Chapter 1
The smell was different to the one Cwenthryth was used to.
Dried herbs, smoked meat, metal. It was clean and earthy, nothing like the noxious fumes she had never gotten accustomed to in town.
The furs under her were also nothing like the old ones she had on her pallet.
These were soft and piled high, creating a cocoon around her.
And the noise… Or rather, the lack of noise, was surprising.
No merchant was shouting to passersby to encourage them to buy his wares, no carts were navigating the narrow, mud-splattered street, no children were screaming as they chased one another around the market square.
The only thing she could hear were the creaking of a chain, as if someone was drawing water from a well, and the distant babble of a stream.
Where was she? Cwenthryth blinked a few times, fighting bone-deep fatigue, and opened her eyes, determined to find out.
Her gaze landed on two well-worn leather boots, indicating that someone was standing by the fur pallet where she was lying.
A man, judging from his attire. Her heart skipped a beat, an automatic reaction, but she quickly saw that it was not Godfrid. Who then?
She turned her head up to look at his face.
Oh, lord.
Towering above her was the tallest, most imposing man she had ever seen.
No one she knew looked half as formidable.
She had no idea who he might be. And yet she had the impression that she had seen him before.
Where? He gave a grunt low in his throat and everything came back to her at the sound of his displeasure.
Yes. Of course. Steinar, the Norseman she had come to see.
Astrid’s brother, who was in need of someone to look after his sons.
Except...except that she now knew he was not who she’d been told he was, and he clearly didn’t wish to have anything to do with her.
There would be no help coming from him, no refuge to be found in this hut that smelled so good.
No escape.
Cwenthryth started to cry. It was not a storm of tears, not a desperate attack of sobs, not a ploy meant to soften Steinar up or anything of the sort.
She could tell it was useless and would likely not make her feel any better but it was inevitable.
Tears simply started to fall down her cheeks, as unstoppable as if her body had been too full of them and they needed to get out.
She made no move to wipe them away, knowing more would simply spill free if she did.
She was in a desperate situation. Thinking that Steinar would take her in had been a fragile hope, but at least it had given her the courage to leave a house where life had become unbearable.
But now she was told he was not who she’d thought he was, and he didn’t need her.
Worse, if what she had seen earlier was any indication, he wasn’t prepared to offer his help.
So where should she go? What should she do?
There was no one else she could think of.
She had taken the first step toward freedom, only to stumble on the second.
“Are you in pain?” he asked her, his voice as gruff as it had been earlier.
Cwenthryth almost smiled at the question. No doubt he meant physical pain. In which case the answer was yes, a little. It was to be expected after what she had gone through, she supposed. But it was nothing compared to the anguish twisting her guts.
“No,” she lied.
“Well, then, if you’re not in pain, I will ask you to leave.”
Of course. Why would the man keep a stranger in his home when his wife had just died?
Why would he want to help her, when she was not his responsibility?
Still, the bluntness was a shock. She could have done with some compassion at this time, or even simple patience.
But the man seemed immune to such feelings.
He was staring at her through eyes as blue as ice, and he had not made the least effort to lower himself down while he talked, instead choosing to loom over her like one of those great Norse gods she had heard about.
Which one was the one who considered humans like worms, barely worth his notice?
Loki? Thor? She didn’t remember, and perhaps all of them did that.
In any case, she imagined that those fierce gods looked exactly like this tower of strength, crowned with golden hair braided into intricate plaits.
Awe-inspiring, unnaturally strong.
Remote.
“I’m sorry, it’s just a bad moment for me,” he added, taking her by surprise. Oh. Perhaps the man was capable of feeling compassion after all. But if he was not going to act on it, then it was of no use to her.
“I understand.”
And she truly did.
If he had just lost his wife, it was indeed a bad moment for her to come knocking at his door.
But the problem was, she couldn’t think of any other option.
Her friend Eahlswith would gladly have welcomed her in, but she lived in town, on the other side of the market square.
In other words, far too close to her home and the man living in it for it to be safe.
Cwenthryth had never been the kind to surround herself with dozens of people, and the years spent looking after her ailing father had ensured that the few friends she’d managed to retain from childhood had drifted away from her.
And of course, living the life of a recluse, she didn’t know anyone outside of town.
Seeking refuge at the Norsemen village had been her only recourse.
And it had failed.
Once Cwenthryth had managed to stand up, she felt her legs about to buckle from under her, which reminded her she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning.
Dare she ask Steinar for a drink and something to eat before she left?
He had not offered her anything, and judging from his grim countenance, he was bound to balk at the request, but she felt so weak that she had no choice but to try.
What was the worst that could happen? He was already throwing her out of his house so even if he got angry, she wouldn’t have lost anything, and it was unlikely he would hit her for asking him to spare a sip of ale and a morsel of bread.
“Would you—”
Just then two little boys burst into the hut.
Two little boys she knew very well and had not thought to see again.
Ulf and Rothgar. They came to an abrupt halt when they saw her and stared in disbelief.
She stared back. What were they doing here if Steinar was not Astrid’s brother?
Was she having visions brought on by hunger?
Or… Had Steinar lied to her about being the father of the boys so that he could get rid of her?
There was no time to wonder more.
“Cwenthryth!” Rothgar said, throwing himself into her arms.
What the hell?
Steinar stared at his son nestled in the Saxon’s arms, his head pillowed against her soft stomach. He was clinging to her as if…well, as if he’d found his mother again. Rothgar had not smiled in days, and here he was, ecstatic at being reunited with a stranger. What was happening?
Not thinking for a moment that they would know her, he had thought it best not to tell the boys about the woman lying on his pallet when they had woken up, shortly after he had brought her in the hut.
He’d hidden her as best as he could while he’d sent them to break their fast with his parents.
The idea had been to get rid of her before his sons could see her.
They didn’t need further disturbance in their lives.
And now this.
He drew Ulf to one side and asked in Norse. “Do you know this woman?” Cwenthryth, Rothgar had called her. The name was unfamiliar. How on earth could they know someone he didn’t?
“Yes. She’s a friend of Moeir’s. She’s nice.” A small smile stretched the boy’s lips. “She makes the best flat cakes.”
Flat cakes. Steinar could have asked him how he could possibly know such a thing, but he decided to ask her instead.
He sensed this would be a discussion best held between adults.
Besides, he could not deny being curious.
Why was the woman convinced he’d been Astrid’s brother?
Why was she here at all? He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Will you and Rothgar leave me and Cwenthryth alone a moment? I need a word with her.”
“Of course.” With those words, Ulf went to get his younger brother. “Come on, we were going to meet Gunnar, remember? He’ll be waiting for us.”
“Yes. Oh, but you’re hurt!” As he drew away from the Saxon, Rothgar pointed to the bruise on her face Steinar had noticed earlier.
While she’d been lying unconscious on his pallet, with her hair in disarray, he had seen a brownish shadow on her left temple.
It was fading, as if it was already a few days old, but it was obvious the blow had been quite severe.
Cwenthryth placed a careful finger above her eye and shook her head. “This? ’Tis nothing. I bumped into a pillar at the market hall the other day. Too busy talking to my friend Eahlswith, I didn’t see it in front of me.”
“Oh. I do that all the time, walk into things because I don’t look where I’m going.” The little boy giggled, instantly reassured. “Ulf always get annoyed when I do.”
“Well, it is annoying. You could at least—”
“Run along, now. You don’t want to keep Gunnar waiting, do you?” Steinar’s patience, already stretched beyond endurance, was in serious danger of snapping.