Chapter Eight
Homecoming
With the weight of the world on her shoulders, Noelle stayed silent once they anchored and Randvior handed her over the ship railing, straight into the arms of two strangers.
The men carried her to land and settled her amongst a crowd of people who waited eagerly to welcome them home.
A group of lavishly dressed women stared at her.
Of mixed ages, even the youngest scrutinized her from head to toe.
She breathed steadily and offered her most courageous smile. Not one returned it.
She knew they were trying to guess who and what she was to Randvior.
Noelle looked past them and focused on her father’s former maids; Deanna, Katherine, and Johanna were being brought ashore, too.
As soon as their feet hit ground, they scurried away from the men and flocked around her.
Noelle smiled radiantly and wrapped her arms around two of them, while she tried to calm the third with comforting words.
She reminded them of the small courtesies the jarl had shown them already.
Even though they had been kept apart for ten days, they appeared unharmed.
“If he wished to mistreat us, I am sure he would have done so by now. He is at liberty to do with us as he pleases. I’ve sensed no malice in his heart.”
“And who are you to judge the jarl’s heart?” a stern, but feminine voice sounded from somewhere behind.
Noelle turned and locked eyes with a middle-aged woman with slightly graying-red hair. She was statuesque and Noelle instinctively recognized her. Randvior favored his mother.
“Well, girl?” she demanded.
Noelle took a deep breath, reluctant to say anything. Unfamiliar with the customs of these people, she didn’t wish to risk offending anyone—at least not until they had been properly introduced. His mother’s liquid-steel eyes reminded her so much of her lover’s that it made her shiver.
Aud Magnusson walked toward them. He strolled casually up the pathway and stopped next to Noelle.
“You were away longer than we expected,” the older woman said coldly.
Aud shrugged. “The jarl received a vision before we departed the Orkneys, instructing him to sail to Durham.”
“Durham?”
“The English—”
“Yes, yes,” she said dismissively. “I know the blasted place, Aud. What riches could possibly lure my son there?”
Noelle crinkled her nose, displeased with the already less than favorable opinion of her homeland.
She bit her tongue, remembering what was at stake.
This was no longer about her own welfare, the maids clinging to her skirts required protection.
If she set herself at odds with Randvior’s mother, nothing would go well for them.
Aud looked around uncomfortably while the older woman kept a sharp eye on him. Finally, he faced Noelle again. “The girl …”
These men spoke truth as easily as her brother told lies. At this moment, Noelle wondered which caused more harm. Finesse, even if used sparingly, would have aided her cause much more.
Randvior’s mother opened her eyes wide with surprise. She exuded authority and conceitedness, grace, and power all at once. A formidable woman and she looked Noelle over like a head of livestock under consideration for purchase.
“She’s malnourished,” she commented unfavorably. “The color of her hair is simply unnatural, dyed I should think. So unlike the women my son typically favors. But who can keep up with a man’s passing obsessions? Once we take the shears to her head she’ll know her place in his household.”
Noelle turned abruptly and stared directly into her eyes. “You’ll have no easy time laying a finger upon my head,” she warned. “I’m quite aware of my position. My father is no commoner.”
To think she dared suggest cropping her hair. A woman’s hair is her crown of glory—cut it and I shall become as insignificant as a bondswoman. This was a cruel practice, utilized even in England, to distinguish between the classes.
Aud’s eyes darted between them. Noelle knew he was very familiar with feminine quarrels, he had three daughters.
As Lauga’s mouth dropped open, Noelle prayed a swarm of locusts would descend from heaven and fly inside, shutting her up for eternity.
“Do you know whom you address, girl?” she asked.
“There was never a question in my mind about your identity—Randvior is your son. I shall extend a courtesy you failed to show me by introducing myself. My name is, Lady Noelle Sinclair, and I am your son’s guest, not his slave.”
Her eyes became narrow slits, as gray and frigid as the North Sea. Color drained from her cheeks and she harrumphed, obviously unaccustomed to having her authority challenged. The similarities between mother and son were astounding.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I am Jarl Randvior’s mother, Lauga.”
