Читать книгу Taken by the Viking - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 11

‘Home at last!’ Thrand said, as the Golden Serpent slid on to the sandy shore. ‘I can’t believe how much I missed it.’

‘I cherish every day I spend here.’ Haakon breathed deeply, savouring his first steps back on his land. All his muscles sighed as he was able to stretch for the first time since they had left Lindisfarne.

‘No, you were the lucky one, the one who goes out adventuring, seeing new lands, meeting new people, gaining treasure.’

‘But I never forget this fjord and the estate on the headland. It is what gives me a reason for living.’ There was something special about his lands and the scent of pine trees that greeted him. This was home and he knew every inch of the ground. Through out the long years at Charlemagne’s court, he had visited it often in his mind, reminding himself why he was a Norseman and not a subject of Charlemagne. ‘If I could, I would remain here farming, but the harvests are too uncertain. My people come first. And so I have to leave to trade.’

‘Adventure is a better description.’

‘Now that you have experienced one voyage, Thrand, you can see that adventure is not always safe or pleasant.’

‘But we have amassed a huge horde of gold and treasure, and the voyage back was swift.’ Thrand raised his hands above his head and gave a smile. ‘Njordr the sea god was in a good mood.’

‘The waves were swift and the winds favourable. We have made excellent time.’

Thrand’s face sobered. ‘But now we will have to endure my mother.’

‘She expected me to perish.’ Haakon stared at the wooden hall and its outbuildings. ‘I am not sorry to disappoint her.’

‘She cursed your name, and I hate to think what she said about me once she discovered that, despite everything, you had allowed me to go.’ Thrand prodded a chest with the toe of his boot. ‘I believe I will see to the unloading. You do the ceremony of welcome on your own. You are the Jaarl of this estate, after all.’

‘If you wish. Your mother will have to be faced, Thrand, sooner or later.’

‘As I said, I’d prefer later.’ Thrand smiled and put his hands behind the back of his head. ‘After she knows that I made a success of it, and returned back with gold. You know what she is like.’

‘I do indeed.’ Haakon nodded towards the great hall with its gabled roof. ‘And if you wish to avoid Guthrun, I would begin unloading those chests—here comes the welcoming party.’

‘Better you than me.’ Thrand clapped him on the back and disappeared back down into the hold.

Haakon’s mouth turned upwards in a bitter smile as his stepmother processed outwards from the hall, carrying the ritual horn of mead. Not a greying blond hair was out of place and she wore her best apron-dress over a linen shift. The large gold oval brooches his father had given her shone. Her eyes widened slightly and her hand trembled, spilling a bit of the mead, as she realised who was standing before her.

She had not expected to set eyes on him again, Haakon thought with sudden insight. She had seen only the red-and-white sail, and had no idea who was on the ship.

‘Guthrun, we have returned,’ he said, accepting the horn and drinking deep from it as his dogs ran up, barking, to greet him. With his plumed tail wagging and his white eye-patch looking more roguish than ever, Floki was in the lead, determined to be the first dog to welcome his master. Haakon bent down to pat his favourite elkhound, who responded by turning over and baring his stomach.

‘I expected you would—one way or another. The gods favour you, Haakon Haroldson.’ Guthrun gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘You are back earlier than expected. Did it go badly for you? Have your masts broken? I told you the voyage was ill starred.’

Haakon retained a grip on his temper. He had no wish for disharmony in front of his men. ‘I am pleased to return to the northern lands and my home with my honour intact and the hold of my ship groaning with gold.’

‘Have you brought your half-brother back alive?’ she asked in a deceptively quiet voice, with her eyes hooded.

‘Thrand survived and prospered as I predicted.’ Haakon handed the drinking horn back to her. He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, remembering how she had screamed and torn her hair when she was informed that Thrand was going. ‘He served me well, and the skalds will some day sing of his fighting prowess.’

Guthrun nodded, seeming to accept the statement. ‘And the other members of the felag? Have they returned as well?’

‘We lost Bjorn.’ Haakon kept his voice quiet and even. There was no need to recount the story in any great detail. She would learn soon enough.

‘His family will be upset.’ Her pale eyes flickered with something. Regret? Fear? But it was so brief Haakon wondered if he had imagined it. ‘He was renowned as a fighter. How did he die?’

