But then another thought seeped into his muddled head, and he mused aloud, “Drifa went away and left Runa here for me. Does she intend to give up that child of her heart? To me? Is that why she has gone away? What would prompt such action? Certainly not jealousy. It must be ... could it be...”
“Of course it is, you thick-headed fool,” Ianthe said.
“ ... love?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The only thing missing were the violins ...
Drifa had been at Evergreen for several days, assessing its worth as her new home. She could see where it had gotten its name. It was overridden with pine trees, even up to the back courtyard.
The timber fortress castle was small in comparison with Stoneheim, but that was fine. She did not need anything bigger for herself.
It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, leaving Sidroc and Runa, but it was the right thing to do. Sidroc deserved to have his daughter with him, wherever that might be. And he had every right to choose the woman who would be with him, even if it wasn’t she.
And, really, with the scare that had been posed by Jarl Ormsson, wasn’t this the best for everyone? Things could have been so much worse if Runa had been taken to Vikstead.
Still, she never realized that love could hurt so much. She suspected it was something she would have to abide for the rest of her life. A solitary life, she vowed. No longer would she let her father cajole her into marriage.
She would spend her time restoring Evergreen. Hopefully she would be too busy to think about all she had lost.
Thus it was that she was sitting at a table in the small solar off the great hall, making lists of all she must do. There was only a small staff in residence, but she had set them to raking old rushes, scrubbing tables, and laundering bed linens. Many more would be needed. Housecarls protected the estate, but only a dozen or so. Then she would need gardeners to help clear out the deadfall and pines that encroached on the keep. Carpenters to make repairs to the roof. Kitchen and chambermaids.
It would make a good home. Perchance one day she could even open her home to other women who wished to escape captivity, whether it be from a harem or from a bad marriage. Divorce with good cause was acceptable in Norse society, but usually the women had no place to go.
But wait, she heard a ruckus outside in the front courtyard. It better not be the housemaids arguing again over who should clean the privies.
As she walked out of the solar and across the hall toward the huge double doors, which had been opened to air the dankness, she saw two figures approaching from the fjord. One tall and one small.
She put a fist to her mouth to stifle a cry. It was Sidroc dressed to high fashion in a pewter-gray tunic over black braies. His face was clean-shaven, and his hair combed sleekly off his face into a queue secured with a leather thong.
He was holding the hand of Runa, who was also dressed as if for some great event. The blue Greek-style chiton left her shoulders and arms bare to expose a strand of colored crystals wrapped around like an endless arm ring from her wrist to her elbow. The blue gown was embroidered with butterflies along the edges. There were also crystal beads woven into her inexpertly braided hair. Had Sidroc bought the gown for his daughter? Had he actually combed her hair for her? She knew what a difficult task that could be with a squirming child.
At one point, Runa skipped to keep up with her father’s long strides, and she could have sworn she saw the big Viking take a skipping step as well, but she was probably mistaken.
By the time they came up the stone steps leading to the keep, tears were streaming down Drifa’s face.
“Mother! You are crying!” said Runa, who was about to rush up to her, but Sidroc held her back and whispered something to her. The little girl nodded.
“Drifa, how could you have left me alone with your demented family?” Sidroc spoke chiding words, but his eyes were giving a different message, one she did not dare interpret, it was too precious.
“I do not take offense at your characterization of my family. I have been living with them for almost thirty years and betimes feel a bit demented myself.” Like now. “What exactly have they done now?”
“They are planning what they call the wedding of the century. At last count their guest list measured a thousand from nine countries.”
She did not need to ask whose wedding. Stoneheim must be a total madhouse. “I will put a stop to it at once.”
“Will you now?” he drawled.
She nodded, unable to speak over the lump in her throat. She leaned against the door frame for support.
“And your father is the worst of all. He wants to sell head drillings to any Vikings who are interested during the wedding feast.”
Drifa’s mouth dropped open. “That is awful, even for my father. Don’t worry. Adam would never consent to such foolishness.”
“Your father seems to think anyone will do. He’s already hired the blacksmith.” He smiled at her then.
The rogue! He knows what his smiles do to me. I might just melt into a puddle at his feet.