Читать книгу Paying the Viking's Price - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 8

Chapter One

Early March 876—North Yorkshire

His land. His and no one else’s, won by his sword arm and given by the grace of his king.

Brand Bjornson knelt down in the dark soil and gathered a handful of sun-warmed dirt. He squeezed it, feeling the richness of the earth between his fingers. After more than a decade of war and fighting, this, this was all he dreamt about—land to put down roots and to create his own piece of paradise on earth.

Finally. Instead of a landless mercenary whose only future was a quick death, he was now a jaarl with a large estate to prove it. Halfdan, once the leader of the felag to conquer Northumbria and now his king, had kept his word and given him worthwhile land, one of the finest estates in all of Northumbria.

Brand gave a wry smile as the rich loam coated his hand. Honouring a long-ago promise was a rare thing in Viking politics where allegiance and alliance shifted on the point of a sword or the jangle of a money bag.

He stood and surveyed the gently rolling hills where the new spring grass had started to push through the dry hassocks of winter. A river meandered. And it was all his as far as the eye could see. He’d fought hard enough for it, from Byzantium to the wilds of Northumbria. He’d earned it and he would be a good overlord. He’d encountered enough poor ones to last a lifetime.

‘Do we burn the empty barns and teach them a lesson?’ Hrearek, his comrade-in-arms and sworn sokman asked, nodding towards where the various ramshackle buildings stood. ‘There are rich pickings here which they are trying to hide from us with their lack of cattle, sheep and horses. Always the same, these Northumbrians. Same tricks and attempts at deception. They think we’re stupid because we don’t worship the same god as they do or have the same customs but I can sniff out stores and gold from ten paces. And this place has them, despite what they claimed.’

‘We’ve come to settle, not to raid. My sword time is over.’ Brand stood and wiped his filthy hand against his trousers. There was more than a faint hint of spring in the chilly March breeze. His face was towards the future, rather than his blood-soaked past. Reborn and renewed, he would remake this land to suit his needs. ‘It is time to plant and grow crops. They will learn it is wise to be on the right side of their overlord. Once they know me, they will be glad to have me as their jaarl.’

‘And you think they will give in like that?’ Hrearek snapped his fingers. ‘This was the heartland of the rebellion. They need to be taught a lesson which they will not soon forget.’

‘They have no choice. The rebels lost. My sword dispatched their leader and saved your life.’ Brand shrugged. War, when it came down to it, was merely a game. Afterwards, the winner had everything. It was the way of the world and the Northumbrians knew it. It was why they’d rebelled rather than accepting that they had lost all of their power when the Norsemen defeated their fathers and brothers in Jorvik ten years ago. ‘Halfdan is their king. Any rebel will be punished and their land taken.’

‘And will you marry? Send back home for the lovely Lady Sigfrieda? You have spoken so much about her.’

Brand looked up in the clear blue sky. Once the thought of winning Sigfrieda’s hand had driven his every move, now he had not thought about her in months. He’d been too busy helping to put down the rebellion and finally winning his land. He struggled to remember her face, beyond the dazzle her golden hair had given in the candlelight, and how regular her features were. She would be the perfect demure wife for him. Together they would breed strong sons.

‘That is the plan.’ He fingered the scar on his neck, remembering how he’d been turned away, bloody and beaten from his father’s house as his father lay dying. Then he’d been known as the bastard son of a cast-off mistress who dared speak his mind. ‘Once I’m settled, I will send word to her father. If fortune favours me, the lovely lady will be here before the autumn makes the passage difficult. I need sons to make sure what I have done is not written on the wind.’

His sokman nodded, accepting the statement at face value. Hrearek was not a friend, but rather a companion-in-arms and didn’t need to know the full history. ‘I’m impressed. You never falter or waver in your schemes. You are an inspiration, Brand Bjornson. I can only hope that fortune will favour me in the same way. By Frieda’s bower, I too would like a woman to open her thighs and bear me sons.’

‘My dream kept me alive on the blackest of days. Now it is time to live it.’ Brand gestured towards where the Anglo-Saxon hall stood, proud and defiant. The occupants were to learn a powerful lesson about who controlled this land.

