Chapter Thirteen
-ASTRID-
As I had since coming ashore in Scotland, I fell into a role the gods or perhaps even this new God had surely destined me for, as I one by one spoke to the villagers the morning after lying with Declan. After becoming his wife in every sense of the word, whether we could share it or not.
I tried to bridge the gap between the Norse and the Scots.
To remind people that they had known each other for generations.
“You dinnae just heal with your hands,” Declan praised softly at one point as we made our way to the tavern to eat our first meal of the day. “You heal with your words.”
While I liked to think that, and always strived for it, hearing it from him warmed me, making me feel pride I often denied myself.
It both humbled me and gave me added strength and courage.
And nothing was more necessary for this venture and my ever-growing need, my mission, to settle my people on these shores.
To honor where we descended from, but stay loyal in our love for where we ended up.
Scotland.
Our new home and people.
The beginning of our new history.
And it seemed I had already made strides over the past year when everyone gathered in the village square later that day at King Alexander’s request. I was to rally them to our cause, doing what I had sworn I would, yet before I said much, one after another pledged their support and love for this country.
“We have heard these words,” one woman called out from the crowd, looking at me with the same pride Declan had. “We have heard of you and your support for us. Your support for our homeland here in Scotland.”
“For peace,” another called out, standing up straighter and nodding his head once in respect.
“Astrid Helvig, fierce shield-maiden and protector of Norse on these shores. She who sat at table after table in homes around Scotland speaking to us about either loving this country or leaving.” He shook his head.
“This is no place for dissent anymore but for unity.”
“And we agree,” another called out.
“Aye,” another added.
“Yet you dress as a warrior,” someone else pointed out, taking in my shield and blade. “You dress to fight when you preach peace.”
“I dress to represent the courage in us all,” I replied, speaking loudly enough for all to hear from where I stood alongside the king on a small dais just tall enough that everyone could see us.
If he wanted to seem among the people, then he need not look down on them from too great a height.
“I dress to stand strong for my new homeland, Scotland, and its people.” I gestured at King Alexander.
“For a king that I have come to respect a great deal and now call my own just as you do.”
The crowd erupted in cheers, showing Alexander what he needed to see, and he spoke to it, smart enough to take advantage of the situation.
“My good people, Norse and Scots alike,” he said loud enough for all to hear, the same pride I had seen in Declan’s eyes in the king’s steady gaze when he looked from me to his people, “Might you continue to spread Astrid Helvig’s message, for ‘tis my message too? Might you tell those who have been here for generations or who came over in this lifetime that they are welcome if they are loyal to the Scottish throne? If they are willing to defend our shores against anyone trying to unjustly claim our land, even if they are your former countrymen?”
I breathed a sigh of relief when the crowd roared in approval again, making clear everybody supported him and our new country.
Could there be traitors among us? Of course.
And I would weed them out by spending the next several days here listening to the people.
Spending time among them, keeping my ears open.
Did that make me a traitor to my fellow Norwegians?
Some might say yes, but I would say they were wrong.
While our reasons might have been different, we were all here to begin a new life in a new country. One willing to welcome us if we were loyal to it. Willing to defend it as it defended us. Would some slip by me? Perhaps, but at least I was trying, and the king saw that.
“That went verra well, lass,” Declan praised later that evening when the local magistrate saw that King Alexander had been given his own cottage for the few days we would remain here before moving on.
I had been given my own cottage, too, beside one for Declan and Stewart to share toward the backside of the village.
Now the three of us sat around a small fire outside, sharing one last whisky.
In our fur cloaks and untroubled by the cold, we looked out over a small loch steeped in fog, backdropped by rolling hills.
“Aye, it did go verra well,” Stewart agreed, holding up his skin of whisky in a toast to me. “Here is to the word continuing to spread of your cause, Astrid, and Norse and Scots alike rallying behind our good King Alexander.”
Declan and I met his toast and drank, still marveling at how well the day had gone.
How much my words had already affected people before I even met the king, speaking truth to what I hoped to accomplish on these shores.
A sense of purpose that only grew stronger the longer I was among these Scots and realized they were no different than the Norwegians I had grown up with, rooted firmly in kin and community, just trying to make a good life for themselves.
“Oksana seems better this eve,” Stewart noted, admiring my husky. Enjoying being outside for a bit tonight, she frolicked at the shore, her white pelt glimmering in the faint moonlight.
“Ja,” I agreed, smiling, elated that she was carrying pups despite the risks on this journey. To know that another generation would soon be born.
“’Tis interesting if not ironic,” Declan had said softly in the few scant moments we were alone earlier, remaining vague.
“If you are correct about how far along she is, it coincides with that rogue wolf I saw about.” He’d shaken his head and peered at me curiously.
“Though ‘twould be impossible, aye? Wolves and dogs dinnae mate, do they?”
“I could not say.” Yet I had been mulling it over since he’d mentioned Soren’s wolf, Sten, who had frequented our shores with Soren’s second-in-command while he recovered.
Could she have mated with Sten?
It was impossible to know. Stranger things had happened. When my talisman warmed, I realized there was truth to my thoughts and bit back a small smile.
“What I wouldnae do for one of Florie’s sweets right now,” Stewart said, sighing, his gaze a little sad as he stared into the flames. “She told me she had sent some, and they were in the satchel she prepared for me, but alas—” he shook his head— “they arenae there.”
“No worries,” I assured him. “There were some beneath the bannock in mine. I will go fetch it as I, too, would enjoy a piece or two.”
“Nay, I will retrieve it,” Declan said, using the fire to light one of the torches we had brought with us to light the way before he left, throwing over his shoulder that I was to enjoy these moments after accomplishing so much today.
“And you should.” Stewart looked at me with the same pride Declan had.
