“Hmm.”
“It’s called strategy, Gunnhild. And need I remind you that this strategy in particular is one that I myself am forsaking in accordance with your marriage terms?”
“You didn’t have to agree to them.”
“You took advantage of my desperation.”
Gunnhild stopped and glared at him. “I wasn’t trying to deny you anything. I wish to prevent the same strife happening in your family now from happening again. Clearly, you yourself wouldn’t know strategy if it jumped out of the latrine and bit you in the—”
He stopped as well and put his hands on her shoulders. “We can quarrel about this to your heart’s content later.”
“There’s nothing to quarrel about.” His touch seemed to burn her through her clothes, and the fresh scar on her left palm started to prickle. She ignored both and stuck her chin in the air. “We already swore upon it.”
“I meant—never mind. Listen. We have to present a united front to my father. Once he finds out about you and about our marriage terms, and of your profession, he’s going to be furious. You only have one chance to make a good impression. It might lessen his anger.”
“Take your hands off me,” she said. When he did, they started walking again, and she decided to change the subject. “So, what’s so special about this new wife that he takes her with him when he travels?”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s his old age, but he seems especially attached to her. And their son. He’s maybe four winters old. He’ll be fostered somewhere else soon, I’m sure.”
Gunnhild hadn’t realized that Eirik had brothers who were so young. “Another son? Will your father never quit?”
“He’s over seventy winters old. If he hasn’t quit by now, I doubt he ever will.”
“Has he claimed the child? Did he name it?”
“He did. His name is Hakon. The mother is Thora. She hasn’t the title of queen, but she’s of good enough birth. And they’re no threat, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Good. At least you have one brother who doesn’t want to kill you.” Yet, she added mentally, but he glared at her as if she’d said the word aloud.
Queen Gyda waited at the jetty, a light blue fur-lined cape on her shoulders. She seemed tense, and Gunnhild could imagine why: The old queen experienced a certain degree of autonomy by running the estate on her own. King Harald’s visits were doubtless more of a bother to her than anything else; she was likely already counting the days until he left at winter’s end.
She looked Gunnhild up and down, much the same as Eirik had, but only sniffed and turned back to search the crowd milling about the ships. Gunnhild’s cheeks burned. She could only assume Queen Gyda disapproved of the ducks.
And then a man, followed by a servant wielding three massive hounds on thick leather leashes, came toward them amid the throng. Gunnhild had never met him before but recognized him by his posture, his clothing, and his uncanny resemblance to Eirik.
Fifty years ago, as a man of some twenty winters, King Harald had united the petty kingdoms of Norway under one rule. Tall and broad shouldered with a full head of silver hair, he was now old and a bit hunched, but he had the air of someone who had, in his prime, been immensely strong. Gunnhild got the distinct impression that she was looking at the spitting image of Eirik forty winters from now.
The king’s rich blue cloak was lined with fur and hid most of his body, but when he waved an arm to direct the servant with the dogs to the hall and then embraced Queen Gyda, Gunnhild saw the fine garments beneath: a blue tunic and pants, trimmed with gold-threaded tablet-woven bands and faced with silk at the neck and cuffs. The belt over his tunic was studded with stylized gold fittings, the blue leg wraps around his calves secured with gold hooks just below the knees. A simple but thick gold circlet rested atop his head. The dye for his clothing had probably been more costly than the clothing itself, Gunnhild thought.
King Harald broke from his wife and turned to his son, clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah, Eirik. I heard you won a great victory this summer on the Dvina River. I trust your skald will regale us all with a more detailed account of your exploits soon enough.”
“That’s what I pay him for,” Eirik said, his smile becoming strained. Gunnhild knew from Runfrid that the hirdsmen still refused to speak of that battle. Svein would have his work cut out for him trying to make it into a poem that would entertain the hall without causing himself and his friends an undue amount of pain; for all that the skald now seemed to hate her on Thorolf’s behalf, Gunnhild felt for him.
Then King Harald’s eyes were upon her. “And who is this?”
“Gunnhild Ozurardottir.” She held his gaze and kept her spine straight. “My father is one of your hersar in Halogaland. It’s truly an honor to meet you.”
“Gunnhild and I are to be married on the second feast day,” said Eirik.
King Harald seemed surprised. “The daughter of a hersir isn’t a bad match by any means, but it’s hardly the most advantageous for the future king of Norway.” He looked at Gunnhild askance, then back to Eirik. “Still, she’s beautiful, and for a first wife—don’t tell me this is for love?”
“We have much to discuss, Father,” Eirik said tightly.
King Harald turned back to Gunnhild. “The silk you’re wearing—is it an heirloom?”
“I—” Gunnhild looked down at the ducks, surprised, then back up at him. “Yes, but not my own. I bought it from Saeunn Hrolfsdottir. It was once part of a dress belonging to her grandmother, or so she said.”
To her surprise, King Harald smiled. “Her grandmother was a friend of my mother’s and often cared for me when I was very small. I remember her having a dress with that pattern of silk. It’s a fond memory.” He looked at her approvingly, as if this were a good omen.
Gunnhild resisted the urge to gloat—He likes the ducks!—but King Harald had already returned his attention to his chosen heir.
“I expect you to behave yourself once your brothers arrive,” the old king said sagely, but with the undercurrent of a threat.
The smile dropped from Eirik’s face. “I will if they will.”
“You can discuss this later, along with the circumstances surrounding Eirik’s marriage,” said Queen Gyda, who caught Gunnhild’s eye and gave her a withering look. “Come. It’s cold down here in the wind. We—ah, dear me, he’s gotten big, hasn’t he?”
The chatter on the dock was broken by a young child’s high-pitched whining. A short, homely woman came up behind King Harald, dragging the source of the noise behind her. Harald introduced her as Thora and the red-faced child as Hakon. Queen Gyda approached Thora with genuine warmth and bent to embrace her, then to hug Hakon, who allowed himself to be kissed on the cheek before squirming out of her arms.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Thora said to Gunnhild and Eirik, who replied in kind. Gunnhild immediately liked the woman despite herself; she had a gentle disposition.
Hakon brandished a small wooden sword and began smacking Queen Gyda in the leg, and Thora chuckled as she waved him away.