in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’
‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.
‘You and your sister remain here out of the cold and damp. Wait here until I return.’
Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’
Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’
Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.
When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.
In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’
‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’
‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’
Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’
‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’
Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’
‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to think straight when your belly rumbles. Remember I brought dried herbs and mushrooms in our trunks. I spied the kitchen building when he had the trunks dragged up here. No need to stay in this ice palace.’
Svana wrinkled her nose, but her face lost its terrified expression. ‘How will that help us stay?’
‘His friend said that he longed for the old country, perhaps once he has a taste of it...he will be in a better mood. And as a general rule, dogs stay out of kitchens so you will be safe there.’
The tightness of Svana’s face eased. ‘Truly?’
Ragn made her voice sound positive and hoped her words rang true about the dogs. If her scheme failed, they would at least have a decent meal in their bellies, something they hadn’t had since before they left the north.
Svana clapped her hands. ‘You will succeed. I know you will. You’re a good cook and you make the best ale. You can show this man that he needs to have you here. I can’t face the sea again and the waves.’
‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’
‘Most of the time.’
Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.
Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.
He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.
When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.
‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’
Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.
He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.
When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.
He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.
‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’
The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.
He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.
He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.
His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.
‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’
‘You made stew?’
‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’
He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.
‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.
‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’
‘It certainly smells delicious.’
‘I put some dried cloudberries into the porridge for the morning. I always find it best to have it sitting overnight in the embers. Saves time in the morning.’ Her cheeks coloured. ‘I like my hands to be busy.’
‘My mother used to do that. Cloudberries when she had them for a special treat, but making it the day before. She’d have to chase me out of the kitchen to keep me from sneaking them.’ After he found his family’s bodies, he could not bear anything which reminded him of those