Page 9 of A Song of Ravens and Wolves
He did not look up. The man sat to his right seemed to whisper in his ear. No doubt an interpreter. He said nothing but gazed at her with dead blue eyes. It was clear even at my distance that he wanted a wife he could keep on a short leash. Sigurd said something back to the man, who in turn spoke to my sister.
‘The Jarl,’ he said, ‘was promised a woman to wed, not a child.’
‘I am not a child,’ Donada said with tears in her eyes and hands balled into fists. ‘Please, I can show you.’
‘That is for the Jarl to decide,’ he said, and she was dismissed. Just like that. Bethóc led her from the chamber with an arm around her shoulders, humiliated and in tears. I hoped she would stay with her and comfort her. She did not deserve such cruelty from someone who was more beast than man.
I silently coached myself. Willing my words to be the ones that would please the Jarl. That he would choose me as his bride and Donada would be safe.
‘Olith,’ I heard my father shout from a seat somewhere beyond the fire pit. ‘Come, you must meet the Jarl.’
He rose to greet me, dressed elaborately in our family tartan with his hair scraped back neatly emphasising the sharpness of his features. I tried to suppress a shudder.
‘Jarl Sigurd, this is my other daughter, Olith.’ He took me by the arm and manoeuvred me around the fire.
As the smoke cleared, I came face to face with the Dark Lord. He was a bear of a man, with a face that was hard and cruel. He was no older than thirty and no younger than twenty, with skin much paler than my own. Sigurd’s beard was the colour of dried wheat, oiled, slick, and neat. His head, clean shaven but for a strip the width of a hand that hung, braided down his back.
He could have killed me with his bare hands. I would soon learn how soft they could be but in that moment my heart felt like it was squeezed so hard I could no longer feel it beat.
‘Please, father, please,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve made a mistake. I don’t want to. Let me home. I’ve changed my mind.’ I tried to pull away. ‘I will marry a God-fearing man, Finlay of Moray, or any man from one of our other boarders? That monster doesnae need a wife.’
I tried to steady my breathing. They would be back on their ships by dawn. He could send them away and God would protect us. The Jarl’s hands would not touch my skin. Not like my father’s men had. I would not allow it anymore.
‘Do not worry.’ He placed a hand over mine. ‘Look at you. The priest is right, the Danes will not want you and then you can repent for your selfishness and Donada’s marriage can go ahead.’
We weaved through the small crowd that had gathered. The smoke from the peat fire made my eyes sting. I felt a sudden chill. I mistrusted my father almost as much as I mistrusted the Danes.
‘Jarl Sigurd, my daughter, Olith.’
I wanted to run. To hide. My own pig-headedness would not let me. To save Donada, I had to make a good impression. I could feel his eyes upon me. This, the man I had agreed to wed. Ignorant and dull-witted. In profile, my eye traced the ink of wolves and serpents that ran from the fur of his coat to his bare temples. He turned to the man on his right, speaking in his rushed heathen tongue. A sound I would come to love.
‘Smile.’ my father hissed in my ear. ‘At least let him think you would be a worthy bride.’
I should have been afraid. Terrified. But I felt numb. I could only cling to the fact that if married the Jarl and I would no longer be my father’s pawn and Donada would be safe. My father gripped my elbow, and I forced a smile.
‘She is a great beauty,’ said the Jarl, sucking on his mutton-soaked fingers. He spoke well enough that I might understand it.
‘As I said, you will find no better match than one of my daughters. It will bring about a union of our territories, as allies, we will be stronger.’
My father turned me, this way and that, as though he were presenting a stallion. I felt my stomach roll. Had he presented Donada in the same way?
‘To your liking, Jarl Sigurd? Her breasts are a little smaller than the others, but I don’t doubt that once you have her with child that will change for the better.’
I felt my face flush and cast my eyes to the floor.
‘It is my pleasure, Jarl Sigurd,’ I squeaked.
‘Sit,’ the Jarl said simply. The Dane closest to him got to his feet as the Jarl motioned for me to take the chair. ‘This one will do.’
I clasped my hands in my lap to stem their shaking.
‘Olith?’ my father said, a look of shock spreading across his rat face. He and his fat priest could pray for my salvation together in my absence. ‘That is your choice?’
The Jarl did not acknowledge his question. ‘We must talk of the Mundr.’
‘Yes. Yes. The bride price,’ my father tripped over his words. ‘What is it your men had me agree to? A dozen cattle? And three horses?’
My soon-to-be husband was clever. He had caught my father off guard. He did not have to kill any of my father’s men, to trap them.
