The Heart's Warrior (26 page)

With a single nod, Letta shuffled away, leaving

Kerstin alone with her mother-in-law.

Fearing Tovi might believe Letta meant Jonas harm, Kerstin hurried to plead her cause. “You mustn’t pay heed to what she says. She’s not herself. She’s filled with grief for her children.”

“That’s apparent. Her husband has been away from

home too long. I doubt her heart will ever mend. Losing a child is something a mother never gets over.”

Kerstin’s muscles tightened. Tovi spoke from

experience—from losing Bjorn. She hated the thought that Tovi believed she had caused that grief. “You’re very understanding.”

Tovi’s face tightened. “I’ll see to it that my people treat Letta kindly while she’s here.”

Perhaps Jonas had told Tovi what Letta had been

through.

“I realize it’s me you distrust, not Letta,” Kerstin said. Tovi’s eyebrows arched. “We shall see. Time proves all things. For now, you’ll help the thralls with the cleaning. After a night of feasting, there’s much to be done.”

Kerstin’s back stiffened. She wasn’t used to being ordered around. She knew what needed to be done and had directed the labors of her father’s hall since before her 175

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mother’s death, but it would do no good to make trouble with Tovi. “I’m quite good at cooking.”

Tovi shook her head. “We don’t need your help in the kitchen.”

Kerstin nodded and bit her tongue. Back home, she had always supervised the spices and cooking. She was also an excellent seamstress. To be ordered to do menial chores with the thralls insulted her, but Kerstin commanded herself to be patient.

Tovi turned and left the room and Kerstin went to seek out food. She hadn’t eaten anything the day before and her stomach growled.

In the hall several people took their meals, but when she appeared, they departed quickly. Kerstin sat alone in a corner. A woman named Gudrid brought her a bowl of porridge, coarse brown bread and mellow cheese.

Heavy with child, Gudrid’s blonde hair hung lank

about her face, her blue eyes dull and lifeless. She was overly thin and plodded about the hall, her pregnancy an obvious discomfort.

With an experienced eye, Kerstin looked for signs of an abusive husband; bruises, bumps and cuts. She saw none. Gudrid’s condition must be due to a difficult pregnancy.

“Will you join me?” Kerstin asked, thinking food

might give her more strength.

Gudrid’s eyes rounded in horror. She shook her head.

“I have little appetite these days.”Kerstin smiled at her excuse, but she worried about the woman. She tried to choose her words with care, to ask about Gudrid’s condition without offending her or earning her suspicion.

“When is your babe due?”

Gudrid threw a wary glance over her shoulder,

toward the women working in the kitchen. In a protective gesture, she placed a frail hand over her distended middle. “Not for another month.”

Kerstin took a sip of porridge. “Has the babe tried to come early?”

Hesitating, Gudrid nodded her head. “My husband

fears I’m tainted to bleed so much while I’m with child.”

She was bleeding? Not a good sign.

As Gudrid set a pitcher of milk beside Kerstin’s plate, 176

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a little girl of perhaps four years ran into the hall and raced to Gudrid’s side. The child tugged at her woolen skirt. “Mama, can I go with Ragnhild?”

“Nay, you must stay here.” Gudrid ignored the girl as she picked up dirty dishes and stacked them on a wooden tray. Kerstin popped a chunk of cheese into her mouth and smiled at the child. She doubted Gudrid would take any medicines that she prepared; but perhaps, if Kerstin told her what to do, Gudrid might make herself some healing teas. “Have you tried dandelion tea?” Kerstin asked as she broke off a piece of soft bread. “It would help give you an appetite. And a little ergot might help stop the bleeding.”

Gudrid’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to

speak, but the little girl tugged on her skirt again.

“Mama, I want to go watch Ragnhild in the kitchen.”

“Nay, Ota,” Gudrid said in a weary voice. “I told you the kitchen is no place for a child.”

“I won’t get in her way,” Ota whined.

Gudrid shook her head and frowned at her daughter.

Fatigue creased Gudrid’s face. No doubt she needed time away from Ota to get her work done. Kerstin longed to offer her assistance, but didn’t dare.

“Will Ota stay with me?” Kerstin asked with a smile.

