Chapter 24
RASHA
It snows worse than any storm I’ve seen this year, piling in drifts up the side of the cabin. Opening the door to check on the animals is a feat all by itself.
I work on sewing myself some decent pants and practice holding the amulet to grow more comfortable in allowing the magic to flow through me without using the bow.
We sleep soundly beside each other for a few nights without any more than a lingering kiss.
At the end of the first week, I wake up with blood staining my thighs and slip out of bed.
“Where are you going? I can hear the wind in my dreams,” Shaw sleepily groans.
“I have to get some washing done,” I tell him and stand, which is naturally the wrong move. Blood runs down my leg, and embarrassment flares as I try to find a coat long enough to cover myself.
“What are you doing?” He gathers the pillow under his chin to look at me.
Aware my messy hair is clinging to my sweaty face, I dart out, “I have to go.” Taking the nearest rag I can find, I clean my leg and hold it to stop the flow from making more of a mess.
“Rasha?” Shaw isn’t wearing a shirt when he comes out of the bedroom to find me tearing apart a second rag. He closes his mouth when he sees the trickle of blood that won’t quit decorating my white skin and walks past me to where he keeps his herbs.
“It’s okay to bleed. It makes you a woman,” he says. Absurdly, I want to cry.
“This means a month has passed since Jorvik and I prepared to leave for Yule.”
“Sounds about right. That gives us less than two months of winter to find the reindeer before the pass thaws.” He counts the days of a moon cycle under his breath while muddling herbs in a stone mortar.
“Go back to the warm bed.” He picks up one of the rags I furiously shredded.
I ignore him and watch instead as he spoons the herbs onto the cloth.
“You can’t be serious. Why would you let me back in your bed?” I ask, and he leaves the kitchen table to walk me to the room. I try to fold over the blanket where I’ve bleed through the sheets, but he stops me and kisses my knuckles.
“What do you do when you bleed? Hide?” he asks. I sit, folding the clean rag nicely for myself.
“I don’t tell anyone when I bleed. I usually stay in the women’s longhouse, or if I am out on a hunt, I hide it.
” I feel about an inch tall now that the words have left my lips.
Jorvik’s whole plan was to use my womb to gain status.
He was prepared to flaunt my dependable cycle, but here I am cowering.
Shaw tucks my hair behind my ears and gently pushes my shoulders so I lay back in the warm pillows.
“Can I?”
I nod, curiously watching as he lifts my tunic and spreads the herb-coated cloth over my abdomen. “I never would have taken you for a man who dotes on someone.” I attempt to break the awkward silence.
“I’m sure you can return the favor in time.
” His hands work over my stomach, making me want to return the favor sooner rather than later.
Deliberately, he massages my hips until my lower spine releases the taut stress of the past week.
I melt into the bed as Shaw kisses my forehead and leaves for a moment, only to come back with hot water in a bowl, fresh rags, and cups of breakfast tea.
“I have a sister and a mother,” he starts to say, and I sit up on my elbows. Wrapping my stomach in the hot, steamy cloth makes the swollen ache disappear.
“They live with your brother?” I gobble up the tiny morsel of information.
“My brothers, yes. Vidarr is a twin. I have two younger brothers and my sister. I wonder what my sister looks like sometimes. If she has grown into a woman like you, or if she’s taken up a craft.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. I can hear the trepidation in your voice, Shaw. Time heals,” I assure him, even though I don’t know if I am being truthful.
“Would it heal your relationship with Jorvik? Because I’m still ready to kill him,” he says, and I laugh. Killing something would be terribly wonderful right now.
“If Jorvik could see reason and want to make amends or understand what I want in life, then sure, I’d forgive him. But Shaw,” I take his shoulders so he looks at me from the bedside, “you can be forgiven by your family too.”
He crawls into the bed next to me, passing me a cup of steaming tea, and we listen to the wind gusts rattling in between the long planks of wood.
“If the snow lets up this afternoon, I’ll fire up the forge.
” He is quick to change the subject past our family troubles.
