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

‘I have found a way,’ Ansithe announced, hurrying into the hall. She had taken a few breaths to allow her heart to stop pounding and she hoped her cheeks were not as red as she feared they might be. She was simply unsettled and flushed with excitement at the prospect of obtaining her family’s freedom.

Her sisters remained about the table, finishing their breakfast. Her father’s wolfhounds sat under the table, looking hopefully for any scraps that might fall. Cynehild stopped spooning porridge into Wulfgar’s mouth and frowned.

‘Well, don’t you want to hear what it is?’ Ansithe asked.

‘You are going to apologise to Cedric and accept his offer to take the prisoners?’ Cynehild picked up a cloth to wipe the spilled porridge from Wulfgar’s face. ‘Ansithe, I knew you’d do the right and proper thing once you had time to consider.’

‘Cedric was always intent on cheating us out of the full value of the ransom we would receive. I doubt that has changed.’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Cynehild said. ‘You only suspected. However, I’m willing to listen to your ideas and see if they are feasible. I know what you were like with the weaving rota before I changed it. You thought you had an excellent scheme, but it didn’t work. My way was better.’

Ansithe ground her teeth. Cynehild seemed to positively delight in making things more difficult. And ever since her return, she had criticised Ansithe’s household management. Never overtly, as that was not Cynehild’s way, but she kept coming up with little ideas which she claimed would make things easier for everyone. Sometimes as with the weaving rota, if Ansithe was being honest, the ideas did work.

What Ansithe worried about was—what if Cynehild decided to stay, rather than Leofwine finding fresh lands as she’d promised would happen? Her father would not have any need for Ansithe’s services then as he’d always said that Cynehild did things in a similar fashion to their late mother, which he would surely prefer.

‘I’m hardly ignorant of the situation,’ Ansithe said when she knew she had her temper under control. ‘All the prisoners made it through the night and they have had their gruel for breakfast. But they are not in a fit state to be moved yet. They need to regain their strength.’

‘Do you think Guthmann will be doing that to Father and my Leofwine?’

‘Let me see.’ Ansithe pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, pretending to concentrate for a long heartbeat. Then she opened them wide. ‘No idea, Cynehild. Nor do you.’

‘If they escape from you, we will have gone through this for nothing. How are you going to contact Guthmann? Have you considered that?’

‘Cynehild,’ Elene said before Ansithe gave way to her growing ire. ‘Ansithe said she had found a solution. Can we hear it before you find all the reasons it won’t work? You thought she’d fail with using the bees as weapons as well.’

Ansithe reached down and gave the wolfhounds a pat while Cynehild did a good imitation of having encountered a particularly nasty odour.

‘Of course I will listen, Elene. Our sister sometimes does have useful ideas.’

‘They are wearing brooches which give a clue to their identity, particularly to their jaarl. Cedric mentioned this and Moir Mimirson confirmed it.’

‘And?’ Cynehild crossed her arms. ‘How does that get us any closer to obtaining Leofwine’s freedom?’

‘The prisoners can’t be moved yet without risking their health, but the brooches can go to the summer gathering where the Mercian nobles and the leaders of the Northmen are discussing the treaty. Our new King, once the nobles confirm who he is, can send a guard.’

‘Our new King will send guards?’

After the Battle of Ashdown the old Mercian King had fled the country. Part of the gathering was to confirm who would rule in his stead—either a new king or perhaps merely a lord until the King and his family could return. ‘Why not? Or we can hire them there, having taken his advice. Sell the prisoners’ weapons.’

The silence which punctuated her announcement only ended when Wulfgar grabbed the bowl of porridge from Cynehild’s hand and poured it on top of one of the wolfhounds.

‘Who is going to look after the prisoners for the time it will take you to get to court, arrange for the guards and return?’ Cynehild asked. ‘Owain and the stable lads are liable to forget to do something vital and let the men escape.’

Unfortunately, what Cynehild said made a certain amount of sense. After earlier, she could not trust Owain or the swineherd to look after the prisoners properly for any long period. ‘A tiny insignificant detail which can be solved later.’

‘Not a tiny detail, Ansithe, but an insurmountable obstacle. If the prisoners escape before you return, I will never see my Leofwine again. And I do so want to see him.’ Cynehild put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

‘You have the wolfhounds as a deterrent,’ Ansithe offered.

