It rained for almost a week and Rollo didn't return home.
Edithe was too proud to ask Haedde where he was and should have rejoiced at being without his heathen company, but the old woman bored her. Praying, sewing and sitting bored her. It always had.
She missed her family and home more than ever but even there, she'd been unhappy. Quiet reflection and tedious activity never suited her. Being the daughter of a Saxon Lord never suited her. Rebellion had burrowed under her skin for as long as she could remember and over time she'd learnt to quell it rather than banish it entirely.
The last words she'd spoken to her family had been in anger. She'd envied her brother. Envied his freedom most of all. She was going to be sent away to marry a boy prince, while her brother would remain and one day become Lord of all she held dear. It wasn't fair but nothing was ever fair for a woman, Haedde was right about that.
Today the sun shone brightly amidst fluffy white clouds and she perched at the window, watching the world go by, her foot tapping rhythmically on the floor.
"Why are you so restless, child?" Haedde asked for what must have been the tenth time that morning.
"I wish to go outside. It isn't even raining today. Can't you ask the guard again, Haedde?"
"Each day it is the same answer from them, child. Have patience. I'm sure Rollo will be home soon enough."
She sighed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. With each passing day she longed more and more for the easy meander up the meadow. To feel the long grass tickling her legs and to fill her lungs with sea air as it swept across the fjord and onto the hillside.
"Why don't I tell you the words for the days of the week?" Haedde said.
Edithe slumped even further into misery, "who cares about the days of the week when every day is the same?"
Haedde replied but Edithe didn't hear it. Instead, her eyes searched a group of warriors who were walking from the docks, talking, laughing, returning home. And in the middle of them all, there he was.
Rollo.
"I told you he would return soon and already you are happy," Haedde cooed, watching over her shoulder to see what had caught her attention.
Edithe bit back the smile which had fallen carelessly onto her face. Thanking God it was only the old woman who had seen the proof of it. "I am happy to leave this prison, nothing more."
By the time he entered the house, she'd taken a seat by the fire, pretending to sew.
He sat away from her, unloading the sack he carried and chatting to Haedde while she fussed over him.
"You look well, Lord. You have been busy?"
"Yes, it has been a long week and I have missed your cooking old woman," he smiled, flattering her.
Edithe was trying her best to ignore him but she couldn't help herself, nor could she help the sting of disappointment in his disregard for her. She was supposed to be his bride yet he had no interest in talking, or even looking at her.
"Will you not greet me, heathen?" she said, wishing she held more patience.
"Hello, Edithe," he replied, meeting her stare briefly before resuming his conversation with Haedde.
Edithe jabbed the stupid sewing needle into the dress she was embroidering and caught her finger in the process. It bled out but she suffered in silence, quietly seething and certainly more wounded by his ignorance than she should have been.
"No doubt you have had a long journey, Lord. But will you be taking Lady Edithe out for the afternoon? She has been so fretful in your absence."
"Has she?" Rollo asked, looking pointedly in Edithe's direction.
Edithe was grateful Haedde thought of asking Rollo to take her outside, but the manner of her phrasing left much to be desired. She hadn't been fretful because he was gone she'd been bored because she was trapped.
She ignored the way he looked at her, giving her attention to the sewing once more.
"She is young, it is not good for her to be cooped up all day with an old woman. Take her, have fun together, hm?"
Rollo humoured Haedde but his tone had an edge when he asked, "but does Lady Edithe wish me to take her?"
"I think-" Haedde began.
"I wasn't asking you, old woman."
Edithe straightened her spine, chin up, "you promised to train me, did you not?"
He scoffed, "I'm a heathen and a barbarian as you always point out. Why should I keep my promises to you, Christian?"
Edithe held her temper tightly in her chest. She would rather die than beg him.
"I think she does not understand you-" Haedde lied to Rollo in Norse before speaking to Edithe in Saxon, "-you want to go with him, why be so stubborn, child?"
"I think she understands perfectly," Rollo decided, watching her carefully.
Edithe tightened her jaw, her whole body rigid with frustration. "Do as you please, heathen. I have not asked you for anything and I never will!"
