Page 7 of Haakon's Fate
Haakon told Wolf what had happened that day in the clearing and then later on in town. Once he’d finished his explanation, his friend was laughing so hard he could barely talk.
“Well,” he concluded, slapping him on the shoulder. “Gytha is a lovely girl. You could do much worse.”
“We are not truly betrothed,” Haakon reminded him. Why did he sound so disappointed? He didn’t want to have anything to do with a Saxon woman, much less be betrothed to her, even in jest. “But I didn’t feel I had much choice but to go along with the lie and ensure her friend’s safety.”
Her father must be none other than Alberic, Elstan’s neighbor.
“No, of course.” Wolf sobered. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I reacted like that. This is no laughing matter. From what you said the man sounds dangerous. It was kind of you to ensure the two women were not harmed.”
“What else could I do?”
“Nothing,” Wolf agreed. “But if Eadhild’s father is so set against her marrying a Norseman, I dread to think what will happen when he finds out she is about to become Halfdan’s wife. I should go speak to him. If he really means to marry her, then this wedding had better be celebrated as soon as possible so she can come live here, where we can protect her from harm.” He clenched his jaw, clearly displeased. “I married Merewen more than thirty years ago. At the time I had to face strong disapproval from the local community. I never let it bother me, and thank the gods, neither did she, but I cannot believe that we are still at the same point. Will people never learn?”
Haakon could only nod.
His Saxon father had had it easier than the Saxon women married to Norsemen of the village, that was for certain. For some reason, even though a couple involved two people, it was always the women who faced the harsher criticism for their choice of partner. Was that why he’d always fancied himself married to a Saxon? Because instinctively he felt that a womanwho was strong enough to ignore prejudice and stand by her love for him would be a trustworthy partner? Perhaps.
Whatever it was, he couldn’t deny that they had always held an appeal for him.
Except that, as he’d reflected the other day, he’d never had any luck with them.
The first one he’d tried to seduce had told him in no uncertain terms she would never sully herself by bedding a filthy Norseman. Perhaps an acquaintance of Eadhild’s father, he thought bitterly. Cwenthryth, though much nicer in her refusal, had never looked at him twice, instead preferring Steinar’s brooding personality to his youthful enthusiasm. Matilda, who’d caught his eye when she’d arrived at the village six months ago, had found love with Inga, the butcher’s daughter. After her forced marriage to Gundulf, she had sworn men off and fallen for the woman who had welcomed her under her roof while they investigated her daughter’s whereabouts.
Eahlswith, who’d already been head over heels in love with Sven, had not even seen him.
Worst of all was Edita, his friend Eirik’s cousin. Two weeks ago, when she’d arrived at the banquet given for the birth of Eirik and Freyja’s daughter, he, his friend Arne and a few other men had been struck by her beauty.
She’d appeared bathed in the evening light, claiming she was looking to settle in the village now that her husband was dead, and he’d thought his dream had finally come true. Here was a woman who was not averse to marrying a Norseman, only a few years older than him and pretty as a picture. She was also, as he’d quickly discovered, a veritable harpy.
A woman like her, arrogant, selfish and mean, would never bring him any joy, only problems. Arne, or anyone else, was welcome to her.
Unfortunately, she seemed to have decided that she wanted him as her next husband, and no other. She’d been pursuing him relentlessly, cornering him every opportunity she got. The irony was not lost on him. Had he still been of a mind to have a Saxon wife, he could have had one by now. But he had decided only three days ago that he was done chasing his stupid dream and he meant to never end up married to a Saxon, no matter what Alberic or anyone else thought.
Once Wolf had left to see Halfdan, Haakon decided to go spend a moment with his father. The two of them had a similar sense of humor so he would enjoy hearing about his fake betrothal.
He found him at his working bench, a gold circle in hand.
“Good afternoon, son.”
“Are you making a ring?” Haakon asked, amused. It seemed oddly apt, considering what he had come to tell him.
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, I thought you’d like to know that apparently, I’m engaged to be married.”
His father stilled, chisel in the air. “Anyone I know?”
Haakon couldn’t help a laugh. That was precisely the right question to ask. “No. No one I know either.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He explained what had happened in the forest, and then with Alberic getting confused as to the identity of the Norseman. But for a reason he was not sure of, Haakon kept to himself the kiss he had shared with Gytha in town. It would have been an amusing addition to the story. Mm, yes, but that was precisely the problem. That kiss had been anything but amusing. It had been passionate. It had been confusing, to the point of being potentially problematic. It had been everything it shouldn’t have been, and he’d found himself thinking about it far more oftenthan was wise over the last three days—and nights. A woman who kissed like that would be…
Trouble.
Trouble he’d resolved only the other day to stay clear of. Whatever else she might be was of no relevance.
“Well, whatever you do, do not let your mother hear this. She will only start hoping that you marry the girl one day.”
