“So, what are you going to do?” Cnut asked. He was prepared to fight, but he wasn’t sure he would win with Zeb, who was much older and more experienced and stronger than he was.
“I don’t know,” Zeb said. “You might consider praying.”
“For myself?”
“For both of us.”
“One last thing, Zeb. Contact one of my brothers. You and Trond are close. Tell him where I am and that he needs to get Andrea out of here.”
Cnut expected Zeb who ask who Andrea was, but he didn’t. He was already gone.
It wasn’t Santa, but the Abominable Snowman who arrived . . .
Andrea was happy as she went about her work all day following Cnut’s departure. In fact, she found herself singing bits of that Pharrell Williams “Happy” song and occasionally breaking into a little improv happy dance, which caused the folks at Hoggstead to gawk at her. They probably thought she was going crazy.
In fact, one kitchen maid whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Lady Andrea has gone barmy.”
But Girda had smacked the girl with a long-handled wooden spoon and replied, “Hush yerself, Freydis. The lady has just got herself swived silly.”
That about summed it up.
Hard to believe she could feel so contented with all that had happened to her, and so much that was unsettled. Amazing what a good bout of sex—who was she kidding, a phenomenal bout of sex—could do for a woman. But it was more than that, and she knew it. She was probably falling in love. And there lay disappointment. But she wasn’t going to think about that now.
There was much work to be done even with a reduced population in the castle. Preserving the meat and fish brought in the day before by smoking, salting, pickling, drying, or just hanging to age in the cold cellar. Cooking and cleaning. Endless laundry. Feeding and milking the cows. Spreading feed for the chickens and gathering eggs. Making butter and cheese. Making flour by grinding oats or barley in handheld stone querns. Weaving cloth. Making clothing. Mending clothing. Tending fires. On and on.
Andrea was beginning to realize that the people who lived up here on the castle motte spoke of famine, but they hadn’t really suffered like the people down below. Apparently, they’d been able to live reasonably well with stored meat and goods. It was only during the recent weeks that they’d begun to feel the pinch of rationing, lack of variety in diet, and fear of what would happen when all the food ran out.
But, oh, the village people who came to the door every day tore at her heart. They were starving, and they looked it. Andrea and Girda, and Finn, too, did their best to give them enough to subsist, for the time being, but would it be enough? How could anyone see a starving child with bulging eyes and sunken cheeks and stick-like arms and legs and not hand over everything you had? How could you eat when little ones could not? Apparently, Cnut had done just that.
She was having trouble reconciling that Cnut with the one she’d lain with all night. They weren’t the same person; that was the only conclusion she could come to. Otherwise, how could she care for such a monster?
At least twenty-five of the men had gone out, hunting, fishing, or trapping. Normally an estate, or whatever you called it in these days, wouldn’t be left so ill-manned against possible siege from enemies, Girda told her at one point when Andrea was showing her how to care for the sourdough batter, in the event Andrea was no longer there someday. From my lips to God’s ears. But apparently attacks rarely happened during the harsh winter months, and, besides, the famine was weakening everyone’s defenses.
Girda listened patiently to her explanation, then patted her on the shoulder, as if she were a small child, homing in on the part of what Andrea had told her about going away. “Best ye settle yerself in fer the winter, m’lady. Ye ain’t going anywhere ’til the spring thaw when the fjords open up.”
Wanna bet? “You could be right.”
Dyna confided in her that afternoon that Thorkel was pressuring her to be with him.
“To marry him?” Andrea asked.
“Well, not exactly, though I imagine if I hold him off long enough, he would offer wedlock.”
“But that’s not what you want?” Andrea guessed.
Dyna shook her head miserably. “I wed Kugge’s father when I was breeding, as I told ye afore. I let my wanton passions rule, and ended up with child and having no choices. I will not take that risk again.”
“Why is it a risk? I mean, Thorkel would marry you, wouldn’t he? And now that Cnut named him chief hersir, he has prospects for the future, I would think.”
“Yea, Thorkel would offer wedlock. Under pressure. With no protections for me. I do not come from a highborn family that could secure a dowry on me and all the restrictions that go with it. All I have is me and Kugge.”