Chapter Twenty-five
Weeks passed with no further attacks on the village. Then one morning they were woken by the shouts of a watchman.
“They are coming! They are coming!”
Tormod hurried from his bed into the hall where he met the guard. He had brought his axe, but the man shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, his expression joyful.
“No, not the Britons. Our own people. My wife may be amongst them. They are already part of the way up the firth and the winds are strong. They will be here soon!”
Tormod acknowledged his words, then let the watchman go to spread the news to the others.
He returned to his room to find Aoife almost dressed.
The uncertainty on her face made his heart twist. It seemed like every time their life together settled, something happened to disrupt it.
Although at least in this case, it was a positive rather than a negative event.
“What is it?” She put her hands over her mouth, then took a deep breath and clenched her fists at her side. “Is it my father?”
“No.” Tormod smiled, pleased more of his people were arriving. He should have asked how many boats but had been too relieved that they were not under attack to ask. Aoife swept her hair to the side and began to braid it as he watched. “You must have been used to having someone do that for you.”
“At one time. But not for a while. In the abbey…” She swallowed.
“It is strange also to have my head covered only by a scarf, but Ragna has been teaching me ways to plait my hair and… And I am sure you do not need to hear about such things. How many people are arriving? Are there homes for them all?”
“I must go and find out,” he replied, moving close behind her and drawing her back against him. He laid his chin on her shoulder and sighed. She twisted her head around and kissed him. Soon he turned her to face him, his body pressing into hers, their kisses making him want more.
Shouts from the beach reminded him that he had new arrivals to greet and, despite the news from the guard, he must ensure that they were ready for foe as well as friend.
He set Aoife away from him. “Later,” he whispered, and smiled when she blushed.
“What will they think of me?” she asked just as he reached the door.
“They will think you are their jarl’s wife.”
She studied his face and pursed her lips. “I hope so.” She returned to plaiting her hair. “I will join you when I am ready.”
He paused, realising that it might make it easier for her to be accepted by the new arrivals if the two of them presented a united front from the outset. “I will wait for you.”
“Then do not distract me.”
His heart lifted when she laughed.
When they arrived on the beach, Tormod counted seven boats moving up the firth and into the sea-loch.
The shield designs on the foremost boat he recognised as from his father.
Even so, the warriors led by Bjorn, Ulf and Arne were ready in case the visit was not a friendly one.
Everyone who waited was armed and, although there was excitement in the air, there was also a ripple of tension.
At a far-flung outpost such as this one, news of changes of power back home was often slow to reach them, so even folk they had left as friends could have changed allegiances.
Tormod shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Living amongst a foreign enemy was affecting him and he saw intrigue everywhere. The boats were likely little more than settlers arriving, as they were expecting. As they waited, people from the farms all over the peninsula joined them.
When it drew close enough to shore, Tormod took one look at the man at the prow of the foremost boat and hurried towards it, tugging Aoife along behind him.
“Who is it?” she asked him.
“My brother, Anders,” he replied, not looking at her. He waved at his brother, then stopped when he saw the small figure beside him and dropped his hand. “And my son.”
“Your son?” Aoife asked.
“Yes.” Tormod stood stock still, staring. For the first time, he admitted to himself that while he had been expecting the boy in one way, in another, he had hoped his father would keep him, perhaps forever. But why should he? The boy was no more his grandson than he was Tormod’s son.
“Tormod?” Aoife said. He looked at her. She closed her eyes and swayed a little. “I don’t feel well.”
He helped her sit on the rocks. She put her head down and he touched her hair gently with his fingertips.
“Better?” he asked when she looked up at him a few minutes later. Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks.
“Yes, thank you. Go, greet your son.” She smiled wanly at him. “Do you think he will like me?”
Tormod stared down at her. “Does it matter?”
She looked at the boy on the boat, then at Tormod. “I don’t… I thought if I am to look after him that it would be better if we were friends.”
Tormod said nothing for a moment. “So long as he obeys you, there is no need for him to like you.”
“I thought you would prefer it if…” She frowned and looked towards the shore. “The boats are nearly in. You should go—they are waiting for you.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Yes. I will sit here for a few minutes before I come and join you.”
Tormod started to walk towards his brother Anders’ boat, his steps becoming quicker as he grew closer.
Anders leapt ashore and ran towards him.
When they met, the two men embraced, and Tormod felt a sudden pang of longing for the home he had not seen for more than two years.
He shook off the thought. This was home now.
“It is good to see you, brother,” Anders said. “And look who I have brought.”
“Hello, Father,” Einar said, stepping forward.
Tormod looked down at the boy. He had grown since he had last seen him.
He must be eight now. Around the same age as Elisedd.
Tormod grasped the boy’s shoulder and felt him trembling.
He peered into eyes matching his first wife’s.
Eyes which had hidden a lie Tormod could never forgive.
He snatched his hand back and turned away.
“Tormod!”
He stopped at Anders’ shout.
“Your son has been looking forward to seeing you. Will you not take him and show him his new home?”
Tormod stared at Anders, then blinked and looked at Einar. How had he thought the boy could stay with him and Aoife? He was a constant reminder of Tormod’s past. He should start his family anew, with his wife.
“Hello.” Aoife’s voice startled him. She had come over without him noticing.
She knelt down beside Einar and took his hands.
“I am Aoife. Your father’s new wife.” Tormod would have congratulated her at how good her Norse was in such a short time, but he was too shocked to say anything.
“Tell him I will find somewhere for him to stay, and I will look after him as if he were my own,” she added in Brythonic.
But Tormod said nothing.
After a moment, Anders cleared his throat and translated what Aoife had not been able to say in Norse for the boy. The boy smiled at Aoife, but his eyes were wide.
“Are you not going to introduce me to your new wife?” his brother said. “And then we can talk while she finds a bed for your son. I am unable to stay and must leave as soon as the boats are ready to return.”
Tormod made the introductions, then Aoife led the boy towards the hall.
He was sure Ragna would find somewhere appropriate for the boy to stay, for the time being at least. Tormod would resolve the matter soon.
As he turned to help unload the boats, he saw many of the villagers watching the boy, nudging their neighbours to look over at him as he entered the hall with Aoife.
They quickly looked away when they noticed Tormod staring at them.