Viking Passion (11 page)

“If you are so eager for him, you will be in
a sorry condition by the time he does return,” Lenora told her
sharply. “I understand he and Thorkell are to be away for a full
moon’s cycle and possibly more. Do you think you can wait?”

“He will come home to my bed, not yours.”

“That is his misfortune.” With a sudden
motion, Lenora rose from her stool, threw down her spindle and the
wool, and started for the door.

“Where are you going, Lenora? Freydis told me
you would be working here all day.”

“I have more important things to do than
listen to a she-cat in heat,” Lenora snapped.

She ran across the end of the great hall and
out the side door. The clouds had fulfilled their threat: it was
pouring rain. She dashed into one of the buildings near Thorkell’s
chambers. It was a storeroom, recently swept and scrubbed. It stood
empty, awaiting the fruits of the harvest that would begin with the
next full moon. She hurried across the room to a second door on the
far side. All of the buildings on this side of the great hall were
close together. Those that did not have connecting doors or
hallways were only a few steps apart, for easy access during the
cold, snowy winters. At the far side of these buildings, set a
little apart from them, was Erik’s house. Lenora knew she could
scurry from one building to another and reach the house in a
relatively dry condition. She moved quickly, wanting the privacy of
her own place. She went through a second and a third room, then
entered a fourth. She stopped suddenly, her skirts swirling about
her ankles.

Halfdan and Freydis were there, alone. They
stood several feet apart, but the tension between them was so great
it filled the room. They did not notice Lenora at first, then
Freydis slowly turned her head and looked at Lenora out of dark
blue eyes wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Lenora said quickly. “I was
trying to keep dry. I’ll go now.”

As she passed them, Lenora saw Halfdan reach
out one huge hand and lay it against Freydis’ cheek. Even with his
back to the light, Lenora could see the sad look on his face.

Lenora burst out the door and ran straight to
Erik’s house, not minding the drenching rain. She slammed the door
shut, barred it, and leaned against it, weeping and shuddering,
though whether her sobs were for Freydis and Halfdan or for herself
she did not know.

That night Halfdan sat beside Freydis during
the evening meal, and in the morning he rode away.

“He says he is going to visit his father,”
Gutrid, one of the kitchen wenches, told Lenora. “Tola says he and
Freydis sat up late in her room, talking. I wonder if talking is
all they did.”

“Tola is a gossip, and so are you,” Lenora
said. But she wondered, too, about Halfdan and Freydis, and about
the reasons Halfdan had once given her to explain why he and
Freydis could not marry. In spite of her determination not to like
any of the Norse, she felt sorry for them both.

Freydis kept to her chamber the day Halfdan
left. The following morning she appeared early, looking as if
nothing had happened, and took charge of Thorkell’s household as
usual. She did not mention what Lenora had seen.

Soon the harvest began, and there was much to
do to prepare food for winter storage. Although these processes
went on all summer long, now the pace of activity quickened. Haying
season had come, and everyone at Thorkellshavn, men and women
alike, was required to work until this important harvest was done,
for hay provided the only fodder for cattle, sheep, and goats
during the winter.

At carefully determined intervals from now
until the darkest days of winter, pigs and cattle would be
butchered. The meat would hang in a coldhouse made of stone,
through the center floor of which a diverted stream ran in a stone
channel, its icy water helping to keep the meat cool. At the same
time, fish and some of the meat would be dried, smoked, or
preserved with whey or salt, for longer storage than the coldhouse
afforded. Peas, beans, apples, and berries were dried and carefully
stored. Nuts were gathered and piled in baskets or large wooden
bowls in the storerooms. Freydis directed the making of cheeses.
Thorkell’s storerooms began to fill with wooden vats and tubs, with
soapstone bowls and with baskets, overflowing with provisions.

After the haying was over, Lenora was spared
much of the heavy labor that other servants were made to do. She
spent part of each day working on Thorkell’s lists and accounts and
the rest of her time in the weaving room or assisting Freydis as
she directed the household. Lenora was trying to weave a piece of
cloth for a winter cloak for herself, but with her lack of skill at
the loom she began to wonder if she would freeze to death before it
was made.