‘He was in the blood-lust, and failed to recognise me. We fought.’ Haakon stared toward where Annis and the rest of the Northumbrians were disembarking. ‘There can be no question of oath-breaking when a man is in the grip of berserker madness. He lost his senses.’

‘It is a shame that he reached such a sorry end.’ Guthrun bowed her head, the perfect embodiment of a Viken lady, but Haakon knew she hid her knives well. She had not forgiven his father for having a child before her son. He would have thrown her out two years ago when his father died, but she had inherited part of the estate and until now, he lacked the gold to purchase it. ‘You will have to pay compensation. I hope you can afford it. The harvest has been less than last year.’

‘This voyage will provide the gold and silver required.’

With a struggle Guthrun controlled her face but Haakon was not fooled. He knew what drove his stepmother—luxury, money and her son. She rubbed forefinger and thumb together. ‘How much is my son’s share? He is your brother, Haakon Haroldson, and entitled to more than an ordinary member of the felag.’

‘We have succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Thrand will be able to afford his own estate and retainers.’

‘You see I was correct to urge you to take Thrand on this expedition.’ Guthrun’s smile increased as she waggled her fingers at her son where he was busy supervising the unloading. ‘He undoubtedly played a big part in its success.’

‘Odin and Thor were with us on this voyage, providing gold, silver and captives.’ Haakon gestured towards where the group of dispirited monks and Annis stood. The once-pristine white robes of the monks were now stained and mud-splattered. Alone among the group, Annis stood with her head held proud, no longer bowed but challenging with furious eyes. Through out the journey, she had never complained, but had regarded all around her in stony silence. ‘It will take several days to unload and divide the spoils. Then we make our sacrifices to the Aesir and feast.’

‘That woman is wearing your cloak,’ Guthrun observed.

‘Yes, she is under my protection,’ Haakon replied in a mild tone. ‘She is the daughter of a Northumbrian nobleman.’

Guthrun made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. ‘I expect her to work. This farm has no place for idlers and slackers, even if they are concubines.’

‘She is not my concubine.’

A thin smile appeared on Guthrun’s lips. ‘Thank you. Until you marry, I will continue to look after the house as I have always done.’

‘Until the ransom arrives for all the captives, they will work for their shelter and food.’ Haakon kept his voice smooth.

‘And you have no fear of their god?’ Guthrun turned her head to the side. ‘He is said to possess a powerful magic.’

‘If their god had not intended them to be here, he would have protected them.’ Haakon turned towards the group and began to address them in Latin. ‘Your God has seen fit to deliver you to the Norse. Worship whom you please. It is of little interest to me. I shall ask your pope in Rome for ransom. Obey my stepmother, Guthrun, and stewards as you would me.’

The monks were led away, leaving Annis standing alone. The sea breeze whipped her hair back from her face and moulded her gown to her form. Her steady gaze challenged Haakon.

‘It is intriguing that a mere woman acts in this way,’ Guthrun said. ‘Maybe she is, in truth, your concubine. No captive will dictate how my house is run, however high born she is. She has a fierce air about her. I have no wish for her to intimidate my maids. How do I know what these people are like?’

Haakon frowned. Was this a ploy by Guthrun or was she truly afraid? He knew what Annis was capable of. He remembered his first sighting of her with her hair flowing down her back and the intent expression on her face as she had come to his aid without fear for her own life.

‘She will not harm you, Stepmother. I give you my word on it.’ He turned towards Annis. ‘My stepmother seeks reassurance that you will not harm her.’

‘Harm her?’ Annis held out her hands and her eyes widened. ‘Why should I do that? Where would I go? My home is on the other side of the water. I have no weapons.’

‘You agree to conduct yourself. Or will you speak sweet promises that mean nothing again?’

He stared at her until she dropped her eyes, looking away, admitting defeat.

‘While I am here, I will abide by your rules.’ Her voice choked and she paused, closed her eyes tightly before continuing. ‘What choice do I have? You are the master here. I will give no trouble on my honour as a Northumbrian.’

‘You are right—you have no choice.’ He turned to Guthrun, whose smile had become increasingly fixed through out the exchange. ‘You will have no problems. She has given her word as a woman of noble birth.’