Cynehild pointed to where they were examining the floor in search of more porridge. ‘They’d sooner lick a Northman to death than bite him. It is why you put them in hiding with Ecgbert, Wulfgar and the maids, remember.’

The elder of the two wolfhounds sighed and covered her nose with her paw.

Ansithe made a face. ‘The Northmen don’t know that and I put the dogs away because they were my last line of defence.’

‘You are needed here—not traipsing across the countryside, having an adventure.’

‘One of us needs to go. It is the only way to be certain that the brooches are delivered to the right person and we don’t get cheated,’ Ansithe insisted.

‘I refuse to be parted from Wulfgar. He’s teething and he is always such a poor traveller.’ Cynehild cuddled a squirming Wulfgar closer to her chest. ‘You can have no comprehension of what a trial it was when we had to make our way here. This time I would not be able to lean on Leofwine.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting that I go on bended knee to Cedric? He wants to cheat us, Cynehild.’

‘I will go.’ Elene’s gentle voice resounded in the hall. ‘I can do it. I can take the brooches and the weapons to court.’

‘You are too young,’ Cynehild snapped. ‘I’d no sooner send you than send my baby boy on his own.’

‘You need to stop thinking of me as the baby sister. I am older than you and Ansithe both were when you were married.’ Elene’s mouth became mutinous. ‘I should have been married by now with a great estate of my own to manage if not for the war. One never knows whom I might meet if I go to court. Certainly someone far more eligible than the swineherd!’

‘What do you want, Elene?’

Elene stuck out her substantial bosom. Surely it had only been a few months ago that Elene was chasing after butterflies in the meadow or making a muddle of her weaving. ‘Treat me as though I am a grown woman, instead of a toddler.’

‘Your marriage is something that our father will decide,’ Cynehild said, developing a sudden interest in the rushes.

‘But I might be able to guide him.’

Ansithe exchanged glances with Cynehild. Elene would soon learn about their father and how he used marriage to further his own power, but she had also been their father’s favourite and he might be more inclined to listen to her pleas. Ansithe had had no alternative to Eadweard’s offer. She silently renewed her determination that her father would give way and concede her right to decide her own future after he returned. ‘If Ecgbert accompanies Elene, I am sure all will be well. It is the perfect solution to our present dilemma.’

Elene’s mouth dropped open. ‘You agree with me?’

‘It saves apologising to Cedric.’ Ansithe wrinkled her nose. ‘Besides, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to do it properly. Don’t you agree, Cynehild, the insurmountable obstacle has been breached?’

Cynehild shrugged. ‘It seems as though you have a very good scheme.’

Elene took Wulfgar and danced about the room.

‘I will obtain the brooches,’ Ansithe said before Cynehild started issuing orders.

Elene did a twirl which made Wulfgar shout with laughter. ‘Ansithe has won over their leader. He admires her.’

Cynehild grunted.

‘It’s true—he thinks her beautiful.’

‘He respects my archery skill which is different.’ Ansithe concentrated on the rushes and hoped her sisters would miss her burning cheeks. However, Elene nudged Cynehild and they both burst out laughing. ‘What is wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, Ansithe. Your archery skill must indeed be what he admires about you,’ Cynehild said drily.

‘You two are impossible.’ Ansithe retreated from the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

The opportunities to escape were slipping through his fingers as surely as the dirt slipped through the brooch Moir was using as a makeshift shovel. Neither Palni nor Bjartr would be fit enough to climb through the holes in the roof and it was only a matter of time before that Mercian lord returned with an improved offer or, far worse, the Valkyrie sent word to Guthmann. Remaining in this place was no longer an option.

‘Can we do it? Release the stones, wriggle through the gap and steal some horses?’ Palni went over the gist of the plan in a hoarse whisper. ‘I don’t know how far I can walk on this leg. It seems to be swelling even more.’

Moir knew the plan had far too many holes, but it was their best hope. ‘We will obtain the horses. I heard them snuffling last night. Ideally, we’ll find more than three, but if it has to be only one with both you and Bjartr riding while we walk, so be it.’

‘How long do we have? It will take at least a day to dig our way out and that is assuming they fail to notice what we are doing.’

‘I have to try. I refuse to give up. I refuse to accept any member of this felag giving up.’

