Far After Gold (27 page)

Over his tousled head something caught her eye. She glanced up, her eyes narrowed and she squealed. Unnoticed by anyone, a graceful dragon ship, her red and white square sail vivid under the sun, sailed soundlessly up the middle of the loch with barely a ripple at her throat. It made an elegant sight against the dark water of the loch, but Emer shrieked.

“They’re attacking! We’re attacked!”

She clutched one of Oli’s hands in a vice-like grip and dragged him toward the dubious safety of the forest.

***

Wave Walker
dropped her sail a little way out and came in the rest of the way under oars. Emer watched as a chunkily built man disembarked at the jetty and greeted Skuli Grey Cloak like an old friend.

“That’s Snorri Longnose,” Flane whispered against her ear.

Snorri’s tunic was the colour of blood and six month’s work in gold thread embroidery at the neck and hem flashed and dazzled in the sunshine. Gold jewellery decorated most of his fingers. She decided she liked his twinkling blue eyes set in a skin burned dark by wind and sun.

Flane’s arm nudged Emer’s shoulders. “Got over your fright now?” He still chuckled now and then over her immediate assumption that the dragon ship was about to raid Skuli’s steading. Oli’s screeching had alerted the men, and only Flane’s reassurances had persuaded Emer down to the jetty. Still feeling a little foolish, she looked at the trodden daisies in the grass, and her smile broke through even though she tried to restrain it.

“Of course. Are you sure your back doesn’t pain you?”

Flane wasn’t about to admit that his back felt as if someone had poured salt over it. He shook his head and leaned closer so his whisper reached her ears only. “I’ll wager he’s here to ask for Katla.”

She looked up, startled, and then turned to stare at Snorri. Some years older than Flane, shorter by at least a hand span and far less handsome, the man exuded confidence.

“There has been no word, no negotiation. Do Viking men come calling unexpectedly like this and expect to leave with a wife?”

“Often, yes. Prolonged negotiations lead to complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

Flane grinned. “Children.” He laughed as her eyebrows lifted. “No family wants the girl bearing a child out of wedlock, for that would shame them.”

“But…” She decided to let it go. Allowing young people time to know each other obviously didn’t go down well in this society. “My mother told me my father courted her for six weeks,” she said, “but they were never left alone. One of the old women was always within earshot, so it was embarrassing for them both. Will Katla know he’s here? Will she know
why
he’s here?” She felt a fleeting twinge of sympathy for the girl.

“It’s been talked of, over the last few years, so she’ll have a good idea. He’ll offer a good bride price and that will please Skuli Grey Cloak.”

“Will Snorri take her back to his steading?”

“It is usual.”

“It might make things easier for us, perhaps, if she left here.”

Flane pursed his lips. “That’s if she marries him. It wasn’t that long ago she informed everyone within hearing distance that she would never marry him if he was the last man alive.”

Emer turned considering eyes on him. “No doubt,” she said, “that was when she had hopes of you.”

A slow grin crossed his face. “And she’ll have him, now she knows she cannot have me? Is that what you mean?”

Emer nodded. “I wouldn’t want to stay here if I were her.” To stay and watch the man she loved live with someone else would be terrible.

Flane stopped smiling. “You’ve forgotten that I’m supposed to be the one leaving the steading.”

“Ah. Yes, of course.”

***

Skuli’s wife Gudrun unlocked her chests, shook the creases out of three heavy linen cloths and handed them over with some ceremony. The slaves received them, shook them again and laid them over the bare wooden trestles and then set out the lavish meal that would honour Snorri Longnose. Rumour ran around the hall that the meal was in celebration of his request for the hand of the daughter of the steading. Skuli Grey Cloak and Snorri Longnose closeted themselves in Skuli’s room for a good portion of the morning and it was not hard to guess that they negotiated a bride price.

Katla, unceremoniously ousted so the two men could have privacy, sat by the hearth and sulked. “I know,” she muttered to her mother “a woman’s consent to marry is not required, but I thought my father cared for me more than this.”

“Of course he cares for you,” Gudrun replied, her big brown eyes soft with compassion. “He looks for your wellbeing in a fine marriage.”

“But should I not be consulted?”

