Читать книгу A Deal With Her Rebel Viking - Michelle Styles - Страница 13

Moir flexed his stiff fingers and tried to get the blood back into them now that the ropes which had bound him were gone—a most unexpected gesture.

He stared up at the stars, faintly gleaming through the holes in the thatched roof while one hand curled about his mother’s bead. Be better than your father. This was his chance to prove he could be better than a man whose main priority was to save his own misbegotten skin.

There had to be a way of convincing Lady Ansithe not to send word to Guthmann in the morning. Once he’d done that, then he’d stall things as best he could until everyone had recovered. He was not going to be his father and desert his injured men in their hour of need. They all escaped together. And he would ensure they all arrived back safely.

‘My father will have me rot. This was my final chance, Moir. I made a mess of it, listening to the wrong people,’ Bjartr whispered, interrupting Moir’s thoughts about when and how they could escape. He relaxed his hold on the bead. ‘I would be better dead than facing my future.’

‘Concentrate on breathing,’ Moir said, rather than explaining that if they fell into Guthmann’s clutches, he would in reality be better dead. ‘Leave me to solve the other problems. I made a promise to your father, Bjartr. I intend to return you safely to him, even if you seem intent on throwing your life away.’

Bjartr’s response was a barely audible moan.

Moir stood up and tried to stretch the aching muscles in his legs. Why was it that the aches and pains were far worse after a defeat than a victory?

‘I could romance Lady Ansithe,’ Bjartr said suddenly into the stillness. ‘Women melt when I speak to them. You must have seen them. Last Jul?’

‘Hey, Moir,’ Palni whispered. ‘Perhaps the boy is on to something. Perhaps I should try romancing the Valkyrie. She is the sort to stir the blood.’

‘Would that you both looked in a still pond right now,’ Moir said with a laugh, but his gut twisted. Neither of them would be romancing Lady Ansithe. He had the first claim on her. The ferocity of the thought surprised him. Women for him were not something to be fought over. They were to be enjoyed for a brief but agreeable time before parting without regrets or recriminations.

Still his fingers throbbed where he’d touched her. In another life, one where he’d permit himself hopes and dreams, he and the very lovely Valkyrie made flesh might have had an agreeable time together.

He pressed his hands against his thighs. Dreams were for other men, men who hadn’t had fathers who abandoned their comrades to die and then lied about it. Men who didn’t need to keep proving their loyalty to their commander thanks to the reputation of their father.

He would focus on keeping his men alive and out of Guthmann’s murderous clutches. If he achieved it, he would have fully removed his father’s taint and fulfilled the vow he’d made on his mother’s grave—he would be a better man than his father.

Lady Ansithe was the key to his achieving this—a counter to be used in his very real game of King’s Table with Guthmann. ‘Leave Lady Ansithe to me and me alone.’

Dawn had not yet arrived, but Ansithe had been unable to sleep for more than a few hours. Her dreams had been full of buzzing insects, faceless warriors who escaped and someone with broad shoulders and golden hair who fought through everything to save her. She had woken covered in sweat and with a deep abiding sense that something was wrong. In her haste to get away from the blue-eyed Northman, had she forgotten to do something simple like lock the door of the byre? She hurriedly dressed and ran out into the yard.

A steel-grey light illuminated the yard with deep shadows and harsh planes. A rumbling snore resounded. She advanced towards the byre. The swineherd, the lad who had faithfully promised to keep watch over the prisoners, was sound asleep.

‘What is this?’ she asked putting her hands on her hips. ‘Asleep? And here you promised that you could guard.’

The swineherd’s eyes blinked open. He rapidly stood. ‘My lady! Lady Ansithe!’

‘Are they still in there?’ she asked, tapping her foot on the ground. ‘Or have they vanished in the night because you forgot how to stay awake?’

He tugged at his tunic. ‘I haven’t heard a sound. Honest. Not even a squeak louder than a hoglet.’

‘It is amazing that anyone could hear anything above that racket.’ Moir’s languid tones dripped from the byre.

The air rushed out of Ansithe’s lungs. Moir. Her prisoners remained captive. Her dream of finding an empty byre and her best chance of proving her worth to her father gone had been nothing more than night-time imaginings.

‘They are still here.’

‘Where else would we be, Valkyrie?’ Moir asked. ‘Dining at Odin’s table is a privilege saved for those who fall on the battlefield.’

