A Deal with Her Rebel Viking

by Michelle Styles

  Moir nodded, putting his hand on the pommel of his sword. ‘I heard. Be on your guard. Few travel willingly in the dark.’

  They’d made excellent progress since they set out from the summer gathering, only stopping briefly for a bit of hard bread and cheese. Moir reckoned they had another half-day’s journey before they reached Baelle Heale and they still stood a chance of reaching Ansithe before she inadvertently blundered into Guthmann’s trap.

  ‘Moir, is that you?’ Palni’s voice came out of the darkness. ‘I find you at last.’

  Moir tensed in the saddle. ‘Tell me your being here has nothing to do with Lady Ansithe.’

  ‘She sent me.’ Palni appeared out of the darkness and held out his mother’s pendant. ‘Her token. She bade me to give it to you. The priest assisted me in escaping.’

  Moir muttered a curse. ‘Then she is already at Baelle Heale.’

  ‘And Guthmann Ulfson as well. A bad business, Moir. Her brother-in-law was murdered because he objected to Guthmann being betrothed to Lady Ansithe.’

  ‘I am aware Guthmann is there and what he intends for my lady. I’d hoped to reach Lady Ansithe before she arrived.’

  ‘Lady Ansithe asked that you not come because she feared you were too injured from your fight with the outlaws. If you had any feelings for her, you were to stay away.’

  Moir unleashed a volley of curses, punching the air with his sword arm as he did. ‘You must have told her that I would ignore her wishes. I will protect her from Guthmann with my last breath.’

  Palni stroked his chin. ‘From the way she was talking, she made it sound as though you were practically on your deathbed or that you had nearly lost your sword arm in the fight. She spoke in such a loud voice, I felt certain she would be heard in the hall.’

  Moir went still. Ansithe was trying to send him a message. ‘Who was there when she said it?’

  ‘Her sisters, Father Oswald and that weasel-faced steward of hers.’

  The weasel-faced steward who always reported everything to his master. Moir smiled. He knew exactly what she was doing. He had to make sure her scheme succeeded. ‘Underestimate my lady at your peril, Palni. Ansithe knows precisely what she is doing. She is going to be a fearsome tafl player once I teach her.’

  ‘Well, I am pleased you know what Lady Ansithe is on about for I am sure I don’t.’

  Moir rummaged in his saddlebag for his spare linen tunic. He started to tear it into strips. Palni looked at him as if he had gone mad.

  ‘I need to use my undertunic to fashion bandages and a sling,’ Moir explained. ‘I will not fail my lady.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Thank you, Father, for saying that we can wait to celebrate my nuptials until the thirty days of mourning for Leofwine have passed,’ Ansithe said the next afternoon while she sat in the main hall next to her father, picking at her pottage and trying not to be sick with fear. Thirty days had to be long enough for Moir to arrive and then she could put the next part of the scheme into action. She had to hope that Palni would find and deliver her message in time and that Moir would understand precisely what she meant.

  To her surprise, her father had readily agreed to the delay. Her father was all smiles now that he believed she had gone along with his scheme.

  ‘I do not want anyone saying that we offended anyone with the match.’ Her father patted her hand. ‘And you have managed to coax Cynehild and Wulfgar from the church. I worried that you might claim sanctuary. It could have caused grave difficulties. I should have known that you of all people would be sensible.’

  ‘Father Oswald is nervous enough about the Heathen Horde without making his fears come true.’

  A shout rang out that horsemen were approaching.

  ‘Are you expecting anyone, Father?’ Ansithe asked. Her stomach knotted. It was far too soon for Moir to arrive. She had to hope Palni had discovered him and delivered her message, or otherwise he’d be riding straight into the trap Guthmann had set for him.

  Guthmann stood and gave a triumphant grin.

  ‘Allow these men to come into the yard, Ealdorman Wulfgar,’ Guthmann proclaimed. ‘Let us see what they are on about before my men act. I am fundamentally a man of peace unless provoked.’

