A Deal with Her Rebel Viking

by Michelle Styles

  Her nerves instantly became alert. An escape attempt? Moir knew they had fewer people now that Elene and Ecgbert had left. Her mouth tasted sour. If that were the case, he had another think coming. She placed her hand on her bow and drew an arrow. She nodded towards the other guards. They moved up behind her with their faces in a high state of excitement combined with abject terror at the thought of doing battle once again.

  ‘Is there some trouble?’ she called out when all was in readiness.

  ‘Is that you, Lady Valkyrie?’ Moir asked. ‘Thank the gods. I have been calling for a long time now, but no one answered me.’

  Ansithe glanced at the stable lads who looked away and shuffled their feet, muttering about Owain being in charge. Owain had to have heard Moir’s pleas for help earlier, but Owain had suffered from selective deafness in the past. She would not put it past him to torment the captives as his brother had died fighting the Heathen Horde, knowing that she would check on the Northmen eventually. She firmed her mouth. Owain would learn a lesson about behaving better. ‘No one came for me, but I am here now.’

  ‘Good, then something can be done.’

  She heard the relief in his voice.

  ‘Lady Valkyrie...’

  She cleared her throat. ‘I prefer Lady Ansithe.’

  ‘Not nearly as fitting as Lady Valkyrie. Shall we settle on Kyrie?’

  ‘If you must.’

  ‘But whatever you wish me to call you, I’m pleased you are here. You speak far more sense than most women.’

  ‘Tell me what the problem is, instead of speaking nonsense,’ she said forcing her voice to be hard. He thought of her as sensible. It was not a flirtation.

  ‘I require your help. Immediately.’

  ‘Require is a strong word.’ She clapped her hands. The stable lads grabbed hoes and a pitchfork.

  A great howl of anguish rang out from inside the byre.

  Sweat ran down Ansithe’s neck. Had she missed something yesterday? Moir had sworn his men were recovering, but she knew from her late husband how quickly infections could strike. She should have insisted on checking the injured men more thoroughly and then this morning had been given over to getting Elene ready. ‘What is your trouble? Who is shouting?’

  ‘It is Palni, my friend whose leg is mangled. He is running a fever and has stopped making sense. Please, I beg you.’ There was no mistaking the rising desperation in Moir’s voice. ‘Is there anything you can do? Or have the Norns truly decreed his thread of life is to be snipped?’

  ‘You should have permitted me to examine him yesterday and all this could have been avoided.’

  ‘I thought he was getting better, honestly I did.’

  Ansithe swore under her breath. She put down her bow, undid the lock and opened the door. The men were huddled in the back of the byre while Moir stood over his friend. It was also clear that Owain had neglected to feed them or clean out the byre. He would be doing both very shortly. She knelt beside the warrior and rapidly undid the bandages. The wound was hot to the touch and appeared to be swelling up to the size of a small piglet.

  ‘How long has he been like this?’

  ‘Since before dawn.’

  ‘If you had just let me examine him...’

  ‘I am more concerned with the now than the past. He mumbles about ships and the wind being far too fierce. He has started shouting and making wild accusations.’ Moir’s voice became bleak. ‘He will die without help, Kyrie. I beg you—save my friend, even if you have to amputate his leg. I...we will be in your debt.’

  Ansithe pressed her lips together. Her husband had been the same at the end—making little sense and threatening her with knives. Amputation was an option if everything else failed. Some day they might be able to control such things, but for now the best thing was to cut out the infection and hope it had not gone into the bone. For that she would need Father Oswald. ‘Have you seen anyone die of infection?’

  ‘Enough to know the signs. I’ve been a warrior most of my life. It is far from a pretty end and our seers often make matters worse unlike your priests who can sometimes save a life.’

  ‘Our priest here has saved such lives in the past.’ Ansithe nodded towards where another bundle of clothing lay. ‘And the other one, your jaarl’s son. How does he fare?’