Noelle nodded. If they could just start over, she would admit his mother deserved reverence. But if she threatened her again, Noelle was prepared to defend herself.
“I’m surprised my son bothered bringing home an English harridan. There are at least twenty women in the Trondelag more worthy of his affection.”
Aud raised an arm above his head, signaling for reinforcements.
No need. Randvior started up the footpath and the crowd turned away from the ensuing disagreement and focused exclusively on him.
Much applause sounded as he came closer.
Noelle met his eyes and smiled; he nodded and jogged the rest of the way, just in time to see his mother’s unpleasant face.
He stepped in between them, and gave Noelle a sincere look.
“Odin m? ha satt vinden i ryggen. Men hans forbannelse er p? deg p? samme tid, se tispe han sendte over vannet med deg som plager oss alle.” Lauga’s tone left little to imagination.
“Nok! Du er min mor, men jeg har tenkt ? bli viet til denne jenta, og vil ikke tolerere noen fornaermelser,” Randvior countered, stepping closer.
They exchanged more heated words before Lauga finally relented and looked away spitefully.
Randvior grabbed Noelle’s hand. “I never intended for this to happen. My mother is overly protective of me, even though I’m a grown man.”
She managed to veil her truest feelings with a thin smile.
The biting chill in the air made her teeth chatter, her fabric cloak poor protection against the rising wind.
She searched the ground, frost crowned the wilted vegetation poking through patches of ice and snow.
The wide path before them meandered up a hill, and people were walking to and from what she assumed was the direction of Randvior’s house.
More than anything, she wanted a hot bath, food, and sleep. Perhaps a night away from her lover’s amorous sexual appetite, too. It meant a chance to recover and figure out how she could deal with his antagonistic mother.
“Come,” Randvior said. He led her away, through a crowd of cheering admirers.
As they climbed to the top of the hill, she spotted the wood and stone longhouse that Randvior had so carefully described to her. It was situated in a valley, surrounded by forest and pastures. They walked down the incline and slowly approached the facade.
Ornamental stone and woodcarvings of mythical creatures graced the double-arched doorway at the entrance.
A gray stone fence demarcated the main courtyard at the front, and dozens of men were seated at tables around a huge fire pit, eating and drinking.
Once they realized their jarl had arrived, they dropped whatever they were holding and saluted him.
Randvior released Noelle’s hand and walked ahead to greet them.
One of them handed him an ale horn. He raised it ceremoniously and swallowed.
Amber liquid dripped down his beard as he smiled exuberantly, very much the barbarian she’d pictured him as in these familiar surroundings.
She had to admit, she enjoyed seeing him this way.
He offered high praise in both Norse and English.
He thanked them for guarding his lands so loyally.
The guards stood and saluted him again. Randvior reached inside his cloak and pulled out a leather coin bag.
He tossed it on top of the nearest table.
“Silver,” he said.
Randvior pulled Noelle in front of him. “See what else I have brought home.”
Catcalls and whistling erupted.
Noelle frowned. How easily he reverted back to that uncivilized nature once he was surrounded by his kinsmen.
Once the laughter and noise stopped, Randvior spoke again. “I present to you Lady Noelle Sinclair. She will be staying here as my personal guest.”
Several men expressed their approval and offered their own titles and names. One name caught her attention, Rafael Long-foot. She looked at his feet. Completely normal. And Rafael seemed much too Spanish for a Norseman. Noelle couldn’t help but smile at their adolescent behavior. Buffoons.
Randvior continued, this time in Norse. She didn’t understand a word. Judging by the serious looks on his men’s faces, it must have been along the lines of She’s mine. Keep your bloody hands off her. But he had only referred to her as a guest.
Formalities complete, he escorted Noelle inside.
The great hall was more spacious and well-appointed than she had expected.
Rectangular in shape, it boasted the largest hearth and finest mantelpiece she’d ever seen.
Along the north wall was a raised stage and throne.
A less imposing chair stood next to Randvior’s seat and she wondered if one day she would occupy it.
Her eyes slipped back to the over-sized throne.
Only kings sit on thrones. Just who is this man?