‘Time to claim my land and see precisely how impoverished this Lord Egbert truly was.’

* * *

‘The Norsemen! The Norsemen are here!’

The cry went up and echoed around the hall. Lady Edith stilled, her spindle falling into her lap.

She had expected this for weeks, ever since she’d heard the news of her husband’s death in the rebellion against the so-called King of Jorvik and leader of the Norsemen. Her counsel against the rebellion had fallen on deaf ears.

Now Egbert was slain in battle and she had to contend with the consequences of his actions. Silently she thanked God that most of the stores were stowed safely and the land showed its usual before-the-spring barrenness, nothing to alert the Norsemen to its true worth and productivity.

‘What will we do, cousin? The Norsemen are here! There is no one left to defend us. We’re doomed,’ Hilda asked, jumping up and spilling wool and spinning whorls all over the stone floor. ‘Doomed, I say!’

‘We must hope the Norsemen go as quickly as they came with the minimal amount of fuss.’ Edith carefully placed her spindle down on the wooden trunk. She gathered up the wool and the three spinning whorls that she could find. One, she noticed with a sigh, now had a crack running through it. Hilda didn’t bother to help, but instead stood wringing her hands and repeating her words. There was little point in panicking when her distant cousin did it well enough for the both of them.

‘Will they go?’ Hilda asked when Edith had picked up the final whorl.

‘Always.’ Edith tightened her fingers about the whorl. ‘The Norsemen never settle. They take what they can grab and go.’

The one thing she was certain of despite their conquest of Eoferwic, which the Norsemen now called Jorvik, ten years ago—the Norsemen did not settle inland. Instead they used the land for raiding, their own private larder of cattle, sheep and women, one of the main reasons why Egbert found so many recruits for his rebellion.

Edith wrinkled her nose in distaste. The Norsemen were barbarians with no thought for the lives they destroyed.

Against her husband’s direct order, she had made sure all the essential stores were carefully hidden, including moving all the silver and her mother’s jewels into the hidden cavity in the lord’s bedchamber. Unlike Egbert, she had been in Eoferwic the day the Norsemen first took that city and had seen how well they could fight. Despite Egbert’s words and posturing, she’d doubted that he could retake it with his ragtag army when so many others had failed. When they were first married, Egbert had won a few bouts with his sword, but he’d long since run to fat.

Her people would make it through until the late spring when food became plentiful again. She refused to allow any Norseman to starve them simply to increase his own bloated belly.

‘What will you do? They are bound to know about Eg...Lord Egbert and his part in the struggle. We will all be punished for it, just like you warned him!’

‘It gives me no pleasure to be right, cousin. You must believe that.’

‘But you know what they will do. They’ll burn, rape and pillage.’ Hilda’s eyes bulged with fear and her body shook.

Edith pressed her lips together. If she didn’t do something, her cousin would collapse in a heap on the floor, insensible to reason, one more problem to be sorted before the Norsemen arrived. Edith concentrated and searched for a soothing phrase, rather than screaming at Hilda to pull herself together.

She could never stoop so low as to scream at Hilda. She knew whose bed her husband had shared the last time he was here. Everyone knew it. The whispers had flown around the hall until she thought everyone had looked at her with pity. Edith despised pity. It did not mean she approved of her cousin’s affair with her husband. Far from it, but she knew what Egbert was like underneath the good humour he showed to visitors and people who might have been able to assist him. If Hilda had objected to his advances, he’d have raped her. Sending her away hadn’t been an option while Egbert was alive. And now there were the Norsemen at the door.

‘I will mouth the words of fealty if it comes down to it,’ Edith said in her firmest voice. ‘You will see, Hilda. All will be well once I do.’

‘You?’ Hilda put her hand to her throat and the hysterics instantly stopped. ‘But will this Norseman jaarl accept your word?’

Edith clenched her fists. Hilda should trust her. Hadn’t she looked after the estate, making certain it prospered while Egbert indulged his passion for hunting and whoring? ‘He will have to. This land has belonged to our family since time began. And I will not be the one to lose it.’

