Alrik affected an air of grace, but his jaw clenched. He offered a toast in Welsh to Hyffaid. “To victory.”
Each man in the hall downed the contents of his horn, and a few cheers rang out for victory, king, and country.
The Vikings didn’t look impressed. A few tossed gimlet stares at the Welshmen.
Hyffaid drained his own cup. “We march north on the morrow!” Hyffaid plopped into his chair. Upon the king’s cue, everyone took their seats. Servants swarmed, serving an endless stream of heaping platters of food.
The meal passed without further incident. Everyone drank heartily while the scop regaled the crowd with tales of valor, love, and loss. When the bard set down his harp, Hyffaid shuffled in our direction and shook Alrik’s hand. He bent in a courtly bow to me and then sat opposite Alrik. “I have a proposition for you, my friend. I have agreed to provide you with a new sail and add ample gold and silver to your coffers, but I would like to offer more. I am willing to pay your weight in silver if you would agree to stay in Wales and fight for me. I am confident that in this campaign to hold Rhodri to his lands in the north, we will be successful, but Rhodri will not give up. As security, I would like to offer you a prestigious position at my court as Commander of the Guard. I would hope your men will agree to fight by your side. I will of course reward them lavishly for their service.”
Alrik leaned back in his chair. “What would your men think of this arrangement? I do not get the impression they are pleased with our involvement.”
“They are slow to trust. Do not blame them. Your brother’s actions have hurt us all.”
Alrik nodded. “I appreciate your honesty, and your offer is good and fair, but I cannot accept.”
“I am willing to negotiate more, if it is wealth you are after.”
Alrik shook his head. “I mean to leave once we settle this conflict with Rhodri. I have promised the lady safe passage to the continent. I mean to keep my word.”
Hyffaid looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “I can provide a ship for her passage. In fact, I will have a shipment of wool ready to leave within a few days. And to sweeten the pot, any payment she has offered, I will double.”
“I thank you for the offer, but the lady and I are betrothed.”
Hyffaid’s jaw tightened. “My niece failed to mention that. No offense, mistress.”
I pursed my lips. “None taken.”
“I am sorry. But my decision is final,” Alrik said.
“Perhaps we can reach a compromise. The offer will remain open, in case you reconsider.” He waited for a nod from Alrik and then rejoined his wife at the head table.
I didn’t know exactly how much Alrik weighed, but it had to be over twenty stone. The sum in Hyffaid’s offer was staggering. Part of me rejoiced at Alrik’s dismissal. The other part, the one that wanted to see him happy, the one that wanted to see him find the validation and renown he so desperately craved, hesitated. Despite Ragnar acknowledging Alrik as his son, his half-brothers—Ivar, Ubbe, and Halfdan—considered him less. By sailing to England without Alrik, they made their opinions obvious and public. Whether he was ridiculed outwardly or just fought with demons within himself, he’d built his own ship and pillaged and fought, determined to prove his worth.
Hyffaid offered an opportunity to have something of his own, to hold power and position. Wasn’t that why he had agreed to this mercenary work in the first place? He could build a home and name for himself here, earn glory in battle, appease his gods. It wasn’t safe for me to stay this close to Osric and England, but I couldn’t be the reason for his refusal. I would never forgive myself.
“Alrik. That is a tremendous opportunity. Your men might wish you to reconsider.”
“Hyffaid wishes to secure his throne and strengthen his family’s position through an alliance with the sons of Ragnar. Ivar is a scourge to this island. From Ireland, he has attacked, raped, and burned. He’s carted away hundreds of Welsh prisoners to sell at the slave markets in Dublin. Once Hyffaid learns one of my brothers wants me dead and the other has cast me into exile, he would not feel the bargain fairly struck. Besides,” his voice dropped, deep and husky. “Now that we are promised and you have refused to leave my side, I have no choice but to depart from Wales. If I linger, Marared will sink her hooks into me further, and there is only one woman I want in my bed.”
His gaze lanced through the layers of cotton and glided across my flushed and heated skin.