“I wouldn’t mind watching her and she could help me with the cleaning.”

Ota thrust her face against her mother’s leg and

peered at Kerstin with large, bashful eyes. Gudrid’s brows drew together in a disconcerted frown. Kerstin wasn’t surprised. She could almost read the other woman’s thoughts. She feared Kerstin might cast a spell on her child.”I need her to stay with me.” Without a backward glance, Gudrid grabbed Ota by the hand and pulled the girl away. Ota stared back at Kerstin, her mouth

puckered in a childish pout.

Kerstin sighed and finished her meal. With no a word to anyone, she found a broom and went about her duties cleaning the hall. She fetched water, scrubbed the tables and swept the floors, laboring as hard as any slave. She worked alone. Even the thrall women wouldn’t come near her. Kerstin spent her time isolated—lonesome, wishing 177

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for a friend.

Several times, Kerstin came near the kitchen, a room connected to the main hall. Thralls and other women bustled about the long trestle tables, chopping meat and vegetables or stirring pots simmering over a huge fire pit.

Two boys turned a spit holding two haunches of venison.

As Kerstin swept the old rushes from the clay floor, she caught the unpleasant aroma of burning grease.

Looking up, she saw Astrid, introduced last night as the blacksmith’s wife, snuff out a grease fire with an iron lid.

“You fool, Ragnhild,” Astrid admonished a young girl of approximately fifteen years. “You could’ve burned down the whole house. And you put too much salt on the meat again. You ruin what our men work hard to provide us. If the mistress makes you go without your supper, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Tears beaded in Ragnhild’s eyes and she wrung her hands. Leaning her broom against the wall, Kerstin thought she might be able to soothe the girl. In her youth, Kerstin had been prone to daydreaming. No doubt

Ragnhild was the same. With time, she would mature and needed gentle guidance to be taught what to do.

Kerstin took a few steps closer. As she approached, Astrid turned and stared at her, using her large, matronly body to block the doorway. The thralls and other women gathered behind Astrid and clucked with nervousness.

Kerstin caught a few of their whispered words.

“She’s a witch. Keep her away from our food or she’ll poison us all.”

“Don’t turn your back on her. She’ll cast an evil spell on you.”

At that moment, Tovi cleared her throat to get their attention. Looking at Kerstin, she spoke with cool disdain.

“Finish the floors.”

Kerstin bristled. How dare this woman order her

around like a thrall? She opened her mouth to speak but bit her tongue again. She didn’t want trouble. If she kept quiet, they might come to accept her.

Taking their cue from Tovi, all the women ordered Kerstin about. To Kerstin’s amazement, some of the thrall women even told her what to do. As Jonas’s wife, her position in the household was one of honor. She longed 178

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several times to tell them so but thought better of it. Her mother, who had often admonished her for speaking her mind, would have been proud of her for keeping her silence.

By the end of the day, her nerves frayed. Tomorrow, if this continued, the women would force her to put them in their places. She dared not let it go on longer or a precedence would be set and too difficult to break. She didn’t intend to be ordered about like this for the rest of her life.

Not once throughout the day did Kerstin see Jonas.

She knew he was down at the quay, readying his ships.

Men had been in and out of the hall all day as they hauled provisions and weapons down to be loaded for the trip.

Kerstin longed to go see their preparations. She had always loved spending time with the warriors, but she didn’t want to upset Jonas with her presence.

After stacking furs outside for the men to load on the ships, Kerstin scooped up ashes from the large fire pit and poured them in a bucket to be used for making soap. As she lifted the heavy bucket, she wiped the sweat from her brow. No doubt she had black on her face, her hands, and everywhere, and she planned to enjoy a bath later that evening, whether it was bathing day or not. She would haul the water herself and bask in some privacy.

The repulsive aroma of burned meat filled the air and she crinkled her nose. Smoke billowed out of the kitchen doorway, filling the entire hall, and she shook her head with disgust. Those foolish women would not allow her near the kitchen but would burn the food instead.

How could they fear her poisoning their food when they ruined it themselves?

