Olaf was not giving up. “But, Father, we—”
That was the last straw—King Harald’s patience ran out. He straightened again and roared, forcefully enough to shake the bowls on the tables around him, “Should I show you what will happen should you continue to disrespect me?”
That finally shut the brothers up. King Harald sat back down heavily on the bench. When the hall remained silent, he barked, “Well?”
Straightaway, the baffled skald resumed his recitation of the poem about Thor and Loki dressing as the bride Freyja and her handmaiden, respectively, to get Thor’s hammer back: a favorite for wedding feasts.
For their part, Halfdan and Olaf turned and stormed out of the hall, shoving people out of the way left and right as they went. Gunnhild took a deep, shaking breath and sat back down. Eirik did the same.
Slowly, the mood inside the longhouse regained its earlier merriment. The skald sang more loudly, the revelers laughed at his exaggerated impersonations of the gods, and the chatter rose.
Eirik still hadn’t said a word; he was now drinking deeply from the cup. When Gunnhild reached for it, he clamped a hand down on her knee and squeezed, leaned in, and whispered, “Those are not the enemies I meant for you to fight.”
Gunnhild took this opportunity to snatch the wine cup back from him, turned her head so that their noses were nearly touching, and replied in kind, “And what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that they’re men, and I can handle them myself.”
“Well, you were doing a poor job of it. When we have an enemy you can strike down with those axes of yours, it’ll be your turn to fight. I’m the mind. You’re the muscle. Remember that, husband.”
The word might have had a different effect on her if she’d spoken it during the ceremony, during that moment when she’d thought things were going to change between them, but now it made her feel ill. I was a fool to hope for better from him.
Eirik’s lip curled and he pulled away from her, and did not speak to her the rest of the feast. Did not speak to her as, much later in the evening, they stood and went to the bedchamber amid the cheering and hollering of the crowd.
Gunnhild’s chests had been moved into the room, and she quickly checked them to make sure all her things were present—especially her staff. Satisfied, she turned and took in the rest of the chamber: a few chests of Eirik’s things; a few tapestries on the wall; and, of course, Hnoss and Gersemi, curled up together on the bed.
The bed. Its frame was even more beautifully carved than the one her parents had slept in. Gunnhild wanted to cry at the sight of it. After sleeping half her life on a dirt floor and the past few weeks on a bedroll the thickness of her finger, now she had an actual mattress, stuffed with feathers, which she would get to sleep in—
With her husband.
Who had swiftly changed into a clean tunic while she’d been checking her chests and now slid under the bedcovers. The cats moved to sit on top of him as he lay there on his side, facing the wall. While Eirik’s back was turned, Gunnhild took off her juniper crown and her bloodstained ritual gown, trading them for a clean linen shift, then climbed under the furs and the thick blanket stuffed with eiderdown. A length of surprisingly soft wool had been placed over the mattress itself for added warmth.
It was the most comfortable she had ever been in her entire life. She actually wiped away a tear as she settled in, before she remembered that she should not get too comfortable in the face of what was still ahead of her tonight. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
“Do you sleep like this all the time?” she asked, remembering too late that he rarely slept at all. She was still a bit drunk, but that had been purposeful. She didn’t think she could manage the act sober. “No wonder kings think they’re better than everyone else.”
Eirik didn’t turn around. “The servants will be in and out to tend the hearth. Please blow out the lantern. Good night.”
Gunnhild sat up but ignored his request. One of the servants had blessedly left a full jug of the southern wine on the chest on Gunnhild’s side of the bed, and she drank directly from it, leaning against the headboard. Through the wall behind her, she could hear the skald singing, the loud talk and laughter. Everyone was still celebrating the wedding—except for the newlyweds.
Annoyed by the intermittent glug-glug-glug sounds coming from the jug as she drained it, Eirik finally turned his head. “Stop drinking and go to sleep.”
Gunnhild squinted, her vision swimming as she swiveled her head toward him, and slurred, “Are we consummating our marriage tonight, or are we not?”
Eirik sat up in bed faster than she would’ve thought possible, the cats yowling at being disturbed, and he snatched the nearly empty jug from her. “We are not. Especially now that you’re so thoroughly intoxicated.”
She made a face. Regardless of the fact that she’d been trying to convince herself that she didn’t want him ever since their confrontation in the grove, her inebriated logic dictated that she should be offended that he didn’t want her. She felt wounded. She felt mean.
“I prefer a willing partner of sound mind,” he said, “and right now you’re neither.”
“Well, well,” Gunnhild drawled. “The kinslayer has some honor after all—”
The jug flew past her head and smashed against a tapestry on the far wall.
The noise from the main hall quieted for just a moment, and then the people cheered.
Eirik curled his hand into a fist. He’d purposely thrown the jug wide, had never intended to harm her with it, but Gunnhild did not move a muscle. The bottom half of the tapestry, which she’d recently learned his own mother had woven, was now stained a deep purple.
Eirik lay back down and faced away from her again. After a few deep, quiet breaths to calm herself, she lay down as well and blew out the lantern.
Despite the wine, it took her a very long time to fall asleep.
24
ODDNY HAD SPENT MOST of the night with Runfrid and Ulla. Both women had proven extremely adept at thwarting unwanted advances, which had allowed Oddny to drink in peace. But Ulla had retired some time ago, and Gunnhild and Eirik had gone to bed looking rather too miserable to be a pair of newlyweds; and now Runfrid was engaged in a dice game with Halldor and Svein across the hall, while Oddny had opted to remain in her seat. She didn’t think she could face Halldor, not with all these confusing feelings bumbling around in her head, knocking against the inside of her skull like trapped moths.
The woman sitting next to Oddny had been flirting with one of Eirik’s hirdsmen throughout the night, and when she got up to follow him out of the hall, Arinbjorn immediately slid into her place.
“Finally,” Arinbjorn said, motioning to a servant for a refill. He nodded his thanks and turned to Oddny. “I thought they’d never leave.”
“You were waiting to sit with me?”
“Of course I was! You’re one of the most interesting people here, Oddny Ketilsdottir.” He cast a look to Eirik and Gunnhild’s closed chamber door. “I saw you watching them. I was, too. What are your thoughts?”
“I’m worried,” Oddny said, following his gaze. “The ceremony was so intense, but all night they’ve seemed unhappy.”