Jilliand Page 16

  Jilliand heard someone. She smiled seeing it was Rurik. Delighted, she waved her hand over the area. “Look at all I have found! By myself! I have learned so much from Olga.” She smiled at him, her eyes bright. “I am helping to get ready for the winter, too. I still cannot weave very well, nor cook so well.” Her voice dropped, then lifted again. “There are other things I can do.”

  Rurik patted the ground next to him, “Come sit.” She stopped what she was doing to sit next to him. “What are they for?” he asked, picking up some twigs and studying them.

  Jilliand could tell he wanted to speak of something else. “You are angry with me?” she asked frowning, leaning away from him.

  “No,” he answered simply. He watched her, wondering how she would react to what he came to say.

  Still frowning, Jilliand prodded him. “You trust me not,” she scolded him softly. “You thought I left?” He caught the sad note in her voice.

  “I was wrong,” he admitted. After a moment, he continued, “I watch you with my people. I see that the children love you. Everyone loves you, Jilliand,” he said as he reached to brush back her hair. He was quiet for a moment. Looking at her, he announced, “They have finished the house.”

  “Does that mean someone will now stay in that house?” Jilliand asked. She heard the talk that the house was for Rurik. Perhaps he would take another into the house. Her heart caught.

  “Yes,” he replied quietly, “someone will.”

  “Will you still come to visit me?” She looked away. He pulled her hair aside so he could see her cheek, as she studied her hands.

  Ignoring the question, he noted, “We celebrate the new house tonight.”

  He does not answer me, Jilliand observed. I think that means no. Anxious to change the subject, Jilliand asked, “What can I do?”

  “Do you like Astrid?” Rurik asked, watching her closely.

  “Yes, very much.” Jilliand frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “She can tell you what you can do.” He paused. “I am sorry your mother is no longer in this world.”

  Gently, Jilliand touched his face. “Do not be. If she were still alive, I would not be with you.”

  “Do you like it here?” he asked quietly, watching her eyes.

  “Yes, I do,” Jilliand assured him.

  “The hard snows come soon. I will leave then.” Rurik’s voice was low.

  “Am I going with you?” Jilliand quickly asked.

  “Not yet.” Rurik stood, pulling her up. He waited while she gathered the cloaks and plants. “We must return. There is much to be done tonight.” Walking back, his hand closed around hers.

  “Not yet,” he says—that’s not “no.” Perhaps I still have a place with him. Jilliand’s heart was hopeful.

  Determined to make whatever celebration was coming a success, Jilliand refused to think about what Rurik might soon do. After all, I am English. Instead, when he left her to walk toward the meeting hall, she took her plants home and then walked to the house of Rurik’s brother, Olav. It was overflowing with women and children. Many stood outside laughing and talking. Nodding to Jilliand, one of the children opened the door for her. Olga came to her, muttering about storms, visions of a great fire, and times gone by. Jilliand shared with her the bounty of plants she had gathered. The old woman laughed at her young friend. “Soon enough, we can work these. Now we work you.”

  Puzzled, Jilliand watched as her friend limped past. When she asked how she could help, the room became quiet. “When the air around me is still, I know I have said or done something I should not have said or done. Which is it?”

  Turid, Askold’s wife, smiled. “Come, Jilliand. We should talk.” She, Astrid, and Dir’s wife Helga gathered around her. “See the gown? It is new. The robe is also. A gift from Rurik. Your new house has a chair, new blankets, a thick sleeping pad on a carved bed, pots for cooking, and mats for the floor. There is plenty of wood for a fire. No need to venture outside. It is time. You will be bathed and made ready,” she finished gently.

  Jilliand’s smile slowly faded as the realization sunk in. “No, I do not think so. I must speak with Rurik. This is not my celebration. We celebrate because his house is finished.” Her rising panic made her voice higher. The women looked at her and each other.

  Olga noted dryly, “Just like a man. They speak not when they should; only when they should hold their tongue. It is as Turid tells you, Jilliand. Do not be afraid. You know him well enough.”

