she sat up so suddenly the boy stared open mouthed. She looked round the hall. People barely stirred, but of Flane there was no sign. She looked back at the boy.
A pair of intelligent hazel eyes stared back at her from beneath a shaggy thatch of brown hair. “Flane wasn’t here when I woke up.” There was an accusatory note in his voice. “I think it’s your bed.”
Emer rolled onto her side and propped her head on her flat palm. She opened her eyes wide and fixed him with an intense stare. “This bed space belongs to Flane Ketilsson. I am a guest here, just as you are.”
Oli blinked. “You’re pretty.”
Emer laughed.
“You’re even prettier when you smile.”
“You’re a very clever boy, but you seem to be missing certain clothes. Where are your breeches?”
Oli looked down at his lower limbs, and then back at her. “In my sleeping space?”
“I expect they are. Shall we go and get them before you catch cold?”
Oli scrambled off the bed and offered her his hand. The dog leapt off and waited, ready to go wherever they went. Emer looked at the small round dent it had left behind in the mattress and made a mental note to check for fleas when she returned. Oli led her across the hall to a small sleeping space squeezed in the corner between two larger spaces, and Emer’s heart contracted.
The boy needed to be with people, not shut away in his own small space. No wonder he had problems sleeping. She looked at the small mattress and the two indentations, one undoubtedly Oli shaped, and the other round hollow where his dog curled up beside him. There would be fleas and sheep tics and goodness knows what else in there. She made a second mental note to speak to Flane about it.
The boy took his breeches from a wooden peg hammered into the wall and shook them briefly before he climbed into them. He pulled the drawstring, fastened it and smiled. “It must be time to eat now.”
“I think I’ll go outside and wash my face and hands first. Do you want to come with me?”
“Ugh.” Oli shivered. “The water will be cold.”
“I thought little boys like you were so brave they never noticed how cold the water was. You can stay here if you like.”
He thought about it. “I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t you want to put your shoes on?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have any.”
“Then you don’t have to bother, do you? Come on!”
“You don’t have any either,” he said, eyeing her feet.
“I have sandals,” she said. “Under the bed. I’ll get them later.”
He took the hand she held out, and they headed out into the sunshine. In bright daylight, Oli looked a little older than she had first thought; perhaps even nine or ten. He followed her example at the water barrel, and clamped his mouth shut as the coldness of the water bit at his fresh young skin. He saw Emer shaking her hands dry, and copied her. She laughed. “I used to have a towel at home, but I don’t have one here.”
“What’s a towel?”
“Oh, a piece of strong linen too small to make anything else, usually. I use it to dry my face and hands every morning.”
“Oh. I could use my blanket,” he offered. He looked at her shyly. “It isn’t really a blanket. I had it when I was a baby. I keep it because it reminds me of my mother. But it would make a good towel. Where is your home?”
She looked down at him, caught by the simple way he referred to his mother. Her smile slowly faded. They had a lot in common, she thought. “A long way from here, over the sea.” She saw the shadow cross his face, remembered Flane’s tale of Oli’s father and hastily carried on. “An island called Pabaigh.”
Oli frowned. “Are you not one of my people?”
“I have no Viking blood. My father—” Her throat twisted, and her voice disappeared. She coughed to hide her difficulty, cleared her throat and smiled at the boy. “His family were here long before the Vikings ever found these shores. He came from an island further south,
A pair of intelligent hazel eyes stared back at her from beneath a shaggy thatch of brown hair. “Flane wasn’t here when I woke up.” There was an accusatory note in his voice. “I think it’s your bed.”
Emer rolled onto her side and propped her head on her flat palm. She opened her eyes wide and fixed him with an intense stare. “This bed space belongs to Flane Ketilsson. I am a guest here, just as you are.”
Oli blinked. “You’re pretty.”
Emer laughed.
“You’re even prettier when you smile.”
“You’re a very clever boy, but you seem to be missing certain clothes. Where are your breeches?”
Oli looked down at his lower limbs, and then back at her. “In my sleeping space?”
“I expect they are. Shall we go and get them before you catch cold?”
Oli scrambled off the bed and offered her his hand. The dog leapt off and waited, ready to go wherever they went. Emer looked at the small round dent it had left behind in the mattress and made a mental note to check for fleas when she returned. Oli led her across the hall to a small sleeping space squeezed in the corner between two larger spaces, and Emer’s heart contracted.
The boy needed to be with people, not shut away in his own small space. No wonder he had problems sleeping. She looked at the small mattress and the two indentations, one undoubtedly Oli shaped, and the other round hollow where his dog curled up beside him. There would be fleas and sheep tics and goodness knows what else in there. She made a second mental note to speak to Flane about it.
The boy took his breeches from a wooden peg hammered into the wall and shook them briefly before he climbed into them. He pulled the drawstring, fastened it and smiled. “It must be time to eat now.”
“I think I’ll go outside and wash my face and hands first. Do you want to come with me?”
“Ugh.” Oli shivered. “The water will be cold.”
“I thought little boys like you were so brave they never noticed how cold the water was. You can stay here if you like.”
He thought about it. “I’ll come with you.”
“Don’t you want to put your shoes on?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have any.”
“Then you don’t have to bother, do you? Come on!”
“You don’t have any either,” he said, eyeing her feet.
“I have sandals,” she said. “Under the bed. I’ll get them later.”
He took the hand she held out, and they headed out into the sunshine. In bright daylight, Oli looked a little older than she had first thought; perhaps even nine or ten. He followed her example at the water barrel, and clamped his mouth shut as the coldness of the water bit at his fresh young skin. He saw Emer shaking her hands dry, and copied her. She laughed. “I used to have a towel at home, but I don’t have one here.”
“What’s a towel?”
“Oh, a piece of strong linen too small to make anything else, usually. I use it to dry my face and hands every morning.”
“Oh. I could use my blanket,” he offered. He looked at her shyly. “It isn’t really a blanket. I had it when I was a baby. I keep it because it reminds me of my mother. But it would make a good towel. Where is your home?”
She looked down at him, caught by the simple way he referred to his mother. Her smile slowly faded. They had a lot in common, she thought. “A long way from here, over the sea.” She saw the shadow cross his face, remembered Flane’s tale of Oli’s father and hastily carried on. “An island called Pabaigh.”
Oli frowned. “Are you not one of my people?”
“I have no Viking blood. My father—” Her throat twisted, and her voice disappeared. She coughed to hide her difficulty, cleared her throat and smiled at the boy. “His family were here long before the Vikings ever found these shores. He came from an island further south,
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