Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Mist shrouded the mountains, and a pale light filtered through the clouds as Eadlyn stepped out of the longhouse.
She adjusted her shawl, breathing in the damp air.
The trees had burst into bright green in recent days, spring fully arrived, but the cool, rainy weather had kept her indoors. She’d missed her morning walks.
The clouds overhead still lingered, but they didn’t appear heavy with rain, and the faintest glow behind them suggested the sun might yet win the battle.
She stepped onto the path toward the fjord, her spirits lifting.
As she walked through the village, she exchanged soft smiles with the women tending to their animals or carrying pails.
A group of children came dashing up the road, full of shouts and wild energy.
“Góthan morgin, Princess!” they chorused as they swept past her.
She laughed at their exuberance, and her thoughts drifted as she walked. What would life have looked like if she and Edward had been born in a place like this, children of a smith or a weaver? Would they have been freer? Happier?
But no. Her life was not a mistake. God had crafted her specifically for the time and situation in which He had placed her.
The fjord greeted her like an old friend, the surface glassy beneath the gray sky.
Rain had left the sand damp and soft, squelching under her shoes as she stepped to the water’s edge.
A gentle stillness met her. No wind, no waves, just the slow inhale and exhale of the fjord against the shore.
She breathed in the air, cool and clean, and the calmness of the water settled in her soul.
She loved it here.
And not just the fjord, but the village.
The longhouse. Her home. In a little over a month, she had settled into her new life.
She recalled the anxious days and nights leading up to the alliance.
The fear that had clawed at her from the inside.
She never imagined finding peace here, and she praised God for the miracle.
After a time in prayer, she turned back toward the village, eager to return to her weaving project. But as she passed the first cluster of buildings, someone stepped into her path. She opened her mouth to greet them, but the words died on her tongue.
Sig.
He stood too close, a gleam in his eye that turned her stomach. Though only the same size as Aevar, he seemed especially large and menacing, blocking her path to the longhouse.
She gripped the edge of her shawl. “What are you doing here?” Though she kept her voice steady, her pulse kicked into a faster rhythm.
He was supposed to be gone. He and his uncle had left weeks ago. Aevar would never have let her walk alone if he’d known this.
Sig shrugged as if his presence were no more alarming than a change in the weather. “I wasn’t ready to leave yet.”
She darted a glance left and right. The path was empty. “I have work to do.”
When she sidestepped to pass him, he shifted, matching her move.
She straightened and lifted her chin. “You need to step aside.”
He chuckled, a cruel sound that sent prickles along her arms and neck.
“What’s the rush? Surely it can’t be for Aevar.
I doubt he’s even thinking of you.” He stepped closer, and Eadlyn’s breath grew shallow at the way he eyed the entire length of her like a hungry dog.
“Everyone could see how much he loved Thora. He couldn’t keep his hands off her.
You? I haven’t seen him touch you once.”
Had he been watching them?
He took another step. Too close. She had to back up to keep the distance, her heart pounding now.
His voice slid over her like cold mud. “It must be lonely being married to a man who doesn’t want you.”
Something hot sparked in Eadlyn’s chest, and she glared at him. “I am not lonely. Aevar has been nothing but kind and honorable toward me.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s been honorable. So honorable he hasn’t treated you as a wife should be treated. I can fix that.”
He reached for her.
She bolted, but his hand caught her arm and yanked her forward like she weighed nothing. Her heart lurched as she stumbled into him. His chest hit hers like a wall, solid and unmoving, the rough leather of his jerkin scraping against her palms as she shoved against him.
“You will release me right now. When Aevar finds out—”
“I’m not afraid of Aevar.”
Considering what Aevar had done to him during the competitions, he should be. “It is Jarl Runar you should fear. I am under his protection, and he is your king.”
For a moment, hesitation wavered in Sig’s eyes, but it didn’t last. The hungry look returned as he leaned in. She turned her face away from him and fought to gain space to kick him, but he laughed at her efforts.
Then came footsteps, fast and heavy.
Sig shoved her aside just before someone grabbed him from behind.
Eadlyn stumbled, catching her balance in time to see Aevar throw Sig to the ground.
