Page 6 of Haakon's Fate
Gytha shivered. He sounded just as annoyed at being denied his pleasure as a real suitor would be. Perfect. Her gaze met that of Eadhild’s. There were a dozen questions swirling in her friend’s eyes.
Questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
“There’s just one last thing.”
Haakon’s ears pricked at this.
For the last few months, he and his father’s friend, Wolf, the village leader, had worked together to try and discover the whereabouts of a young Saxon who had disappeared following the burning of the farm where she had been brought by the stepfather who didn’t want her. The girl’s mother, who’d been forced to give her up, had found the courage to leave the vile man and was now trying to get her back. But it was proving a more difficult endeavor than they had hoped.
Knowing he would need help, the Icelander had reached out to him a few days after the woman had arrived in the village.
“My sons would normally help, but they are busy with their families at present. Steinar is not even here, he’s taken Ulf to yet another fair. Torsten is looking after his young daughter now that Aife is expecting again, and Sven’s wife is suffering from a nasty cold which is keeping her in bed,” he’d explained. “So, I thought of you. I’m not as young as I once was, and could do with someone dependable and clever to go places in my stead.”
Haakon had been flattered by this proof of trust. To be called dependable and clever by the village leader was no small honor and he’d instantly agreed. It was not as if he had anything better to do anyway, and Matilda’s plight had moved him. If he could help retrieve her daughter, he would.
Weeks of investigation had finally allowed them to find the whereabouts of little Osberga. Unfortunately, the news was far from reassuring. Following the farm’s destruction, she, along with a dozen other young children, had been sold to a slave trader. It was Wolf’s wife, Merewen, who had first put the idea to investigate this possibility into their heads, having once been sold to one such individual by a man determined to make her disappear. This was actually how she had met her husband. Moved by her beauty and courage, the Icelander had bought her to spare her a life of misery.
“It would seem the perfect way for the farmers to get rid of the burden the children represented and make good money at the same time,” she’d told them one evening. “A visit to the slave traders in the area cannot hurt, I think.”
The men had agreed that this was worth considering. The following morning they had submitted this idea to the reeve in town. The Saxon was a good man who had helped Wolf and his sons on many occasions and could be trusted to use the means at his disposal to make the investigation progress. Another few weeks and the three of them had found the slave trader who had received a delivery, for want of a better word, of young children two months prior. Among them had indeed been Osberga.
Of course, by then, the little girl, along with all her unfortunate companions, had been bought. The two Norsemen had agonized whether to tell Matilda what they had found out. In the end they had, assuring her they wouldn’t stop there. One way or the other, the slave trader would be made to talk and reveal who the buyer had been and where he had taken the little girl.
That was why the reeve had come today, to tell them he’d finally managed to locate the man who’d bought Osberga, a merchant living in the next town. It was good news, even if it didn’t necessarily mean the search would have a good result. Thebastard who had bought the child could have inflicted all sorts of ill treatments on her.
And now the reeve seemed to say that there was one last issue to be discussed. Haakon braced himself. It would be awful to be told now that the poor girl had died at the hands of the merchant and all hope was lost.
“What is that one last thing, Elstan?” Wolf asked, pouring everyone a drink of mead. He didn’t seem worried. Apparently, he had understood from his friend’s tone that this last piece of information would have nothing to do with Osberga.
Haakon allowed himself to relax and take a drink from his mead. At the first sip, he recognized it as Eirik’s. No one made the honeyed drink quite like he did. He should know, for he had tried many times to reproduce it, without ever coming close to this result. It was strong but subtle, sweet and floral, without being sickly. Delicious.
The reeve evidently agreed that this was a superior beverage. He took a moment to savor a few sips before answering. “Well, my neighbor told me the oddest thing today. He told me that my youngest daughter Gytha was set to marry one of your sons.”
Haakon stilled, his cup poised to his lips. How could that be? Steinar, Torsten and Sven were all happily married with babies on the way or newly born. They were certainly not about to marry anyone.
“Interesting. I’m curious as to what their wives would have to say about that.” Wolf sounded mightily amused, and not in the least worried that this might be a potential problem. “Did you perchance ask your daughter which one of my sons she was to marry?”
“Alas, no.” Elstan appeared amused himself, as if he’d known all along that this was not to be taken seriously. “Alberic spoke to me in the street as I was leaving to come to you. I haven’t seenGytha yet but as I’m with you now, I thought I might just ask. Do you have any explanation?”
“I cannot say I do.”
“Well, then, I will just have to assume that Alberic was in his cups. Which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. The man’s a fool. Excellent mead, by the way.”
“Thank you. My friend’s son, Eirik, was kind enough to give me a cask the other day. Be sure we appreciate the gift at its full value.”
The reeve finished his cup with decision. “I’d better get back home before it’s too late. I’ll let you know what the men I sent to ask for Osberga have discovered.”
“Thank you.”
After one last handshake, Wolf walked him to the door.
Haakon had fallen in deep musings while the two men talked. “I think I might know what this nonsense about the man’s daughter being set to marry one of your sons was about,” he told Wolf once they were alone again.
After the first moment of incredulity, he’d pieced it together. This Gytha had to be the Saxon woman he’d met in the forest three days ago, the one with the green eyes and the short temper, the one whose friend had claimed was his betrothed. The one who had begged him to kiss her.
Though no one had mentioned Wolf’s name at the time, the vile Saxon had gotten confused. In his mind, one Norseman was as good—or rather, as bad—as the next. Having no doubt heard of the Icelander, he had assumed a man his age might be his son.
“You do? Please tell me. I’m all ears.”
