The Bride of a Viking

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

They approached land upon early morning, the sun just beginning to creep over the hill in front of them. Aila's nerves increased with every inch closer she became to solid ground. How much longer would it be before she was being forced down the aisle and into the arms of the murderer of her people? Fear pooled in the pit of her stomach. It locked her in place. Aila's hands were frozen to her sides, her fists clenching so hard her knuckles were white.

     Tove stood next to her, a joyous smile on his face. His eyes were alight as he looked toward his home. Aila wondered how he would feel in her place. If his home was burned down, his people killed and captured as slaves. How would he feel to know there was no home left?

     Time swept by too quickly. It wasn't long before they were jumping out of the longboats and hauling gear up the hill. Tove had Aila's wrists bound in an effort to keep her from trying anything stupid. She crested the hill one step behind him, her eyes wandering the entire landscape. Sand covered the beach, all the way up to the tree line in the distance. No village could be seen from there. Aila quietly wondered if they would be walking for a while. She welcomed anything that bought more time before the wedding.

Dagfinn came up beside Tove, a large wooden bucket being dragged behind him. The dark roots of his hair was a stark contrast against the blond dye. All of the men who weren't born with blond hair, dyed it—all except Colden. And now that they had been at sea for maybe a week, the dark of their hair was starting to return.

"I do not trust them," Dagfinn whispered. His eyes lingered on the lot of men grouping with Colden. He watched them with unease.

     "Don't ever trust a Nordskov," Tove replied.

Tove set a fast pace through the forest. Aila struggled to keep up, her legs weak from sitting for days on a boat. She felt oddly tired. Her chest still ached from the loss of her family. But she managed to keep her emotions buried deep, not wanting to show her captor anything.

Hours went on and they kept walking. When they reached a clearing, Aila's knees buckled underneath her and she fell on the soft grass. Tove knelt beside her, his rough hands gripping her arms. He hauled Aila back up to her feet and nudged her forward. "Keep moving."

"I need rest," Aila's voice was hoarse. She dug her feet in the ground out of defiance.

"Walk!" Tove demanded. His features became harsh with anger. The sight of him scared Aila. But she kept still and stood tall. "I said walk!" He pushed her harder this time, knocking her to the ground.

     Aila's knees scraped across the ground painfully. When she pushed herself up, she noticed a hole in her dress, blood oozed from her leg just underneath. Tove's expression softened at this. He looked almost apologetic. Dagfinn's guise shifted into one of horror. He watched nervously as Tove lifted Aila over a shoulder and carried her up the hill.

     It wasn't long before they reached a town filled with houses made of wood with thatched roofs. Most of the roofs had a hole in the center, which deeply concerned Aila. She wondered why anyone would think that was a good idea. At this point, Tove placed her on her feet and nudged her onward. She didn't argue for fear of being thrown to the ground again, or worse.

     People moved about the streets, the men dressed in wool tunics dyed in bright colors, along with wool pants. Most of the woman wore dresses, some with fine embroidery. One woman in particular was frocked in a fitted yellow dress that clung tightly to her chest. Rings layered her delicate fingers and pins held light curls in a stylish updo. It surprised Aila to see that these people were not the savages she had been raised to believe.

Women stared openly at the jarl in longing. Aila wondered if they knew of the temper that Tove had. Maybe they would enjoy it.

People shouted greetings and words of joy as they shuffled together. They called out to their leader with glee. Tove erected his spine so that he was standing taller. A prideful smile crept over his lips. He walked on, past his people. Aila felt the curious gazes of other women, who probably wondered why she stood at the jarl's side instead of with the rest of the thrall.

     She slowed her pace so that she walked behind Tove. Dagfinn appeared on her left, his hand brushing her own. Aila met his kind eyes with a scowl. He chuckled quietly and turned his head away.

     Their destination appeared to be a large manor with a sizable yard. On the property, Aila saw a stable to the left, horses and cows loitering outside of it. On the right, there was a beautiful garden with a small body of water. It reminded Aila of the lake she and Erling would go sit at and dip their feet in. The thought made her want to cry.

Inside the manor, Tove was approached by a young woman with similar features. Her blonde hair was pulled up with amber pins each with the image of a dragon carved in the center. Her dress was a deep golden brown, matching her eyes. The woman threw her arms around the jarl joyfully.

"'Tis good to have you home, brother," she said.

"'Tis good to be home," he replied, wrapping one arm around his sister. They pulled away, and the woman took a few steps back, into another man's arms. His shoulders were wide, taking up the space of two men. "Fell," Tove said in greeting, nodding his head toward the big man.

     "Ingrid," Tove's eyes returned to his sister. "This is Aila, she will be staying with me."

     Ingrid looked as if she couldn't tell wether to be happy or concerned.