Page 43 of The Bewitched Viking

“Does he know that he has a son?”

“I am not certain. Nay, I think not.” She exhaled wearily. “Perchance I delude myself. He may know and not care. He never searched me out. Yea, deep inside, I suspect his professions of love were mere words.”

She put a gentle hand to Rachelle’s maimed nose. “And this?”

“Ah, this,” Rachelle said with a mournful sigh, touching the same spot that Alinor had. “At first, Arnaud was jubilant over my pregnancy. He treated me almost lovingly, and I was overcome with such a soul-deep remorse that I had betrayed him so. Mayhap Arnaud’s ill-treatment all those years was my fault. If I had given him a child. If I had been a better wife—”

“Rachelle, stop…stop this instant. Do not try to excuse your husband’s brutality by taking on the burden of guilt.”

“To make a long story not quite so long,” she continued, “the proof of paternity was evident the moment Thibaud came crying from the womb. His blond hair and blue eyes were giveaways, considering that Arnaud and I share the same black hair and dark eyes.”

“Would he not forgive your…indiscretion?”

“Forgive? ’Twas Arnaud who dragged me by the hair from the birthing sheets, down the manor steps, to the chapel, where he pronounced my crime afore the priest and all our churls. The villagers were invited to toss the first stones, and in the end ’twas Arnaud himself who sliced the harlot mark on my nose.”

“Oh, Rachelle,” Alinor lamented, taking the weeping woman into her arms.

Rachelle soon calmed down and concluded her story. “After several weeks of care in the hut of a forest midwife, who took pity on me, I made my way with Thibaud to Rouen. But, of course, by then all the festivities had ended, and the guests long departed. It was there that I met Tykir, who took pity on me and brought me to Hedeby. He claimed to be in dire need of a jewelry maker to sell his products here, but I suspect I was such a pitiful sight he could not help himself.”

Alinor gave her a disbelieving look. She did not want to contemplate what this said about Tykir. He was a troll. She had to remember that. Where was his concern for her plight?

“So, now you are in reduced straits here, stranded in a Norse trading town?”

Rachelle laughed gaily at that. “Nay, I am a woman who has survived a horrible marriage and vicious punishment. Now I am self-sufficient. Tykir allows me a portion of his profits, and they are ample. I am a wealthy woman, dependent on no man. And, best of all, I have my most beloved son.”

Alinor thought about that for a moment. “I must confess, I envy you.”

“Me?” Rachelle backed away slightly, as if Alinor had become unbalanced.

“Yea, I do. I really do, Rachelle. All my life I have yearned just to be left in peace. I raise the best sheep in all Northumbria. Truly, I do. My weavers produce the finest wool under my direction…soft as silk. I could easily support myself…I do now, without my brothers’ knowledge. But a woman has no power in my country, or any other. Whatever wealth I gain belongs to my brothers, or my husband when I am wed. Whatever improvements I make to my estates benefit them, not me. They can sell it all right under me. In fact, they can sell me, as well. And they do…over and over.”

It was Rachelle’s turn to hug Alinor.

“You will think me barmy when I tell you of the fantasy I have harbored of late,” Alinor said. “I have been wondering if perchance God sent Tykir to rescue me from my brothers.”

Instead of laughing, Rachelle gave Alinor’s idea serious thought. Tapping her pressed lips with a forefinger, she pondered her words. “But Tykir says he will deliver you to King Anlaf and be done with you.”

“Does that fit the character of a man who would rescue a stranger and her child?”

“Do not put too much credence in that seeming generosity. I am a trained craftswoman, and he was in need of just such a worker at the time. Also, he had a passing acquaintance with Toste, and felt somewhat responsible for the orphaning of a Norse child…even one not of his blood.”

“Well, actually, he might not be all that softhearted as I would like,” Alinor conceded, and related the story of Tykir’s refusal to intervene with the slave girl earlier that day.

Rachelle made a clucking noise of dismay, but all she said was, “It is a hard life for women.”

With spirits dampened, Alinor reflected on her fate. “Dost thou really believe Tykir will abandon me to possible death in Anlaf’s court? All for the sake of a horse and a slave girl?”

“A horse and a slave girl?” Rachelle frowned with confusion.

Alinor explained the reasons Tykir had undertaken this quest to capture a witch for King Anlaf.

“Ah, you do not know the real reason Tykir captured you?”

“The real reason?” Alinor shook her head dumbly.

“Anlaf is holding as friendly hostage the healer, Adam of Arabia. Adam is the adopted son of his half-sister Rain and his brother-by-marriage, Selik…a man who fought side by side with Thork Haraldsson in the battle many years past with Ivar the Terrible that eventually led to his death. The family connections are complicated, but the heart-bonds are not.”

Alinor put a hand to her forehead in puzzlement. “So, Tykir had no choice?”