Wolfskin by Juliet Marillier Page B

bounds to the boys. Anyone who broke that rule would never be allowed up to the shieling again. Eyvind was surprised his mother thought it necessary to warn them thus. Surely it was the sort of rule people understood without being told.
    They talked about it one night, lying on their shelf beds: Eyvind and Somerled and the two other lads who slept at the south end, Ranulf and Knut.
    â€œWhich one do you think’s best?” Knut asked in an undertone. “Halla or Thorgerd?”
    Nobody answered; it was late, and they were tired.
    â€œI think Thorgerd,” Knut said. “I like the way she walks. And her laugh.” In conversations of this kind, nobody ever mentioned Ragna, who was without doubt the prettiest of the three girls. She might be only thirteen, but Sigurd had established a sort of unspoken ownership, which all understood well. And Sigurd slept not so very far away at the other end of the hut.
    â€œBet I’ve seen something you haven’t seen,” Ranulf whispered to Knut.
    â€œBet you haven’t. What?”
    Ranulf whispered again. Knut snorted in disbelief.
    â€œShut up, will you?” said Eyvind. “Some of us want to get to sleep.”
    â€œWhat have you seen?” Somerled’s crisp voice challenged.
    â€œI’ve seen Halla with her gown down to her waist; I’ve seen a pair of rosy apples that’d be sweet to taste. The girls leave their candle burning when they undress. You can see right in through the window at the back; there’s a crack in the shutters.”
    There was a brief silence. Eyvind knew he should say something; there was no doubt what his mother would think of such talk. But his mind was showing him an image of glossy-haired Halla, brown locks drifting over pale skin in the flickering candlelight, and the involuntary stirring of his body silenced him.
    â€œThat’s nothing,” said Somerled.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Knut hissed.
    There was another silence.
    â€œNever had a girl, did you?” Somerled asked casually.
    Eyvind’s jaw dropped. The others stared round-eyed. Then Ranulf found his voice.
    â€œYou mean…? Don’t be stupid, Somerled. Of course we haven’t, and I bet you haven’t either.”
    â€œAh,” said Somerled. “But I’m not a farm boy, am I? Things are rather different at court. Don’t believe me? I’ll tell you all about it, if you want.”
    One of the shepherds rolled over in his sleep, muttering something about keeping quiet or he’d give them what for.
    â€œGo on, then,” whispered Knut, edging closer. And Somerled did, in considerable detail. By the end of it, Eyvind was feeling very uncomfortable in more ways than one. There was the hardening of his body, something that did happen to him sometimes, now he had passed his fourteenth birthday. There was a thing you could do to make that go away, but he could hardly do it now, with the rest of them there. And he felt a growing unease, for although Somerled’s tale had the ring of truth, there was a wrongness about it that troubled him.
    â€œSomerled?” he whispered, when it seemed the account was finished.
    â€œMmm?”
    â€œWhat if the girl went and told her family? What if you got her with child? There would be compensation to pay. That sort of thing can be the start of a blood feud if you’re not careful.”
    â€œOh, dear, Eyvind. So serious. It doesn’t take much to secure a girl’s silence, believe me. I cover my tracks very well. You should know that. After all, it was you who taught me about hunting.”
    Eyvind lay thinking. In a way, he was impressed. It did appear Somerled had done what none of them expected to try before they were fifteen at least. But Somerled’s account had troubled him.
    â€œSomerled?” he murmured. The others seemed to have fallen asleep.
    â€œMmm?”
    â€œThe way you said it, about the girl struggling