Chapter Seventeen
From her seat on the dais beside Tormod, Aoife spotted some of the villagers regarding her with suspicion or at best, curiosity, but their eyes lowered quickly when she caught their gaze.
Others, however, seemed to have accepted her and she was beginning to get to know some of the unfamiliar names.
Tormod had made sure to be very attentive towards her in public, more so than he was in private, and she was grateful.
His efforts to encourage his people to accept her made her feel more secure, although it still bothered her that she had not told him the whole truth. Every night before she fell asleep, she prayed she would not call out her dreams in her sleep and give away all of her secrets.
She should try not to worry so much. She was dreaming less, given how tired she was each night before she fell asleep.
Her days were long with a list of chores that took up many hours and occupied her mind most of that time, even with Ragna’s assistance.
Learning a new language was also tiring and her head often ached at the end of each day.
However, she was learning and she had even begun to dream in Norse.
Added to that was the fact her husband kept her occupied every night in bed and sometimes in the morning, too.
At least his attentions made her believe that one day there might be a real connection between them, although he was still careful to make sure that he would not give her a child.
That troubled her. As well as a child making her position here more secure, it would give her the chance of family she had always wanted.
She had tried to ask him about it again, but he had simply said there would be time in the future for children and refused to speak any more of it.
They had been not been married long, she told herself.
There was plenty of time. When the winter came, she would ask him again.
She glanced sideways at her husband and smiled.
Her husband. It was beginning to seem normal to her.
This may not have been a marriage she would have chosen, but she was well aware it could have been so much worse.
She remembered Rhiannon and the fear in her eyes when her husband’s name was mentioned, the dark bruises on her arms. The brute had left her face alone and yet, knowing that he was dead, had Aoife even more concerned about her maid.
Why had she sent her son here? Were things at her father’s fort so bad?
She sighed. She noticed one of the thralls staring at her and realised most people had finished their food and the drink was starting to flow.
She took a mouthful of food. The smell and taste of the hearty mutton made her smile.
Then she felt lightheaded and caught at the side of the table.
The mouthful of mutton suddenly tasted like ashes.
The last time a vision had hit her quite like this had been at Alt Clut.
As she raised her head, the hall and villagers faded away before her eyes, replaced by an image of the stone walls of her father’s fort.
She heard the clang of swords on swords, of swords on stone. Smelled the coppery tang of blood. Heard the screams of the wounded and then the silence of the dead.
Was this going to happen there? When? Perhaps it already had. Her visions were not predictable in any way.
Then she felt an arm around her shoulders, a hand closing around her own. The noise and heat of the hall surrounded her once more, and she was left with a deep-seated worry for her father.
“Is everything all right?” Tormod whispered close to her ear.
His breath on her skin sent tingles down her spine. Unable to put her feelings, her worries, into words, she said, “I am just tired and ready for bed.”
Tormod grinned. “You cannot wait to bed me again.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help blushing at his statement. “Did I… did I say anything?”
“Just now?” Tormod asked. “No, apart from saying that you would rather be pleasuring me in our bed.”
She pushed him away playfully, grinning. “That is not what I said at all.” But he didn’t seem perturbed, which was good.
Just then, Bjorn spoke from his other side and Tormod turned to answer him.
Aoife slumped in her chair, trying to gather her thoughts.
Had Car Cadell been attacked already, or was what she had seen the result of Tormod’s planned visit?
It was frustrating to not see enough in her vision to know.
Whatever it was, she suspected Ula was behind it and that death lay ahead.
She could only pray it wasn’t her own. Or her husband’s.
At that moment, she knew she had no choice than to agree to visit with Tormod.
While it may reveal the truth about her curse, she couldn’t continue to live in such a state of uncertainty.
She returned her attention to her food and found she had more appetite than she had thought.
When she finished, a thrall hurried over and took the plate from in front of her and scurried back a few minutes later with a plateful of berries in a sweet, syrupy mead.
Tentatively, she tasted the first bite, then ate the rest as quickly as she deemed ladylike.
Once she was done, she stared at the syrup left in the bowl.
