Chapter Thirty
Aoife needed to know about the past so she could understand the present, whether her husband agreed or not.
Tormod was clearly upset—the tension in his shoulders was clear as she struggled to keep up with him as he strode along the beach.
She wasn’t going to let him just disappear, though.
She was tired of all these secrets and half-truths.
How could he just give away his son like that?
Fostering was common practice, but this seemed somehow more permanent. And what debt?
“Tormod!” she called. He ignored her and kept walking. “Tormod!”
This time he paused and looked at her over his shoulder, then shook his head and strode onwards. His boots were stronger and more able to deal with the stony beach, while her shoes let her feel every stone beneath her feet and she winced whenever the sharp edges dug into her skin.
He was past the bathhouse now and the shingle was becoming larger stones and rocks.
He barely paused when he reached the rocks and continued to walk as if they were of as much concern as the shingle had been.
It was not nearly so easy for Aoife, who had to stop often to choose the best route.
More than once she had to turn back to avoid pools of water or large patches of mud she daren’t risk stepping into and discovering they were deeper than she had thought.
She did her best to keep up with him, but feared that by the time she made it to the top of the rocks he would be far from her sight.
He wasn’t. He had stopped at the far side of the next cove and was staring north up the sea-loch. A wave of light-headedness passed through her that she put down to relief. She started to make her way down the slope towards him.
He was a solitary figure standing at the edge of the water, the waves lapping at the tips of his boots.
She could understand why there was something amiss about his relationship with the boy.
She had seen the distance between them before, although she did not want it for her own children.
It was the distance between her and Ula and, while Tormod did not seem to hate Einar the way Ula hated her, there was still something very wrong.
Even more wrong was the idea of Einar living with Arne permanently.
She sensed a deep sadness in the decision for both men.
More than just an acknowledgment that the boy was not Tormod’s natural son.
He had not wanted her to keep secrets, and yet he was keeping many of his own.
“Tormod?” He didn’t turn or acknowledge her presence, so she guessed he had known she had followed him the whole time.
Her fists clenched. He had known and had not slowed down or better yet stopped.
Perhaps it was a test to see how much she cared.
She would soon find out if she had passed. “Tormod?”
She placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he spun around and grabbed her by the waist. He took a long look at her face, then closed his mouth hungrily over hers.
Eventually, he wrenched his mouth from hers and leaned his head against the side of hers, panting.
Her thoughts whirled. She had been correct; her husband’s emotions were as disturbed as her own.
Arne fostering Einar did not account for the pain she saw in his face, the desperation she had felt in his kiss.
“What is going on? Why does it seem like Arne is going to bring up Einar?”
“The villagers are willing to accept him, say nothing about his parentage, especially about his mother, but he cannot become jarl.”
“I understand, but…” Aoife pulled back from him. “What is it you are not telling me? There is something more, isn’t there?”
Tormod’s head bowed, and he took a deep breath. “Ingrid did not die when Einar was born.”
“Oh,” she said. “I thought…”
“No.” Tormod sighed. “Ingrid birthed Einar—another man’s child—no problem at all.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought…”
“It was my child that killed her.”
“Yours? But…” She stared at him, she couldn’t make her mouth form words. She was struggling to understand what he was saying.
“You do not need to love me…” He paused, a frown crossing his face. “But I do not wish to lose you.”
“Oh, Tormod.” So he feared her dying? He had wanted to wait to have children because he believed it had been his fault Ingrid had died.
A knot of tension inside her loosened, and she reached for him.
He kissed her again, his kisses more desperate than passionate, but she returned them, cupping the side of his face, trying to reassure him.
He lifted her and carried her up the beach to the edge of the woods, where he laid her down on a patch of grass before joining her.
He swept her skirts up her legs and fumbled with his breeks.
He used his fingers to touch her intimately, teasing her until she began to tremble with anticipation.
His fingers moved from that sweet spot and she could feel how wet she was when he slid two fingers inside her.
Then, with little ceremony, he moved over her, shoving her legs apart with his own, and pushed inside.
She welcomed the desperation she felt in him, the need to be one with her, to join with her.
Unlike after the battle on the beach, however, this time he was looking at her and she knew he was seeing her, Aoife, and not just any woman.
His thrusts were deep and reached right to her very soul.
He changed his angle, and she responded to the contact on her most sensitive part.
She clung to him, soundless words escaping her until she cried out in ecstasy, losing touch with the reality around her as she felt him reach his own peak and spill himself deep inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, panting. She was too disoriented to care. When finally he sat up, he pulled her skirts higher, baring her stomach, and ran his hands over the smooth skin. She shuddered and looked down at his hand covering the gentle swell of her stomach.
“I am sorry.” He kissed her there, then peered up at her. “If you are with child, then I will welcome it. We will be a real family.”
She reached for him, touching the edges of his hair, and kissed him. Just then, a twig snapped nearby. Tormod looked around and settled her skirts back down, but did not rush to move. She started to pull away but he stopped her.
“Stay,” he said. “Everyone knows we are married. This is hardly a clandestine tryst in the woods.” He moved to lie beside her, smoothing her skirts fully into place as he did so.
