Kitabı oku: «Sent As The Viking's Bride», sayfa 2
‘He remained in the north. He had business to attend to, but will arrive in the new year.’ The woman adopted a tone more suited towards talking to a young child than a grown man.
‘What business?’
‘His second cousin died. He needed to get the estate in order before sailing again to the west.’ Her hand trembled, betraying her nerves. ‘We agreed that it was best for all concerned if I undertook the journey immediately. There was nothing to keep me in the north.’
Her voice trembled on the last word. Fear? Fear of what? Why had she braved the sea at this time of year? What drove her to risk her life and that of her sister’s?
Gunnar frowned. Becoming interested in this woman’s problems was the last thing he needed. Better to get rid of her and be done with it. It was a slippery slope to caring and, if he cared, women died.
The soothsayer’s dying prediction resounded in his ears. His friends had warned him the old man had supernatural power, but he’d refused to allow the man to slaughter those young girls. He’d lost his temper and killed him. The necessary sacrifice to the gods instead of the girls who reminded him of his sisters, he’d proclaimed with a laugh. He’d stopped laughing when he’d discovered the bodies of his mother and sisters. By his reckoning, they had died about the same time as the soothsayer. And then it happened again with Dyrfinna’s betrayal and death. He forced his mind away from the past and back to the present.
The woman was connected to Eylir. How? He narrowed his gaze. Family matters had forced Eylir across the North Sea. Eylir had no sister. She had to be the family-forced bride as she was not the sort Eylir would take as a concubine.
‘Indeed.’ He forced a short laugh. ‘I suspect he wished to avoid being torn limb from limb once I got my hands on him. Your husband is notorious for his pranks, my lady.’
‘Eylir is most definitely not my husband.’ The woman made an imperious gesture towards where the longboat was pulled up on shore. ‘Ask the captain if you doubt me.’
‘He did tell Ragn to come!’ the girl called out. ‘He is soon to be married to our cousin, Trana Ragnardottar.’
‘How did you know that, Svana?’ Ragnhild asked, drawing her brows together.
‘I overheard them speaking as we left. He was kissing her.’ The girl smacked her lips. ‘They will have to get married after that as they will have lots of babies.’
‘You are being ridiculous, Svana. Trana’s father requires a different husband for his only daughter. Not a penniless sell-sword like Eylir.’
Gunnar kept his face impassive. Eylir had hidden his wealth from them.
‘After what he did for us, Trana will defy her father.’ The girl lifted her chin. ‘I just know it. And I made a wish about it as we left.’
Ragnhild gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You and your pronouncements. Would that the world was ordered the way you wish. One must be practical, child.’
‘Trana thinks he has fine legs and a good backside,’ Svana confided from behind her hand. Gunnar struggled to keep a straight face.
Ragnhild pinched the bridge of her nose, making her skin appear even more sallow. ‘That is more than anyone, let alone Gunnar Olafson, needs to know. Curb your tongue.’
Svana hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Sister.’
‘Next time remember some things remain private, but you are young, Svana, and I forgive you.’
Young. The girl was indeed too young to have made this journey in the winter. The fact knifed through him. While Eylir might enlist the aid of a woman, he would not stoop so low as to send a child on a perilous autumn journey.
‘Why did Eylir send vulnerable women alone on the sea?’
The woman gave a small cough. ‘We agreed that I’d travel alone as the circumstances dictated.’
Circumstances—whose? Eylir’s or this woman’s? Something had driven her across the seas, but she wanted to keep it a secret. ‘Truly?’
‘Would that he was here! You would greet your friend properly and we would not be forced to stand in the mizzle.’ A convulsive shiver racked her slender frame, but she kept her head proudly erect and her hands at her sides.
Gunnar winced at the accusation of less-than-proper hospitality. Worse, her words rang true. His mother would have been appalled. He’d allowed a lady, any lady let alone a lady of breeding, to stand outside while the rain pelted down. Despite the years since her death and against his instinct, divorcing himself from his mother’s teachings was impossible. ‘Into the hall with you. Get dry.’
Her eyes gleamed triumph. ‘Thank you.’
She motioned for her trunks. Gunnar gritted his teeth. Ragnhild would learn that he might have given on one point, but he would not give in on the other. She was most definitely not the wife for him.
