Vikings: Deception (The Great Heathen Army series Book 2)

by Ceri Bladen

  She pushed her bottom lip out and crossed her arms as she watched him leave, annoyed that her charms hadn’t worked, this time.

  After half a day of hunting, to use up his frustrations, Ubba strode into the longhouse, determined to sort things out with Astrid. While out, he’d finally decided to end their relationship. He wanted a clean break. It was no good. Coupling with Astrid still felt wrong, as if he’d betrayed Rosfrith - even though she was no longer on earth. He’d make sure Astrid and his son were well looked after, whether at Ranaricii or at Skåne. Once his son was older, Ubba could train him to become the chieftain. He was pleased with his decision. He was the chieftain, so he couldn’t be soft-hearted about the past.

  He glanced towards the large fire and pin-pointed Astrid. As usual, it was Hilde who tended to his child. His hands fisted at his side. Had his grief made him blind to many things? He made his way over, noticing Astrid grab Ragnar off Hilde as soon as she spotted Ubba.

  “Astrid,” he said before motioning to his bed-closet. “I need to talk to you. Hilde, look after Ragnar.”

  Ubba paced back and forth between his bed and door, his hand clenching and unclenching, while he decided how to handle the situation with Astrid. He’d just have to get on with it. He stilled, turning around to look at her, his arms folded across his chest. “Look, I must be honest with you.”

  “Carry on, Ubba,” she said slowly.

  “Astrid, it’s no good. I can’t forget Rosfrith. She is in here.” He slapped the left side of his chest. “It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself she has gone, I still feel her.”

  She stood, a hot, dizziness surging through her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d made sure he was happy in bed. What had she missed?

  “But, she’s dead, Ubba. You know that,” she pleaded, moving nearer to him.

  “Do I? Do I?” he repeated, it didn’t feel like she had died to him. She was still in his heart. He glanced at Astrid and noticed her clutching her arms to her chest. His eyes narrowed when he noticed her pale. “Astrid?” he asked slowly. “Why do you look pallid? What is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she answered quietly. Everything was wrong! If Ubba ever found out that she knew Rosfrith was alive and she’d deceived him, he would want retribution. Suddenly, she wished Brynhild hadn’t found her at Ubba’s wedding. Then she wouldn’t be so involved in this plan she had no control over. She’d been eager to take her hurt out on Ubba. Now she wasn’t so sure she’d made the right decision.

  “Astrid?”

  She looked downwards, using her hair as a shield, before looking up to glare at him. It was better for him to think her angry than guilty. “You’ve just told me you don’t want me,” she shrieked.

  His chest deflated. “I’m sorry, I truly am.” He turned on his heels and left the room.

  Exiting the longhouse, Eirik squinted. The brightness of the mid-day sun made his head pound due to the amount of ale he’d consumed the night before. He took a deep breath, and decided to make his way down to the dock. The sea air might sort him out.

  When he neared, he was pleased to see the docked merchant ships, called knörrs,their red and black flags flapping in the wind. Interested in what goods they were bringing from England, he pushed his way through the crowd that had started to gather. He spotted the crew he’d gone over to East Angles with and, despite the pain in his head, made his way over to catch up. He was supposed to go back at one time – until they’d found out that Rosfrith was dead. When he neared, he noticed Bard’s wife, Brynhild, talking to the boatswain by the kerling. He hesitated. He assumed she was asking him for news about Bard’s wellbeing. He made his way up the gangplank onto the ship.

  “Captain.” He turned to Brynhild. “Góðan dag.” He noticed the furtive glance they gave each other.

  “I have to go,” Brynhild said. “Thank you for the information, captain.” She turned and scurried away.

  Eirik’s gaze narrowed on her back. They were definitely up to something. He’d never particularly liked Bard’s wife; she always seemed to be after the easier ways to live. But, saying that, he was sure she was struggling after Bard was banished. Perhaps he should take the time to call on her and tell her he’d seen a well Bard in East Angles. He turned back to the boatswain. “Good journey back, captain? Any news from the far away shores?”

  #

  “Ubba, Ubba!”

