The girl started round. Some ways behind her, leaning against a knobby birch, stood Kjartan. He met her gaze with a faint smile, head cocked. She dropped to her knees. Something like a laugh burst from her lips. “You? Aren’t you through with herding for one day?”

Kjartan giggled, beckoning seductively as he withdrew a pace into the trees. “Hither, Oddny, Oddny–mine,” he crooned. It was the lilting little song of the herdsmen. He hung himself in the fork of a tree and waved something at her—some ragged little parcel. Somehow, the sight of it sparked a childish curiosity in her. She wavered a moment and wrung her hands quickly, torn. Then she rose and climbed the bank towards the bait. She was barely within arm’s reach when he sprang out at her and pulled her down into the ferns. Oddny shrieked. She tried to fight him off as he rolled on top of her. He grabbed her wrists impatiently. “Be still now, what you screaming for when I’ve not so much as spoke to ye?”

“What do you want?” demanded Oddny, trembling. He loosened his hold on her with a devilish laugh, knit his fingers tightly in her hair, and stole a lustful kiss as he stuffed something down her shift. Oddny struggled in outrage as his fingers lingered on her flesh. But he pressed his advances no further—jumped to his feet with a roguish wink and sprinted off through the trees. Righting herself, Oddny fished out the awkward lump in her bosom. It was a foul-smelling roll of rags. For a few moments, she turned it over gingerly in her hands, stunned. Then, collecting herself, she rent open the sloppy wrappings to find a pair of neatly turned shoes, sewn of soft leather. Oddny caught her breath. Her heart thudded in her throat as she sized them hastily against her bare, grimy feet. She slipped them on. Supple and stretchy, they hugged her feet like gloves, whether walking, sitting, or standing on tiptoe. She fell back on a nearby tree and closed her eyes, her mind a-spin. Then it dawned on her—the fullness of this token. She could not accept these. Forgetting the stranded sieves, she dove into the brush.

“Kjartan?” she cried. Oh, she would never overtake him now! Her skirt caught on some scrubby twigs. She wrenched it free with a curse and plunged onward. “Kjartan—”

 

A few weeks passed before their next encounter. Oddny was up in the sandy ravines behind the sel, gathering bedstraw. The sun was already westering. She wended her way leisurely through the cool pine woods. Suddenly, something sprang out of the brush behind her with a whoop. She whipped around, almost knocking heads with Kjartan. He was laughing.

“Kjartan! Where are the goats, the sheep? Aren’t you with them?” she gasped, still shaking from fright. He came up close and gave her loaded arms a gentle squeeze.

“Eeh, I can read the sun, love,” he said, tossing his dark head with a cocky grin. “And I’ve got the other one milking already. It’s you I came up here after. Whiling the blessed day away, ye little imp!”

Oddny drew back, embarrassed. She righted the shedding burden in her arms. “I know the way home, Kjartan.”

“Good that. And I swear these’ll carry you wind-like, like a ship at sea, for sure,” he added, nodding at her feet. Oddny dropped her eyes to the new shoes she was sporting and swallowed hard. She could not reason why she had chosen to use them, despite their implications. Kjartan glanced around a second warily, then pulled her towards the trees up on the shallow brink that rose beneath a stately pine. “Come, let’s sit down a moment, then. Come on, you silly ewe!”

He pushed her playfully. She submitted, blushing hotly, and settled on the warm, sunbaked weeds. Kjartan flopped down readily at her side. For a moment, they sat silent, watching the scudding clouds, slapping mosquitoes, soaking up the sun and the spicy smell of warm pine needles. All the while, Oddny clasped her load of bedstraw to her breast, too nervous to protest their sitting thus and stranding poor Thordis. She was clutching it more tightly than she realized when Kjartan laughed at her. He had been fluting aimlessly on his pipe.

“Och, and it’s that fearful you are to sit aside me, lass?” he teased, breaking the melody. He snatched a few straws from her. “How’ll you stand to have me on your belly, trow?” Oddny shrank back. She swatted him off reproachfully and pushed down her skirts as he ran his hand up her naked calf. But he only laughed in her face. He nipped off the tips of his straws and crunched the remains in his fist.

