But there was still a sliver of hope. If nothing else, she could ask Lord Oswine for help. There was always hope.
Hurrying inside, she found her home empty. The girls had finished the pieces they had been embroidering and left them neatly folded on the table in front. Resolving to check their work later, she rushed past the hearth in the centre of the house and placed the pack with the plants on the table where she prepared her meals to be dealt with later. The day was turning unseasonably warm, but the plaster walls still held in the cold of the previous night, so she added two pieces of wood to the fire. Then she filled a large bowl with stew simmering in the pot over the fire and placed it inside the basket she used in the garden. She covered it with another bowl to help contain any spills and grabbed a long length of linen, before grabbing her flagon of water and adding it to the basket.
The entire walk back to the stranger, she said prayers that she would find him alive. People were starting to trickle in from the fields, but she kept her gaze averted in the hopes that none of them would offer more than a greeting. The warriors at the gate were so accustomed to her coming and going that they barely gave her a glance. She still waited until she crossed the field and reached the forest before turning in the stranger’s direction.
She walked as fast as she could without sloshing the stew all over the basket. When she finally saw his form in much the same position as she’d left him propped beneath a fir, she sent up a prayer of thanks. He wasn’t asleep as she’d anticipated and he hadn’t left. He was watching her through slitted eyes, a faint smile on his lips despite his pallor. He looked horrible. A fine sheen of sweat now dotted his forehead and his skin seemed even paler than before. But, somehow, he was still striking.
Sinking to her knees beside him, she opened her basket. ‘I’ve brought some food.’
His eyes widened as she lifted out the bowl and his nostrils flared as he caught the scent. ‘The gods have sent you to save me.’ The soft smile lingered on his lips.
Gods? She’d heard the Northmen believed in gods. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t comment on it as she brought the bowl to his mouth for him to drink. It wasn’t until he’d taken a fair amount and leaned his head back to take a breath that she asked, ‘What do you know of gods?’
He shook his head, wincing and stopping, because he’d forgotten the pain it caused. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know of any gods. I spoke before I thought.’
He seemed genuinely unaware. Keeping her hands on the outside of his, she guided the bowl back to his mouth so he could drink down a bit more. She used the opportunity to get a closer look at the ugly gash on his head. It had definitely festered and was pink and swollen at the edges. It should have been sewn up, but it was probably too late for that now.
‘I’ve brought some linen and water to clean your wound, but it needs a poultice.’
He pulled back after taking a healthy drink. ‘I told you, I’ll not stay.’
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that he didn’t have much of a choice. She’d wager he wouldn’t be able to make it more than a handful of steps. ‘Then I should at least attempt to clean the grime from your wound before you go.’
His deep brown gaze caught hers again, warming her. ‘Aye, I’d be grateful.’ Then he brought the bowl back to his lips and his eyes never wavered from hers.
When a delightful shiver ran through her, she broke his stare to take out the linen and rip it in half. Retrieving the flagon of water from the basket, she pulled out the stopper with a pop and wet a wadded half of cloth. He gave a barely perceptible nod when she raised it in question, so she gently pressed it to his wound. The soft moan deep in his throat tugged at her heart.
She chewed her bottom lip as she gingerly moved the cloth around the edges of the wound, working her way inward as far as she dared to without causing him more pain. Except it was fairly well crusted over and not hurting him was impossible. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, as she cleaned the area around the wound. Once that was done, she had no choice but to attempt to clean the wound itself. ‘This may hurt,’ she warned.
He didn’t answer, so she chanced a glance down and found his eyes watching her, studying her. Swallowing against an unexpected feeling of breathlessness, she turned her attention back to her task. He didn’t so much as grimace when she started to clean the wound in earnest and he didn’t look away from her face.
It was a delicate task to clean the grime while making sure it didn’t start bleeding again. But after a few minutes she was satisfied that she’d done all that she could. She’d have to see Edyth about a poultice, if she could convince him to agree to come home with her. Discarding the soiled linen, she folded the clean linen and wet it through. The flesh around the eye under his injury was an angry blue and swollen. ‘Let’s keep this over your eye for a while. I hope the cool water will help the swelling.’
He’d finished the stew and placed the bowl on the brown pine needles that were his pallet. When she put the linen in place, his hand came up to cover hers. She almost gasped at the strange pleasure that skittered up her arm, before pulling her hand away. Her gaze jerked to his and she knew he’d felt it, too. He was studying her with a puzzled look.
‘You should at least rest before you move on.’
He nodded, a slight move, but he didn’t speak as he continued to watch her. His body was sagging against the tree more now than when she’d first come upon him. His eyelids were heavier and she knew that it would be but moments before sleep overtook him. She only hoped that he’d wake up.
She began to cautiously repack the items in the basket, but when she moved to set it aside, his eyes didn’t follow her. ‘Stranger,’ she called. He found her then, but he seemed to have trouble focusing, blinking several times. ‘Rest and I’ll keep vigil.’
The command hardly mattered because his large body was already sliding down to the ground. She lurched forward and barely managed to put her hands under him to break his fall, before she gently placed his head on the pine needles.
