Loki's Daughters (33 page)

Egil groaned. Birgit squealed.

"Mama, look. Feathers! It looks like it's snowing! Why did they bring feathers, Mama?" Liam danced about, snatching at feathers that whooshed away faster than he could move.

"I'm sure I don't know, Liam." Birgit pursed her lips tightly.

"Feathers?" Arienh asked. Was this a joke? They did like to joke. But what was funny about feathers all over the house?

"Not just feathers," said Ronan. Horror sagged from his face into disappointment. "Down."

"Down? All right, it's down. But why? Whatever am I going to do with this mess?"

"It's down," Ronan said again. "You're supposed to-never mind. I'll help you clean it up."

"Nay, I'll do it." Arienh reached for a likely looking handful of the stuff, only to have it scatter away as she touched it. She grabbed again, but caught only a few feathers.

"Not that way. You have to move slowly," said Ronan. Frustration oozed in his voice.

She had really hurt him this time. But why? Why had he given her feathers? Why were they so important?

Birgit's face puckered up like a dried apple in her determination not to laugh. Arienh wished she'd leave.

"Ah, maybe we should go for a walk," Birgit suggested.

With a grumble, Arienh nodded and spit a feather from her lips as she watched Liam and Egil rush after Birgit out the door.

Egil almost had to jump out of the way before Birgit slammed the door shut and burst out laughing.

"That isn't nice, Birgit," he said, but he couldn't help grinning. He'd never seen solemn Birgit laugh before.

At that, her giggles rose to shrieks. "Tell me you didn't want to laugh. Tell me it isn't funny."

Egil chuckled, enchanted by mirth he had not seen before. "All right, it's funny."

"Why did he give her feathers, Egil?" asked Liam, looking up at him in confusion.

"It is down, Liam, not just feathers. And it is more precious than gold."

"It is?" Liam's eyes bulged. Greedy little rascal.

"Aye. It is very dangerous to collect it. It comes from the abandoned nests of seabirds on the high sea cliffs. A man must dangle on a rope over the edge to take it."

"But why?" Birgit asked. "What can she do with it?"

"Make a blanket."

"A blanket?" Birgit giggled wildly. "Oh, I do not believe it. How could anybody weave those little things? No one could spin them."

Egil laughed again. It was such fun to see her so merry. Even more fun to see her confusion. "Nay, they are not woven. But you have feather pillows. I have seen them."

Birgit frowned as her puzzlement deepened. "Aye, but-"

"Ah, I see you really do not know what to do with it. Then I suppose your sister does not, either. It is much used in the north, and makes the warmest blankets, so I think Ronan did not realize you would not know. It is done much the same way as the pillows, with the down in between two pieces of cloth."

That didn't seem to help much, and he suddenly realized she was imagining a giant pillow. "But it is tied together in many places so that it lies flat instead of round, but puffy. It is said the King of the Franks has his bed filled with down, and it is softer than floating on water."

"And how would you know about the Frankish King's bed?"

"When we were younger, Ronan decided we were going to get rich by collecting down and selling it to kings."

"But you didn't?"

"Nay, one time of hanging over a cliff was enough to keep me from ever going back."

"Were you scared?" Liam asked.

Never so terrified in my life.
"Aye. Just looking down at the waves crashing on the rocks makes me sick. It is not a way I would choose to die."

"But you went with him this time, didn't you?" Birgit said, and a warm smile lit her face. "If it is so dangerous, why did he do it?"

"Well, he loves her. And a man sometimes does foolish things to win a girl's love."

Birgit's beautiful pale eyes studied his with a curious wonder. "And I suppose a man sometimes does foolish things for his brother."

"Sometimes. Look, Liam, do you see my mother and father down by their cottage? Will you run and tell my mother we need her help?"

"Why?" asked the boy.

"Because she knows what to do with the down."

With a gleeful shriek, the boy sped down the path, his brassy curls bobbing. His hair was much like his mother's with its tight, springy curls, but was much lighter than her fiery red hair. He loved her hair. Never had it looked so wonderful as it did now, with a brilliant sun shining through it, and hundreds of colors dancing in the strands. He thought of lacing his fingers through it and drawing her into a kiss.

But he only thought of it. He did not even reach out to touch her hand, lest he frighten her. Though he had his brother's aggressive impulses, Birgit was not like her sister, and could not be taken in such a way.

Now, she laughed so naturally, trustingly, beside him as they walked, as if suddenly something inside her had broken loose and begun to sparkle. Time. She still needed time. He would give her all she needed.

"What kind of cloth?" she asked.

"What kind? I don't know. Just cloth."

"Nay, just cloth will not do. The wool is too springy. It gives too much. The feathers could poke right through it."

"They could?"

"It would have to be a tight, firm weave. Very tight. Linen, maybe, or nettle."

