Bitter is the wind, p.1
Bitter is the Wind, page 1
Published by Blushing Books
An Imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia Corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Cariad Hal
Bitter is the Wind
EBook ISBN:
978-1-63954-320-5
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
BITTER IS THE WIND
CARIAD HAL
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Cariad Hal
Blushing Books
Blushing Books Newsletter
CHAPTER 1
When you feel the wild inside…do you run?
* * *
Crouching down, she gazed out over the water. She could barely see the purple, waving heather on the towering mountains or the silver shimmer on the water through the pain pounding in her head. How could he do it? The father she had loved with all her heart had abandoned and betrayed her. How many months had it been? She had given up marking the days, counting them away.
It is not to be.
In the dark of the nights and the endless toil of the days, her mind hurt from the cruel thoughts tumbling inside her head.
Sitting by the water’s edge, she shivered with the strengthening wind of the gathering storm and felt the first rain. The heavy raindrops splashed into the deep water of the fjord, spreading rings across its stillness, and the rising scent of the wet earth and pine forest filled her breath. The rain running through her hair was chilling. She longed to crawl into the shelter of the fragrant undergrowth and not return. By now, they would know she was missing. Her stomach lurched.
She started the scramble up the steep path to the mountain track. The rain was heavy and thunder rumbled around the dark mountain tops. Pulling her shawl up over her head, she looked up to the ridge. Rivulets of water tipped over its edge and ran down around her feet, soaking the rough cloth of her tunic. Sighing, she pulled up her tunic and, holding on to her shawl as best she could, pushed on for the ridge.
Hauling herself up over the edge, she struggled to stand in the blustering wind blowing down from the sheer mountains, taking her breath away. Her hair blew free from her shawl and whipped across her face. Blinking, she peered through the curled, wet tendrils of hair, looking to the settlement in the far distance. The track ahead of her had turned to mud. It would be dark before she got back. She did not want to go back. She could choose to die in this cold and mud or struggle back to the hated place.
Abria, her father had called her, because she was strong and powerful. She stared down the track and drew herself up. She had to believe her fortunes could change. Her curses and his ownership had saved her from harm, but for how long? Cautiously, she stepped forward, pulling her feet with the thin leather shoes out of the sucking mud.
The frost giants that lived in the high mountains were stirring the clouds, blowing the wind and throwing down the rain. They pierced the clouds with lightning and boomed thunder through the heavens. Abria tried in vain to hold onto her shawl but it blew away from her. Twisting round to catch it, her feet sank into the mud with each step and she fell into the quagmire.
Winded, she could barely move. The earth beneath her shook with the rolling thuds of thunder. Pushing her hands into the mud, she staggered onto her feet. The thundering grew stronger and she swung round in fear. This was not the thunder of the giants. Out of the mist of the storm, a galloping horse hurtled towards her. She screamed and threw herself to the ground, rolling away to escape its hooves.
The horse skidded and jumped sideways, rearing up, frantically neighing and splattering mud as it floundered. Abria peered out from her muddied arms. It was perilously close to her, but if she moved any further she would tumble down to the deep fjord. The rider jumped off and grabbed the reins, holding firm, desperately trying to calm the animal. He slipped in the mud, narrowly missing the flailing hooves but steadied himself on the taut reins. The horse began to quiet, breathing hot air into the mountain mist. The rider talked soothingly to it, stroking its neck and pushed its heavy body away from her.
He turned to her, holding the skittish horse tightly. His long, wet hair blew wildly in the wind and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Get up, you foolish woman!” he yelled, spitting wet hair out of his mouth.
“I would if I could!” she screamed back at him, struggling to stand up, her soaked clothes binding her in the mud.
“What in fuck’s name are you doing here?” he shouted, angrily.
“Walking! Until you rode over me!” She floundered as she battled with the mud, pulling her tunic out of the mire and losing her shoe in the boggy mess.
He watched her struggle but she was getting nowhere.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he cursed. He pulled his horse away and tied it to a tree.
Strong arms grabbed her and hauled her out of the sucking mud, dropping her firmly on the higher path. He stood back, steadying himself and looked at her. Rain dripped from her hair and hardly a bit of her was not caked with mud.
“Are you sure you are not one of the hidden people?” he said. His lips twitched a smile.