‘Are you all alive?’

‘You did not make your promise lightly, Valkyrie. Good.’ He pointedly coughed. ‘We could do with breakfast. Our stomachs pang with hunger.’

‘Her name is Lady Ansithe,’ the swineherd said, his face contorting to a blotchy colour in the half-light. ‘And you should be grateful that she brings you anything, not demanding food!’

‘Rest easy. A Valkyrie is a woman warrior,’ Moir retorted in a voice which was clearly designed to calm. ‘Your lady Ansithe is the very definition of one. I seek to honour her, not mock her. And my men will be grateful for any food. Other than the bread, our bellies have been near enough to empty for many days.’

Honour her? She stared at the wall where Moir’s voice came from. He respected her ability as a warrior. She couldn’t help smiling.

‘It is all right, I will deal with him. You go and get breakfast before you take care of your normal charges—the pigs,’ Ansithe told the swineherd.

‘Valkyrie, are you going to answer me?’ Moir asked again in a louder voice. ‘Why are you here? The cockerel has not yet begun to crow. I thought ladies like you lay in bed until the sun had well risen.’

‘You have no idea what women like me do.’

‘I’ve met a few Mercian ladies, simpering giggling nonentities mostly, but none have been warriors until you.’

As if on cue, the cockerel began his morning crow. The sound echoed through the shadowed yard.

‘Not so early,’ she said, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck. The lock was there, but she hadn’t removed the key. She carefully turned it and this time pocketed the key. ‘And no one is in danger. Breakfast will happen once the chores are done. Starving you will not do anyone any good.’

‘You have a good heart, Lady.’

‘You have a glib tongue, Northman. Your compliments fall as easily as rain falling on the fields.’

‘I do like a beautiful woman with wit.’

Again, the easy remarks about her beauty. He was flattering her now because he wanted something. She dredged her late husband’s words from the depths of her memory—the ones he used to explain to his son why he had no fear of ever being made a cuckold by her—clever, capable but lacking in that certain something which made men’s blood hot. It was why she had been the perfect wife for a man who was well past his prime and more in need of a nurse and housekeeper than a wife. She hated the tiny piece of her which still argued her late husband had been wrong about many things.

‘Liking has nothing to do with anything.’ She glared at the byre wall. Why did he persist in thinking that because she was a woman, she could be flattered and cajoled into doing anything she didn’t want to?

His laugh resounded through the wall, rippling through her and reminding her of her dream about the golden-haired warrior. She wondered if his eyes crinkled when he laughed. ‘You are the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long while.’

‘I am not a thing. I am a person and I had fully intended on ensuring you were fed even before your pathetic attempt at flattery,’ she said to the wall and imagined him standing facing her with his ice-blue eyes and a contemptuous expression on his face.

Silence from him. She breathed easier before she dusted down her gown, straightening the pleats. ‘Dawn has broken on a new day. I trust it will be a less eventful one than yesterday.’

The yard rang to the sound of horses’ hooves before she had gone five yards from the byre.

Ansithe’s heart plummeted. Her neighbour, the ealdorman Cedric, with several of his warriors in battle dress trotted into the yard. She had sent word that they were under siege before the Northmen arrived, but there had been no offer of help, no explanation, just silence in return. Now this, bristling Mercian warriors ready to save the day, but many hours too late.

She had to wonder if it was deliberate and Cedric had been hoping to find them missing or dead or if he truly was all shiny sword and no action as her late husband had always claimed.

‘Lady Ansithe,’ Cedric said from his horse after they had exchanged pleasantries. ‘I understand you experienced trouble yesterday. I was away hunting, but came as soon as it was practicable.’

Anger rose in her throat. Hunting? All day and night? She forced it back down.

‘We did have some trouble, but we managed to cope perfectly well. We do not require your assistance now, Lord Cedric.’ She gestured about the still yard. ‘As you can see, everything is at peace.’

‘A false alarm, then. Monks again? Like when you were a girl and were convinced Mercia was about to be overrun by Danes?’ His high-pitched laugh grated. ‘You cost your mother’s life that day.’

