Chapter Seven
Bowdyn gritted his teeth. Did his brother really need to fawn over the Viking woman quite so readily? Could he not see her for the greedy, self-serving, and faithless shrew that she was? Her husband dead not three days and already she had abandoned his longhouse in pursuit of a few coins. She had thought nothing of near-enough killing Nyle, and still his lackwit of a brother was ready to smile and share food with her as though they were old friends. Before long he would be kneeling at her feet. Nyle was ever too gullible, too trusting of others.
The Vikings were their enemies. It was that simple.
This was the first nattmal they had shared as a family, the first time he and his siblings had sat around a table together in years. The presence of the Vikings was unnerving, uncomfortable. Resentment simmered when he should have been rejoicing, offering up thanks to a merciful God for bringing his shattered family together again. Still, what Bowdyn might lack in the way of cordiality and gratitude was more than made up for by his siblings. The chatter around the table was loud, raucous, the laughter infectious if he would let it be.
He would not. Bowdyn clung to his hatred and distrust of the Norsemen, hugged it about him like a cloak.
In response to Mathios’ quiet probing they learned that Kristin Lofnsdottir had been married to Baldvin Ryggiason for two years, and despite having been so recently widowed it seemed to Bowdyn that she was already over the worst of her grief. Indeed, she was looking to carve out a future for herself as a trader and expressed the desire to use her twenty silver pennies to go toward the purchase of a trading vessel of her own. She explained that her stepson had made it clear she need not expect anything by way of an inheritance from her late husband, and that her bride-price had been forfeit. She had no desire to return to her home in Ravnsklif and had no other family since the death of her own father half a year ago.
A touching tale, indeed. Bowdyn was unconvinced of most of it, though Kristin’s enthusiasm for trade rang true. She had been quick enough to sell Nyle, certainly.
Bowdyn could not believe his ears when Mathios offered Kristin the option of remaining at Agnartved. Was his brother by marriage also taken in by a quick tongue and pretty manner? He had thought Mathios to be more astute, for a Viking.
“I am sure Kristin would prefer to return to her home,” he suggested. “She has family in Ravnsklif, a place in that community…” Anywhere, in fact, just not here where she represented more temptation than he believed he might stomach.
Kristin turned to regard him, her expression chilled. “Were you not listening?” She spoke to him slowly, as though she considered him dull-witted. Perhaps she did. Much seemed to have changed in her demeanour since their previous encounter and he supposed widowhood was to blame for the metamorphosis. Her opinion of him bothered Bowdyn not one bit, or so he told himself. She continued. “I have already explained, my stepson will not welcome me in the longhouse he has now inherited, and he has made it perfectly clear that if I do decide to remain there my position will not be one of honour.” She bestowed a bright smile on Mathios at the head of the table. “I have no intention of returning to Ravnsklif so I will be happy to consider your kind offer, Jarl.”
That fool, Mathios, beamed at her. “Excellent. We have fine craftsmen here, skilled in the building of boats. You may avail yourself of their services, and of course we have a fine harbour and jetty, so this settlement could serve as a base for your trading endeavours in the future.”
Bowdyn briefly entertained the rather pleasant prospect of leaning across the table and throttling his host, or at least attempting to slap some sense into him. He could not fail to notice his brother’s attempt to conceal his amusement under the guise of coughing.
Neither did he miss the sly look Kristin cast his way before answering. Her tone was honey sweet. “Thank you. I am afraid I was compelled to leave Ravnsklif with little in the way of resources. The cart, the horse, and now the silver pennies are all that I possess, and I do not believe they will be sufficient to enable me to purchase a trading vessel. Nevertheless, perhaps I can find work here, and—”
“I will lend you the rest.”
All eyes turned to Merewyn. She shifted in her seat, glanced nervously at her husband, then repeated her assertion. “I shall lend you the money you need to buy your ship.”
Kristin’s gaze sharpened. She might have been taunting him just now, apparently toying with the ridiculous notion of remaining at Agnartved, but this was a serious overture and she did, at least, possess the grace to respond appropriately. “That is most kind, lady, but I do not think…”
Merewyn halted Kristin before she could refuse the offer.
“Please, listen. I have the money. At least, I think I do.” She turned to Mathios. “My bride-price will be enough, will it not?”
He furrowed his brow and inclined his head. “I should think it would be, yes.”
“And, it is mine? To spend as I please? That is what you said.”
“I did. It is.”
Merewyn’s smile was broad. “In that case, I should like to make a trading proposition to you, Kristin Lofnsdottir. We shall jointly fund the building of our ship. We shall be partners. That is, if you are agreeable to trading alongside a Celt.”
Kristin’s haughty gaze passed from Merewyn, to Nyle, to Bowdyn, and back to Merewyn. For long moments she was silent. Bowdyn thought, he hoped…
“I would be delighted to trade alongside you, lady. I believe we shall do very well together.”
“As do I,” declared Mathios. He got to his feet and lifted his horn of ale in the air. “A toast, then, to Kristin and Merewyn. May your endeavour prosper and make us all rich.”
