Chapter 12
Steinar walked back to his hut under a sky strewn with stars.
He had entrusted Ulf and Rothgar to his parents for the night, as he needed privacy for an explanation with Cwenthryth.
In truth, he needed much more than that.
He needed to make sure she was all right.
He needed to make amends for the way he’d acted.
He needed to beg for her forgiveness, if that was what she wanted.
When he entered the hut, he found her sitting on the pallet, her back against the wall, her arms around her bent knees, her eyes closed.
The cut on her cheek had been cleaned, but he knew it would most likely leave a scar, a constant reminder of what she had gone through.
Not that she would ever forget what she had endured at the man’s hands, unfortunately, even without a scar.
Feeling strangely intimidated, he poured her a cup of ale and knelt down by the pallet, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. She opened her eyes and gave a tentative smile when she saw him. That smile reached straight to his heart. So brave…
“Are you hungry?” he asked, handing her the cup.
“I-I don’t know.”
Clenching his jaw against the despair this answer betrayed, Steinar stood back up to get a few strips of dried meat and the bowl of berries he had gathered in the morning. He placed everything by Cwenthryth’s side, then sat back down. “Here. Just in case you are.”
“Thank you.” She took a sip of ale and reached out for a berry.
“Please tell me everything. Who is the bastard?”
Was the bastard, he should perhaps say. He didn’t see how the man could still be alive after getting an axe in the back.
But he didn’t think it useful to remind Cwenthryth of the gruesome sight.
Or… Had she even seen it? When he had scooped her up into his arms, she had been only half conscious, and she had hidden her face in the crook of his neck as if to block out the outside world.
It was possible she had not realized quite what had happened to her tormentor.
He could only hope so, even if he would have to tell her what he had done at some point.
She had the right to know she had nothing to fear now.
“His name is Godfrid. He claims to be my half-brother.”
What the hell? Steinar recoiled. The man forcing himself on her had been her own brother? Or as near as? He barely contained a growl. It could not be. But wasn’t it what the old man in town had told him?
She lives with her brother.
At the time, he had taken it to mean that she’d lied about living with a tormentor, when in fact the brother and her tormentor had been one and the same. Eyja had been right. He really was an idiot. How had he not thought of that possibility?
“You said he claims to be your brother,” he said as calmly as he could. Now was not the time to frighten her with the intensity of an anger which was not directed at her. “So you doubt it?”
Was it because, like him, she thought it inconceivable that a man who shared blood with her could want to possess her?
Or did she have other, more objective reasons to be suspicious?
She shook her head, as if she’d expressed her doubts many times, only to have them dismissed or ignored, and could not bear to hear him do the same. But he needed to know.
“Tell me,” he repeated.
“Well… He looks nothing like my father did, for one,” she started. “I know that isn’t proof of anything, as I don’t either. Still, my father was darker than most, and Godric is very fair to have been fathered by such a swarthy man.”
“Mm, yes.” The man had been almost as blond as a Norseman. Steinar agreed it was no proof of anything, but it was a start. If the two men had been the spitting image of one another, any doubts she had would have been harder to dismiss. “What else?”
“No one I know has ever heard of the woman he claims was his mother. If his story is to be believed, he was born some thirty years ago, in other words before my father met my mother, from a woman who’d been living in Essex at the time.
Perhaps it is so,” Cwenthryth conceded with a shrug.
“But my father was not an adventurous man. He rarely left town, and in my lifetime, he never ventured farther than the coast. I cannot imagine what would have made him undertake such a long journey, even as a young man. The woman could have come to him, and left without telling him she was with child, I suppose, but then how come no one remembers her? I know it is not conclusive proof again, but it is all very odd to me, who knew my father’s temperament and life story.
He’d always led me to believe my mother was the first woman he’d been interested in. ”
“Didn’t you ask him for more details about this conquest of his when the mysterious stranger came to your door? See if what he told you tallied with what Godfrid was saying?” Such a claim would have necessitated some investigation at the very least, and he was surprised she had not thought of it.