“You have well lived up to your promises, Astrid, long before the king even knew you did.
‘Tis carrying great weight with King Alexander, as it should. It proves you are verra much a lass, a warrior, and a fellow countryman of your word.” He nodded once.
“And I am verra proud to call you a friend.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, grateful for that. “As am I, you, Stewart.”
I was, too. I felt a kindred spirit in him, from his kindness to animals and his abilities as a devoted warrior, to how he interacted with his closest friends, Declan and Florie.
Seeing an opportunity to nudge things along between Stewart and Florie, I went on. “Whilst we might not have spent much time together, I feel I know you through Florie. She speaks highly and often of you.”
“Aye?” He tried to seem unaffected by that, but I saw the flash of hope in his eyes.
“Ja,” I assured. “She has long painted an admirable picture of you with words alone.”
Stewart was unable to respond with words but seemed to emit a little glow of satisfaction as Declan emerged from my cottage.
“Here it is,” Declan said, returning with my satchel.
Equally eager for one of Florie’s sweets, I set aside the few bundled pieces of bannock I had left, then removed three pieces of almost lovingly wrapped sweets, if I were not mistaken, based on their delicate little plaid ties.
“What do we have here?” I murmured, spying a neatly rolled scroll at the bottom. When I spied the word written on its outer curve in Florie’s handwriting, I couldn’t help but smile.
“What is it?” Declan wondered.
“Not mine,” I said softly, turning my smile Stewart’s way, understanding what had happened, given all the bags Florie had given us were identical. I handed the scroll to Stewart. “I think mayhap I ended up with the wrong satchel in all the haste before we left Mackay Castle.”
He peered it for a moment, as if unsure what to do with it.
“Well?” Declan prompted. “Are you going to read it, friend?”
“Aye,” Stewart said, his voice rough and unsure. “Aye,” he repeated, standing and lighting a torch to see the way, giving us a tentative look. “But I think, mayhap alone as ‘tis late anyway.”
“Of course,” I said before Declan could counter him, clearly not wanting to wait until tomorrow to learn its contents based on his confused look. Offering Stewart a warm, understanding smile, I gestured at what else Florie had clearly made for him and him alone. “Do not forget your sweets.”
Grateful for my understanding, Declan grabbed one of them, insisted we keep the others, and headed to bed.
“What do you think it says?” Declan asked, his hope for a favorable outcome evident in the worry in his eyes. “Surely something good, given the treats she made for him, aye?”
“I would say so.” Loving him all the more for only wanting good things for his dear friends, I gave his hand a quick squeeze and pulled away lest anyone be watching. It was a difficult location for someone to spy on us, yet still. Best to be cautious.
“Florie cares for Stewart as much as he does for her,” I went on. “’Tis clear in their gazes if you but watch.”
“I have,” he admitted. “Hoping I wasnae mistaken.”
“I cannot imagine you are.” I perked an eyebrow at him in question.
“And I suspect she would like Stewart to have these sweets, so if you are not opposed, I will save them for him. They are rightfully his and might make him feel closer to her once he reads that letter and undoubtedly receives good news.”
“Nay, not opposed in the least.” He handed me his and smiled, making my breath catch. It felt like each new smile he gave me brought even more warmth to my heart.
“’Tis a good thought,” he went on. “A kind and loving thought.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment, as if he were undecided how he wanted to phrase things.
“To that end,” he continued, sipping his whisky.
“Might we talk for a bit, lass? Get to know one another better? I’ve gathered much about you and your nature from how you interacted today with people and from what you said and sang to the wounded Norse, but I would like to know more.
You, in ways you dinnae share with others. Facets of your life, if you will.”
“I would like that,” I replied softly, sipping my whisky as well. “Very much.”
And so, we did for a time, speaking of more minor, everyday life before we met, whether in Scotland or Norway.
Our passions. Likes. Dislikes. Stories of battles and valor.
Of life and loss, before eventually speaking of things that needed to be shared when he finally told me about his mother’s death.
Lachlann had told me his version, but Declan’s was understandably more personal, given he had found her wounded and dying first. It was clear he had loved his mother every bit as much as I had mine, and speaking of them bonded us.
“I felt no hatred toward the Norse I grew up around until that moment,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Until seeing my mother broken and dying.” Justifiable anger flaring in his eyes, he shook his head.
“She was a good ma and the kindest woman, never harming anyone.” His gaze settled on the fire, and a vein ticked in his temple.
“Had I arrived a few scant minutes sooner, mayhap…”
“Mayhap you would have ended up dead too, given you were so new with a blade,” I said gently when he trailed off.
“’Tis not guilt you should carry any more than I for my own mother when I couldn’t protect her from dying at the hands of a rival tribe.
By the blade of one of my own countrymen, no less.
” Having long battled my demons and understanding that things needed to go as they should, I shook my head.
“As you know, terrible things happen all the time.
Sometimes we are meant to have control over them.
Other times, not. ‘Tis all part of this great tapestry that ensures fate unfolds as it should.”
“And I am your fate,” he said softly, the anger fading from his gaze when he looked at me again. “Just as you said, aye?”
“Just as I said,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft, too.
His tender gaze lingered on me for a long moment. “I am so sorry for the loss of your mother, Astrid.” He shook his head. “Her death sounds no kinder than the demise of my own.”
“It was not,” I confessed. “My sisters and I also carried a tremendous sense of guilt over not being there to defend her. Help her…” Shaking my head, I swallowed hard. “She was a great warrior, but there were too many of them.”
Though I knew he dared not risk our touching again out in the open, his compassionate gaze made me feel as though he held me close, lending me comfort, just as I knew my gaze did the same for him.
Then he asked me a question I wasn't sure I was ready to answer.
A conversation I was not sure I would ever be ready to have.