“No, I am not!” she protested, wiping her face with her filthy hand. “I was fine until you rode me down!”
“I think the fault lies with you,” he corrected. “A woman should not be out alone. Scaring horses.”
“I don’t scare horses! I told you I was walking.” She shook and shivered, cold and wet through.
“That doesn’t explain why you are here in the first place.”
She glared at him, sullenly.
“Well? Where are you from?”
He crossed his arms and waited for an answer. Why was he not disturbed by this insufferable weather, she wondered?
“Eire is my home!” she blurted out. Her heart swelled with the sound of the sacred name of her homeland. Until now it had been just a song on her hushed lips so she would never forget the sound of it. “Not this place with mountains and seas that cannot be traversed.”
He looked puzzled. She spoke well. “You are a slave?”
“No! Never will I be a slave! For anyone!” she yelled.
He looked out into the distance. “You must belong to Gudrun. There is no other steading in this valley. It still does not explain why you are here in this sorry state, but no matter.”
He strode through the squelching earth and untied his horse, leading it over to her. The horse was still wary and uncertain of its footing on the slippery path but the rider threw himself skillfully into the saddle and reached down to Abria.
“Come. Give me your hand.”
Abria took a step away from him. “No man will take me,” she said defiantly.
He scoffed. “By the blood of the gods, I have no desire for you, you sodden wench. But I’ll not leave any woman to drown in mud. And you belong to Gudrun. I have business there so I shall return you to her.”
“I don’t belong to anyone!”
“So you say. That is for Gudrun to decide. Now take my hand and ride behind me.”
Still she hesitated. The horse grew restless and the rain fell relentlessly from the darkening skies. She could not be more drenched.
“I’ll not wait longer. You will be dead before you get back on foot. Is that your choice?”
“Why do you think I would want to go back there?” she shouted, looking behind her at the steep drop back to the fjord, just a step away.
He growled, reached down and grabbed her arm. In one powerful movement he swung her up behind him on the saddle.
She cried out, winded as she hit the saddle. “No!”
“Fuck’s sake, stop complaining and hold on. I have no wish to have a muddy wench on my mount and you stink, but I’ll not let you perish so I have no choice... and neither do you.”
“That place is a prison!” she cried.
“That’s as may be, but it’s your only place. Now hold on and let’s get out of this.”
He wheeled his horse about and urged it on. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around the stranger and bur
CHAPTER 2
The gates swung open as they reached Dyrgaard and cantered into the enclosure. It had been years since he had last been there. The formidable Gudrun had made her mark. He had heard that she had slaughtered her husband’s killers and claimed the farm and would have no other man. The farm was hers and all she wanted. The fear and respect they had for her only made her stronger. He remembered her as being fair minded but life may have changed her.
He pulled up his horse. Reaching behind him, he put his arm around Abria and pulled her off, dropping her on her feet in a puddle. She staggered to balance and glared up at him. He caught her glance and marked her impudence. Jumping down beside her, he threw the reins to a stableboy.
“Take good care of him, boy. He has done more than his duty today.”
The boy nodded and led the steaming horse away.
Turning to Abria, he spoke in a low voice, “Remember your manners and to whom you give and owe respect, slave girl.” He reached up and pushed a tendril of hair back from her face. “Pretty,” he said quietly, with a smile. She pulled away from him, her eyes flashing with anger and defiance. “And to whom you owe your rescue today,” he added, tightly.
She spat at him. “I am no slave! And your rescue was worthless since you brought me back here.” She stood rigidly, barely able to contain her contempt.
He grinned. “Such anger, but I warn you to watch your step. I may not feel so benevolent once I’m out of these wet rags.”
There were voices behind them. A heavy-set woman hurried towards them, holding her somber clothes up from the ground. Her face was grim. Scurrying behind her were other women, trying to keep up.
As she reached them, she stood in front of Abria and swung back her arm, bringing it hard across her face with all her might.
Abria gasped and almost fell to the ground. Her hand was shaking as she held her face. But she would not weep. She would not give her that satisfaction. She would not be bowed.
“You ungrateful, worthless wench! When will you learn that your place is here? You have no freedom to roam. You have no rights to choose what you do.” The old woman’s face was red with anger.