‘No, they stay outside. It should not take long to clear this mess up.’
With its piles of filthy rushes, half-finished benches and the nearly cold hearth, the best thing Ragn thought about the hall was that it was out of the icy rain. But she was inside and that was a start. She would make this warrior understand that they needed to stay for the night, that returning on the boat to Kaupang was not an option. She’d worry about the future after that. Little steps, rather than focusing on the mountain looming in front of her.
‘Has there been a mistake, Ragn?’ Svana whispered. ‘He is going to allow us to stay, isn’t he? He won’t behave like... Vargr?’
Ragn glanced towards where Gunnar was busily filling tankards.
‘The future is in front of us.’ Ragn bent down so that her face was level with Svana’s. ‘Keep the past behind you. Never mention Vargr again. He is dead to us.’
Svana gave a little nod. Her sister was too young to understand that if Gunnar knew her brother-in-law’s identity, or the danger they faced in Viken, that he’d close his doors to them as many of her so-called friends had done. Survival depended on keeping their troubled past hidden.
‘Promise me you will remember that.’
Svana worried her bottom lip. ‘I’ll try.’
Ragn withdrew the rune stick, which she had insisted Eylir write, from her pouch. It should be sufficient to make Gunnar Olafson see reason now that he was being hospitable.
Once he had finished ensuring the captain and his men had drinks, Gunnar returned to where they stood. His face had settled into even harsher lines. Svana shrank back against her.
‘You are out of the wet. Explain.’
No please. No courtesy of any kind. Perhaps he had taken one look at her and decided, no, that she wasn’t attractive enough. Ragn stiffened her spine. This marriage wasn’t supposed to be about attraction, but mutual assistance. ‘We need to discuss our contracted marriage.’
Gunnar allowed his breath through clenched teeth. ‘I know my friend better than that. Tell me the truth. Where is Eylir?’
Two bright spots appeared on the woman’s pale cheeks, flooding her face with colour. A strong wind would blow her over. He knew her type. He had encountered enough of them back in the old country when he was growing up. She’d know about court gossip or the ways to recite a saga or how to fix a sweetmeat, but he doubted if she understood the hard back-breaking work life on this rugged western isle required. He was doing her a favour by sending her back.
‘I was given to understand that you required a wife and that I satisfied those requirements. It seemed like the perfect alternative to my life in Kaupang. My husband recently died and we had no other male protectors.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘Someone may have been playing a joke, Gunnar Olafson, but the joke was on me and my sister, not you. I accepted the offer under false pretences. I have left my home and everything I held dear to travel here for a new life. I cannot return with these men. Know that much.’
Her voice was clear and steady and not unpleasant to the ear. Her gaze direct, rather than downcast. The tilt of her chin reminded him of how his mother acted when the world was against her and the silver fire shone again in her eyes.
A tiny voice inside Gunnar questioned why he was watching this woman so closely if he was going to send her on her way. He ignored it. No man or woman dictated what he should do or whom he should marry. He’d earned the right to make his own choice. And this woman wasn’t his choice.
‘My friend acted without thinking things through properly.’ Gunnar roughly shoved the remaining tankard of ale in her general direction and waited for her to refuse it. Fine ladies should be served mead or wine as they turned their noses up at ale, according to his mother’s dictates.
Her fingers brushed his and he was aware of her—the sweep of her neck, the length of her fingers and how her dress hinted at her slender curves, rather than revealing them. He wanted to reveal those curves and explore them more in depth.
Gunnar buried the unexpected feeling down deep. It was merely because he had been busy with the estate, rather than seeking female companionship. Jul was coming and with it, his annual oath-taking at Kolbeinn’s hall. There he was certain to find an instantly forgettable buxom blonde who would attend to his physical needs.
She regarded him from under her lashes with those silver-flecked eyes. ‘What are we to do about this non-authorised promise? Forget that it ever happened?’
Gunnar ran a hand through his hair. Better she went now before he started to hope for the curse’s end. Before he was responsible for another woman’s death.
‘Eylir overstepped. That much is clear. When I spoke of acquiring a bride last Jul, I expected to travel northwards once the hall and the farm were prosperous. Ketil would have understood the necessity of waiting.’ He pronounced the name of the overlord of the Western Isles and Manx with enough lack of reverence for Ragnhild to understand his status.