* * *
Bowdyn leaned on the railings that enclosed the paddock where Mathios grazed his horses. Although Mathios had never suggested he need do any work around the settlement, Bowdyn had drifted in the direction of the stables and taken over there. The karls who laboured in the fields and took care of the livestock appeared uncertain of his status, as was Bowdyn, in truth. A freed thrall was uncommon, especially one who claimed kinship by marriage to the jarl. Still, they accepted his authority and knowledge of horses, so he was finding his place here whether he wanted to or not.
He watched the stallion and three mares prance about the paddock and wondered if Mathios had given much thought to breeding his horses. The Viking chief possessed several fine animals but if they were to make a real success of it they would require extra breeding stock, especially more stallions. Bowdyn wondered about approaching neighbouring settlements for the loan of their animals. He would speak with Mathios…
Bowdyn lifted his gaze to take in the harbour and the beach beyond. A crude structure had been erected, a framework of wood, upon which to build the knarr ordered by his sister and her new trading partner. An unlikely alliance, but the friendship between the two women could not be denied. They were invariably together, planning their shared adventure. Even now he could pick out the bright blonde head of the she-Viking as he thought of her, and his sister’s dark locks as the pair examined the progress on their vessel.
Merewyn had told him only yesterday at the nattmal that the boat was already half finished and would be ready to sail in a matter of weeks. She could barely contain her excitement and Bowdyn felt like a churl for not enjoying it with her. She was happy. She had a husband who loved her, friends, a home, and a family. No longer was she forced to toil for her very existence and Mathios had been the cause of the change in her fortunes.
The man was proving hard to hate, and it was not for the want of trying. Bowdyn could not forget the brutality he had witnessed in recent years, the cruelty and sheer barbarism of the Nordic race, but Mathios showed none of those vile qualities. He was unfailing in his friendly welcome, had opened his home to his wife’s Celtic family as well as to Kristin. Despite his best efforts, Bowdyn’s belligerence had failed to provoke his host, again and again. On each occasion, Mathios merely shrugged and moved on.
“What are you dreaming of, brother?”
Bowdyn started. He had not heard Nyle’s approach. The other man came to lean on his fence beside him and cast a lazy eye over the horses.
“They look fine enough.”
“Aye. They’ll do,” Bowdyn agreed.
Nyle’s gaze followed that of his brother. “The ship is coming on. If she were not expecting a baby I daresay our little sister would be wanting to join Kristin for the first voyage.”
“Mathios would never permit that.” Thank the dear Lord.
Bowdyn had declared himself dismayed to learn of Merewyn’s pregnancy. Nyle, in contrast, had picked her up and kissed her on the mouth. Bowdyn was not proud of his sour reaction. He cared deeply for his sister and had no desire to make her sad. He just could not seem to help himself. It had become a habit to sneer and disparage anything to do with Vikings. Privately, he did not much like the embittered man he was becoming, but neither could he let go of his antagonism.
Nyle shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed down at the industrious scene below. “They make a fine pair, do they not?”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. You watch them, Kristin and Merewyn, just as I do.”
“She is our sister. I merely wish to be sure she is not overtaxing herself.”
Nyle chuckled. “Do you think me entirely stupid? I assure you I am quite recovered from that blow to my head. It has been three weeks now…”
“What are you babbling about?”
“You were watching Kristin. Me too, actually. And why not? She is a beautiful woman, do you not think? Our sister too, of course, but that is different. I might wander down there and offer my assistance. I have some experience of boats, as you know.”
“Why would you wish to help her, beautiful or not?”
“You do not dispute her charms, then, even though you glower in her direction every time you set eyes on her.”
“I am neither blind nor dead.” Perhaps if Kristin were not quite so enchanting to look upon he would resent her less. Is it possible to love and hate at the same time? Bowdyn shook his head; the very notion was madness. He returned to a less perplexing topic. “Why would you want to set foot on a Viking vessel ever again? Have you not seen enough of them?”
“I find that depends very much on the angle I regard them from. Lashed to an oar a man gets a poor view, but from up here the vision is altogether more pleasing.”
Bowdyn was well aware that his brother did not refer to the vessel under construction. “Are you mad? That woman earned me a whipping and sold you for twenty pieces of silver. Does that tell you nothing?”
Nyle shrugged. “You spanked her, and she apologised so the whipping is done with. As for the reward, I do not blame her for that. You find fault where there is none because you have made it your business to loathe all Vikings. I can understand how that started. Those who came to our home were vicious savages, they destroyed our family. I felt the same anger, once, and almost died for it. But I did not perish. I still have my life and I intend to live it. What happened before cannot be altered but I refuse to spend the rest of my time on earth brooding on it. Mathios is not my enemy. Quite the opposite. I like the man and I am proud to call him brother.”
“I do not understand how you can—”
“Yes, you do. You are not stupid, however hard you might try to convince everyone otherwise. We have a second chance, let us not squander it.”
Bowdyn opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to protest but could find no words to refute Nyle’s simple certainty. So, he remained silent. Thinking.