  Ansithe balled impotent fists at the bare-faced lies Guthmann told and the way her father cravenly simpered. Her father, Guthmann and his men went out. Nodding to her sisters and Father Oswald to accompany her, Ansithe followed them.

  Moir rode into the yard with Nerian of Wessex and his men, and Bjartr and the other Northmen from the felag that she’d captured trotting behind them. Moir’s right arm was cradled in a sling. When he dismounted, he seemed to lean heavily on his left leg. Ansithe gasped, but then she saw the amber pendant hanging about his neck.

  She struggled to keep a straight face. Moir had acted on her message. Everything now depended on getting this right. Guthmann must remain in ignorance until the counter-trap had been sprung.

  ‘To what do we owe this visitation?’ Guthmann demanded, breaking all protocol that her father should speak first. Ansithe noticed that her father remained steadfastly silent.

  ‘Nerian of Wessex, my lord.’ The Wessex captain stepped forward. ‘I have arrived to deliver the gold I obtained for ransoming Lady Ansithe’s various captives.’

  Her father held out his hands and his eyes took on a greedy gleam. ‘I’m her father. You may give the gold to me.’

  ‘Lady Ansithe is a widow and under Mercian law is therefore entitled to the gold in her own right,’ Nerian replied. ‘The lady captured both the Northmen under the jaarl Andvarr’s command and the Danes whom the new Mercian King has purchased. The King has instructed me to give the gold to none but her. Mercia owes her a debt of gratitude for capturing such a fierce band of rogue warriors.’

  Guthmann and her father both appeared to have swallowed particularly sour plums. Ansithe went forward and collected the purse, which was heavier than she had anticipated.

  ‘We are prepared,’ Nerian murmured. ‘Be ready. Moir has a plan.’

  She gave a barely perceptible nod before retreating to where her sisters and Father Oswald stood. She rapidly handed it to Father Oswald for safekeeping in the church.

  When Father Oswald retired to put the gold away, she turned to her father. ‘These men should be offered refreshment, Father, before they return to court.’

  ‘That would be kind, my lady. The men are parched from their travels,’ Moir said, stepping forward.

  ‘Why are you here, Moir Mimirson? You are Andvarr’s man, little better than a dog by all accounts as I’ve never known you to disobey a direct order from your master,’ Guthmann said with a sneer.

  Moir lifted a brow. ‘Nerian of Wessex required a guide. I volunteered my services. He accepted.’

  ‘Moir Mimirson!’ Her father turned red. ‘This is the man who defiled my daughter if the tales my steward told me last night prove true. You must avenge this gross insult, Guthmann. My daughters are not whores.’

  Guthmann blew on his nails. ‘I warned Andvarr before we left that any insult to my woman would be punished. And now I hear tales of you, Moir, defiling my bride-to-be after our betrothal was agreed with her father. Is this true?’

  ‘It depends on your definition of defiling,’ Moir retorted. ‘I never comment on my relations with a lady, particularly not one as vibrant as the Lady Ansithe.’

  Guthmann’s scar on his face throbbed to a mottled purple. ‘I cannot tolerate this insult to pass unnoticed or remarked on. I will not be made a cuckold.’

  His voice fairly rose to a screech and he started breathing heavily. Ansithe wondered if he was going to start foaming at the mouth.

  ‘You wish to fight me?’ Moir peered intently at Guthmann. ‘One on one to settle who has claim over this woman?’

  Guthmann’s gaze slowly drifted over Moir and appeared to
take in the sling and the awkward way Moir stood.

  Ansithe’s heart pounded so loudly that she thought Guthmann must hear it. He had to take the bait.

  Guthmann finally smiled. ‘I had thought I would appoint a champion to fight on my behalf, but given the gravity of what you have done, I will undertake the task myself. I will admit to longing to see the day when I spilled your blood, Moir.’

  Behind him, his men gave an ear-splitting roar.

  ‘I accept with pleasure, Guthmann Bloodaxe. On one condition—right here and right now.’

  ‘You were always arrogant. Know that I look forward to teaching your lady the true meaning of being bedded by a Dane.’

