Thorolf Read online

  Daily, they looked for signs to guide them, but became confused by contradictory omens. A dead raven was found on the shore, which the men took to mean death for one of their leaders. Then the moon shone extraordinarily bright the following night, and even though it was not yet full, the brilliance suggested all would be well. Another good omen came when they netted plentiful Huss fish off the coast. It seemed all prayers were answered, thanks be to Aegir, god of the ocean, and to Ran, his wife.

  Brandr and Bjorn’s health improved enough to be brought out to meet each other. It was good for everyone to see the brothers reunited, although they were both still feeling weak. The women kept them fed, and they seemed in no doubt their strength would return given time.

  Brandr had spoken of bringing his two small sons across the sea to settle here with him and his new bride. This brought Thorolf to the realisation that Achnaryrie would become his permanent home. Pondering his marriage, he concluded two things. It was more important for him to learn the Pictish tongue than for Ailsa to learn Norse. From that point, he strived to make more effort to understand the language. With some diligence, he was soon able to follow Ailsa’s chatter. At least until she became excited, speaking too fast so that he lost the thread of her speech.

  It had surprised him to find that her sister, Ytha, spoke the Norse tongue almost fluently, while his wife only understood a few of their curse words. Thorolf chuckled as he recalled the choice words she’d yelled at him when he’d tossed her across his knee and spanked her impudent arse.

  His second consideration was that Ailsa’s first husband had never truly valued her, because it was quite obvious to him that she’d received little pleasure from him in bed. Nor had the man been concerned that she freely roamed the forests, risking capture from the Nechtain tribe or an attack from one of the Eanfrith. Her life could be in danger should she encounter a boar; after all, even with Shadow beside her, there was only so much protection a wolf could offer.

  The more time he spent with his wife, the more he came to admire her. She was beautiful, quick of mind, resourceful, and so responsive to his touch. The problem was, the more he came to care for her, the more anxious he became for her safety. He did not want to smother her, but needed to know where she was all of the time. This possessiveness was new to Thorolf, not being a jealous man. One day, he went so far as to share his foreboding with Magnus, who assured him these were normal responses for a husband. However, they were not normal for Thorolf. This was his first experience of caring so much about another, and he inwardly confessed the emotion unsettled him.

  Garth had confided his misgivings about his marriage to Ytha, having heard rumours that she was a witch. Thorolf attempted to reassure his new brother through marriage that the gossip was unfounded, but should Garth actually decide to leave Ytha, then Ailsa’s sister would always have his support, although Thorolf fervently hoped this would not come to pass. He worried that Garth’s debilitating headaches, which he had suffered since childhood, might be affecting his judgement. Thus it was, Thorolf slept with a heavy heart that night.

  Thorolf went about his tasks for the day, pondering the fact that he was never a man who became emotionally involved with a woman. He ground his teeth and stood staring out at the grey sea, watching the foaming waves pound the shore. He recalled the old saying—Sjaldan er ein baran stok; there is seldom a single wave. Previously, he had thought of this in regard to battle, but now he wondered if it meant that man was not alone in life and referred to the different stages of life that all of mankind travelled together.

  He had a wife now, and in that moment of clarity, he acknowledged the fact he was falling in love with her.

  Ailsa’s wolf, Shadow, appeared more often now than when he had first arrived. His beautiful alpha she-wolf, whom Thorolf named Mani, which meant moon, came rarely, but if she did honour them with her presence, she kept her distance.

  One evening Ailsa informed him that Domnall, her tribe’s elderly chieftain, was failing fast. He could tell she was sad at the news and offered gruff words of comfort. He hoped that once Domnall was gone, Brandr would become not only jarl but chieftain of Achnaryrie.

  5

  Thorolf indicated to Ailsa that he had enlisted the help of his friend, Ragnar, a battle-hardened Viking who scared Ailsa with his fierce glower, to help instruct her in the Norse tongue. Ragnar was also fluent in the Pictish tongue. Thorolf asked him to teach them together so they might learn each other’s languages. Her husband had clearly signified they should both meet with his friend later that morning, but she arrived before Thorolf.