A fist connected with bone. Aevar dragged Sig up by his jerkin and drove his knee into his ribs.
The breath went out of Sig in a sharp wheeze.
Before he could draw it back in, Aevar threw him against a wooden pillar with a thud.
Holding him there with one hand, Aevar yanked his long seax from his belt and pressed the blade to Sig’s throat.
“You dare touch another man’s wife?”
Sig gasped, his lips curling into a pained smile as if this were all a game to him.
Aevar’s voice dropped to a low growl, thick with fury. “I should kill you right now.”
“Do it,” Sig spat. “My uncle—”
Aevar’s hand twitched, and the knife bit. A thin red line appeared on Sig’s neck, a drop of blood trailing downward.
Eadlyn shook herself out of the shock that had frozen her to the spot.
She didn’t know what kind of trouble might come of Aevar killing Staegar’s heir, but she did not want any of them to find out.
An act like that might set the clans at odds and risk the alliance.
Staegar would seize it as the perfect excuse to go to war against Runar.
She could not let that happen, even just for the safety of Aevar and his family.
She stepped forward, trembling, and laid her hand on Aevar’s arm. Beneath her fingers, his muscles were taut with the grip he had on his knife. “Aevar, no.”
His eyes, dark and dangerous, flicked to her. In that moment, she realized she had never seen him truly angry before. Her mouth went dry, but she stood her ground. “It’s not worth killing him.”
He pinned his fiery gaze back on Sig. His hand tremored as if it took every ounce of strength to stay the blade.
She held her breath.
Then, slowly, he pulled the blade away and stepped back, reaching out his free hand to draw her back with him. Sig slumped against the pillar, blood oozing into his collar.
Aevar pointed the tip of his blade at his face, his voice ice-cold. “Come near my wife again, and I will kill you.”
Sig swiped at the blood, glancing at the stain on his fingers. His gaze flicked to Aevar, then to her. The way his attention lingered chilled her to the core. Then he shoved away from the pillar and sauntered off as if nothing had happened.
Only after he’d disappeared around the corner did Aevar turn to her. His face was a mask of fury, and his chest rose and fell in sharp breaths. He didn’t speak for a moment, just stared at her, his hand still clenched tight around the hilt of his blade.
“Did he hurt you?” The words were low and sharp.
She almost flinched. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What you saw is all he did.”
He didn’t relax. His jaw twitched, and he shot another glare in the direction Sig had gone that burned with the kind of rage that stole the moisture from her throat. What if he somehow blamed her for what had happened?
“I swear to you,” she said quickly, “I did not invite or welcome his advances.”
His eyes snapped back to hers. Something unreadable rested there, hot and dangerous and heavy with unspoken things.
She couldn’t tell what it meant. He gave a single stiff nod and slid his knife back into its sheath, the snap echoing too loudly in the stillness.
Then he gestured for her to walk ahead of him.
They moved in silence. With every step, the tension rolled off of him like a storm barely held in check.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t say a word.
And that, more than anything, weighed on her.
She didn’t know what he was thinking. Didn’t know if he was angry only at Sig, or if he reserved part of that wrath for her.
He wasn’t like her father. She knew that.
But the silence made her doubt. Just a little.
By the time they reached the longhouse, the uncertainty had stretched her nerves thin. Inga and Ranvi looked up from the hearth when they entered, and their conversation halted at the sight of them.
Inga rose. “What happened?”
“Sig is here.” Aevar spat his name like a curse.
Inga’s face changed in an instant. Her gaze darted to Eadlyn, but Aevar spoke again.
“Take care of her.” He ground the words out and turned, marching out of the hall.
Eadlyn stood frozen, afraid of what he might do. A gentle touch on her arm brought her back. Inga was watching her now.
“What did he do to you?” The whisper of ice in her voice suggested she endorsed any violent actions Aevar might take.
Eadlyn swallowed hard. “Nothing beyond grabbing me, but he threatened worse.”
Just saying it caused her stomach to lurch toward her throat. She wrapped her arms around herself as the chill crept back in.
Inga’s jaw flexed, but her voice softened. “Come. Sit by the fire.”