‘You’ve a wee boy, Olith.’
A cry erupted from the blood-smeared bundle of tiny arms and legs. Donada wrapped the slippery, warm boy in an old blanket and put him to my chest.
The whole ship was silent. All but my boy.
‘Hush now,’ Ligach said, trying to soothe the wriggling mass. ‘Put him to your breast.’
I swallowed hard and stared, mouth open at my son. Trembling, I pulled at the soft linen that covered my breast and put him to it. Ligach reached for my blood-stained gown and pulled it down over my legs to cover my nakedness.
‘Sigurd,’ I whispered. ‘Sigurd must see his boy.’
Her face was drawn. ‘You must rest.’
‘You will take me to him.’
The god Njord had smiled upon us as the sea was flat as a coin. He needed to see his son. Our bridge between worlds. In my foolishness, I thought it might be enough to drag him back from his sickness and keep him with me.
I pushed an elbow beneath me, with Donada’s help I stumbled to my feet cradling our son. The world swam dizzily. He had to see his son. It did not matter how raw my body felt. I had to get up and move.
‘Help me,’ I managed to whisper again. ‘He has to see…’
‘I’ve got you.’ Ligach found my arm and held me by it, steadying me. ‘It isnae far.’
The rest of the ship stilled, bodies parting all so that we might pass, undisturbed.
Sigurd was where we had placed him, near the stern so that he might be laid flat. He thrashed now, crying out in his own tongue. His face glistened with exertion.
Clumsily, I knelt beside him. ‘Sigurd, my love.’ He did not seem to hear me. ‘Our son has come to meet us, our Thorfinn.’
I touched a hand to his arm. His body burned fiercely. I kissed his forehead, and I placed Thorfinn near his face, so he might see him.
‘Your boy. Our boy.’ My throat tightened.
Black blood seeped beneath his bandages. The sweet, fetid smell from the wound caught at the back of my throat. He did not stir. He did not move. His breathing stuttered. I choked back tears.
Ligach bent close to me. ‘Do you trust the Jarl’s men, Lady Olith?’
‘I do not know what you mean?’
‘He is as good as dead.’
‘Take those words back,’ I hissed.
‘You must listen. When he is gone, they will send men from Iceland-.’
‘They can send their men from Iceland, send them by the thousands. They will not take Orkney.’
‘You will have no choice. They will come at you from all sides.’
‘Let them come,’ I said, feeling the weakness in my legs. Ligach wrapped her hand around my waist to steady me. ‘I am Lady Olith Hlodvesson, these are my men. My father will pay for what he has done.’
Hands guided me to sit, propped against the hull. Exhaustion rippled through me. I could barely keep my eyes from closing. Then I felt it. A movement at my breast. My eyes followed to my tiny son, nestled in the crook of my arm. I had not seen him until that moment. Blue eyes stared back at me. I could not tear my gaze away from his tiny hands and feet. Long-limbed and pale-skinned, like a skinned rabbit.
Thorfinn nuzzled at my breast. I pressed him close to my skin to keep out the chill. That he might warm against me. That our heartbeats might steady each other.
I bent to check Sigurd, he was sleeping still, face turned away from me and breathing ragged. What had been his neat gold braid lay twisted and matted with blood. Whose blood, I could not tell.
Orkney loomed closer with each stroke of the oars. The islands, like sleeping blackfish, resting in the water. Winter twilight always arrived early, littering our coast with fallen stars. On the shore, Estrid and the others would be watching. Waiting patiently to see the serpents on the horizon. The sea would already be in total darkness, they would not see our soapstone lamps until we were nearly upon them.
