Page 31 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
When we were out of earshot. ‘You are going to wake tomorrow with a head that feels as though it has been pounded by Thor’s hammer.’
I did always hate it when he was right.
I could already feel the room spinning. All I could manage was ‘hmmm.’
I felt his breath close against my neck. ‘You should not have gotten so drunk,’ he whispered.
‘You should not have let me.’ I giggled. ‘There is a reason my sisters do not let me drink. I am a terrible drunkard.’
He pushed open the door with his foot.
I opened one eye. The candles burned fiercely. From the darkness of the farthest corner of the bedchamber. The bed chamber. Now there would be no way of avoiding it.
I wobbled, still tipsy as Sigurd placed me on my feet. I sat on his bed. Sobering quickly. Stiff and terrified. I covered my face with my hands.
‘I am sorry,’ I groaned. ‘I made a fool of myself in front of your people. It was inexcusable.’
‘They have seen much worse,’ he said. ‘Sometimes from their Jarl.’
Sigurd leaned against the wall, watching me. I was well-oiled with ale. He was not unattractive, but I did not want to give myself to him willingly.
Sigurd stripped himself bare to his waist, his tattoos a feast for the eyes. So clearly now, I could see the ash tree and not one but two ravens. One on each shoulder head. Scattered amongst the branches; were thick white ridges of scars from battles long since won. At the central root of the tree was a large well. The more I studied the etchings the more they appeared to move. A raven cocked its head before a snake slithered around his arm. An exquisite piece of art.
My drunken carelessness had done me no favours. My head throbbed. Halldora had said something about what the men liked but it was hidden behind a veil of fog in the back of my mind that would not lift.
He came across the room and I felt the bed dip beneath his weight. His skin lightly touched my own. He was warm and comforting, he always was. He had a strong liking for me, even from our first night probably because of my defiance.
‘Tell me of your life, before?’ He spoke quietly, like you would a horse, being careful not to spook it.
‘What is it you wish to know, Jarl Sigurd?’
‘We are married, and you still will not call me by my name?’
‘What is it that you would like me to call you? Lord?’
‘Sigurd will suffice.’
I bowed my head and inhaled deeply. Tentatively he reached out and took my other hand in his. Just him being close to me made my temper flare. Why would he think that touching my hand would soothe me? I was not a horse. Nor a dog. His hands were rough and calloused, the ink from his tattoos ending in wisps. They were hands worn from war. If I close my eyes, I can still feel those rough hands graze the softness of my thigh. It was a sensation that brought me much joy.
‘What is it to be the princess of a King?’
‘You do not have Kings in Denmark?’ I quipped.
‘Almost as many as we have well-trained horses.’
‘Then surely, a man such as yourself will have known many princesses and probably bedded most of them.’
‘There is nothing like a good hump, but alas, I have bedded no princesses. I have lived a life first as a farmer and now as Jarl and both I have enjoyed.’
‘Where did you farm?’ I said, trying to keep him off the topic of humping. It was something I always seemed to struggle with, most of all when he was around me.
‘My grandfather was from Iceland.’ He tried to squeeze my hand, but I moved it out of his reach. ‘Our lands were barren and frozen. There is not much that will grow in the black earth. I was too young to remember, not more than a babe at my mother’s breast when I came to the island. She had already buried two of my brothers.’ His finger traced the ink on his forearm. ‘Once I was of age, he taught me to farm. The earth was lush and green, whatever was sown grew and we flourished.’
Now I saw different hands. Hands that had worked the land. We were not so different.
I cleared my throat. ‘Is that why you came here? For land?’
‘My grandfather said we could not have wintered another year in Iceland, we were starving faster than our beasts. Now you know something about me,’ he smiled. ‘Tell me something about you. I am curious about my new wife.’
