demanded.
“I don’t know.” Doubt sprang up in her heart. Her hands gripped the gunwale so hard her knuckles turned white. Had Pabaigh been raided in her absence?
Frida rushed up to her and pointed. “Look, over there. Men, hiding.” Frida had the sharpest eyes of them all. At the far end of the settlement, one of the grain barns sheltered a shadowy clutch of men. As Emer watched, one shifted, and sunlight caught his face as he stepped out and challenged the shore party. Emer gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth and she stepped back, away from the gunwale.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Frida stared at Emer’s shocked face.
“That’s my father!” she gasped. A sob broke through her, and tears sprang in her eyes. “That’s my father! And he has a spear in his hand! Flane! Flane!” She screamed his name and waved frantically, terrified that they were going to fall on each other as enemies.
Before either Frida or Oli grasped what she was doing, Emer scrambled up onto the gunwale and dropped over the side. She fell into thigh-high water, lost her breath, steadied herself with one hand against the
Wave Walker
and struck out for the shore with barely a pause, screaming her husband’s name as she went.
Frida and the boy yelled behind her. The steersman stood at the huge oar and shook his head in wry amusement. The crew sat and watched, smiling. They were close inshore: the girl was in no danger. Emer’s screams dwindled to noisy gasps as she staggered through the cold sea onto the beach, but she had already attracted attention.
Flane and the others were watching her. She ignored them, and ran up the beach with the heavy wet linen of her gown flapping around her knees. Beside the barn, two dark figures broke free of the group. Emer ran straight as an arrow toward them and cried out as one suddenly launched across the beach toward her.
She laughed. Of course, Donald’s eyesight would be keenest of the two. Her father lumbered heavily, but her brother ran like a deer across the flat wet sand, met Emer and swung her off her feet. She clung to him, saw her father over his shoulder and struggled to reach him.
“Father!” She let go of her brother and flew into her father’s arms. She clung to him, weeping and incoherent with joy. The other Pabaigh men gathered around them, smiling, but throwing anxious, wary glances toward Flane’s party at the far end of the beach.
Her father’s voice was choked, and he muffled his face against her shoulder. When he let her go, Emer saw moisture in the lines and seams of his face, a glint of wetness in his badger-grey beard. “I’m safe and well, Father. And I’m married. My husband is over there. Will you come and meet him?”
“Married?” Shock widened his eyes.
Emer shook her head, smiling. How could she ever explain? But somehow she must.
“We were married at Rodel today.”
“Who is he?”
“Come and meet him, Father. Please?”
Donald had been watching Flane and Snorri approaching. “It’s a Viking ship. You’ve married a Viking?”
Emer ignored the mutter of apprehension around her. She took her father’s calloused hand and tugged gently. He moved forward a few paces, taking in the strangers who moved up the beach toward them. “Which one?”
Emer looked at the approaching men. “My husband is the tall man with yellow hair.”
Her father’s lip curled in distaste. Emer nerved herself for the coming encounter. Moving forward, she took Flane’s hand and brought him toward her father. As she introduced them, she realised she was gripping Flane’s hand so tightly her own ached with the tension. She let go and watched the men greet each other. Her father and brother stood stiffly, and Flane, understanding their restraint, smiled and greeted them politely.
Emer was proud of him, and immeasurably glad that she had been able to introduce him as her husband. Her father always held his head high, but he had to look up at Flane which must have annoyed him a little.
“You must share a meal with us,” he said politely but with little warmth. “All of you,” he added, glancing around to include Skeggi, Snorri Longnose and his men. “Perhaps then we can hear each other’s stories. There is much to talk over. Please,” he added, and gestured that they should walk with him back to the centre of the settlement. He looked at Emer. “Come, child, and greet your mother.”
***
Late that night, after the excitement of meeting her mother, sharing a meal and hearing everyone’s stories, Emer took Flane to her bed space and watched him try and settle his long body into the small space. Drawing the curtain, she climbed in beside him, snuggled into his shoulder and sighed.
“Glad to be home?” His voice was soft murmur against her ear.
“Oh, yes!” She pressed small kisses of gratitude against his throat. “But what about you? Are you tempted to sail off with Snorri tomorrow?”
“No. I like it here. Your brother will be a good friend and your father is stern but fair, which is exactly what a father should be. Your mother—I look at her and see you in thirty years’ time — and I won’t be disappointed. She is enchanting. You have a family, Emer, and it is right that we are here.”
She smiled, thinking of the twelve-year old Flane, so cruelly deprived of his family.
They had privacy tonight and she revelled in it. The curtain closed off Emer’s bed space from the family hall, but a narrow chink of light around the edges allowed them to see each other. A soft murmur of conversation came from across the hall where her parents slept and Donald’s soft snores drifted down from the loft space.
“We can build our own hall,” she said. “We don’t have to live here. Everyone will help. Oli can live with us and have a box-bed of his own.”
“We’ll start tomorrow. This space is so small I can’t stretch out.”
Emer giggled. “It wasn’t built for a giant like you.” Her palm drifted over his shoulder. “Is it good—does it—how does it feel to have a family around you?” She gazed at him but could see only the vague outline of his head against the pillow. “I think it must feel very strange to you.”
She thought of Donald’s shouts of excitement bringing the women out of hiding, the children who had eyed Oli suspiciously and then shown him their favourite games; and of the way her mother had flown into her arms, her cries of joy laced with a severe practicality. “What have they done to you? Your dress? Why are you so wet? Come to the hearth at once!”
Flane turned over, lay on his back and propped his bare feet up on the wooden wall at the foot of the bed. He clasped his hands across his lean belly and crossed his ankles as he considered her question.
“It is good to have a family around me again, even if I didn’t feel part of it yet. That will come as we get to know each other.” His head rolled on the pillow. “Already it feels good. You know, I stopped noticing how much you had outgrown that dress until your mother groaned over it.”
“What?” It wasn’t the answer she expected. “My old pink dress? I’ve thrown it away. It was quite worn out.”
His hand moved across, rested on her arm. “But I was quite fond of it. I remember my first sight of you, skinny and frightened in the slave market in your pink dress. You with your nose in the air, and the light of battle in your eye. Who knows? If the dress hadn’t been so short and tight, perhaps I never would have—”