Ragnhild held out a rune stick. ‘King Harald has issued new decree about men needing to be married in order to hang on to the gifted lands. Eylir acted in your best interests.’
Her tone implied he would be an idiot for acting otherwise. Gunnar clenched his jaw. Harald Fine-Hair had once been a close comrade-in-arms when they’d served in the Byzantine Emperor’s personal guard. He doubted if the King intended to enforce the decree on everyone. The King would use it as he used other decrees, to chivvy those he disagreed with and reward his cronies.
‘Exceptions can be made. They have been in the past. Harald uses such decrees to further his own ends, enforcing where he chooses. Kolbeinn will keep his own counsel about this. I never considered Eylir for being an old woman worrier.’
‘As your friend is in Kaupang, he is better placed than you to judge the mood of the King and his court.’
‘How did your husband die?’
‘A boring story which has little relevance to me standing here in front of you.’
‘We differ on that view. Had he lived, you would not be here. Had he left you with lands, you would have remained on them.’
‘Neither of us can rewrite history.’
Gunnar frowned. ‘You must think me naïve to take everything on trust. How do I even know Eylir sent you?’
She shoved the rune stick towards him again with an overly bright smile. ‘Read the runes. I can tell you what any of the unfamiliar marks means, if you like.’
Gunnar gritted his teeth. What secrets had Eylir confided? The last thing he wanted was to be laughed at by this woman because of his trouble with reading runes, because he was more skilled at the sword and axe than at learning and frippery. ‘They are clear enough.’
‘Your eyes remain sceptical. Do you require more proof? Captain, come here and inform this man who paid my passage and why.’ She gestured towards the captain who hurried up and confirmed the woman’s story. Eylir the Black had paid for the passage for this woman. One way for the bride of Gunnar Olafson, extra because of the time of year. The woman had paid for her sister, but it had been barely enough because everyone knew women with eyes like that offended the sea gods.
Gunnar caught his top lip between his teeth. The fool should trust his skill, rather than seeking to sacrifice the innocent when the first squall blew up.
The boatman gave a shout about the shifting tide and the need to be away from the rocks sharpish. He wanted to know where he should put the trunk. Ragnhild shouted to hold on, that the tide would wait a while longer.
‘Your friend said that you were a fair man. I have travelled far and staked a great deal on this marriage which now turns out to be a false promise.’ She took a step forward and her eyes blazed a deep silver, making her pale face come alive.
He screwed his eyes tightly shut. A fair man. He pictured Eylir saying that with one of his careless laughs, the sort that made the unwary relax.
‘Where will you go? Will you return to your family in Viken?’
‘For a price, I am sure the captain will take me somewhere.’ She glared at him with her silver-blue eyes and he fancied fear underneath the bravado.
‘For a great price.’ The captain smacked his lips. Behind him, the crew sniggered. In his gut, Gunnar knew neither woman would reach another shore.
‘Wait.’ Gunnar put a hand on her trembling arm. Something stirred deep inside of him. He was aware of her, the way her chest rose and fell and how the ends of her flyaway tendrils curled about her forehead. All Ragnhild Thorendottar had done was behave like his mother might have done after his father’s death, if the option had been open to her.
‘Why wait? The tide shifts.’ She gave his hand a pointed look and he slowly released her. ‘You’ve already decided. I regret troubling you or in any way causing you embarrassment. I must accept my fate.’
‘Eylir sent you to me. I have an obligation to ensure your safety, but I will choose my own bride. You remain here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Why are you willing to do this?’ she whispered. ‘My sister and I are strangers.’
‘I would hate for your shades to haunt me. That boat appears barely seaworthy,’ he said, opting for a half-truth.
Her bitter laugh rang out. ‘My shade would be haunting others first.’
‘The least I can do after you have travelled all this way.’ Gunnar took a deep breath. He was providing shelter, not allowing this woman and girl into his life.
She held out her hand. ‘I accept as a guest, not a bride.’
Chapter Two
A hard, soaking rain lashed down and the pale light from the sky made the looming mountain turn a deep brooding purple, but Ragn knew her feet were on firm ground. Being here with a reluctant host was a thousand times better than being on that ship where, when this storm hit, she and Svana would have been tossed overboard. Best of they’d escaped Vargr’s reach. Small gifts from the gods. She had the most precious of commodities—time.