  Moir took off his sling, awkwardly unsheathed his sword and struggled to raise it to shoulder height, much to the amusement of Guthmann’s men. ‘The time for talking has passed.’

  Guthmann snapped his fingers and a gleaming sword was put in his hand. ‘I am going to enjoy this.’

  Moir forced his arm to stay still. Never had a fight or battle meant as much to him. He was fighting not only for his life, but for Ansithe and the future he hoped to share with her. ‘Shall we begin?’

  Guthmann made the first move, stabbing with his sword. Moir twisted at the last instant and the sword thrust missed. The circled each other and Guthmann seemed to grow in confidence, making short cutting stabs. Moir took a step backwards and stumbled to one knee. The impact made his sword fall out of his hand.

  ‘Andvarr swore you were an excellent warrior, but I see now you were simply an overblown windbag. You are going to die today and I will take your woman until she screams. Think about that as you draw your last breath.’

  ‘You overestimate your ability. You missed the obvious, Guthmann.’ Moir rolled, grabbed his sword and forced it upwards.

  Unable to stop his own downward movement, Guthmann met Moir’s sword, gave a gurgle and fell, impaled. The cheers rang out.

  Moir reached down and picked up Guthmann’s sword. ‘Does anyone wish to challenge me for the leadership of Guthmann’s felag?’

  To a man, Guthmann’s men knelt and swore allegiance to their new leader. Then they rose and beat their swords against their shields, swearing to defend him and him alone to the death.

  ‘I believe I made an error of judgement,’ Ansithe’s father said in a hesitant voice, tugging at his tunic and looking extremely frail all of a sudden.

  ‘I believe you did,’ Ansithe answered coolly. ‘It is something you will have to ponder for the rest of your days, Father.’

  Moir motioned for quiet.

  ‘You are free from Guthmann Bloodaxe and his unwelcome attentions, Lady Ansithe. Free to do what you wish in the future. I also relinquish any claim over you. And I pledge to fight anyone who dares declare that you have been loose with your favours.’ Moir crossed to her and handed her Guthmann’s sword.

  Ansithe took it and held it awkwardly. After all this, Moir was freeing her? Had this all been about Moir’s quarrel with Guthmann, rather than his feelings toward her? A great black pit opened in her stomach. She wanted to go somewhere and hide rather than face the humiliation of Moir proclaiming nothing had ever passed between them in front of everyone. He’d done it to save her reputation, but she knew the words would ultimately destroy her. ‘I take this in the spirit given,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Can we go somewhere where we won’t be disturbed?’ Moir asked in a low voice as more cheers rang out. ‘There are things which must be said to each other, things best said without others listening. Please.’

  ‘The apiary.’ Ansithe pasted on a bright smile. ‘I believe my sisters are capable of organising a feast to celebrate while I attend to this. It will not take long.’

  ‘Take as long as you need.’ Cynehild’s gaze narrowed and she rolled up her sleeves. ‘I am going to enjoy this. We will use the best mead, Father, and none of your nonsense about cost either.’

  * * *

  After the noise of the yard, the apiary’s gentle hum of bees seemed incredibly peaceful. Ansithe rested her hand on a disused skep to ensure that her knees didn’t give way. She wanted to run her hands down Moir’s form and check that he remained uninjured.

  ‘Appropriate spot, considering how we met.’ He gave a crooked smile which made her heart skip a beat. ‘I like to think the bees will approve of my actions today.’

  ‘What do you have to say to me?’ Ansithe asked before she threw her arms about his neck and demanded to know why he had declared in front of everyone that there was nothing between them.

  He took off the pendant and held it out. ‘I owe you a debt, a debt I can never repay. Without your help, Guthmann would remain a potent force rather than lying face down in the dirt.’

  She turned towards a skep and focused on the bees going in and out. Her throat ached from unshed tears. She had been convinced that when he arrived, he would want to marry her, that he’d returned to save her. He had never made it a secret that things were going to end between them. She had made the error of falling in love with him. ‘I am pleased my message worked. I had to use the tools I had to hand. That is why you gave me the pendant—to use in case Guthmann arrived. I’ve no further need for it.’

