Sent As The Viking’s Bride. Michelle Styles
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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.’
Ragn put a few more ladles of stew in the dogs’ bowls before adding another to his.
The child dropped her spoon and instantly Kefla headed towards it to investigate. The child’s face became white and pinched.
‘Your sister’s hands shake,’ he said, frowning as he recalled long-buried memories about Asa his youngest sister, her affliction and how the other villagers had shunned the family because of it.
‘The sea voyage has unsettled her.’
Svana gave another cry of sheer terror and drew her feet up. Kefla stopped, tilting her head in confusion.
‘Could they go out?’ Ragnhild asked. ‘Maybe just for the night.’
‘My dogs like the fire on a cold and wet night.’
Ragnhild pointedly cleared her throat. ‘Svana, we need to find you a place to sleep. You are clearly over-tired. Remember we are here on sufferance. Gunnar Olafson has been kind. You hated the storm-tossed sea. After you are rested, the world won’t be as scary as it seems now.’
The girl screwed up her nose. ‘Will the dogs eat me if I sleep? They are awfully large. If I don’t give my stew to them, they will eat me.’
Ragnhild pressed her hands on the table as she gave him a nervous glance. ‘Svana. Please.’
‘They look like the sort which Mor-Mor told me about—the sort who snap up little girls when they are naughty,’ the girl whispered in a voice which he had to strain to hear as she clapped her hands in imitation of a dog gnashing its jaws.
Another memory of Asa slammed into him, rising from that forbidden place where he kept all the memories of his family. It was the sort of thing she’d have said and then she’d have given one of her piercing screams to prove her point. She, too, had loved the terrifying stories their grandmother or mor-mor had told on long winter nights.
The last thing he required right now was a piercing wail which set the dogs off. The entire situation would careen out of control, worse than a long ship which had lost its steering oar.
He knelt down so his face was closer to her level. She did not shrink away from him, but stared with a solemn gaze.
‘Kolka and Kefla are my wolfhounds,’ he said in as soft a tone as he could manage. ‘They listen to me. You are safe here.’
Svana put her hands over her mouth. ‘I once saw some dogs in a battle. Spittle dripped from their great fangs.’
‘Hush, Svana. That is in the past.’ Her sister put an arm about the girl. ‘Things in the past can’t hurt you. Only things in the present. We discussed this.’
‘I know, Ragn. Forgive me?’
‘Always. Now breathe slowly and finish the stew.’
The room went quiet as the dogs put their heads on their paws and the child ate a few more mouthfuls.
‘Does he know about putting out porridge for the nisser?’ the girl asked in a loud whisper when she’d finished.
The innocent words sent a knife through his heart. Nissers... He’d nearly forgotten about them. His sisters had believed in them as well, declaring the nisser would only stay if he put out porridge and said goodbye to him. He’d scoffed that last time. By the time he returned in the dead of winter, the farm had failed and his family had starved to death. He abruptly stood.
Sensing the change in atmosphere, Kefla gave a small whine and the girl cringed again.
‘Hush, Svana. You have too many notions in your head. Gunnar Olafson has enough to think about. Nissers indeed.’
‘But you put the barley on to seep, that works,’ the child persisted, sounding just like Asa and Brita had.
‘No porridge,’ he said, his head erupting with tremendous pain.
The girl winced and Ragnhild’s mouth pressed to a thin white line. He frowned. The words had come out far harsher than he’d intended. ‘My dogs tend to gobble porridge up given half a chance. Nissers respect hard work. When one realises how hard I’ve worked, then he will come.’
‘It is quite a new hall,’ Ragnhild added. ‘Anyone can see how hard Gunnar worked. The stout walls keep out the wind and rain. Remember the ruined hut we sheltered in, Svana?’
‘Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.’ Svana stifled a small yawn and her eyelids fluttered. ‘I know a nisser will be here soon. This place is safe and nissers require such things.’
Safety. A lump came into Gunnar’s throat. And for the umpteenth time, he wished he could have made the old farm safe for Brita, Asa and his mother.
Ragn put an arm around her sister. ‘My sister needs a place to sleep. She is exhausted.’
‘There is a small chamber you two can use. I made up a bed in case Eylir visited. It will suffice for the night.’ He clenched his jaw. The woman might infuriate him, but she had regard for her sister. None of his business. They were leaving in the morning but he would find them somewhere safe, just somewhere away from his farm. ‘I know how women value their privacy.