  “Apparently not,” Jilliand retorted, turning to dash from the house, leaving the women staring after her.

  Rurik was surrounded by his men—his brother, his jarls, his warriors, all friends and, most, family. He had never thought about this day much. That is until he first saw Jilliand. From that time onward, it seemed he thought of little else. The men sitting around teased him. With pride, he knew more than one man was envious; his woman was beautiful. Suddenly, the room fell silent, as the door opened and she stood there.

  In broken words, mixing both languages, she asked to speak to him. He frowned. This is not the way it should be. She comes much too early. And alone …

  Switching to English, she looked at him, “I would speak with you.”

  The men began to laugh, as several called out to him, “She changed her mind!”

  Calmly, he stood and walked to her. Taking her elbow, he led her outside, closing the door to the laughter following them. “Turid tells me we are to be …” She hesitated. “… married, I think. Is that true?” Jilliand’s face was strained with anxiety.

  “Yes,” he answered simply.

  “You did not ask me,” Jilliand said.

  Rurik frowned down at her. “Did you not say you loved me?”

  “Yes, I do, but women like me are married off for money, not love. You will not get money for me.” She paused, struggling to get to the real issue.

  “I know that,” Rurik replied, studying her face. He could see that her eyes were filled with fear, her face laced with shame. “What is it, Jilliand?” His mind rushed to find the reason for her discomfort. Could it be she had been with another? At the thought, he felt jealousy and anger.

  “I have no one to ask … I …” she paused, struggling to finish.

  “Yes?” he quietly urged her.

  “I have no idea what to do. I have never been with a man before,” she finished softly, looking down at the ground, wishing it would swallow her.

  He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “I have never been with a man before either,” he responded seriously.

  “You are mocking me,” Jilliand replied under her breath.

  “Jilliand, I know what to do, and you will know also. You will be fine. We will be fine. I love you, and you love me. We should be together,” he finished, still watching her face. She nodded and turned away. Rurik reached for her hand, pulling her back. “Do not be afraid of me. I would never harm you,” he whispered in her ear. Gently, he kissed her face, then turned back to the hall. He was elated. He would be the first to let her taste love and all it had to offer.

  Jilliand was filled with anxiety. Can I be what a woman is supposed to be? Do I even know what a woman should be? She began the slow walk to the people waiting for her. For the second time since coming to her new home, she began to weep. Children, excited with the coming festivities, were running and playing. When one young girl noticed her crying, she ran to Olga’s house and called for her mother. Jilliand was met by the women and children. “Come, Jilliand. Women help women. It is our way,” Turid said as she smiled.

  For the next several hours, Jilliand slowly began to accept what was coming. She was a woman raised without a mother, a woman whose own father had despised her and raised her as a boy, a woman captured by the terror of the English shores. She, Jilliand, would be the wife of a man who loved her. A man she had grown to love. Once bathed, she was dressed in a soft beautiful gown given to her by Rurik. Over the gown, a white robe was placed around her shoulders. Her hair was woven w
ith flowers. Jilliand could scarcely believe this time had come to her.

  Olga explained the ceremony to her. Rurik had made two payments for her: one for guardianship of her, and the other for guarantee of her virginity. Because she had no family, the payments would be kept for Jilliand. He would give her the keys to their house. Jilliand now had a home, which belonged to her. Olga also explained the sword he would give her, in the belief he would soon have a son. She added that normally, the father of the bride would pay a dowry to Rurik. This was forgiven by Rurik. “Do you have a ring to give him?” Her eyes were as gentle as her voice. Jilliand paused.

  “I do. It’s at my house.” She and Turid walked quickly to her little house, where Jilliand removed the lid from a jeweled box. Inside, she opened the blue silken bag given her by Silas. From the items that fell out, she picked up a ring that had belonged to her mother’s father. The large emerald was embedded in a gold band. “The ring is very special to me.”

  Turid gave her a quick hug. “You are very special to Rurik. Come, they wait for us.” She and Jilliand joined the women waiting outside. The women escorted her with the children running alongside them.