‘Where are the women of the household?’ Ragn asked as it became increasingly clear Gunnar’s men had deserted his cold hall for their own homes rather than bedding down there.
‘I manage well enough on my own. I can even brew ale and boil meat. My men’s wives turn their hand to the spindle and loom as well as any and I enjoy the silence.’
He gave a superior sort of smile, but one which made his features become breath-taking. One smile and the women in his life must melt and do his bidding. She silently resolved that she would not join the legion of panting followers.
‘Indeed.’
‘Years of warring. In time, when I marry, there will be women, but for now it is just me and my dogs.’
‘Surely you have servants or...’ Ragn hesitated. How to explain that Svana was terrified of the dogs? Any explanation would have to include Vargr. Then there would be awkward questions about the estate, why no man would fight for her rights and why they were on their own. Later, she promised that little voice in her head, once they were warm and dry, once she had formulated a new plan now that there would be no marriage.
His brow lowered. ‘I see no point in acquiring women as then I’d have to endure their prattling and twittering company.’
Endure their company.
Ragn’s heart sank. Eylir had kept quiet about his friend’s views on women and their usefulness. ‘Eylir failed to mention that you disliked women.’
A dimple shone in his cheek. ‘I love women at the right time and in the right place. Other than in my bed, most women flutter about like birds, chirp up all the time about nonsense until my back teeth ache and leave messes to be cleaned up.’
Ragn took three deep breaths of air. ‘The reasons why your friend despaired of you ever marrying become ever clearer.’
‘A few more days and I would have departed for Colbhasa and the start of the Jul celebrations,’ he said, pointedly changing the subject. ‘Not the comfort you must be used to, but it will serve until for the short time you will be here. You depart and my solitude can return. Have I mentioned that I enjoy the quiet?’
Ragn ignored the words about going. Her head pounded enough as it was. She had to concentrate on the positives, starting with not being in the boat.
‘When did you plan to go to the north? To find a bride?’ She deliberately paused, racking her brain for what Eylir had said about his story. The truth was that she hadn’t paid much attention. She’d been that grateful for a way out of the shadows and hiding, half-expecting every knock on the door to bring Vargr and his berserker assassins. ‘Or would you have found a reason why you need to be somewhere else rather than bride-hunting?’
‘Eylir has been telling his usual far-fetched tales.’ The planes on his face hardened to chiselled stone. ‘I have lands to tame. What good is having a bride if she shivers without a proper house to keep her? What good children if they starve because you failed to have enough stores because you lack the proper buildings? Once I know for certain they can survive, I will find my bride.’
‘And the King’s decree that owners of gifted lands must be married?’
‘There is a great deal of water between me and the King’s shining new hall, the one which shimmers like gold on a summer evening and many other unmarried jaarls who are closer.’
Her heart felt a little easier. It wasn’t her, it was the entire concept of marriage he objected to. Maybe in time... She rejected the thought before it started. She was not going to start weaving wishes again. If she had looked like Trana with spun gold for hair, pouting lips and a bosom for a man to bury his face in, they would be married. Instead she knew what she looked like—all teeth and no figure with her one beauty, her long hair, burnt away in the fire, along with her dowry.
‘Returning to Viken is not an option. Let me—’
‘I choose my own bride, not Eylir. I will travel to the north to find her, like I vowed on my mother’s grave.’ His blue-eyed gaze raked her form. ‘The sort of bride I have in mind will be entirely different from what you keep offering.’
The words cut far deeper than they should. She should be used to it after Hamthur’s barbs, but that small part of her which hoped her late husband had been wrong had never been entirely extinguished. Somewhere in this world there had to be a man who would appreciate what she brought to a marriage and treat her with respect. Right now, she’d settle for safety for Svana and that meant finding somewhere far from Vargr’s influence.
‘Thank you for the clarity,’ she said in a tight voice.
All the amusement fled from his face. ‘Pardon for any offence. I merely meant my bride will not have to travel on her own. Those men would have killed you or your sister if you’d travelled with them further.’
‘I see.’ Ragn inclined her head and allowed the untruth.
He ran a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand upright. ‘I’m more used to the company of warriors than ladies. It is something I must work on before I travel north to woo.’
