The Temperate Warrior (28 page)

He hoped his father looked down on him with pride.

Chapter Thirty-One

The journey back to
Dal Hinna Dauðu
had been a daunting one, to say the least. Winter had come early and with its arrival, came strong cold winds and incessant snowfall. The ten men had done their best to accommodate Æsa, stopping as frequently as possible to allow her to rest and, at times, retch and vomit in privacy. But time was of the essence if they wanted to get under shelter.

For a fortnight, they’d traveled through the harshest conditions. Food had been scarce, and it seemed most game had taken refuge from the storm. Any edible vegetation the land possessed had been covered with a hard crust of snow. Rationing what little they had in their reserves became pertinent to their survival.

Starving and frozen to the bone, Æsa had snuggled up close to Gustaf’s chest as they continued to press on. Tiny icicles clung to her eyelashes and wet snowflakes burned her reddened cheeks. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d ever been this cold, huddling deep beneath their snow-dusted bearskin cloaks for warmth. She tried not to complain, but her shivering and growling empty belly often reminded Gustaf in her stead.

Finally, after three weeks of total misery, they arrived home. As predicted, the generous villagers extended their services, from caring for the spent horses to providing hot soups and stews to their famished friends. Everyone chipped in, but Gustaf saw to Æsa’s needs before his own.

Immediately, he carried her into Halldora’s home and stripped her of her sodden clothes until she was naked. Æsa could barely lift a finger to help as she shivered profusely. As soon as he laid her down and covered her with a pile of warm furs, he tore off his own clothes and snuggled in behind her, holding his bare body against hers. He didn’t have much heat to offer, but he knew he possessed more than she did. Together they lay beneath the blankets, a roaring fire beside them.

Gustaf rubbed her arms, her legs, her back, trying to use friction to ward away the chill from her goose-pimpled flesh. His hands felt so good stroking her skin and the hard muscled body wrapped around her gave her comfort in knowing she was safe from Ásmundr’s cruelty.

When she’d heard Gustaf’s voice, after believing for so long that he was dead, she nearly died of shock. The gods had heard her prayers and delivered him to her a second time. How could she be so fortunate now when all her life she’d been countlessly forsaken by them?

Her wandering thoughts ceased the moment Halldora entered like a gusty storm. Her face held much concern as she laid eyes on the two shivering bodies in the boxbed. She stoked the fire and began rummaging around the shelves, looking through her assorted vials and jars of stones.

“Do not rush me, Gustaf,” Halldora scolded as she heard his thoughts. “I am doing what I can to help Æsa.”

“Forget me,” Æsa said, her lower lip quivering. “How is the babe?”

“You need to eat, child. A brew of wormwood, golden rod, and hop will ease your nausea.”

She felt Gustaf sigh in frustration. “Halldora.”

“Hold your tongue, warrior. I cannot think when you are badgering me with your complaints and worries. Trust in me, for once.” She took the herbs she had in store and measured them carefully before putting them into a mortar made of wood. Using a pestle, she crushed the ingredients then tapped them out on a thin sheet of cheesecloth. She tied it up and placed the filtered bag into a pot of steaming water at the fire.

Gustaf seemed to have lost his patience. “Halldora, please—the babe. How does my son fair?”

Halldora turned from the fire in agitation. “The babe’s heart is weak.”

“Then do something!” Gustaf snapped.

“I am, you overgrown stubborn ox.” She retrieved a smooth reddish stone from one of her jars and tied a string around it. She lifted the fur at Æsa’s stomach and placed her hands upon her belly. Halldora cringed and made haste to fasten the rock to Æsa’s thigh.

“What is that?” Gustaf asked suspiciously, blocking Halldora with his hand across her leg.

“’Tis a jasper stone.”

“My Æsa is not in need of pretty jewelry.”

“You want your son to be born before ’tis time?” Halldora barked. “Your Æsa’s womb contracts as we speak. The stone will ease her labor. Now remove your hand.”

