Chapter Eight #3
“You are wrong about the girl,” Randvior spat, holding a glass of wine in one hand, banging the other on the table.
Lauga sat next to him, questioning him at every turn. She’d spoken no kind words or said anything useful from the moment he’d arrived home. If he mentioned Noelle, she refused to acknowledge her as anything more than a slave, and continuously referred to her as an English whore.
“If you will not send her away,” Lauga said, “relieve her of that English pride before she grows too proud to serve you.”
“Silence!” He threw the goblet across the room.
It hit the back wall and shattered. “You’re twisting words.
That tongue is as destructive as a battering ram.
I’ve been home for only five hours and you’ve managed to set this household onto a path of chaos.
The girl stays. It is not open for discussion. ”
From his seat at the high table, he could oversee all the activities going on in the hall.
Occasionally, people gazed in their direction.
Public arguments with his mother weren’t so unusual—only the current topic.
Lauga despised the English. Randvior hoped she only needed some time to adjust to the idea of having Noelle around.
“Sleep with her then,” she said, rising quickly. “Bed her until your prick rots off.”
He slammed two fists on the table. “Sit down, now!”
Lauga shook her head. “I am not the one that turned this wonderful homecoming into a funeral feast. What would your father say if he knew you brought a Saxon home and deposited her in the most comfortable rooms in your house as if she were your own wife?”
“I said sit down.”
She flung herself into the chair.
“I’m sure my sire would congratulate me, considering our family’s own history. There seems to be an undeniable attraction between Norse and English that spans generations.” He instantly regretted dredging up old memories. But his mother’s wicked tongue sent him into a rage.
Her face burned.
“Go ahead,” she said venomously. “Make this an occasion to shame me in front of our people.” She stood again, sliding her chair back.
“I will not be the target of your spite, Randvior. Furthermore, my dearest flesh and blood, I won’t allow you to make the same mistake your father did.
Your loins are not the center of the universe—think with your head, not your cock.
The choices you make today may have serious consequences for all of us tomorrow. ”
He tried to wrap his head around the situation.
She spoke some truth. The immeasurable damage inflicted upon his family after his father returned from a raid with a young English woman at his side nearly destroyed his family.
His sire publicly declared the girl his mistress.
A perfectly legal arrangement, but an immensely stupid risk for a man married to a woman of such renown.
Within three weeks living under the same roof, Lauga had stabbed her to death.
According to the opinion of the Thing, the legal assembly that reviewed such cases, her action was completely justifiable. A wife has the right to defend her honorable position in her husband’s household.
“I have no wife,” he reminded her. “I am entitled to marry whomever I damn well please. I am lord over these lands, not some adolescent who needs his mother’s permission to go here or there.”
Lauga nodded. “And I’m your mother, entitled to choose an appropriate bride for my only son. Is it not a tradition in these lands?”
Yes, he thought, but merely a tradition. The gods have willed this girl on me … “Such traditions are broken all the time,” he said, lowering his head. “I’m of a mind to offer her a marriage contract.” For the first time in his life he cared deeply enough about a woman to worry about her future.
Lauga’s face lighted. “You’ve claimed her virginity and feel responsible? Is that what this is about?”
“Aye.”
“You don’t have to marry her. Find another man for her. She’ll be welcomed by anyone you choose. Preserve our bloodline, Randvior. Don’t let it be polluted by Saxon blood. I will gladly help you. She’s a spirited young woman and will easily attract a bevy of eager warriors. Imagine how much gold—”
His eyes opened at the suggestion of finding her a husband. He’d kill anyone who laid a bloody finger on her. She belonged to him. “Either respect my decision or leave my house until you’ve had sufficient time to change your mind.”
He had enough to contend with at the moment—repairing ships, overseeing the winter slaughter and stocking of his storehouses, settling civil cases, and now Noelle.
Had his mother lost control of her senses?
No woman had any right to make unreasonable demands of any man.
Even if it was tradition for a mother to help select her son’s bride, it wasn’t written in stone.
Odin commanded his hands and the girl his body. Perhaps even his heart.
He left Lauga standing alone and exited the hall. The majority of his men were still unloading merchandise from the ships. He had a list of tasks he intended to oversee before deep winter set in. He was already at a disadvantage because he arrived home so late in the season and needed to catch up.
Repairs to the vessels were the most pressing issue.
His ships were housed in four buildings near the river over winter.
He needed to get them into dry storage as soon as possible.
One vessel would stay anchored for defensive purposes.
Although longships were designed to withstand cold, the wood could warp or the hull could crack if temperatures dropped too low for long periods of time. They needed to treat the wood.
He followed the pathway to the riverfront.
Only enough time left in the day to coordinate with his men, inspect the storage buildings, and return to the hall for the homecoming feast. Regardless of his state of mind, the feast must go on.
Odin deserved his gratitude. The gods delivered him safely home again—wealthier, mightier, and perhaps much happier.