Free Loveweaver by Tracy Ann Miller Page B

within, the very opposite of the Ceolmund’s wall hangings.
    Before sunup and with Byrnstan and Eadgyth’s help, she had obtained sufficient yarn from the household stores. After measuring and cutting the warp yarn, she had threaded it through twenty-eight four-holed tablets according to Slayde’s design. Smooth as glass, worn from countless turnings, her grandmother’s bone tablets flanked the ends. This project spanned more than enough distance for the finished results, tied between one of the vertical poles of fabric loom and a lodge post in the corner. She would scoot along the floor as the weaving progressed, let the warp stay fixed.
    One half of the braid was finished, an accurate copy of Slayde’s present trim, yet this new contained the same song with which Mother had won father’s love. The lyrics were rich and dark, plunging deeply into the soul, the melody nostalgic and transportive.
    The women thralls accepted this presence of a Viking hostage, cloaked in peach linen, and demonstrated their interest in her work by stopping to look over her shoulder, heads cocked to hear her quiet tune. The two women who worked on the sailcloth cast many glances her way, though now they were due to StoneHeart’s brother at the door.
    “I can do those things that father and brother taught me,” Elfric said, glued to the doorway. “No one would call me a mother’s boy.”
    Mindful of her failure with Broder’s upbringing and Slayde’s reproach when she had comforted Elfric, she meant to withhold an outright invitation to the boy. But she could see in his blue eyes what he needed.
    “Indeed, one would not. Therefore come and I will show you how this is done.”
    The doorway let him loose, he knelt beside her, and Llyrica gave him a lesson in tablet weaving. He paid attention, asked the right questions and soon fit very well in her lap.
    “You have a knack for it, Elfric,” Llyrica told him. “That is right. Find the shed with your finger, pass the weft yarn through, then beat it down with the flat edge of the shuttle. And to yourself, say a prayer or a poem as you do so.” She watched Elfric follow her instructions as she quietly sang her lovesong. “There now, let me turn the tablets again to form the new shed.” Leaning in, she first tidied his work. This was after all, the new braid for the StoneHeart’s tunic.
    “The tablets all go forward four times, then back four times, passing the weft yarn through the shed after each turn.” Elfric turned to look up at her. Sweet face, and eager.
    She kissed him on the cheek. “Aye, good listening! This is a simple pattern that goes quickly, and one we will have finished in mere hours.”
    A shadow fell across the braid and suddenly the women in the lodge scurried in all directions. “We had not expected to see you again today!” she heard Eadgyth call out. Elfric shot up from Llyrica’s lap as Slayde stepped out of the doorway, the sunlight now restored to the hall.
    “Get back to Teta’s, Elfric,” he said. He had his brother by the arm, urging him to the door, but pinned Llyrica with a stony glare. “Byrnstan will give you a Latin lesson before we go.” Elfric glanced over his shoulder at Llyrica, then ran off.
    “There is a method by which one can weave a motif,” she called after the boy. She stood, pushed her way around Slayde and shouted out the door for StoneHeart’s benefit. “I will show it to you, Elfric and you can make a braid with rows of bloody daggers!”
    “You will not show him another thing,” Slayde said. Llyrica turned to see the hall deserted and Slayde searching among the piles of wovengoods. He found her bundles, stacked them against a wall, then climbed the ladder to his loft. When he returned, he had her money purse and laid it down beside her belongings. “You get your wish. By sunset we will have you across the border of East Anglia, and leave you to your original adventure.” His fresh, green scent descended on her from his