Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

If I want to live I mean." Not speaking, Harald shook his head. "Fine," Alex sighed in resignation and closing his eyes, held his head up for Harald to fix the collar around his neck.
    ****
    Still wearing his kilt, but with his top now covered in a soft woollen tunic, Alex followed behind Harald as he led the way to the farmstead's main building. Inside, men, and a few women, were already seated at the huge wooden table that ran almost its length. Harald strode down one side, heading toward the far end of the room, where at the head of the table his father Siguard sat. On one side of him sat a young blonde woman, her hair coiled in a thick plait on the top of her head, her eyes seemed fixed on the wooden plate in front of her. On his other side was a painfully thin-looking old man, whose age lined face lit up with a smile as soon as he saw Harald approaching.
    "Father, Stepmother Astrid, Magnus," Harald said politely as he took his seat next to the blonde haired woman, who did not acknowledge him. In silence, Alex stood directly behind Harald's seat, as he'd been told was his place as a body thrall.
    Harald had spent most of the day showing Alex around Siguardsvik, explaining the day to day work that went on, both in the domestic setting of the home and on the wider farmstead, where Harald himself spent much of his time working with the livestock. The tour had been leisurely; at times Alex had felt like a visiting friend rather than a prisoner.
    He'd introduced Alex to the other thralls in his service, some of whom dealt with day to day running of his house and others that carried out what could only be termed hard labour around the farm. Harald had tried to reassure Alex that his thralls' seemingly unhappy and suspicious responses to meeting him weren't directed at him, but rather at Harald. The position of body thrall, he'd explained, was a privileged one and highly sought after.
    Harald had also introduced Alex to the eight men who made up his own personal household. The men owed him their loyalty and service as the heir to Jarl Siguard, although as he explained, it was unlikely that they would ever go raiding or stand shoulder to shoulder in a shield wall against an attacking enemy.
    "I saw enough raiding, war and bloodshed as a fosterling. My foster father was a proud man, if a violent one, and I was expected to stand with him, to emulate him." Harald had explained with a shudder, "despite all his assurances I never got the taste for battle and conquest he expected. I didn't want to go on raids to foreign shores, to pillage and plunder. Instead I chose instead to follow my father over here and become a farmer after my wife died. He let me go, but he will raise my children, his grandchildren, to be the good and proper Norsemen that he never managed to turn me into." The last sentence was said in a bitterly mocking tone, which to Alex seemed as though it was something Harald had had said to him on more occasions than he cared to recall.
    "So Harri, this is the Pict that you found, is it?" the old man Harald had called Magnus said as he leant around Siguard. Pale blue eyes twinkled with mischief that seemed out of place in a man of his age.
    "I'm not a Pict," Alex grumbled quietly as Harald reached back with his hand, touching Alex's thigh gently, reminding him that he should be silent. Alex was surprised at how much he'd become accustomed to those gentle touches from Harald. Throughout the day, as he'd guided Alex around his home and the farmstead he'd frequently touched him; a hand on his elbow guiding him in a particular direction, a reassuring hand on his shoulder or back.
    This rather gentle man who would rather farm than fight seemed out of place from what Alex had ever been told about the people he called Vikings.
    "I'm just teasing," the older man addressed Alex directly. "I have been the Skald to Siguard's family for over forty years. I've known Harri since he was in swaddling wraps. As soon as he was on his feet he was forever bringing home strays, whether it was a kitten, an elk fawn or the stable boy." He finished with a wink at Harald.
    "Magnus, I don't think that particular story needs to be retold," Siguard said firmly to the older man.
    "Of course Jarl Siguard," the older man demurred, still smiling.
    The door at the far end of the room was flung open and, flanked by the six men that made up his household, Gunnar stalked towards the head of the table.
    "Father, my apologies for being late. My men