I haven’t thought much about Jorvik the past few days or the women.
The panic that bursts through my body thinking about them is too great.
Coming to terms with relearning Skadi’s history is challenging enough.
I have her bow and am learning to use it. I take a sip of the pungent tea.
We lay in bed throughout the morning, talking about all sorts of things, including our childhoods. From the first hunt we ever went all the way to the the worst injury we ever had. His intrigue prompts me to lift my tunic and show him the crescent scar over my ribs, left by a grumpy bear.
His eyes become a decadent swirl of gold and hazel as I pause with half my body exposed. His finger traces the thin white line under my breast.
“Did you kill it in the end?” Shaw asks.
Forcing cold air through my nose, I answer, “Yes, I wasn’t alone though. We hunted in a group. Mostly women and a few men.”
He takes the tunic and lowers it over my body, but the effects of being so close and comfortable have already taken hold. My nipples are hard peaks, and the amulet resting on the chain is pulsing heat over my skin. Shaw’s hand drifts down my stomach to peel the now dry rags away.
“Shaw.” I say his name for no reason. I have no idea if I am telling him I want more or less. Kissing my stomach so gently, he laughs against my skin and throws his arm around my waist to hold me tight.
“You’re very flighty today. Tell me if I’ve done something to make you feel ashamed?” He rests his chin in between my breasts. His solid, heavy body over mine is too nice, too sweet, and it makes me overthink what he truly wants.
“Let’s get up before we lose a whole day of practice.” I run my hands down his muscular back.
“There’s plenty a virgin could practice in a bed.” He actually growls this time, and it ignites my core to the point of throbbing.
“Don’t tempt me,” I murmur as he moves to accommodate his pants around his erection.
Not saying a word, he grabs clothes and walks out, giving me a moment to prepare myself for the day.
Lately, I’ve been fighting the urge to fall for him – to fall for wanting more than my life in the clan.
I know Shaw is not of this realm. What if I cannot follow him to his home?
What if making the last two links to connect the chain takes him away from me?
While we eat, Shaw lets the kiln heat. When the wind takes a respite from howling through the forest, we walk outside to his forge. He pulls folding wooden walls around the back half of the space to protect us from the snow, thrilling the goats with the new warmth billowing up and around the forge.
“This is all the ore I have left. We will have to go into the mountains to get more when we can travel.” He hands me the same pouch he had in Harald’s village, and I drop the tiny pieces of silver and gold into my palm.
“To make a link, you have to willingly give something of yourself,” he instructs.
I take a small knife out of its sheath. “Like my blood?” Asking makes him set his long tools down and walk over to where I am at the workbench.
“What do you want to give? What is uniquely yours that I would recognize anywhere?” he asks as I watch his eyes wander over my braided, red hair.
Loosening the tie on the end, I unwind the layers of the red plait and take a chunk from the bottom.
The knife is razor sharp, cutting through a section no bigger than the length of my thumb without any effort, and I hand him the red lock.
“Good choice.” He adds it to the crucible along with the ore. The amulet is singing against my chest, like it knows the ritual is beginning without being told. Taking the necklace off, I open the top and hold it out for Shaw.
“That is our blood, Rasha. Are you sure?” He holds the open crucible over the smoldering fire so the contents begin breaking down.
“I know it belongs in the link. I can feel it.”
“Yes, but do you want to accept that feeling? Every time we use the bond, it strengthens it.”
“I do.” I take a small iron spoon to ladle half of our blood into the crucible. The colors of my red hair, the silver and gold ore, and the mixed blood from the amulet combine, melting into a swirling current.
My blood simmers, urging my body onward through the ritual. I take a pair of gloves to protect my hands, but the unwavering sound of the flames spurs me to set them down. Holding my hand over the blurry edges of the fire, I wait for pain to come, but it doesn’t.
“It’s already taking effect.” Shaw glances at me, tempting fate over the fire. “Put on the gloves in case you lose focus for a moment. I’d rather you not singe off your skin.”
