“Royce!”
“Do you blush, wench? God’s breath, you do!”
“Cease, Saxon, or I will—”
He was not to hear what she would do. He followed her gaze to see what had subdued her, and saw Corliss standing in the doorway to the hall, one of her sisters beside her. They were not there to greet him, surely, for neither lady looked in the least bit welcoming.
“You must have disremembered she was here, milord,” Kristen whispered aside to him.
He had certainly tried to, but he did not say that aloud. One glance at Kristen told him she did not pity him this confrontation. Her eyes brimmed with secret humor. Merciless wench, she wanted to see him taken to task for his neglect of his betrothed.
“Milady,” Royce said stiffly in greeting.
“Milord,” Corliss replied just as stiffly. She did not
move aside to let Kristen go on into the hall. In fact, she looked directly at Kristen as she inquired, “Who is this freakish giant?”
Royce’s chin went hard. The muscles in his neck moved alarmingly. Kristen would have been amazed had she seen this, though she would have assumed his anger stemmed from the jealous bite of the lady’s attitude. But Kristen wasn’t looking at Royce just now. She was looking down at the lady, and she did have to look down, for the top of Corliss’s head came no higher than her chin.
If Kristen were not so comfortable with her size, she might have been hurt by the lady’s deliberate slur. She was amused instead, recognizing the jealousy, delighting in its implications.
And as was her nature, she did not mince words or appear subservient in any way. Brazenly she said, “If your question is asked of me, lady, I must tell you that where I come from, babies of puny size are more times than not left to die, because they cannot survive our harsh clime.”
“Barbaric!” Corliss gasped.
“Aye, I can see why you would think so,” Kristen replied, her eyes saying much more as they traveled down the lady’s tiny length.
“Milord…” Corliss began to whine, bright-red spots staining her cheeks.
Kristen was quick to interrupt, lips twitching. “Forgive me, milady. I see your question was not asked of me after all. But then, Lord Royce can only tell you that I am his prisoner, enslaved by his will. About me he knows only what I have told him, which is very little. Is that not so, milord?”
She caught only the tail end of Royce’s anger when she glanced at him. His expression was nearly bland, but she did not mistake that he was displeased, for his
hand at her back pushed her past Corliss, and his order to be about her labors was decisively curt.
So, she surmised, she had overstepped herself in his opinion. But she did not care, and the look she tossed at him over her shoulder as she sauntered away told him so.
Royce had to glance away from Kristen quickly before he burst out laughing, but in doing so his eyes fell on Corliss. He sobered instantly and issued a harsh curse in irritation. It was enough to send Corliss’s sister scurrying away, and Corliss backed away herself.
His hand shot out to stop her. “Nay, lady, you will explain yourself.”
“Royce, you hurt me!”
He swore again as tears brimmed instantly in her eyes. Immediately he released his hold on her wrist. She was like a child in her frailty. He had not realized that until now. But after knowing Kristen, who gave as good as she got, who thought nothing of physically fighting him, and who never once cried that he had hurt her, Corliss only fueled his disgust of all women with her tears.
“Dry your eyes,” he said brusquely. “I know my strength, and I know I hurt you not. So why do you cry?”
Her tears dried at will, though her expression was still suffering. “You are abusive!”
“Me! What do you call that petty insult you dealt the Viking wench?”
“What insult?” she countered defensively. “I stated the truth. Her height does make her a freak.”
“She is not as tall as I am, Corliss, so what does that make me?”
“You? But you are a man,” she pointed out needlessly. “’Tis natural you be as you are. But she is taller than most men. And that is unnatural.”
“Not most men,” he said tightly. “Most Saxons, true, but there are sixteen Vikings here that sailed with her, and every one is taller than she. Would you like to see them?”
“You jest!” she gasped.
“Aye, I jest.” He sighed. “I am sorry, Corliss. I am churlish when I am tired, and I am overtired.”
She ignored the hint. “But what were you doing with her, Royce?”
He gritted his teeth to hold back another curse. “You are not my wife yet, to concern yourself in my affairs.”