“Come.” He crooked his finger, beckoning, his smile cocky and lustful. “I believe I promised to finish what we started yesterday, after your bath.”
The reminder sent a delicious shiver through my body and cut short further thoughts of Hyffaid’s proposal.
He reached for my hand beneath the table, and the finger that had gestured me closer now stroked the sensitive flesh of my palm. His touch nudged the band of silver, and I gasped.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The ring. In the confusion and rush, I forgot to take it off.” There was no mistaking the pagan implications of the carvings.
He leaned closer, as if to tell me a private secret. His fingers intertwined with mine while his other hand sought out the hem to my kirtle and boldly slipped underneath, working its way up my thigh. “If anyone asks, tell them I presented it to you as a gift—a symbol of our status. A status, I might add, that allows me unfettered access to that beautiful body.” His hand cupped between my legs, the table cloth the only impediment blocking his advance from the room.
Thoughts flitted away as I lost myself in the anticipation elicited by his words and the excitement of his daring play.
“I will give you five minutes’ head start before I leave the hall,” he whispered in my ear.
“Am I interrupting something?” Marared’s voice hovered above us, and we shot apart as if goaded with pokers.
“Of course not.” I smiled wanly.
She ignored me. “I wondered what you thought of my uncle’s offer.”
Alrik’s hands reappeared, resting on the table in front of him. “I declined.”
“Because of her?” The last word spat from her lips.
“Because I have business on the continent.”
She turned and stormed toward a private chamber at the far end of the hall, shoving past Gil. His eyebrows creased, and his gaze met mine.
I rubbed the tension between my eyes. “Stay if you need to extinguish some fires, but I’m going to bed.” I’d had enough of Marared and the day. “Excuse me.” I slipped out of the hall, seeking the relative safety of the cottage.
Alrik caught up with me and followed me inside, dismissing the chambermaids. The hearth’s warmth melted my limbs and cast a heavy cloak of weariness over my shoulders. Fresh rushes covered the floor, and the room smelled of hay and thyme.
He slipped the cloak from his shoulders, hung it on a hook near the door, and stalked closer. The tent in his trousers made his intentions quite clear.
“Alrik. We need to talk.”
“Yes, of course. Talk.” He pressed his advantage, causing me to back up and bump into the wall.
“You need to confront this situation with Marared.”
“I gave you my word. I will see her hostilities ended.” He slipped a hand inside my cloak, finding his way to my breast. A nipple quickened under his touch. The soporific lethargy I’d first experienced upon walking into the room shifted. It morphed into something heady and vigorous.
His teeth grazed my earlobe, his breath warm and soft, blowing. My head turned languid and fuzzy due to his proximity. I pressed a hand against his chest, gaining a little distance and perspective.
“She gave me three days or else she would wield her magic against me. I have two days left.”
“I will speak with her.” He tried to maneuver closer.
“And say what?”
“That I love you. What more needs to be said?”
As wonderful as those words sounded, something still niggled, and I held my ground,
keeping him at arm’s length.
He sighed. “What is it now?”
“Today, at the coast. I had a vision. Perhaps this has nothing to do with Marared, but I can’t shake this sense of unease. We are not safe here.”
“What did you see?” He studied my face, allowing the space between us to grow.
I thought of the dream and the hideous beast. “There is darkness coming, and the bones prophesied danger and destruction. They also spoke of love and change. I couldn’t pinpoint anything specific; it was more the feeling. Muirgen only confirmed what I knew.”
“Your grandmother is dead.” He reached for the amulet that hung from his neck—a likeness of Thor’s hammer stamped in gold.
“She came to me, from the Otherworld. It’s too hard to explain. But what I do know, what I can tell you, is that if we stay in Wales, something will come between us.”
“And your visions, are they always correct?”
“I … don’t know. I’ve never had one like this before.” I may not know specifics, but like Muirgen said, sometimes you have to prepare for the worst.
“Raven’s Blood needs a new sail. I will not risk crossing the ocean without it.”