‘You mean you expect him to marry you.’ Hilda tapped her nose. ‘Clever. I wish I’d a dowry like that instead of my looks. You’ll be dressed in silks and ribbons and forget about us.’

‘I’ve no expectations,’ Edith said carefully. Marriage to a Norseman was the logical solution, even if she hated the thought of being married again. An unmarried widow with a large estate was too great of a prize. ‘But you’re wrong if you think I could ever forget this estate and its inhabitants. They are my people. Every single one of them.’

‘Your husband will be turning in his grave, cousin, to think that you of all people should swear allegiance to the Norse king.’

‘My father swore fealty to Halfdan in Eoferwic, ten years ago. Egbert broke that promise, not me.’

Hilda shook her carefully coiffured head and her bee-stung lips gave a little pout. ‘I expected more somehow. You were his wife for seven years. Are you sure the king won’t worry about that? You must have shared some of the same views.’

Edith raised her chin. How dare Hilda question her as if she was a common servant? Her entire being trembled with anger and she longed to tell a few home truths to Hilda. Instead Edith gulped air and concentrated on controlling her temper.

‘When did Egbert and I ever agree on anything?’ she said as steadily as she dared. ‘Lord Egbert is no longer the master here. He ceased to be when he breathed his last. The hall and its land were never fully his. We shared responsibility. I know the marriage terms my father negotiated. The hall and its lands were to be returned to me should anything happen to Egbert. And I intend to keep them safe.’

‘Cousin, this is no time for jesting.’ Hilda widened her pale blue eyes. ‘You know little of the art of war. Egbert always used to say—’

‘It’s the people of this land I must consider.’ Edith glared at Hilda. The last thing she wanted to hear was her late husband’s opinion on her many failings. ‘The Norsemen should accept my assurance and my gift. They should move on to the next estate, hopefully without burning our hall or forcing a marriage. We survive whatever happens. Survival is important.’

Edith wasn’t sure who she wanted to convince more—her cousin or herself.

‘They will take everything that is not nailed down, even if you don’t have to marry.’ Hilda turned pale. ‘You know what the Norsemen are like! Two years ago in the south before I journeyed to you, all the farms were ablaze and the women... Promise me that you won’t allow that to happen to me. I saw unspeakable things. You must protect me. Lord Egbert would expect it.’

‘I have taken precautions. My parents taught me well. The Norsemen have been a danger for years.’ Edith gave Hilda a hard look. ‘We survived before. My parents even entertained Halfdan in the early years.’

‘What should I do?’ Hilda wrung her hands. ‘Lord Egbert always made sure I had a special task in times of emergency. On second thought, I should be the one to speak first. Soften their hearts with a gentle word. You can be abrupt, cousin. Allow me to win their regard with a smile.’

Edith stared at Hilda in disbelief. Was she serious in her offer? Her entire being recoiled at the thought of Hilda greeting the Norsemen in her stead. And she’d been the one to think of employing Hilda in some task to save her from Egbert’s ire. Egbert could only be bothered with Hilda and her demands when it suited him.

Even now, Hilda had started to prance about the hall, practising the gestures she’d make as if she was the one in charge.

‘You see, cousin, how much better I’d do it?’

‘Hilda, I need you to go to the stew pond and make sure the various dams are closed. I’ve no wish to lose fish because the men are slack,’ Edith said, retaking control of the situation.

‘You mean...’

‘I will greet the Norsemen, dressed simply, and explain about our meagre circumstances. We have avoided being burnt out before. We may do so again. Trust me.’

‘You mean I might avoid the Norsemen? Altogether?’ Hilda stopped.

‘There is that possibility.’ Edith held out her hand. ‘You would be doing me this small favour, cousin. It would put my mind at ease to know this task was properly done.’

‘As you wish, cousin, you are the lord here now.’ Hilda made a curtsy which bordered on discourteous and left the main hall with her skirts swishing.

Edith sighed. There had to be some decent farmer that Edith could marry her off to. She’d provide a reasonable dowry so the man would take her. The question was who, given the common knowledge about her relationship with Egbert. Edith tapped her finger against her mouth. All that could wait until the current crisis was solved. She had to concentrate on the matter at hand and ensure that everything had been done. No mistakes made.

