Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I t did not surprise Magnus to see that Agnes’ meagre possessions had been removed by the time he got back home that night. After refusing his offer of marriage, she would have felt uncomfortable sleeping in his hut. In his bed.
In his arms.
He told himself it was for the best, as he might have begged her to reconsider her answer if he’d seen her and the last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself.
Where had she gone? He didn’t think she would have left the village, not this late in the day. At least he hoped she had not. Traveling alone at night was too dangerous for a woman on her own. He forced himself to calm. Agnes was sensible, not prone to inconsiderate actions, so she would have known not to attempt such folly. Perhaps she was with Ingrid. The two of them had become very close in a short time.
Yes, he reflected bitterly, but sometimes, a few days were all the time you needed to know who mattered to you. He’d not known her for longer than Ingrid had and yet it had been enough to convince him she could be the one giving meaning to his life.
As soon as he lay down on the pallet her scent hit him, reminding him she had spent a few nights by his side and could have spent many more had she accepted his offer of marriage. With a cry of rage he stood up and hurled the furs against the door. The soft material did not make for a satisfying impact so he sent the earthenware pitcher crashing against the wall instead, where it splintered in a thousand pieces. Much better. His mood darker than it had ever been, Magnus stormed to the forge, where he settled for the night in the back room. The cloth on the pallet smelled of male sweat, courtesy of Sven’s recent visit. Not ideal, but anything was better than being bathed in Agnes’ floral bouquet.
He did not want to dream of her.
The next day he did not get out of bed. With no small amount of derision, he reflected that he now understood what Bjorn had meant about having no reason to get up. For the first time in his life he remained where he was, only getting up to see to his needs and grab a loaf of bread he ate while staring at the ceiling.
The following morning, he forced himself to get up. He refused to become an even more pathetic figure than he already was. And perhaps if he behaved as he normally did, eventually he would heal.
One could only hope.
He started as he did every day, by stoking his furnace. It should have been the work of a moment, but for the first time since he’d taken over the forge, the flames refused to cooperate. What an apt, if dispiriting image that was. He was coaxing the fire back to life in the same way he was trying to breathe some life into his empty soul by pretending everything was normal.
He pressed on the bellows with a new determination. He might not be able to force Agnes or anyone to be with him, but he could bloody well make some wood catch on fire as it was supposed to.
Once he’d finally imposed his will on the stubborn flames, Sigurd’s wife Frigyth walked into the forge, her face wreathed in smiles. His own mood darkened further. How could anyone be happy right now? Though it was a gorgeous sunny day, it seemed to him that everything was grey. In a hope to pound some of the frustration and misery out of him, he’d decided to start on the gate that had been commissioned the day before Agnes’ arrival. In normal circumstances he would have relished the challenging the task represented, but after meeting her, he had lacked the motivation and the time for such a major undertaking. In the evening he’d only wanted to rush out of the forge and be with her. Well, he had time now, and he badly needed to hit at something.
If he completed the gate, at least one good thing might come out of this whole mess.
“Good morning, Magnus,” Frigyth said, ignoring the grunt he’d given her as a greeting.
“Did Sigurd send you to get his nails? I’m sorry, they’re not quite ready yet.” Damnation, he’d only just remembered about that particular commission. Really, where had his mind gone? The answer hit him square in the chest. To the woman who’d stolen his heart.
“No. I came to invite you to a wedding.”
A wedding?
He almost dropped the piece of metal from his tongs. Were the gods intent on torturing him, aided by a petite, friendly Saxon? He didn’t want to hear about weddings right now, when he’d only just been forced to accept that he would never get anyone to agree to marry him. Could this day get any worse? The last thing he needed to make his humiliation complete was for Sven to walk into the room and announce that he’d happened to be in the clearing the day before and had heard Agnes refuse him.
For the first time in his life, he might well punch his brother.
“Who’s getting married then?” he growled, thinking back to how Agnes had once called him wild. Right now, he felt positively feral. In truth he didn’t care about the wedding, but he had to say something.
“Bjorn and my sister.” Frigyth laughed. “I don’t think it will surprise you.”
“No,” he said, since that was obviously what was expected of him. But it did surprise him. Hadn’t Bjorn told him only the day before that the Saxon had refused his offer of marriage? Apparently, she had changed her mind.
He sighed. It seemed that Bjorn was about to get his dearest wish granted. Magnus did not begrudge the man his happiness but all the same, his guts felt as if he’d been forced to swallow a dozen of his sharpest nails. Was he the only one destined to be left behind?
“So, can you come this afternoon?” Frigyth looked at him curiously, as if she’d understood what he was thinking about.
“This afternoon?” My, that was quick work. There was only one explanation for the haste. The woman had been head over heels in love with Bjorn all the time as well and had only refused him for a reason that had nothing to do with him. Women. Did they enjoy torturing men?
“Yes. They don’t want to wait another moment.”