‘Ladies do expect a certain amount of honey-coated words when they are wooed.’
He gave a rich laugh which warmed her to her toes. ‘You possess a tart tongue and are unafraid to mince words. Perhaps you should learn honey-coating as well.’
‘Curbing my tongue has always been a problem. Allow me to try again.’ She made a curtsy. ‘I’m pleased you have taken pity on me and my sister and have allowed us to stay. I will trust your assessment of the captain who brought me. No good would have come of our returning to the north.’
‘Your family would not welcome your return.’
She examined the dirty rushes. His words were far too close to the truth. She need to seize control of the conversation and steer it away from tricky subjects like why her family would not assist her. ‘Perhaps one day I will thank you for choosing not to marry me. I know I certainly have no wish for an unwilling husband. However, I believe in looking forward, not harping on past mistakes.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ His laugh rang out. ‘My temper is far too short. I’ve a certain disregard for the niceties of polite conversation and little care for life’s luxuries. Past women have detailed my defects.’
‘Then we should be friends as we’ve both avoided something that was destined to make us unhappy.’
He examined her from hooded eyes. ‘Can men and women ever be friends?’
‘I like to think they can be.’ Ragn hoped she was telling the truth. Her parents had had a deep friendship until her mother’s death. She’d listened to her father’s despairing sobs after every feast until his death. ‘I consider you one for giving me and my sister a place to stay instead of forcing us back on that ship. You saved our lives.’
He bowed his head. ‘I’ll take you to Ile in the morning. The commander, Sigurd Sigmundson, is a friend. He can find you passage on a ship northwards when the ships begin to move in the spring.’
Ragn firmed her mouth. She had heard of Ile. Vargr had had something to do with it a few years before, but she believed the commander of the fort had changed. ‘The captain and his crew feared Svana’s eyes. I sacrificed a gold necklace to calm the sea. If such a thing happened on the return journey, I doubt I could prevent it.’
‘Fools.’ Gunnar shook his head. ‘As if how a passenger looks matters more than the skill of the navigator or the pilot. They should remember Odin only has one eye, but still manages to navigate his ship. Your sister has two good eyes, even if one turns inward.’
A dog’s howl made him stop and cock his head to one side.
‘Is there something amiss?’ Ragn asked as Svana froze at the sound. In another breath Svana would throw herself on the ground and reveal precisely why the sailors feared her.
‘I shut my dogs in the barn when I spied the ship. They dislike strangers.’
‘Do they come into the hall?’ she asked, trying to calculate how she had to prepare Svana.
‘You and your sister remain here out of the cold and damp. Wait here until I return.’
Ragn grasped Svana’s hand. ‘All will be well, sweetling. We are safe.’
Svana gave the barest hint of a nod. ‘Safe is good.’
Ragn watched Gunnar stride away into the murky gloom. She had until morning to convince him to change his mind and allow them to stay.
When the final embers of the meagre fire vanished, a steady and insistent cold crept around Ragn. Despite Gunnar’s request for her to wait, she knew she had to act. Her breath made great plumes in the air and keeping her hands busy made it easier for her to think.
In the silence, Svana sniffled and rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we truly going to have to leave here tomorrow? Will the dogs come in to eat me up?’
‘I protected you once from dogs, I can do so again.’
‘Is it my eyes the man fears? Is that why he wanted to send us away? The witch woman said my eyes would only bring sorrow.’
Ragn’s heart clenched. Typical Svana thinking, blaming herself when Ragn knew the truth—it was her he didn’t want. ‘The witch woman was Vargr’s creature, even though she pretended otherwise. How many times do I have to tell you that?’
‘Ragn, my stomach hurts. Will we starve?’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Ragn hunkered down so her face was about level with Svana’s. ‘Trust me—I will see us safe.’
Svana’s eyes widened. ‘How are you going to do that?’
‘First, I am going to make us a hot meal. A solid one. Hard to think straight when your belly rumbles. Remember I brought dried herbs and mushrooms in our trunks. I spied the kitchen building when he had the trunks dragged up here. No need to stay in this ice palace.’
Svana wrinkled her nose, but her face lost its terrified expression. ‘How will that help us stay?’