“Is there no other way?”
“I have given my word to Hyffaid to aid his cause. I must fight. The conflict will not take long. One decisive battle will set the course and Rhodri will stay in his lands to the north. Once it is finished, we can leave.”
“And until then?”
“I will speak with Marared.”
“Is that all?”
“What more would you have me do?”
“I don’t know.”
He pulled me close. His lips brushed my forehead, and I softened. I tipped my head back, inviting a fuller, deeper kiss.
“It will be fine. You have my word.”
I wanted to point out that I’d had his word before, and that it alone was not enough to keep me safe. But in the end, he’d always come through. We’d always found our way back into each other’s arms.
I pushed the unease aside as his lips found mine.
By the time Alrik left, it was late, and the events of the last couple of days had taken their toll. I banked the fire, desperate for the oblivion of a deep sleep, but as eager as I was, relief would not come. Ostara’s implications replayed in my mind: the divination bones, the vision, Muirgen, the sacrifice and ceremony in the cave, the earth shaking. I twirled the ring around my finger. Everything was happening so fast. We had just arrived here, yet I felt fate’s pull, setting a reckless pace. I rubbed the exhaustion from my face. The obstacles portended in my future crouched like a bowman ready to strike. Muirgen was right—only time would tell, but how much of it did I have left?
I wanted to lie in bed forever, but just after cock crow, an impatient knock roused me from a troubled sleep. I drew the pillows over my head in an attempt to block out the dreadful din, but war waits for no one. With Hyffaid’s army assembled, I joined the ranks, and we marched north, setting out for Dinefwr.
The journey proved dismal and wet. The lay of Dyfed, which Alrik had assured was much easier to traverse than the uplands, was nonetheless rugged with valleys and dales, hills and rises. The wind howled in my ears and made twice the work of tired legs as it pressed against us much of the way. Rain lashed, its torrent relentless.
On the second morning of traveling, the army trudged onward, sluggish to move. Everyone and everything was waterlogged. My boots squished with each step, my socks sodden and cold. I’d assumed I would walk with Alrik, but the men marched well ahead of the pack of straggling women, carts, horses, and provisions. More random attacks plagued the countryside, and we were advised to keep to the road and avoid wandering off in smaller groups. At first, I was content to remain invisible in the disorganized crowd, but I needed to speak with Alrik. I needed to know if he’d met with Marared and what was said. I needed a plan going forward.
If he couldn’t get through to her, I would have to find a way to counter her threats on my own. I wandered the camp, dodging pages and servants, messengers and men, until I found the Viking contingent. I scanned the chaos, looking for a tall blond head. Spotting my quarry, I made my way to Alrik, who was packing up his tent. “Did you speak with Marared?”
“Yes.” He tied his bedding with a wide leather thong before throwing the strap over his head. The cord rested on his shoulder, the bedroll falling across his back.
“Was she biddable?”
“No. She demanded you leave.”
“And you told her …”
“I told her I was here to bring peace and security to her uncle’s lands, and you would remain at my side.”
I couldn’t imagine that placated her. “What of her threats of magic?”
“Marared is angry and upset, but she is harmless. I have known her for many years and never once seen evidence of anything Otherworldly. She will come around.”
My lack of movement—arms crossed, eyebrow raised, clenched jaw—drew a long sigh from Alrik. “I told her to leave off. I was firm. It is done, hjartað. Trust me.” He gave my cheek a chaste kiss and joined Cormac and a few of his men, outfitting their horses.
I had complete and utter faith in Alrik; it was Marared I didn’t trust.
March 27
With the army organized, I stayed with Alrik and his men as we marched the last few hours mercilessly uphill along the old Roman road that led to Dinefwr, reaching the royal manor by late afternoon.
Situated on a steep, rocky crag above the River Tywi, the buttress faced north, overlooking barren fields and scrub pasture lands. To the east, a wide vista of distant hills rolled forever upward and onward, commanding the horizon.
