Page 28

T he wedding took place two weeks later.

It was a quiet affair since Gunnar required no fuss, Mairead even less.

There was no dynastic alliance to negotiate, no dowry to claim, just a few words spoken before his men and his followers and a feast for all at Gunnarsholm.

If any considered the hasty marriage of a Viking Jarl to a Celtic thrall in any way worthy of comment, they did not share such a view publicly.

Tyra slept throughout the entire process.

Donald sat beside his mother at the table in their hall, his face quite unreadable, as though the boy did not dare to express his fears.

The boy’s anxious features awakened a memory in Gunnar, one he had thought long buried, of being taken into his father’s longhouse soon after the death of his mother.

He had been a similar age then to Donald now, and just as scared though he would never have admitted as much.

He was uncertain of his welcome, his place in this new home.

Was he part of the family, or an outsider, a slave still?

His father, the Jarl, was always kind enough, though strict.

Frey of Skarthveit treated his sons well, and expected much of them.

He made no distinction between the legitimate one and the one born a bastard.

But it was Solveig, his father’s wife and Gunnar’s new stepmother, or so he had always thought of her, who defined his childhood.

Solveig was an austere woman who ran their household with a rod of iron.

All knew better than to disobey or rile her.

In return, though Solveig was fierce, she loved her children dearly and this included Gunnar right from the moment he arrived, trembling at her table.

He recalled that she set a bowl of broth before him, told him she was sorry for his loss, tousled his hair then bade him eat.

When his stomach was filled she showed him where he was to sleep, in a warm spot right next to Ulfric.

Solveig offered little in the way of outward affection, not to any of them, but by her deeds Gunnar knew she cared for him every bit as much as for her natural born son.

Her generosity to him was not effusive, but from that very first day he was never in any doubt of his welcome in her longhouse.

She accepted him without question and he grew up under her stern, efficient care.

Gunnar never forgot Solveig’s understated kindness to a small, scared child and in return he became utterly devoted to her.

He knew of her affection for sure when, perhaps a year after entering her domain, he fell from a tree and broke his arm.

He had climbed the massive Norwegian pine because Ulfric dared him, urging him to reach an osprey’s nest which the older boy swore was up there.

Solveig was furious with her son and whipped Ulfric for causing his brother to be hurt.

She bound Gunnar’s injured arm and took the smaller boy into the bed she shared with their father until he ceased crying with pain at night.

Solveig might appear cold, he could not deny that.

Many considered her distant and aloof, but to him she had been there when he needed her, always utterly reliable.

Although a grown man by then he had wept when she died, and he missed her still.

Solveig had become his rock, and now this frightened little boy who shared his longhouse needed the same certainty he had been given.

Gunnar knew what he must do. He rose from the table and leaned down to speak into the lad's ear.

"Come with me, Donald."

The boy swivelled on the bench, his face white. Gunnar turned and strode for the door.

Outside, he waited for the boy to catch him up, then led the way to the stables.

He was aware that Donald spent much of his time here since his punishment for the thefts had been completed.

The boy was fascinated by horses, and Gunnar would use that now to his advantage.

He entered the low building and approached the first stall, occupied by a dappled gelding he had acquired a few days previously.

The animal was small and well-mannered and Gunnar had purchased him as a mount for his new bride.

"I have watched you grooming Knut. I had thought him a decent horse for your mother. What is your view, Donald?"

"He is very gentle, Jarl. She will like him, I think." The boy reached up to pat the horse's velvety muzzle

"Do you like him?"

"Oh, yes. He is beautiful. I have been taking care of him. Will I still be allowed to do that?"

"You may. I believe your mother would appreciate your assistance as she is so often busy with Tyra, or helping Aigneis. I find though, that when we travel beyond Gunnarsholm I prefer her to ride with me. This little fellow will become fat if he is left in the stables overmuch."

"I... I will walk him. I will make sure he gets the exercise he needs."

"Better that you should ride him. A horse needs to gallop, not walk. I suspect a boy does, also. Certainly I always felt that it was so."

The boy's face fell. "I do not ride, Jarl. I am sorry."

"Then you must learn, and quick. I shall teach you. We start tomorrow."

"I have no horse." The lad looked bewildered.

"You do now. Knut shall be yours. I shall purchase another mount for your mother."

