The Viking She Loves to Hate by Lucy Morris

Author:Lucy Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2023-04-20T13:39:31+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

‘You look beautiful!’ her mother exclaimed, and Astrid shook out the ice-blue dress with a flick of her wrists.

She did not feel beautiful, she felt exposed and awkward, as if she were a little girl once more forced into clothing that made her itch. ‘It was wasteful to make me a new gown—I will probably only wear it a few times.’

‘You have so few dresses, Astrid! And I wanted no excuse for you to go back on your word.’

Astrid frowned at her mother, who was seated on a silk-covered chair, surrounded by her favourite ladies, as well as the wives, daughters, and sisters of the visiting jarls. Frida was there too, staring at the wealth and extravagant gowns around her in awe, her delicate hand crunching the wool of her apron nervously.

Inga had accepted Ulrik’s daughter into her household gladly, treating her with as much respect as she did any of the high-status women. Astrid hoped the others would do the same. In her experience, the ladies of powerful men could be vicious, especially her sisters.

‘Come help me with the flower garlands,’ urged her mother, and Astrid sat beside her feet on one of the cushions and began to weave a crown of flowers from the fragrant piles stacked high on the low table in front of them.

Her mother had a large flower garden devoted to growing blooms for the spring and summer festivals. This year seemed to have been a particularly impressive harvest. Astrid eased back against her mother’s legs and began to work. Normally she did not mind this task—it had always been one of the few feminine crafts she enjoyed. But today there was a strange coolness in the air that bothered her like a fly buzzing in her ear.

‘Tell me, how is the build going?’ asked her mother pleasantly.

Astrid nodded. ‘We are making good progress, and matching Ulrik’s pace. Although he has begun work on his figurehead already. When I am not helping with the festival, am I still allowed to carve at the workshops?’

‘If you must, but I do not approve of your sleeping there all alone.’

Astrid sighed with relief. Her mother may not approve of her decision, but at least she would support it. Rather than bait her further, she decided to concentrate on weaving some delicate alpine berry flowers, and said lightly, ‘It is too crowded here. Ulrik is only nextdoor, and Bo can walk me to and from the festivities—his smithy is not far, and he is such a good man, so trustworthy.’ She glanced at Skadi—the woman Bo wished to court—and was pleased when she saw the young woman blush prettily.

Bodil leaned forward, her dark red hair pouring over her shoulder like Frankish wine. ‘And...tell me about Ulrik. When we first met him, he was as hairy as a bear, but I hear his looks have improved considerably since?’

Frida flinched, and a wave of anger swept through Astrid, even though she had said something similar herself—she couldn’t stomach her sister’s snide criticism.

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