Chapter 12 #2
She had thought to find refuge with Astrid’s brother, a man who would be grateful for her help and offer her a safe shelter while she sorted her life out.
Instead, she’d had to deal with Astrid’s widower, a brute who had made it clear she was not welcome despite her doing everything right.
Steinar clenched his jaw. Had anyone felt worse than he felt right now?
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Cwenthryth said in an unusually flat voice. “It’s not your fault. Anyway, it’s over now and these monstrous couplings will have no consequences. It is all that matters.”
All the blood left Steinar’s veins when she placed a hand over her stomach in a familiar gesture.
Things had not gone according to plan, she’d said.
Well, perhaps he knew why she’d been prevented from leaving as soon as her father had died.
Perhaps she had suffered a traumatic loss, a loss he wished no woman had to go through.
He should know, he who had seen firsthand what it did to her soul, not to mention to her body.
“You mean… Godfrid made you with child?” he asked in a whisper, hoping to be wrong. Not only had the bastard abused her body for a whole year, but he had also planted his seed in her womb?
“Yes. It was inevitable, I suppose.” She closed her eyes, as if trying to block the painful images assaulting her mind. “May God forgive me, but I was relieved when I lost it. Do you hear? I was relieved never to have to meet my baby. It is awful of me, I know, but I could not bear to… to…”
Despite his earlier resolution not to hold her, Steinar drew her into his arms when tears started to fall down her cheeks. So much pain, so much suffering. He could not have watched her struggle without offering his support, inadequate as it was.
“It is not awful. On the contrary, it is perfectly understandable,” he whispered in her ear. “No one should have to go through something like that.” Though he had a horrible suspicion he already knew the answer, he had to ask the question, and make sure. “When did you miscarry the babe?”
“Just after the death of my father, a few days before I arrived in your village.”
As he’d suspected. Now everything made sense.
The shadows under her eyes when she’d appeared on his doorstep, the fainting spell when she’d tried to walk away.
Her weakness, her despair at finding that the refuge she had thought to find was to be denied to her, her behavior toward Rothgar.
How had he not seen the signs? Never had Steinar been more ashamed of himself.
Lost to his bitterness and grief, he had taken his anger out on an innocent woman, wilfully ignoring the fact that it would have taken her an awful lot of courage to go to a complete stranger for help.
Instead of trying to understand, he had barked at her.
Her, the purest, most honest soul he had ever met.
Who welcomed grieving children into her bed and made them little pets with what she could find, who didn’t shy away from the desire she felt for hulking Norsemen talking to her crudely, who helped women give birth despite her own grief, and rejoiced in couples’ happiness when she’d known only abuse?
How had he ever thought this woman a schemer, a liar, a manipulator?
She had been a victim, trapped in a horrid situation and yet brave enough to flee her tormentor.
Now he understood why she had jumped at the opportunity she thought Astrid had given her.
Where else would she have gone after losing her babe?
The Norsemen village would have been the perfect place to hide from a Saxon.
“Would you like to tell me about your loss?”
Had she had the opportunity to talk about her trauma to anyone, to try and deal with it?
If she had lost the child after losing her father, she wouldn’t have had anyone to confide in.
Later on, if she had only worried about finding a way out of her house and a new home, she might not have taken the time to absorb the enormity of what had happened to her.
She’d told him she was relieved not to have had to give birth to her tormentor’s child, and he understood why that might be, but she had still gone through an ordeal, both physical and emotional, one of the worst a woman could endure.
She had lost a baby that was half hers, and almost lost her life in the process. It might help her to talk about it.
Of course, after the way he had treated her, he might be the last person she wanted to confide in.
To his relief, however, she didn’t seem offended at his suggestion. After a while, she started hesitantly. “I don’t know if it’s…”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll understand,” he said to ease her discomfort.
Was she ill at ease, or was there another reason for her hesitancy?
