To Wed a Viking Warrior
Автор
Michelle Styles
Прочтений
18,2K
Глав
17
Chapter One
No hero riding over the hill was going to save her or indeed her father’s manor of Baelle Heale. She had to do it alone. Until quite recently, Elene, the youngest daughter of ealdorman Wulfgar of Baelle Heale, had held out hope for the man she’d considered the love of her life, but she had learned the hard way that men made honeyed promises which they promptly forgot. From here on out, she depended only on her wits to make the future she wanted instead of wishing for love.
‘Mine and no one else.’
Elene marched on along the track at the edge of a water meadow with fierce determined steps, carrying the sack of clothes and other belongings she’d hurriedly gathered together before the cockerels started crowing this morning.
Intellectually she knew she must marry someone who was acceptable to the Mercian King to secure these lands which her family had held since time began. King Ceolwulf had been quite clear in his most recent proclamation—Northmen must make loyalty oaths to hold land in Mercia. Neither of her brothers-in-law with their holdings in the North-controlled Five Boroughs and who were Northern jaarls with large war bands would swear fealty to a foreign king like Ceolwulf. Not when the bulk of their holdings was in the Dane-law. Their first loyalty had to be towards their own people rather than towards her cantankerous father.
Her nephew was far too young to hold the lands in his own right. Besides, her nephew was now in the Five Boroughs with her eldest sister, Cynehild. She had gone to lay her late husband’s sword where his ancestors were buried and ended up marrying Kal Randrson, the Danish warlord who now controlled those lands. Kal had adopted the boy and there was talk about him inheriting his father’s old lands when the time came.
Baelle Heale required a warrior loyal to Mercia and its people. Her father had impressed that point on her after she had learned of the Great Betrayal. She had finally given in to Nerian the Wessex warrior to whom she’d gifted her heart’s entreaties and lain with him in the hayloft the last time he’d visited, thinking he would go straight to her father and formally make an offer for her hand in marriage. She had found the coupling vaguely unsatisfactory and painful, but he appeared to enjoy it. However, within the month, he’d married one of the wealthiest heiresses in Wessex. Until that happened, she’d considered herself the prize, rather than the handy spare.
Despite the setback, she’d always thought she’d be given a choice of acceptable men to marry when the time came, rather than having one single candidate foisted on her.
That was until yesterday. She’d overheard the steward and his new wife talking about her betrothal to Lord Pybba of Etone as if it were a fact, not some fantastical nightmare proposition conjured by an overindulgence of mead.
She glanced down at Bugge, her wolfhound, who padded along at her side in the early autumn mist, with a faintly worried expression on her face. ‘I can do this, can’t I? I can stop this mad idea on my own, rather than needing my sisters to rescue me like some errant child who has become stuck in the smokehouse when the door accidentally shuts. I need time to clear my head and not to panic like some chicken who refuses to go into the henhouse.’
A small shiver went through her. She’d hated enclosed spaces ever after that. Her middle sister, Ansithe, had apologised afterwards, bringing her a bit of honeycomb to make amends, claiming that it had been unintentional, but she had not been the one who’d banged on the door until her fists bled. ‘I make my own future. And I’m not spoilt or wilful like the steward told his wife. I had my reasons for refusing those other warriors...a reason which no longer exists.’
Bugge gave her hand another nudge as if to forestall another bout of tears. She was beyond crying, gnashing her teeth and wailing about lost years waiting for a man who’d married another. Until yesterday, she had been ready to live properly, starting with a planned visit to court in the autumn. She might not be as young as she once was, but she retained a good figure, golden hair and was an heiress to lands.
Flutter-brained as the steward’s wife called her? She begged to differ.
‘After my father experiences the sheer horror of Lord Pybba’s arrogance, he will throw him off Baelle Heale lands, rather than insisting he becomes his latest son-in-law. I intend to make this happen, Bugge. Somehow.’
Elene lifted the hem of her gown, trying to keep it clear of the early morning dew which speckled the water meadow like teardrops. The last thing she wanted was to arrive at her destination mud splattered and bedraggled, not when she wanted an enormous favour. A few days of residing there, close enough to return if the situation warranted it, but away from any machinations which could lead to an accidental betrothal, or worse, a wedding.
‘Lady Elene? Far too early for you to be about, particularly without an escort. Or is it that you still enjoy taking risks?’ Lord Hafual of Wulfhere’s Clearing loomed out of the mist, his features set in a fearsome frown. And one of the last people she wanted or expected to encounter. He was supposed to be many miles away attending to the king’s business. The success of her current scheme depended on it.