“Gustaf, please,” Æsa encouraged. “Let her do what she must.”

Reluctantly, Gustaf allowed the old woman access, but continued to stare at her. Æsa couldn’t see the look he was giving the
seið-kona
, but knew he watched her every move with a keen eye.

“You blame me for this, witch, do you not?”

Halldora rolled her eyes. “You did all you could. Now let me do what I do best.” She reached up and felt Æsa’s neck, face, and chest. “Your body heat is not aiding her enough. Get dressed and fetch me a cauldron of hot water.”

“I am not leaving her.”

“You will do as I say, Gustaf.”

The look Halldora flashed him was not one that any intelligent man would ignore. No one really knew what the frail old woman was capable of when it came to her talents, but then again, no one in their right mind would dare provoke her. Gustaf was no different.

With a huff, he sat up and waited for Halldora to turn away. “Would it be too much to ask for a little privacy?”

Halldora waved him off. “You forget I have seen all there is to see when I began preparing your body for the Otherworld. I am certain your precious manhood still resembles a flaccid eel. Now, be off with you.”

Æsa hid her smile as the two battled with contemptible looks and irksome groans. Gustaf tore himself from the boxbed and drove his limbs back into his clothes, slamming the door behind him.

Halldora gave Æsa a grin of satisfaction. “My, he is but a stubborn one.”

Æsa couldn’t argue, but stood up for him nonetheless. “That stubborn man just saved my life.”

“And we must save this child.” She dipped a ladle into the brewing potion and held it before Æsa’s lips. The potent smell accosted her nose.

“Drink, lass. For the babe.”

Æsa sipped the bitter liquid. The acrid taste lingered on her tongue as it flowed down her throat, making her want to vomit anew. After a few more swallows, the nausea seemed to subside.

She looked at Halldora gratefully. Not just for taking care of her, but for nursing her dying Gustaf back to life.

“Thank me not, Æsa. Instead, you should thank Gustaf for his strength and courage. A weaker man would have died after what I put him through. You mean everything to him and for that, he will be a suitable husband and father—an overly protective husband and father, I might add.”

“I would not want him any other way.” Æsa smiled, giving thought to Gustaf holding their newborn son in his arms. It was a pleasant image as her eyelids drooped and, before she could stop the fluttering, she drifted off to sleep.

****

“Æsa,” Gustaf said sweetly, stroking her hair from her face. “Æsa, wake up.”

Her eyelids lifted heavily, but insisted on closing. He could tell she was utterly exhausted, but he feared her arms and legs were still too cool to the touch.

Determined to warm her thoroughly, he slipped his arms beneath her and picked her up. Her naked body, bejeweled with a single stone around her thigh, lay draped across his arms and he couldn’t help but think the worst.

“Please, Æsa, open your eyes.”

Again her eyes fluttered. Her hand touched his bare chest and a tiny smile inched up in one corner of her mouth. “Your skin is warm.”

“And yours is not.”

He carried her over to a large caldron of steaming water and stepped inside. Glorious heat surrounded his aching calves, then his thighs as he lowered himself. Æsa stirred as they receded into the bath together, the sudden warmth taking her breath away. She clung to him at first, as if it were painful to endure, but slowly relaxed upon his lap. Her head fell against his chest and her arms snuggled around his lower back.

Totally submerged, Gustaf held her tired, weakened body in a tight embrace. He didn’t care that his stomach growled with hunger or that his body craved sleep. All that concerned him was his dearest Æsa and the son she carried in her womb. She couldn’t lose this baby. She just couldn’t.

“Where is Halldora?” Æsa asked in a delicate whisper.

“I sent her away.”

Æsa’s breath brushed passed his wet skin as if she attempted to laugh. “And she allowed it?”

“I threatened to warm you the way a man knows best.”

“Surely, Halldora saw your true thoughts on the matter.”

“Who said ‘twas not in my thoughts? When it comes to you, love, ‘tis not difficult to imagine my body joined with yours at any given moment.”