  After she delivered the soup to her sister, leaving it outside the dwelling when there was no reply to her knocking, Ailsa went to find Ragnar. She discovered him in the middle of a heated argument with another warrior. He sent her away with a fearsome growl and a raised fist. Ailsa feared to return for her lesson; instead she hurried toward the edge of the woodland. She had her bow with her so perhaps she might risk Thorolf’s wrath, and hunt. After all, she could not expect her Viking husband to stay strong on a diet of fungus.

  Recalling Thorolf miming that she should not go hunting alone, Ailsa decided that although she had understood him, she could blame her disobedience on not understanding his meaning, a lie though it be.

  As she walked out of the village, she could see how Brandr had begun to change her home. Previously, each family had tended a separate vegetable plot, but the jarl had decreed they should hoe and plant together, with each villager giving equal time to nurture the crops. He’d also commanded a large pit to be dug in which to stack salmon and other fish between layers of ash and herbs, saying it would preserve them for the winter months. Such advice was welcome, for now there were more mouths to feed, and the last raid by the Nechtain had left Achnaryrie’s food stocks much depleted.

  Reaching the edge of the forest, she collected her thoughts.

  A cold nose pushed into her palm. Shadow. She caressed his head and pulled his ears. The proud creature yanked his head away. Ah, so he wanted her to go hunting. Her mood lightened with her decision, and she followed the wolf into the trees.

  Ailsa brooded about the fact Irb might still be alive, which would mean she might not actually be married to Thorolf. She would never return to her first husband, that much she knew.

  Shadow seemed to sense her unhappiness because he dropped back and nudged her thigh affectionately. She scratched him behind his ear, as he liked her to do.

  Ailsa had found Shadow as a pup, lying wounded in the brush. She had been walking in the forest trying to find solace after her miscarriage. Irb had told her he wished he had never taken her to wife. Fleeing from his bitter words, she’d fled into the woods, where she often found peace.

  The young wolf had allowed her to treat his wounds, which she’d suspected were caused by boar tusks. She’d lit a fire and camped for two days in the forest all alone, staying steadfastly beside the pup, keeping him warm and fed, using healing herbs steeped in boiling water to make a poultice.

  She’d needed the solitude of the forest. Nursing the young creature back to health had helped to heal the ache in her heart.

  When Ailsa attempted to leave him, he’d insisted on following her back to the village.

  Irb had been livid with her for disappearing and then returning with the beast. But he soon changed his mind when Shadow proved to be useful, even helping him with hunting.

  But as the wolf grew, he returned to the forest, and the tribe seemed relieved to be rid of the wild beast.

  Shadow sought Ailsa out if she was hunting alone, and led her to where the pack lived, a cave hidden deep within the forest. Only Ailsa knew the whereabouts of the lair.

  The wolf also acted as a distraction when she hunted, drawing the prey which allowed her to fire an arrow undetected. Other times, he and his pack made the kill, and he would allow her to take her portion before the others had their fill. She’d hastily cut away a haunch from the carcass, quickly retreating to safety.
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br />   Occasionally, since Irb had gone, she’d woken to find Shadow stretched beside her. His presence provided solace, and Ailsa accepted the friendship on his terms, demanding nothing. It touched her that the wolf seemed to know her husband had gone missing, returning to check on her, offering his protection.

  She’d not seen Irb after the men had left to fight the Nechtain tribe. He was presumed dead by others of Achnaryrie. She, alone, believed he still lived, which was the reason she had resented the plan to become a bride to one of the Viking marauders. However, she now understood what a good strategy it had been, and applauded Eithne for her forethought and bravery in bringing about the deal.

  She had been but a child when Norsemen had last attacked their shores, killing, burning, and taking away their precious food supplies. Yes, Eithne’s plan had been a huge risk, but it had brought the village great benefit.

