Ailmær snores while he sleeps. Not loud enough to keep me up, just so I could hear him beside me. I missed the sound when he was away, sometimes I could hear it in my dreams. It was a low humming tone that always guided me back to our bed. Back to safety.
He must have felt my eyes on him. He rolled over to his side, facing me. It took a few more seconds for his eyes to flutter open. Brown eyes, rare ones, I had always grown up around blue. His smile wasn't that rare though, It was hardly ever off his face.
"I dreamed of you, wife." He told me. Now it was my turn to smile. He traced it with the tip of his finger before dropping it back on the pillow.
"Was it a good dream?" I asked.
"You kept running away from me." He said. "Deeper and deeper into the forest we went, it became so dark I thought I would never find you again."
The wind was howling outside, beating against the walls with fury. Summer was upon us and though the winds were furious, they were nothing compared to a true winter's storm. Still, our bed was warm and cosy, even if the fire was nothing but embers now.
"Did you find me?" I asked.
"I opened my eyes," he answered. "And my sun was right before me once more."
Ailmær had a way with words, the way that led directly into my heart. He could spin them like a spider spins his web and anyone who listens to it would get caught in it. I was different in this matter. Often what I was thinking did not come out of my mouth right. I had learned early on that nothing I said would compare to what had told me. His sentences were songs, mine were just words.
I laid closer to him, pressing my lips against his. This was a language we were both fluent in, a language that only him and I spoke. I could feel his smile against my lips once more. We just laid there, planting kisses with smiles on our faces. Preparing for the day we had expected to be so mundane.
But then our love was stopped. Stopped by three loud knocks on our door. It was still early in the morning, the sky had barely turned pink. Ailmær's posture changed. Like me, he had glanced over to the door, but the dark wood did not reveal the secret behind it yet. He rose from our bed slowly, grabbing his axe and headed to the door.
He waited for me to stand too. I stood right next to the door in a blind spot, with our skinning knife in my hand. We lived separated from the closest village. Guests were always welcome in our home, travellers and friends alike, but one can never be too careful with strangers. We had heard the tales of raped wives and dead husbands. We were careful.
Ailmær opened the door on a crack, only peeking his eye out to see who disturbed our peaceful morning. I did not see his shoulders relax, nor his eyes look anymore trusting. Still, he swung the door open and nodded at our guest.
"Skarde," he said, stepping aside to let our guest in. I dropped the knife next to our cooking pit and straightened my clothes out a bit. I remembered my mom, her hospitality had been widely known when I was a child. She always knew what to say to guests, how to make them feel at home yet not linger too long.
Skarde was a wide man, though not very tall. He barely reached Ailmær's shoulders. He had the face of a man who had never known happiness, he constantly looked angry. I had seen him twice before, in the jarl's house. He was jarl Valtar's right-hand man, one of several actually. Valtar did not have any brothers nor did he ever marry. He surrounded himself with the company of his friends. Out of all of those friends, Skarde wasn't the worst.
Though having one of the jarl's men in our house in the early morning was not putting either of us at ease.
"I will get the fire going." Ailmær said while Skarde shrugged off his thick coat. He greeted me with one curt nod and plopped down on one of the benches. He folded his hands over his belly and rested his head against the wall. I glanced at my husband worryingly, but he replied with a simple shrug.
When the fire was warming the house and our guest had a cup of ale in his hand, he revealed why he had come.
"The thing is in a fortnight." He said, his face as solemn as ever. I remembered as a little girl watching my father and brothers overflow with joy when the thing was announced. My brothers were twins, but for three years in a row my father did not take Vatnarr with him while he did take Kolr. Vatnarr prayed to the gods rather than working on his fighting. Finally, father took both of them, it was the last time I had ever seen them.
"It is early this year." Ailmær answered. He told me that he was not excited last year because he did not want to leave his bride behind. We were married the week before they set out, we hadn't even taken over the farm yet. Still, this year nothing would stop him from enjoying himself with his younger brothers. We were the opposite in that way, he was the oldest of only brothers, I was the youngest with only sisters left.
"We do not want to repeat what happened last year." Skarde answered. The jarl owned six boats, but last summer only two came back with treasure. They had been unlucky, another raiding party had taken everything of value weeks before.
Ailmær nodded and glanced over at me. "Seems I'll be leaving you sooner than intended, my sun."
YOU ARE READING
Tales of Infamy (Viking)
Historical Fiction"I shall think of you every time the sun shines upon me." He whispered against my skin. "Every time my heart beats." Thyra was raised on the sagas. She tells the stories to her nieces and nephews, she prays to the gods for a son of her own. But when...