‘Not a false alarm, a plea borne of desperation.’ Ansithe blew on her nails to show she wasn’t intimidated, but the familiar claw of guilt twined about her entrails. Cedric did speak true—her excited warning about enemy Danes approaching who’d turned out to be monks had resulted in her very pregnant mother’s death along with her father’s much-desired son’s. It was why this time she had to finally save the family instead of nearly destroying it. ‘But I was wrong about one thing—no help or assistance was required. I...that is...we captured a number of Northern warriors.’

The man’s complexion became a little more florid as the first pink rays of dawn appeared. ‘You have captured some outlaws, you mean. There are no heathen warriors in Western Mercia, my dear lady Ansithe, whatever this scum may have proclaimed. The peace settlement ensures that.’

‘I beg to differ. I have six Northern warriors in my byre. Father Oswald buried the seventh whom I slew yesterday evening.’

‘Whoever they are, I have come to take them off you.’ Cedric patted a pouch that hung at his side.

Ansithe raised a brow. Cedric was notoriously tight-pursed and overly concerned about being robbed in the woods. ‘You brought gold?’

Cedric drew his top lip over his teeth, making him resemble a startled rabbit. ‘It seemed prudent after the rumours I heard.’

She firmed her mouth. ‘Really?’

‘Someone might have mentioned it.’ His lip curled as he gave a withering glance to the byre.

That someone was most probably Ecgbert, the steward. She had longed suspected him of divulging their secrets to Cedric, but her father had refused to listen to any of her suspicions.

‘The captured Northern warriors are nothing like outlaws and they fight with the Great Heathen Horde.’ She gave a pointed cough. ‘One is the son of an important Northern jaarl.’

His eyes became narrow slits and she thought naughtily that now he reminded her of a rather florid pig.

‘Which jaarl? Do you have any proof?’

She opened her eyes wide and pretended that she had not exaggerated slightly. ‘Is it necessary for you to know?’

The look Cedric gave her verged on pity. Ansithe took a deliberately steadying breath and hung on to her temper.

‘You are far too gullible, my lady. If I might examine their brooches, I could tell in an instant.’ Cedric held up the pouch and jangled it. She could tell from the sound that the purse contained some, but not a lot of, gold. ‘Many will claim such a thing, my lady. However, you will find they are just miserable outlaws and thieves once you properly investigate the claim. First monks and then outlaws. Whatever next?’

His troop of men obligingly laughed.

Ansithe ground her teeth. Did the man think she was somehow mentally deficient? The swords she’d recovered were far finer than anything her father or brother-in-law possessed. Their axes alone would command a higher price than the gold Cedric currently held in front of her nose. ‘I can assure you I know the difference. And they are my prisoners, not to be paraded in front of every fool who comes here proclaiming he knows best.’

He made a tutting noise. ‘I meant no offence, my lady. I know from bitter experience that you can be overeager at times and more than willing to believe others’ fantasies and fables.’

Ansithe crossed her arms. He made her sound like an impulsive puppy, rather than a grown woman. ‘We are quite busy here as you might imagine. These Northern warriors will command a high ransom, once we send word to their jaarl.’

‘Getting a ransom from a Northman can be worse than getting blood from a stone. I have had experience with this.’ His smile increased in smugness as he jangled the tiny purse again. ‘Go on. Take it. I would hardly like to think such lovely ladies as yourselves were being troubled with such ruffians. It should go some way towards getting your father released.’

‘Unless it goes all the way.’ She pushed the meagre purse away with impatient fingers. Cedric was the sort who’d sell his grandmother if he thought it would be worthwhile. ‘Guthmann demands a steep price for my father and Leofwine’s release and is not prepared to compromise.’

‘I risk my men if I were to transport the prisoners to the summer gathering. There must be something in it for me and my men, my lady.’

Summer gathering. It was where any prisoners would be exchanged. If she could get the Northmen there herself, she could command a much better price for them. Ansithe clenched her fists. She should have considered it long before now. Her father and Leofwine were even likely to be there. It was the way to keep Guthmann and his men from Baelle Heale. All she had to do was work out a way to get there, without involving Cedric and without enabling any of the prisoners to find an escape route.

‘Thank you for the suggestion, but everything is well in hand.’

Cedric’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. ‘I was prepared to help. Out of friendship for Wulfgar, your father.’

‘For a price...’ Ansithe pasted on a smile. ‘You do nothing for free, Lord Cedric. Forgive me if I think your charges are extortionate, but I respectfully decline.’