‘Thank you, Haakon.’ Guthrun inclined her head. ‘I will see my son now. He needs his mother and her counsel.’

‘He unloads the cargo. When he has finished his task, he will find you. Settle Annis in with the women. She can do some light work while she is here, waiting for the ransom.’

‘When the woman is housed, I expect to see my son.’

Annis’s brows had drawn together and Haakon wondered how much Norse she understood. Her bottom lip stuck out, looking like the colour of ripe strawberries, and he wondered what it would taste like. Would it hold a faintly salty tang from the sea water or would it be as sweet as the last time they kissed? Heat coursed through him.

Annoyed, he damped down the thoughts. Now was not the time. He had no intention of bedding her. It would complicate matters. He had a rule of not bringing his mistresses into the house. Instead, he played at Thorkell’s court or when he was away in another country. A night or two of passion, then the thrill of the chase wore away.

And what would it be like with Annis? He refused to bend his rule to find out.

‘Guthrun will give you orders.’ The words came out harshly. ‘Obey her or you will have to deal with me.’

‘In everything?’ She tilted her head to one side as if puzzled.

‘Until I decide otherwise.’

Annis ground her teeth as she followed Haakon’s stepmother into the long, low wooden building. It would have been easier if she had been put in a dungeon, treated as if she were a captive rather than a slave. There she could have devised ways to escape. Here, she was surrounded by everyday objects, reminded that the chances her stepfather would send the ransom were slim.

The primitiveness of the house and hall shocked her. In Birdoswald, they lived in stone buildings, so old that it was said that the Roman Legion built them. There, the hearth was at one of end of the room, rather than in the middle as it was here. And they had separate living quarters, not simply raised areas on the edge of the hall.

‘Too fine.’ Guthrun leant forward and rubbed the wool of Annis’s dress. ‘You work here.’

To Annis’s surprise, she found Guthrun’s words relatively easy to understand. It was a bit like hearing Northumbrian spoken with a very bad accent.

‘Work holds no fear. Nothing could hold fear after what I have endured.’

Guthrun raised her eyebrows. She clapped her hands and gave orders to a plump, well-endowed blonde with tiny, piglike eyes who wore an ingratiating smile. ‘Tove, see to her. My son awaits.’

She said some rapid words to Tove, who gave a smirking smile and an exaggerated curtsy. Guthrun then departed, leaving Annis alone with the maidservant. Instantly the woman’s countenance changed, becoming craftier, and a good deal less fawning.

Tove went to a chest, unlocked it and pulled a plain linen tunic and apron-dress out. She shoved them into Annis’s hands. ‘Change.’

A lump formed in Annis’s throat. She had always had help dressing and undressing. No longer. She looked about for a screen to change behind, but there was nothing. Her fingers fumbled with the catch on Haakon’s brooch, and Tove made a clicking noise in the back of her throat. She came over, undid the brooch with impatient fingers and nearly snatched the cloak off Annis’s shoulders.

Tove clicked her fingers. ‘The rest. And no head covering. You are a captive.’

The silver cross tumbled to the floor, and Tove bent to retrieve it.

‘Not yours any more,’ she said and put it on top of the cloak.

Annis’s hand reached out for the cross, quick words sprung to her lips, but then she saw the carved wooden animals on the chest. This was not home. She cursed her bad luck, and forced her hand back down by her side.

Tove slammed the lid down, locked it with a click and pocketed the key. The cross had gone. Annis stared at the carved chest. She no longer had anything to remind herself of home, except for her memories.

Annis shivered slightly. But she rapidly changed the rest of her clothes. The linen scratched against her skin.

Tove led the way to the small kitchen area where a fire burnt in the middle of the room. A kettle filled with soup bubbled on the fire, and several maids were engaged in kneading bread. Two of the largest cats she had ever seen lounged in front of the fire, looking far more like dogs or half-tamed mountain cats. Rather than being chased away as they would be back home, the serving girls seemed to welcome the cats, pausing to give them strokes as they went about their business. Three other women were busy with spinning and weaving. Tove called out and several of the women snickered.

