‘Come with me,’ he said in my ear, gently, although there was a rasp to his voice, like a saw grinding against timber. ‘Quickly, before anyone notices.’
He took my hand, and I didn’t know what else to do except go with him. My heart was pounding as I bunched my skirts in my other hand to stop them trailing. Like everyone we had left our shoes by the table while we danced, and so we ran barefoot across the yard, away from the revellers and the fire, the earth still warm from the day. For a man whose hair was grey and who had probably seen many battles in his years, Skalpi was nevertheless quick on his feet. Quicker than me, anyway, and I struggled to keep up. The flute-player carried on but we slipped away into the darkness, across the yard, towards the house. Behind us the music grew softer and softer.
At least I was spared the rest of it, I thought. The jokes and the cheers. The tearing of clothes.
He hustled me inside, shut the door and set the bolt so that no one else could get in, and then without a word he led me carefully up the stairs to the bedchamber, holding my hand all the way so that I didn’t miss a step. It was difficult to see anything at all; we had no candle and the darkness was like tar in the way it clung to everything. The air was hot and heavy, and I felt as though I would drown, for it was so hard to breathe.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, a shadow among shadows, when we reached the top. He took both my hands in his, caressing the backs of them softly with his thumbs. His palms were warm, greasy from the feast, and I wanted to snatch my hands away, but I knew it wouldn’t be right. All was still, save for the sound of our breathing and the far-off trills of the flute. We were closer to one another than you are to me now and still I couldn’t see him, not even his arm rings gleaming, it was that dark.
This was how it began, I thought. My throat was dry and I had to swallow to moisten it.
‘Sorry for what?’ I asked.
‘For not being what you were expecting. What you were hoping for.’
I was trembling. In the darkness I couldn’t see his face. From the sound of his voice alone I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me.
I said hurriedly, ‘No, Lord—’
But he cut me off. ‘It’s all right. I know. You don’t have to say anything. Or do anything. Not tonight.’
Outside, a horn blast. The music stopped. A cheer went up, and people were whooping with laughter, but it wasn’t long before the whoops turned into cries of confusion as they realised we were nowhere to be found.
‘When you’re ready, then we will,’ Skalpi said. ‘Not before.’
I felt his warm breath on my face and flinched as he laid a kiss upon my forehead, and he must have felt me shaking, felt my apprehension, because he didn’t linger but broke away quickly. He let go of my hands and then he was gone. I heard his feet on the stairs, heard the door open as he went out back into the night to join the revellers. Exactly what he told them, he never said, but I imagine it was nothing that caused him to lose face. As I lay down on what would have been our marriage bed and closed my eyes and breathed deeply and tried to work out what had just happened, I could make out what sounded like his voice as he rejoined those celebrating, and then there was more laughter and the singing began again.
All I could think about was how relieved I was.
The next morning, under heavy skies that promised a downpour later, we left for Heldeby, which was two days’ ride away. What I had decided to bring with me to furnish my new home was already packed in chests and trunks and saddlebags: everything from clothes and shoes to a t?fl set made from chestnut and walrus ivory, a gift from Eadmer to Skalpi in recognition of the new bond between our two kindreds, and an embroidery of a hunting scene that my mother had given me, which she herself had helped to make and which she hoped we might hang somewhere in our hall.