  It was only as she followed Shadow into the familiar territory of the forest that she fully relaxed, realising how tense she’d become. She noticed Gladys, the least friendly of the village women, hurrying through the trees to her left and wondered how she’d fared with her new husband. Contemplating the arrival of the Norsemen, Ailsa realised it had only been a week since she’d first spotted their Dragon ships arriving. She could still taste the fear on her tongue the moment she’d first sighted them. If Eithne had not understood Norse and not been able to negotiate with them, would they all be dead? She shuddered at the thought of what might have been.

  Would Thorolf have raped her and slit her throat had Brandr not made the alliance with Eithne? Although she craved his touch as she lay in his arms, it was only after her passion was spent that she tended to brood on what might have been. Had she married a man who would have taken her life only a few days ago? Such thoughts made it difficult for Ailsa to fully trust Thorolf.

  Did her fellow wives, those women who had also wedded an enemy, have reservations about these Norsemen, too? Her previous disquiet returned. Supposing the Vikings decided to turn against them, to betray them, what then?

  Ailsa’s dark musings halted as Shadow dropped to his belly and crawled ahead. She did the same, lowering herself to the ground. A lone elk stood proud in the clearing. She watched him lift his head to scent the breeze. Her gaze sought Shadow, but he had vanished. She waited, knowing he was even now circling their prey. She concentrated on the elk. The creature shifted uneasily—he’d caught the odour of wolf at his rear and moved toward her. Whilst he was unaware of her presence, she shifted to her haunches and notched an arrow into her bow. He took some steps in her direction. Once the beast was in range, she let her arrow fly. It hit the animal silently, flying swift and true. The beast dropped instantly, dead. Ailsa felt satisfied. It was a good, clean death, all any creature could wish for.

  She waited until Shadow and his pack emerged from the undergrowth, intent on feeding. Shadow stood before the carcass and snarled at the pack, keeping them at bay while Ailsa withdrew her hunting knife quickly removing her portion. Slinging the heavy carcass over her shoulder, she left her friends to feed, retracing her steps back to the village.

  No sooner had she cleared the trees than Thorolf appeared. Her heart pounded in anticipation. The sight of his tall, golden form, his face set in harsh lines, had her stomach twisting in knots. Was this it then, the turning point she had so feared? She halted, awaiting his approach. As he reached her, he lifted the heavy burden from her shoulders with little effort, as though it weighed naught.

  “Hearth!” he growled.

  “Hearth?” she queried, thoroughly confused.

  “Come you…kona!” Thorolf took her arm and towed her through the village, toward their dwelling.

  As she hurried along in an attempt to keep up with him, it suddenly dawned on her what he’d meant by ‘hearth’. Ailsa stopped and attempted to yank her arm free from his grip.

  “Did you mean ‘home’?” she asked.

  Thorolf’s frustration at their lack of communication showed in his scowl.

  Muttering in his own tongue, he continued to tug her along beside him. She skittered to keep up with his long-legged stride.

  “Thorolf, that looks to be a fine kill, my friend,” Brandr called, pointing to the venison draped across his shoulder. He was seated, recuperating in the sunshine outside Eithne’s croft.

  There followed a brief conversation, one which Ailsa was unable to follow. Eithne approached, seeming irritated. She’d obviously understood the exchange. Ailsa inclined her head, indicating they should step aside so she could explain herself, but Eithne frowned, shaking her head. Every instinct told Ailsa to flee, yet Eithne implied that Ailsa should stay.

  Regardless, Ailsa prepared to run. Eithne noticed. She signalled for Ailsa to stay, talking urgently with the men. They suddenly switched their attention to Ailsa.

  “There is no need to look so fearful. Thorolf worried after you did not arrive at Ragnar’s to learn Norse. He is very annoyed you left the village without first asking his permission or informing him of your whereabouts.”

  Ailsa relaxed as Eithne explained Thorolf’s expectations.

  “Oh, is that all?” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Please tell him I am fine. I know he asked me not to go into the woods alone, but I was not. Shadow came for me this morning, and I went with him to hunt. Thank him for his concern, but honestly, it is unnecessary.”

