Michelle Styles - Sent As The Viking’s Bride

‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’

‘Most of the time.’

Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.

Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.

He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.

When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.

‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’

Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.

He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.

When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.

He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.

‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’

The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.

He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.

He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.

His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.

‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’

‘You made stew?’

‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’

He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.

‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.

‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’

‘It certainly smells delicious.’

‘I put some dried cloudberries into the porridge for the morning. I always find it best to have it sitting overnight in the embers. Saves time in the morning.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘I like my hands to be busy.’

‘My mother used to do that. Cloudberries when she had them for a special treat, but making it the day before. She’d have to chase me out of the kitchen to keep me from sneaking them.’ After he found his family’s bodies, he could not bear anything which reminded him of those times, but now a sharp longing to taste cloudberries’ tart tang filled him. ‘Something I’d forgotten.’

‘Then we are agreed—cloudberries for the morning.’

‘Earlier...’ he said as she put out several bowls, ones he’d not seen before.

‘Shall we leave it in the past?’ She deftly scooped out a bowl of stew and placed it in front of him before serving up two more bowls. ‘Behind us both. A new beginning.’

He took a taste and the stew was every bit as good as it smelled. ‘It might be best. Hunger always makes me irritable, or so my mother used to claim. She’d ensure I had a bowl of stew when I came home.’

‘Hunger does that to many people.’

Gunnar took another bite. He had been far too hasty in dismissing Ragnhild as someone who was content to be decorative. To his surprise, the bowl seemed to have emptied without his realising it. Kolka and Kefla advanced and sat before Ragnhild, wagging their tails and making little whimpering noises.

‘Your dogs are hungry?’

‘They have a soft spot for stew.’

Ragnhild ladled several spoons into wooden bowls and put them in front of the dogs before she put another steaming bowl in front of him. The traitors lapped it very quickly.

‘You should eat,’ he said, dipping his spoon into the broth. He’d forgotten how good food tasted, rather the burnt mess he always seemed to create. His stomach growled in appreciation.

‘In good time. Svana, come here and get your food. It is going cold.’

Gunnar glanced over towards the girl sat rigid on the bench, her eyes wide.

‘You promised, Ragn! No dogs. Not in here! Not in a kitchen! Please, no!’

‘Svana, come here!’ She held out her hand. ‘The dogs are busy eating their supper.’

The girl got up and made a big circuit about the dogs. The dogs, seeing her, gave sharp welcoming barks, but each time she heard the noise, she visibly shuddered. Her silver eyes grew wider. When she reached Ragnhild, she threw her arms about her and made little whimpering noises. Gunnar frowned. It was unnatural that a child would be that afraid of dogs.

‘Svana, what will our host think of you?’ Ragnhild said, picking the child up and carrying her to where her stew sat. ‘His dogs are very well behaved. They will not hurt you. They simply wanted their supper. Time you ate and stopped this nonsense. A full belly makes everything better. Gunnar agrees with me.’

The girl stopped making sniffing noise and peeped out from behind a curtain of hair. ‘I didn’t mean to be bad. I never mean to be.’

‘Eat. Leave the poor dogs in peace to enjoy their supper. Once they have finished, I am sure they will have better things to do than bother one girl who is busy with her supper.’