Page 49 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
“The other, that Faline, not enough for him; he’s got to have you, too?” Astrid looked pointedly at the discolouration on my neck. “And both of you feeling the heel of his hand.”
Gunnolf liked to restrain me, or to squeeze my throat when he took me. Only once had I blacked out under the pressure of his thumbs, awakening to the wetness of his cum streaking my thighs and the throb of my cunt.
I’d loosened my hair about my shoulders but the marks were difficult to hide. There were more on my wrists.
Astrid lowered her voice. “The jarl isn’t what he was. Always strict, we knew, but fair with it. Now, the men are afraid. It’s not only you that’s suffering; the blacksmith’s son took a beating off the jarl, yesterday, and not for anything that a cuff to the ear wouldn’t have sorted. He’s told the men to farm only in the morning. They’re to fell timber the rest of the day, to extend fortifications by the harbour; on pain of flogging if they don’t.”
I frowned to hear it. Gunnolf had mentioned nothing.
Bringing the ladle to her mouth, Astrid sipped the broth. “He needs another wife, of course. Although that won’t stop a man like him…” She lowered her voice. “They’re looking for Eirik’s return. It’s him the men love; he who should be jarl.”
I shifted uncomfortably. Having tried hard to push away thoughts of Eirik, of the state of my heart and his, I’d convinced myself that I’d stopped waiting for him.
Astrid leaned forward. “There’s something else.” She hesitated, glancing swiftly about, though there was no one to hear—only the baby. “Something not right.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then looked away, busying herself with the poker, stoking the flames beneath her cooking pot.
“What is it Astrid?”
“I’m not sure I believe it. I shouldn’t have said…”
She bustled to the pantry, returning with an armful of vegetables. Taking them to the table to chop, the knife trembled in her hand.
“It’s not more illness?”
“No. Nothing of that sort.” She frowned, keeping her eyes downcast, slicing into the pale flesh of a turnip. “Not any illness that can be cured...”
“What are you saying?”
“There are whispers, but I’ve not seen it myself… It was wrong of me to say.”
I jumped up, rounding the table to stand beside her, reaching to stay her arm. “I must know, Astrid!”
Despite the warmth of the day and the fire lit, a chill fell on me.
“It’s something affecting Gunnolf? Affecting me?”
“Perhaps, yes…”
My heart lurched.
“She was never strong but, still… we didn’t expect it. We were waiting for the baby to be born. Even though she lost the first, we thought it would be alright this time. Asta wasn’t one of us but everyone respected her—loved her, even.”
Astrid’s eyes darted to mine, her words tumbling, urgent. “You did, too, didn’t you, Elswyth? You would never have hurt her…”
“No.” My voice scratched in my throat. “I would never have hurt her.”
Astrid shook her head. “Then it can’t be you. She’s come back, but it’s not for you.”
The room grew smaller in that instant, the walls moving closer. “Come back?”
Astrid let drop the knife. “When there’s something not right—a hurt the person can’t forgive, a betrayal, some wrongdoing…when they can’t let go.”
I grasped the edge of the table, biting upon my lip. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“That’s what they say. It must be something terrible, don’t you think, to bring her back? For her restless spirit to revive her body and make it walk again?”
I summoned all my strength. I had to know everything. “And someone has seen… her, in Svolvaen?”
