Page 27 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
‘Do you know who won?’ I asked curiously.
At Halldora’s wedding, Estrid and I made sure there was no chance of us losing. When her wedding finished and a hush fell, we positioned our feet to run but this time, we wore men’s breeches. When we arrived first at the heavy doors to the Mead Hall, we laughed until our sides ached, happy in the knowledge we would not be the ones to wait hand and foot on the rest of the wedding party.
Before Sigurd could answer, the rest of the congregation spilled in after us, like bees from a smoking skept. Pawing over food, sucking the greased meat greedily from bones like wild dogs. No prayers. No thanks. I looked on, my mouth agape.
`Sigurd weaved between them, pulling me with him and taking his seat at the head of the room. Two chairs carved so ornately that they might almost be thrones. Mine was draped with beautiful pelts of buck, bear and wolf. All I could think ofwas how much I could have sold them for. Their price would have seen Donada and I over the winter.
Not three days ago, I had been hunting in the woods with Elpin trying to scrape enough together to buy a gift for Donada. Now, here I was sat in a Mead Hall, in a place I scarcely knew, married to a man who knew nothing but savagery and pagan customs.
Back home, the Danes had put on rich fabrics. They had been courteous and attentive, but here amongst the longhouses and their women, they kept to their old ways. Men and women alike, with eyes painted in black and outfits trimmed with furs, jested with each other. The women wore dresses of autumn colours and thick belts cinched their waists. Their hair was as wild as they were. Neither braided nor combed. Just as I wear mine now. They all gorged themselves on the roasted meats and the ales and mead that the Jarl had provided.
Sigurd held up a drinking horn, with small brass feet like a tiny imp. A young woman, with fair and a stout waist began to pour the thick syrupy liquid into the ivory vessel. He took a sip and then passed it to me, just like my father’s Mether.
‘You must drink the wedding ale,’ he said.
‘I do not wish to,’ I said hotly. His tone somehow always managed to anger me.
‘It is customary, the bride must drink.’
I huffed and accepted the horn. His eyes did not leave my lips as I took the smallest of sips, feeling as sick as I had on our rough crossing. I regretted what I had consumed in the bathhouse. I forced a thin smile.
‘It is good?’
I nodded.
‘It is done.’ He slapped his thigh. ‘It is a shame that your sisters could not be here to see it, but we will try and attend the wedding in autumntide.’
‘Wedding? Whose wedding?’
‘Your sister.’
‘Which sister?’
‘The one your father intended me to marry.’
My father had still planned to marry her. After I had sacrificed myself to save her. I stared at Sigurd in shocked amazement. ‘Who will she marry?’ I barked.
‘The Earl of Moray. Your father is a clever man, giving each of his daughters like that to the men that threaten his borders. Anyone would think he was a Dane.’ He turned to me. ‘Do not look so worried.’
Worried? I felt betrayed. But for me to feel betrayed there needed to be trust between my father and I and trust had never been a part of our relationship.
‘It is a good match.’ He smiled. ‘We shall attend the wedding if it will make you smile?’
I did not want to attend the wedding. I wanted to stop it. To fill my father’s fortress with kindling and set it on fire and burn it to the ground with them all in it. I could barely contain my fury. I knew then that at the very first opportunity, I would sail home. With or without my husband.
‘I am not worried, Jarl,’ I snapped. ‘I just want to make sure I attend is all, she is my youngest sister after all.’
He waved another hand as if he were bored with my company. This time someone brought a plate of hot salted meat. ‘Eat, eat,’ he urged. ‘You have a long night ahead of you.’
‘But we are married now?’ I said blankly.
‘It is not legally binding.’ He took my hand and kissed it. ‘It must be consummated; they are all waiting.’
He turned to the bench of six men on his left.
I felt the hotness of my cheeks as I blushed from my collarbone to the tips of my ears. How could I have been so naive? To think that our union would not be consummated. Ifelt a thrill of panic rise in my chest. I had heard stories of spectators in the marital bed chamber so that there would be no uncertainty in the union. I stiffened.
‘You do not need to be afraid,’ he said softly. ‘I will be gentle.’