His florid complexion became that bit more like ox blood. ‘Seeing as you are convinced you are capable, I will leave you to it. I hope it works well for you, my lady.’

His tone left her in little doubt that he didn’t think it would.

‘It will.’ She gestured towards the gate. ‘I look forward to welcoming you when we have the feast to celebrate my father’s return. Unless you wish to take my prisoners by force?’

‘That would be a Northman’s trick, not mine, Lady Ansithe. I uphold the law.’ Cedric turned his horse around and rode out of the yard, swiftly followed by his men.

‘I heard everything from the hall. Are you sure you did the right thing? Leofwine needs to be rescued,’ Cynehild said in an urgent undertone, coming to stand by her after the last horse departed. Her blonde hair was unbound and she’d wrapped a fur about her body.

‘We agreed they were my prisoners and my responsibility,’ Ansithe said. ‘You’ve seen their collection of weapons. They are no outlaws, but warriors. Someone will pay gold for the weapons and for them. Far more than Cedric ever would. And his men would be spies, working against us. We’ll take them to the summer gathering and sell them there. Father and Leofwine are bound to be there as well. It stands to reason.’

Cynehild thoughtfully regarded the byre. ‘Without someone like Cedric’s warriors to guard them, how will you be able to get them to the meeting place without them escaping? Owain the Plough is hopeless.’

Ansithe let out an exasperated huff. Cynehild made it seem as though she hadn’t spent most of the night trying to work out a plan. ‘We don’t have to decide that yet, except it won’t be Cedric or his warriors.’

Cynehild rolled her eyes. ‘Have you ever thought that he might be doing it to impress you? He does want a betrothal with you, Ansithe.’

‘It is my dower lands Cedric wants. The income is a decent one.’

‘He swore it was you he wanted. People can grow to care for each other like Leofwine and I did. Seeing his excellent qualities took me until little Wulfgar was born. You should give marriage with a younger man a chance.’

Ansithe stopped listening to the lecture. Cynehild currently possessed an overly romantic heart. Simply because Cynehild had fallen in love with her husband after she gave birth to little Wulfgar did not mean every woman did. Ansithe put her hand on her flat stomach. Not that her womb had ever shown any sign of quickening. Her husband’s dying words about her shrivelled womb still hurt. And she could never confess the ache to Cynehild. The last time they had confided in each other was before their mother died.

‘I need to guard these prisoners until Owain can relieve me...unless you care to do it.’

Cynehild blanched. ‘You need to stop being so like a man, Ansithe. A woman’s place is in the home with children about her feet. Think about that while you are guarding those brutes.’

Ansithe sniffed the air. ‘Guarding beats burning the porridge.’

The door of the byre swung open, revealing Lady Ansithe carrying a large bowl of porridge. Moir’s stomach obligingly rumbled. He had forgotten how good something simple like porridge could smell.

It had gone very quiet after the horses departed and Moir had begun to wonder what was happening. If Lady Ansithe had been persuaded to sell them to the nasal-voiced Mercian warrior after all...

‘I have brought you and your men food.’

‘It will be most welcome.’ He took the bowl from her and passed it to the first of his men who drank some of the gruel before passing it on to the next man. ‘Most unexpected, Lady Valkyrie.’

‘I am not sure I like that name any more than I did a little while ago.’

‘You should. Where I come from it is a high compliment.’

‘Have you known other warrior women?’

Unbidden the memory of his mother teaching him how to hold a sword and swing properly rose to the forefront of his mind. ‘Yes. My mother’s skill with the sword took my breath away. More than equal to any man’s.’

‘What happened to her?’

Moir banished the unwanted memory. She had been a warrior until she met his father and had believed in his dreams, dreams which ultimately destroyed her. ‘Unimportant. That is all in the past. I live in the present.’

‘Living in the present sounds like something which is easier to say than to do.’ Lady Ansithe nodded, accepting his words. ‘Who are Valkyries, precisely?’

‘Odin’s handmaidens. Brave and honourable, but fierce battle maidens. They choose the warriors who will grace his table. All men admire them and seek to win their favour.’

‘And obtaining a seat at Odin’s table is something warriors long for?’

‘In my world, a seat at Odin’s table is the highest honour any warrior can achieve. For when Ragnarok arrives, Odin’s warriors will play their part in saving the world from total destruction.’ He frowned. ‘It is like achieving entry to heaven from what I know of the Mercian religion.’