A shrill scream came from the kitchen and Kerstin turned. Astrid bellowed as Ragnhild raced out into the hall. She was followed by little Ota who screeched with pain. The child was soaked from neck to toe. Steam rose from her clothing. She had been doused by boiling water or soup, her arms and neck flaming an angry red.

“Papa! Papa!” Ota screamed, her face contorted with agony as she flailed her tiny arms about.

She ran through the room and out into the sunlight.

Gudrid trailed after her daughter, her hands clutched to 179

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her mouth as she cried. “Someone help her.”

Kerstin dropped the ash bucket with a clatter and rushed after the child. Outside, she saw Ota rolling around on the ground, her voice raised in an ear-piercing shriek.

The entire household came to see what the

commotion was. Men ran from the barns and pastures and up from the quay. Without thinking, Kerstin scooped Ota into her arms. Ota squealed like a stuck pig. Her pale blonde hair and clothes were matted with dirt. She fought Kerstin as she ran with the child toward the watering trough.

“Nay!” Astrid gasped. “The witch means to drown

poor Ota. Someone stop her.”

Gudrid stared, one hand pressed to her open mouth, the other supporting her large belly.

Plunging the child into the cool water, Kerstin

cradled Ota’s head so she could breathe. The child’s screams ceased as the cooling liquid soothed her

trembling body.

“It will take the burn from her,” Kerstin said as the crowd gathered around.

Falling to her knees beside the water trough, Kerstin bent over Ota, making certain she submerged every part of the child, except her face. Ota closed her eyes and sobbed pitifully, now clutching Kerstin’s arms with her blistered hands.

“The witch has cast a spell on her,” Astrid yelled as she turned on Gudrid. “Do you want the witch to steal your child’s life? You’re already cursed to lose your babe.

Do you want to lose
both
your children?”

Something inside Kerstin snapped. She was sick unto death of being ordered around and accused of all sorts evil deeds.

“Enough! You fool.” She glared at Astrid. “The water will take away the burn and ease Ota’s flesh so I can pull the clothing off her. You’re a spiteful, cruel old woman.

I’ve never cast a spell or poisoned anyone. Never! I’m a healer not a witch. And Gudrid is not cursed. She needs bedrest and good food to keep from having the babe early.

You give her too much work to do.”

Kerstin spied Tovi standing at the doorway of the 180

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hall, watching this exchange with narrowed eyes. Her face stiffened. Kerstin tensed, prepared to defend herself again. Tovi kept her silence, as if to suspend judgment.

“Leave my sister alone.” Letta broke from the crowd and came to help Kerstin with the child. Placing her hands at the back of Ota’s neck, Letta propped up the girl’s head.

Bless Letta. Kerstin could have kissed her. In this moment of terror, she thought Letta would scurry for safety. Instead, she came to Kerstin’s aid. Tears of gratitude burned the backs of her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

Leaving Ota in Letta’s care, Kerstin stood and faced the crowd. Water dripped from her arms, which trembled from holding the weight of the child. Her knees

threatened to buckle beneath her. The mob looked

fearsome. If they attacked, she couldn’t defend herself for long. “Take Ota away,” one of the women called. “Take her where the witch can’t harm her any more.”

Kerstin braced herself, knowing if they took Ota, they would lay the child on a sick bed and watch for days while she fought off infection and pain and died a long, horrible death. Kerstin couldn’t stand to let the child suffer. Not when she knew of ways to ease Ota’s pain and help her recover with minimal scarring.

“Leave Ota where she is,” Kerstin cried. “I can help her.” She braced to do battle. How she wished she had a weapon. She would fight to the death to protect this child from their stupidity.

The loud arguments muffled her plea. People

crowded closer and closer. A woman shoved Kerstin and Kerstin pushed back. Someone pinched her and she

smacked the woman’s nose with her fist. They flocked all around, trying to dodge her well-aimed punches. They clawed at her, tearing her dress and pulling the scarf from her head. When her fiery curls whipped about her, loose and wild, some of the people stepped back, their eyes showing suspicion and fear.

“Leave her be. She’s Jonas’s wife,” one man said. “We owe her our respect.”

“She’s a witch! Remember her own people accuse her 181

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of practicing magic.”

“She murdered Bjorn.”

“I murdered no one.” Kerstin crouched, ready to fight.