“And when I am your wife?”
His conscience pricked him, making him snap, “You will learn not to question me.”
Corliss did not take offense at this attitude, for it was no different from most men’s attitude toward women. But she disliked his tone and brought tears to her eyes again to make her complaint known to him. Royce, who hated tears and never let them affect him except with anger, walked away in disgust at the guilt her fresh tears made him feel.
F
ood for the prisoners was late in being delivered that eventide. Eda, who cooked it, and Edrea, who usually carried it with Uland’s help, both disbelieved Kristen when she told them she was to be allowed to take it to them today. But Eda was cautious enough to hold off the delivery of the food until confirmation from Royce could be obtained.
So they waited until Royce came down from his chamber, and he was late in doing so. He had spent the whole afternoon there, after leaving Corliss by the door. Kristen had watched from her corner as he spoke with his betrothed. He was angry. Corliss cried. He left angry. Corliss’s tears dried as soon as Royce turned his back on her, and her expression denoted chagrin, not misery.
Kristen had shaken her head in disgust when the drama was over. She had too much pride to ever use such ploys herself, but knew some women found pleasure in the power of their tears. Darrelle was one. Corliss was obviously another, and Kristen could almost pity Royce, for he would never have an easy time with such a woman for wife.
Kristen did not spend the afternoon with gloomy thoughts as she had the day before. Her earlier contentment remained, and she tried not to wonder why. She succeeded, for she was kept busy making more nut bread.
Eda had tasted a chunk of the bread Kristen had made for herself and Meghan and liked it so well she had struck a bargain with Kristen. She would supply the nuts
and Kristen could make half a dozen loaves for the prisoners, if she would make a like number for Royce’s guests. Kristen could not refuse, and even had Meghan’s company again to help her.
So the rest of her day was spent pleasantly. But she could not help fretting when Eda began to grumble as the hour grew late and Royce still did not come down. The prisoners’ stew thickened. Edrea now had other duties to attend to, as the guests were already being fed, so she could no longer take the prisoners food. And Kristen knew what Thorolf would think if she did not make an appearance today.
Kristen finally said to Eda, “Go wake him and ask him. He will not want to sleep this long anyway.”
“You keep saying he sleeps, wench. Why would he sleep the day away?”
Kristen looked away, shrugging. “Just do it, Eda. He will not be angry if you disturb him.”
Eda did, and came back a few minutes later, shaking her head. “Aye, he was asleep, and shouting why no one had roused him sooner.” Kristen grinned at this, and Eda gave her a sharp look, seeing it. “You spoke true, after all, but I cannot think why milord would let you…You can take the food, but you take two guards with you. And Uland will help you to carry it.”
Eda called the men over to instruct them. Kristen could not object. She was so looking forward to talking to Thorolf and the others that she could not stop smiling all the way to the prisoners’ quarters.
They were all inside the long hut. The door was open. The two guards in front, carelessly involved in a knife-tossing contest, barely gave her a glance as she approached with Uland and her own guards.
The reason for this laxity was made known to her as she heard the many rattlings of chains. It dampened her spirits somewhat to know that, unlike herself, they still
were made to wear their chains constantly. But the moment she stood in the doorway, her spirits soared again.
Her eyes lit on her cousin first, and she dropped her basket of bread and fruit on the floor and flew into Ohthere’s startled arms. So many surprised shouts of her name met her ears that she knew Thorolf had told no one what had happened last eve, probably on the suspicion that she would not appear. Ohthere quickly lost his hold on her as she was grabbed by one and then another and another of her longtime friends. Squealing and laughing, she received bone-crushing hugs and greetings and teasings.
Uland, standing in the doorway watching this cheerful welcoming, could hardly believe his eyes. Edrea had professed that at least one of the Vikings, the one who always came forward to take the food from her, could not possibly be as savage as the others, for he frequently smiled at her. Foolish talk from a girl fascinated by a handsome man, Uland had reasoned. But this show of warmth and affection for the giant wench…God’s bones, it made them seem almost human, not the heathen monsters everyone thought them to be. In amazement, Uland set down the large cauldron of stew in the doorway and hurried back to the hall to regale his friends with what he had seen.
