cotton top. I wondered what had happened to my clothing. I gathered my dignity around me, as tattered as it was, and stared back at the woman calmly.
"So the skraeling woman is finally awake,” she grunted. “I am Helga."
The one called Logan winced and Mason frowned. Even if I didn't know the word, I knew that it was an insult from the tone of her voice.
"I wonder what happened to my clothing?” I asked, trying to sound humble. I hated having to do that, but I was stranded in this territory and almost powerless.
"Ruined,” she sniffed. “Yours and the other skraeling 's were destroyed by the salt. It was soft and pretty, too.” She glared at me. “You know about cooking? Cleaning? Sewing? Or are the two of you just Southern fluff?"
"I am not familiar with the food of the Northerners,” I told her. Cook? Clean? Why did she expect me to know that? I was the master of my own kuni . I did not do such menial things!
"Fluff,” the woman sighed, and she stomped off again.
"They gave Wolf grief because his wife couldn't do any of that shit either,” Mason told me quietly. “Thought that she was the lowest thing on Earth because she wasn't barefoot and cooking for her man."
"That isn't fair,” Logan protested. “Icelandic women had the most freedom of any women in Europe of the time. However, in a preindustrial society, food preparation is labor intensive and mostly something that the women are expected to do. The men are expected to do the other chores that need more muscle power."
"And how is Wolf?” I asked, ignoring Logan's protest and explanation. He was a scholar, if he talked like that. So what was he doing with these people? “I assume that McGann is his ‘wife'? She was a most sensible woman. Much better than the one who was chasing after him."
I knew that Wolf wasn't in actuality married to McGann. That woman wasn't foolish enough to tie herself down.
"Good,” Mason said. He looked at Logan and shook his head. “I told the rest of the posse here that I was keeping an eye out for you."
"I do not need your protection!” I snarled. I hadn't needed a man's protection in centuries, not since before I had died. That I needed it now was demeaning, and that it was this man, slightly embarrassing and appalling.
Mason tried to sound soothing. “Just so you won't be forced to do something because someone was stupid. Chicks are in short supply here."
"I wouldn't worry about it,” Logan muttered. “ Skraeling is a word that's an insult."
"I know that,” Mason growled. “So?"
" Skraeling ,” Logan started, looking embarrassed, “it means wretch. In the sagas, some scholars think that the Norse didn't even consider the skraelingjar to be human. They use that word to describe the Native Americans."
"Well, they're kind of confused about me too,” Mason said with an odd look in his eyes. “They haven't gone as far as to tell me to stay away from their women, but none of these people seem to have seen someone who ain't lily white. They all were really happy that I took you in, ‘cause you'd keep me occupied, in a manner of speaking. I'd be fucking pissed about it, ‘cept they ain't being assholes. They're just backwoods bikers."
I thought about that. Wolf, McGann, and Logan were all the same “type,” for lack of a better word, light-skinned, pale hair, and blue or green eyes, looking a lot like my involuntary hosts. Mason's darker skin and eyes could be thought of as exotic and attractive or as a sign that he wasn't human. It seemed our hosts were provincial enough to think the latter. I knew I was prejudiced against them, because many were tied to their land and could barely journey a ri or two from their homes. I had been able to move about freely because of Aboshi's ability to travel the shadows. If he had been with me during the meeting with Iida, I wouldn't be here. Unfortunately, I had become overconfident and was now suffering for it. If it hadn't been for Keno, I would have suffered
"So the skraeling woman is finally awake,” she grunted. “I am Helga."
The one called Logan winced and Mason frowned. Even if I didn't know the word, I knew that it was an insult from the tone of her voice.
"I wonder what happened to my clothing?” I asked, trying to sound humble. I hated having to do that, but I was stranded in this territory and almost powerless.
"Ruined,” she sniffed. “Yours and the other skraeling 's were destroyed by the salt. It was soft and pretty, too.” She glared at me. “You know about cooking? Cleaning? Sewing? Or are the two of you just Southern fluff?"
"I am not familiar with the food of the Northerners,” I told her. Cook? Clean? Why did she expect me to know that? I was the master of my own kuni . I did not do such menial things!
"Fluff,” the woman sighed, and she stomped off again.
"They gave Wolf grief because his wife couldn't do any of that shit either,” Mason told me quietly. “Thought that she was the lowest thing on Earth because she wasn't barefoot and cooking for her man."
"That isn't fair,” Logan protested. “Icelandic women had the most freedom of any women in Europe of the time. However, in a preindustrial society, food preparation is labor intensive and mostly something that the women are expected to do. The men are expected to do the other chores that need more muscle power."
"And how is Wolf?” I asked, ignoring Logan's protest and explanation. He was a scholar, if he talked like that. So what was he doing with these people? “I assume that McGann is his ‘wife'? She was a most sensible woman. Much better than the one who was chasing after him."
I knew that Wolf wasn't in actuality married to McGann. That woman wasn't foolish enough to tie herself down.
"Good,” Mason said. He looked at Logan and shook his head. “I told the rest of the posse here that I was keeping an eye out for you."
"I do not need your protection!” I snarled. I hadn't needed a man's protection in centuries, not since before I had died. That I needed it now was demeaning, and that it was this man, slightly embarrassing and appalling.
Mason tried to sound soothing. “Just so you won't be forced to do something because someone was stupid. Chicks are in short supply here."
"I wouldn't worry about it,” Logan muttered. “ Skraeling is a word that's an insult."
"I know that,” Mason growled. “So?"
" Skraeling ,” Logan started, looking embarrassed, “it means wretch. In the sagas, some scholars think that the Norse didn't even consider the skraelingjar to be human. They use that word to describe the Native Americans."
"Well, they're kind of confused about me too,” Mason said with an odd look in his eyes. “They haven't gone as far as to tell me to stay away from their women, but none of these people seem to have seen someone who ain't lily white. They all were really happy that I took you in, ‘cause you'd keep me occupied, in a manner of speaking. I'd be fucking pissed about it, ‘cept they ain't being assholes. They're just backwoods bikers."
I thought about that. Wolf, McGann, and Logan were all the same “type,” for lack of a better word, light-skinned, pale hair, and blue or green eyes, looking a lot like my involuntary hosts. Mason's darker skin and eyes could be thought of as exotic and attractive or as a sign that he wasn't human. It seemed our hosts were provincial enough to think the latter. I knew I was prejudiced against them, because many were tied to their land and could barely journey a ri or two from their homes. I had been able to move about freely because of Aboshi's ability to travel the shadows. If he had been with me during the meeting with Iida, I wouldn't be here. Unfortunately, I had become overconfident and was now suffering for it. If it hadn't been for Keno, I would have suffered
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