He took a deep, shaky breath, his brow furrowing a bit before he spoke again. ‘You should tell your warriors about the Dane. If there are more of them close behind, you could be in danger.’
Now that he was almost unconscious, she hoped to wait. While she didn’t think the men in her village would harm him, she wanted to give him a few hours to rest and regain strength from the nourishment, before bringing that hurdle to them. Did he sense that he wouldn’t be waking up soon?
He must have seen her hesitation, because he grabbed her wrist and his eyes opened wider in entreaty. ‘Promise you’ll tell them.’ His words were slightly slurred.
‘Aye, I’ll tell them.’ She nodded and clenched her fist tight.
His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths and she wondered how long that would hold true. His body was on fire.
Chapter Four
The sun was sinking low on the horizon and the foreigner hadn’t shown any signs of waking up. She’d poked, prodded and even talked to him, but he hadn’t moved. His breathing had become ragged and slow, which was when she finally convinced herself that he wasn’t going to wake up. At least not that day.
Aisly had hoped that after his rest he’d be able to at least walk inside the village with her. She had wanted to get him settled in her home before presenting him to the others. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Reluctantly she’d left him in the forest and once again had made her way to the village. This time going straight to Cuthbert’s hall, where she paused and took a deep breath before going inside.
Bollocks. She’d forgotten that today was the day the council met.
The sight of her father-in-law, Wulfric, standing at the end of the long room sent a shiver down her spine and stopped her just inside the door. He wore a brown tunic cinched with a hide belt just below his protruding belly. His dark b
eard, shot through with silver, was parted in the middle and hung down to his chest. The hair above his lip was shaved, making it that much easier to see the flash of his teeth as he sneered at the young man on his knees before him. Others sat on benches clustered near them in the far end of the room, but every eye was on Wulfric and his victim.
‘Did you not swear an oath on your twelfth year to uphold the laws of this land?’ His voice seemed to bounce off the walls, easily filling the room.
She barely heard the young man’s softer ‘aye’. But something familiar about its cadence caught her ear. Looking closer, she saw that it belonged to Beorn, a man who lived in a cottage near her own. He wasn’t a warrior, but a hard-working field worker who’d only just managed to gather the coin needed to marry his sweetheart a few months ago.
‘Thievery is against the law of this land. I am told you stole a sheep. The wool was found in your home. Your wife...’
With this he gestured, and Aisly realised that the woman she had come to call a friend stood off to the side, silently sobbing.
‘She was there in the home with the wool. It’s obvious she knew—’
At this Beorn interrupted. ‘Nay, she knew nothing. I never told her where it came from.’
‘And yet she never suspected, never questioned.’ The sneer never left Wulfric’s face. The man seemed to get pleasure from tormenting those beneath him. Godric had often behaved the same.
‘She had no reason to suspect. I’d never told her about my debts.’
Aisly chewed lightly on her bottom lip and clenched her arms against her stomach. Rowena had only recently learned that she was with child. What would happen to them? Aisly knew that the young man’s debt had been to Godric. She didn’t know the specifics, because Godric had never told her, but she suspected it had to do with her late husband’s proclivity for games of chance. That meant that the man’s debts had fallen to her and she hadn’t called them due. She’d wanted to when the Danes had taken all her coin, but she knew that the couple didn’t have the ability to pay.
Searching amongst the men for Cuthbert, their chief’s familiar shock of white hair, or his brother Arte’s rotund body, she didn’t find them. Wulfric hardly ever met to address grievances without them present, but it wasn’t unheard of. Her father-in-law was the one the villagers all came to for their disputes.
Wulfric flicked his hand as if the man’s words meant nothing. ‘It matters not. She is your kin and as such will suffer along with you. I’ve no doubt that your thieving tendencies have infected her. You’ll be taken to Lord Oswine with a recommendation to be relocated—’
‘Wait!’ Aisly heard her own voice call out before she could stop herself. All heads turned towards her and the brief reaction she’d entertained of running out the door fled. It didn’t stop her cowardly rabbit heart from beating like that of a cornered animal.
Wulfric clenched his jaw and she had no doubt that vein in his temple that she was so well acquainted with throbbed as he set his eyes on her. She swallowed against the sudden dryness of her mouth and moved forward a few steps.
‘I—Is that necessary, Wulfric? I never called the debt due. Can’t the wool be returned to its owner and this all forgotten?’
‘It wasn’t your debt to call, my dear.’ The momentary shock that had crossed his face at her daring to interrupt was gone, replaced by a sneer.
‘It was owed to Godric, so it’s now mine.’ Her voice grew stronger and she tightened her fists at her sides.
‘Not everything that was my son’s is yours.’ A distinct thread of bitterness laced his words. ‘I was listed on the debt, it reverted to me. I called it due.’
‘They are indebted to you, yet you are the one with the power to level punishment on them for the debt?’ It seemed an unfair advantage.
‘Aye. I have that power. Is there something you are trying to say, Aisly?’
She sucked in a deep breath while her heart tried to beat its way from her chest. Wulfric had made it clear from the very first that he didn’t approve of his son’s marriage to a mere servant. He’d also made it known to others that he didn’t want her to stay in his son’s home. Now wasn’t the time to provoke him, but there was something blatantly unfair about what was happening before her.
