Gunnhild pretended to be ashamed, but privately she was relieved that she wouldn’t have to do any sewing in the near future. She grabbed her witching bag and thanked Oddny for breakfast, then went to wash her dirty bowl in the stream and return it to the cookhouse, after which she headed to the woods once again to work on the protection spell. At this point she thought she’d figured out the correct runes, so she carved them on a stick and held it while she made a shallow cut across the back of her hand, hoping that the blade wouldn’t bite, wincing when it did, then swearing and tossing the stick aside.
By midafternoon she had a nice little pile of failed attempts and decided to stop for the day. She gathered the sticks up to use for kindling, rubbed some healing salve on her cuts, and went back to the workshop.
She was nearly there when Oddny ran up to her.
“There you are!” she panted. “Everyone’s been looking for you. King Harald is here—his ship is docking right now!”
Before Gunnhild could react, Oddny grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside.
“I finished your apron-dress,” Oddny said, thrusting the red dress with its cheerful ducks into her arms. “Wear the pleated linen one underneath since none of the wool ones fit right. Saeunn, can she borrow your good cloak? And Ulla, can you help me with her hair?”
Saeunn nodded and went to fetch it. Ulla pulled a comb seemingly from out of nowhere and grinned.
Gunnhild raised her chin. “I can take care of my own—”
“Sit,” said Oddny as she practically shoved her friend to sit atop the platform. “We have a lot to do and not long to do it. And it’ll go more quickly if you hold still.”
20
A SHORT TIME LATER Gunnhild was wearing Saeunn’s cloak, the pleated underdress, and the duck apron-dress, along with her childhood brooches. She’d hastily polished them while Oddny strung together some of the beads from Gunnhild’s little pouch of baubles used in the horn game so long ago; Oddny had kept it in Gunnhild’s old chest from Halogaland when she’d repurposed it for her healing supplies.
“I remember some of these,” Oddny said as she handed the finished string over. Gunnhild slipped the looped ends over the pin backs of her brooches and secured the straps of the apron-dress. Ulla finished fussing over her hair, which she’d plaited into a crown, with smaller braids twisting around it like a wreath. When Gunnhild saw her own reflection in Saeunn’s polished bronze mirror, she had no idea how Ulla had accomplished it.
“Oh! The cobbler dropped these off for you earlier.” Ulla handed over a pair of leather shoes Gunnhild had commissioned, which had toggles in the same style as Oddny’s and many of the other women’s. Gunnhild took off her pointed-toe reindeer-hide boots from Finnmark and tried on the new pair; they were a perfect fit.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to both women. Then, to Ulla, “Do you want these boots? They’re only a season old.”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Ulla took off her shoes and pulled on the reindeer-hide boots, considering them with a broad smile. “They fit well. My old ones are worn out and I’ll need them for skiing this winter—I’d meant to ask my family for a new pair, but now I won’t have to.” She looked back to Gunnhild, touched. “Thank you.”
Gunnhild nodded, and Oddny said gravely, “Good luck, Gunna.”
Eirik found Gunnhild standing outside the longhouse moments later. He looked her up and down and said, “Good enough. Come.”
“Good enough?” Gunnhild seethed.
His eyes strayed momentarily to her chest—more specifically to the silk facing on the front of her apron-dress. “Are those . . . ducks? You’re meeting my father wearing ducks?”
She folded her arms, purposely pushing up her ample breasts to make said ducks bulge. “Do you have a problem with my ducks?”
Eirik stared a moment too long, seemed to shake himself, and took off down the hill. Gunnhild huffed and followed.
They headed for the two splendid warships at the jetties, the first with a blue sail and the second with a yellow-and-white-striped one. The former was a statement in itself: As with Eirik’s deep red sails, dye in such quantities was an obnoxious display of wealth. The ingredients needed to achieve such a rich blue were especially expensive, so she figured the first ship must belong to King Harald.
Eirik said, “Your hair looks good, at least. I’m assuming you didn’t do it yourself?”
“You are asking to be cursed right now.”
“And you perhaps need to sew yourself some larger dresses—”
“I’m working on it.”
“—though I’m not complaining.” This with a sideways glance in her direction.
Gunnhild raised her eyebrows. “I do hope you’re not making a comment about my body. You see, when one goes from subsistence eating to big meals that other people cook for you—”
The tips of his ears turned pink. “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m saying I like it, Gunnhild. But if one of the seams on that duck dress busts during this meeting with my father, it’s your own fault for not sewing others sooner.”
“So you’re complimenting me? Are you feeling all right?”
Eirik looked as though he were trying to compose himself. “I should’ve chosen my words more carefully. I didn’t mean for you to take offense. I’m sorry.”
An apology? Before she could question it, he said, “Do you see the warship with yellow-and-white sails? That belongs to Olaf. Halfdan isn’t here yet. Hopefully he decided to do the wise thing and go straight back to Trondheim.”
Gunnhild said through her teeth, “Right. Thorbjorg and Olaf are bad enough—”
“King Olaf to you. Until we’re married, at which point you can call him whatever you want.”
“I feel the word ‘king’ is used entirely too loosely in this country,” she quipped.
Eirik nearly cracked a smile at that, but when he caught her eye, his mouth flattened, as though he was unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d amused him. “I wouldn’t say that in front of my father.”
“That reminds me—Arinbjorn mentioned that your father is wintering with us after the festival?” King Harald had no permanent residence, but had estates such as this one where he would spend varying lengths of time.
“Yes,” Eirik said. “And his latest wife is with him.”
Gunnhild’s eyes widened. “Wait—there are only the two private chambers in the hall. Yours”—soon to be ours, which I have yet to set foot in—“and Gyda’s. Are he and the wife both staying in Gyda’s chamber?”
“My father and Queen Gyda have been married for fifty winters. I assure you she’s not offended. His wives all usually stay at their own estates and he visits them on his progress, but there’s little ill will between them. Except for the ones he cast aside when he married my mother, and then took back up when she died. They’re still a little bitter, I think. Understandably.”
When Gunnhild didn’t say anything, Eirik gave her a sidelong look. “Part of the reason my father was able to unite the country was that he went around marrying the daughters of important men.”