Tove gave Annis’s shoulder a shove and pointed to a sack of barley and then to the large quern and mimicked grinding barley. Annis’s heart sank. She had never had to do such a thing before—such things were done by the meanest servants. Annis clenched her teeth. She took a handful from the sack and placed it on the grinding stone.

After several passes with the stone, Annis saw the grain turn into a coarse flour. This wasn’t as hard as she first feared. She gave a triumphant smile and placed the stone down.

Tove said something else. The entire room burst out laughing. Tove pointed to the sack. Annis’s mouth dropped open. She was expected to grind the entire sack.

She put in some more barley and started to grind, faster this time. Her shoulders protested at the unaccustomed exercise. She would do this! She would grind the sack of barley.

She ground faster and faster, forcing the pace, and then suddenly the quern tipped over, spilling the flour everywhere, much to the intense amusement of Tove and her friends. Annis wanted to sink down on her knees and cry, but instead she forced herself to try to pick the flour up with her hands. It flowed everywhere. A cat jumped into the middle of the dust and began washing its whiskers as the roars grew louder.

A young woman with long teeth said something in rapid Norse, waving her hands and shaking her head.

‘I can do it myself. I made the mess,’ Annis said in Latin and then in Northumbrian.

‘Let me help.’

The woman removed the cat, took a brush and rapidly swept the flour into a pile. She scooped it up into another dish. Annis bit her lip and nodded her thanks.

‘Empty the quern often or else…’ The woman gestured with her hands, mimicking what could happen. ‘This has happened to me before—several times.’

Annis felt a lump grow in her throat. She touched the woman’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ingrid.’ The woman held up a finger and then said something in very rapid Norse.

Annis put her hand to her chest and took time with her words. ‘Annis. I am called Annis. If you speak slowly, I can understand.’

‘I am Ingrid,’ the woman said, a smile breaking over her face and making it pretty and less like a startled hare. ‘Tove makes mischief. She seeks to share a Jaarl’s bed and perhaps have his child as that would make her future.’

‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘They are wondering if you share Lord Haakon’s bed where you come from, and is this why he brought you here? The Jaarl has never brought a woman here before.’

Annis felt her face flame. ‘No. I am a captive, not a concubine.’

‘They wondered. Many would like to share his bed. He is reputed to be a kind and considerate lover.’

Annis felt her cheeks burn even more as she remembered the kiss they had shared. She should have known that he was an expert in these matters. Perhaps he was like Selwyn with many mistresses, changing them as often as he changed his cloaks. ‘He is more interested in the ransom that he expects to get.’

‘If that is true, then Tove will be very happy.’ Ingrid leant closer. ‘But you will admit—he does have strong arms, and a pleasing face.’

‘Yes, I will give him that.’

The entire room burst out laughing.

Ingrid came over to Annis and took the grinding stone from her again. She poured some barley into the bottom bowl and showed Annis how to do the grinding properly. ‘Like so, yes? Tove always makes the new serving girls grind the barley. Never teaches, but I help.’

A wave of relief washed over as tears pricked Annis’s eyes. She had not expected kindness. Somehow it made her feel less alone. She had made a friend. It had been before Selwyn died that she had had a friend.

‘Can you tell me why cats are allowed in the hall?’

‘Do you not have cats in the kitchen back where you come from?’

Annis shook her head.

Ingrid reached down and picked the black-and-white one up, cradling it in her arms. ‘This is Kisa, and the grey is Fress. They are beloved of the goddess Freya, and help to keep the mice down.’

Annis tried the unfamiliar names out and tentatively reached out a finger. Kisa responded immediately by purring and lifting her head backwards. ‘They are the largest cats I have ever seen.’

‘Kisa likes you. She is very picky about the people she lets stroke her. Cats can tell about people, you know.’ Ingrid gave a decisive nod. ‘I will like you as well, I think.’

Annis started to grind the barley again this time, following Ingrid’s instructions as Kisa settled at her feet.

Annis wiped the sweat from her brow. The sack, which had been full, sagged with only a few handfuls of grain left at the bottom. Two days of grinding barley had been hard work, but she was nearing the end. The only compensation was that she was exhausted at the end of the day and fell asleep next to Ingrid as soon as her eyes closed. No dreams of burning buildings or strong warriors, only blessed oblivion.