"Then these will go to waste," he said, tossing a burlap sack at her feet.
She wanted to ignore it but the curiosity was far too tempting. She picked it up, opening the ties to find a tunic and trousers like the ones Solveig wore. But more excitingly, there was a black leather tabard, delicately stitched and soft to the touch.
"I do not want them," she lied, still clutching them in her hands.
Rollo sighed, "wear them, don't wear them. It makes no difference to me."
"Then why bring them for me?"
He sighed again, "to make you happy, Edithe. Though I can see it is impossible to do so."
He was wrong, the clothes did make her happy but she wasn't going to tell him that. She could hardly even admit it to herself.
They stared at each other in silence, both of them unwilling to yield.
"I will leave you to your sewing then," he decided, grabbing a piece of bread from the plate Haedde prepared for him. "Do not wait up for me."
He walked to the door and she couldn't remain seated or impassive a moment longer, not when freedom was tantalisingly close. "Wait," she called.
He turned, giving her the opportunity to speak.
"I…" she'd asked him to take her before, why was it so difficult now? "I do wish you to take me."
She thought he might mock her and then refuse but he didn't. He smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly, "then change quickly, woman."
She smiled too and in hindsight, perhaps she could have been less enthusiastic, but some emotions were impossible to hide.
Pulling on the new clothes, she liked the way they made her feel. In trousers, she would be able to kick, run and tumble as freely as any man and, in Kattegat, nobody would judge her for it.
Yet, in her mind's eye, she could see the scorn on her mothers face. If she was here now, she would hate it and think her unladylike, unchristian even. Edithe banished the thought. She would pray on it later but for now, she would enjoy the newfound freedom a pair of trousers seemed to promise.
When she emerged from the bedchamber, Rollo's gaze caressed her body, admiring her shape without restraint. Stupidly, she hadn't even considered how the trousers would hug her figure.
Her cheeks heated, after a week she'd forgotten what it felt like when he gave her all his attention.
"Enough," she said and his hungry gaze flicked to meet hers.
"Now you really do look like a warrior of Odin," he praised and she ignored him, moving across the room to collect her wooden sword.
Rollo move closer to her and, when she turned, she had to take a step back to avoid crashing into him.
"For you, Valkyrie," he said, uncurling his hand to reveal a black leather belt clutched within it.
Another gift, another thing to pray on later. She reached for it but he moved it away.
"Allow me," he insisted, his hands deliberate as they carefully began to fasten the belt around her waist.
All the time her heart thudded. Every brush of his fingers rippling a flurry of tingles to her core. She held her breath, trying desperately to ignore the scent of his skin, the scent of his very presence, as it enveloped her.
Sea, soap and leather. She hadn't realised how familiar the smell had become until this moment, and now she was trying not to drown in it. Trying so hard she was lightheaded and unsteady on her feet.
"For your sword," he said, smiling as he eased the weapon from her hand and slipped it into her new belt.
He turned towards the door and she exhaled, wondering why his touch had seemed to brand her skin. Even now she could feel the heat of it.
Luckily Rollo didn't notice, or if he did, he didn't say anything. He stepped outside and waited for her to follow with hardly a second glance.
After a week trapped indoors, the meadow was even better than Edithe remembered and she took the time to ramble through the long grass. After so much rain the air was fresh and wildflowers bloomed all around. She picked a buttercup and twirled it in her fingers, admiring the way the light dance on its waxy petals.
Rollo was watching her and she was very aware of him, very aware of herself. She didn't want him to know that she found beauty in this place or, that if he was a Saxon man, then she could have found pleasure in his company.
She was a traitor for even having such a thought steal into her subconscious. But it was becoming impossible to deny. Despite her hatred for Rollo, his smile fell warmly onto his face and she had missed it. She had missed their lessons. He was a patient teacher. More patient than the nuns had ever been, infinitely more patient than her father.
It seemed so strange to her that a heathen Viking could have such a capacity for gentleness. In many ways, Rollo was much more agreeable to Edithe than the boy prince she was supposed to wed. But underneath Rollo's pleasing exterior he was a pagan and a murderer.
