Chapter 3
Later that afternoon his sister came to visit. Steinar was slicing strips of smoked meat in preparation for his journey to Astrid’s parents when Eyja walked in through the open door, one hand on the small of her back in the familiar attitude of women heavy with child.
“Sit down,” he immediately ordered, bringing a stool up to her.
Having only one sister, he’d always felt very protective of her, never more so than now she was carrying her second child.
She was fast approaching her term and it hurt just to look at her, even if she seemed quite oblivious to the weight or the size of the bulge distending her stomach.
Not for the first time, Steinar reflected that men, for all their supposed superior physical strength, didn’t have to endure half of what women endured throughout their lifetime, and this without a word of complaint. It didn’t seem fair.
“Thank you.” Eyja smiled as she sat down, then winced slightly. Perhaps she was not as oblivious to the weight of the babe as it appeared. He poured her a cup of ale, then picked up his knife again.
“What brings you here?”
She took a sip of the ale he had placed in front of her before answering. “I’ve come to ask a favor, actually. Moon was wondering if you could lend him Fáfnir for a few days. He needs to go to the harbor to see about a ship of Dane merchants he’s heard about, and Grendel is lame.”
Steinar paused his cutting. “Sorry, but I need my horse. I was just telling the boys that I am leaving in the morning to go see Astrid’s parents. I’d rather not delay any longer.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I hope it goes well, even if I don’t expect it will.” His sister placed a hand over his forearm in sympathy. She knew what an ordeal it would be for him to see his estranged parents-in-law.
“Perhaps Moon can ask Torsten or Sven to lend him his horse?” he asked, popping a strip of meat into his mouth. Mm. Not bad. Rubbing crushed juniper berries over the lamb before drying it had definitely been a good idea, something he would do again.
“Yes, don’t worry, we’ll find a solution.” Eyja pushed herself back to a standing position and sighed. “Not long to go now. Well, I’d better go. Good luck for tomorrow.”
Just then Cwenthryth walked in through the door, carrying a bucket of water.
Eyja stilled, as if surprised to see an unknown woman acting so at ease in his hut, and no wonder.
So soon after his wife’s death, he should be alone with the boys, not entertaining lovers.
Not that he was doing that, he chided himself, even if it looked like it.
Bloody hell, was the woman destined to create problems for him at every turn?
Now that she’d seen her, he would never convince his imp of a sister that there was nothing between them.
For an uncomfortably long moment the three of them looked at one another, unsure what to say. Steinar struggled to swallow the last mouthful of meat. On second thought, perhaps the juniper flavor was a bit too strong.
“Well, are you not going to introduce me to your friend?”
“We are not friends, exactly,” he replied, once he’d regained the ability to talk.
It was hard to blame Eyja for assuming the two of them shared intimacy.
In that moment the Saxon looked as if she had a place in his home, bringing in water from the well, entering the hut without knocking, behaving for all intents and purposes like a lover, or even a wife would.
We are not friends, much less lovers, so get this idea right out of your head. The Saxon and I are nothing to one another.
Eyja arched a brow at the blatant rudeness. “Well, you can still introduce us, can’t you? Maybe she can become my friend.”
Wonderful. His sister was taking the woman’s side against her own brother. Steinar scowled. This was the last thing he needed, for Cwenthryth to carve her hole into his life a little bit deeper by meeting members of his family.
Instead of scurrying back outside, as he would have preferred her to, she placed the bucket on the table and gave a tentative smile.
“I’m Cwenthryth,” she said, wiping her hands on the front of her dress.
The gesture forced Steinar’s gaze to land on her hips, and he noticed that, frail as she may be, she had all the curves a man could want.
Not that it mattered in any way, of course, he reminded himself sternly.
“Nice to meet you, Cwenthryth. I’m Eyja, Steinar’s sister. I’m sure he hasn’t told you he had a sister, or that she was—”
“Weren’t you leaving? Come, we’ll go see Torsten about this horse together,” he said, taking his meddlesome little sister by the elbow.
