Chapter Three

      ‘The dogs obeyed him. Instantly. Hamthur’s dogs rarely obeyed him,’ Svana declared, stifling another large yawn. ‘Are you certain we will have to leave tomorrow? I thought you were married to Gunnar.’ Her brow furrowed with concentration. ‘A proxy marriage.’

      ‘I gambled everything on a few vague promises. I should have seen Gunnar’s friend only wanted to impress Trana.’

      Ragn forced the bitter bile back down and kept her hands moving, reshaping the straw in the mattress into a serviceable bed instead of a heap. The straw had seen better days, but it was clean and smelt of summer meadows.

      Cleaning the kitchen had gone far more quickly than she’d anticipated, with Svana, having recovered from her earlier fright, eagerly drying the dishes, carefully sweeping the floor while humming a little song about how the nissers always help the helpers.

      Hearing Svana’s lisping tones had lifted her spirits and made her long for easier days, when she, too, had believed in such things.

      Rather than give her a lecture about making friends with the dogs, Ragn banked the fire in preparation for Gunnar’s return and marched Svana into the tiny cupboard of a room.

      ‘You must be able to do something.’ Svana’s hand clutched hers. ‘A reason to keep us here. Our luck is changing, Ragn. I can feel it. My hands are all tingly. See.’

      Ragn’s breath caught in her throat. Another of Svana’s attacks? They were there on sufferance already. She pushed Svana’s hair from her forehead. Her skin wasn’t clammy, a good sign. Gunnar might not mind the inward-turning eye, but if he discovered Svana flailing about and foaming at the mouth? What would his great dogs do then? Might they not be better off just leaving? Ragn worried her bottom lip. They had a roof over their heads here and she had no idea of what the conditions were like on Ile.

      ‘Hopefully I can convince him that he requires a housekeeper, instead of relying on a magical sprite. He certainly needs help.’ Ragn’s breath caught. She knew how to make a household prosper despite Hamthur’s extravagances. However, she’d utterly failed in the marriage bed. She’d been young and eager to please at the start of the marriage, but nothing she did seemed to please him. Hamthur had rapidly grown disenchanted with her efforts and mostly sought other women’s beds.

      When she’d first heard he’d been waylaid and murdered, she had felt relief. It was only later she’d learnt that Vargr had ordered the murder as retribution for Hamthur’s continued refusal to kill Svana. If she had known that he cared or even had done it out of selfish interests to protect his own skin, knowing his brother would find another excuse to attack or because he was in no mood to yield to his brother’s demands, she might have behaved differently, might have insisted that he take armed guards, instead of accepting his easy assurance he was a grown man.She accepted that she could never know for certain why he’d protected Svana, but he had and that was enough to make her feel sorry that she hadn’t tried harder to protect him. She should have guessed that Vargr would have behaved in that fashion.

      ‘You’re the best at managing,’ Svana said with a sleepy smile. ‘Far used to say that you magicked grain from any barrel, and ale from the lake—the sort of wife any man would be proud of.’

      ‘My lack of womanly charms is an established fact.’

      ‘Hamthur was jealous because everyone looked to you.’ Svana gave a big yawn. ‘Gunnar should marry you like he was supposed to. Once I catch that nisser’s shirt tail, you will see only good things for my sister, the best sister in all the world.’

      The best sister. Ragn hated how her throat tightened. Did good sisters cause their sisters to get hurt? Did sisters ruin their younger sisters’ lives by inviting witch women to give predictions? Bitterness filled her mouth. Her great plan for restarting their lives in Jura had come to nothing.

      ‘Nissers don’t exist.’ She smoothed a lump out in the straw and discovered a small stone figurine, the sort her grandmother used to wear on a string around her neck. She carefully pocketed it before Svana proclaimed it a gift from the nisser.

      ‘You are his Jul present from his best friend. One should not give presents like that away.’

      ‘Presents of that sort are best not given as a surprise.’ Ragn swallowed hard. How much of her story Eylir had guessed or been told she hadn’t asked and he hadn’t volunteered. His offer had enabled them to escape Vargr’s murderous clutches.

      Had she known the truth would she have accepted Eylir’s offer? Ragn sighed. Undoing the past was futile. She could only make the future better. For the thousandth time, she whispered her new resolution—past behind her and forgotten, the future was the only thing which mattered.

      ‘Gunnar never asked his friend for a bride,’ she said. ‘I will not hold him to the words Eylir said. Some day we will laugh about it and be glad that he refused me. We have a better future coming, sweetling.’

      ‘But he allowed us to stay the night and his eyes twinkled, particularly after he ate the stew. That means he likes you.’ Svana gave a smug smile.

      ‘It is character which matters. I learned that particular lesson the hard way. And Gunnar Olafson is grumpy.’

      ‘He is a hard worker. He built this all on his own.’

      ‘He has no interest in me.’

      ‘His eyes followed you. I saw them. Even if you didn’t. You always believed Hamthur about your looks and never me. Why?’

      Ragn’s cheeks burned. She well imagined the sort of woman a man like Gunnar would like and it wasn’t a flat-chested, dried-up stick like her. ‘That is beside the point.’

      ‘It isn’t.’

      ‘You are over-tired and emotional. We will be leaving here in the morning for Ile, a great big island with lots of people. I will find a husband there.’