Inside the hut, Kristen at last came to Thorolf. Upon seeing him, her bubbling joy faded, for his expression was nearly solemn as he looked her over, and she remembered suddenly what Royce had admitted to telling him. A shyness came over her that was particularly uncomfortable inasmuch as she was so rarely shy about anything.
Her reticence hit Thorolf like a blow, and he flushed, knowing he had caused the smile to vanish from her lips. He had spent the day in an agony worrying about her and had been so relieved to see that she had actually come, and that there was nothing wrong with her, that he was slow in bringing his anxiety under control. He
was still looking for bruises where there were none, when he should have been expressing his joy in seeing her, as the others had.
A hand came up, fingers gently lifting her chin. “Forgive me, Kristen. The Saxon whipped you once. I was sure—”
“He would again?” she interrupted with a half smile. “I thought so, too, but he did not.”
“Might he still?” he had to ask.
She thought for a moment about last eve. Royce had taken her swimming, a joy to her. He had let her come here to see her friends, another joy. And he had made love to her under the stars…
It was with complete confidence that she shook her head to Thorolf’s question. “Nay, it is already forgotten by him.”
The Viking laughed then, throwing back his head and jerking her forward for one more bone-crushing hug. “Thor’s teeth, that is good to hear!”
“What is, and what has been forgotten?” Ohthere wanted to know.
He and half the others were standing around Kristen. She thought briefly of giving some lie, for they could not know what she and Thorolf spoke of. But she couldn’t lie to them. The explanation she gave of her attempted escape and why she was not punished for it was not easy, though, for it required skimming over so many parts and jumping ahead before questions were asked. But then she went on to tell them what she knew of Wyndhurst and Wessex, which was not much, but more than they knew till now. She told them where the horses could be found, where the Danish army was likely to be, which was, unfortunately, a far ways north. She also told them of the giant Celts she had heard of who were hostile to the Saxons and how they might help
if the Vikings decided to escape to the west instead of north. It at least gave them an option in their planning.
Escape was never far from their minds. She heard grumble after grumble about how cautious the Saxons were. When she remarked how strong and able they all looked now, grinning as she ran her fingers over the increased biceps on several arms, Bjarni laughed and demonstrated his new strength by lifting her up over his head. She glared at him when he set her down, but he did not look at all contrite.
“You are at least ready for escape,” she remarked.
“Aye, so much stone lifting has done us no harm,” Odell replied. “When I return home, plowing my fields will be child’s play.”
“These walls cannot contain us, Kristen,” Ohthere said seriously. “But it would do no good to break them down, without an axe to sever these chains first.”
“I have not seen one in all these weeks,” she said thoughtfully. “Every other kind of weapon is at hand in the hall, but not a single axe. It would not surprise me if they are locked away somewhere, Ohthere, for the Saxon is overly cautious in that way.”
“Then we need the key for the door and these chains.”
“Do you know who keeps it?” she asked.
“The wall builder, the one called Lyman.”
She remembered him, but had not seen him since her separation from the men. “He does not come in the hall. He must live outside the manor.”
She could see how that news was met. Their disappointment became her own. God’s teeth, none of this was fair!
Ohthere chucked her under the chin. “Come now, Cousin, do not fret yourself about it. We will find a way somehow. They grow used to us. Someone will make a mistake sooner or later, and we will have our chance.”
“They grow used to me, too, but they still do not trust me.” She frowned. “Today is only the first time I have been let out of the hall.”
“There is the wench Edrea that Bjarni is wooing. Do you think she could be persuaded to help if he succeeds in winning her affections?”
Kristen’s eyes widened and then she laughed. “God’s teeth, you think of everything. But now you mention it, she did seem disappointed that she would not bring your food this time.” She looked pointedly at Bjarni. “How do you woo a wench when you cannot speak her tongue?”
He grinned roguishly. “Thorolf is teaching me the words I need to know.”