  He froze. ‘The pendant belonged to my mother. I gave it to you because I wanted you to know I would return. I planned on returning to you with honour and sound prospects as Andvarr’s right-hand man, but it was not to be.’

  Ansithe gulped. He had given it to her as a symbol that he would return, rather than because he had thought Guthmann might be there. ‘It worked out. You saved me. You saved everyone here from him. We have no more debts to each other.’

  His finger traced a line on her cheek. ‘I want you to know that I will never dishonour you and that you will always have a choice.’

  Her heart thumped as she glanced up into his face. His eyes were warm pools of summer blue. The hope which had faded came back in full force. Maybe he did have some feelings for her. ‘I know that,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then will you be my wife, and share the rest of my life? Not because I beat Guthmann or because your father demands it, but because it is something you desire with your whole heart. You showed me what my life could be like and it will be all the richer with you being in it. I love you, Ansithe.’

  ‘But you will require children now that you are a great warlord.’

  ‘Don’t you love me?’

  ‘With all my heart, but someone must think practically.’

  ‘I think I have more than successfully proved you are anything but shrivelled up.’ He drew his brows together. ‘I want you and you alone, not some brood mare whose only function is to give me heirs. Marry me. Be my life partner. Let our future together take care of itself. Love me.’

  Ansithe lifted her hand and stroked his cheek, her warrior from the North who had come to rescue her and then had ensured she would be the one to determine her own future. Then she slipped the pendant back on. ‘Willingly and with all my heart. Father Oswald volunteered to perform the ceremony this morning after he heard Ecgbert’s whispering gossip about us.’

  His laugh rumbled in her ear, warming her straight down to her toes. ‘You were very certain of my ability to defeat Guthmann if you agreed to that.’

  ‘Someone had to plan for the future as I know about your reluctance to.’ She put her mouth next to his. ‘And you must admit I was rather clever this time.’

  ‘More than clever.’ He captured her lips.

  ‘Why didn’t you ask me to marry you before you left?’ she asked when she could speak again.

  ‘I had to thought to keep you safe and to ask your father for your hand in the proper manner, once I was free from captivity and could offer you more than an uncertain future, but events overtook me.’ He tightened his arms about her. ‘I’ve left Andvarr and am now my own man. My future is ours to make what we can of it.’


  Her mouth dropped open. He had left the safety of the jaarl Andvarr’s felag? The man he’d sworn to obey for the rest of his life? ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘My duty to my heart’s keeper transcends everything else.’ He rapidly explained about what has passed between him and Andvarr.

  Ansithe forgot how to breathe. If she had had any lingering doubts about his love and devotion, his words put them to rest. He was not Andvarr’s man, but hers and hers alone. ‘You hit Bjartr’s father. There will be no return from that.’

  ‘Sent him right on his arse. He tried to tell me to forget you, that there would be other women for me.’ His arms tightened about her. ‘There will never be another woman than my Valkyrie for me. You’ve accomplished what I never thought possible—you have made me become a better man.’

  ‘Your love and your belief in me has made me into a better woman. You have made me see that I was letting other people define me rather than defining who I was myself. You made me see that there was more to life than simply existing and you are right—I am anything but shrivelled up.’

  Moir moved to kiss her again, but she put her hands on his chest, holding him off.

  ‘Why are Bjartr and the others from the felag here?’

  ‘They decided to join me in this quest. They said your felag had not been disbanded until you declared it had. When Andvarr understood Bjartr’s intention to accompany me back here, he proclaimed his son had become a man and therefore must go where Bjartr willed.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘We can go wherever you want. Constantinople. Iceland. Or even stay here in Baelle Heale if you prefer. It is your choice. I go where you go.’

  To go travelling and see places she’d only ever dreamt about. Ansithe knew that with Elene and Cynehild in charge now her father’s honour was diminished, Baelle Heale and its people would be safe.

  ‘And Guthmann’s men? They declared you their jaarl with one voice,’ she asked. The time for travel would happen, one day, but first they had responsibilities to the people who had put their faith in them. ‘They swore to follow you to the death.’