“You are a pain in the arse, do you know that, Matthew?”
Matthew grabbed for one of his war braids and yanked. Hard.
He laughed. “Yea, I can be a pain in the arse, too.”
“Gaaa,” the baby said.
“What are we going to do about Joy, you ask? Your mother Joy, I mean. Leastways, that is what she says she is. Bloody hell, what a mess! Ooops, I should not swear in front of you, should I?” He leaned back to better see the drooling baby, who favored him with a toothless grin.
There was a soft knock at the door followed by, “Brandr?”
It was Liv.
He tried to disengage his hair from Matthew’s fist, to no avail. But then it was too late.
Liv opened the door and came in. It was clear by her bloodshot eyes and red nose that she had been crying. Nothing new there.
“Liv, dearling, come back later.”
“Let me see him.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and stepped farther into the room.
He turned the baby in his arms, and it was the most amazing thing. The baby stilled and stared at Liv as if he recognized her.
“Arnora says he looks like me when I was a baby.”
“He does.”
“Do you see aught of the Sigurdssons in him?”
“Nay, they are mostly red-haired, as I recall.”
“Is he smiling at me?”
“No doubt he is about to fart in my hand.”
“Oh.” Liv’s lips twisted with a grin she tried to hold back. “How is Joy?”
“No better. No worse.”
“Is she going to die?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“The baby is important to her?”
“Very.”
“Is it my fault she is so ill?”
“Liv! Why would you ask such a thing?”
“If I had been willing to care for my own . . .” With a long sigh, she held her arms open for the baby. “Let me.”
“What?” He was shocked. “Liv, you do not have to do this.”
“It might help Joy,” she said. Then in a smaller voice, she said, “And it might help me, too.”
The baby went gladly into her arms, staring avidly at her face.
Liv smiled down at him. “What do you see, my pretty one? Do you see your mother?”
Brandr plopped down into a chair, too stunned to say or do anything.
“Can I take him to my bedchamber?” she asked.
He helped move the cradle and baby clothing and nappies to her room. When he came back, he sat on the edge of the bed, still stunned at how easily Liv, after all this time, had taken to the baby. He could only hope the rest of the folks at Bear’s Lair would be so receptive. Well, they would have to, he decided in that moment, or they would answer to him.
He smiled to himself.
And that was when he noticed Joy’s eyes, wide-open and staring up at him.
“Hi!” she said.
What kind of greeting is that?
he thought, but then chastised himself.
She is alive, and she is awake.
“Hi!” he said back.
She tried to smile, but even that was too much for her cracked lips. Then, almost immediately, panic filled her green eyes as she tried to sit up. “My baby . . . where’s my baby?”
He forced her to lie back down. “With its mother.” “What do you mean?”
“The baby is with Liv. Is that not wonderful news?”
She gasped. “You took my baby.”
“It is not your baby, Joy. Not anymore.”
She whimpered.
He had meant his words to be of comfort, to assure her that all would be well with baby Matthew now that Liv had taken him to her bosom, but instead tears filled her eyes and began to trickle down her face, a face that was gaunt from all the weight she had lost. “You took my baby.”
“It is for the best, Joy. Once you are well, you will see—”
“I hate you. You are an unfeeling monster. I hate you, hate you, hate you.”
She wasn’t jealous. She must have eaten something green . . .
Joy had not spoken with Brandr in more than a week, and she was ready to climb the walls or scream in frustration.
It didn’t help that it was dark so much of the time, the winter solstice was approaching, and the days would not become longer for weeks, maybe months yet. They were all suffering a bit from SAD, seasonal affective disorder, where lack of sunshine caused depression.
Ever since she’d overreacted and vented her anger on first coming out of her fever, Brandr had made himself scarce. The first two days, she’d floated in and out of her feverish state, her climb back to normal health slow and painful. Arnora nursed her as best she could, and Liv came in occasionally with the baby. And she’d drunk so much chicken noodle soup she was about to cluck, the kitchen staff having recalled her words about the healing properties of that modern medical standby.
It was unreasonable, she knew, but Joy was jealous of Liv and heartsick that little Matthew would no longer be her baby. The zinger had been when Liv told her she’d named him Erik after a favorite uncle. Didn’t matter that Joy had already named him Matthew. She was in no position to argue.
On the second day, Arnora came in with one of the male servants, and they removed her and all her belongings, meager as they were, to Liv’s bedroom, which they would share with the baby. Brandr didn’t want her anymore. Afterward, she was forced to endure the double pain of seeing Liv bond with her child and no longer having Brandr in her life. To reinforce her agony, the amulet that read in runic letters “I belong to Brandr” had been removed from her neck. How crazy was that, being upset about a thrall collar taken off?
Despite her efforts, he refused to speak with her. Instead, he relayed, secondhand, that she should take any of her problems to Arnora or Tork. As if her love for him was a problem! When she’d waylaid him in the storage room yesterday and started to say, “I’m sorry,” he’d put up a halting hand. “I am not interested.” And he walked away.
Even worse, this noon she’d seen him chatting, up close and personal, with a young woman, early twenties, whom she hadn’t noticed before. Liv told her that Inga was the widow of one of the men killed during the Sigurdsson assault. She had been away visiting her mother in Hordaland at the time with her twin sons, the ones Joy had met in the kitchen.
“She is an upstairs maid. Brandr is probably just giving her directions for cleaning the bed linens.”