She adjusted her wimple so that her black hair was completely covered as she cast an eye about the hall, searching for things left undone.

The majority of the silver and gold were safe in the cavity. There was no need to check that. She was the only one who knew about it.

The pagan Norsemen were no respecters of churches or monasteries. If anything their wealth attracted the raiders. When her father showed her the hiding place, he recounted the story about the Lindisfarne raid and the countless other raids. However, he boasted about his alliance with Halfdan and confidently predicted she’d never need it.

She had kept a few trinkets to appease the Norsemen, but they had to believe that they were poor and the farm was not well managed so that they would not demand an enormous payment. Her father had drilled that notion into her head since she had first toddled about the yard.

‘The Norsemen never stay long. Raiders rather than settlers. They move swiftly and overlook the well hidden,’ she whispered over and over as she tried to decide where she’d stand. She practised her gestures and decided against kneeling with hands raised in supplication. A bowed head would suffice. Welcoming, but far from subservient.

She could do this. She had to. Everyone in the steading was counting on her to save them from the Norsemen. There were no warriors to fight. No one but a barely bearded boy had returned from the rebellion. And he’d been burning with fever and had only survived a day or two after telling his story of the Norsemen treachery and Egbert’s final heroic stand. He had found his courage far too late, but she was glad that he had found it.

Heavy boots resounded on the stones outside. Edith pressed her fist to her stomach and willed the sick feeling to be gone. Far too soon. She hadn’t even had the chance to move the spindles or the whorls.

Why hadn’t there been more warning? Why hadn’t someone seen the fires that surely must be burning as the Viking horde swept through the countryside? Silently she cursed Egbert for taking every able-bodied man to fight in the rebellion. A pain tugged behind her eyes. Later, she’d investigate ways of improving the warning system.

She motioned towards one of her few remaining manservants to unbar the door. The elderly man shuffled forwards.

Before he could get there, the door fell to the ground. In the doorway stood one of the tallest men Edith had ever seen. Clean-shaven, but with dark blond hair flowing over his shoulders. The very epitome of a Viking warrior, he was dressed in a fur cloak and skin trousers. In his hand he carried a double-headed axe, but it was his piercing blue eyes which drew her attention, swiftly followed by the angry red mark about his neck. A barbarian warrior if ever there was one. A true pagan.

Edith wet her lips, but no sound beyond a shocked gasp rose from her throat. She tried again to mouth the welcome, but her voice refused to work. A sharp stab of fear went through her. Her hands shook as she lifted them.

In her mind’s eye she saw the hall blazing and its people killed with her unable to do anything to prevent the carnage. If she’d been born a man like her parents prayed she’d be, none of this would have happened. All she had were her wits and her tongue and both appeared to have deserted her. Silently Edith prayed for a miracle.

The barbarian advanced forwards, and his men streamed in behind him, filling the hall.

Edith retreated backwards. Her leg hit the wooden trunk, causing the spindle to tumble to the ground. The whorl rolled across the rushes, disappearing. Her favourite one. Worrying about a worthless whorl when her entire life hung in the balance! Typical. She gave a hiccupping laugh.

The sound cut through her panic. She stopped and squared her shoulders. She had an intellect equal to any man and that included this enormous Norseman who glowered at her, fingering his axe.

‘It is customary to wait for an answer before knocking the door down,’ she said. The steadiness of her voice gave her courage. She was this mountain of a Norseman’s equal, not his slave.

‘It is customary for people to greet their new lord with civility and speed. I thought the hall long deserted from my welcome.’ The Norseman’s rich voice thundered through the hall. It surprised Edith that he could speak her language so well. The Norsemen she’d encountered in Eoferwic, if they could speak it at all, spoke with accents so thick that she’d almost considered them to be speaking another language. But this one was different. His voice held only the faintest lilt of Norseman’s accent.

‘We had little warning of your arrival.’ Edith met his fierce gaze. ‘A proper greeting requires proper warning.’

‘It fails to alter the fact. Your new lord has arrived. I deserved a better welcome than having my door barred against me.’

