On the Cold Coasts

away.”
    “He is not here.”
    “Where is he?”
    “On an errand in South Iceland for His Grace the bishop. He left this morning and is not expected back until two or perhaps three weeks hence.” Ragna had difficulty concealing the satisfaction in her voice.
    “I have been in service here for two years. Before that I was at Muli in Adaldalur for several years.”
    Ragna made no reply.
    “And you, of all women—you who should be able to understand…”
    The words died in the silence, that disconcerting silence that grows louder the longer it prevails.
    “Make sure you are gone before the end of the week.”

    She had not expected him to be so angry. Had thought that his guilt would stop him from coming to her about the girl’s departure.
    “How could you be so heartless as to drive Gudrun away?” Thorkell’s voice was the same pitch as usual, but his evident disgust for what she had done made it sound cold and harsh.
    “She will not get much work done with one child under her belt and another holding onto her apron strings,” answered Ragna coolly. “In fact, I find it strange that she was permitted to have the girl here, under the bishop’s care, for this long. We should not be encouraging the immoral conduct of the servants by looking the other way.”
    “You were shown mercy, but you show no mercy to others. Is it just punishment for a woman who gives birth to a child out of wedlock to be sent begging?”
    Ragna took his meaning but pretended not to, and she felt the lump of ice in her chest grow larger. How dare he compare the two of them!
    “Why should she not suffer the consequences of her actions like other women?” she remarked obstinately, not realizing until too late that she had compared herself with Gudrun with her own words.
    “Gudrun was kind to me, and compliant,” said Thorkell. “Even though there is nothing between us now, I care for her and little Hrefna, whom she gave birth to before I went abroad to study. I promised her a long time ago that she could rely on me, and I will keep my word, even though I am flawed and have violated the law of God and of man in more ways than one. It is not for you to judge me, or her, or any other person. It is for God to judge, and for us to show compassion.”
    “I don’t need to have your mistresses and their bastard children constantly in front of me!” Ragna heard her voice grow shrill and felt even angrier; after all, righteousness was hers, not his. She had never expected him to admit to fathering the child so readily; deep down she had hoped he would deny it and perhaps even try to convince her that the child was another man’s and he had only wanted to help a poor servant girl. “When…did it happen?”
    He shrugged. “She says she will give birth in the fall, so it must have been at Yuletide, perhaps the New Year. What does it matter, when you know she means nothing to me anymore?”
    “At Yuletide or the New Year…” Ragna gasped for breath and brought her hands to her throat, feeling like the burning jealousy would strangle her.
    Tears began to cascade from her eyes, crushed slivers of ice.
    Thorkell’s manner grew milder; he put his arms around her and kissed the whiteness of her neck, just below the ear where the skin is softest, letting her cry in his arms. He hummed to her as softly as a child and stroked her back with his large hand and long fingers.
    “Of course it was before Yuletide, before I entertained any hope that you would submit to me…”
    Ragna tried to suppress her sobs, feeling all the more humiliated when she realized that she could not cry anywhere else, no one but him could comfort her, and she grieved for it all: her shattered illusion of him and herself and the beauty of all creation. And she hated him for witnessing her agony and herself even more for loving him as much as before and for allowing herself to be soothed in his arms—by him, whom she despised in her heart for being who he was.
    Ugliness settled all around her, obscuring her vision.

    A few days later, Thorkell left Holar early in the morning with two spare horses. He returned three days later with Gudrun and her daughter. He had found them at his father’s farm, Muli in Adaldalur, where she said the father of her child, a farmhand, lived. Allegedly, she had found him on his deathbed, nearly gone from an unknown illness. By the grace of God, Thorkell had rescued her from catching whatever it was that ailed the man. She showed