Chapter 11
RASHA
Accepting offerings lasts well into the afternoon. Harald fidgets in his chair, asking me easier questions about life, which is nice for a change. Then he falls asleep after we eat small helpings of bread and hard cheese.
I don’t mind the quiet or holding hands with those bringing even the smallest of offerings.
Straw figurines are laid around the burning log, accompanied by short prayers and pretty songs.
As the sun loses leverage against the thick, snow-laden clouds, the cold of the afternoon seeps through my cloak, finding weak spots in the seams of my dress, making my bones cold.
Longing for the day to be over and to find Shaw in the heat of the forge so I can ask about the map, I notice Joanna tip toe up the side of the platform so she doesn’t wake Harald.
“He is napping so he can be lively at the divination feast.” I roll my eyes, and Joanna dips her forehead into mine.
“Sorry we’ve stayed away. We’ve been preparing the costumes for the Wild Hunt. Wait till you see yours.”
“It will be good to get that part of Yule over with.”
Joanna glances at Harald, making sure he’s really asleep and buries her face against mine.
“How is your furry bedmate?” she asks, the wisps of her brown hair tickling my neck.
“She left last night. There was an opportunity for her to escape, and it was best to let nature take its course.”
“I am sorry she didn’t lead you to the bow. But the women had another idea,” Joanna replies and turns to the crowd that has doubled in size as we were speaking. “Rasha, the women have brought you, and you alone, an offering.”
“I don’t know what to say.” My tender voice rattles over the words. Many women have come now, slipping through the ranks of men to fill in the empty places around the Yule log.
Stepping down, I am eye level to so many women who wear proud smiles across their faces. Many of whom have been quiet during the nightly feasts and held back at the afternoon games. Katrine blends in with Joanna to my right, and Enora steps forward.
“We made this for you,” she says. My jaw opens at what is in Enora’s arms. It’s a long bow, cut from a yew tree and sized for a female. Carvings begin at the iron nocks and continue over the hand rest all the way down.
Taking it in my arms, I look closer to see the faces of Freya, Frigg, and Skadi depicted in the narrow wood. Enora wipes her hands on her dress, and I pull her into a tight hug.
“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” My whispers are muffled in her fur hood.
“We want you to know we are with you,” she replies, leaning back to give me a smile.
“Thank you,” I repeat to everyone who is watching. The energy in the ceremonial circle is thick with unease.
“In the name of Skadi, I accept this gracious gift. May all the women prosper in their bellies, in their homes, and in their hunts,” I say quietly, raising the bow above my head.
The fire crackles over the massive log, spitting sparks and embers over the snow covered ground.
Several people begin to whisper, and others cheer.
The names of the goddesses fall from the women’s lips in a chant.
“Skadi, Freya, Frigg. Hear our prayers. Accept our Maiden who’ll lead us into the new year.
” It starts from the huntresses, with Enora leading the chant, and it grows into a loud song, traveling into the next group of quieter women until even the husbands begin to repeat the words.
Fearing the wrath of a goddess is something no man wishes upon himself when he has a child bearing wife to care for.
Clutching the bow, my heart stutters in the overwhelming love pouring out from the women who chose to honor the goddesses. Through the many unfamiliar faces, I see Shaw with his black hood over his head, golden hazel eyes staring across the expanse and into my soul.
“Rasha, what is happening?” Harald’s hard voice snakes around my neck, and his hand is suddenly against my spine. Straightening, I start to walk away, but his heavy hand finds my shoulder, squeezing roughly, so I stay planted next to him.
Leaning back into his ear, I keep the bow tight to my chest. “They made me a bow to honor the goddesses during Yule.”
“The goddesses and not the gods?” he asks, pinching my shoulder while I quake at the knees to leave.
“There were many offerings to the gods while you were asleep.”
“You should have woken me,” he snarls and lets go.
Shaking out my shoulders, I don’t see Shaw across from me, and my hunting instincts prick up my spine.
Women and men take notice of our exchange and find other places to be, taking their wagons and blankets with them.
The ceremonial circle becomes a congested collection of people.
Harald takes me by the elbow, and I have to move with him. Walking fast back toward the stronghold, I notice Harald’s men collecting all the offerings and following behind us.
“I can walk,” I snarl and yank my arm away.
“What did you say to them to rile them up like this?” he asks, kicking mud and snow around as he stomps in through the tall double doors.
“I am a huntress, Harald!” I scream in blind rage.
“You will be my wife,” he yells back. The men bringing the offerings keep rolling by with the wagons, trying to avoid our argument.
“I am a Viking woman, and our laws state I need to accept you. You cannot force me.” I say the truth I’ve been holding on to since Jorvik first told me of his plan.
Harald’s temper simmers between the never ending cups of wine and my stubbornness. He paces around me like a rabid fox, not big enough to make the kill, but desperate enough he doesn’t care.
“Rasha, come with me.” His arms go lax at his sides, and I back up until I am standing on the second and third step. At this height, I can see the women who fled the ceremonial circle now gather at the open gate doors. His face relaxes as he realizes we are being watched.
“Where?” I ask, cradling the bow against my chest.
Harald lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his ringed fingers through his hair. Coming closer so I can hear, he speaks softly, trying to appease me. “I haven’t made you an offering.”