New lord? Edith’s insides clenched as his words sank in. What did he mean? Had the Norseman king decided to marry her to him, then? A faint shiver went down her back. Despite her earlier conversation with Hilda, she had no wish to marry again. And certainly not to someone who looked like he could crush her with one hand. She wanted someone cultured who loved learning and music and who would respect her intelligence. She’d had enough of the brute with her first husband. Edith pushed the thought aside. Her feelings were unimportant. It was the estate which mattered.

‘You are the new lord?’

He inclined his head, but his eyes flashed with fire. ‘The king has decreed it.’

‘I am the Lady Edith, mistress of this hall as my father was lord before me. The Norseman King Halfdan has sent me no decree.’ She raised her chin defiantly. Thankfully, her father had had the foresight to bend his knee and kiss Halfdan’s ring ten years ago. ‘My father and your king were friends. He stayed here early in his reign after Eoferwic was burnt.’

The barbarian lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘You deny this hall belonged to the rebel Egbert of Breckon?’

Edith pursed her lips. ‘My late husband.’

‘He died rebelling against his king, in the foulest act of treachery I have seen in many years.’

‘The hall has always belonged to me and my family, going back as far as anyone can remember. My husband and I shared custody. When Egbert of Breckon breathed his last, the lands immediately reverted to my name and custody as there was no heir from my body.’

‘Is that so?’

‘When I married Egbert of Breckon, Halfdan promised to honour the agreement. I’ve a parchment with his seal.’ She kept her head up and knew she had to ask the question. She had to find out what Halfdan intended with this barbarian or she’d collapse in a gibbering heap. She had to know her fate. She had survived Egbert; she could survive this Norseman. ‘Do you mean the king intends that we marry?’

The Norseman’s mouth curled downwards and his gaze raked her form. Edith forced her hands to stay at her sides, but she was aware of her gawky frame and big hips. She wished that she was tiny with curves like Hilda, the sort of woman that men would marry in an instant, and not just to gain a fortune or lands.

‘Your husband broke fealty with my king. Why should he honour his promise to your father?’ he said finally. ‘Halfdan gave all of Egbert of Breckon’s land to me as a reward for my services.’

Had the mountain actually killed Egbert in battle? The boy had whispered of an ambush and a truce broken where all the true Northumbrians were slain. Edith put the thought from her mind and concentrated. This was far worse than she’d considered possible. Her entire life hung in the balance.

‘My husband acted against my counsel. We who are left never broke fealty. In the interests of peace and love he bore for my father, I’m certain Halfdan will have ordered some form of marriage.’ Edith held out her hand. ‘Show me his parchment.’

His blue gaze raked her a second time, more slowly, but leaving her in little doubt of her own inadequacies as a desirable woman—her figure was far too thin and angular, her chin too masculine and even her hands were stained with ink rather than lily white as a lady’s should be. Edith fought against the rising tide of heat which flooded her cheeks. It was bad enough that Egbert had taken great delight in telling her how few feminine charms she possessed, but enduring the Norseman’s gaze was far more humiliating.

‘There were no conditions to the gift, lady,’ he said, his voice thundering so all could hear. ‘The lands and all its possessions were in Halfdan’s gift. My need for a wife is not pressing. Halfdan knows my feelings about marriage and the sort of woman I wish for a bride.’

‘My mistake,’ she whispered and forced her legs to curtsy. Bile rose in her throat. One solitary look and he’d rejected her as marriage material.

‘Yes, it was. I trust the matter is now closed. I claim overlordship to this estate.’ He stepped forwards and brought the axe down on the stone flagging. The noise thundered through the hall.

Edith thought quickly. An overlord? There was always an overlord. It might be the best of possible worlds, the miracle she’d prayed for. She had been far too hasty in assuming marriage. ‘We will be happy to pay a tithe to you if you show me that your word is true. Forgive me, Norseman, but my experience with other Norsemen has been limited and sometimes the language has caused confusion. Do you have some sign, a scroll perhaps, which tells the amount we must pay?’

