A Deal with Her Rebel Viking

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Thank you for the suggestion, but everything is well in hand.’

  Cedric’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. ‘I was prepared to help. Out of friendship for Wulfgar, your father.’

  ‘For a price...’ Ansithe pasted on a smile. ‘You do nothing for free, Lord Cedric. Forgive me if I think your charges are extortionate, but I respectfully decline.’

  His florid complexion became that bit more like ox blood. ‘Seeing as you are convinced you are capable, I will leave you to it. I hope it works well for you, my lady.’

  His tone left her in little doubt that he didn’t think it would.

  ‘It will.’ She gestured towards the gate. ‘I look forward to welcoming you when we have the feast to celebrate my father’s return. Unless you wish to take my prisoners by force?’

  ‘That would be a Northman’s trick, not mine, Lady Ansithe. I uphold the law.’ Cedric turned his horse around and rode out of the yard, swiftly followed by his men.

  ‘I heard everything from the hall. Are you sure you did the right thing? Leofwine needs to be rescued,’ Cynehild said in an urgent undertone, coming to stand by her after the last horse departed. Her blonde hair was unbound and she’d wrapped a fur about her body.

  ‘We agreed they were my prisoners and my responsibility,’ Ansithe said. ‘You’ve seen their collection of weapons. They are no outlaws, but warriors. Someone will pay gold for the weapons and for them. Far more than Cedric ever would. And his men would be spies, working against us. We’ll take them to the summer gathering and sell them there. Father and Leofwine are bound to be there as well. It stands to reason.’

  Cynehild thoughtfully regarded the byre. ‘Without someone like Cedric’s warriors to guard them, how will you be able to get them to the meeting place without them escaping? Owain the Plough is hopeless.’

  Ansithe let out an exasperated huff. Cynehild made it seem as though she hadn’t spent most of the night trying to work out a plan. ‘We don’t have to decide that yet, except it won’t be Cedric or his warriors.’

  Cynehild rolled her eyes. ‘Have you ever thought that he might be doing it to impress you? He does want a betrothal with you, Ansithe.’

  ‘It is my dower lands Cedric wants. The income is a decent one.’

  ‘He swore it was you he wanted. People can grow to care for each other like Leofwine and I did. Seeing his excellent qualities took me until little Wulfgar was born. You should give marriage with a younger man a chance.’

  Ansithe stopped listening to the lecture. Cynehild currently possessed an overly romantic heart. Simply because Cynehild had fallen in love with her husband after she gave birth to little Wulfgar did not mean every woman did. Ansithe put her hand on her flat stomach. Not that her womb had ever shown any sign of quickening. Her husband’s dying words about her shrivelled womb still hurt. And she could never confess the ache to Cynehild. The last time they had confided in each other was before their mother died.

  ‘I need to guard these prisoners until Owain can relieve me...unless you care to do it.’

  Cynehild blanched. ‘You need to stop being so like a man, Ansithe. A woman’s place is in the home with children about her feet. Think about that while you are guarding those brutes.’

  Ansithe sniffed the air. ‘Guarding beats burning the porridge.’

  * * *

  The door of the byre swung open, revealing Lady Ansithe carrying a large bowl of porridge. Moir’s stomach obligingly rumbled. He had forgotten how good something simple like porridge could smell.

  It had gone very quiet after the horses departed and Moir had begun to wonder what was happening. If Lady Ansithe had been persuaded to sell them to the nasal-voiced Mercian warrior after all...

  ‘I have brought you and your men food.’

  ‘It will be most welcome.’ He took the bowl from her and passed it to the first of his men who drank some of the gruel before passing it on to the next man. ‘Most unexpected, Lady Valkyrie.’

  ‘I am not sure I like that name any more than I did a little while ago.’

  ‘You should. Where I come from it is a high compliment.’

  ‘Have you known other warrior women?’

  Unbidden the memory of his mother teaching him how to hold a sword and swing properly rose to the forefront of his mind. ‘Yes. My mother’s skill with the sword took my breath away. More than equal to any man’s.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  Moir banished the unwanted memory. She had been a warrior until she met his father and had believed in his dreams, dreams which ultimately destroyed her. ‘Unimportant. That is all in the past. I live in the present.’

  ‘Living in the present sounds like something which is easier to say than to do.’ Lady Ansithe nodded, accepting his words. ‘Who are Valkyries, precisely?’

  ‘Odin’s handmaidens. Brave and honourable, but fierce battle maidens. They choose the warriors who will grace his table. All men admire them and seek to win their favour.’

  ‘And obtaining a seat at Odin’s table is something warriors long for?’