She lifted the grinding stone and started to work again.

‘Ow.’ The blister on her right hand tore open and every movement was like fire. Annis resisted the temptation to cry. Of everything that had happened to her, it was this blister that truly hurt. Such a stupid thing to cry over. The monks were undoubtedly suffering far worse, yet this morning she could hear the sound of their chanting as they went about the work of the farm. She used the corner of her apron-dress to wipe away a tear.

‘What is wrong?’ Ingrid asked, hurrying over from where she was making bread.

‘I held the stone wrong.’

‘Let me see your hands,’ Ingrid said, coming over.

Reluctantly Annis held out her hands. The red blister shone against her skin. ‘It is nothing as I said.’

Ingrid touched the blister. ‘Your hands are soft. You did not do this sort of work before.’

‘They will soon harden.’

‘Haakon waits for a large ransom, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Annis forced the word from her lips.

‘Does he know that you are being forced to do this work?’

‘I presume so.’ Annis felt pain at the back of her head echoing down to the base of her spine. She had no doubt that Haakon knew what she was doing and had ordered it, taking some sort of delight in humiliating her. ‘If I had some of my special ointment, I could soothe my hands.’

‘Where do you find this ointment?’ Ingrid stumbled over the last word.

‘I make it from herbs and tallow. A simple recipe to make, if you have the correct ingredients.’

‘That is a good thing.’ Ingrid smiled. ‘Do you know much about herbs and medicines?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘You are wasted here in the kitchen.’

Annis started to reply, but Ingrid had gone. Annis shrugged. She put her hand on the grinding stone and winced. Then she gritted her teeth. She would do this. She would not think about what her sister-in-law or her mother might be doing; instead she would recite the various medicines and herbs she knew. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from the pounding pain.

She gave the quern another twist as hard as she could, ignoring the ache that shot up her arm. The grinding stone started to tip. Her hand went out the catch the heavy stone, but other, stronger hands were there, lifting it back up on to the table.

The air crackled with something that had not been there before. Slowly she turned.

Haakon stood next her with a large dog sitting at his side, wagging its plumed tail. How and when he had arrived she did not know—she had been concentrating that hard on the grinding. But he was here, looking most unlike the warrior she remembered from Lindisfarne.

He had bathed and his dark hair still bore shimmering droplets of water. Rather than his chain mail, he wore a soft blue fine-wool shirt over a pair of tightly fitting trousers. His feet were covered in butter-yellow leather boots. He exuded a vitality that filled the entire room.

‘Is there something you require, my lord?’ Annis asked.

She kept her voice cold and formal. She had no doubt who was responsible for her present difficulty. He would see that such chores would not break her spirit.

‘Ingrid came to find me. She said you complained.’

‘I am doing the job I was given—grinding barley.’ Annis concentrated on the grinding stone. ‘I may be slow, but the barley is being ground.’

‘You are a woman of many talents.’ His low voice contained a hint of laughter, irritating Annis. She certainly took no pleasure in being a captive. ‘What do you think, Floki?’

The dog tilted his head and barked.

‘There, you see, Floki agrees with me.’ Haakon reached down and gave the dog a titbit from one of the dishes.

‘I would have hardly been able to run my husband’s estate if I did not know how to grind wheat or barley.’ Annis gritted her teeth and hid her hands under her apron-dress. She kept her head held high, meeting his eyes, daring him to say differently.

He appeared to accept the statement. ‘And you find my language easy to understand. Ingrid said that you and she speak.’

‘I am a quick learner.’ Annis lifted a shoulder.

She reached for the hated stone. If she went back to work, maybe he would go away and she could concentrate on her task rather than how broad his shoulders were or how well his trousers moulded to his legs.

‘That makes life easier.’ Haakon’s hand caught hers and stilled her movement. The grip was firm, unhesitating. ‘I wish to speak to you away from the kitchen. My business with you is not for the large-eared gossips who inhabit this place.’

Annis stepped away from the table and tried to ignore the smirking faces of the other maidservants.

But what good would it do?

Haakon led the way to a small, private alcove, outside the main hall. A bench stood at one side, but Haakon stood regarding her, his face unyielding and stern.

