Page 94 of Heart of Winter
A lord’s daughter with flaxen hair turned around on her bench and gaped in fascination, until one of the other Úlfheðnar reached to chuck her under the chin with a wink. The girl’s father grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of reach, scowling.
Upon first arrival, Oliver had thought all these Aeretolleans to be barbarians – he could see now how very wrong he’d been, with wolf-shirts prowling toward the dais like wild things who’d forced their way indoors.
They came to a halt at the foot of the stairs, and came no further. Made no move to bow or offer any sign of deference.
Ragnar propped his hands on his hips and tipped his head back to look up at his cousin, smirking. “You look good, Erik. Though there’s more silver in your hair since I saw you last.”
Slowly, with a dignity that made him seem taller and more imposing than ever, Erik pushed back his chair and stood. Walked down the length of the high table – Oliver felt the brush of his cloak against the back of his neck as he passed – and around it; down the shallow steps until he stood on even footing with his cousin. Oliver took a personal satisfaction in the knowledge that Erik was a little bit taller.
Erik said, “Ragnar,” and dipped his head in greeting. “I should have known you’d show up if I put out the bloody raw meat. I hope you’ve developed a taste for wine, because I don’t keep that rotgut you swill save for scouring the cooking pots.”
Silence a moment, save the creak of benches and the snap of candle wicks burning down. Then Ragnar’s face creased with mirth and he burst out laughing. Bent double with it, clutching at his stomach.
Erik grinned, but Oliver could see that it didn’t reach his eyes.
Ragnar straightened and pulled his cousin into a crushing hug, slapping at his back. When he pushed back, he gripped Erik’s elbows – Erik’s hands white where he gripped him in return – and said, “You fucking high and mighty twat. Where’s the ale? Have one of your good little doggies fetch me a plate.”
Oliver glanced toward Revna, and saw her frowning.
~*~
A plate of baked, sugared apples landed before Revna, still steaming from the oven, smelling heavily of cinnamon. She didn’t reach for her spoon, her gaze fixed instead on their newest arrival.
To her right, Birger said, “I’d hoped he wouldn’t come.”
“When have you ever known Ragnar to cooperate with the hopes of others?”
He sighed.
Ragnar and his men had commandeered one end of a trestle, displacing the diners sitting there by their presence alone. Cups, plates, and embroidered hemlines had been picked up and swept off, and a pair of nervous kitchen maids had set down platters heaped with meat, gravy, and fat slices of potato pie. The ale mugs had been refilled several times, now, and the men were laughing uproariously over something, bits of food caught in their beards, utensils forgone in favor of dirty fingers that were then licked clean of grease.
As she watched, Ragnar glanced up, caught her gaze, and saluted her with his mug.
Revna didn’t smile in return.
A glance farther down the table proved that Erik was deep in quiet conversation with Bjorn, though if he was worried about Ragnar’s presence, he didn’t show it. Erik could play cool when he needed to, but he’d always been less worried about their cousin than Revna thought he should be.
The dessert plates were cleared.
“I suppose it’s time, then, my lady,” Birger said.
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
Revna dropped her napkin on the table and pushed her chair back. “Tessa.”
The girl turned to her. “Is it time?”
“Yes, lamb, come along.”
Tessa had said little, and eaten less. She nodded, now, visibly steeling herself as if she were going into battle. She looked lovely, as ever, her natural beauty brought out by the soft blue of her high-necked gown, set off by the wolfskin that was a gift from Leif. Her auburn hair had been braided into a tidy crown atop her head, struck through with silver pins set with sapphire butterflies. Revna had loaned her a ring, a fat sapphire on a narrow silver band, and it winked and danced when she gripped the edge of the table with trembling fingers and stood to join Revna.
Revna drew the girl’s arm through her own and patted it as they walked – careful not to trip on their own long skirts – down the length of the table and around to descend the dais. “Don’t worry,” Revna whispered to her. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do wonderfully. Everyone is curious, but no one here has any hostility toward you.” Except, perhaps, for the maidens who’d wanted to marry Leif, but Revna wasn’t going to mention them.
“I wish I wasn’t so nervous,” Tessa confessed.
“Nonsense, it’s only natural.”
“I want to make a good impression.”