  Ubba cursed when he saw Eirik running towards him. He needed time to clear his head after his conversation with Astrid, not more talk.

  “I’m glad I caught you,” Eirik said, clutching his ribs. He had run all the way from the port with information he thought Ubba would be very interested in - although, he wasn’t looking forward to telling his chieftain he had tarried with Bard when he’d taken Rosfrith to East Angles. However, he had a feeling Ubba would find the discussion he’d had with some of the sailors just back from East Angles - about a dark-haired beauty locked in a fortress - very eye-opening.

  Ubba started to walk away, not concerned if Eirik was to follow. “I’m going to check on some fences.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I will come with you. I would like a talk.”

  He threw Eirik a hard look over his shoulder, muttering under his breath. “As you wish.”

  Chapter 14

  April 873 – East Angles – Dunwich Fortress

  A knock on his chamber door had Bryan briefly straighten up. He stopped pulling his footwear on to look towards it.

  “Enter,” he said, resuming his task. When he had finished, he glanced up and regarded Blyth, who stood before him. She was flushed, panting, and hardly able to breathe. “What’s the problem?” There was no ringing of the bell, so they weren’t under attack. It was about the only thing that would get him to speed up after all the ale he’d consumed last night.

  She clutched her side, trying to stand. “My Lord,” she barely sputtered out.

  He huffed, not in the mood to have one of his servants in his bedchamber. “Spit it out. What’s the problem?”

  “My Lord, a new Heathen ship has arrived.”

  “Is that all? They come and go weekly, ferrying supplies back and forth between here and that barbarian land,” he commented, waving his hand to dismiss her. Ignoring her, he went back to dressing.

  Grabbing a breath, Blyth straightened. She knew she had to tell her lord, and quickly, otherwise, they could be in a lot of trouble. “The word is, Ubba Ragnarsson has arrived with it.”

  Bryan’s head whipped around. His eyes narrowed dangerously on her. “What?”

  Blyth backed up, trying to get out of the room. She thought she’d be saving her neck by telling him, having been a part of his schemes. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm painfully. Now, it looked like the lord was going to take it out on her.

  “How do you know?” He expelled the words in a rush of anger.

  Her gaze darted from his crushing fingers on her arm and back to his angry face. “Because a man came and spoke to Bard,” she shouted trying to release her arm. “I overheard their conversation.”

  “When?”

  “Just now, please, m’lord, you’re hurting me.” She couldn’t help emitting a gasp of pain.

  His lip curled before he gave her a shove and released her. “Where were you?”

  “At the Inn.”

  “With Bard?”

  Blyth averted her gaze to the floor when she caught the disgust in his. Suddenly cautious, she realised she should have kept quiet – no one knew her part in it. She should have left with Bard, not that he had asked her to.

  “Did he tell you to inform me of Ubba’s arrival?” When she shook her head, rage filled him. “What did he say when he heard the news?”

  “He dressed quickly and said he had somewhere to go.”

  “Did he say where?”

  “No, m’lord. He just grabbed his things and fled.”

  Bryan’s hands fisted at his side. He had been double crossed. Bard had got him into this scheme with
promises of getting back at Ubba, plus keeping Dunwich fortress and Ubba’s wealth and land. He shouldn’t have believed the weasel’s pledges. All those heathens were the same – looking after themselves. Now there was a chance Ubba would see Rosfrith if he came to Dunwich. He would have to hide her. Otherwise, he had a feeling he could be dead.

  “Why did you have to go and spoil it all,” spat Bryan, as he strode into Rosfrith’s bedchamber.

  She recoiled from the venom in his voice. Her gaze flicked briefly to Blyth who was following him, eyes averted to the floor. Something was very wrong. Taking a steadying breath, she looked at Cate, who looked as confused as Rosfrith. “What do you mean, brother?”

  “You!” he spat out, embracing his hatred with his fear of what might come.

  She clasped her arms around her, trying to prevent the chill she was feeling, and tried again to understand what was happening. “Spoil what?”

  Bryan snorted, his frustration as clear as day. “Spoil my plans.”

