A noise caught her attention and she turned to find Sven helping Elspeth from her mount and waiting for her to steady on her feet before letting go of his hold around her waist. Just when she was about to speak, Rurik approached and reached for her. Sven stepped away from Elspeth, but not before sharing some meaningful look with the girl.
She slid down from the horse, guided to her feet by Rurik, as the innkeeper came closer. He bowed his head and nodded several times, never meeting her gaze, as Rurik explained that they would spend the night here. Rurik called out several orders and she found herself escorted inside by Harald, as he was called. The women disappeared and she dared not ask where they went.
Margriet ducked her head to pass through the doorway and found the inn was divided into two sections, a large room to the right where a hearth almost filled one wall and a smaller chamber that aromas told her was a kitchen. The larger room had a collection of mismatched tables and benches spread around it and she and Elspeth were led there to sit.
Worried about her reaction to the young women, Margriet was pleased when an older woman carried out a tray of sizzling meats that were surrounded by some cooked turnips and a pool of juices. Her mouth watered at the sight and especially at the smells, since they'd eaten only stews and soups on the journey. The second trip brought steaming loaves of bread, coarse and brown, like that served in the convent, and a clay pot of butter. The other women only appeared when the innkeeper called for ale to be served.
On closer inspection-and Margriet admitted to herself that she was curious-the two were older than they appeared from a distance. Although they enticed and teased with their copious amounts of naked flesh, they had apparently never heard anyone like Mother Ingrid and her lecture on cleanliness. It mattered not to any of the men, for every time they poured ale or leaned over nearer the table, the men's tongues almost touched the floor.
The only one not falling under their spell was Rurik.
He sat in a chair, at the table next to hers, and watched everything without saying a word. A nod at one or another brought their behavior under control, or it did until the laces of the brown-haired one's blouse finally gave way under the weight of her heavy breasts and one of those breasts fell out of its covering. Margriet blinked and then blinked again, trying to ignore the men's feverish noises and never dreaming that someone would be so bold in the presence of two nuns, real or not.
Rurik gathered himself as though to rise when Harald yelled at the woman in a loud voice. A mutinous and pouting lower lip quivered for a moment before the woman, Ragna as she was called, lifted the breast and slid it back inside her clothing, tying the laces slowly as every male in the room watched. The knot did not catch the first time and Ragna slid her hand over the nipple this time, gasping as though surprised that it hardened beneath her touch. Margriet was certain every man's rod did the same as they watched the display.
Margriet looked away, now embarrassed beyond measure, as did Elspeth. Rurik waved the innkeeper over to stop this and Harald ran up to Ragna, grabbed her and flung her across the room, toward the door. She stumbled out the door and they could hear the angry words followed by a hard slap and then silence. Furious whispering continued for several minutes and then the door opened. Now fully covered and with her laces secured, Ragna walked back into the room, lifted the pitcher she'd left on the table and began serving ale once more.
Chastened, her cheek reddened from Harald's blow, the woman was not blatant in her invitations, but Margriet saw the looks she gave to a few of the men and knew several accepted the unspoken message. When she served Margriet and Elspeth, the ale splashed over the cup and Ragna backed up to clean it up, placing her also-ample bottom right in front of Rurik's face. The other one, with wild red hair and a bosom that matched Ragna's, must have been worried that he would choose her rival, for she rushed to his side, bending down to make certain he could see all the way down to her waist, too.
Whores were a fact of life, but to be confronted in this manner, when she could not respond as a noblewoman should, made Margriet angry. Thinking back on Rurik's words, she wondered if this was the reason for their stay in the village. She turned to find Rurik staring at her. Looking at the women and then back at her, he motioned for them to lean closer.
The pig! How could he pay attention to them and all they offered right before her? Did he not know that his behavior gave his men the same right to do so in front of them? Before she could explode in outrage, the two women faced her and murmured words of apology to her and Elspeth.
Choking on the words that were fighting their way out, Margriet tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the venison juice on her plate and stuffed it in her mouth. She chewed and chewed, trying to soften the bread so it could be swallowed, but it would not move off her tongue. The cup appeared in her hands just as she could feel a cough build in her chest and throat. The mouthful of ale finally helped her clear the dry bread.
When she looked over at Elspeth, she was so red, Margriet thought her fevered. Sliding her arm under the girl's, she stood, taking Elspeth with her. No one stopped them, but once outside in the cool air of the evening, she discovered Sven a few paces behind them.
"We needed some air, Sven. Do not think to stop us," Margriet began. Other words, bad ones, formed in her thoughts, but she stopped them before she could say them. None were suitable for a nun to be thinking, let alone saying aloud.
Not pausing to look back or forward, she dragged Elspeth with her away from the inn. She could hear Sven's heavy steps behind them, most likely following to protect them, although in her mind, the bigger danger lay within the room they'd left. Margriet continued at her fast pace until she felt Elspeth lag at her side. Releasing her and knowing that Sven would stop with her, Margriet looked up and decided to walk to the stream they'd followed into this godforsaken village.
Mayhap she would even walk back to the convent and stay there!
She had no idea of how much time had passed or how much distance she covered, but now the sun was gone and the birds of night were calling out their warning. There was enough moonlight to see around her and she found a large rock to sit on while her temper cooled.
This was exactly what she feared when she donned the nun's habit for protection. Men who lost control when faced with the least bit of provocation. Men who behaved like pigs, rooting for their pleasure. Margriet kicked a few smaller stones into the stream as her anger pulsed through her. She was so wrapped within it, she almost did not hear him approach.
Almost.
He stood a few paces behind her and said nothing. Probably for want of words, for what could be said? She leaned down and picked up another handful of pebbles, tossing each one as far as she could into the water and hearing them plop on the surface.
"I worried that you might have fallen in the water," he said softly.
Margriet would credit him on his approach, for he avoided all the sticky subjects and chose a more humorous one. Of course 'twas only humorous if she admitted to lying about that event.
"I tripped," she said, not yet willing to admit anything to this man whose face had lately been looking down a whore's gown.
Tossing another of her pebbles into the stream, she slid off the rock, dusted the dirt from the habit and walked to the edge of the rushing stream. Though she could be mistaken, it appeared to be shallow, but the light of the moon was not enough to tell truly and accurately. Footsteps behind her warned that he was coming nearer.
"Do you feel the need to trip now? Again?" he asked, his voice coming over her left shoulder. She'd thought him farther away.
Margriet released the rest of the stones from her hand and sighed. "'Tis colder than that night."
"Ah, so you only trip when the air is hot then?"
His words were like a caress to her, drifting softly and slowly around her, lulling her into letting down her guard. The night birds sang in the trees behind them, although she recognized none of the songs. The land and its creatures were different the farther north they traveled, away from all that was familiar and safe to her.
"Aye, 'tis then that the danger of falling is greater," she said, playing along with the lie. Then, it was over and she needed to say some of the words bubbling inside. She needed to ask the questions that plagued her the most. "Do they not know that it is a sin?"