  ‘In my world, a seat at Odin’s table is the highest honour any warrior can achieve. For when Ragnarok arrives, Odin’s warriors will play their part in saving the world from total destruction.’ He frowned. ‘It is like achieving entry to heaven from what I know of the Mercian religion.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Some women from the North seek to emulate Odin’s handmaidens. Yesterday, you achieved that status. A skald should compose a saga about your exploit.’

  Lady Ansithe dipped her head so all he saw was the crown of auburn braids. ‘You seek to flatter rather than to mock. My sister thought this, but I suspect an ulterior motive.’

  He gritted his teeth. He left with everyone or not at all. He refused to betray his men like his father had done. Loyalty to the felag showed he was a different sort of man.

  ‘I do nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘I heard you speaking to that Mercian, declining to sell us for what you implied was a paltry sum. I appreciate what you did for men you have every reason to hate and fear. We are in your debt. I firmly believe all of us wish we could turn the sands of time backwards. An impossibility, I know, but the desire is there.’

  ‘You heard everything?’

  ‘Enough to know you refused to sell us to a man with a nasal whine. He sounded the sort who will always seek to chisel and chip to get the most profit.’

  ‘My neighbour is notoriously tight-fisted. He would not give me the best price for you. He declared you were outlaws, possibly even wolfheads, rather than warriors who would command a decent price.’

  ‘But you remain convinced we are who we say we are. Not a worthless band of outcasts fleeing from justice.’ He leant his head back against the wall. A start, a glimmer of hope that there might be a way of convincing her to abandon her plan of sending them to Guthmann.

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘Our swords and axes prove that we are who we say are, not some ragtag gang of outlaws.’

  ‘Any man might pick up an abandoned sword and carry it.’ Lady Ansithe tapped her fingers together. ‘What else?’

  ‘We have our brooches. My jaarl knows which ones are ours. More importantly, he knows me. If you’d grant me permission to take—’

  Ansithe slammed her fists together. ‘You go nowhere on your own until the ransom is paid. Until my father and brother-in-law have been freed.’

  ‘Accompany me to where the two armies meet. My jaarl is there. You and I together in the wilderness. Alone together.’

  Her tongue came out and wet her lips, turning them to a sunrise pink. The action made him ache to taste them. He ignored the sensation. He required a willing woman in his arms, not a Valkyrie.

  ‘What say you?’ he whispered. ‘You and I out in the forest with the stars for our roof. The breeze at our back. A
wood fire to guard against wolves when we stop.’

  ‘Why...why should I do that?’

  ‘It is the best way if you wish to get the full value for your prisoners. My jaarl is at the Mercian court. He will be there for the peace negotiations. It is where we were headed when we became...sidetracked.’ He muttered a curse. ‘The bee stings addled my brains yesterday. I should have thought of this. Explained it to you properly.’

  A sudden great ache to see what was beyond the Forest of Arden filled Ansithe, making her soul hurt. An adventure, finally. Something to prove she was more than a dried-up husk.

  A noise made her turn and peer out into the yard. The assistant swineherd hummed as he returned from his breakfast and the maids poured out the slops. Peaceful people doing everyday things, not warriors or great lords, but people who depended on her.

  Going with this Northman anywhere was an impossibility. She had a duty to these people. She had destroyed their certainty once through her thoughtless actions and she refused to do that again. She was no longer an overly excited girl, but a mature widow. She knew her actions always had consequences.

  ‘You seek to spin fantasies to tempt me.’

  A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I’d prefer to be in your dreams.’

  Ansithe pressed her lips together. He could have no idea about her dreams last night. Or that having seen his compassion towards his men, she had started to like him, rather than fearing him. ‘I rarely dream.’

  She took a step backwards towards the clear blue light of morning instead of the gloom which could be night. Her feet tangled and tumbled over the doorframe and she landed on her bottom.

  He reached out and put his strong fingers about hers, pulling her to standing. Their eyes locked. He was so close that she could see the beat of his heart in the hollow of his throat, the faint sprinkling of golden stubble on his jaw and the network of silver scars from previous battles. Her breath caught and she knew she should move away, but her feet appeared rooted to the spot.

  ‘My lady,’ the swineherd called, breaking the spell.

  ‘I will leave you to your breakfast,’ she said in a voice far too breathless for her liking. She curtsied, then pulled the door to and quickly locked it behind her with shaking hands. Then she whirled and ran as if a demon was chasing her.

  Moir’s voice floated after her through the door. ‘Until we meet again, I will live in hope and anticipation of the day we do, Lady Ansithe.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘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 adventur
e.’

  ‘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.’