Her feet skittered to a stop on a rock covered in wet leaves and moss. Thinking it was a game, Bugge ran behind her, woofed and pushed her over, causing her right ankle to buckle. She tumbled hard onto the ground, spilling the contents of the bundle she carried. She swore softly under her breath. Today was rapidly turning into a disaster. ‘I... I... Oh, help...’
‘Are you injured, my lady? The rocks can be slippery at this time of year.’ His tone implied he expected her to be, that he would help her but doing so would inconvenience him greatly.
‘Allow me to catch my breath.’ Elene rotated her right ankle and tried to ignore the sudden shooting pain.
Hafual had once been part of the Great Heathen Horde, one of the Northmen who had invaded Mercia like a summer storm, driving all before them and eventually forcing a sort of peace where the western half of Mercia and all of East Anglia had been ceded to the Northern invaders.
Shortly after Ansithe, her middle sister, married her Northman, Moir Mimirson, Hafual had saved the new king of Mercia’s life—King Ceolwulf—when they were hunting stags during that summer of the peace negotiations, and Ceolwulf offered him a position at the Northern court as the chief bodyguard. Moir released Hafual from his oath, telling him that the king’s favour would make his fortune. After pledging eternal fealty to Mercia, Hafual had been rewarded with Wulfhere’s Clearing, whose lands ran to the east of Baelle Heale. He’d proved an able lord. However, since his wife’s tragic death, he spent his time at court or away on the king’s business, leaving his half-sister to look after the estate and his young son.
When she was satisfied that her ankle was merely twisted, rather than broken, Elene tilted her chin upwards and extended her hand, opting for a languid drawl. ‘Lord Hafual. I didn’t realise you had returned. How...how perfectly delightful for all concerned.’
Hafual’s scowl increased. ‘I was unaware you needed to be informed of my movements.’
‘Gossip is like gorse—always in season.’ Elene gritted her teeth and allowed her hand to drop. She would have to find another place to hide while she figured out her future. Hafual would not permit an unwed lady like her to remain at his hall, not when he was in residence. Ever since his wife’s death, Hafual had refused to allow women except for his sister and the servants into his hall.
‘Are you saying that someone has gossiped about us? Together? As a couple?’ His face settled into hard granite planes of unrelenting disapproval. ‘Who dared to spread that rumour?’
‘Not that sort of rumour.’ Elene swallowed hard. Her and Lord Hafual? Everyone knew he had no time for any romance. Not now. Not ever. His heart lay buried with his wife, according to his half-sister. ‘I mean none that I know about...people always mention arrivals.’
‘I see. What will people say about you and I meeting like this? And in this fashion? Or do you always greet strange warriors like this these days?’
She followed his ice-cold gaze and saw that her skirt had rucked up so that her calf was showing. Bare and naked against the moss. She rapidly smoothed her skirt down before attempting to rise. A sudden pain shot through her ankle. She cautiously flexed her foot. She would be able to walk on it, slowly. She’d return to Baelle Heale and find another way. Her mouth tasted the ash of destroyed dreams. ‘Nothing. No one will know.’
He gave a peremptory nod. ‘Good. And your business on this pathway if I might be so bold as to ask?’
‘I was...on my way to visit your sister.’ She tried for a brilliant smile, the sort which told the receiver to move along as there was nothing to see or ponder. ‘Honest. No harm done. Slight twisting of my ankle. Not that it is worth mentioning.’
He raised a brow. ‘Asida made no mention of your impending visit. Is the bundle you carry a gift for her? Some wonderous custom of the Mercians perchance? Your generosity continues to astound but my sister is in no need of cast-offs and charity.’
She gritted her teeth, ignoring the sardonic tone of his voice, and hurriedly gathered the items together again. Lord Hafual’s scorn was the last thing she required today of all days.
‘I wanted to be prepared in case something happened and I had to stay. The rain can be dreadful at this time of year. I meant no disrespect to you or your family.’ At his incredulous expression, she added, ‘Purely a precaution...on account of the weather.’
His expression became even more forbidding. ‘You are taking precautions, I see, even though my sister has no idea you plan to become our guest. A lengthy stay?’
She opted for a shrug. There was no way he could be aware of the potential for unwanted betrothals. ‘Why would I want that?’
He watched her with eyes which reminded her of her father’s goshawk—cold and alert to the slightest movement. ‘Do you seek to bring trouble to my estate, my lady?’
‘Trouble?’ Elene hastily shook her head. ‘The last thing I want to bring is trouble to anyone.’
‘You intended to stay under my roof without letting your father know. People might say I kidnapped you or somehow enticed you against your will. Gossip as you pointed out is evergreen.’