  “I… I… don’t understand,” she said, walking forward to touch his arm, attempting to pull him out of this strange mood. She removed her arm when he physically recoiled and turned his back. “Please, Bryan. What is wrong? I haven’t all my strength back yet to try and coax it out of you.” She watched him roll his shoulders. “Bryan?”

  He abruptly turned, his gaze narrowing on her. “I’m going. Stay here.”

  “But this isn’t going to solve anything. Pray, tell me. Nothing can be that bad.”

  Bryan pressed his lips into a tight line before he turned and strode to the door.

  “I’ll come with you…” Before she could finish what she was about to say, Bryan barred the doorway.

  “No, you all stay in here.”

  “What’s wrong, brother?” Rosfrith asked, acting calm, although she felt far from it.

  “Stop whinging, sister. Just stay in here.” He nodded to Blyth and Cate. “You, too.”

  Rosfrith forced herself to stand taller. “You can’t make us stay in here.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. But he will, if I ask him.” He motioned one of his soldiers into the room. “Stay here, I mean it.” He turned to the soldier. “Guard the outside of the door. If my sister or Cate try to leave, use any force necessary to stop them.” He turned on his heels and made a hasty exit.

  When the door closed, Rosfrith made her way over as fast as her drained body would allow. She tried to open it. It was barred. She turned and her violet eyes narrowed on Blyth. “What is this all about?”

  Blyth looked at the floor.

  Rosfrith closed the space between them. “I asked you, what is this all about?”

  “I can’t say, mistress. The Lord said I will lose my job.” She looked at Cate who walked towards her.

  “You’ll use more than your job if you don’t speak. Make no mistake. Sit,” Cate ordered pointing towards a stool. “And tell us what’s been going on.”

  Rosfrith placed a hand over her mouth, her throat constricted. She used all her strength to hold her tears in check. She said nothing, as there were no words for how betrayed she felt. How could my brother hate me so much?

  “What can we do, mistress?” Cate asked, her gaze narrowed on Blyth.

  Rosfrith attempted to pull her scattered thoughts together. Her babies were alive and Ubba was here in East Angles. Both gave her strength. She straightened her back, a new force within her.

  “Let me think for a while.” She ignored Blyth, confident in the knowledge that Cate would be watching her, and walked over to shutters. She needed to get a message to Ubba, because, according to Blyth, he thought her to be dead.

  Turning, she strode back across the room. The energy she had been lacking since the birth surging back through her. “You,” she said, grabbing Blyth’s arm, pulling her up. “You can get out of here.”

  Blyth shook her head, fear claiming her features. “Nay, the Lord ordered me to stay here.”

  “Don’t give me that. You can. You are part of my brother’s and Bard’s plan. Get the soldiers to let you out and get word to my husband that I am here and alive.”

  “I can’t. The Lord will kill me if he finds out I am helping you.”

  Rosfrith snorted. “My brother needs others to do his bidding.” She narrowed her violet eyes ominously, knowing she had to be more frightening than her weasel of a brother. “I, however, have been living like a heathen. I will not think twice about killing you. And, let me assure you, being killed by a heathen is not pleasant. Remember King Ælla and the blood eagle?” She had the satisfaction of seeing Blyth whiten. “Go, get word to Ubba.” She reached up for her wolf necklace. “Here, wear this. When you see him, make sure he sees it. He will know.”

  #

  Bryan stood in the inner ward, waiting for Ubba Ragnarsson and his party to reach Dunwich fortress. Not long ago, the area would have been full of soldiers and servants ready to welcome their guests, but since the Vikings had pillaged it, there was only a skeleton staff to keep it running. Not that it bothered Bryan, it meant he didn’t have to pay them. When the noise of the approaching party increased, spitefully Bryan contemplated keeping the gate closed. His top lip curled. He knew that wasn’t an option. That might indicate his guilt and he needed to pretend that he’d done nothing wrong.

  When the metal gate rattled upwards and the large wooden gates swung inwards, Bryan’s gaze narrowed. That fool had only brought two men with him. Satisfied that there wouldn’t be any trouble, he indicated for the extra guards to go back to their normal duties. He didn’t want to pay them to be idle.

