did tell Ragn to come!’ the girl called out. ‘He is soon to be married to our cousin, Trana Ragnardottar.’
‘How did you know that, Svana?’ Ragnhild asked, drawing her brows together.
‘I overheard them speaking as we left. He was kissing her.’ The girl smacked her lips. ‘They will have to get married after that as they will have lots of babies.’
‘You are being ridiculous, Svana. Trana’s father requires a different husband for his only daughter. Not a penniless sell-sword like Eylir.’
Gunnar kept his face impassive. Eylir had hidden his wealth from them.
‘After what he did for us, Trana will defy her father.’ The girl lifted her chin. ‘I just know it. And I made a wish about it as we left.’
Ragnhild gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You and your pronouncements. Would that the world was ordered the way you wish. One must be practical, child.’
‘Trana thinks he has fine legs and a good backside,’ Svana confided from behind her hand. Gunnar struggled to keep a straight face.
Ragnhild pinched the bridge of her nose, making her skin appear even more sallow. ‘That is more than anyone, let alone Gunnar Olafson, needs to know. Curb your tongue.’
Svana hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
‘Next time remember some things remain private, but you are young, Svana, and I forgive you.’
Young. The girl was indeed too young to have made this journey in the winter. The fact knifed through him. While Eylir might enlist the aid of a woman, he would not stoop so low as to send a child on a perilous autumn journey.
‘Why did Eylir send vulnerable women alone on the sea?’
The woman gave a small cough. ‘We agreed that I’d travel alone as the circumstances dictated.’
Circumstances—whose? Eylir’s or this woman’s? Something had driven her across the seas, but she wanted to keep it a secret. ‘Truly?’
‘Would that he was here! You would greet your friend properly and we would not be forced to stand in the mizzle.’ A convulsive shiver racked her slender frame, but she kept her head proudly erect and her hands at her sides.
Gunnar winced at the accusation of less-than-proper hospitality. Worse, her words rang true. His mother would have been appalled. He’d allowed a lady, any lady let alone a lady of breeding, to stand outside while the rain pelted down. Despite the years since her death and against his instinct, divorcing himself from his mother’s teachings was impossible. ‘Into the hall with you. Get dry.’
Her eyes gleamed triumph. ‘Thank you.’
She motioned for her trunks. Gunnar gritted his teeth. Ragnhild would learn that he might have given on one point, but he would not give in on the other. She was most definitely not the wife for him.
‘No, they stay outside. It should not take long to clear this mess up.’
With its piles of filthy rushes, half-finished benches and the nearly cold hearth, the best thing Ragn thought about the hall was that it was out of the icy rain. But she was inside and that was a start. She would make this warrior understand that they needed to stay for the night, that returning on the boat to Kaupang was not an option. She’d worry about the future after that. Little steps, rather than focusing on the mountain looming in front of her.
‘Has there been a mistake, Ragn?’ Svana whispered. ‘He is going to allow us to stay, isn’t he? He won’t behave like... Vargr?’
Ragn glanced towards where Gunnar was busily filling tankards.
‘The future is in front of us.’ Ragn bent down so that her face was level with Svana’s. ‘Keep the past behind you. Never mention Vargr again. He is dead to us.’
Svana gave a little nod. Her sister was too young to understand that if Gunnar knew her brother-in-law’s identity, or the danger they faced in Viken, that he’d close his doors to them as many of her so-called friends had done. Survival depended on keeping their troubled past hidden.
‘Promise me you will remember that.’
Svana worried her bottom lip. ‘I’ll try.’
Ragn withdrew the rune stick, which she had insisted Eylir write, from her pouch. It should be sufficient to make Gunnar Olafson see reason now that he was being hospitable.
Once he had finished ensuring the captain and his men had drinks, Gunnar returned to where they stood. His face had settled into even harsher lines. Svana shrank back against her.
‘You are out of the wet. Explain.’
No please. No courtesy of any kind. Perhaps he had taken one look at her and decided, no, that she wasn’t attractive enough. Ragn stiffened her spine. This marriage wasn’t supposed to be about attraction, but mutual assistance. ‘We need to discuss our contracted marriage.’
Gunnar allowed his breath through clenched teeth. ‘I know my friend better than that. Tell me the truth. Where is Eylir?’
Two bright spots appeared on the woman’s pale cheeks, flooding her face with colour. A strong wind would blow her over. He knew her type. He had encountered enough of them back in the old country when he was growing up. She’d know about court gossip or the ways to recite a saga or how to fix a sweetmeat, but he doubted if she understood the hard back-breaking work life on this rugged western isle required. He was doing her a favour by sending her back.
‘I was given to understand that you required a wife and that I satisfied those requirements. It seemed like the perfect alternative to my life in Kaupang. My husband recently died and we had no other male protectors.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘Someone may have been playing a joke, Gunnar Olafson, but the joke was on me and my sister, not you. I accepted the offer under false pretences. I have left my home and everything I held dear to travel here for a new life. I cannot return with these men. Know that much.’
Her voice was clear and steady and not unpleasant to the ear. Her gaze direct, rather than downcast. The tilt of her chin reminded him of how his mother acted when the world was against her and the silver fire shone again in her eyes.
A tiny voice inside Gunnar questioned why he was watching this woman so closely if he was going to send her on her way. He ignored it. No man or woman dictated what he should do or whom he should marry. He’d earned the right to make his own choice. And this woman wasn’t his choice.
‘My friend acted without thinking things through properly.’ Gunnar roughly shoved the remaining tankard of ale in her general direction and waited for her to refuse it. Fine ladies should be served mead or wine as they turned their noses up at ale, according to his mother’s dictates.
Her fingers brushed his and he was aware of her—the sweep of her neck, the length of her fingers and how her dress hinted at her slender curves, rather than revealing them. He wanted to reveal those curves and explore them more in depth.
Gunnar buried the unexpected feeling down deep. It was merely because he had been busy with the estate, rather than seeking female companionship. Jul was coming and with it, his annual oath-taking at Kolbeinn’s hall. There he was certain to find