‘Your return means my visit will be shorter. Kidnapping, of all the fantastical notions.’ Her voice was higher and more breathless than she liked. She swallowed hard and tried again. The last thing she required was his ire. ‘Your son will be delighted with your return.’
His mouth became a hard line. ‘My son hid behind my sister’s skirts when I arrived late last night. Delight was the last thing on his mind. Or did I mistake the famous Mercian sense of humour again?’
‘At least you are aware Mercians have a sense of humour.’
‘The love of practical jokes can be hard to miss. Both here and at court. So, I laugh and pretend to get the joke. Being a Mercian, one must always get the joke.’
No mistaking his sarcasm this time. And she knew that when he first was at Baelle Heale, the assistant pig-keeper had played a trick on him, something which could have made things far worse for everyone if the leader of the Northmen had not discovered the trick.
‘I will take your word about what happens at court. My duties at Baelle Heale mean I’m often absent.’ That and the last time she was there, she’d managed to trip and spill a tankard of ale on the queen. Her father had suggested that she might want to have a period of absence.
‘My joy at your faith in me is unbounded.’
Elene plucked at the scissors which hung next to her eating knife on her belt. Hafual had this way of always making her feel like she was a girl with a dirty face, rather than a grown woman. As if she was the girl who fainted at the sight of blood, instead of being the woman who had assisted the priest in his last three operations, including one trepanning. ‘Family legend is that at about your son’s age I screamed until I was sick when my father returned.’
If anything, the ice in his eyes grew colder. ‘Family legends have a way of growing in the retelling. But thank you again for those unasked-for crumbs of attempted comfort. I will ponder them and hold them in my mind as a beacon.’
‘I was trying to be kind.’
‘Kindness is what brought you to this place? I see.’
Elene gritted her teeth. The sudden sickening sense that he knew about her predicament and expected her to behave impulsively rather than thinking things sensibly through filled her.
‘One could inquire the same of you. Why are you headed towards Baelle Heale instead of staying with your son and setting your hall to rights, Hafual? Your sister recently told me there are some things which only the lord can decide.’ She gave a tiny smile. ‘We agreed to disagree on the matter.’
He inclined his head, making the tiny droplets of mist which were caught in his hair shine like diamonds. ‘A certain matter has come to my attention. Like a boil, it needs to be lanced.’
She winced as her own blithe ignorance about her father’s scheme was laid bare. ‘The proposed visit and potential betrothal offer from Pybba. You consider it detrimental to the neighbourhood. Well, so do I!’
‘Pybba and I are less than friends. Rumour circulated at court he is seeking a new alliance after his wife died of a fever. I was unaware the scheme went as far as an actual betrothal.’ His gaze could freeze a puddle on a summer’s day. She wondered that she even for a heartbeat considered him approachable. ‘Even faced with that, I did not expect you to be running away.’
‘Running away is not what I’m doing. I need time to come up with a plan.’
‘I expected you to wait until transport could be arranged,’ he continued as if she had not spoken. ‘But you were always the most impetuous of the three sisters. Accept my apologies for the miscalculation, but we can recover from it. Help is at hand as you require rescuing.’
Elene balled her fists. ‘Why does everyone think I need rescuing? I am a fully grown woman. Everything will be under control by the time Lord Pybba arrives.’
He lifted a maddening brow and a faint dimple appeared in his cheek as if she somehow existed for his amusement. ‘But you are running, my lady, however much you want to deny it. You even tripped and hurt your ankle in your haste. Or do you make a habit of such things?’
‘You startled me. And if you are referring to my last sojourn at court, I caught the hem of my gown.’ Someone had stuck her foot out, but Elene knew Hafual would discount the notion like her sisters had.
He bowed as if they were at court instead of on a muddy path. ‘I merely wish to point out your actions have consequences for everyone in the general neighbourhood. This business with Pybba affects more than you. Think beyond the end of your nose as one of your sisters would undoubtably say to you if either were standing in my place.’
‘How can visiting with your sister have consequences?’ She tightened her hold on Bugge’s iron collar. Consider what one of her sisters would say? She had spent her entire life considering that and she doubted she was better off for it.
‘You have no idea of my current relationship with Pybba or if thwarting his scheme is something I wish to be involved in. You seek to bend my sister to your will without any regard towards what might be best for her. I see you seek to be like the queen and her ladies—concerned with their own thoughts instead of other matters.’