  ‘Bjartr? He is asleep. At long last. His litany of complaints about the hardness of the straw and the stench made sleep a while coming.’ The relief in Moir’s voice was palpable. There was some mumbling from the others. ‘It is Palni I’m worried about even if he would tell me that I am an old woman for doing so. That is if he could speak properly.’

  The spoilt jaarl’s son was snoring on the ground, but she didn’t like his shallow, interrupted breathing.

  ‘Have you tried waking him?’

  Moir shrugged. ‘I thought it best to let him sleep.’

  She shook Bjartr. He mumbled a few words, but refused to rouse.

  Ansithe’s heart sank. Her husband’s final days came roaring back—always asleep and only half-waking to eat broth with great difficulty. This man could be suffering from a reaction to the bee stings as well.

  These two men were the difference between getting her father and brother-in-law back alive or dead. Ansithe firmed her jaw. Father Oswald would have to give way. He had to understand how important it was for the entire estate that both these men survive. Refusal on the grounds of solidarity with his brother monks was no longer an option. He had a higher duty to fulfil.

  ‘He needs to be in the infirmary as well.’ She glanced again towards where Bjartr lay curled in a ball. ‘They both need to be.’

  ‘We can help carry them.’ Moir stood up and nodded to his men. ‘If you will permit us... There are enough of us that we can do both at once.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said and dusted her hands against her apron. She called for the stable lad who ran off with her instructions. Within a few heartbeats, six of the farm labourers came in and bundled the men up and carried them out of the byre.

  She nodded towards Moir, who watched the proceedings with an inscrutable expression.

  ‘We could have helped,’ he said. ‘We would have taken more care. They nearly dropped Bjartr and Palni’s leg banged against the doorframe...’

  Ansithe crossed her arms. ‘They will be in safe hands. Father Oswald is an excellent healer. I will send a message when I know more.’

  He reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Why didn’t he tend them before?’

  ‘Because he refused to do so.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘He fears you and your kind. Several of his brother priests were brutally murdered when the Great Horde invaded. Now if you will let me go, I must inform Father Oswald why he must act.’

  ‘He knows nothing of me or what I did in the invasion. I fight warriors, not unarmed men.’

  ‘So you have said.’ She waited for him to release her, but his grip tightened, firming around her upper arm. ‘Moir!’

  ‘Wait. I beg you to wait.’

  He spoke in a soothing voice which she couldn’t quite catch to his men. Several of the men grumbled and two expressed concern that they would never see their comrades again as everyone knew what Christian priests were like with their blood-drinking rituals.

  Ansithe rolled her eyes. It was beyond her capabilities to explain the precise nature of Christianity to these heathens. That was a priest’s job. And it was about time Father Oswald behaved more like a priest and less like a blindly prejudiced man. These men were frightened human beings, not feral beasts. But she could do something to ease that fear.

  She gave his fingers a pointed look. Slowly he released them. She instinctively put her hand over where he’d held her.

  ‘You may come with me if you like to see that your friends are settled, but your men must remain here under guard. I will see that they are fed.’ She wr
inkled her nose. ‘And fresh bedding is supplied. I can’t have anyone else getting sick.’

  ‘That is beyond kind.’

  ‘Not kind. I have seen what can happen when one man gets ill and how that sickness can rapidly spread.’ She met his eyes with a refreshing directness. ‘One other thing—you must have your hands bound.’

  ‘Willingly.’ He held out his scarred arms. ‘It is a small price to pay to give my men peace of mind.’

  She obtained a length of rope and tied his wrists securely.

  He muttered again to his men which she had to strain to catch. The men appeared shocked that he was willingly going with her. Their smiles became genuine when he informed them of the promised food and clean bedding.

  ‘My men listen to me,’ he said when they had gone out of the byre and she had issued her orders to the remaining stable hands.

  Her feet skittered into each other. ‘Are you saying that I should as well?’

  ‘Yes.’ He leant towards her. ‘I like to think I mean what I say. It saves me from having to remember which lie I have told.’