She shuddered when his hand grazed her nipple through her dress.
She looked up to see the two ravens watching them from the branches above and smiled at them.
She heard the cry of a baby on the wind, felt a ghostly presence at her breast, then a contented gurgle, and she knew that all would be well with their child.
She smiled at her husband. “The child will be fine,” she said, indicating the ravens.
“You have seen this?” He asked, sounding awed.
“I have felt it,” she assured him. He smiled at her.
“I was rough with you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She looked away, unable to tell him that while he had been rough, she had liked it.
Had liked the feeling he wanted her so much he couldn’t even wait until they were in bed.
That he had to have her there and then and also that he seemed to finally be seeing her as the future mother of his children.
The only thing Ula had told her she would be of use as.
Tormod put his fingers on her chin and turned her to face him. “It will not happen again.” He rolled away from her and started to stand up, but she reached for him and tugged at his hand.
“I hope it will,” she said.
They exchanged a long, silent look, then he smiled and settled back down beside her.
She leaned over and placed her lips gently on his.
It was a sweet kiss, but she could tell he was keeping it that way, holding himself back.
In part, she wished he wouldn’t, that he would let go of his emotions again.
Another twig snapped, and she looked up to see the ravens fly off together.
“You are the only one who has ever wanted me,” she said, turning her attention back to him.
He glanced at her. “I will always want you.”
“I was worried that you didn’t. That it was the reason you didn’t want to have a child with me.”
He tensed. “I will welcome all the children we have together.” He smiled again and her heart lightened just a little.
“You do not need to send Einar away because of me.”
There was a long pause, and she thought for a moment he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m not,” he said finally.
“But, I thought… you said.”
“I’m not. Arne will look after Einar well. He does not… resent him the way I do.” Tormod laughed bitterly. “Perhaps he should. He has more reason to. Come, we will speak more of this later.”
She knew he wouldn’t tell her any more of the story.
Not now, anyway. She let him help her to her feet, and they walked side by side, hand in hand, along the forest path back to the village.
When they reached it, Einar and Elisedd were still sparring, although Arne had stopped teaching the boys and was sitting with Ulf and Bjorn next to the fire.
All had horns of mead in their hands and were laughing together. Aoife smiled at the sight.
As they approached, however, Ulf drained his horn and stood. Tormod stiffened.
“Arne says Einar is to live with him now, that he will train both him and the Briton as warriors,” Ulf said.
“That’s right,” Tormod replied.
“Is this an admission the boy is not yours?” Ulf took a step closer to Tormod. There was a pause, and it was as if for a moment the world stopped, for it seemed to Aoife no birds sang, the waves stilled and around them everything held its breath, waiting for Tormod’s response.
“No, it is not,” Tormod said. “But Arne has offered him a future as a warrior, rather than as jarl and I have decided that Einar will accept this. It is the best solution for all concerned.”
Ulf snorted. Tormod grabbed him by the kirtle and yanked him towards him. For a few seconds, Ulf struggled, then Arne stepped in and pulled them apart.
“Enough!” Arne turned to the two boys, who had stopped sparring.
Einar’s face was deathly pale and Aoife worried he was going to faint.
“None of this is the boy’s fault. I will not see him suffer any more for his parents’ sins.
I will train both Einar and Elisedd as warriors, and that will be the end of it.
What happened in the past is over. Finished. It is time for us all to move on.”
Ulf started to open his mouth, but an angry glance from Arne stopped him. He looked his brother in the eye.
“What happened was no one’s fault, but those who betrayed us,” Arne said. “I do not want you to argue over this again. Tormod is our jarl, and you will either accept this or leave.”
“And if I choose to leave?” Ulf asked. “Would you really choose the man whose foolishness caused you such harm over your brother?”
“Tormod has led us wisely ever since. I will not hold one decision against him,” Arne replied. “After all, if I did that, then perhaps you would not fare so well, Ulf. You have not always made the wisest of choices yourself.”
“But I am not jarl.”
“No, you are not. And before you say anything else, consider who those words will harm the most.”
Ulf glanced over to where the two boys stood watching the confrontation. “And what of the problems now? Do you not see the same thing happening again? Tormod allows strangers to live amongst us, strangers who may wish us harm.”
Tormod started to speak, but Aoife interrupted him. “Neither Elisedd nor myself wish you harm. Elisedd has already stood trial under your own laws and been proved innocent. Do you not accept the rulings of your own people?”
“You have not faced something similar, though,” Ulf replied. “And Tormod’s choice of wife in the past nearly killed my brother.”
Aoife frowned, trying to work out how that could be true. “When my father’s men attacked the village, they were instructed not to hesitate to kill me. What loyalty do you think I owe them after that?”
Ulf glared at her, then marched off towards the hall. Tormod moved to follow him, but Arne put a hand on his arm.
“Let him go,” Arne said. “He will come around. He is torn between wanting to avenge me and wanting to remain loyal to you. Perhaps in defending this village, defending your wife, he will be reconciled with the past.”