Tormod leaned in front of her and picked up the bowl, then held it to her lips for her to drink every last drop.
Their eyes met, and he smiled, not taking his eyes from hers as she swallowed.
He pulled the bowl away and immediately his thumb caught a drip at the edge of her mouth, which he then sucked off.
She stared at him, mesmerised by the simple movement.
Maybe the mead in the syrup was stronger than she’d realised.
“I can see it will not be long before you are greeting another son, Tormod,” Bjorn said.
Aoife pursed her lips and dropped her gaze, her hand moving involuntarily over her stomach even though there was no hope of a child.
When she met her husband’s gaze again, his expression was stony. “I am in no hurry.” He turned to Bjorn, put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. “There is plenty to amuse ourselves with before we need to think about children.” Tormod laughed, although it didn’t sound happy.
She didn’t resist his touch, but her stomach turned to lead. What was he waiting for?
Bjorn leaned around Tormod to talk to her.
“You mustn’t let him exhaust you. What with you walking to the farm every day to teach Magda Brythonic and taking over so many of my mother’s tasks with running the village.
She is grateful, you know. I have seen her smile more in the past few days than in the past year.
Tormod works everyone to the bone. Thinks there are unlimited hours in each day.
And night.” He laughed and slapped Tormod on the back.
“I hardly think I need your advice on how to keep my wife happy,” Tormod said. “Perhaps you should consider your own future instead of worrying about mine.”
“You’re right,” Bjorn said. “But for me it’s not about marriage or children.
With that in mind, I will leave the two of you and go in search of some amusement and a willing woman to share my bed tonight, without the risk of ending up married and certainly not as a father.
” He drained his horn of mead and thumped it down on the table.
“Ylva is over there,” Tormod pointed at one of the warrior women sitting at a table. Bjorn scowled at him, then stood and, a trifle unsteadily, made his way off the dais and into the main area of the hall where a game of chance was being set up.
Aoife watched Tormod stare at the couple as Bjorn put his arms around Ylva, kissed her neck.
She felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Was there a woman here with whom Tormod had spent time?
How did she feel about Aoife’s presence?
Aoife turned her attention to Bjorn and the woman.
The large man had his arms around her and together they were watching the game unfold.
He leaned in and nuzzled the woman’s neck.
Tormod suddenly shot to his feet and strode from the hall. Frowning, she looked back at Bjorn’s woman. Was she someone who had been special to Tormod? Or was it Bjorn’s mention of children that had disturbed him?
“Where is he off to now?”
Aoife jumped at Ragna’s voice behind her.
She really should pay more attention to her surroundings.
She’d been so lost in thought the past few days that it seemed to have become easy to sneak up on her—even within a crowded room.
She turned to greet at Ragna but found that she just couldn’t make herself smile.
“What is the matter?” Ragna asked. Aoife shook her head, unable to speak for fear she would cry instead. “Whatever did those boys argue about now?”
Aoife shrugged, then frowned. “Bjorn was talking about us having children. I think Tormod took it badly.” Something Bjorn said came back to her. Another son. Tormod would be welcoming another son. “Does Tormod already have children?”
Ragna pursed her lips and glanced away. “You will need to ask your husband about this, but yes, there is a child.”
“A boy?”
“Yes.”
“So he has no need of an heir?”
Ragna laughed. “No man needs only one heir, my dear. And it’s not just the heirs but the getting of them that most men enjoy.” She smiled. “Was that worrying you, that he would need no other child? Children die. Young men die in battle. And sometimes there are other things to consider.”
“Like what?” Aoife asked, frowning.
Ragna glanced towards the door of the hall and froze. Aoife followed her gaze and saw Tormod standing in the open doorway, watching her.
“You must ask your husband that yourself. If not now, then wait until he is in a good mood. And if he will not tell you, don’t take it to heart. Some things a man finds hard to admit. It may be wise not to push him.”
Aoife stared at Ragna, even more confused than she had been earlier. She blinked, then looked towards the door that led outside. Tormod stood in the shadows, waiting for her. She swallowed. “All right. I will speak to my husband and hope for the best.”
At least now she knew she wasn’t the only one keeping a secret.