Joy looked at Liv.
“Well, mayhap not.”
Right now, Liv was rocking the cradle where Matthew—rather, Erik—was about to fall asleep, his little thumb in his mouth. Joy had to admit, the baby was better off with his mother, now that she’d had a chance to be more rational. Better for both the mother and child. Not that Joy’s heart didn’t ache just a little bit when she held him occasionally.
As she tidied up the room, putting soiled nappies and clothing on a pile to take to the laundry, she said, “I don’t understand why Brandr won’t at least talk to me. I know he wasn’t in love with me, but he seemed to care. How can caring turn to loathing so quickly?”
“My brother spent an entire sennight at your bedside. Little did he sleep. His only concern was pulling you back from death’s door.”
“And I said I hated him.”
“More than that. You called him a monster, reaffirming what he already thinks of himself.”
Ah, now Joy understood. With just one word,
monster
, she’d flung Brandr back into the black hole of berserkness where he’d been when she arrived.
“I don’t really think he’s a monster,” she said. “It was my fever speaking.”
“Betimes true sentiments come out with ale or fever.”
“No! That’s not true. I love him, and I could never love a monster.” In that instant, she realized she had a long row to hoe to get back into his good graces, but she was the one who would have to do the hoeing. Where to start? Where to start?
“Can I go down to dinner with you tonight in the great hall? I’m sure Arnora would watch the baby, or you could bring him with us.”
Liv shot her a glance of suspicion. “Of course.” Then, “Why? You have disdained mixing in company thus far.”
“I’ve got a plan.”
The score was one-one . . .
Brandr’s jaw dropped with disbelief as Joy strolled into the great hall with Liv that evening. The nerve of the woman!
She was wearing a red gown with a white apron trimmed in red. The red should have clashed but did not with the wildly curly flame hair, which was held down with a braided silver circlet over her forehead, all thanks to Liv, he was sure. She looked like a bloody Viking queen, not a thrall. Which everyone must be noticing. But he did not have the heart or inclination to protest.
Even worse nerve had she to walk up onto the dais and sit down beside him. “Hi!” she said.
Hi? I will give her hi! And how dare she smell like roses! The soap Arnis and Erland had brought for Liv, no doubt!
“I hate roses,” he said, like a lackwit. With a grunt of disgust, he rose to his feet, picked up his wooden mug of mead, and walked to the other end of the table to sit beside Tork. He did not need to see her face to know that she was hurt. Well, he was hurt, too. Nay, he was not hurt. He was angry. Bone-deep angry. Besides, it was for the best.
Liv sat down beside him. She looked lovely, like her old self, except more mature. Hard to believe she was barely fifteen, so much having happened to her. She wore clothing similar to Joy’s, except hers was blue to Joy’s red, and instead of a circlet her blonde hair had been plaited into a single intricate braid that hung down her back. Earrings with blue stones dangled from chains twined round her delicate ears.
“How is the little bratling doing?”
“Brandr!” She smacked him on the arm. “Erik is doing fine, getting fatter every day.”
“Are you sure about this?” He feared that Liv felt forced into accepting motherhood of the bastard child. And, yea, that is what he was, no matter how they skipped around the subject.
“Very sure. Joy and I have talked about it. She has worked with rape victims in the past, and my reaction was not uncommon. Women who breed after rape either love the child or do not. Many of them terminate the babe whilst still in the womb.”
He stiffened at her first mention of Joy. He did not want to discuss the witch. Not with Liv. Not with anyone.
“It will be hard, little sister. I can protect you whilst here at Bear’s Lair, but there will always be those who . . .” He shrugged.
“. . . who think I should have killed myself,” she finished for him. “As if I had any chance to do that, even if I wanted to! I know there are also others who will not treat Erik well. I guess I will just have to work hard, with your help, to make him strong.”
He squeezed her hand. “How did you get so mature?”
“Joy helped me.”
He stiffened once again. “Do not mention her name to me.”
“Why? She loves you.”
“Pfff! She does not. Nor do I want such from her.”
“What do you want?”
“Not a thing.”
That was when he saw her talking, with seeming intimacy, to Tork. And laughing.
She laughs while I am like ice inside? She flits so easily from one man to another?
Slamming his empty mug to the table, disdaining the platters of food being placed on the table in front of him, he stood and stormed out of the hall.
Out of sight, out of mind,
he told himself.
Even he knew that for the false notion it was.
Chapter 18
She made an offer he had a hard time refusing . . .
Joy was a fighter. She’d forgotten that for a while, but no more!
Okay, so Brandr had won the first round by walking away.
This was day two, second phase of her plan. So Brandr thought he could escape her presence by shuffling chairs, huh? Or shuffling himself out of her presence? Well, she would see about that.
That night she waited until the meal was already being served. In fact, the dessert course, her apple dumplings with fresh cream, which had become a favorite of the Vikings.
All the chairs at the high table were filled, except one at the far end. Liv was seated between Arnis and Brandr, who watched her warily as she approached the stairs at his end. At the last moment, Liv rose and moved to the far end, making some lame excuse, and Joy was able to slide into the chair next to him.
“Well done!” he remarked, his eyes taking in the same gown and apron she had worn the night before. Hey, she didn’t get that much of a selection. Besides, she thought she looked pretty good. “But have I not made it clear I do not want you near me?”