Magnus sighed again and threw his hammer on the workbench, utterly defeated. He wouldn’t be making a gate today either. It seemed he’d been right, and the gods were conspiring against him.
“Yes. Of course I will be there.”
Not to see Agnes, he told himself sternly, but because more than ever, he needed to feel he was part of the community. After all, it was the only way to guarantee he did not end up all alone.
Seeing the love in Bjorn and Dunne’s eyes as they exchanged their vows would have made everyone cry, Agnes told herself to justify the need to wipe at her eyes. It seemed that, with the right man, marriage did not have to be the prison she had always likened it to. She had no doubt Bjorn would do nothing to cause his new wife a moment’s displeasure. He would be an attentive husband, and a loving father, nothing like her own had been. Not only would he not mind Dunne bearing him girls, but before the ceremony he had adopted Dawn, the daughter she’d had from her previous union, with as much enthusiasm as if she had been born of his loins.
The new family would be happy together, that was certain.
Agnes made her way to village square, and the banquet awaiting them, in a pensive mood. Her lifelong convictions had taken a serious beating this afternoon and she wasn’t sure how to recover.
Once the feast was over and the couples started dancing, Ingrid came to find her, a wistful expression on her face. She sat down on the stool next to her and sighed.
“My big brother married. I can’t believe it.” She sounded rather emotional, and perhaps slightly tipsy after having indulged in a healthy dose of mead during the meal. Linking arms with her, she placed her head over her shoulder. “I wish our parents had been here to see this.”
Agnes knew the two Danes had recently died in a tragic accident so she could only agree. “They would have been happy to see their son marry the love of his life.”
Because that was what was happening. It had not taken her long to understand that the real reason Bjorn had refused her father’s suggestion that the two of them marry was that he was in love with another Saxon woman. He’d told her his refusal had nothing to do with her, and he hadn’t lied. It had been motivated by his desire to be with Dunne.
“Yes, I have no doubt he’ll be happy with Dunne, and her little girl,” Ingrid said on another sigh. “Apparently, he’s only ever had eyes for her, ever since they met four years ago. Oh, forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not?” It was true. Anyone could see the two of them were meant for each other, even if Dunne had fought the evidence at first.
“Because I know you were hoping to marry Bjorn. And I’ll admit I wanted you to as well.” She made a face. “We would have been sisters then, not just friends. It would have been perfect. We get on so well, don’t you think?”
They did, but Agnes had to rectify her friend’s impression. She had never hoped to marry Bjorn. Her father had wanted to force him into the match for his own benefit, which was not the same at all. But the Norseman had told her in no uncertain terms he would not agree to it. It was true Agnes had felt the sting of rejection at first, because she had not known his feelings for Dunne at the time. The thought had crossed her mind that if she had to marry against her will, she could do worse than Bjorn, who was not only stunning to look at but protective and kind as well. Such a man would have made a good husband for anyone, and she might have been able to conquer her fears for him.
However, she had quickly seen that his heart only belonged to one woman, and that woman was not her. It had simply not been meant to be, and had only comforted her in the notion that marriage was not for her.
“That’s not quite what I?—”
The words dried on Agnes’ lips when she spotted Magnus standing at the end of the table, a tankard of ale in his hand. He was staring at her, his eyes ablaze with such fury that it reminded her of the fire he stoked every morning in his forge. How she had missed him the last two nights! Waking up alone and cold had made her see what her existence would be like on her own. True, she wouldn’t have to worry about her health or fear bad treatment if she never married, but she wouldn’t feel any joy either, she wouldn’t have anything to look forward to when she woke up in the morning and no one to cuddle up next to at night.
At the moment, it seemed like a bad bargain.
Watching Magnus at his work, making him laugh, nestling into his warmth as they lay together in bed had been simple pleasures she was not sure she could do without.
It had broken her heart to refuse his offer, and possibly also his. Up until then she had not thought he would, or could, return her budding feelings for him. But it seemed she had been wrong. The look in his eyes when she had refused him had been caused by more than bruised pride.
Was that why he was glowering at her right now? Because he was remembering the pain she had caused him? Unfortunately, it might well be. She had been rather blunt, and had fled before she’d offered him any explanation. Then blood froze in her veins when she realized there was another explanation for his anger. He had heard what Ingrid had said. And he now thought she was in love with Bjorn and had been hoping to marry him. He would think that was why she had refused his offer of marriage the other day, because she had her eyes set on someone else.
Her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet. This was not the impression she wanted to give, because it was not true. She didn’t want anyone else, never had, and possibly never would. The only man she would consider marrying was looking at her as he would to an enemy.
She stood up, intent on setting the record straight. They could not part on a misunderstanding. “Magnus?—”
Before she could say anything, he slammed the tankard on the table and stormed in the direction of the forge.
“Will you excuse me?” Agnes shouted to Ingrid, who was asking what could possibly require her attention when they were in the middle of a conversation. But she didn’t have time to answer the question.
She had a furious blacksmith to soothe.