Chapter Four #2
As soon as they opened the doors, he would be overwhelmed and she would order him killed, regardless of whether they were married or not.
‘Where is the Gothi?’ Agnar demanded, climbing down the hay cart and landing with a heavy thud beside her. ‘We need to be married before we open the doors.’
‘Here!’ said a woman, who was dressed in the many-feathered cloak of a Gothi. She carried a staff decorated with shells and animal bones. She didn’t appear frightened, so she must be a part of his war band, or at least had agreed to this voyage and plan.
Skadi scowled at her bad temperedly and placed Astra, who’d been trembling beneath her arm, back into Brenna’s care.
‘What kind of Gothi allows a forced marriage to take place?’ Skadi grumbled at the woman, who shrugged in response.
‘A well-paid one… Besides, is this forced, or did you not agree to it?’
Skadi cursed beneath her breath, but the Gothi’s smug smile was answer enough. An unwelcome marriage was different to a forced one and they were both old enough to realise the difference, which was nothing to do with morals and more to do with how other men might judge it.
Skadi turned to face Brenna and Astra. ‘Keep hold of her and run at the first sign of trouble,’ she said quietly in Brenna’s ear as she hugged her, in what she hoped appeared to be a comforting embrace.
Brenna said nothing, understanding the need for secrecy. Her friend had helped bring Astra into the world and she would gladly defend her to the death, as she’d already proven. Skadi was grateful to have such a friend.
Agnar continued to stare at her, obviously growing impatient, but being too proud to demand she join him. Skadi walked slowly to the centre of the hall and stood opposite him in front of the Gothi, who held out her staff in preparation for the ceremony.
A cold draught whispered against her bare legs. Suddenly self-conscious, she crossed her arms over her chest to cover the outline of her nipples and tried to appear as dignified as she could despite the drying blood on her leg, and the fact that she wore so little and was beginning to shiver.
Agnar stared at her for a moment, as if irritated by the sight of her. Then he tossed back the wolf’s head that snarled above his eyes with a jerk and quickly untied and removed his wolfskin cloak with a sweep of his muscular arms.
He draped it around her shoulders before she had time to refuse.
The musk of wolf and man enveloped her and, although she welcomed the warmth and cover, she felt uncomfortable wearing it.
Thankfully, he’d not placed the beast’s head on top of her own.
She wasn’t sure how she would feel about wearing it like that—it would be as if he owned her, had claimed her life, as he had the wolf’s.
Her discomfort was only increased when he demanded, ‘Give me your hand.’
No kindness or compassion, but then she had never expected any, so she held out her hand, allowing her anger and resentment to show in her expression. ‘I warn you now, Agnar. I may promise to be your wife and Queen. But I will not protect you from Sven.’
Not again.
Despite his obvious resentment towards her, she had protected him all those years ago. Heimdall would have happily killed the boy who dared demand that he return his bride—and Sven would have welcomed it as well. It had been well known even then that he felt no loyalty or love for his half-brother.
Agnar raised a brow in amusement, then took her hand in his own in a hard grip as if he were afraid she would try to shake him off. ‘I do not expect you to protect me from our enemies… That is my duty.’
She snorted at that. ‘Sven is your enemy, not mine.’
Agnar shook his head with a derisive snort, but didn’t answer her. Turning towards the Gothi, he snapped, ‘Get on with it!’
The Gothi began the ceremony, shaking her staff and calling upon the gods and ancestors to witness the union of their marriage.
Vali appeared at Skadi’s side and held out Thrudheim’s ancestral sword.
He must have picked it up off the floor in the King’s chamber.
She took it from him with a heavy heart and offered it to Agnar, the blade flat and resting on the palms of her hands.
‘The sword of Thrudheim. It has been in my family for seven generations. Each one of them was a wise and mighty king.’ She glared at him over the steel, the runes etched down its centre glistening with firelight. ‘Do not be the first to lose it.’
Agnar gripped the sword lightly with both hands and met her eyes. ‘I have no ancestral sword to give in exchange. But this will always be safe in my possession.’ He took it from her and her heart ached to let it go.
After taking his sword from its sheath and replacing it with the sword of Thrudheim, he removed his mother’s ring and took the red woollen cord offered by the Gothi. Threading the cord through his mother’s ring, he pushed it on to her finger—annoyingly it fit perfectly.
Another ring was produced, this time a masculine version that looked as if it had been crafted to match his mother’s.
Agnar offered it to Skadi and with a roll of her eyes at this ridiculous pretence of ceremony, she threaded it through the same red woollen cord and pushed it on to Agnar’s calloused finger.
The Gothi grabbed both their hands and pushed them together palm against palm.
The two pieces of red woven cord dangled down between them.
Chanting an ancient prayer, the Gothi began to wrap the wool around their pressed hands.
‘Agnar Bjornsson, you wed and honour the lady of this hall. You will share your wealth with her and shield her back. Faithfully, you will always honour her with your words and actions.’
She then looked to Skadi, who had heard these vows before and had not liked them the first time.
‘Skadi Friggsdottir, Queen of Thrudheim. You bow your crown and sword to your new King. You will obey his commands and share his bed. Faithfully, you will strive to give him happiness with your words and actions. Give me your oaths!’ the Gothi demanded.
With one last glare at her new husband, Skadi said between gritted teeth. ‘I give you my oath…that I will try, Your Highness.’
Agnar’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed, but he answered clearly, ‘I give you my oath, that I will also try, my Queen.’
The Gothi looked between them, obviously wondering if these aggressive and subjective oaths were actually binding in the eyes of the gods. But she must have decided they were, because she banged her staff loudly on the floor and shouted, ‘The bond is woven. You are bound together in marriage!’
Their hands parted, Skadi’s palm burning as if she’d spilled hot oil on it for the second time that night. The cord snapped and the scarlet threads fell away in a clumsy tangle that she had to shake off.
Agnar walked away, appearing not to care about her reaction.
After all it was only a symbolic ceremony—the threads no longer mattered once the words had been said.
Grimly Skadi thought to herself that even the words didn’t matter.
Once Heimdall had made his oath and become King, things had changed between them.
She’d never regretted her choice, but she had never been particularly happy with it either.
At least this marriage had begun honestly, in an odd sort of way.
‘I will send the signal now,’ Agnar said to a nearby man, who hurriedly pulled out a large metal horn from his pack, the type used in battles to signal charges and retreats.
Agnar took it from the man, and with a deep breath pushed it against his lips and raised his head, bellowing out a deep and rich sound that carried up out of the smoke hole and into the dawn above.
Why had he done that? Was it a signal to the outside town that their marriage was complete? But why would the people care? They were waiting for the doors to open, and the release of their Queen.
Who was the signal for?
The distant sound of an answering horn filtered down from the mountain above, followed shortly by several fainter blasts. As if they were being made on the other side of the island, or out at sea.
Skadi shivered, despite the warmth of dawn shining down from the smoke hole above.
Pink and amber clouds drifted across the sky and a raven swooped into the opening.
It perched on one of the rafters, peering down at her curiously like one of Odin’s messengers, reminding her that the Norns had already woven her fate before she’d even taken her first breath.
She looked to her new husband.
Perhaps her fate would be to kill him, or…perhaps they were destined to be together?
She flinched at the thought.
Agnar lowered the horn and looked at her, a slight curl to his upper lip—the beast’s attempt at a smile. ‘My army is coming.’