The Winter

Chapter 6

You're getting a long chapter because I couldn't find a place I was happy splitting this one without ruining the flow.

I'm also thinking of posting a pronunciation video for the Gaelic and Norse which will be available in my Facebook group and Instagram so make sure you're following me!

Do you think the killer is in the hall with everyone? Did you catch any clues in this chapter as to who it was? And what do you make of Ingrid's confession about the dress?

Glossary

Torc - most commonly a necklace made of twisted gold with an open front.
Bòidheach - beautiful (boy-och)
Na gabh dragh - don't worry (nah gav drag)

Chapter 6

I hated the dress. It pinched and tugged even with the thin underdress between it and my skin. Skin, the form I’d spent most my time in, and I resented it. Before coming here, I spent most of my time in fur. I could go a whole week roaming as a wolf before the call of the wild grew to an impulsive need, and returning to skin was required. Clothes were never a thought. Certainly nothing like this.

Long sleeves were tight to the wrist where they became a draping swathe of fabric swooping down in iridescent hues nearly reaching my knees, the wide cuffs trimmed in a glittering gold thread. The full skirts brushed against the floor, showing the original owner was an inch or so taller than me. Unlike my other dresses, the skirt was as restricting as the skin tight bodice that stuck like a second skin to every dip and curve.

All together, it weighed a tonne.
How did anyone manage to walk normally? Or sit? Or so much as breathe, I wondered as I ran my hand down the front. Not only was I slightly shorter than whoever this had been made for, my breasts were being pushed so much they near swelled over the neckline.

Casting another eye over the garment, I turned slowly from side to side, every movement accompanied by a soft swish.

It was torture to wear indeed.

But. . .

The colours shifted like sun on a raven’s wing, in hues of purple, blue and green, so much so that I couldn’t tell what colour the dress was meant to be. As I thought when I’d first seen it, it reminded me of the view of purple heather sprawling over hills of green and dark brown. It was ethereal as I moved the thick skirts around my legs with a growing grin, amazed at the fabric that felt as smooth as a blade of grass.

Gods, I’d even made an effort to brush my hair and braid it neatly away from my face so dark curls spilled down my back instead of hiding most my face as it usually did. The hazy reflection in the small table mirror was of a regal human woman, not a she-wolf. Tall and lean, hands folded in the practiced way Ingrid’s always were, her eyes held a glint I’d not seen before. Not that I’d seen my reflection many times to even recognise myself. Rippling rivers provided some distorted view but I’d never bothered to take the time to really look before.

The old me wouldn’t recognise this female anymore than I did. And I didn’t know how to feel about that.
My eyes flicked to the golden torc resting in a small bed of wool on table. It had been there when I’d arrived to get dressed, lying innocently next to a ripped piece of parchment with the runes spelling out Hati’s name etched on top.
The gift he spoke of.

Unlike any gift I’d gotten before. This was no bunch of wildflowers, offer of the last bite of meat, or a stag laid out at my feet, but gold.

Twisted and shaped into a perfect, nearly complete circle, until each end came to a rounded face with wolven features. In the old days, such jewellery was worn far and wide by the people of my island, wolf and human alike. Back in the days it was said we had a treaty between us, a friendship even. They were signs of status, a mere glimpse letting someone know whether you were rich or poor by the material and style of the torc worn. In the old days they’d been symbols favoured by warriors.