Page 11 of Her Viking Saviour
“Chieftain Torben, Ragnav, Freydis, you, and rooms for guests.” She pointed at the last two rooms. The wooden doorswere all open so she could see they were all unoccupied. Relief spread through her body. Torben was not here.
Her room was small and cosy. A comfortable-looking bed covered with warm pelts. A chest for her belongings. A stool, washstand, chamber pot, and a latticed window that let sunlight in. On the bed was a tray of food and her comb from Ragnav. She eagerly reached for it and started to tease out her tresses and Olga laughed.
“You fix hair, you eat, and you sleep. You wake when we eat later,” Olga informed her and left.
She sat on the bed and alternated between combing her hair and eating the bread, cheese, and fruit. The room was clean and the floor had fresh rushes littered with sprigs of lavender. It was a much bigger space than she was accustomed to. As a handmaiden, she had slept on a makeshift pallet on the floor beside her mistress's bed. This room was a luxury, and she would have moments of privacy.
Wynflaed let out a shuddering yawn that wracked her whole body. Shedidfeel exhausted even though it was daylight still, her body did not care. It had been many a night since her abduction from Northumbria. The journey to get here had been arduous and exhausting, with few opportunities to sleep peacefully. She had a whole new life to adjust to. She had made this choice and she had no regrets. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes as the events flashed through her mind. Each thought led back to one person. Torben.
Chapter Twelve
Torben felt Ragnav, Leif, and Leif’s brother, Sven, watching him pace back and forth. They had been counting coins—gold and silver—and taking inventory from the trade, but Torben could not sit still and focus like he normally would.
“What is wrong with Torben? I have never seen him so out of control,” Sven asked with interest. Torben heard him ask the question and ignored it. It had been posed about him and not to him, anyway. “It is a woman that has addled him so,” Leif offered, his brow furrowed.
“One of the freed women?” Sven asked, and his greyish-blonde eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“Yes. It is the one named Wynflaed. She has placed a spell on him. Or perhaps it is Loki, the trickster. He would delight in seeing our Torben, usually so controlled, blinded by lust.”
“Ah, I see! He wants to bed her,” Sven stated knowingly, as if that was all that needed to be said.
“No,” Torben said in a firm tone. “It is not like that.” He heard the defensive protest in his voice and knew he would not fool his cousins and brother.
“So, you have come to care for this Wynflaed? In such a short time? This may be fate,” Sven offered thoughtfully.
“I have never seen Torben act the way he does around Wynflaed. I think he fell in love with her the moment he set his eyes upon her. I do not understand why he is not bedding her at this very moment,” Ragnav said with a shake of his head.
Torben just let out a disgruntled sound. He did not yet understand his own feelings so how could he explain them to others? He threw his head back in frustration and growled at his foolishness. He should have not kissed her so soon, he wanted to give her time to adjust. He wanted to get to know her. But she responded so passionately she must feel something as well.
“See how his brain is addled,” Leif said, gesturing to Ragnav and Sven. “He has been reduced to growling like a wolf, he cannot even speak.” They all laughed and Torben glared at them.
“Get back to the task at hand!” A growl was still clear in his tone.
“Do not bite us, Torben. We will stop our jesting, but in seriousness, what of Gunhilda?” Ragnav asked him.
Torben groaned inwardly. He had forgotten about Gunhilda. He had caught a glimpse of her when he introduced the new settlers to the people of Klavik, but he was too distracted by Wynflaed. Gunhilda was a widow and had chosen to continue farming her husband's plot instead of remarrying. He had been a goat herder, and she continued to raise them, milk them, and supply their meat to the settlement. She also provided paid work for the adolescents while teaching them how to care for the goats.
Gunhilda was a free woman and one evening had approached Torben and whispered an invitation in his ear. He had deliberated, but eventually accepted after explaining he did not wish to marry. Neither did she, and a mutual relationship had started that was based on sexual gratification when the feeling struck them. He always went to her and she demanded nothing of him except his attention, but he had started to notice herjealousy whenever she spied him speaking with other women. He had meant to address it upon his return.
“I will speak with Gunhilda. As it stands, there is nothing between Wynflaed and I, so I expect you not to gossip like washerwomen when my back is turned.”
All three men rolled their eyes at his accusation.
“Do not worry, Torben. We will only poke our fun at you when we are alone,” Leif informed him with an innocent smile. Leif’s fairness resembled his more than Ragnav, but he was slender in build and had a softness to his features so people called him pretty, which always made him scowl with distaste. What Norseman wanted to be “pretty”?
Torben decided there was no time like the present and went to seek out Gunhilda. He went to the stables and saddled his horse, Bein, ivory like her namesake. Bein was an Icelandic horse, sure-footed and agile. He had trained her well and they moved as one with his silent commands. Ragnav had been asking to branch out into breeding horses for sale and trade since they had strong mares ready for breeding and a colt that had now grown into a magnificent stallion. He was pleased Ragnav wanted to take on more responsibility and this could be something he cultivated on his own.I will give him free rein. He smiled wryly to himself as he tugged on Bein’s reins.
He rode up the path to Gunhilda’s farm and heard the cacophony of bleating goats. He heard Gunhilda talking to them, admonishing them for their impatience as she threw food out to them.
“Be still, wretched things, lest I make you all sacrifices to Odin.” Fondness for her goats shone through in her empty threat.
“With how many goats you have, Gunhilda, Odin would certainly settle many blessings upon us,” Torben called to her as he dismounted Bein. His horse was so well-trained there was noneed to tie her to a post, Torben simply asked her not to move until he returned. Bein eyed the goats and snorted with derision but nodded, and Torben rubbed her neck in thanks.
“Come, let me pour you some mead, Torben. I missed you at my table,” Gunhilda said with a sultry smile.
This will not be an easy conversation. He sighed to himself and followed her into the hut.
Despite her close proximity to the goats, her home always smelt clean. Fresh and dried sprigs of herbs and flowers hung from the rafters and a fire created wisps of smoke to circulate the scented bundles. He sat at her table and observed her as she prepared a mug of mead. She was an attractive woman, fair of skin and hair with pale blue eyes, a Norse woman through and through. Her figure was womanly and strong, evidence of her outdoor labour. She sat across from him and placed a flagon and two wooden mugs on the table.
