“Then”—Hulda drew another breath—“I will not remain under your roof.”
“And where will you go?”
She did not know. She purely did not. Certainly not to the warriors’ quarters where she’d been before, not carrying a child. She might stay a while with a friend, mayhap. Though the disgrace would follow her soon enough.
As if he heard her thoughts, Faðir said, “And how will it remove the disgrace, having you wandering the settlement?”
She must find a way back to Scotland, to Quarrie. But how? Ach, if she’d known she carried his child, naught could have persuaded her to leave him.
“It will not, and I regret that, Faðir.” She repeated, “I never intended to bring shame upon you.”
“You should have thought of that before you spread your legs for a Scots savage. Will you go to Roskva?”
“Nei.”
“Then get out of my sight.”
“I will.”
Hulda looked at her móðir, who said nothing. Stiffly she turned and went back to her sleeping place, where she gathered her belongings into a bundle. Clothing. The wealth she had earned. Her weapons she would have to carry separately.
It made a staggering armful, but she wanted to take it all. She would not be coming back here.
“Farewell,” she said to the little haven of her childhood, and walked out.
She would not cry.She would not. She was too angry to cry. But she did hope at the last, when he saw she meant it, Faðir would change his mind. Call her back.
He did not.
With her belongings clutched in her arms, she stepped out into the wide world. Night had fallen.
Night, and she had nowhere to go.
Chapter Fifty-One
Quarrie was nolonger himself. He knew that very well. He had become another man, one who was short with his ma and with Borald. Brusque with the other members of the guard. With the folk who, in an ordinary way, came to him.
He carried a load of hurt impossible to bear.
How could he miss her so terribly, a woman he had not known at the beginning of the summer? A woman who now seemed almost like a dream, or would if he did not remember her so well.
He did remember, every detail.
The way she turned her head, the fair hair flying out. The smile in her eyes when she looked at him. The strength of her body, slim and lithe beneath his own. The taste of her on his lips and on his tongue. She haunted him like the tune of some exquisite song.
He still could not believe she had gone from him. That the strength of what lay between them had not kept her close at his heart. The ease and familiarity of it, the sheer comfort—not just of touching her, but of being in her company.
They had been together before in the past times he glimpsed in dreams.
They might not be together again.
He tried to tell himself, as he went through his days biting off the heads of those around him, that at least he’d known her for awhile. Better than not at all. But the hurt would not ease. He did not know what to do with such pain.
Danger lay still off shore and over the horizon. The season had not yet ended, and he had to remain vigilant. Keep watch for sails. The Norse who had been raiding farther south must pass by on their way to their home fjords.
Those whom Hulda had sent off could well return.
So, aye, he haunted the walls and the shore, never admitting even to himself that he hoped for a glimpse ofFreya’s sail. People began to avoid him, if they could. If they could not, they approached him with a caution he hated to see.