‘Nay, Wulfric. I am only asking for you to be merciful. His wife is with child and I’ve never heard of either of them stealing. Perhaps it was one instance of poor judgement. If they return the wool, then nothing has been lost.’
Wulfric gave a short bark of laughter. ‘The sheep is still gone. It’s not only wool they took. And even if it were returned, the theft happened. It won’t erase the crime or the need for the punishment. Actions done, Aisly, cannot be undone.’ He gave her a vicious look that made her think those words were somehow meant for her and a chill crept down her spine. Then he dismissed her with a glance and turned his attention to the man kneeling before him.
‘Perhaps I could pay the debt,’ she insisted. ‘How much is due? As I recall, it’s fairly low.’
The amount he stated was so absurdly high she wondered if he’d made it up. She wouldn’t have had that much coin had the Danes from the settlement not raided her coffers. Correctly assuming she couldn’t pay, Wulfric turned his attention back to the man kneeling before him. He raised his hands high and wide as he made a show of it, delighting in the audience.
Aisly searched the room again for someone to help, but it was a fruitless search. No one save Cuthbert or Arte would dare to oppose him. Turning on her heel, she hurried from the room. The foreigner needed help and Cuthbert was the only one she’d trust to see to him. She’d also mention Beorn’s dilemma. The older man was kind and fair, where Wulfric was cold and deceitful. Perhaps he’d intervene. She rushed back out to the gates and almost ran into Cuthbert as he made his way towards the village from the fields.
* * *
‘We’ll take him to my hall. I’ll have Edyth look him over.’ Cuthbert stared down at the fallen warrior as if he was afraid to touch him. Two of his warriors had come with them back to the tree where she’d left the foreigner, but judging from the disparity in their size and the fact that the stranger would be a dead weight, she didn’t think they’d be enough to carry him inside.
As their chieftain, she’d always found Cuthbert to be wise and just, but she didn’t trust the others. The thought of leaving her foreigner at the mercy of the warriors who slept in Cuthbert’s hall made her stomach turn. ‘I’d prefer to take care of him myself.’ She kept her voice strong and full of confidence, though a quiver of doubt moved through her. The foreigner was big. A glance confirmed that his thigh, clearly bulging against the confines of his trouser leg, was as large as both of hers put together. He’d easily overpower her if he so chose.
Cuthbert gave a quick shake of his head. ‘We cannot trust this man.’
‘Nay, we can’t, but I saw him kill that rebel Dane with my own eyes. He’s not one of them.’ She’d relayed the story to Cuthbert and the warriors as they’d walked back into the forest. Though she’d left out how long she’d sat with him and the strangely gentle way he’d treated her. ‘He had plenty of opportunity to harm me if that was his intention.’
‘He appears too wounded to try to harm you,’ one of the warriors said.
They hadn’t seen him. They hadn’t seen how easily he’d moved to fight the rebel. If he’d wanted to, he could’ve killed her as well. There’d been no malice in his eyes, nothing to make her think he would harm her. She was intimately familiar with that look. The first time she’d seen it was two months after marrying Godric. She’d been busy with a commission and hadn’t noticed how late the day had become. He’d come home with a friend expecting to find roasted meat, only to get pottage. He’d not struck her...not that time...but the desire had been there in his eyes.
‘He’ll need constant care and rest. The hall isn’t
the appropriate environment for that.’ The warriors distrusted all foreigners and the simple truth was she didn’t trust his care to them. For some reason, she felt a sense of ownership where he was concerned. Perhaps it was because she’d found him, or that he’d saved her. She really didn’t want to examine it too closely.
Cuthbert cut a glance at her before staring back down at the warrior. ‘I’d have to leave a warrior to guard you. I can’t spare the men, not after the massacre.’ It had been mere weeks since the confrontation that had killed Godric and his warriors, but a retaliation was always a possibility.
‘But we need him to recover. That’s a mercenary’s tunic. He could prove useful.’ Aisly was grasping at anything to make him important to them, though she wasn’t sure why that was so important to her. She hadn’t even known this man when she awakened that morning. But he had saved her life.
The warrior who had spoken before leaned down to examine the embroidered figure on the stranger’s tunic. ‘Aye, it’s a mercenary tunic. But it’s possible he’s a Dane. He has their look.’
‘We’ll need to question him,’ Cuthbert said. ‘The fact remains that he killed the rebel Dane, so he very well could be useful to us. Dane or not, if we could buy his loyalty, he’ll prove useful.’
Aisly didn’t bother pointing out again that the man hadn’t any memories. She’d already mentioned it more than once. Perhaps they’d return once he awakened. ‘Whoever he turns out to be, he needs rest and I’m in no danger.’
‘Nay, not yet, but when he awakens, he could have his strength back,’ Cuthbert argued.
She couldn’t argue that. ‘Then leave him with me bound. He’s already injured. If he’s bound as well, what harm could he be?’
Cuthbert gave a deep sigh, but he relented. Aisly imagined that he didn’t want a wounded warrior lurking around his hall anyway.
In Bed with the Viking Warrior Page 4