She let the buttercup fall to the grass, her face hardening to him as she recalled the moment he'd killed her brother. When she thought about that, Rollo became the most hateful thing she'd ever seen. But if only he could be unpleasant to gaze upon too. It would make everything far easier and she would feel far less shallow in her sinful thinking.
"Perhaps we could walk a while?" she asked, feeling suddenly unprepared to be in such close proximity to him.
"Anything you want, we will do. As always, Lady Edithe," he chuckled.
Was he mocking her? Calling her spoilt? How could she ever think anything good of him? "We don't always do everything I want," she snapped.
"Do we not?"
"I did not want to be brought here. To be locked in your house, day after day. Even Haedde gets to leave whenever she pleases while I have to sit and wait for you. You disappeared for a week and left me to rot."
"So you noticed I was gone?" his smile wasn't mocking her, it was warm and handsome and she hated it all the more.
"I noticed your man stopping me from leaving."
"He's not there to stop you from leaving. He's there to stop anyone from getting in."
Edithe laughed, now it was her turn to mock, "like Ragnar?"
"What of him?" Rollo's tone was serious now, his face hardening as he moved to tower over her. This was the Viking she expected. Menacing, dangerous, heart-stopping.
"He said he would never touch something which belonged to you." So perhaps she would relay Ragnar's message after all.
Rollo relaxed, his eyes softening once more, had they always been as green as they were right now? Surely not.
"Do you belong to me, Valkyrie?" he asked, reaching for her plait and letting it slip slowly through his long fingers
She couldn't bear to hold his stare a moment longer. Couldn't bear to be so close to him when he looked at her as he was looking right now. As though there were no Christians or Pagans just Edithe, Rollo and his boyish smile.
"I belong only to God and you should never have taken me."
She could hear his frustration, feel it even. "So I should have killed you? Left you for the crows? Or for the other men to do with as they pleased? Do you have any idea how much you would have suffered in the hands of another man?"
"Stop," she told him, angry because he was right.
"I saved you," he whispered, his presence encompassing her, "and you have given me nothing, Edithe. Not even a kiss."
Her mouth was suddenly dry, adrenaline hurrying down her veins but she didn't run away. His eyes grazed her lips and she knew what he was thinking, knew she should stop this madness.
"Rollo," she said, her word a breathy whisper rather than a command and as soon as it had rolled from her lips, he took her into his arms and leaned in to kiss her.
She pulled back but his hands caught her escape and his lips were soft with tenderness as they pressed to her hers. They warmed her, yet she shivered, goosebumps prickling along her skin.
"Rollo," she said again and when he kissed her a second time, his open-mouthed urgency startled her. His tongue pushing past her lips, sinking wet and smooth into her mouth. She whimpered, allowing him to consume her and allowing herself to drown in the sea, soap and leather of his scent.
She didn't know a kiss could be so longlasting and as it deepened, his hands gliding easily over her body, heat pooled unexpectedly between her legs. He was invading her, breaching her walls and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice called for her to fight. But she was weak, melting willingly into his unyielding kiss.
When it was over she trembled, frightened by the deep pull of desire which coursed across her traitorous body.
"How can I ever stop kissing you now?" he asked, smiling, leaning down to kiss her again.
"Stop," she whispered, pushing her hands against his chest but he was too strong, too entranced.
"Why should we stop?" he breathed in her ear before his lips peppered lazily along her neck, tightening whatever it was which made her body thrum for something more.
"Please Rollo," she begged, unsure if she was begging him to stop or begging him to continue.
How could she let this heathen touch her in such a way? This was not her, this was madness. Utter madness. She had been too long from home, too long in this pagan land. Her body was for God first and her husband second. Rollo was neither and he never would be.
"Let me go, heathen!" she shrieked, pushing him more forcefully.
He released her, his breathing ragged. There was no more sweetness or gentleness in his features, only lust.
Edithe didn't wait to see what he might do next. She ran. From Rollo and herself. She didn't recognise that girl in the meadow. Nor did she recognise the part of her who wondered, what it would feel like, if she didn't stop him at all.
