Gunnhild stepped closer and said in a furious whisper, “It’s none of your business where I choose to sleep.”
Eirik didn’t bother lowering his voice. “I didn’t say it was. I was only making an observation—”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
She expected him to deny it and call her mad, but instead he rose to his feet and stalked off toward his tent. The cats, after mewling in protest at being disturbed, followed.
“He’s insufferable,” Gunnhild said softly to no one in particular once she had tucked herself snugly under the cloak with Thorolf.
“He’s something—that’s certain,” Thorolf murmured. He’d been facing away from her, but he rolled over onto his back as he spoke.
She lay on her side, an elbow on the bedroll, her cheek resting on one palm, the fingertips of the other hand running up and down his battle-scarred chest until he reached up and put his hand over hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Eirik did.”
“What was he doing out there? Waiting for me to leave the tent so he could try to shame me?”
“It’s not about you,” Thorolf said gently, but she felt a flush of embarrassment all the same. “It’s normal for him. He’s never slept well.”
“Why is that?”
Thorolf was quiet for so long that Gunnhild thought he’d fallen back asleep.
“You can’t do what we do, for as long as we’ve done it, without the consequences of such heavy amounts of violence and death catching up with you. And Eirik has done it longer than any of the rest of us have. Save for Arinbjorn, but he’s . . . well, he’s also something else.”
Gunnhild gave a short, quiet laugh despite the weight of his words. “That’s putting it lightly.”
She couldn’t see his face in the darkness, but she could tell he was smiling. “Having a sense of humor isn’t a terrible way of coping.”
“What’s it like? Battle, I mean.”
Thorolf was quiet again for a time before speaking: “You notice nothing but what’ll keep you alive. Everything else is secondary. The blood, the smell, the screaming—none of it matters. Only the edge of your opponent’s blade, and the knowledge that it’s either him or you who’ll feed the ravens that day. The fact that Arinbjorn and I even noticed something was amiss during the battle in Bjarmaland with enough time to come to Eirik’s aid was a miracle in itself.”
This seemed a lot more honest and a lot less poetic than what the skalds spoke of, but Gunnhild hid her surprise. “And yet you continue to raid. To fight. Why?”
“Because it’s what we do,” Thorolf said simply.
“But why?” she pressed. She thought of the night of Heid’s ritual in Halogaland: how later, around that fire on the beach, the neighbor boys had spoken so eagerly of becoming great warriors. The poems they recited had the same themes: “Honor? Glory? Valhalla?”
“Those are all well and good,” said Thorolf. “But the bigger question is, when the battle is over, how do we carry on? How do we put the horror behind us and go on living? It eats away at a person, little by little.” There was undeniable pain in his voice as he added, “Sometimes I fear that by the time the valkyries come for Eirik, there’ll be nothing left of him.”
Gunnhild had nothing to say to that. But as much as she found herself warming to the hird, there was one thing she had trouble reconciling: “Were any of you with him? For Bjorn or Rognvald? How could you have stomached his actions?”
“None of us were there. It was too long ago. Eirik has outlived all the men who’ve been part of his retinue over the years, save for the current hird and Arinbjorn. And Arinbjorn splits his time between Fjordane and wherever Eirik is. It was mere chance that Arinbjorn wasn’t present when Eirik killed Bjorn and sacked his hall.”
“He would’ve talked Eirik out of it.”
“Yes.” Thorolf lowered his voice. “And I also believe that the timing of his father’s ordering Rognvald’s death was purposeful, so that Arinbjorn wasn’t there to stop it. It’s bad business, killing one’s own kin.”
“But King Harald knew this, and ordered it anyway,” Gunnhild said at the same volume. What they were saying was no less than treason, and the tent’s walls were thin. “Could he not have predicted that such a deed would reflect badly on himself and Eirik both?”
“I don’t think he sees it that way. In his mind, it probably looks worse for him to have a witch for a son. Everything is about appearances.” Thorolf added darkly, “The more time I spend in Norway, the more I understand why my father and grandfather fled when King Harald took power. Eirik is the only reason I’ve been here so long. If I didn’t love him, I would have gone home a long time ago.”
Gunnhild hadn’t realized that he wasn’t from Norway. “And where is home?”
“Iceland.”
“I see.” She didn’t know much about this island to the west, in the middle of the open sea. But now that he mentioned it, she did recall hearing from her parents that many Norwegian malcontents had relocated there after King Harald unified the country. “And did your family leave because they were unwilling to live under the king’s rule or because they made an enemy of him?”
“My family has a long history with King Harald,” Thorolf said. “He killed my uncle Thorolf, who was in his service, and for whom I’m named. My father made sure to make his displeasure known before he left the country. It’s a good thing he was already planning on leaving before he was outlawed.”
Gunnhild was aghast. “And you came to Norway to serve the son of a man who killed your uncle?”
“That wasn’t my intention when I left home, but it’s how things happened. And I don’t regret it.” Thorolf gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m going to Iceland for the winter, for the first time since I left. I wish for you to come with me.”
She was glad of the darkness so he couldn’t see the dubious look on her face.
“When we arrive at your father’s,” he continued, “I mean to ask him for your hand. But first I want to make sure it’s what you want as well.”
“After just this one time, you wish to marry me?” she asked, trying to sound teasing, but her voice was tight. “We just met today. Well, yesterday, but—”
“Some couples don’t even get the chance to meet before they marry, let alone lie together to see how things go in that regard.”
“Was it really so good for you?” This both surprised and pleased her.
Thorolf’s voice sounded a bit panicked. “Was it not for you?”
“No, it was. That is not what I meant,” she said hastily. “It’s just— This is . . . unexpected.”
“You’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met,” he said with such sincerity that she flushed at the compliment. “And I’ve been thinking—once we return to your father’s hall, he may force you to marry. At least this way you have a choice. You can ensure your fate before he even gets the chance to force another man upon you.”