  Rurik sat waiting in the great hall. Decorations changed it from a meeting place to a place of celebration. Jilliand, today we wed, because this day is a sacred day for Freya, the goddess of fertility. Soon we will have sons. His eyes were fixed on the door. When she was brought in, a hush fell over the room. Even the children were quiet as everyone strained to see the woman who would soon be the wife of their sea king.

  Jilliand stood at the door, uncertain what to do. She could not see him, so she waited. Rurik slowly stood up, stunned. “She is beautiful. If her mother looked like her, her father must have died when the mother did. No matter, he should have cherished this child.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. Jilliand was still looking for him, her head held high, proud. Then, drawn by something felt deep in her heart, Jilliand’s eyes locked onto his. He smiled at her, encouraging her, as she began to walk toward him. Her movements were graceful, serene, regal. Every inch a queen, slowly, she came to him.

  Jilliand heard nothing and saw nothing of the people. Her eyes were for Rurik alone. From the crowd of guests, an older Viking sea king gasped, “’Tis her. Just as I first saw her. The daughter is the mother again. Rurik must hear the story. He truly takes a queen.”

  As Jilliand neared Rurik, she became aware of the murmurings in the crowd, “He takes a wife. The Sea King Rurik takes a queen.” Olga stood near Rurik. As Jilliand came closer, Rurik extended his hand. Jilliand felt his fingers close around hers, firmly, gently. He pulled her closer, then turned to face the old healer. Jilliand could barely understand what was being said. It happened quickly. Rurik handed a fine Frankish sword to Jilliand. The hilt was laden with jewels, the blade long and heavy. Then, taking her hand in his, Rurik slid a beautiful gold ring, set with emeralds and rubies, onto her finger. Jilliand opened her other hand. Clutched in it lay the ring she slid onto his finger. Jilliand softly whispered, “My mother’s father … my grandfather.”

  Olga observed happily, “Now I might see grandchildren of my own. This is a good day, Jilliand.” Jilliand suddenly realized that Olga was Rurik’s mother.

  Rurik slid two arm rings, one in gold and one in silver, both with intricate designs inset with small precious stones, on her right arm, and then he turned around with his wife, facing the vast room full of his people. “I give you a queen today: Jilliand, my wife.” Great cheers went up, women came to hug her, men clapped Rurik on the shoulder, and many jokes were passed between the men. At last, Rurik led her back to the front of the room. “Let us eat our first meal as husband and wife.” He watched her tenderly. “Are you frightened, Jilliand?”

  “No, Rurik. In truth, I am not,” she murmured. “I am in love with you.”

  Grinning, he held her face and kissed her, long and hard. The room filled with cheers. “We eat! And we celebrate!” At that, mayhem broke out. Food was passed along the great tables, children ran in and out, and people talked and laughed. Rurik shared a tankard of mead with his new wife. The sweet taste of honey matched her thoughts.

  Many a Viking warrior approached the table to congratulate Rurik. Finally, their leader had taken a wife. An older man approached Rurik. “Might I speak?”

  “Of course, my friend. What is on your mind?” Rurik asked with respect in his voice.

  The man turned to Jilliand. “Your mother was a great woman. Brave. You would be much like her, I trust. Good for Rurik and his people. May the gods smile on you always, Rurik and Jilliand.” He bowed and slowly left the hall, followed by Olga.

  “Olga is your mother,” Jilliand noted aloud, watching the couple leave. “She is a kind and wise woman. I am blessed she is my friend.”

  “You have no idea,” Rurik laughed. “You have no idea.”

  “I would learn from the old man, more of my mother. Would I be permitted to talk with him?” she asked.

  “Yes, love. I will see that you know where to find him.” It would be a visit Jilliand would always remember. “He longs to sail again. I think he sails with us this time.” Rurik watched his wife. Pride filled him.

  “Is he not too old to go off sailing?” Thoughtfully, Jilliand looked back to where the old man had gone. “He can hardly walk.”

  “Jilliand, it is not a good thing for a Viking to grow old. He would rather die young, fighting. Fate had him win too many fights. He grew old.” Rurik spoke gently.