‘You wilfully misunderstand me, Lady.’ The Norseman fingered his axe. ‘Egbert of Breckon’s lands are forfeit. He rebelled against his rightful king. You have no rights here, but I bear no malice towards you. You may depart without molestation if you leave immediately.’

Edith heard the shocked gasps from the servants ranged behind her. Tears pricked her eyelids. This was her home, her land and her people. She’d never asked Egbert to rebel for all the good it had done her. This was absolutely wrong.

She bit back the words. Tact, not hollow words of protest, was needed here. Egbert had led the rebellion, until the bitter end. From what she understood, he’d been one of the last to fall. An honourable death, the boy had whispered.

‘The lands are in my name. I did not rebel. They remain mine until the king sends a scroll to tell me otherwise. I understand Halfdan is an honourable man.’ She crossed her arms. She had to play for time. ‘I don’t know how things are done where you come from, but here in Northumbria we do ask for more proof than a double axe and a broken door.’

She stared defiantly at the Norseman, trying not to notice his axe and the way he fingered the hilt. One stroke and her head would be rolling across the floor, like the rumours said the Norsemen had done to so many other people.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for the Norseman to respond.

A rumble of laughter resounded behind the Norseman, breaking the silence.

‘She has spirit, this Northumbrian lady, I’ll give her that,’ one of them called out. ‘There are not many who would stand before Brand Bjornson and argue.’

‘Maybe they should,’ Edith answered as steadily as she could even as her legs threatened to crumple under her.

Her luck had truly run out. Brand Bjornson claimed her land. He was reputed to be one of the fiercest Norseman warriors, a name that nurses whispered to frighten children. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. Her next heartbeat was sure to be her last, once he lifted that axe.

The Norseman regarded her with those fierce eyes, unmoving but speculative. She forced her gaze to match his.

His hand loosened on the axe and his shoulders relaxed. Edith released a breath. She was going to live. The thought filled her with giddy excitement.

‘I regret, my lady, but you’re wrong. This hall and land belongs to me.’ He reached into his belt and pulled out a piece of vellum. ‘The king did anticipate that some may be prepared to doubt my word. Everything is in order. His seal is set with the date. Call for your priest to read it out loud.’

‘There is no need. My father ensured I could read.’ At his questioning glance, she added, ‘He’d little love for our priest.’

‘Wise man.’

Edith stared at the parchment. The words swam before her eyes. All of Egbert’s lands were forfeit to Brand Bjornson, including the hall and its property. They were specifically named, but it was a general proclamation. The king hadn’t even bothered to address her. She truly meant nothing to him.

Tears stung at the back of her throat. Everything gone, just like that. She wished she could wring Egbert’s fat neck. Her father had been wrong for so many reasons when he forced the marriage because he’d thought she needed a strong warrior. She could have held the lands on her own.

‘You may have the estate, but will you have the hearts of its people? I have never seen a Viking warrior stay in one place for long. Undoubtedly your king will have call for your services,’ Edith said before she could give herself time to think and be scared. ‘After seeing your parchment, I’m happy to pay a reasonable tithe to you and promise to keep good order. I know these people and this land.’

‘And you have their hearts, now that their menfolk are dead? You can guarantee that they will no longer rebel against Halfdan or his chosen successors?’

‘I like to think so.’ Edith tilted her chin upwards. ‘My family has cared for this land since before the Romans left. The folk here are honest and loyal. Those who rebelled left with my late husband. Never to return.’

A sardonic smile crossed his lips. ‘I find a full belly guarantees loyalty far more than blood or tradition.’

A snigger came from the ranks of the Vikings. ‘What sort of man obeys a woman?’

Edith clenched her jaw and ignored the remark which reminded her of Egbert’s attitude. She had proved him wrong and, given half a chance, she’d prove the unknown Viking wrong as well.

She motioned for her servants to be still.

Where else could she go? Some convent? To work like a thrall? It was what would happen to her if she appeared without any money. Goodness knew Egbert had threatened it often enough. Death by a Norseman’s axe was preferable to death by slow starvation. She had one last chance.

‘You must give me a chance to prove my words. I could be useful here. You are a warrior. Do you know how to run a large estate? I do. Put me to the test!’