Another moment and she would tell the stranger she was glad her brother was not alone anymore, he could feel it.
It would be a disaster. “Isn’t that while you came? ”
“What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you last time not to bother coming back?”
“Good morning.” Steinar forced himself to behave with calm. The news he was about to impart was bad enough. No need to antagonize Astrid’s father any more than necessary, even if the man was not making it easy for him to remain cordial.
“Get out.”
Another deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I came to tell you that your daughter died last week. A bloody flux,” he added, when neither Astrid’s father nor her mother asked what had caused her death. “There was nothing the healer could do.”
Silence met his declaration. Well, what had he expected? That they would dissolve into tears? Ask him how he felt?
“I never understood why Astrid chose to go with you when she could have stayed in our village with the man we’d found for her to marry,” her father said eventually, a completely pointless comment.
What did her decision to marry him have to do with her death?
It was not as if he had killed her, was it?
“No, I know,” Steinar said through gritted teeth. “You have told me enough times.”
He had often wondered himself how his life would have turned out if he’d met Astrid in a moment when he’d been able to think clearly.
If he had not bedded her before getting to know her.
Given how things had ended between them, it was hard not to think that they should never have married.
Not that he would confide any of this to her parents, of course.
It would serve nothing to tell them that their marriage had been dead for years and their daughter had been about to leave him for another man.
At best, they would think he was being petty, trying to make her appear like the guilty party; at worst, they would rejoice in his misfortune and claim he’d only gotten what he deserved. It was not worth it.
“I could never tell you enough times how unsuitable you were to marry Astrid, and it seems I was proven right. If she had married Leif instead of you, she would still be alive. His wife is still thriving, I’ll have you know. I saw her only this morning, carrying her seventh child.”
Seven children in twelve years. Steinar winced inwardly. Poor woman. Astrid, who’d had a hard time bearing children, would definitely not have lasted long as the blacksmith’s wife.
“Well, perhaps your daughter didn’t want to be married to an old lecher who only cares about his pleasure and doesn’t think of giving his wife some respite between births. She was not—”
“What she, or even worse, you wanted was of no importance. I was her father! Who she married was my choice to make. Had you asked for my permission beforehand, like an honorable man, I would never have accepted, and I’m sure no one could blame me,” he hissed.
“For what man would entrust his daughter to a savage whose father killed his own wife?”
Steinar recoiled at the accusation he had not seen coming.
This was what the man had held against him all this time?
That he was the son of a wife killer? It was such an old story he was amazed this man who lived in another village even knew about it, never mind use it to justify his aversion of him.
Two years before he’d met his second wife, Merewen, Wolf had been sent into exile from his native Iceland for the supposed murder of his first wife.
But he’d been innocent, and his name had been cleared shortly after his wedding to the Saxon.
No one had even dared allude to it in more than thirty years.
Until Astrid’s father. Would there be no end to the man’s vindictiveness?
“My father was proven innocent of the crime, as everyone knows,” Steinar said, his voice low and menacing. “His wife was killed by a neighbor who coveted his land, a man called Jón Solvasson. He is no more a wife killer than I am.”
“Well. That’s what you say.”
“It is what happened.”
The man made a face, clearly unconvinced.
“All I know is that you both ended up being widowed well before your time.” Was that a note of jealousy in his voice?
Did he wish he could be rid of his own wife?
It would not surprise Steinar. As bitter as dandelion leaves, incapable of a kind word or a smile, the woman was not exactly one anyone would like to be shackled to.
Still, that was no reason for the man to go about accusing innocent people.
“Neither my father nor I had anything to do with the poor women’s deaths.”
“So you say,” Astrid’s father repeated.
“Yes, so I say. If you want to challenge me on that, I’d be happy to oblige you.
” Steinar tightened his hand on the blade at his belt.
His fingers were itching to draw it out and finish this once and for all.
“But I would be very careful if I were you. I will give no quarter, not even for an older man, not even for my father-in-law, not when my honor is at stake.”