“I considered myself lucky your father had a private conversation with me for the whole of one afternoon before the wedding ceremony took place. Everyone thought that was more than enough.”

Katla shook her head in dismay.

“You know longer courtships usually end in unwanted pregnancies,” her mother added. “And then, of course, feuds erupt and men die. It is so unnecessary.”

“He should have asked me!” Katla muttered. “Most fathers ask their daughters if the man will suit before they start negotiations!”

Gudrun lowered the linen to her knee and embedded the needle through it. “I think, dear, that Longnose’s sudden arrival took your father by surprise. If you have patience, he may yet ask if you consent to the marriage.”

Still smarting from Flane’s rejection, Katla grimaced. “You told me all those tales of mighty passion, the
inn matki munr
, mother, and I believed you, but a wedding such as this will hardly be one of passion.”

Gudrun sighed. “Very few are, daughter
. Inn matki munr
is for the sagas and songs. But many find love of a kind grows within the union.”

Katla grunted. “I wouldn’t call it love. Affection, perhaps.”

“I believe your father has given you everything you asked for until now,” Gudrun said, leaning forward. “You demanded Flane as your husband and grand passion, without considering that Longnose has always been your father’s first choice for you.” Gudrun looked at her daughter with a mixture of exasperation and love plain in her face. “I am sorry you are disappointed. It is indeed sad that Flane seems to love this pretty slave girl.”

Katla’s lips compressed to a thin, hard line. “What of this Snorri Longnose? Is he well favoured?”

“You have met him, daughter. Do you not remember him? He is handsome, and proud. He thinks well of himself. He will make a good husband, I’m sure.”

“Is he loud? Does he laugh often? Does he belch?”

“He smiles often, and his laughter has a pleasant sound. As to the other thing, I have always been content to sit next to him.”

Before Katla could ask anything further, her father appeared at the door to their private quarters and jerked his thumb at her. Gudrun patted her hand. “Off you go, daughter. Smile and be pleasant. They are both good men.”

Reluctantly Katla got up and walked slowly over to join her father. Skuli watched her. “Now, girl. What say you to wedding our neighbour Longnose?”

Katla scowled. “I do not say anything, father. You know my feelings.”

Skuli Grey Cloak sighed. “I have grey hairs enough in my beard over this as it is, daughter. He is a good man, has wealth, status and seems virile. It would be a good marriage.”

“You should have made Flane marry me.”

“He was unwilling, you know that. It is time you were married.”

“You mean to marry me to this man even if I don’t consent? Father—”

Skuli interrupted her with a wave of his large fist. “I wish I had sons. I wish I had many sons! I look to the future of the steading, and Longnose is the future. He will protect you, he’s honest and will not use your dowry as his own.” Skuli shrugged. “If you had married Flane, Longnose would have felt slighted and a feud would likely have developed. You know we have talked of this alliance since you were a child, Katla. Only your foolish liking for Flane Ketilsson prevented it happening long ago. Well, now Snorri is tired of waiting for a wife. He wants to marry tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“It is Frigga’s-day tomorrow, the traditional day for brides. It is almost harvest time, and we have food enough to squander on a wedding feast. We might struggle to find honey enough for a month, but his folk can help with that. So tomorrow it is, and Katla—” He hesitated, and smiled gently. “I would rather you went to this marriage willingly than with bad grace.”

Katla knew she did not have a choice. Grey Cloak was growing old, Flane was enamoured of his slave girl and who would protect her if she did not marry? Better to marry a wealthy lord than one who could not keep her in finger rings. Her face puckered and she stood undecided for a long, tense moment before, with a small sob, she leant into his arms.

“Oh father! How is he to look upon?”

“Come and talk to him, find out for yourself.” He held her off and looked down into her white face. “Dry your eyes and come with me.” She trailed after him, her gaze on the ground until she looked up and locked eyes with the solid, brown-haired man rising to greet her.

***

“Does she like him?”

Flane pulled his nose away from Emer’s ear long enough to mumble “I think so,” and then went back to sucking her ear lobe.

She pushed him off. “How can you tell?”