  Jilliand flinched. Her eyes found Rurik’s. “Do you believe that too?” Jilliand could not hide the alarm in her voice.

  “I am a Viking,” he answered simply. Reading her alarm, he held her hand. “Jilliand, do not think on tomorrow. Today is what you have and,” he smiled, “tonight.”

  Neither could know how his statement would haunt them both.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly. Jilliand was nervously awaiting that moment when they would leave and she would be alone with Rurik. At last, he stood, pulling her up with him. He could feel her hand tremble. “Do not be afraid, Jilliand. Remember, my love for you is deep and grows more each day. One does not fear love.” His voice was gentle, soothing. He placed her robe around her as he handed her off to Turid. The women slipped out the back with her.

  Opening the door to the couple’s new home, the women stepped into an area already warmed by a glowing fire. Candles were lit near their bed, a raised platform with a beautifully carved headboard. On the bed was a thick, soft pallet, covered with thick blankets and pillows. Slowly, they removed her cloak. She stepped out of her dress, letting it fall at her feet. A soft sleeping gown was slipped over her head. The flowers were removed from her hair. Jilliand lay down on the bed, while the women hung her clothing and stepped away. I am frightened. What happens now?

  Rurik was escorted in by his brother and jarls. He too was changed to a bed shirt and then led to Jilliand. The men gathered the women and quietly walked out. Rurik lay down and reached for her. He ran his fingers through her hair. It was soft and smelled of flowers. Jilliand lay still as if frozen. He lightly brushed the wavy strands back from her face, running his finger along her jaw, turning her head so that he could look into her green eyes. He could see the uncertainty in them.

  Without rushing, deliberately, Rurik slipped his hand down the gown and grasped her breast, gently and firmly. At his touch, he heard her sharp intake of breath. He could feel her heart pounding. His hand traveled up, following her breastbone, until he was at the neckline of her gown. He began to remove it, and Jilliand began to tremble. Feelings she had never known existed flooded her mind and body. She longed to reach for him, but did not, for fear the moment would end. When she lay before him naked, he smiled.

  Rurik’s hand moved over her body, exploring every curve, with a slow, gentle touch. He had lain with women before. He had violently taken women before. Nothing he had ever done in the past had been like this. He felt like he was touching something fragile, yet str
ong, innocent, trusting; someone he loved, someone he would protect. At first, Jilliand could not take her eyes from him. As his hand moved downward, she closed her eyes and let herself be taken. At some point, she was not even aware of exactly when, she clung to him as he took her with him. They spent the night in a passion of discovery and love. Jilliand could never have imagined a touch so tender, so gentle. He knew just what to do. Jilliand responded eagerly. Rurik was right. We are fine.

  The two were lost in time. He reached for her again, kissing her lips, her face, and her neck. Jilliand leaned back as his mouth warmed her neck and then her breast. His hand moved down her flat belly. Jilliand gasped with the pleasure he gave and reached for him. When they at last lay spent, she slept, nestled in his arm, her head on his chest. A day came and went before they rose. “I am hungry, come let us find something to eat. Surely mother will have food.” Rurik smiled lazily at her. Jilliand could hardly believe how her life had turned. From a beaten, despised child to a woman loved.

  Her hair fell about her head in a wild mess when she stood to dress. Rurik lay watching her, smiling. He often thought of the first time he had seen her naked, her fiery hair wet and plastered to her body after she had bathed. “The gods have smiled on me,” he whispered. When he, too, had dressed, he opened the door and stepped out. Pulling her cloak about her, Jilliand followed him. Everyday routines had continued, as if nothing had changed. The wedding celebration went on for a month: People came to visit, children came in and out of the house, and life became a wonderful place.

  Jilliand and Rurik fell into their own pattern. He spent most of his days hunting, planning, and overseeing the new ships being built. Jilliand was busy drying foodstuffs and learning to make clothes and blankets. Nights belonged to them. He took her beyond her imagination, beyond feeling, and just when she thought she could stand no more, he gently moved her again. Time touched them with an easy grace. She was happier than she had ever been. Without warning, a storm moved in.