Chapter 12
“Could you open the door for me please?” Cwenthryth called out from the corner of the hut. She was fastening her dress back up after having fed her daughter. “I’m afraid ’tis not quite the right moment for me to do so.”
“Of course.” Pleased to hear the laughter which indicated that her friend was well and truly back to her usual happy self, Eahlswith went to the door.
The woman waiting outside stilled when she saw who had opened to her.
“Forgive me, but I was told that there was a Saxon healer living in this hut,” she started, visibly ill at ease.
“There is but it’s not—”
“Yes. I would understand if you didn’t want to see me.”
Eahlswith was more confused than ever. Why would she refuse to see the woman if she’d truly been the healer?
And then it dawned on her. The petite Norsewoman was none other than Freydis, the one who’d gone to find Sven in bed earlier that morning.
That explained her embarrassment. It was no wonder Eahlswith had not recognized her.
In the dark, she had not seen her clearly and all she had been able to concentrate on had been Sven’s nudity, and what it meant—or rather what she’d thought it meant.
The woman cleared her throat, not knowing how to proceed.
Yes, Eahlswith thought with unusual ferocity, you can be embarrassed after what you did.
“It is not my place to accept or refuse you,” she said more crisply than she’d intended. “I’m not the healer. My friend Cwenthryth is.”
“I’m here,” Cwenthryth said, coming to the door. Had she sensed the tension between the two women? Probably. “Forgive me, I was just seeing to my daughter.”
“I will wait outside,” Eahlswith mumbled.
Though it would be cold out in the wind, anything was preferable to hearing personal, feminine complaints from a woman determined to have Sven in her bed.
Why had she come? Did she want to ensure their couplings didn’t have any issue in case she decided to leave again?
Was she after a love potion to slip into his drink to make him accept her?
She headed straight to the vegetable patch, hoping that some weeding would help calm her nerves.
Fortunately, nature had ensured she was not short of plants on which to focus her attention.
Such was life. One was constantly trying to remove unwanted seeds from the soil—and block unwanted thoughts from entering one’s mind.
It was often a losing battle. The only way to win was to keep at it and focus on the beautiful and nutritious plants you could cultivate thanks to your efforts and enjoy the peace of mind you earned by keeping negative feelings at bay.
Eahlswith fell to her knees and tackled the corner where the leeks grew.
It was the one most in need of attention but it only served to remind her of the soup she had made for Sven the day he had repaired the roof for Osbert.
It seemed so long ago now. She had the odd impression he had always been part of her life, and always would be, even if she never saw him again.
After a while, the door opened again. She heard Freydis thank Cwenthryth and a moment later, her friend joined her. She nodded at the pile of limp weeds by her side and smiled.
“My. You’ve been ruthless.”
“Sometimes it is the only way to get results. What did Freydis want, then?” Eahlswith asked, sitting back on her haunches. Despite the weather, she wasn’t cold.
Her friend arched a brow. “You know her name?”
Eahlswith waved a hand. There was no easy way to explain how she did and it was hardly important.
“Did she want a potion that makes men hard against their will?” She was still seething from what Sven had told her that morning, she realized.
How could the woman go to an unsuspecting man and all but rape him?
“Erm. Wait. Do you know her?”
“You mean that’s actually what she asked you?” Another handful of weeds joined the pile.
“No, of course not, no one would come to me for something like that. I’m only a midwife.” Cwenthryth looked pensive. “But you do seem to hold a grudge against her. I don’t understand why, or even how, since she doesn’t even live in the village.”
I do hold a grudge, because she tried to seduce my man, against his will, no less.
Eahlswith shook her head. She couldn’t say that, and anyway, Sven was not her man, was he? She’d told him only that morning that she needed time, and she meant it. Claiming him as hers was hardly the way to handle this.
So what could she say to explain her animosity toward Freydis?
Cwenthryth had no idea her best friend and her brother-in-law had exchanged more than the occasional greeting—much, much more.
Heartfelt confessions, fiery kisses, pleasure beyond imagining, not just once but over and over again, and against her better judgement.
She sighed. “I’m sorry, that was nasty, I know, it’s only that she was not very pleasant to me when I opened the door and she mistook me for you.” The lie was the best she could come up with.