The moon grew thin and then fat, and thin
again, and now the nights were growing noticeably longer. Soon
would come the time of equal day and night. A few bushes turned
rusty-red and began to lose their leaves, and the green trees had
developed a golden tinge. One quiet evening a rider appeared, his
horse covered with foam, to announce that Thorkell and his son
would arrive home the next day. Freydis ordered a welcoming feast
prepared.

“I am eager to see my father and brother
again,” she told Lenora.

“I wonder if they were successful. Has Sven’s
daughter agreed to marry Snorri, do you think?”

“I am certain of it. My brother is too good a
match for Gunhilde to reject him. Snorri himself will surely return
soon, too. He should have been here to help with the harvest. He
will at least want to be here for the harvest feasts.”

In spite of her cheerful words, Freydis did
not look happy. Lenora thought she did not like the prospect of
another woman at Thorkellshavn, trying to run Thorkell’s household
in a new way. Lenora herself did not like the idea of meeting
Snorri again, but she was pleased and excited at the thought of
seeing Erik. Her earlier hurt and anger at him had dissipated
during his long absence.

The water in the little pool along the stream
was by now uncomfortably cool. Most of the women had taken to using
the bath house behind Thorkell’s chambers, where the water could be
heated, but Lenora went alone to the pool to bathe and wash her
hair and then put on a clean shift. She did not want to hear
whatever the other women might have to say about her careful
toilet. She had no new outer garment, so she brushed and shook out
the same blue woolen one she had worn all summer, fastening it at
the shoulders with Freydis’ brooches. Her uncontrollable hair she
simply combed and left unbound.

Thorkell looked tired. He swung wearily off
his horse and embraced Freydis.

“I am happy to be home,” he said. “I am
growing too old for travel. Lenora, it is good to see you again.
Have you worked well in my absence?”

“I have tried to, Thorkell.” Lenora was
shocked at her own pleasure in greeting the Viking chieftain.
Thorkellshavn seemed more complete, and safer, with his dignified
presence in residence.

Edwina had not changed. She was as thin and
pale as ever, and her huge blue eyes followed Thorkell
worshipfully. She gave Lenora only the briefest greeting before
hurrying after her master as he strode toward his chamber.

“Lenora.” Erik stood before her. In a new
scarlet tunic embroidered with gold and a red head-band, he was far
more handsome than she remembered. His smooth, blue-black hair
gleamed in the sun, the white streak catching the soft autumn
light.

“Welcome home. Are you well, Erik?”

“Well enough.” He picked up his bundle of
belongings and headed for his cottage, nodding to her to join him.
“And you?”

“I have completed all the work you left for
me.”

“I knew you would.” His smile nearly stopped
her heart with its warmth. He entered his house as though he had
never made a habit of staying away from it and began to unpack. He
had brought her a heavy, oblong silver brooch.

“You will need it to hold your winter cloak,”
he told her.

Seeing a second brooch made of gold, Lenora
asked, “Is that for Erna?”

“Who?” He looked at her blankly. “Erna? No,
this is for Freydis. I always bring her a gift when I return from a
journey.”

He was changed, although she could not have
said what the difference in him was. While he washed the dust of
travel from his face and hands and carefully combed his hair before
the small silver mirror Lenora held up for him, he asked for
details of the work she had done for Thorkell and questioned her
about the harvest.

“We must talk more,” he said. “Later. I have
much to tell you.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“How serious you are.” He laughed. To her
surprise, he bent and kissed her cheek. ”I promise you, nothing is
wrong. It is only that, away from Thorkellshavn, I have had time to
think. Since last you saw me, I have grown a little older and I
hope a good deal wiser, and soon you will know everything I have
decided. For now, come with me to the great hall. We can’t insult
Thorkell by being late.”

He slipped an arm about her waist and pulled
her out the door. He kept his arm around her until they reached the
hall.