I put the gloves on, following his instructions on how to turn the crucible so it melts evenly. We work together to keep the forge burning hot and prepare the clay mold for the cast.
Shaw tells me all the ways to make a normal sword or a knife, which I find endearing. Instead of telling me to clean up after him or stay out of his way like men I’ve worked with before, Shaw is eager to teach me.
“What makes the weapons I sell to Harald better than those made in the village is that I use animal bones to give the smelt every possible advantage when extracting metal from the ore. Honoring the animal in the ritual binds its strength to the metal.”
“Does Harald know?” I ask, happy that Shaw is growing more comfortable talking.
“No one knows. That is one reason why I live alone, but still make a profit. I don’t spill my secrets.” He nudges me with his elbow. We set the tools deep inside the molten hot kiln and step back.
“But you’ve told me several.” I slip the gloves off.
“I promised trust. And you’ve done nothing but given me yours, so it’s time I put my faith in you,” Shaw says. The gravity of what he’s saying clings to the magic surrounding the ritual.
While we wait, he takes several long pieces of unfinished metal and shows me how to draw them out after a quench and bend them with a hammer to fit around a shield. I am in awe at how he knows what each weapon needs to be strong and sharp.
“Can you teach me how to do this?” I ask, after we’ve poured the bright yellow liquid from the ritual crucible into the link mold during, what he calls, the cast.
“Yes. Blacksmithing and decorating, or goldsmithing, are two different things. Or are you asking about learning to write?” He points out rune labels he’s etched into the table to show the status of different weapons he’s crafting.
“Jorvik made sure I had no ability to speak for myself or sign anything. That’s why he kept ink out of my reach and parchment locked away.” I touch the pretty details on a sword made for a man who must have paid Shaw handsomely.
“Here” – Shaw hands me a tiny tool with a sharp smoldering blade on one side – “you can’t mess up.
Draw what comes to mind and practice holding the knife like this.
” He takes my thumb and wraps it around the slender tool.
Holding it tightly between it and my pointer finger, he guides my hand over a blazing hot loop that will be a hand guard.
My lines are wobbly at first as I try to create the key shapes for the majority of our rune language.
It’s easier than I imagined to sink the little blade into the metal, and my confidence grows.
Shaw stands beside me with unending patience, showing me how to use the fat blade versus the pointy tip to draw the bends in the letters and make a border to accentuate my single word.
“Not bad for one day of practice. I can teach you to read if you’d like,” he says, putting tools away and blowing warm air into his cold hands. We’ve been out here for hours.
“What about the link?” I wrap my hands around the hot clay to defrost my fingertips. The snow picks back up as the afternoon wanes, and deep-purple snow clouds block out any visible stars.
“We can bring it inside for now,” he recommends, and I scoop up the mold, carrying it inside where the cabin is warm and cozy. Closing up barrels and feeding the goats on his way, Shaw follows me inside and takes off his heavy fur coat.
“Thank you for today.” I brace myself on my tiptoes to give him a kiss. We smell like embers and smoke as he wraps his arms up my back, under my tunic. My lips part, and our kiss deepens. His rough fingers graze over my skin, buckling my knees in the best way.
“Rasha,” his voice trembles against my mouth, and I fist his shirt to keep him close. “The magic of our blood mixing with the elements you provided is making you feel more.”
“I’ve felt like this for days,” I murmur. Slipping my hands under his shirt, I need to feel his skin against mine, and I pull the sleeves off his shoulders. My lips trail over the broken, blue lines of his tattoo.
“We need to go to the caves when you stop bleeding.” He moves me away so he can kiss down my neck.
“If we stay in the same bed tonight, I don’t know if I can keep my hands to myself,” I whimper as he looks at me with pure depravity in his eyes.
“The alternative is that we sleep apart, and I can’t have that.” He pulls me close again. “You must be starving for more than the taste of my skin?”
“I am hungry.” I giggle as he picks me up, sets me down on the kitchen table, and begins pulling things out to prepare dinner. The clay mold sits on the floor by the hearth, each piece of our bond solidifying little by little as the link cools.