Gunnar's daughter had walked right into "Finn's" arms, accepting his advances and talk of love and a future. Stupid slut that she was, she would be the instrument of her father's downfall. Even better and more satisfying, he would bring the bastard down as well and have done with all of them.
Now, all he had to do was wait for their arrival, planting seeds of distrust before they arrived and preparing for his own acceptance of his father's recognition.
Thorfinn drank the last of the wine and waved Sigurd off with orders to continue as they'd planned. When his gaze settled on the stained floor and wall, he realized these were just portents of things to come.
Blood would be spilled and bigger messes than this one would need to be put aright before he was done with Gunnar, his slut of a daughter and the bastard he'd chosen to support.
They deserved anything they got for being in his way.
Chapter Eight
Margriet watched as he circled the camp again. Everyone else sat near the fire and ate their food while he walked around them eating his. Somehow he'd managed to find another hot meal for them and, between the hearty fish stew and the coarse bread, it was flavorful and satisfying … and completely unexpected. When he'd come with his summons, she'd thought of being forced to eat dried berries and oats along the journey. So, each day's hot meal was a boon.
After almost six days traveling, they were only halfway to the coast, but her body was becoming more accustomed to riding now. Aye, she certainly ached by the end of the day and, truth be told, she did not think her bottom and legs would ever recover, however, each day was a bit easier than the last. Even the morning distress that plagued her on waking was subsiding and that was a very good thing.
Rurik passed her again, this time slowing as though he planned to stop. At the last moment, he continued on, throwing a glance in her direction as he walked and mumbled something under his breath. Then, he abruptly turned and sat down next to her. His breadth and width took up much more of the improvised bench than she did, so Margriet gathered the folds of her habit closer to give him room on the fallen tree where she and Elspeth sat.
"I would speak to you about something," he began. "Sister," he added after that momentary hesitation that occurred every time he addressed her.
There was another longer pause before he spoke again. Margriet cleared her throat to encourage him to say what he came to say. Elspeth, she noticed, scooted as far as she could away from them to avoid being included. Margriet only wished she could do the same.
"I would beg a favor from you."
His expression was one of sheepish dismay, probably due to whatever the need was that forced him to ask her this. Rurik's face flushed red as he seemed to search for the words he needed. 'Twas then that she realized the others, not only Elspeth, but the other men also, had scrambled away from them, giving them a small measure of privacy.
Surely not a good sign.
"Sister, several of the men with us do not speak Norn, something they must do if they wish to stay in the Orkneys after our journey." He did not meet her gaze yet.
"And is that their intention?"
"Aye. Can you teach them?" he blurted out. "While we ride or when we stop for the night?" he added. His eyes reminded her of the cook's son when he'd done something wrong, the glimmer made him appear much younger than his … and made her curious.
"How many years have you?" she asked without stopping herself.
He shrugged and frowned, and Margriet thought he would not give her an answer. Then he looked at her and answered, "Twenty and six years."
"That is not so old then," she replied, then realized that it was impertinent to ask such a thing.
"And you, Sister? How many years have you?"
Startled that he would be so direct back to her, she answered. "Eight and ten years."
"Not so old, either."
"But you expected younger, did you not?" she asked as she remembered his words and his call to bring out the "girl."
He laughed then and his face brightened and softened in the most appealing manner. "You are correct, Sister. I had thought Gunnar's daughter to yet be a child. That detail was not given to me when the task to escort you was." He brushed his hands together, removing dust from them, and then he turned to look at her once more. "His letter spoke of his young daughter and instead I found a woman full grown."
Margriet felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she lowered her face. He said nothing more just then, but she could feel the heat of his gaze. A few moments passed and then he cleared his throat and gained her attention.
"You have not answered my question yet, Sister. Can you teach them Norn?"
"I … do not know," she offered. "I … " She hesitated to admit her lack of experience about the common language in the Orkneys.
His brow gathered in a deep frown, but he said not a word to her. Instead, he gave her the oddest look and rose to his feet to leave. With a few seconds he had crossed nearly their whole camp. It was that look and what she recognized it to mean that forced her to her feet to follow.
Disappointment shone from deep within him.
Disappointment in her.
Her stomach gripped and her heart pounded harder and louder in her chest. Her biggest fear now that her father summoned her back was that he would be disappointed in the woman she'd grown into. Already she knew she'd failed, but each additional example of her shortcomings said that she had so little to offer him. And that made her worry even more.
"Rurik," she called out. "Sir, wait."
Margriet hurried her steps to reach him and tugged at his arm to stop him from going farther away. He turned to her, but his eyes lowered to where her hand rested on his arm.
On the bare skin of his arm that grew hot beneath her touch.
And on the strong muscles beneath the bare skin.
Oh, my! Margriet released her hold, took a step back and waited for him to turn back to her before speaking.
"'Tis not that I am unwilling to do as you ask, sir. I am just not as familiar with the tongue as someone who teaches it need be."
"But, you have been speaking it easily with Sven," he said, in Norn. "You sound as comfortable with that as you do the Gaelic."
"It has been many years since I spoke either the common dialect or the formal court language. I spoke both when I was sent here ten years ago," she answered, switching back to the Gaelic she was more comfortable using. "Then I learned this one and have used it and no other daily at the convent."
Rurik laughed then, looking around at the rest of those still eating. "We have such a mongrel group here-a few who speak Gaelic, a few who speak Norn or the court tongue, a few who speak two, but only two of us speak all three."
Margriet realized the truth of his words, for only they spoke all three languages. Nodding in agreement, she wondered what to do. She had been speaking in Norn to Sven and Magnus and a couple of the other men, and it seemed that she fell back into it with each day they spent together. Of course, her father would expect her to use the correct language when she arrived, or at least when she made her appearance at the earl's court.
She'd learned that as a child. Having a father who served at the highest levels in the Orkneys and whose liege lord was a powerful man in both Sweden and Norway required using the words accepted at those levels. Earl Erengisl had been the former earl's closest advisor and even son-by-marriage when she'd left the islands and both he and her father had risen at the death of the last mormaer, Lord Maolise. So, of course, she would know how to speak at court.
Margriet remembered dimly a trip to the royal court in Norway just before her mother's death and even a visit to the lands that Lord Erengisl owned in the far-flung ends of Sweden. Nothing of the particulars remained in her memories, simply traveling with her mother and the grandeurs of those at court. Even a child could not fail to be impressed by the wealth and power of King Magnus's palace and courtiers.
Now, watching the expectation in his gaze, she decided to give him what he asked for. It would help her as well, for it would give her something to do during their hours on the road and it would sharpen her own skills, grown weak from lack of practice over the years. It could also help her fill in the gaps of her knowledge, true knowledge, of what had happened over the years she'd missed of her father's life. And that was a good thing.