‘Why did the monks allow you to speak on their behalf?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘They all have tongues.’

‘Nobody asked me to say anything. I decided to speak.’ The anger grew within Annis. ‘Someone had to.’

‘And they let you. Not one murmured a protest. Why?’

‘My uncle was the Abbot.’ Annis felt a light breeze push a strand of hair into her mouth. Instead of sea salt, it tasted faintly of wood smoke. She stared out at the bay where the serpent boats were pulled high on to the shore, the waves slightly lapping against the hulls. ‘The rule of the monastery is strong. They were fearful.’

‘And you are not.’

‘When the occasion demands…’ Annis ignored how tight her stomach felt. She knew whatever punishment he decided, she would speak again. Somebody had to give voice to the monks’ situation.

‘That explains much.’ Haakon’s face was inscrutable. ‘My stepmother was not best pleased.’

‘Have you sent the ransom demands?’

‘They will be sent on the next ship that leaves for the Holy Roman Empire. I have contacts in Charlemagne’s court.’

Annis gave a nod. No doubt Haakon would use this as an excuse to increase her ransom. She wanted to tell him that her stepfather would never pay to save her. He would deem it justification for taking control of all the lands around Birdoswald.

But the words refused to come. If she said them, then her tiniest spark of hope, the thing that kept her going at night, would be gone. Her home would be lost to her for ever.

‘I look forward to the answer.’ She pressed her palms into the folds of her gown to hide their sudden trembling.

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am.’

It was a white lie. He would discover his mistake soon enough. In the meantime, she might be able to help the monks. The Church, she was positive, would provide the money. She had heard of cases before. The Church disliked Christians being slaves to pagans, but she felt that it only extended to its sworn people.

Maybe she should have made her vows as her uncle wanted her to. But she would have been paying lip-service to them. She had no real vocation. She desired a home, children and a husband who wanted her for herself and not for the property she’d bring. It would have been a lie to take those vows.

Haakon said nothing in reply as his fingers traced the outlines of the carved wooden pillar. It was as if they were caught in a contest, a battle of wills. Each was waiting for the other to speak. To lose. She was more aware than ever of his form, his strength.

‘Annis! Annis, where have you got to? The barley has to be finished! Annis!’ Tove’s shrill voice sounded, breaking the spell. ‘Annis! You will be punished.’

‘I need to get back to my work. Tove calls.’ Annis lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. ‘Something I will try to do much more cheerfully from now on.’

‘Does Guthrun know that you are grinding, doing menial tasks?’ His eyes burned into her soul.

‘Tove rules the kitchen.’ Annis gave a careful shrug. She had to be fair. She had not seen the woman since she started working in the kitchen. She had no idea if Guthrun knew what Tove was doing or not. But she was not one to bear tales. ‘I do what is asked of me.’

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over. ‘You are unaccustomed to such work. Your palm is heavily blistered.’

Annis snatched her hand away. His touch sent strange tingles up her arm. ‘I am not used to being a captive either. The monks suffer far worse.’

Haakon’s eyes hardened to blazing blue points, but he made no attempt to recapture her hands.

‘The monks understand hard labour. Not one of them was born into the nobility. You are a lady. It is different.’ He rubbed his thumb across his lips. ‘Ingrid tells me that you can make ointment to soften hands, to heal blisters.’

‘I know of one,’ Annis replied carefully. Exactly what had Ingrid told him?

‘Then make it.’

‘I do not have the necessary herbs.’

‘Are they exotic? Or don’t you know what is required?’ His voice held no warmth.

Annis paused. She had to be careful. She had no wish to sound overly proud, and what if the ointment did not work? But to be given the chance! Anything was better than grinding barley. Quickly Annis listed the herbs she required, counting each one off on her fingertips and ending with lavender.

He nodded and his eyes took on a speculative but impressed expression. Annis struggled to contain her growing hope. Would he give her permission to try?

‘Intriguing.’ He wiped his hands against his trousers. ‘Return to your work.’

‘But…but…you will speak to Guthrun. About the ointment. It would take but a little time.’

‘Back to work, Annis. Do your appointed tasks.’

‘Is that an order?’ Annis asked, dismayed. She had been so certain.

His face became stern. ‘Do not try my patience any further.’