The crowd outside the stronghold pretends to sort the bread from the meat, but women who are taught to protect themselves are always listening. Joanna and Katrine are arm in arm with Jorvik and walk past us, but I wave them over.
“Would you put this in my room?” I ask the group, flashing a desperate glance to the women. Katrine loosens her arm and takes the bow, giving me a quick nod.
“I don’t have a key.” She spins two steps above me and holds out her hand. Fishing the iron key out from my bodice, I pass it to her and descend the last two steps to give in to Harald.
Jorvik beams as I pass him, completely satisfied with how I handled the situation, and I want to scream. But for the sake of saving the bow and keeping Harald from taking his anger out on the women, I’ll entertain the Jarl.
“Where are we going?” I dare ask on our way out of the stronghold.
Harald pats my arm, leading me around the corner, and my stomach contracts.
I know where we are going. Plumes of smoke billow out of the roof of the forge, and the heat hits me, mingled with the anticipation of the conversation that is about to happen.
“The first reason I asked Shaw to spend Yule with us is because he holds a special set of skills.”
The words I heard Shaw say to me days ago echo behind Harald’s voice.
We don’t knock or announce our presence as Harald pushes open the door with a loud greeting.
Remembering all the places Shaw and I were close enough to kiss, I step away from Harald and run my hand over Shaw’s big black coat slung behind a chair.
“Harald,” Shaw says, coming out from the back bedroom. His gaze travels around the room, landing on mine. “You brought the Maiden. What can I do for you, my lady?” My mouth smiles in acknowledgment until I press my teeth into my lower lip to stop myself.
“I want you to show her the rings or better yet…” Harald motions for me to come closer, and I do.
Avoiding Shaw is like trying to stop falling asleep after a long day of hunting.
The lure of our attraction is bound to be discovered, I force myself to remember I am here with Harald.
But he is oblivious to what’s between the blacksmith and I.
“What would you like him to make you? I commissioned rings for our wedding, but can he make you a bracelet? Or a lovely necklace for that pretty chest of yours.”
Shaw’s grip tightens on the handle of his hammer, and my throat closes as I try to breathe evenly. It’s one thing for me to want Shaw to do unspeakable things to my chest. It is another for Harald to openly talk about adorning me in jewelry in front of him.
“The rings will be plenty. I wouldn’t want to overstep. Are they made already?” I look between both men, and Harald grins with a satisfactory grunt. Freya save me.
“Have you seen raw ore?” Shaw asks, knowing we have already experienced these moments between us.
I shake my head, and he pulls out the familiar pile of silver and gold nuggets, except the other night there were a few more pieces.
Harald walks over to inspect the pieces too.
His burly body overshadows mine, blocking the heat of the kiln, which is making me dizzy.
“Sorry we haven’t found your attackers. You have enough to make the rings?
I’ve heard of shamans who add bits of the body, bone, or blood to enhance the marriage ritual.
I need to make sure we are bound. Rasha here is going to satisfy the King with an heir for us.
For the clans, Shaw, think of it.” Harald finds my hips with his wide hands and situates my body against his.
“There are things I can add to the ore so the impurities are extracted during the melt. Flesh that is added must be freely given, and it is up to the gods whether it is enough for a true consecration,” Shaw explains, walking around the kiln.
He flips the head of an axe over so it evenly heats and rakes through the coals, making tiny sparks of fire rain onto the stone floor.
Ignoring Shaw, Harald turns me around so that we are close but not touching. His hands find my face in an almost loving way. My heart should feel light and full of happiness, but instead, my insides feel like molten iron is being poured down my veins, solidifying in my gut.
“We are not alone, Harald.”
“He will witness our union along with the clans at the end of Yule. We have no need to hide.”
“Thank you for bringing me here. The rings are more than I could ask for,” I say as he caresses the skin of my jaw under his thumbs. I am not sure if I should play along or walk away. The last time I defied him it ended poorly.
“Give him your blood?” he asks, and I recoil. His hands travel to the back of my neck where my hair is braided. Taking a braid in his hand, he searches for the tie at the bottom, his fingers brushing the top of my breast. “How about a lock of your hair?”
“She doesn’t have to decide right now,” Shaw interrupts. “I won’t melt the ore to make the rings until after the Wild Hunt since I have a few masks to finish.”
“I would like your word, Rasha, that after the Wild Hunt you will agree to marry me,” Harald says, the smokey air hangs between the three of us like a curtain of lies. My hands crawl around Harald’s forearms, wishing for a way out of this moment. I pull gently, and he lowers his hands.
“Tonight is the Divination feast. We shall ask the gods our future.” Turning from Harald, I find Shaw focused on rolling the irons in the kiln.
His shirt is rolled up, showing off his thick muscles and taunt shoulders.
I am about to get myself killed. “You’ll be at tonight’s feast? ” I ask, and he looks my way.
“I’m not one for feasting, my lady.”
“Oh come now. You live alone. You work alone. You need to set your sights on a pretty woman for the Hunt. Why not start tonight? Rasha and I insist,” Harald says from behind me, and I watch that tiny muscle in Shaw’s jaw contract.
“That is kind of you. I’ll find a place in the Hall once I clean up.”
Not wanting the conversation to go further, I head for the door, holding out my hand for Harald, and he takes it. He assumes we’ve come to some sort of agreement, whereas I am happy to leave in one piece.