"Mine? He is mine?" The lad moved closer to the horse, patting the silky neck.

"He is." Gunnar went down on his haunches to bring his eyes on a level with the small boy. "You were born a Celt, Donald, but you will grow up among Vikings. A Viking must ride, so he needs a horse. Now, you have one. Learn well, become a fine horseman and make me proud."

The boy gaped at him, open-mouthed. Gunnar winked and stood. "We should return to the feast. You will sit beside me?"

"Yes, sir." Donald trotted back across the settlement at Gunnar's side, chattering endlessly about his plans for Knut, his enthusiasm and excitement almost palpable as they resumed their seats in the hall.

Mairead glanced across at her son, frowning.

"Where have you been?" she whispered in Gunnar's ear. "And what have you done with my timid son?"

"We went to the stables. I have bribed him with a horse. And I told him how he could make me proud."

"You are a cunning man, Gunnar Freysson, and I love you."

"It is kind of you to say so, wife, particularly as the horse was to have been yours. I love you too." He reached for a steaming dish. "More carrots, my sweet?"

Gunnar found married life very much to his liking. His habit had been to spend much time out of doors, or away on trading or hunting expeditions, but he found himself seeking to curtail such absences. He became inordinately fond of his hearth, or more accurately, his bed.

Aigneis was most obliging also in her willingness to whisk Tyra off on some domestic errand or other whenever Gunnar appeared in the longhouse doorway.

As for the lad, he was invariably out of the house in any case, spending most of his waking hours in the stables.

Donald was proving to be an adept pupil and had taken to the saddle with a natural ability.

He had an easy way with horses; the boy's usual shyness dropping away when in their company.

He had discovered his niche, he was happy.

Gunnar was relieved, he had not expected that situation to be so easily resolved.

He lay on his back, a fur drawn across his abdomen to offer a cursory nod at modesty in case his servant might return. Mairead bustled about their chamber, seeking to restore her clothing to some semblance of order following a most pleasant half hour tumbling with him among the blankets.

"I must go the Hafrsfjord." He made his announcement to her back as she bent to poke at the glowing embers in the fire pit. "I have ewes which need to be taken to the market there, and we will need to purchase supplies for the winter. I have delayed the trip, but I cannot put it off much longer."

Mairead turned to regard him. "I see. Will you be away for long, Jarl?"

"A sennight, perhaps two. I was thinking I might make a detour to Skarthveit on the return journey."

"Skarthveit?" Mairead recalled Hafrsfjord, the bustling port where she and the other female slaves had been landed when they first arrived on these shores. Her memories of the cold, wet quayside were not pleasant ones, but that was behind her now. She did not recall mention of Skarthveit before.

"It is the homestead of my brother, Ulfric. You will have seen him. He prevented his slave-master from killing your friend that day."

Mairead shuddered. She had never been so afraid in her life. "Yes, I remember. He had blond hair."

"Aye. He favours our father more than I. He does not know of our marriage yet so I should visit him and share the glad news."

"Oh."

"So, it would be best if you were to accompany me. You may make the acquaintance of your wider family. I have a sister, also, and a nephew."

"Oh." Now she stood and stared at him warily. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. I do have a nephew, and a sister, I would not make a mistake on such a matter."

"Fool. I mean, are you sure you want me there. What if they do not approve of your choice?"

"They will. Or more properly, they will not mind one way or the other.

I am the bastard son of my father, a Freysson but not with any expectation of inheriting.

Nor was it ever assumed I might marry in order to forge an alliance of any sort.

Fine Viking families do not offer their daughters to bastards.

I grew up in my father's house beside my brother and sister.

I love them dearly and they love me. Our family is close, but I am on the outside, so my life is my own.

Gunnarsholm is mine. I live as I please. I marry as I please."

"But..."

"You will be made welcome in my brother's longhouse, I promise you this. So will our children."

"They are to come too? Both of them?"

"Tyra is too young to be left behind, and Donald would, I suspect, take it amiss if he were not allowed to accompany us. So yes, both of them."

"When do you wish to go?"

"Soon, before the weather closes in for the winter. Within the next few days if we can manage it."

Mairead nodded, and he could tell that she was already planning the trip. "Very well. I shall talk to Aigneis about supplies for the journey."