There was a silence, then Cwenthryth sighed.
“This brings me to the most suspicious thing of all. Godfrid arrived at a time when my father was ill, and not quite himself. His mind had started to go for months. It seemed to be a form of insanity brought on by old age. He was confused most of the time, barely remembered who I was, or what he had done that same day. In the state he was, anyone could have claimed to be his child unchallenged. I cannot help but feel it was all too convenient, as if Godfrid had been observing us, and decided on the best way to exploit my father’s weakness. ”
“Yes,” Steinar agreed. Again, this was no conclusive proof, but he trusted Cwenthryth. If her instinct told her something was wrong, then it most certainly was.
In any case, real half-brother or not, Godfrid didn’t have to take advantage of the old man’s illness or use his daughter to slake his lust. Who his mother had been didn’t matter, he should never have touched an unwilling woman.
Well, Steinar was fairly certain the man would never touch anyone ever again. It was some consolation.
“And of course,” Cwenthryth added, her voice reduced to a whisper, “there was the way he treated me. Again, it’s not conclusive proof, but surely if we were related, he would never have…he would not have dared…”
She shivered and hugged her knees tighter, as if trying to make herself as small as possible.
Steinar understood all too well what she had not said.
A man, vile as he was, aroused as he was, would normally balk at the idea of bedding his own sister.
But then again, anything was possible. It had been clear that Godfrid did not have an honorable bone in his body.
He’d been prepared to kill a child in order to rape a woman.
If that didn’t show he was past all decency, then nothing did.
“When did he attack you?”
Another silence. He fought hard the urge to scoop her up and place her on his lap again, sensing she would rather he saw her as a strong woman able to hold on to her control.
“At first, he left me alone, and behaved as a brother should. I think he was biding his time, waiting for the moment I would be on my own, with no one to care about what happened about me.” She swallowed. “The first time he raped me was the day after my father took to his bed permanently.”
The first time? Steinar inhaled sharply. He’d not expected such a shocking answer. “When was that?”
“About a year ago, a couple of months after his arrival.”
Steinar recoiled. A year. She had been at the man’s mercy for a whole year?
Why had he assumed the man had only attacked her once?
Because he was a fool, that was why. Hadn’t he seen the bruise on her temple the day she’d arrived at the village?
Hadn’t she told him she was fleeing a tormentor?
She wouldn’t have borne such a trace, she wouldn’t have made such a claim if she had been raped only once, months ago.
Cwenthryth lifted her huge, dark eyes to him, looking on the verge of tears—and ashamed of herself. It twisted at his guts.
“I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I flee after that first time? Why did I stay with a man who thought he could hurt me and use me for his pleasure?”
“No. I don’t think that,” he said softly.
He was horrified that she would think herself at fault.
He’d heard enough stories of women being abused to know that it was never as simple as simply walking away.
Men were not only stronger physically and able to subdue them when the urge took them, but could also be devious and manipulate women into thinking they weren’t able to escape the hold they had on them. “I know it is easier said than done.”
“With my father ill and depending on me for everything, I couldn’t do what I wanted to do.
” Cwenthryth tried to justify herself nonetheless, as if loath to have him think ill of her.
“I could not leave without him, and I could not take him away from his home, when he was too weak and bewildered to leave even his bed. It would have killed him. So I stayed and, stupid me, I kept hoping Godfrid would tire of me and leave. He didn’t. ”
“You’re not stupid,” Steinar said, as firmly as he dared. He knew it might take time for her to accept that she had done the best she could, but he hoped she would eventually see it. “Where is your father now? Did he die?”
He already knew he was dead, the kindly old man in town had told him as much the other day, but he wanted to keep the conversation going.
“Yes. He died a few weeks ago, in his sleep. At least he didn’t suffer.” Her voice wobbled, but she carried on bravely. “Once he was gone, I had no reason to stay. I was finally free, so I started to prepare my escape. Only it didn’t go according to plan.”
No. That was the least you could say.