‘I see.’

‘Some women from the North seek to emulate Odin’s handmaidens. Yesterday, you achieved that status. A skald should compose a saga about your exploit.’

Lady Ansithe dipped her head so all he saw was the crown of auburn braids. ‘You seek to flatter rather than to mock. My sister thought this, but I suspect an ulterior motive.’

He gritted his teeth. He left with everyone or not at all. He refused to betray his men like his father had done. Loyalty to the felag showed he was a different sort of man.

‘I do nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘I heard you speaking to that Mercian, declining to sell us for what you implied was a paltry sum. I appreciate what you did for men you have every reason to hate and fear. We are in your debt. I firmly believe all of us wish we could turn the sands of time backwards. An impossibility, I know, but the desire is there.’

‘You heard everything?’

‘Enough to know you refused to sell us to a man with a nasal whine. He sounded the sort who will always seek to chisel and chip to get the most profit.’

‘My neighbour is notoriously tight-fisted. He would not give me the best price for you. He declared you were outlaws, possibly even wolfheads, rather than warriors who would command a decent price.’

‘But you remain convinced we are who we say we are. Not a worthless band of outcasts fleeing from justice.’ He leant his head back against the wall. A start, a glimmer of hope that there might be a way of convincing her to abandon her plan of sending them to Guthmann.

‘Can you prove it?’

‘Our swords and axes prove that we are who we say are, not some ragtag gang of outlaws.’

‘Any man might pick up an abandoned sword and carry it.’ Lady Ansithe tapped her fingers together. ‘What else?’

‘We have our brooches. My jaarl knows which ones are ours. More importantly, he knows me. If you’d grant me permission to take—’

Ansithe slammed her fists together. ‘You go nowhere on your own until the ransom is paid. Until my father and brother-in-law have been freed.’

‘Accompany me to where the two armies meet. My jaarl is there. You and I together in the wilderness. Alone together.’

Her tongue came out and wet her lips, turning them to a sunrise pink. The action made him ache to taste them. He ignored the sensation. He required a willing woman in his arms, not a Valkyrie.

‘What say you?’ he whispered. ‘You and I out in the forest with the stars for our roof. The breeze at our back. A wood fire to guard against wolves when we stop.’

‘Why...why should I do that?’

‘It is the best way if you wish to get the full value for your prisoners. My jaarl is at the Mercian court. He will be there for the peace negotiations. It is where we were headed when we became...sidetracked.’ He muttered a curse. ‘The bee stings addled my brains yesterday. I should have thought of this. Explained it to you properly.’

A sudden great ache to see what was beyond the Forest of Arden filled Ansithe, making her soul hurt. An adventure, finally. Something to prove she was more than a dried-up husk.

A noise made her turn and peer out into the yard. The assistant swineherd hummed as he returned from his breakfast and the maids poured out the slops. Peaceful people doing everyday things, not warriors or great lords, but people who depended on her.

Going with this Northman anywhere was an impossibility. She had a duty to these people. She had destroyed their certainty once through her thoughtless actions and she refused to do that again. She was no longer an overly excited girl, but a mature widow. She knew her actions always had consequences.

‘You seek to spin fantasies to tempt me.’

A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I’d prefer to be in your dreams.’

Ansithe pressed her lips together. He could have no idea about her dreams last night. Or that having seen his compassion towards his men, she had started to like him, rather than fearing him. ‘I rarely dream.’

She took a step backwards towards the clear blue light of morning instead of the gloom which could be night. Her feet tangled and tumbled over the doorframe and she landed on her bottom.

He reached out and put his strong fingers about hers, pulling her to standing. Their eyes locked. He was so close that she could see the beat of his heart in the hollow of his throat, the faint sprinkling of golden stubble on his jaw and the network of silver scars from previous battles. Her breath caught and she knew she should move away, but her feet appeared rooted to the spot.

‘My lady,’ the swineherd called, breaking the spell.

‘I will leave you to your breakfast,’ she said in a voice far too breathless for her liking. She curtsied, then pulled the door to and quickly locked it behind her with shaking hands. Then she whirled and ran as if a demon was chasing her.

Moir’s voice floated after her through the door. ‘Until we meet again, I will live in hope and anticipation of the day we do, Lady Ansithe.’