Nyle had not finished. “Mathios did not kill our parents. He did not wreck our lives or make us slaves. Kristin neither. They do not deserve your hatred, brother. Let it go.”
Seemingly satisfied he had said enough, Nyle slapped him on the back and ambled off across the meadow in the direction of the half-built boat., Soon, the sound of laughter drifted across the fields, his brother’s deep tone and Kristin’s softer one in response. From this distance Bowdyn could not hear what was said but he watched the silhouettes on the shore and entertained an unfamiliar tightening in his groin.
He wished he could make Kristin laugh like that.
* * *
Sleepless, Bowdyn lay on his pallet on the floor of Mathios’ longhouse. It had been over a month now since his brother joined them and the dwelling was crowded, especially as Mathios insisted that Kristin also share his home. She and Merewyn were close and there was little Mathios would not do for his wife. A few feet from him, Nyle also slept. They had commenced the construction of a new longhouse, or rather Mathios had. Bowdyn refused to acknowledge the permanency of building a house here. He did not intend to stay. How could he? This was not his home.
He rolled over, tried to find a comfortable position but sleep eluded him. He abandoned the attempt and reached for his boots and his tunic.
Bowdyn flung an extra log on the fire and hunched over the fire pit. He considered helping himself to a mug of ale. Perhaps then he might get some sleep.
A soft sound behind him caused him to turn. Kristin emerged from her sleeping quarters wrapped in a cloak for warmth. A curtain divided her alcove from the rest of the hall and afforded a degree of privacy. Rowena enjoyed a similar privilege. He, Nyle, and the two boys made do with pallets in the main hall.
Perhaps Mathios was right about that extra longhouse, especially if Kristin was given to wandering about in the middle of the night. She made quite the vision, standing before him, barefoot, her hair loose about her shoulders and falling straight to her waist. Despite himself, Bowdyn’s cock leapt at the sight of her.
“I had not expected to find you awake. I am sorry, I am disturbing you.” Kristin turned to go back behind her curtain.
“No, I was awake anyway. I could not sleep.”
“Me neither. I was intending to get a mug of buttermilk.”
Bowdyn set his own mug down and went over to the pitcher, which had been left in a cool corner away from the cloying heat of the fire. He poured a cup of buttermilk and handed it to Kristin.
“Thank you. I shall take this back to my pallet.”
“There is no need.” Where did that come from? Only a fool lets his cock make decisions for him. “You may join me. If you wish…”
Kristin seated herself on one of the benches that ran the length of the table.
Bowdyn sat opposite, his mug cradled in his hands. “My brother tells me you are planning your first voyage.” He had to find something to say. Anything to take his mind off the soft swell of her breasts beneath that cloak, the gentle curve of her hips. The memory of her rounded bottom clenching as he spanked her naked buttocks.
Kristin nodded. “I intend to commence with the lands south of here. France, perhaps. There is profit to be had from glass and silver.”
“I see. What will you use to trade with?”
“Mathios has furs he can spare, and Rowena believes she could find plenty of honey. My husband traded in wheat and tin, leather, even walrus ivory on occasion. I do not believe I could obtain ivory, at least not yet, but the rest…”
“You have given this much thought.”
“Of course. I intend my venture to succeed.” She paused for a few moments, then, “My stepsons robbed me, and I was powerless to hold on to what was mine. I shall not allow such a thing to happen to me again. My husband was a wealthy man. He owned seven trading ships and now they belong to Leidolf Baldvinson. Well, six of them do, the other he used for my husband’s funeral. My fleet shall be larger, swifter, my coffers fuller. I intend to make my way in this world.”
Somehow, he had little doubt about the matter.
“You will remain here, then? You intend to make your permanent home at Agnartved?”
“I see no cause not to.”
“You might wed again. There must be any number of fine merchants in need of a wife with an eye for trade.”
Heaven forbid, though why the idea should trouble him so, Bowdyn was not entirely certain.
Kristin’s smile was sad. “I do not believe that to be the case. In my experience a husband desires little other than a wife who will see to his meals, his comfort, and produce sons on a regular basis. Those are not my talents, alas.”
Bowdyn shrugged. “Then Vikings are fools, as well as bloodthirsty robbers.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “I am not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”
Bowdyn was unable to enlighten her as to either, though he had not meant to cause her offense.
“Thank you for the buttermilk. I believe I might be able to sleep now. I will bid you a good night.”
Bowdyn nodded and treated himself to a view of the gentle sway of her hips as she made her way back to her niche behind the curtain. Yawning, he removed his boots and tunic, glad that she had had no opportunity to become aware of his arousal or surmise that she was the reason for it. He settled back on his own pallet, though he did not believe he would sleep.
He was wrong. Within minutes the gentle sound of his breathing filled the longhouse.
* * *
A few feet away Nyle lay still, silent. He had observed the exchange between his brother and Kristin with interest, and though the lady might not have noticed Bowdyn’s physical reaction to her, his brother’s predicament was not lost on him. He had a fine view before Bowdyn dragged the blankets back over himself.
Well, thought Nyle. Now here are possibilities…