He felt her hand shove him playfully. “Your difficulty would be to convince my body of such an act. I lack the strength to even think of it.”

“Nor the strength to fight me off, I would imagine.”

Her cute little giggle lifted his spirits. Truth be told, he lacked the energy to do much more than hold her in his arms, but it was his overactive imagination that kept the old woman away, and that suited him just fine.

“How do you feel?” he finally asked. “Can you eat?”

“I can try.”

“’Twould give me hope if you would.” He reached across the caldron and took the ladle that rested in a pot of boiled shallots, cabbage, and leftover bear meat. He held the savory stew to her lips. “Eat, Æsa. Come on.”

In small sips, she took in the broth. He knew she was doing all she could to tolerate the assault of food in her system. It pleased him when she slowly consumed about three spoonfuls. In between helping her, he devoured some of the warm, meaty soup until they each had their fill. If Halldora was anything, she was a good cook.

With his hunger finally satiated, he tossed the wooden utensil back into the pot and let his head rest against the rim of the caldron. Lost in his thoughts, he absently cupped handfuls of oil-scented water over her shoulder.

“What worries you, m’lord?”

“Many things,” he admitted.

She sighed and snuggled closer. “Talk to me, Gustaf.”

He closed his eyes and adjusted his arms around her. “I worry that too much strain has been placed on our son. Halldora says he fights to live.”

“And that he will,” Æsa reassured. “He is a strong warrior like his father. I can feel it. But the baby is not all that afflicts your thoughts, is it?”

Gustaf grumbled. He didn’t like that Æsa, even in her tired state, could sense his innermost worries. He would rather have kept them to himself. “Winter has come, which means we must wait out the season before sailing to Inis Mór.”

“And?”

“And I know I said I want to marry you amongst my family, but I refuse to let my son be born a bastard. If necessary, I will marry you here.”

Æsa’s hand came out of the water and caressed his face. Her brilliant eyes regarded him with sympathy and compassion. “You needn’t worry, Gustaf. The babe is not due until late spring. We shall sail for Inis Mór at the first sign of winter breaking, pending no complications, of course.”

“That is what concerns me most, Æsa. From the time we first met, we have been allotted naught but complications.” Gustaf turned his face away, unable to endure the look of optimism in her eyes. “I almost lost you. I know not what I would have done had something happened to you.”

Æsa cupped his face. “I thought I lost you as well. But we are here—together. Safe in each other’s arms, because of your bravery. You saved us, Gustaf. Remember that.”

He tried to hold fast to that thought, but whenever he recalled how he’d saved Æsa, Ásmundr’s ugly face tainted his otherwise rewarding vision. He hated that this man had been able to outwit and outfight him. In the past, not many men lived to brag about it. Of those, it bothered him most that Ásmundr, the son of the man who killed his own father, could rightly boast that he once conquered the eldest warrior son of Rælik.

His head hurt from the regrets he retained, despite his victory. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back again. “Enough talk. I just want to hold you.” He drew in a long breath and released it. “Oh, Æsa, you are all I need in this world. Just you.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Five months later

Early spring, 924 A.D
.

An unseasonably warm wind blew off the Atlantic, melting the snow and ice on the lowlands. Budding vegetation blossomed under the morning sun. Shimmering dew clung to the fresh green foliage. It was a beautiful day to start a journey, and a promising life of peace and tranquility awaited Gustaf and Æsa as they made their way south to Oslofjord through the petty kingdom of Viken.

All of Gustaf’s men, Halldora, Helga, Jorgen’s two sons and several loyal servants accompanied them to the bay. The small longship that had been built for Gustaf’s journey into the Otherworld, was now going to be utilized to sail him and Æsa to Inis Mór. Constructed of heavy oak, the vessel was dragged across the land beneath rolling timbers manned by the thralls.

Sleds pulled by horses carried extravagant marriage gifts, newly weaved clothing, chests of oils, spices, and jewelry, and food reserves. The generosity among the villagers was incomprehensible as they offered masses of wares upon their departing friends.