“They’re called Friggja grass. No, Erlend . . .” She blushed and pushed away his hand as he tried to slip the flowers into her bodice.
Erlend laughed and gently bit the white petals, one after the other. Then he put all the flowers into her open hands and closed her fingers around them.
“Do you remember when we walked in the garden at Hofvin Hospice, and you gave me a rose?”
Kristin slowly shook her head as she gave him a little smile. “No. But you took a rose from my hand.”
“And you let me take it. Just as you let me take you, Kristin. As gentle and pious as a rose. Later on you sometimes scratched me bloody, my sweet.” He flung himself into her lap and put his arms around her waist. “Last night, Kristin . . . it did no good. You weren’t allowed to sit there demurely and wait.”
Kristin bent her head and hid her face against his shoulder.
On the fourth day they had taken refuge up in the birch woods among the foothills across from the farm, for on that day the tenant was bringing in the hay. Without discussing it, Kristin and Erlend had agreed that no one needed to know that she was visiting him. He went down to the buildings a few times to get food and drink, but she stayed among the alpine birches, sitting in the heather. From where they sat, they could see the man and woman toiling to carry home the hay bundles on their backs.
“Do you remember,” asked Erlend, “the time you promised me that if I ended up on a smallholder’s farm in the mountains, you would come and keep house for me? You wanted to have two cows and some sheep.”
Kristin laughed a little and tugged at his hair. “What do you think our boys would think about that, Erlend? If their mother ran away and left them behind in that manner?”
“I think they would be happy to manage J?rundgaard on their own,” said Erlend, laughing. “They’re old enough now. Gaute is a capable farmer, even as young as he is. And Naakkve is almost a man.”
“Oh no . . .” Kristin laughed softly. “It’s probably true that he thinks so himself. Well, no doubt all five of them do. But he’s still lacking a man’s wisdom, that boy.”
“If he takes after his father, it’s possible that he might acquire it late, or perhaps never at all,” replied Erlend. He gave a sly smile. “You think you can hide your children under the hem of your cloak, Kristin. Naakkve fathered a son this summer—you didn’t know about that, did you?”
“No!” Kristin sat there, red-faced and horror-stricken.
“Yes, it was stillborn, and the boy is apparently careful not to go over there anymore. It was the widow of Paal’s son, here at Haugsbrekken. She said it was his, and I suppose he wasn’t without blame, no matter how things stood. Yes, we’re getting to be so old, you and I—”
“How can you talk that way after your son has brought upon himself such dishonor and trouble!” It pierced her heart that her husband could speak so nonchalantly and that it seemed to amuse him that she hadn’t known anything about it.
“Well, what do you want me to say?” asked Erlend in the same tone of voice. “The boy is eighteen winters old. You can see for yourself that it does little good for you to treat your sons as if they were children. When you move up here with me, we’ll have to see about finding him a wife.”
“Do you think it will be easy for us to find a suitable match for Naakkve? No, husband, after this I think you must realize that you need to come back home with me and lend a hand with the boys.”
Vehemently Erlend propped himself up on his elbow. “I won’t do that, Kristin. I’m a stranger here and will always be one in your parish. No one remembers anything about me except that I was condemned as a traitor and betrayer of the king. Didn’t you ever think, during the years I’ve lived here at J?rundgaard, that my presence was an uneasy one? Back home in Skaun I was accustomed to a position of some importance among the people. Even during those days in my youth, when gossip flew about my evil ways and I was banned from the Church, I was still Erlend Niku lauss?n of Husaby! Then came the time, Kristin, when I had the joy of showing the people of the northern regions that I was not entirely debased from the honor of my ancestors. No, I tell you! Here on this little farm I’m a free man; no one glares at my footprints or talks behind my back. Do you hear me, Kristin, my only love? Stay with me! You will never have cause to regret it. Life here is better than it ever was at Husaby. I don’t know why it is, Kristin, but I’ve never been so happy or lighthearted—not as a child or ever since. It was hell while Eline lived with me at Husaby, and you and I were never truly happy together there either. And yet the Almighty God knows that I have loved you every hour and every day that I’ve known you. I think that manor was cursed; Mother was tormented to death there, and my father was always an unhappy man. But here life is good, Kristin—if only you would stay with me. Kristin . . . As truly as God died on the cross for us, I love you as much today as on that evening when you slept under my cape, the night of Saint Margareta’s Day. I sat and looked at you, such a pure and fresh and young and untouched flower you were!”
Kristin said quietly, “Do you remember, Erlend, that you prayed on that night that I would never weep a single tear for your sake?”
“Yes, and God and all the saints in Heaven know that I meant it! It’s true that things turned out differently—as surely they must. That’s what always happens while we live in this world. But I loved you, both when I treated you badly and when I treated you well. Stay here, Kristin!”
“Haven’t you ever thought that it would be difficult for our sons?” she asked in the same quiet voice. “To have people talk about their father, as you admit? All seven of them can’t very well run off to the mountains to escape the parish gossip.”
Erlend lowered his eyes. “They’re young,” he said. “Handsome and intrepid boys. They’ll figure out how to make their own way. But the two of us, Kristin . . . We don’t have many years left before we’ll be old. Do you want to squander the time you have remaining when you are beautiful and healthy and meant to rejoice in life? Kristin?”
She looked down to avoid the wild glint in his eyes. After a moment she said, “Have you forgotten, Erlend, that two of our sons are still children? What would you think of me if I left Lavrans and Munan behind?”
“Then you can bring them up here, unless Lavrans would rather stay with his brothers. He’s not a little boy anymore. Is Munan still so handsome?” he asked, smiling.
“Yes,” said Kristin, “he’s a lovely child.”
Then they sat in silence for a long time. When they spoke again, it was of other matters.