‘His friend said that he longed for the old country, perhaps once he has a taste of it...he will be in a better mood. And as a general rule, dogs stay out of kitchens so you will be safe there.’
The tightness of Svana’s face eased. ‘Truly?’
Ragn made her voice sound positive and hoped her words rang true about the dogs. If her scheme failed, they would at least have a decent meal in their bellies, something they hadn’t had since before they left the north.
Svana clapped her hands. ‘You will succeed. I know you will. You’re a good cook and you make the best ale. You can show this man that he needs to have you here. I can’t face the sea again and the waves.’
‘You won’t have to,’ Ragn whispered as she started searching through her trunks. ‘I will find a way. I promised and you know I try hard to keep my promises.’
‘Most of the time.’
Ragn banged the pots about with vigour.
Gunnar struggled to control his temper as he strode towards the barn. The biting autumn rain helped to cool him off. This woman, this Ragnhild, had no idea about him or the way he might behave. She agreed with Eylir’s assessment that his solid reasons for not marrying were excuses. The gods save him from meddlesome women. His mother had been like that, but she had done it from a good heart. He had no idea what sort of heart this woman had. She simply had worn that proud look as if she expected everyone to bow down before her.
He imagined the rules she’d impose if her feet were under his table. What Eylir had been thinking when he sent her, he had no idea. There was something more to her story, some reason for her journey.
When he undid the barn door, his two wolfhounds leapt out to greet him. His mood always improved when he encountered them. Kolka, the older, gave a sharp bark as if to ask what took him so long to get rid of the boat.
‘We’ve visitors,’ he said to the pair who cocked their heads to one side and gave the impression of understanding him. ‘Behave until I get rid of them.’
Kefla, the brindle one of the pair, whimpered, reminding him various chores needed to be done before night fell such as feeding the cattle and making sure the pigs were properly slopped out, things he’d been doing when the ship had appeared. He could order one of his men to do the night-time chores, but he enjoyed the simple tasks which were a world away from the stink and filth of battle.
He concentrated on the mundane tasks, while promising himself that in the morning he’d send the women somewhere safer where they’d be properly looked after.
When the animals were settled, he realised that he’d not eaten since yesterday. Kolka and Kefla were hungry as well. He swore under his breath. And the visitors would be expecting food.
He knew Ragnhild’s type. Such women rarely lifted a finger. It was why she asked about the servants. She wanted someone to order about. But he’d manage something. The girl had appeared half-starved.
‘Hard bread and cheese is better than nothing.’
The dogs looked at him with tilted heads and trotted off towards the hall.
He followed them towards the hall, but stopped as a delicious scent filled the yard. It instantly transported him back to his childhood. He shook his head to get rid of the memory. He had to be hungrier than he considered. He was imagining his mother’s stew.
He went into the kitchen. A fire had been lit in the hearth. Meat bubbled away, but rather than smelling and looking like shoe leather as it always did for him, it appeared appetising. The woman was bent over the pot and he saw the curve of her backside and the way her waist nipped in. There was far more to her than he’d first considered.
His stomach growled, announcing his presence. She jumped slightly, dropping a long-handled spoon with a clatter.
‘We were hungry and you have timed it perfectly,’ she said with a smile as she retrieved the spoon. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought it best to make a meal. A simple stew from the leftovers I discovered. There should be plenty. It has been such a long time since Svana had hot food...’
‘You made stew?’
‘After a fashion.’ She gave a casual shrug. ‘The meat is less tender than I would like, but a growing girl needs to eat. Waiting is next to impossible when you are Svana’s age.’
He had forgotten the last time he’d eaten a proper stew. Lately he’d been too busy to do more than boil a bit of meat for the dogs and eat hard cheese and bread.
‘The smell takes me back to my childhood,’ he admitted as his stomach rumbled again.
‘Funny how scents can do that. Freshly mown hay always has me thinking of my grandfather and the way he used to lift me up into the hay barn.’ She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. He noticed that her skin was now a far healthier pink and white as opposed to the green-yellow tinge it had had when she’d first arrived on the shore. While not conventionally beautiful, Ragnhild was striking. More Skaldi, the giant’s daughter who won her place amongst the gods, rather than the golden loveliness of Sif. ‘I brought the herbs with me and it seemed a shame to not use them on a day like today.’
