Page 116 of A Tale of Two Vikings

She sank to her knees on the floor and sobbed out her pain. It seemed that once again, her dreams were not to be fulfilled. She snuffled and wiped a hand across her dripping nose. Standing, she began to don her clothes. She would return to the castle; she would fight for Evergreen.

But she would never be the same again.

Chapter Fourteen

Love hurts…

By early afternoon, Esme was back at the castle.

Although her eyes were probably red and her nose puffy from crying all morning, she had no more tears to shed. And, surprisingly, no one at Ravenshire made any mention of the activities of the past sennight and more—not of her taking Toste captive, then his taking her captive, not even of Toste’s current abandonment of her. It was as if the past thirteen days had not even happened. She suspected that everyone had agreed ahead of time not to discuss those things to spare her embarrassment.

Ravenshire itself had changed dramatically in her short absence. Mistletoe and holly were arranged everywhere, even hanging in swags from the rafters. Esme was not surprised to see mistletoe amongst the other greens in this partly Norse household. The custom of kissing under a piece of mistletoe was often associated with Balder, a beloved Viking god similar to the Christian Jesus Christ. Balder had been killed by a mistletoe arrow and restored to life by a sprig of mistletoe. Thereafter, Vikings considered the sight of it a signal that the kiss of peace and love should be given.

Fragrant candles burned in practically every corner. Delicious odors of foods being prepared for the upcoming feast wafted through the castle—roasted boar, red deer, chicken and duck; salted cod, pickled kidneys, creamed eels and the loathsome lutefisk; honey cakes, dried apple tarts and sweet raisin custards; hard and soft cheeses, including the Viking skyrr; mountains of breads, especially the loaves of circular manchet bread with the hole in the center which were arranged on long broom handles in the scullery. And of course Lady Eadyth’s famous mead, supplemented by a batch of Margaret’s Mead which had been left behind.

Many of the guests would arrive tomorrow, but already the castle overflowed with extended family and friends, all with children running hither and yon. Of course, there were Eirik and Eadyth’s twin seventeen-year-old daughters, Sarah and Sigrud, but two other daughters had also come home, twenty-four-year-old Emma who worked in an orphanage in Jorvik, and Larise, the twenty-six-year-old widow of a Northumbrian merchant, not to mention the darkly brooding son John of Hawk’s Lair, who was much too somber for his twenty-five years.

Also still in residence for the holiday season were Tykir and Alinor and their four wild sons. The boys had been teaching Abdul some yuletide ditties, some of which were rather naughty. Between the bird’s squawking and the children’s squawking, it was hard to think…which was a good thing in Esme’s case.

Among the early guests were Adam from Hawkshire with his wife, Tyra, along with their baby Edward, who was crawling everywhere, an Arab servant named Rashid and a clumsy twelve-year-old boy, Alrek, who tripped over everything in sight. Adam was a noted healer; beautiful Tyra, a giant of a woman, was a soldier. Amazing people!

The guests that worried Esme most, though, were the ones who would begin arriving tomorrow, some of them members of the Witan, possibly even Archbishop Dunstan, who would represent the king. Despite all that she had done to Toste, she’d never thought he would abandon her to face these notables alone. Her life…her future…was at stake, and he had just ridden off.

She found Bolthor sitting at the far end of the great hall before a small hearth, sipping a cup of mead. Apparently, he had needed to escape the din and chaos, as well. Perhaps he felt abandoned by Toste, too.

She put a hand on his sleeve and sat down on a bench beside him. “I cannot believe the noise,” she said.

He nodded. “’Tis always this way when Vikings get together. And Eirik and Eadyth, though they can claim only one-fourth Norse blood betwixt the two of them, are more Viking than some pure-blooded ones. Comes from Eirik being raised mostly in Viking households, I suppose.”

“Do you…or Toste…have any blood connection to them?”

He shook his head. “No direct or close kinship, but we have been comrades for years in battle and at Norse althings. I fought beside Tykir at the Battle of Brunanburh where I lost my eye.”

“And Toste—do you not feel abandoned by him now? Like me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Abandoned? Why would I feel abandoned? Why would you? He should be back tonight or on the morrow at the latest, methinks.”

Esme shook her head to clear it of the fuzziness caused, no doubt, by so much weeping. “What mean you?” Suddenly, a question occurred to her. “Did he not go looking for his brother’s killer?”

“Nay.”

“Where did he go?”

“He did not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Where he was going.”

“Nay, he did not.” Esme felt like shaking the giant skald…as if she could! “Where did Toste go?”

“To Evergreen,” he said. “I thought you knew.”

Shock rippled over her. It was the last answer she would have expected. Softly she informed him, “No one told me.”

He shrugged. “No doubt everyone thought you knew.”

Now she felt like shaking Toste. But he had gone to Evergreen. For her? “Why did he go?”