Stealing the Valkyrie

Traitor

It rained for almost a week and Rollo didn't return home.

Edithe was too proud to ask Haedde where he was and should have rejoiced at being without his heathen company, but the old woman bored her. Praying, sewing and sitting bored her. It always had.

She missed her family and home more than ever but even there, she'd been unhappy. Quiet reflection and tedious activity never suited her. Being the daughter of a Saxon Lord never suited her. Rebellion had burrowed under her skin for as long as she could remember and over time she'd learnt to quell it rather than banish it entirely.

The last words she'd spoken to her family had been in anger. She'd envied her brother. Envied his freedom most of all. She was going to be sent away to marry a boy prince, while her brother would remain and one day become Lord of all she held dear. It wasn't fair but nothing was ever fair for a woman, Haedde was right about that.

Today the sun shone brightly amidst fluffy white clouds and she perched at the window, watching the world go by, her foot tapping rhythmically on the floor.

"Why are you so restless, child?" Haedde asked for what must have been the tenth time that morning.

"I wish to go outside. It isn't even raining today. Can't you ask the guard again, Haedde?"

"Each day it is the same answer from them, child. Have patience. I'm sure Rollo will be home soon enough."

She sighed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. With each passing day she longed more and more for the easy meander up the meadow. To feel the long grass tickling her legs and to fill her lungs with sea air as it swept across the fjord and onto the hillside.

"Why don't I tell you the words for the days of the week?" Haedde said.

Edithe slumped even further into misery, "who cares about the days of the week when every day is the same?"

Haedde replied but Edithe didn't hear it. Instead, her eyes searched a group of warriors who were walking from the docks, talking, laughing, returning home. And in the middle of them all, there he was.

Rollo.

"I told you he would return soon and already you are happy," Haedde cooed, watching over her shoulder to see what had caught her attention.

Edithe bit back the smile which had fallen carelessly onto her face. Thanking God it was only the old woman who had seen the proof of it. "I am happy to leave this prison, nothing more."

By the time he entered the house, she'd taken a seat by the fire, pretending to sew.

He sat away from her, unloading the sack he carried and chatting to Haedde while she fussed over him.

"You look well, Lord. You have been busy?"

"Yes, it has been a long week and I have missed your cooking old woman," he smiled, flattering her.

Edithe was trying her best to ignore him but she couldn't help herself, nor could she help the sting of disappointment in his disregard for her. She was supposed to be his bride yet he had no interest in talking, or even looking at her.

"Will you not greet me, heathen?" she said, wishing she held more patience.

"Hello, Edithe," he replied, meeting her stare briefly before resuming his conversation with Haedde.

Edithe jabbed the stupid sewing needle into the dress she was embroidering and caught her finger in the process. It bled out but she suffered in silence, quietly seething and certainly more wounded by his ignorance than she should have been.