Loki's Daughters (14 page)

Ronan snickered as he watched Bjorn turn back to his task of refurbishing the old forge. The man puzzled him. He didn't know if he was dangerous or just a grouch. What he did know was Bjorn was a good blacksmith, and their community could not survive without a smith. Maybe he'd watch the man more closely.

Despite Bjorn's grumpiness, Ronan left the forge feeling invigorated. His strength seemed to surge back into him.

The day was bright, although still chilly. A knot of women gathered near the stream, which still ran muddy and strong. As he approached, their chatter silenced, and all eyes turned to him. Then as if he were of no significance, they all looked away. The women parted, then dispersed as if they had intended to leave anyway.

Only Arienh remained, along with the village sheep, swinging her crook and encouraging the flock away from the river bank.

A dog. She needed a dog. Better yet, someone to help her with the flock. But she had already turned that offer down.

"Good morning," he said.

She looked at him silently, muted anger still seething in her eyes. But something else. Was it a flicker of scheming satisfaction at the success of her mischief? There was plenty of that in her.

His entire body hummed in anticipation of challenge. Should he ignore it as he had before? Or was this the time for confrontation? His men were getting impatient.

"You look tired this morning," he said impishly. "Did you not get enough rest last night?"

"I am rested. You look like you could use more sleep."

"Horses got out last night. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"I don't know much about horses." She concentrated her attention on her flock.

He stepped up beside her. "I see. And you wouldn't know how the saltwater got into the mead, either, I suppose."

"Saltwater in mead? As I have never been to sea, I cannot imagine what you might have done to cause that."

"Mm. Nor would you know why three young women forgot they had left one of my men stranded in the bottom of a pit after he rescued their lamb."

An evasive glint passed her eyes before she quickly turned away. Ah, as he thought, she was the mastermind. As if he had said nothing at all, she riveted her attention on her unruly flock, swinging her crook to urge them up the trail.

Ronan pounced into her path. "I can think of other things I would rather do with my nights than chase ponies, Arienh. Making love, perhaps."

"Vikings make love?" she retorted with a sneer, pushing him aside. "I would not call it that. I doubt you know what love is."

"I could keep you happy."

"Nay, only a man could do that. Vikings do not qualify."

He had not forgotten kissing her. The memory of her body flexing against his sent a shiver of energy through him. It had been more than mere sympathy for an injured man. He reached for her arm.

"Do not touch me. I want no part of you."

"Yes, you do," he replied, laughing. "You want a very specific part of me." He drew her close. She squirmed free.

"You are but a beast. Stay away from me. And keep your brother away from Birgit. If he hurts her, I will kill him myself."

Again, she shoved at him with her free hand, and he reluctantly released her. She shooed at her flock to hurry them away from the water toward the upper valley. The sheep continued to move at their same ambling pace.

She had no great skill at herding, and too many sheep for one small woman to control. Ronan picked up a fallen branch and hacked it clean with his knife. With a few bounds, he caught up with her, and swung the makeshift crook at the animals to move them in the direction she had chosen. He scooped up a young lamb that couldn't keep up and draped it around his neck.

"Go away. I don't want your help."

"But without it, you will not make the upper valley until midday tomorrow."

"That is my affair." Even in profile, he could see angry frustration flashing in her eyes.

"Then I make it mine. How will you manage the sheep and still do what you must do at home? Tanni is a good shepherd, with good men and good dogs. He can tend the flock for you."

"Birgit will tend to things at home. I take care of the animals."

He said nothing, but kept swinging his improvised crook, redirecting strays. She could hardly deny it took both of them to move the flock along.

Earlier this day, he had sent his men up the valley with their flock of black-faces for the first time, and Ronan suspected that was likely the reason she sought to move her animals now. Sheep were notorious for cropping grass too close. She must fear that the Northmen would find and use up all the good pasture before she got there. Ronan wished he could find a way to persuade her he meant to help.

"It is a good thing Tanni's bitch will whelp soon. You are going to need some good dogs."

"We can do without."

"But why do you want to, Arienh? You need not suffer any longer, nor the other women. We have more than enough for all."

"We would rather die than to take from your kind. You do not fool us with your gifts."

He sighed. "There are those of us who wonder if we should not simply take brides and be done with it."

"Slaves, you mean. You have already taken our land. Do not think we will come so easily. Celtic women will never submit."

"Perhaps we could make an agreement. We will tend your flock for you, and in exchange, take some of Birgit's fine cloth."

"We do not want to deal with you. We only want you to go away."

