Chapter Twenty-six
The boy’s hand was warm against her own.
Einar. His name was Einar. She couldn’t understand Tormod’s reaction.
He was a fine boy, hale and strong, although it was clear that there were few similarities between them.
Even Tormod’s own brother had been shocked by his dismissal of the child.
No, not shocked, Aoife realised. It seemed Anders had been ready for Tormod’s reaction and prepared to step in.
Whether he was Tormod’s natural born son or not, Tormod had indicated that it was necessary to act as if he was and yet it was Tormod who was not doing so.
The other villagers appeared content to maintain the pretence and Aoife was determined to care for the boy, as she would wish a child of her own to be cared for. She had been around the same age when her own father had remarried and she was going to be a better stepmother than Ula had been to her.
Another wave of dizziness hit her and she staggered.
“What is wrong?” Einar asked.
“Nothing,” she assured him. “It will pass.” But the boy gripped her hand even more tightly as they made their way towards the door of the hall.
As they passed the hearth, Aoife looked down at where a thrall was finishing skinning a rabbit, ready to put it in the soapstone bowl to cook on the fire.
It was a sight she had seen many times and the smell of the blood and fur a familiar one, and yet today it had her clasping at her stomach and hurrying past. She pushed open the door to their room and stepped inside, then quickly pulled it closed as soon as the boy had followed her.
She sat on the bed, then took huge, gasping breaths of the fresher air in an attempt to stave off the nausea.
The boy watched her from near the door, his eyes large and frightened. “Are you going to die, too?” he whispered.
“No,” Aoife replied. She shook her head, but that proved to be the final straw.
She grabbed at an empty bowl on the table and was violently sick.
Her stomach continued to rebel for the next few minutes and somehow she was not surprised when she felt a cooling cloth placed on her forehead and the bowl removed from her and an empty one put in its place.
She sat mumbling, concentrating on breathing in and out, in and out.
A mug of water was held to her lips. She sipped.
“Thank you,” she managed to croak at Ragna, who smiled grimly at her. The older woman passed the bowl to a thrall who left with it.
A small hand touched her own. She jumped at first and Einar pulled back, but she smiled at him and reached for his hand.
“My mamma died,” he said. Aoife didn’t understand the next bit, but assumed it was a question.
Ragna answered hurriedly, then shooed the boy out. Aoife tried to protest, but wasn’t up to it. Ragna smiled at her. “Rest, Aoife. You will feel better soon. I will bring you something to drink that will help.”
She frowned at the older woman. “I am sure I will be fine tomorrow.”
“I think it may be a few weeks or more until you are yourself again,” Ragna said. “Your husband said he did not want a child so soon, but he should have known better than to try to control that.”
“A child? Tormod said there would be no—”
Ragna laughed. “Aye, men often do.” She closed the door behind her.
Aoife closed her eyes but her mind was racing so fast she thought she would never sleep, but she must have because she awoke a while later.
The room was empty, but she had the sense someone had just left.
Perhaps that was what had woken her. Gingerly, she sat up and put her feet on the floor.
She still felt a little lightheaded, but the nausea had passed.
A steaming herbal drink sat beside her bed. Ragna must have brought it for her.
Outside she could hear the noise of everyday life, but it seemed as if there was more joy in it today after the arrival of the newcomers.
As the jarl’s wife, she should have welcomed the new arrivals earlier, but she had been too bound up in Tormod’s poor treatment of his son.
She ran her hand over her stomach. Could she be with child? Tormod had seemed so sure he could avoid a child for now, although on the night of the battle he had made a mistake. She tried to work out when her monthly courses had last come and realised it had been weeks now.
The door opened and her husband stepped in. Guiltily, she let her hand drop to her side. They regarded one another, Aoife wondering what to say.
Eventually she asked, “Where is Einar?”
She knew it was the wrong thing to have said when Tormod’s face clouded over. “Ragna has found a bed for him in the hall.”
“That is good news,” Aoife said.
“You are feeling better?” His expression was wary.
“Yes, Ragna has brought me a drink.”
Tormod inclined his head, then crossed to the other side of the room and pulled his shirt off. As he looked for a clean one, Aoife indicated her sewing basket. “There is a new one I made for you,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said, holding it up and admiring it.
“Are the new arrivals settled in?”
“Almost. I am going to the bathhouse. Will you join me?”
“Is that allowed?”
“Of course. You are my wife. Unless of course there is someone else you would prefer to be looking after.”
“There is only you, Tormod. Although I thought you would wish me to make your son welcome.”
He laughed a bitter laugh. “Yes, Ingrid preferred his company to mine, as well.”
“You are being ridiculous,” she said. “You told me you needed to keep up the appearance that he is your son. And…”
“And?”
“I know what it is like to have a new stepmother. I would prefer not to treat Einar the way I was treated. Is that so unreasonable?”
The silence stretched between them, and then another bout of dizziness rushed through her. She cried out as her head spun, then realised it was a vision overwhelming her.
She was in H?kon’s field again. She heard the crackle of the fire and wondered why her vision was of the past and not the future. Then she realised this was different. She turned slowly, feeling the presence of death all around her. A cow fell to its knees, then crumpled onto its side.
The fire was no out-of-control blaze, but one tended by H?kon. She smelled burning flesh. This was no cooking fire—it was a pyre of dead beasts. She screamed at the sight of empty eyes and tongues lolling out of heads.
“The animals,” she murmured. “In H?kon’s field, the animals are dying.”
A raven croaked high above. She looked up, trying to see it through the thick, black smoke.
Suddenly, it cleared, and she could see the raven flying with its partner over the fortifications of a keep.
Then she was flying with them, looking down on the world.
She spread her wings and soared, sure now it was Car Cadell below her.
She landed on grass outside the palisade and looked towards the fort.
The rays of the dying sun illuminated the familiar stone structure.
Around it were the walls of the courtyard and beyond that the wooden palisade, stained dark in places.
She reached out a hand to touch the stain.
Ravens croaked overhead, and when she drew back her hand, it was red with blood. She screamed.
She grabbed onto something solid beside her, then slowly she realised it was Tormod. She was cradled tightly in his arms, but they were no longer alone. Bjorn, Ulf and Arne were all crowded into the room as well, and when she heard a noise in the doorway, she saw Ragna ushering Einar outside.
“Well,” Bjorn said, clearly shaken. “If you are not murdering your wife, then we will leave you in peace.” He and Arne stepped back towards the door. Ulf didn’t move, but watched as Tormod laid her down on the bed.
“It was a bad dream,” she said, swallowing. She reached for the drink Ragna had brought her earlier, cold now, but it helped calm her. “That was all.”
Tormod and Ulf stared at each other, then Ulf turned and strode purposefully out the door.
“You should sleep,” Tormod said, running a hand over her forehead.
For a moment, she almost told him the truth about her dreams and visions, but fatigue swept over her.
What had Ragna put in her drink? Her eyes drifted shut.