Page 45 of Haakon's Fate
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After a somewhat agitated night spent tossing and turning in Eadhild’s hut, Gytha found herself saying goodbye to her father at dawn. Half the Norsemen village had come to wish them good luck. Chief amongst them was Matilda, whose red eyes attested to the fact that she, too, had spent a sleepless night worrying about the outcome of their expedition. While Haakon vaulted into the saddle, she pressed a rock into Gytha’s hand. It was about the size of her palm, flat and shaped like a heart.
“Show this to Osberga when you see her, so she knows I am the one sending you. She will recognize it for the one she found for me one day when we went into the forest to pick mushrooms together. We used to do that a lot with her father when she was young.” Matilda’s voice started to crack. “And tell her I… Please tell her that I-I love her and never wanted any of this.”
She started crying and Gytha fell into her arms, her own cheeks wet with tears. What would happen if they didn’t bring the little girl back didn’t bear thinking about. Or if they found out she had?—
No, she chided herself sternly. She couldn’t give up yet, when they had not even left.
She tucked the rock into the purse at her belt and jumped into the saddle with decision. There was nothing to be gained by prolonging the emotional farewell. They had a long ride ahead of them and a mission to accomplish.
The day was warm and she and Haakon could not resist the temptation of a gallop across fields as soon as they cleared the forest. It was exhilarating. Soon, however, beasts and riders were in need of a drink and they stopped by a babbling stream.
“Your horse really is splendid,” Gytha said, throwing the animal an admiring glance.
She had been surprised to see him ride a mare when they had set off that morning. For some reason, she had expected him to choose a mighty stallion. All the Norsemen she had seen ride thus far did. But his mount was more noticeable for its elegance and beauty than its sturdiness.
Haakon smiled and gave the animal an affectionate tap on the rump. “Yes, she is, even if she has only four legs.”
“Onlyfour?” Gytha snorted. “How many would you like her to have? Ten?”
He let out a throaty laugh that sent shivers all the way to her toes. “No. Eight will suffice.” When she stared at him in bemusement, he explained. “Wolf gave her to me four years ago and I called her Sleipnir. That is the name of Odin’s horse, a mare with eight legs birthed by Loki himself, capable of running over water, in the air and in all the directions of the world. North, South, East, West, up, down, inside and outside.”
Ah. Of course. She had heard from her father that the people in the village liked to give their horses names of fantastical creatures, Norse or otherwise. Wolf himself had a stallion called Devil.
“I see. But who is this Loki?” Odin was the chief of the gods, or so she seemed to remember, but she didn’t think she’d heard the other name before.
Haakon looked at her as if she had asked who her own father was. Evidently, he had not thought anyone would not know that. “The god of mischief of course.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t you know anything?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Oh, I do. Only not the same things as you.”
“Mm. And why should you? Unlike me, you don’t have a Norse mother.”
“No.” Or any mother. Suddenly, the notion hit her like a blow to the chest. She was still getting used to that awful situation. Would she ever fully accept it, she wondered? She wasn’t sure.
Haakon took a step toward her, looking contrite. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have teased you thus.”
“It’s all right, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
Because she could not do what she wanted—nestle in Haakon’s embrace—she gave her gelding a hug instead. The animal had been a gift from her mother, and, by coincidence she had gotten it four years ago as well. It had been love at first sight between her and the beautiful animal.
“My horse was bought for me by my mother,” she said, speaking with her eyes closed. “His name is Bear.”
“Bear. With such a name, he will fit right in the village.”
Gytha stilled. “Will,” he’d said. Not “would.”
She swallowed. He had made it sound as if he thought Bear—and her—would eventually come live in the Norsemen village, like Eadhild. And his voice had gone impossibly soft. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought he was trying to seduce her.
Or perhaps, once again, it was all in her mind.
But she defied anyone not to be overwhelmed in this man’s presence. Which was precisely why she should be cautious. Her instinct did not always serve her well where men were concerned. Theodebert was the perfect example. She had been overwhelmed by what she thought of him, and thus had failed to see that he was not truly interested inher.
“Should we carry on?” she asked, not sure it was wise to stay too near a soft-speaking Haakon.