She rolled her eyes heavenwards. May St Etheldra and all the other saints preserve her. Heaven forfend that she act to save her future rather than waiting to be rescued. And it was far from selfish to wish to ensure her own safety and that of her people. Deep in her heart, she knew, despite what the steward proclaimed, any alliance with Pybba would be the ruin of Baelle Heale rather than the saving of it.
‘Have you made an alliance with that obnoxious show-off Lord Pybba?’ she said in her sweetest honey-soaked voice, the one which her sisters had learned to fear. ‘Will wonders ever cease?’
A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘Ever since the spring campaign against the Hwicce war bands who were burning farms on the border, Pybba has waged undeclared war against me, seeking to undermine my influence with the king. He hopes to open a new front through ensnaring you and your father.’
His overly superior tone grated on her nerves. As if the sole reason for Pybba’s actions centred around him rather than Baelle Heale’s prosperity or the influence her family enjoyed. Elene swallowed her first retort and continued in a sweetened tone accompanied by much batting of her lashes. ‘Pybba would be a mistake for Baelle Heale in any capacity. My father, however, needs to learn this lesson for himself and without my interference. I want to give him time to ensure it is thoroughly digested and then spat out in revulsion. I anticipate given the characters involved, Pybba need not trouble the neighbourhood for long.’
A muscle jumped in his cheek as if he were trying to suppress a laugh. ‘Pybba of Etone takes offence easily and your father’s temper can be short. The combination could be combustible in the correct circumstances. But, my lady, these sorts of conflagrations can have unexpected consequences.’
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and attempted to maintain a sense of dignity rather than slipping back into the sort of reckless behaviour she used to exhibit. That first summer when Hafual, Moir and Ansithe rescued Nerian and her from the outlaws, she had been giddy and overexcitable. ‘You believe I possess the grasp of nuance and subtlety of a dancing bear. I would beg to differ.’
‘Who said that?’
‘The steward and his wife... I overheard them speaking about the betrothal and what they needed to do to ensure I went along with it.’ She didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. ‘Apparently, it would not take much—a bauble or a new gown. I’m easily distractible. After all, my father is not exactly overwhelmed with offers due to my faux pas with the queen.’
A tiny smile tugged at his features, softening them and transforming him back into the gentle warrior she had first known and liked, back before his wife had had her accident and died. ‘Your father’s steward is blind or has lost his wits if he thinks that. You and your sisters are stubborn and have more cunning than most warriors. I still bear scars from my first encounter with you all.’
‘Ecgbert recently married a woman from Etone. He’s besotted with her and parrots all her words as if wisdom from on high.’ Elene shook her head. ‘I suspect promises of advancement have been made if the betrothal is secured. You know how ambitious Ecgbert is. Before Cynehild left to lay her husband’s late sword in the Dane-law country, Ecgbert had even considered my eldest sister might marry him.’
His mouth twisted to a harsh expression. ‘When the scales fall, they really do fall.’
‘The proposed betrothal is to be sprung on me as an accomplished fact. The woman thought it the best way to get me to agree.’ She shook her head. ‘As if!’
‘They truly have misjudged you.’ He held out his hand palm upwards and several raindrops splashed down. ‘The heavens are about to open and even women who are most definitely not...what did you say—distractible—should keep dry. You can explain everything once we get to my hall, and we will discuss a suitable way forward.’
She opened her mouth to explain that she and she alone would decide her future but at his forbidding expression, she decided against it. ‘Bugge dislikes the damp,’ she said instead.
A deep blue spark showed in his eyes. ‘Then your dog has settled the matter. You accept my help. Give me that bundle you carry’.
She remained where she was. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Always a choice with me.’ He gave a half-shrug. ‘But I’ve never understood why a woman might like to carry a heavy burden alone.’
Elene hugged the bundle tighter to her chest. ‘Because I prefer to?’
‘Reason enough.’ He bowed. ‘I merely wanted to be helpful.’
She ignored his hand. ‘I don’t need rescuing. I make my own way. I want to make that perfectly clear.’
‘For now.’
She firmed her mouth. She didn’t need her sisters coming to her rescue or anyone else. What she needed was time for her father to realise what a mistake Lord Pybba would be. Except for some reason the tightness in her chest eased with the tall Northman walking beside her. ‘For ever.’
‘I will take your words under advisement. You have the unfortunate habit, Lady Elene, of needing rescuing at inconvenient times.’
‘That no longer happens. I’ve learned my lessons.’ She mentally crossed her fingers. ‘My scheme to prevent Pybba from taking over Baelle Heale will work. The finer detail needs adjusting and hopefully your sister...’ She paused and glanced up into his forbidding features. ‘And now you will ensure I have the benefit of both your collected wisdom.’