He subsided gently to the bed, lay on his stomach and leant his head on his forearms. Emer snuggled down beside him, careful not to touch his back. “Go on,” she urged. “Tell me.” If she leant out of the bed space, she could see the two people sitting beside the hearth. They were not alone. Skuli Grey Cloak and his wife sat close by, and could hear everything the young couple said to each other. Everyone in the hall watched from the side of their eyes, and nudges and winks were frequent.

“I think she does. And he certainly likes her.”

“Yes,” Emer said patiently. “But how can you tell?”

“The way she sits so straight and looks him in the eye. If she didn’t like him, she’d avoid him as much as she could. She smiles often, and there’s a flush on her skin. She’s attracted to him. Look at the way he leans forward, to be closer to her. He likes her, too. He’s already thinking of bedding her.”

“Flane!”

“You asked me, so I’m telling you. He wants to catch her smell. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, but he is. If he didn’t like the way she smelled, he’d get up and walk away.”

“He can’t do that now!”

“No, you’re right. Skuli and he have shaken hands on the deal, so it’s too late now. He’ll already have paid some of the bride price to Skuli.”

“You won’t get any bride price for me, you know.”

He looked up, his face suddenly serious. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that. By thunder, how will we live without the bride price?”

For a moment, Emer thought he meant it. She sat up slowly, her fingertips rising to her mouth, as if she had just realised something shocking. “I won’t have my
morgen-gifu
either!”

They looked at each other, and it was Flane who gave way first. “You little wretch!”

Emer fell back on the bed, her face creased with laughter.

He pretended to kick her, but didn’t put a lot of effort into it. “You would throw my poverty back in my face after I’ve given Grey Cloak most of my silver because I jilted his daughter for you? Shame on you!”

She struggled up and stretched to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I know. But we need to consider what we do. We are here on sufferance because everyone is taken up with the wedding. Grey Cloak insists we leave the steading once it is over.”

Flane’s blue gaze flicked over to the couple sitting by the hearth. “Just sit tight for a few days. If Skuli says nothing, we’ll say nothing. This wedding might change everything.”

“How can it change things?”

“Never mind them. Think about us. Why don’t we go down to the bathing hut?” He ran his index finger down the inside of her arm, looked up and met her wide brown stare. “I think you would feel happier there than in the hall with everyone else.”

She bit her lip to stop the wide smile stretching across her face, and nodded vigorously. They strolled through the steading to the loch, and along to the wooden hut that had figured so largely in their relationship. The sun was high, and there was no need to light the fire.

Luckily the hut was empty. Emer made no objection when he loosened her gown and drew off her chemise. Indeed, she helped him, the blood high in her face; but when she turned to him it was with a frown of concentration. There were buckles to undo, his sword harness and belt to remove, his boots to pull off and all the time he distracted her by stroking whatever part of her he could reach.

She found his hard body a miracle of bone and muscle, and so different to her own soft curves. Burnished gold by the firelight, his skin gleamed as he arranged the skins close by the fire. Emer admired the shape of his hard muscled thigh, the tilt of his head and his wide, splendid shoulders.

He gestured toward the comfortable nest of sheepskins, and they sank onto it together, holding one another. “I love you,” he said, and covered her mouth with his own so that she did not, could not reply. His kisses continued, ventured further than her lips, drifted into her hair, found her ear, and soon descended to her breasts.

Lost in sensation, Emer forgot about words, traded them for sighs, gasps and odd unintelligible murmurs of encouragement. A fire started, slow, deep and demanding, and under his mouth a sharp jolt of feeling surged from her breasts to her belly. She recognised a vast ache, an emptiness that he must fill, and soon. Coherent thought vanished. The ache grew and grew until she thought it would consume her. With every care for his back, she slowly straddled his thighs. “I don’t know how to do this,” she sighed. “What should I do next?”

“Remind me to choose an older woman next time, who knows what she’s doing,” he muttered against her mouth. “Have you no instincts, woman? What do you think you should do next?”

“This,” she said, and watched the smile stretch across his face.

***

Much later that night, Flane, Skeggi and two slaves walked over to the point where the river foamed down to meet the loch and recovered the body of Gamel from beneath the hastily erected shelter of woollen cloth. The slaves helped to carry the heavy body into the forest to a spot already dotted with crude stone markers denoting other burials.