He grasped her hand, ignoring the grit beneath his fingertips. He whispered Latin words like a lullaby, waiting to hear of her deep and unthinkable shame.
He thought of Bastion’s face, what it would look like when he saw that Stefan had delivered this hardened witch. And he was still picturing Bastion’s face as the witch yanked him toward the bars, as her teeth sank into his ear, ripping off a piece of his flesh. Her grip was stronger than any man’s, the fury of the Devil himself digging her fingers into his flesh as she bit into him again.
Only in later hours would Stefan remember the moment clearly and swear silently to himself that he had heard the distant sound of laughter.
Chapter Twelve
Bjorn walked Mia home in silence, deep in thought.
“You sat and waited? The whole time I sat with Stefan and Bastion?”
“Is that all right? You wanted me to come, didn’t you?”
He nodded, saying nothing more.
She flexed her toes with each step, trying to get blood back in them, to keep the remaining toes from turning gray and hard. She said nothing, though. He did not need to hear of her troubles or discover a new flaw.
He kept his hand at her back much of the way, except when he had to help her climb over a fallen tree, or step over a narrow turn in the creek. She wanted to thank him, or praise him for his kindness, but she did not know if other wives did that. It might call too much attention to her, make her seem insincere. She tried to copy the speech of other wives in town, but it always sounded false.
The dark path provided welcome distractions. She loved the changing scent as they walked, weaving through the trees back to their home. Sparse areas had clean, quiet air, but deeper in, the moss scrambled and the trees rioted together, creating a denser air. Smells of decay and dirt and hidden dens mixed with the smell of crushed ferns and warm sap. Already there were flowers coming up. Mia wondered what else had grown underneath her, and all around her, during the long winter. She watched where she stepped.
Mia paused for a moment to inhale a long draught of air, trying to fill her belly and keep herself moving. Her home sat away from the town square, away from other farms and families. Bjorn didn’t like noise or other people. He said he got enough of both in his work.
Mia wanted to fill the house with more children, but Bjorn had resisted. Whether he did not want more children or just didn’t want Mia anymore, she never dared ask. She couldn’t even ask herself in the quiet at night, those long nights when he was working or having beer with townsmen. She worked to please him. She had pledged herself to him, bursting with so much gratitude she would have done anything for him, had he asked it.
Still, sometimes being his wife wasn’t enough to sustain her. She had wanted marriage so badly once, dreamed of nothing better than a home and husband and a child to love. She had those things, but the awful ache, the dark loneliness, still hid inside.
Mia tripped on a stone. Bjorn paused, waiting for her to regain her composure. Mia spoke to turn his attention off her clumsy fall.
“You were moved by Bastion’s words tonight.”
She tested the air with a long exhalation. She could barely see her breath. Spring worked to reclaim the world. Winter staggered back, almost finished.
Bjorn broke his silence. “He said so many new things that my head is aching.”
“I think perhaps he can help us.”
“Us?”
“With Alma.”
Bjorn paused, as if trying to clear his mind. “Yes.”
“Do you know what’s odd?” Mia hated the way her voice sounded when she prattled on like this. “Dame Alice calls to me when I go to market. She says she wants to feed me. Isn’t that odd?”
“Are you testing me?”
“What?”
He studied her face but seemed to find nothing. He released her and they continued home.
“I do not want you to speak to Dame Alice. Keep to yourself.”
They reached the final clearing. She decided not to speak any more tonight. Nothing she said came out right. She could sit by the fire alone, warming her feet while everyone slept.
She looked up at the night sky, seeing the bright star that followed the moon this time of year. She wondered why the stars changed, why they did not stay fixed in the heavens. She would like a world where the stars were constant and nothing could be moved, a world she could orient herself in.
Bjorn gestured to her with an open palm. “Suppose the Devil overpowers a woman. She gives in, becomes a witch. But the Devil does not want her. What use is that woman? No, the Devil wants the man. Just like the serpent wanted the fall of Adam, a man made in God’s image.”
“Yes?”
“Suppose the witch overpowers the man’s good nature by the Devil’s power. Who should be punished? The man or the woman?”
None of this had to do with Alma. Mia had no idea what she should say. Bjorn often brooded, but he did not like her to comment.
“I asked a question,” Bjorn said.