Had she heard through Eyja that he, too, had lost a babe, and she was wary of reawakening the pain of his loss?
It was possible that, while she was giving birth by the tree, his frightened sister would have told her she didn’t want to lose her child like Astrid had.
“It is rather a gruesome story,” she murmured. “I don’t want it to haunt you.”
There she was again, thinking of others first. But alas, he knew all too well how gruesome the loss of a child was, and he already had nightmares about it.
“Don’t worry about me. Just do what you need to do. Either way, I’ll be here for you.” If she had gone through the ordeal without falling apart, he could certainly bear to hear about it.
She stayed silent a long time. Then she started talking.
“I woke up one morning thinking something was wrong, but I didn’t immediately understand what it might be.
I’d known for about a month that I’d fallen with child.
I was scared.” She took in a shaky breath, reliving the dreadful moment when she’d understood that her rapist’s seed had taken root inside her.
Yes, she would have been scared, horrified, and everything in between.
“Perhaps I should have noticed it before, but I refused to think… I refused to accept he had—”
“Yes,” he said gently. She would have refused to accept she was carrying the child of a man who had forced himself upon her body for months and was possibly her half-brother. The thought would have been horrifying.
“In any case, I started to feel cramps in my lower belly and soon I felt blood seeping between my thighs. It was…”
“Yes,” he repeated, not knowing what else to say. Instead, he tightened his hold around her. Sometimes actions spoke louder than words.
“My friend Eahlswith arrived at that point. We’d agreed to go to the market together that morning, and it was still early, so when I didn’t open the door, she walked in. She found me on the pallet. And she helped me with… with the…”
“Yes,” Steinar said again. Her friend had helped her to stem the blood and dispose of what would never grow up to be a child.
By the gods, she’d been right. This was a nightmarish story. Would that he could kill the bastard a dozen times over for what he had made her endure, and not with a neat blow to the back. It had been too quick, too easy a death. He should have suffered, have had time to repent ten times over.
“Where was Godfrid at this point?” Would it have been good for him to be there and see the result of his actions? Would it have made him feel any guilt? It was doubtful.
Cwenthryth buried her face in the crook of his neck.
“The day after my father’s funeral he’d gone to see a friend in the next town, warning me he might be gone a few days.
That was why, even if I had decided to flee by then, I was in no hurry.
I knew I had some time to get organized.
But in the end, I spent that time recovering from the loss of blood.
For days I was too weak, too stunned to do anything other than lie on my pallet.
I was on my own, and could not think what to do. ”
“Did he know about the babe?” Steinar asked gently. Had she told him? Or had she thought to wait until it was absolutely impossible to hide her condition to let him know?
He felt her shake her head. “He never knew. It’s better that way, I think.
I dread to think what he would have said.
” She paused. “I slowly got better. Then one evening, Godfrid came back. As soon as I saw him, something snapped inside me. I knew I could not bear the situation any longer. I should have taken that decision ages ago, but I—”
“Don’t berate yourself,” he repeated. “The bastard was in your home—of course you wouldn’t have wanted to leave. And as we agreed, you had your father to consider. In any case, you did find the courage to escape in the end. You can be proud of yourself.”
She stayed silent, as if unconvinced. “I remembered what Astrid had told me about her brother on her last visit. Her supposed brother, I should say. I thought if his wife had really left him, there would be a chance he would give me shelter, at least for a few days.”
Steinar gritted his teeth. She had put all her hopes in him, and he had woefully let her down.
She had found the courage to do the hard part and he, who’d only had to welcome her in, had turned her away, and sent her straight back to a man who had pounced on her at the first opportunity.
He had accused her of lying, of manipulating his sons, when she was only trying to find protection from a monster.
Would she ever forgive him? Would he ever forgive himself?
“I’m sorry. I have no excuse for the way I behaved.”
“But you do,” Cwenthryth answered, looking straight at him. “You had just lost your wife, you didn’t know me, and you had your sons to worry about.”