Stable lads and grooms received us at once and whisked away our horses. Pages offered sweet wine to chase the foul taste of dust from our lips.
Tollak approached Alrik and the two men clasped arms. “You’ve made good time,” Tollak said. He bowed slightly to me.
“Have you been treated well?” Alrik looked beyond Tollak to where a host of Vikings waited. There were sixty men on board Raven’s Blood, and I’d yet to know them all.
“For a Welshman, Gwgon is tolerable, but not everyone is as welcoming.”
“Who?”
“The priest, for one. A man, Baroc, another.” Tollak nodded to a man dismounting. Stocky with an air of nobility, he strode to Hyffaid’s side.
Alrik glared. “I know him. He is Hyffaid’s armor barer—a cousin, I believe.”
“He shadowed us to Dinefwr. Caught him and his men occasionally through the trees. Hyffaid sent him to keep an eye on us. The sooner this business is done, the better.” Tollak frowned.
“Aye.” Alrik surveyed his crew. “Morale?”
“The crew are complacent for now. A fat purse goes a long way to placate.”
I surveyed the men around me. The Vikings stood well apart from everyone else, like wine in a volatile oil.
Amidst the whirlwind of activity, a tall, well-dressed man, opulent in a sealskin cloak and bright red tunic, embraced Hyffaid. He corralled the shorter man and strode toward our party with arms outstretched. He shook Tollak’s hand and listened as Hyffaid made introductions.
He turned his warm gaze on Alrik and me. “Welcome to my court. I am Gwgon ap Meurig at your service,” Gwgon said in perfect English. He shook Alrik’s hand and swept mine to his lips, hazel eyes twinkling.
I curtsied.
“Nest, my sister’s chambermaid, will see that you are well received.” He released my hand and gestured to a thin wisp of a girl standing off to his right. “Please, enjoy some refreshment and rest from your travels.”
Effectively dismissing me, he clapped Alrik on the shoulder. “Come, I’d like you to meet my household guard.” He strode away, Tollak and Hyffaid in tow.
Nest motioned to the great hall, and I followed. She looked to be about twelve years of age, not much older than Edward. Unlike Edward, who had the height and promise of a warrior’s physique,
Nest was a delicate bird of a thing. Her smile, however, was robust and friendly and softened the hard angles of her face.
She bustled ahead and held the door open for me to enter. The large timber space bustled with elegant ladies and gentlemen, gold and silver broaches and rings gleaming. I felt awkward and out of place in my dusty-hemmed dress. It had been cut in the latest fashion, but since it was one of only two dresses I owned suitable for these types of gatherings, it showed signs of strain.
Nest left me to my own devices and scurried out of the hall. I’d not seen much of Marared or Sigy during our travels. They had a litter and full retinue and plodded along well back of the main group. I caught sight of mother and daughter now, gossiping and laughing with the other ladies at court. I studied Marared out of the corner of my eye. I wondered if Alrik’s message had gotten through. She looked my way and bowed her head in my direction. I followed suit. Perhaps there was hope for this conflict yet.
“Avelynn?” A whoop of greeting sallied forth from across the room, and I turned in time to be enveloped in a bear hug.
I laughed. “It’s good to see you again, Eadfrith.”
“You look as winsome and lovely as an English rose.”
“And you, Eadfrith, do not look like a priest.” He wore a fine, deep-green tunic, his cloak held on his shoulder by a large gold broach. “Playing dress-up?”
“One last kick at the pebble. It will be nothing but traveling cloaks from here on. Once in a while, a man enjoys the finer things in life, like soft linen against the skin.”
A beautiful young woman with high cheek bones and a genuine smile took Eadfrith’s hands in hers. “And who do we have here, cousin?”
“Angharad, may I present Avelynn, of England. Avelynn, my cousin and the lady of the house, Angharad ap Meurig, sister to King Gwgon.”
“Angharad?” I studied her. Light brown hair fell in soft curls down her back, framing a full mouth and a delicately dimpled chin.
Avelynn: The Edge of Faith Page 10