  She ignored the sudden warmth which flooded through her and attempted to breathe normally. Moir must know how he looked with his long golden hair falling over his forehead and his eyes like summer sunshine on the mill pond. He was a man used to taking what he required from willing women, wasn’t that what his friend had implied yesterday?

  Men did not flirt with her except when they wanted something from her. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago. And she was pretty sure despite his protestations to the contrary that Moir would lie to her if it meant it gained him an opportunity to escape. She was overtired and missed Elene with a deep ache in her soul as if she might never see her younger sister again. It had made her susceptible to his undeniable charm.

  She forced her lips to turn up. ‘You must forgive me my scepticism after you raided my home without as much as a preliminary enquiry about hospitality.’

  ‘You are not ready to trust me. I can accept that.’ He gave a half-smile. ‘One day you will see that we men from the North make better friends than enemies.’

  She wrinkled her nose. He seemed not the least put out by her response. He’d anticipated it. ‘All of you? You told me not to trust Guthmann.’

  ‘Guthmann is a Dane, not a man from the North country.’

  His clear-eyed gaze met hers and seemed to bore down to that inner place in her soul which few ever saw, the one which knew she could try all she wanted with her father, but she could never repair the damage she’d inflicted on his life. She kept her back straight and did not flinch. She had done nothing to be ashamed of since the day her mother had died.

  ‘I want to earn your trust.’ His voice flowed over her the way new honey flows out of crushed combs. ‘I swear to you that I rarely break a freely given promise. I have every intention of keeping this one.’

  ‘Why is it so important what I think of you?’ she asked through aching lips.

  He was silent for a long while. Ansithe was conscious of how her breath filled her lungs—in and out. And the way his blond hair fell to just below his chin. She knew she watched him for too long and far too intently.

  ‘Because it matters to me a great deal,’ he said finally breaking the spell. ‘That is all the explanation you require.’

  Ansithe’s heart hammered. ‘Is it?’

  He gestured with his bound hands. ‘Lead the way to the infirmary, I would see my friends. Keep pace with me as I wouldn’t like to get lost.’

  Getting lost. He meant vanishing before escaping. ‘Worry not, there is little danger of you...getting lost.’

  * * *

  Father Oswald, the priest, was pacing up and down in front of the infirmary building when Ansithe arrived with Moir. The two ill men lay where the stable hands had abandoned them—in the dirt. Moir made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Ansithe gestured towards where the men lay. ‘I sent these men to be cared for by you, not tossed in the dirt like discarded rags.’

  Father Oswald pointed a finger at Ansithe. His body quivered with barely suppressed rage. ‘You, you have done this deliberately. You know I don’t want these creatures here. They are barely human. I won’t have it! I will speak to Lady Cynehild.’

  ‘Shall I call her, or will you?’ Ansithe pointed towards the hall. ‘Cynehild wants her husband returned safely. The best way to ensure that happens is to keep these two men alive.’

  ‘They are not men, but animals. It must be God’s will that they die.’ Father Oswald paused dramatically and raised his arms to the heavens. ‘Would you fight God, Lady Ansithe?’

  ‘To get my family returned alive, without hesitation.’

  ‘That is blasphemy.’

  ‘They are injured men. Use your eyes, man.’ Ansithe bit out each word.

  ‘I say they are not men, but beasts.’

  ‘Keep calm, Kyrie.’ Moir’s breath brushed her ear. ‘Losing your temper will simply give him another excuse to refuse. We will all lose. Me. You. Your family, but most importantly Palni and Bjartr.’

  She took a calming breath. Moir was right. There had to be a way of appealing to his vanity. ‘I’ve failed, Father. Despite your teachings, I’m nothing but a miserable sinner.’

  The priest shuffled from foot to foot. ‘I didn’t say that, Lady Ansithe. Your quick thinking saved us.’

  ‘I considered my skill at healing would be enough to heal these men, but it isn’t. I should have begged for your advice earlier.’ She bowed her head. ‘It was wrong of me and I most heartily repent.’