The feast that night was a happy one. In
addition to the usual boiled mutton and roasted pig, a haunch of
venison had been turning on the kitchen spit all day, watched over
by a young male slave. With Snorri and his men absent, there were
no violent incidents, but instead good-natured joking and laughter
among the men of Thorkell’s hird as they welcomed home their
companions who had gone with Thorkell. Many casks of ale and mead
were broached, and there was Frankish wine, a gift to Thorkell from
Sven the Dark.

Erik had a new Rhenish beaker of pale green
glass, which he filled with wine and handed to Lenora.

“I like this better than ale,” Lenora told
him.

“Don’t grow too fond of it.” He laughed.
“It’s very rare and expensive. We will only drink it on special
occasions.”

“Tell me about your trip,” Lenora urged,
encouraged by his obvious good humor.

“The marriage is agreed upon,” Erik said, and
he began speaking about the details of Snorri’s marriage contract.
These were not private, but were being discussed openly by most of
those in Thorkell’s hall that evening.

As Erik talked, Lenora watched his dark face,
smiling when his eyes met hers. It seemed to her as if his presence
lit up the garishly painted, smoky hall, making everything around
him more vibrant and alive.

He lavished attentions on her, cutting the
best pieces of meat for her, covering her hand with his when she
drank again from the new wineglass, and then turning the glass to
drink from the spot where her lips had touched. Dazzled by his
charm, her breath suddenly tight in her chest, Lenora responded
with blushes and lowered lids and shy, happy smiles.

Her attention was so completely focused on
Erik that in spite of all the noise and movement about her she was
almost unaware there were other people in the hall. Then she lifted
her eyes and saw, over his shoulder, Erna, standing in the shadows
at one side of a pillar, clutching an ale pitcher with whitened
knuckles and glaring at her in open hatred. Lenora was chilled by
Erna’s look until Erik spoke to her again, and she forgot the other
woman in her delight at the funny story he was telling.

When at last they left the hall, Erik stood
for a time, looking at the dark gleam of the river.

“How strange,” he said. “I long for distant
lands, I ache for the feel of a good ship beneath my feet once more
and I am excited by the thought of new sights and sounds and
smells, yet it is always so good to come back here. I spent most of
my childhood away from Thorkellshavn, but this is still my
home.”

“We have all missed you,” she replied
dutifully.

“Have you? I know I have missed your gray
eyes, Lenora, and your beautiful hair. I had no idea I would miss
you so much.” One hand played lightly with her curls. For a moment
she thought he might kiss her, but he stretched and yawned instead.
“It is hot tonight. Unusual, so late in the year.”

They walked slowly toward his house, Erik
calling out several times to men he knew, as those who had been
present at the feast went off to their beds.

Their single room was stuffy and airless.
Lenora expected Erik to leave and find Erna. When he made no move
to go, she undressed quickly and wrapped herself in her woolen
blanket. She lay down close to the wall, her back to the room, as
she had always done when he was there. Erik stripped and lay down
beside her on the straw mattress.

Lenora began to feel uncomfortable. The
blanket was hot and scratchy against her skin, and she was almost
unbearably aware of Erik’s naked body next to her. She wriggled
around, trying to get comfortable while still staying covered. It
was impossible. She flipped over onto her other side and found him
watching her.

“You forgot to put out the lamp,” she said
accusingly.

“I didn’t forget. I wanted to look at you.”
Something in his voice caught at her senses, making her feel weak
and lightheaded. It had been this way all evening, and now she
realized the difference in him was his intense concentration on
her.

“You have seen me before,” she whispered,
suddenly shy under his gaze.

He did not answer her at once. His hand
tugged at the edge of the blanket, which she had tucked tightly
under her chin. A teasing smile played along his wide mouth.

“It’s not winter yet, Lenora. You don’t need
to bury yourself in blankets and furs to stay warm. Uncover
yourself as I do.”

Slowly, unable to tear her eyes away from
his, she relaxed her tight hold on the blanket. He rose on one
elbow and began unwrapping her as though he were uncovering a
treasure.