  Eithne relayed her words, but they appeared to do nothing to ease Thorolf’s bad mood. If anything, he seemed more furious than ever. More conversation followed in which Eithne raised her voice, and Brandr snapped at her. Eithne chewed her bottom lip while Brandr spoke sternly with her.

  “What is it?” Ailsa asked, baffled by the exchange.

  “Thorolf wishes me to tell you that since he is now head of your household, you must never leave the village without first seeking his permission. You have disobeyed him, Ailsa, and in Norse law, that means retribution. I fear Thorolf means to punish you.”

  Both men growled at Eithne. Brandr stood and disregarded his healing wound. He swung his wife up over his shoulder, taking her inside their dwelling.

  As the door was about to swing shut, Ailsa witnessed him place a hard wallop to his wife’s hind end.

  “He must be feeling stronger if he can carry his wife,” Ailsa said in an attempt to lessen her misunderstanding with Thorolf.

  He did not reply. Instead, he took her arm and hustled her away, pulling her toward their croft. Ailsa did not resist, but as Eithne’s words sank in, she wondered why her friend seemed upset? Perhaps she knew what Thorolf was about to do? Many horrible visions flooded her mind, including the cutting of her lovely long hair. Fear swamped her; she moaned.

  They reached the hut. Ailsa yanked her arm free. Quickly, she ran for the door while Thorolf lowered the meat to the ground. Once inside, she lifted the wooden bar across the door to keep him out and went to add kindling to the dwindling fire.

  The next thing she knew, there was an ear-splitting crash. The door splintered as Thorolf shouldered his way inside. Ailsa picked up the nearest object, a wooden stool, and flung it at his head. He caught it mid-air and flung it aside. His expression grim, he went after her. Frantically, she looked about for another weapon, her gaze settled on her stone pestle, but he captured her before she could grab it.

  He swung her upside down, she squealed, flailing her arms and legs in a futile attempt at escape. He wrestled her across his lap, while he sat on the bench. Winded, she struggled to catch her breath. He hauled her tunic up above her waist. She suddenly felt vulnerable lying in such an ignoble position and writhed, squealing in protest.

  A sudden, stinging blow landed on her buttock. Really! He was spanking her again? Struggling proved useless. He held her down as another smack fell. If she were able to concentrate on what he was saying, she might understand him to some degree, but instead, his voice came out as a rage-filled growl. Ailsa only comprehended the reproving tone of his scolding tongue and the stinging pain from his slaps on h
er vulnerable arse.

  His low rumbling voice, usually reserved for their bed sport, now berated her for wrong doing. Her traitorous body reacted to Thorolf’s growls. Ailsa was wet for him and felt humiliated. She began to fight like the cat she was named for—savage in tooth and claw.

  Snarling, she sank her teeth firmly into the hard muscle of his thigh. She soon released her jaw after a barrage of painful thwacks landed furiously upon her now tender rump, causing her to vocalise her pain with a loud yelp. The spanking continued with a rapidity that left her breathless, aghast she found herself whimpering apologies. He ignored her, continuing the punishment.

  Her womanhood heated until she could no long bear it. She begged for mercy, her voice low at first, but as his hand continued to fall her tone escalated. By the time he lifted her back onto her feet, her bottom was so sore it could have been scalded. She covered her face with her palms.

  Thorolf gathered Ailsa close. She burrowed into him, feeling oddly safe and comforted. He let her cry, crooning reassuringly in Norse until she calmed down. Then he held her at arm’s length, his lip quirked up at one corner as he studied her tear-drenched face, his strange, wolf-like eyes intense. His thumbs brushed her face, clearing tears from her cheeks.

  He kissed her, overwhelming her with the carnality of his mouth. The sensual heat travelled through her body, causing a fire of need to spark. His arms tightened about her, and his tongue swept between her willing lips.

  Thorolf scooped her up and cast himself across the bed, cushioning their landing with his powerful body.