  Ubba looked down from his horse at Bryan and hid his smirk. The Lord was a bigger buffoon than he thought. Even from a distance, he’d noticed him send his guards away. That would cost him dearly. Did he really think a chieftain would travel with so few men and put himself in danger? His men were waiting, ready for the call.

  “Lord Guader.” He nodded and swung down from his large horse, noting that the two men with him, did too.

  Bryan forced a smile on his face. He stepped forward. “Ubba Ragnarsson. Welcome back to Dunwich Fortress.”

  This time Ubba did allow a smile to flit on his lips. Bryan knew exactly when he was last here, and there was no welcome then. “It is good to return.” He slowly turned on his heel, looking for Eirik to care for his horse. Normally he would do it himself, but he wanted to get this ‘talk’ completed as soon as possible and be on his way back to Ranaricii with Rosfrith. “You remember Eirik Ulfsson?”

  Bryan’s lips thinned. Eirik was familiar with Dunwich’s layout. Bryan would have to get someone to keep track of Eirik’s where-abouts.

  Ubba passed the strap to Eirik. “Walk the horses to cool them down,” he said. Ubba knew the horses wouldn’t be stabled – they might be needed for a quick escape. Eirik had been instructed to open the secret passage he’d heard about from one of Bryan’s drunken soldiers. Ubba’s men were waiting on the other side.

  “Come eat.” Bryan waved his hand towards the direction of the main hall. “After your long journey, you must be hungry.”

  Ubba ground his teeth together, he didn’t want to eat, but forced himself to smile. “We could do with some sustenance.” He had learned long ago to be patient and wait until the time was right to strike at the ones who wronged him. He followed the young Lord until Bryan stopped short and glanced at Ubba’s axe and sword.

  Bryan waved a servant forward. “Please, Ubba, your weapons. We don’t need them to eat; they are not allowed into the dining hall.”

  Pretending to absorb the information, Ubba then feigned handing them over, reluctantly - all except the dagger he kept in his boots. When they entered the hall, he noted the dismal offerings on the bench tables the others would sit at. When they reached the raised platform, it didn’t surprise him when he saw meat and fruit on the Lord’s table. The difference in quality was staggering. He tore his gaze away, disgusted. The man was a scoundrel, and it went against everything Ubba believed in to dine with
Bryan. Ubba uncurled his fists. He had to stomach the man and the food, as he was here to do a job.

  Bored by the small talk with the heathen and fuelled by wine, Bryan became braver. “If you won’t be offended by me asking, why are you here?”

  Ubba wrapped his fingers around his drink vessel, attempting to curb his desire to envelop his hands around Bryan’s scrawny neck. He noticed the speed at which the lord was drinking. It betrayed how nervous he was. Hopefully, it would also serve to make him more loose-tongued.

  “I’ve come” - his icy blue gaze landed on Bryan - “to see where my wife is buried.”

  Bryan had to work hard not to flinch.

  “I hope my wife had a deserving burial.”

  Bryan stiffened at the implication and then realised he was being silly. She wasn’t buried anywhere.

  “Of course.” He tried to think what he should say. “We have buried her with…” He paused. He couldn’t say she was with the babies as he was sure Ubba knew nothing of them. “With the rest of our family.”

  Ubba nodded and looked away, feigning distress. He couldn’t bear the man - he was lying too easily. Rage flowed through his body, but he knew how to curb his anger. He would use his rage later when he knew the whole truth. Then he would let it surge, giving him strength. No one would play him for a fool. Until then, his face displayed no emotion other than grief.

  Soon, Ubba had as much as he could tolerate. His men should have had enough time to get into place for his call. He needed to explore the fortress to find where Rosfrith was. He would tell Bryan he was checking on Eirik. Just before he stood to make his excuses to leave, a thrall walked towards him, offering him fruit. His eyes narrowed on the necklace she was tapping. That was the wolf necklace he’d given his wife on their honeymoon. He suppressed the urge to grab it and ask why she had it. When he glanced at her face, he could see she was using her eyes to indicate something. She was directing her gaze to upstairs.