Chapter 1 #2
Rothgar gave the woman one last hug, then at last the boys disappeared through the door.
Steinar was left alone with his mysterious visitor, Cwenthryth, who was wringing her hands together in the middle of the hut.
Was she really that nervous? Should he try to appear less menacing?
No, he decided, since he knew he would never actually hurt her.
She had nothing to fear. He crossed his arms over his chest, a clear indication he was expecting her to explain who she was and what she was really doing here.
She remained silent, however, so it was left up to him to start the conversation.
“Well. I don’t know you but clearly, my sons do.”
“Yes, they do.”
“How?”
She wavered and placed a hand on the table to steady herself. “Please, I’m sorry, but could I have something to eat and drink before I explain how I know them? I’m afraid I feel rather faint.”
She did look rather faint, he had to admit, just like she had before.
“Sit down then,” he ordered gruffly, deciding that there had to be more to her lack of strength than the shock of being told Astrid was dead.
The shadows under her eyes, which gave her a haunted look, had not been created in the last few moments.
And of course, there was the bruise on her temple.
Was she recovering from a serious injury?
Her explanation about walking into a pillar had obviously been meant to placate Rothgar, and it did not satisfy him. Something had happened to her recently.
He shook his head, determined not to let it bother him.
He had his own worries to deal with, his sons to look after, his life to rebuild.
Whatever this woman had been through was nothing for him to worry about.
If she really was in trouble, there would be other people she could turn to, family and friends.
While he busied himself pouring ale and slicing cheese, Cwenthryth cut herself a piece of bread from the loaf he’d placed in front of her.
It was a very small piece, he noticed, as if she feared his reaction if she started eating too much.
But he didn’t care about that, he was more than able to provide for people.
To show her he did not begrudge her the food, Steinar added a few strips of dried meat to her wooden plate.
She thanked him with a nod, and took one with a shaky hand.
He decided to give her time to eat before starting their conversation.
It was clear she needed to eat and build her strength.
In an effort to appear unconcerned by the delay, he poured himself a cup of ale also, and sipped it while he waited.
Who was this woman? Apparently, she knew both Astrid and his sons, and yet the two of them had never met, and she somehow thought him the boys’ uncle. It was odd to say the least.
When he’d estimated she’d eaten enough to take the edge off her hunger, he spoke, unable to wait a moment longer. “Start from the beginning.”
“I met your sister—forgive me, your wife—about a year ago.”
“How? Where?”
Cwenthryth gave a little embarrassed cough. “She, er…visited my neighbor in town quite regularly.”
Did she? As far as he was aware, Astrid didn’t have any relatives in town, or know anyone.
“Why?” he growled, when it became obvious she was not going to offer any explanation of her own accord.
Would he have to extract her every word from her mouth?
It had better not be the case, as having his ignorance of his wife’s whereabouts exposed in front of a stranger didn’t help him hold on to his temper.
There was a silence, during which Cwenthryth went another shade paler, something he would have thought impossible a moment ago. But here she was, paler than whey. By the gods, perhaps he should try to scowl less. She would be no good to him if she could not speak from terror.
“I think you know why,” she said when she found the courage to answer.
And suddenly, he did.
No wonder the Saxon looked about to faint from fright.
She was telling him to his face that she had seen his wife go to her lover, not just once but repeatedly.
She had every reason to fear his reaction.
But he was not about to lash at her. He’d much rather try to make sense of the shocking declaration.
Steinar clenched his fists. If he were to believe the Saxon, Astrid had had a lover for an entire year, if not more.
He’d known they had grown apart, but this was even worse than he had thought.
But why should he believe the woman? She had not clearly said that Astrid had been her neighbor’s lover, and she hadn’t given any proof to support the claim.
Yes, but what reason would she have to lie?
Considering how strained things had been between him and his wife, she could well have decided to go to another man.
And the boys did know the Saxon, that was irrefutable, so they had met at some point, without his knowing.
Why not in town, when their mother went on secret assignations with a man?
That would explain how Ulf knew she made the best flat cakes. He had been inside her house.
“She sometimes came with the boys, who she told me were her nephews,” Cwenthryth carried on, her tone more assured now that the worst of the revelation had been made. “We got to know one another quite well, as they often ended up coming into my house while they waited for their aunt—I mean mother.”
“You mean she left them outside in the street while she…went to meet your neighbor?” He refused to be more explicit. There was no need anyway; Cwenthryth would have understood what he meant.
“Yes.” The word was little more than a whisper.
Evidently, she shared his dismay at Astrid’s behavior.
Then again, who would not? “I’m sorry. I can guess how you must feel.
But you need not worry about them. I don’t think they ever suspected anything.
They would come in my house and have a bite to eat with me.
We would play dice together. I loved having them around. ”
The smile playing on her lips told Steinar she was not lying just to appease him, she had loved the time spent with the boys.
And they had loved it too, by the looks of things.
He remembered how they had always seemed happy after going into town with their mother.
Now he knew why. Because they had met with a kind friend who’d fed them cakes and played with them while their mother—
He rubbed a hand over his face, appalled by what he’d heard.
They had been playing with a stranger while their mother was getting fucked without a care as to what might happen to them.
Rain or wind, she would have left them to wait outside while she went to meet her lover.
Ulf had not yet been twelve a year ago, Rothgar only five.
Had the person living next door been less generous, they would have stayed in the cold and damp for hours.
Had an ill-intentioned man walked past, they could have been hurt, or worse.
Steinar could barely breathe for anger, or say anything. So he just waited. More information had to be forthcoming; the Saxon couldn’t leave it at that. He still had no idea why she had come to the village.
“About two weeks ago, Astrid told me that her brother, the boys’ father, had been—”
“For the last time, I was not her brother! I was her husband, the one she was supposed to sleep with, the father of the little boys she abandoned so she could spend time with her lover!” Steinar exploded.
After all he’d been through, he could not bear to be dismissed thus.
He had counted in his wife’s life, damn it all, or at least he should have!
Cwenthryth recoiled at his vehemence, dropping the piece of cheese she’d been holding. “I’m s-sorry, but that was what she told me. You asked me to describe what had happened. I-I’m only trying to—”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me. I did ask. Forgive me.”
His anger vanished at the sight of the panic lighting in her eyes.
He really was a bastard for making her fear he might hit her.
What was he doing shouting at her when she already looked on the edge of collapse?
It was not her fault Astrid had been such a deceitful creature and lied to her about the identity of her sons.
He had indeed asked to be told how the two women knew one another, and Cwenthryth was only answering as honestly as she could. He should not be snapping at her thus.
“I’m sorry. All this has been rather hard on me. I’ve hardly slept since Astrid took to her bed with the flux last week, and the boys… Well, the death of their mother has hit them hard, as you can imagine.”
As bad a wife as Astrid had been, she had done her best to look after her children—at least while in the village.
She’d loved them and they’d loved her. Rothgar, in particular, had not suspected any of the tension between his parents, and thought himself living in a happy household.
He hadn’t had any inkling that he’d been about to lose his mother anyway.