“Mm, because you’re a Saxon? I’m sorry, some people here are like that.”
“Might have been. Anyway,” Eahlswith stood up and walked back to the hut, eager to change the subject. “It matters not. I guess I’m tired, that’s all.”
Cwenthryth made a face. “I’m sorry. That’s my fault, I—”
“No,” Eahlswith cut in, feeling both foolish and guilty for making her friend feel bad. “Worry not. I’m glad to help. But I might need a nap this afternoon.”
“Of course.”
When they rounded the corner of the hut they saw a man waiting at the door.
He looked like almost all the men here, tall and broad, with gleaming blond hair.
Objectively stunning. What would she have done had she happened upon him bare-chested back in the summer, Eahlswith wondered?
Would she have followed him inside the hut for a tryst?
Perhaps. But would he have invited her? That was far from certain.
She still wasn’t sure what had motivated Sven to ask her.
“Good morning,” he told her friend, smiling. “I was looking for you. I was at the harbor yesterday and I have a message from Steinar. He’s very sorry but he’s going to need a few more days to conclude his business with Gorm’s men. He hopes you and the children are well.”
“We are.” Cwenthryth nodded. “Thank you, Knut. I expected he might need more time than he thought. How is Brenna?”
The man’s smile, already more compelling than most, became dazzling. “Better, now that the morning sickness has passed.”
“I’m glad. Tell her I’ll visit tomorrow.”
With one last nod, Knut walked away. As soon as they entered the hut Cwenthryth went to check on Liv, who was still asleep in her cot. Then she turned to face her, looking contrite. “I would have asked you to stay longer but if you’re already tired, I—”
“No. Don’t worry. I told you I was fine. I will stay until Steinar comes back,” Eahlswith said, refusing to think that she was jumping on the opportunity to be near Sven a bit longer.
Yes, Sven. He was all she could think about. Had he been anyone other than Cwenthryth’s brother-in-law she might have confided in her, asked her opinion. But he was Steinar’s brother and it did complicate matters.
The two women started making dinner together. Once they had eaten, they would go to get Sanna, who had spent the night at Wolf and Merewen’s. As they were clearing the vegetable peelings from the table, Liv woke up. Eahlswith, who’d just cleaned her hands, went to pick her up.
“She’s such a happy, beautiful baby. Do you think her irises will keep that amazing shade of blue?” she asked, peering into the little girl’s eyes.
Cwenthryth beamed and gave her daughter a stroke on the cheek. “I know not. She certainly looks nothing like Sanna.”
“No.” The eighteen-month-old was the image of her Saxon mother, whereas Liv was a real Norse baby.
She remembered Sven’s outrage when she had doubted his Saxon origins. But it was hard to blame her when he looked like the epitome of the Norse warrior.
“Her eyes are just like Steinar’s,” she said, smiling at the little girl.
Cwenthryth pursed her lips. “Mm, actually, I think they’re more like Sven’s, his younger brother.
You might not see the difference because you’ve only seen him in passing, but I spend my time looking into my husband’s eyes so I know.
” She smiled at the mention of him, as she always did.
“Sven’s eyes are slightly darker, with a sort of star shape around the pupil, just like Liv has. ”
Yes. Eahlswith did in fact agree that the little girl’s eyes were just like her uncle’s but she hadn’t wanted to say as much because she was not supposed to have noticed the exact shade of Steinar’s brother’s eyes or the gold star making the middle shimmer.
“Sven is a good man.”
“Is he?”
“Of course he is,” Cwenthryth chided. “He’s Steinar’s brother, so what do you expect? Torsten is also a good man, one of the best.”
In truth, Eahlswith’s comment had not been meant to express doubt, rather she hadn’t wanted to give the impression that she was interested one way or the other in the kind of man he was. Why was Cwenthryth even mentioning this? Was she suspecting something?
“Forgive me, I did not mean to insult him or his family, simply to say that I don’t know anything about him.”
This was not strictly true. There were many things she knew about him.
She knew the taste of his kisses and the scent of his skin.
She knew he was kind, patient and capable of the most astounding gestures.
She knew he was the most incredible lover.
Still, it was shockingly little, all things considered, and she was suddenly curious to know more.
This seemed as good an opportunity as any.
“What kind of man is he?” she asked, settling Liv on her lap.