"But we will not go away, Arienh. Ask Birgit if she will trade."

"She cannot. The cloth she makes now is already promised. It is Mildread's wool she weaves now."

"Oh? She weaves for everyone?"

"Aye, as she cannot-she is the best weaver. So everyone spins for her loom. They bring her other things in return."

"Oh. Well, it is a good thing. She does not seem to be of much use at anything else."

Arienh's jaw dropped open. "She is not useless. She can do anything anyone else can do. She just chooses to weave."

An odd response. "I did not mean she was useless. Not when she can weave the way she does."

"Well, she isn't."

"Of course not. I suppose you are right. She spends so much time weaving that she does not have time to do other things. And it matters not, when her weaving is so fine. Not even Flanders wool is so well done."

Arienh glared and swung her crook at a stray.

In the upper valley, short grass was already growing tall enough to graze, although snow still clung to the high slopes. Arienh chose her spot to graze on the far side of the valley from the flock of black-faces, perhaps purposely. Ronan lowered the small lamb from his shoulders to the ground and gave a swat to its hindquarters. The little creature bawled as loud as a calf, and its ewe trotted up. He had always been amazed at how a mother could identify its own.

The sheep quickly settled in to their task of devouring everything in sight, and no longer needed close watching. Arienh left the flock to its grazing and climbed a deeply worn path uphill along rocky slopes. He followed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the stone circle."

"Stone circle?"

"I must move the stones."

Ronan hadn't the slightest idea what she meant, and she obviously didn't intend to explain. He climbed after her. She reached a lightly sloped plateau, backed by a tall mount, overlooking the sea. The stiff breeze ruffled the golden curls that escaped her tight braid.

In the new green grass, tall, upright stones, mostly about the height of a man, marked a broad circle on the ground. Just within the perimeter circled another ring made up of low, weathered posts. Arienh walked up to one rotting post and picked up a red stone at its base, then paced around, counting off the posts.

"Yan, tan, tether…"

"An odd way to count," he said. He leaned back against one of the larger stones and folded his arms to watch.

"What is odd about it? That is the way we always count."

"It is not the way other Celts count."

"Well, I care not. It is how we count."

Arienh continued her count as she carried the marker stone from point to point. "I thought so," she said, and placed the stone at the base of one of the upright ones.

"Thought what?"

"With all the rain and other things, I was losing track. The equinox comes in a sennight."
 

"How can you tell?"

"It is the way the ancients told, before they had priests to keep the days of the year. But the priests do not often come to us, so we have kept up the old ways. I count the posts around the circle, one for each day of the year. But I have not come up here for fifteen days. Sometimes in the winter I cannot come for a long time."

The wind whipped her skirts, teased her heavy golden braid, and she seemed to meld with the ancients and the connecting force with their descendants, a vital, living link between past and present. It was important to her, this place. She was different here, softer. Yearning, perhaps. Did she not want what all women wanted, a man, a home, children? Yet she was wild and fierce, a Celt of bygone days, part healer, part warrior.

"Then what do you do when you cannot come?"

She flashed an impatient glance at him as she again paused. Then with a shrug, she continued.

"I make a mark on a wooden slab every night, so that I don't lose count. This year, I could not even come at midwinter, because there was too much snow. But in seven days, the sun will rise over the horizon exactly where the large stone pillar touches the sky. And that is spring's first day."

"Will you come to see it?"

"Aye."

"Does everyone come?"

"Nay, I am the only one. The others only come when there is something important, like Beltane. Sometimes they do not even come for Imbolc, if the weather is as bad as it was this year. They leave it to me."

"But why to you?"

"Because I am the appointed counter of days, the keeper of the stones. It is a very old custom, and I will not let it die."

She rarely looked at him as directly as she did now, and her clear green eyes dared him to scoff.

"I will come with you," he said.

"It belongs to us, not you."

"Well, I think I will come anyway. Perhaps it will belong just to us, since no one else will come."

Arienh flipped him a disgusted look and walked away, descending the slope of the hill by a path worn deep as if people had been climbing up this route since the creation of the world.

Ronan followed her, no matter that she made it clear she didn't want his company. In the valley, a small lamb bawled, and its ewe bleated pitifully, even though they had been gone only a short while. Arienh scanned around with a worried frown and scurried to a muddy hollow where the little lamb had wandered into muck and couldn't get out. Gently, she lifted the little one from the mire and wiped the worst of the mud from its hooves before setting it down.

But behind her, the remainder of the flock scattered widely. Arienh tried to direct the flock toward more concentrated grazing, but there were just too many of the beasts.