“You will never stop me!” Abria burst out. “One day, I’ll…”
Once more the woman swung her arm and hit her hard on the other side of her face. She reeled backwards with the blow. Through the blur in her vision, she saw the woman raise her arm again and prepared to take another beating but the stranger, her rescuer, caught her punishing fist.
“Forgive me, Gudrun, but I cannot watch you—allow you—to beat this girl. She may be a slave, but she is also human.” His voice was low but commanding.
The woman swung round to face him, her face contorted with rage, and tried to pull her arm from his grasp but he held fast. The other girls who were behind her stepped back and huddled together.
“Thorstein Eriksson,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You have returned.”
He grinned. “Are you not pleased to see me, Gudrun? It’s been a long time.”
“Release me.”
“Only when I have your word to desist from beating this girl. She has taken two blows from you in punishment. That is sufficient. I remember you to be a reasonable woman and you have nothing to gain from beating her further.” He tightened his grip on her wrist. “Do you not agree, Gudrun? And,” he bent lower towards her, “I do not wish to pull rank on you, especially in front of your servants.”
She glared at him, her body taut with pride and resentment. Abria watched, holding her breath. Gudrun knew defeat and, slowly, she loosened her clenched fist.
The stranger smiled and lowered her arm. “Excellent. We are agreed. Now, perhaps we can get out of this weather and be washed of all this mud.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, tensely, forced to acquiesce. “May I extend all hospitality to you. We have a washing room and can give you dry clothes. And tonight, son of Torbein, we shall feast in honour of your long departed father and your unexpected return.” Hollow words of welcome.
“That sounds most agreeable. My proud father would have been honoured by your hospitality.” He glanced fleetingly at Abria as she shivered in the puddle. “And she needs attention. Her clothes are ruined and she has lost at least one shoe.”
“It will be attended to,” the old woman replied tersely. She signaled to the other girls to help Abria. “Please, come this way, Thorstein.”
Abria watched him follow Gudrun into the long house. Why had he rescued her? Why had he stopped her punishment? The other girls fussed around her and she went with them to get cleaned. She had never known a fair and good Viking. Only those that take you captive, want your body and to sell you to others, drag you from your home and tie you to a life of servitude, away from all you have loved. She dragged her feet through the cold mud and thought her life was nothing more than the colour and trapping of this same mud.
Behind the longhouse, she peeled off her clothes, dropping them on the ground. She doubted she would ever get them clean again. The other girls filled buckets of water from the nearby waterfall and threw them over her. She gasped as the freezing cold water washed over her body. She rubbed her skin to remove the filth but she did not speak. They were from some other land. If only she could accept her lot as they seem to have done. The new rough clothes and thin shoes they brought her stuck to her damp skin but that was as dry as she could get and there was work to do in the house for the feast. She would have to wash her clothes in the nearby fjord whenever she could. For now, she rolled them up and pushed them against the wall.
* * *
By late evening, the huge fire in the hearth was roaring, the meat was roasting and steaming cauldrons swung with the heat. The big table was heavily laden with rich foods and men were already half drunk with beer. The air stank of sweet mead and sweating bodies, the stench lingering on the smell of the spitting, roasting meat and stinking fish.
Thorstein Eriksson sat with Mistress Gudrun at the table.
“You live well, Gudrun,” he remarked, looking around. “I am grateful for the bedchamber. And the dry clothes.”
She nodded, still smarting from his warning control.
“I know how to keep a farm rich and plentiful,” she said, tightly. “The ships bring back goods we use or sell. And when times are good, we build.”
“I need not tell you that such riches can also attract thieves and greed. You have been lucky to avoid attack.”
“Perhaps it is not luck. My men are strong and will fight for what is theirs.”
He turned to look at her, sensing her resentment. “And what of your sons?”
She shook her head. “Killed. Avenging their father’s murder.”
“I’m sorry for you, Mistress. Lost sons are a great loss.”
She shrugged her shoulders and pulled her shawl tightly around herself. “The sacrifice had to be made. Our honour was at stake.” Her face was set hard. “I would have it no other way.” She looked around the hall. “But there are many here who are waiting to take this place.”
He watched her closely for a moment but took it no further. “You will find a worthy successor, I am sure.
“It’s my life’s work. It will be done.” She beckoned for more food to be brought. “Now eat and tell me why you are here.”