‘You mean like...’ Palni jerked his thumb towards where Bjartr lay curled up in a small ball. Bjartr had consumed the lion’s share of the gruel this morning and then collapsed down into apathy.

‘He’s been injured.’

‘You are being too soft on him. He needs to grow up, if he wants to lead a felag properly.’ Palni absently rubbed his bandage. ‘Once we are free, how are we going to make our way back to camp? We remain guideless, thanks in no small measure to him.’

‘Find Watling Street and follow it.’ Moir pushed his brooch in. The pin buckled. He cursed under his breath. He’d been fond of that brooch. ‘One step at a time. Freedom first.’

‘Without weapons.’

The stone inched forward. Moir smiled. When his Valkyrie came to check on them tomorrow morning, they would be gone. He sympathised with her plight regarding her family, but his first duty was to his men and his jaarl.

‘Someone comes,’ Hafual, who kept watch through a crack in the door, warned.

Moir rapidly rose and refastened his cloak. He moved so that his bulk would block any casual glance into their prison.

The door swung open. The Valkyrie with her hair arranged in a crown of braids stood like an avenging fury. Behind her the sky blackened. He heard the faint rumble of Thor hitting the clouds with his hammer and tossing lightning bolts. He forced his breathing to be steady. She could not know about their scheme.

‘Is this a good time for a social call? Thor appears to be losing his temper at Loki over something.’

Her brow knitted in confusion. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I refer to the thunderstorm—in my world thunder is Thor striking his hammer.’

‘Are your men well?’

‘They are recovering.’ Moir kept his gaze studiously from the stone at the back of the byre. This storm was his best chance to get the escape preparations complete, ready for the time when they could go. And keeping his men together would ensure that, when the opportunity struck, he could take full advantage of it. Bjartr and Palni were recovering, he knew that in his heart. ‘If I start fearing for them, I will let you know.’

The thunder rumbled again and still she stood there with a quizzical expression on her face. Moir frowned. ‘Is there anything else we can help you with, my lady Valkyrie?’

She held out a slender hand, one which seemed far too fragile to have wielded that bow and arrow with such deadly efficiency. ‘I require your brooches.’

‘Our brooches?’ Moir’s mind raced. He had figured they would have more time before Guthmann arrived. Had he miscalculated? Had the Mercian lord returned?

‘You stated that they would help prove your identity. You wanted to take them to your jaarl.’

He motioned to his men to remain where they were. There was no point in making a break for freedom unless all hope was lost and there was no other way to survive. ‘Yes, I wanted to take them myself. My jaarl will know them.’

‘But your jaarl will know them without you being there to tell him?’

Moir clenched his teeth. ‘True, but—’

‘Either a yes or no.’

‘Has the Mercian lord returned, offering you more money for us?’

The Valkyrie blinked twice. ‘Cedric? He seeks to exploit the situation to his advantage. He will return soon, but he hasn’t so far.’

‘Then why the sudden urgency? Has Guthmann sent another messenger?’ Moir’s brain raced. They could wait until the cover of darkness, then he could carry Palni on his back. The others could support Bjartr. He didn’t want to, but it was better than being sheep led to the slaughter. The gods had truly abandoned them.

‘I am sending my younger sister and steward to court.’ She pressed her hands together, but not before Moir noticed a slight tremor. ‘Your weapons and your brooches will prove your identity. Elene can hire guards from the new Mercian King who will then escort you back to court. A prisoner exchange, I believe it is called.’

Moir revised his opinion on their luck. The gods had smiled on them finally. Perhaps Thor with his thunder was signalling his approval. Perhaps his ordeal was about to end and he could finally regain his family’s honour, the honour his father had thrown away when he’d abandoned his men all those years ago. He frowned and silenced the hope.

Right now, all he knew was that Lady Ansithe was a woman who would listen and make up her own mind. ‘What swayed you?’

‘Guthmann cut off Leofwine’s finger when he could have simply taken the ring off it and sent it. He is even likely to say that you are worthless just to be contrary.’

‘He could do.’

‘I had to consider it. And who my true opponent is.’

He gestured to the men. They unfastened their brooches and dropped them into a pile one by one.

He carefully undid Palni’s, wiped the dirt from it and put on the top of the pile, alongside his. She stooped to pick them up.

‘And your men? Are they truly improving? I could examine them again.’