  The priest coughed. ‘You have a good heart, Lady Ansithe, but you’ve no real feel for healing.’

  Moir went down on his knees and raised his hands in supplication. ‘See to my friends even though they do not deserve it. Show that you and your God are merciful.’

  The priest crossed himself and began to say the Lord’s Prayer as he counted his rosary beads. Moir said it along with him. Father Oswald stopped midway through and stared open-mouthed at him.

  ‘How do you know these words?’ Ansithe asked before Father Oswald exploded with rage at a pagan warrior saying the sacred prayer.

  ‘I visited Constantinople when I was younger and had occasion to hear them in the great church there. They made an impression.’ He smiled and a shaft of sunlight lit his hair. ‘Do you think they will help in saving my friends?’

  Ansithe turned firmly away from him. ‘Help me keep them alive until the ransom is paid, Father.’

  ‘I already have. I gave you the bandages and medicines.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘It is more than most would do.’

  ‘I lack the skill to do more to help and Elene has gone to court.’ Ansithe held out her hands. ‘You alone possess the medical knowledge and skill to save these two men. I believe God gave you the skill so that you can heal people.’

  ‘And that one? Why is he here, looking like the very devil himself? Reciting those words in such a voice?’

  ‘He seeks to reassure his men. He will not harm you and he meant no offence. He thought to honour you, not mock you.’

  ‘Honour me?’ The priest frowned. ‘Perhaps he did, but he makes me uncomfortable.’

  ‘Will the priest do as you ask?’ Moir asked, rising from where he’d knelt. ‘He speaks too fast for me to understand.’

  ‘Then let me speak.’

  His eyes held hers for a long heartbeat. ‘I will do as you request.’

  ‘What is happening, Lady Ansithe?’ Father Oswald asked.

  ‘He wants to ensure his friends are cared for. He doesn’t trust us.’ She lowered her voice and spoke in Latin. ‘His men are worried you might want to drink their blood. They were not entirely sure you’d try to save their friends, even though I told them again and again how skilled you are. He is their leader and
he volunteered to come with me and check. I need them alive, Father. I need to get my father and Leofwine back—also alive.’

  The colour drained from Father Oswald’s face. ‘The very idea! Drink their blood indeed!’

  ‘It is amazing the sort of rumours that circulate.’

  Father Oswald glanced once more towards Moir. ‘They’ve never truly known the saving grace of our Lord.’

  ‘They will see him working through you,’ Ansithe answered skilfully.

  The priest’s face became lit with an inner fire. ‘Maybe I can make them see the true path to the Light of the World. Maybe this is a test and trial for my personal faith. The heathen does appear to know something. Maybe I can try. The bishop did mention something about preaching to the heathen.’

  Ansithe released her breath. The first hurdle was cleared. She’d worry about the consequences to her soul later. ‘You’re a good man, Father.’

  Father Oswald examined both men where they lay and proclaimed that they should make it through if they received proper medical attention, instead of what they had been receiving. Ansithe started to call for the stable hands, but Moir indicated to Ansithe that she should untie his hands, then with Father Oswald’s help he picked up his young charge and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him into the infirmary. He returned for his friend with the injured leg. Ansithe marvelled at his strength.

  ‘I will use my skill as the Good Lord intended me to,’ Father Oswald declared. ‘I will demonstrate Our Lord is far mightier than any of the false gods the heathens worship.’

  Moir glanced at him. ‘Father, it seemed to me on the way over that the church roof needs to be rethatched. If Lady... Ansithe will permit, my men and I will assist in that task while you see to our companions.’

  ‘Miracles can happen.’ Father Oswald wiped his brow with the sleeve of his cassock, fell on his knees and offered up words to the Almighty in thanks that his prayers for a new church roof had been answered.

  ‘Do you think you can save them, priest?’ Moir demanded.

  The priest stopped in his prayers and glanced up at him. ‘I will do my best. They are in God’s hands ultimately, but I dislike losing any patient, even heathen ones. Now leave and let me get about God’s business while you set about fixing that roof!’