The Raider Bride (The Norsewomen Book 3) by Johanna Wittenberg

Author:Johanna Wittenberg [Wittenberg, Johanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shellback Studio
Published: 2021-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Greenan Mountain

Two more enchanted days passed at the Grianan. Ragnhild spent her time outside, reveling in the long summer days. In the evenings she watched the sunset from the top of the wall, Murchad beside her. She slept bundled in a sheepskin under the stars, snug against the night mist that blew in from the sea, while the bards sang them to sleep. Murchad lay next to her, chastely wrapped in his own sheepskin, murmuring translations, and the stories followed Ragnhild into her dreams.

Murchad spent his days in council with his men, leaving Ragnhild to pace the walls, memorizing the lay of the land, the location of the rare causeways and tracks that crossed the moors, the curve of the rivers, the spread of the oak forests. She spent much of her time in the corral with Brunaidh, grooming the pony, practicing leaping onto her back, and talking to her. The pony’s ears twitched in a friendly way that said she understood everything Ragnhild said to her.

Fiona and the other women followed her everywhere, incessantly trying to teach her the language. Though Ragnhild pretended to pay no attention, she listened carefully, striving to attach words to objects. Between their chatter and the evening songs, Ragnhild began to pick up a word here and there.

Murchad announced that they would be leaving again. “It is time to return to our ancestral home,” he said. “The place I inherited from my father, the home that belongs to us alone.”

Ragnhild was ready to get out of this fortress. For all its grandeur, it was too well guarded. Another journey was another chance to escape, this time with a mental map in her head.

On the morning of their departure, they walked through the low entrance. Outside the walls, Fiona and the other women clustered, calling out orders to men who were loading food and baggage onto pack horses.

Fergal stood among the boys, holding Brunaidh ready. Ragnhild approached the pony with her jaw set. She gripped the single rein, took a deep breath, and leaped. This time she made it onto Brunaidh’s back with a little grace, landing squarely on the blanket. Fergal handed her the stick with a shy smile. She glanced up to catch Murchad watching her, approval in his eyes. Warmth rose in Ragnhild’s face.

She rode proudly down the narrow road beside her husband. The Irish warriors crowded close around her as before, giving her no opportunity to bolt as they descended the hillside.

At the base of the hill, they set off to the west on a wood-planked causeway across the marshland. It was just wide enough to accommodate two horsemen side by side. Murchad rode in the forefront, Niall at his side. Behind him, Diarmait accompanied Ragnhild. The remaining household guard was split, half of them riding behind the lead party, with a strong force bringing up the rear. Between the troops came the entourage, the baggage horses led by men and women on foot. They set the pace for the entire group.

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