"Mm. I had not thought of that."

Her pale eyes held an odd, scheming look. He had seen it once before when he had watched her decide to let Liam go with him to fish.

"Nay," Birgit said, her eyes still focused intently on him. "Men do not often think of such things. But we do not have anything that will do."

"There is silk. And the Moors have something they call cotton."

"Cotton? What is that?"

He shrugged. "I've never seen it. But it is not heavy, and they say it is nice when the weather is very warm. It is even more costly than silk."

"Well, we don't have that either. And we have no flax crop. That leaves nettle. It usually must be retted, but if we could find last year's stands, it may have been retted naturally by the weather. My mother used to gather it this time of year."

"Then, could you weave it?"

"I don't think so. My loom is too coarse for the fine weave we would need. Mother had a very fine loom, once."

He stopped her, taking her arm in his hand. "But Ronan wants to build you a new loom for the weaving gallery. He could build it if you could tell him what you wanted. He is a very good carpenter. He built his longship."

Her pale green eyes danced with excitement. "He could? Oh, but I don't know where to find the nettles. I do not get out much because I am always weaving, so I do not know those things."

"But someone must. I will tell everyone, and we can look for the nettles as we do other things. I was going to take Liam very early tomorrow to show him how to hunt water birds. We could look then."

Birgit bounced about and grabbed his arms. "Oh, would you? Oh, it would be wonderful. Then for once I could do something for her instead of- she is always doing things for me, I mean. Oh, please, would you?"

Egil felt his heart wrench in his chest. He had never seen her like this, jumping excitedly about, just like Liam did. He had never seen her excited about anything. And maybe this would be the gift he could give her that melt the ice away from her soul. "Of course."

"You promise?"

"I promise." And he laughed and gave her a quick hug.

A pink flush colored her face, and Birgit regained her composure. He was sorry to see it end. But it was a start.

Egil quickly explained to Wynne as she arrived with Gunnar and Liam, and they hurried back to the cottage.

In silence, they picked feathers, from the dirt floor, the oak table, even from the porridge that simmered over the hearth fire. It seemed they had been picking up feathers for hours.

The scrambling sound at the door caused Arienh to look up from her misery. Wynne stepped into the cottage, her mouth agape at the remaining mess. The older woman wrinkled her nose, and Arienh realized she had become accustomed to the acrid smell of burnt feathers that still permeated the cottage air.

Behind Wynne trooped Egil, Liam, Birgit and Gunnar. Without a word, all plucked feathers from incongruous places and deposited them in the sack.

"I see you have been cliff-hanging, Ronan," said his mother as she plucked a feather out of her son's hair. "And rather successfully. But it appears you did not think to clear the way before you."

"It was my fault," he admitted sadly. "I thought everyone knew about down."

"Everyone in the north. But then, the winter nights are so bitterly cold there that it is a necessity. Here, it is only for the very wealthy. No one else knows much about it."

"I'm sure it is a wonderful gift," Arienh said remorsefully, yet not even knowing for what it was she felt regret. "But truthfully, I do not know quite what to do with it."

"I would say you do not know what to do with it at all," replied Ronan.

She nodded, feeling very sheepish.

Wynne scowled at him. "That is not her fault. It is yours because you did not tell her. I have told all of you, you cannot assume that everyone here thinks the same or knows the same things that you do. This is a different place, and if you would live in it, you must take the time to learn about it."

"It is not his fault," Arienh insisted. "It was a nice thing to do. I'm sure."

"Of course. Now, let us talk about making a down blanket."

Arienh eagerly listened as Wynne tied back her hair in a Norse knot and began her explanation. Only lone bits of fluff still lodged in odd places, but Arienh was determined to retrieve every one. She tried to avoid Ronan's glances and the terrible disappointment on his face. And her cheeks burned with humiliation when she learned from Egil the extent to which Ronan had gone to provide her with his gift.

"Well, now I understand how it's done." Arienh said. "I had some very strange ideas at first."

Birgit laughed. "So did I. I tried to picture weaving those little tiny feathers. I am going to weave the cloth," Birgit announced proudly. "It will be nettle. And Ronan will build me my loom, for he has already promised."

"Of course I will," said Ronan. "You have only to tell me what you want."

"Nettle?" Arienh asked. "But we have none."

"Egil is going to find what has rotted over the winter. Mother used to do that, and I remember how."

"But it will take so much."

Egil smiled. "Everyone will look. We will find it, do not worry."

"It will be fun, Arienh. And just think of the fine cloth I will be able to make."

Arienh saw something different in the dancing light green eyes where nothing but sadness had been for so long. Birgit was laughing again. If only it could be that way forever. But if only for now, it was a gift more precious than any he could have ever given her. And he did not even know he had given it.