Far After Gold by Jen Black Page A

where there was a man of the church who taught him all about Jesus. Have you heard of Jesus?”
    Oli frowned, thought hard and shook his tousled head. “No,” he said at last. “Was he a king? Like Harald Fairhair?”
    Emer had heard the glorious harp tales of King Harold Halfdanarson of Norway who lived and died a hundred years ago. She also knew her father thought him a tyrant and the probable cause of the mass emigration from Norway that was still a huge problem for everyone in the islands.
    She smiled at Oli. “No, not like King Harald. I’ll tell you all about Jesus one day. But for now, let’s go and find something to eat.”
    Indoors, there was no sign of Flane. Women bustled about, but very few men remained in the hall. Porridge was available from the big cauldron, and she made sure Oli had a big bowl swimming in thick, creamy milk. They took it to the doorway and stood in the sunshine to eat. “Eat it all and you’ll grow up big and strong.”
    “Like Flane?”
    “Like Flane,” she agreed, and watched him dig the horn spoon energetically into the wooden bowl. The back of her neck tingled. She looked up, straight into the calm, considering gaze of a well-dressed young woman.
    Intuition told her it was Katla.
     

Chapter Four
    Katla halted just behind Oli. Her question was blunt to the point of rudeness. “Who are you?”
    Emer handed her porridge bowl to Oli. “I’m sure you know where the bowls go,” she said with a smile. The boy took it from her, saw Katla behind him and pulled a face as he ran off towards the kitchen area.
    “Good day,” Emer said pleasantly, as her mother had taught her. “My name is Emer. My family lives on the island of Pabaigh.”
    Katla was more than handsome; she was beautiful. Perhaps a year or two older than Emer, and a little taller. Lustrous dark hair had been coiled smoothly against each cheek and swept into an intricate knot at the back of her head. Emer was struck by the perfect symmetry of the girl’s face, for the curve of her cheekbone was repeated in the curve of her eyebrow, mouth and jaw. Such perfection was rare, and almost unnerving.
    “What are you doing here in my father’s settlement?”
    “I’m not sure,” Emer said, determined not to be rattled by Katla’s aggressive tone. She tried not to feel envious of Katla’s expensive gown, garnet-studded leather belt and the delicate silver bracelet tinkling gently at her wrist. “A young man called Flane brought me here. So far, we have not discussed—”
    “Discussed!” Katla’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Go on.”
    “So far we have not discussed if my place here is temporary or permanent,” Emer said, “nor in what capacity I will remain. If I remain, of course.”
    “I see,” Katla said slowly, letting her gaze travel slowly over Emer. The smallest hint of a frown appeared between her perfect brows. “My father told me Flane bought you for a few silver pieces in the Dublin slave market,” she said dismissively. “He said you were to be Flane’s bed slave.”
    It wasn’t hard to see why Katla might not be well liked by Inga and the women of the settlement. Emer ignored the derision in the expressive dark eyes, lifted her own brows, gritted her teeth and permitted herself three words. “Is that so?”
    Katla’s frown deepened. “Flane is to marry me. The agreement was made at the summer solstice.”
    Emer shook her head. “I know nothing of Flane’s plans.” She added nothing more. Let Katla make of it what she would.
    “I can speak for him.” Katla stared down her long, elegant nose at Emer. “We will marry soon, and when we do, I assure you he will have no need of you or any other bed slave. I imagine he only needs you now because he is impatient for our marriage. Has he bedded you?”
    Emer blinked. Instinct told her to ignore the last question, so she linked her fingers together and sighed. “You may well be right.” She wasn’t afraid of Katla in the same way she was