“Aye, and I’d steal far more, I would. If you’d but let me,” he said, rolling onto his stomach and gazing up at her. His eyes were dancing, defiant. Oddny played deaf to the comment. She fumbled in her belt.

“I have my comb. I could groom your hair if you like,” she offered, trying to distract him. He laughed again, scratching fiercely through his wild mop.

“Eeh, they don’t bite so hard, for all the heat.”

“Well, Thordis will be wanting me, then.” She made to rise, but he caught her wrist and dragged her down and kissed her right on the mouth. She felt him slip a fondling hand into her clothes and squeeze her breast.

“Let me alone,” growled Oddny, struggling free. She rose to her knees. He grabbed her again in his arms, persuasive.

“Come now, a kiss! ’Tis the least you can give me, gift for gift,” he coaxed. “Or why else do you wear the shoes, then?”

Oddny flushed with shame. Something quivered feebly inside her, bewildered her. Why did she not repel him? His voice alone attracted her like a lodestone.

“I never asked for a gift,” she said lamely.

“I never asked for my shirts, nor my wounds healed, nor aught else you’ve ever given,” he countered.

“That was different. Common housework, and kindness,” she snapped, trying to shed his embrace. Kjartan blew out his breath, searching her face intently.

“Aye, well. Argue about it, if you will,” he retorted.

Right then, a great din broke loose in the fields below, around the sel. Thordis was yelling and clanging a pan for them. They both flinched instinctively. Once free of each other, they stood for a second, eyes shy on the ground. Then, looking out towards the sel, Kjartan stepped near her, took her hands quickly, and pressed them to his breast.

“Aye, and she’s calling now. But my heart is sore for want of you. Cannot we speak a little, just you and me, Oddny?”

“I don’t know, have you aught to say?” she said sarcastically. But he kept on wheedling.

“If I come to your bed tonight, will you let me in? Just to talk with you and lie awhile in peace? We’ve no other way.”

“What would Thordis think?” blurted Oddny, shocked.

“Och, she’ll sleep right sound if we hold our peace. And just mind ye what she’d think to see us thus, in daylight.” He leaned close, whispering into the cropped, bedraggled frizz at her temple. “Believe me, love, there’s no better time.”

Love! Oddny stood rooted to the ground, speechless. It was ages now since she had heard herself addressed like that without derision. Yet even as he embraced her, she knew better than to trust his blandishments. The very pressure of his arms betrayed his motives. Nevertheless, as he pulled away and she glanced him over quickly, her eyes kept trailing back to his soft, red lips. She lifted her face. She had parted her mouth and halfway succumbed when Thordis’ shouting grew louder, more impatient. Kjartan stepped back hastily from the kiss. He squeezed her fingers so she winced.

“Tonight, then?” he begged. Oddny could barely stammer a reply before he bounded off, grinning from ear to ear. She clutched her bedstraw anxiously and ran after him.

Supper passed in agony. Thordis had been furious with them for their tardiness, so there was little conversation over the board that night. Kjartan, undaunted, wolfed down his rations almost without a breath. Thordis ate in moody silence. And all the while, Oddny sat miserable, fingering her bread and cheese. Now and then, Kjartan would slip her a restless glance. But she dared not lift her eyes from her bowl.

 At last, bedtime came. Thordis was the first to retire. She was unwell that day and had brewed herself a tonic to help her sleep. Following her example, the Irishman rose from the table. He stretched his arms with a lazy belch, mopped off his lips in his sleeve, and kicked aside his stool. Oddny stared at him from her bed as he hung the heavy tabletop on the wall. He settled carelessly on his couch on the deal floor, keeping one eye trained on the snoring Finn. Thordis lay snuggled deep in her bed, her back to them. Oddny pulled to her feet slowly. She started stripping off her garments, one by one. She had done this in front of Kjartan so many nights, yet she burned now under his heated gaze.

Shoes… shift… breastband…

Trembling, she climbed into bed. She drew the shaggy covers up to her chin and shrank into the wall.

 

— From Chapter 4