Fru Aashild said acidly, “Anyone might think you had eloped before.”
And Herr Bj?rn guffawed again.
A little later Fru Aashild stood up to go to the cookhouse and prepare some food. She had started the fire out there because Erlend’s men would be sleeping in the cookhouse that night. She asked Kristin to come along, “because I want to be able to swear to Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n that the two of you were never alone for a single minute in my house,” she said crossly.
Kristin laughed and went out with Aashild. Erlend at once came sauntering after them, pulled up a three-legged stool to the hearth and sat down. He kept getting in the women’s way. He grabbed Kristin every time she came near him as she bustled and flew around. Finally he pulled her down onto his knee.
“It’s probably true what Ulv said, that you’re the wife I need.”
“Oh yes,” said Aashild, both laughing and annoyed, “she will certainly serve you well. She’s the one risking everything in this venture; you’re not risking much.”
“That’s true,” said Erlend, “but I’ve shown my willingness to go to her along the proper paths. Don’t be so angry, Aunt Aashild.”
“I have every right to be angry,” she said. “No sooner do you get your affairs in order than you put yourself in a position where you have to run away from everything with a woman.”
“You must remember, Aunt,” said Erlend, “that it has always been true that it’s not the worst men who get themselves into trouble for the sake of a woman. That’s what all the sagas say.”
“Oh, God help us,” said Aashild. Her face grew soft and young. “I’ve heard that speech before, Erlend.” She took his head in her hands and ruffled his hair.
At that moment Ulv Haldors?n tore open the door and shut it at once behind him.
“A guest has arrived at the farm, Eriend—the one person you would least want to see, I think.”
“Is it Lavrans Bj?rgulfs?n?” asked Erlend, jumping up.
“Unfortunately not,” said the man. “It’s Eline Ormsdatter.”
The door was opened from the outside; the woman who entered shoved Ulv aside and stepped into the light. Kristin looked over at Erlend. At first he seemed to wither and collapse; then he straightened up, his face dark red.
“Where the Devil did you come from? What do you want here? ”
Fru Aashild stepped forward and said, “Come with us up to the house, Eline Ormsdatter. We have enough courtesy on this farm that we don’t receive our guests in the cookhouse.”
“I don’t expect Erlend’s kin to greet me as a guest, Fru Aashild,” said the woman. “You asked where I came from? I come from Husaby, as you well know. I bring you greetings from Orm and Margret; they are well.”
Erlend didn’t reply.
“When I heard that you had asked Gissur Arnfins?n to raise money for you, and that you were heading south again,” she went on, “I thought you would probably visit your kinsmen in Gudbrandsdal this time. I knew that you had made inquiries about the daughter of their neighbor.”
She looked at Kristin for the first time and met the girl’s eyes. Kristin was very pale, but she gazed at the other woman with a calm and searching expression.
Kristin was as calm as a rock. From the moment she heard who had arrived, she realized that it was the thought of Eline Ormsdatter that she had been constantly fleeing from, that she had tried to drown it out with defiance and restlessness and impatience. The whole time she had been striving not to think about whether Erlend had freed himself completely from his former mistress. Now she had been overtaken, and it was futile to fight it anymore. But she did not try to avoid it.
She saw that Eline Ormsdatter was beautiful. She was no longer young, but she was lovely, and at one time she must have been radiantly beautiful. She had let her hood fall back; her forehead was round and smooth, her cheekbones jutted out slightly—but it was still easy to see that once she had been quite striking. Her wimple covered only the back of her head; as she spoke, Eline tucked the shiny gold, wavy hair in front under the cloth. Kristin had never seen a woman with such big eyes; they were dark brown, round, and hard, but beneath the narrow, coal-black eyebrows and the long eyelashes her eyes were strangely beautiful next to her golden hair. Her skin and lips were chapped from the ride in the cold, but this did not detract from her appearance; she was much too beautiful for that. The heavy traveling clothes enshrouded her figure, but she wore them and carried herself as only a woman can who bears the most confident pride in the splendor of her own body. She was not quite as tall as Kristin, but she had such a bearing that she seemed taller than the slim, small-boned girl.