North Sea Dawn

by Susan Amund

  He pulled his attention back to his duty and wondered what Dunholm would be up to. The knight was nowhere to be seen, but recent experience had taught Eric that he would be either sulking in the Hall with a cup of ale or lurking somewhere to try to catch Julia alone. Eric had no concerns in that regard, he never left her side. However, he was still expecting the Englishman to make another attempt to get to the Lady of Aurelius. His efforts so far had been futile, and would continue to be, but Eric was still ready for whatever would come next.

  The first night at the keep had been tense. When they had arrived, he waited while Julia received the pleasantly shocked greetings and blessings of the workers and servants, then escorted her to her room. He checked her bedchamber first, despite her belief that it was unnecessary. Eric was once again struck by the casual wealth of the Cruithnes.

  Two chairs were placed a comfortable distance from an unlit brazier. The stone room was cold, but he imagined it would warm quickly when the fire was lit. A chest for clothing and other personal items sat near the door, and another at the foot of her bed. It was built in the Norse style, wooden with slats that supported the cushion and wide enough for two. He tested the cushion under his hand, ignoring her raised brows. It was stuffed with wool, but something had been added to the mixture that gave off a soft, floral scent to disguise it. “Did you want to check for goblins underneath as well?” she asked dryly.

  He waited in the corridor while she dressed, using his time to inspect the construction of the keep and investigate the two other rooms that opened onto the corridor. The chamber closest to hers was clearly empty. A layer of dust had settled on the floor. The furnishings were similar to Julia’s room, although there was also a collection of shells and interesting rocks displayed on the window ledge. He assumed it had belonged to Simon before he took his vows at the monastery.

  The last chamber, closest to the stairs, had been more recently occupied, although no one was inside when he opened the door. It was a similar size to Simon’s room, although more plainly furnished. The tapestry at the window was undecorated and there was no writing table or candles. A lone chair sat near the cold brazier. The bed was unmade and a few articles of clothing were lying on the bare floor. Eric did not need to look closely to know who occupied that room. He had been waiting with a thunderous expression when Julia opened her door. His irritation that she had not told him how close Dunholm had been to her, and his anger that Ulrich had allowed it, did not seem to bother her. She held her ground when he towered over her and called her a fool. She poked him in the chest and challenged him to find a better situation, without killing anyone. He did find a solution, but she hadn’t liked that very much either.

  He stretched his back and switched positions to lean against the opposite side of the bath house door frame. A faint humming, interspersed with occasional bursts of off-key singing, could be heard inside. Eric guessed she must be nearly done with the warm bath, and returned his full attention to their situation.

  He had ordered her to take him on a full tour of the keep, before Dunholm returned that first day. When he had first been on the island Ulrich had gradually shown him most of the fort, but the rooms in the keep, beyond the Great Hall and Aelfreic’s study, had never been opened to him. This time he assessed all of the possibilities for attack: where Dunholm might corner her, places that Eric could easily fend off several men and shield her at the same time, and somewhere to allow her to sleep without worrying that she might be raped.

  The room she had barricaded herself in ended up being the perfect solution. She had balked, at first, but he overrode her insistence that the rooms belonged to the Lord of the island. “That is you now, is it not? Would your brother not have given you this space himself, if it meant saving the island?” The chamber itself was only slightly larger than her own room, although the bed was massive. It had been built in place, of that Eric had no doubt, as the paneling of the headboard blended seamlessly with the wood covering the secret passageway. The furnishings were just as fine, if not of an even better quality than her own. Eric had her things moved while he explored the other rooms. A sitting room, she called it a solar, connected the bedchamber to the study. A second door in the bedchamber led to another, smaller room. A narrow bed niche was built into the wall. The cushion was stuffed with wool, but smelled musty. No linens or coverings were to be found, and the floor showed a trail through the dust. A door in this room opened onto another corridor - this one connecting back to the stair tower. Eric claimed that room for himself.

  She had argued again, but Simon had interceded with a calm, logical argument that left her fuming, but without recourse. By the time Dunholm returned to the fort, all of the preparations were made and Eric was ready to begin battle. He had more practice than he cared for at fighting in the political arena, and he still preferred his axe or fist to a skillfully worded discourse. Unfortunately, Eric’s days were filled with a battle of wits and stratagems. Dunholm proved to be a persistent, if not particularly challenging, adversary.

  Eric idly tracked the sound of Julia’s progress to the hot bath. Her sigh and little moans of enjoyment echoed down the stone walls of the bath and sidelined his train of thought for a moment. The bath grew quiet, and his thoughts returned to Dunholm and the challenge of keeping him at arm’s length without giving insult. Supper in the Hall was the first real test. The barracks were full for the first time in more than a century, and all of the tables were cleaned off and arranged as the Hall was intended to be used. Four long tables, two pairs pushed end- to -end to form two rows, stretched the length of the room. Benches made room for eighty men at those tables. Braziers were placed down the center aisle for warmth.

  The dais at the end of the Hall had been used for storage when Eric had last dined there. Servants were busy that first day he was back, cleaning and rearranging. When he entered the Hall, he found a fifth table had been set on the raised platform. The wide, carved chair Julia had referred to as ‘the Lord’s’ sat in the center, a short bench on each side. At the ends of the table were two smaller chairs, and braziers illuminated the dais and lent warmth to those seated there. On the wall behind the table and between the doors to the kitchen a tapestry had been cleaned and hung. The intricate needlework made Eric curious, but he had no time to study it as he escorted Julia to her seat.

  She warned him that she had taken to sitting in Aelfreic’s chair to avoid the knight. Dunholm had arrived in the Hall before them, and claimed the bench to her right. Ulrich and Simon stood to the side, waiting for Eric’s reaction. He calmly seated Julia and nodded Ulrich to the chair on Dunholm’s other side. Simon claimed the opposite chair, leaving Eric at Julia’s left. Eric would have laughed at the knight’s frustration as the evening wore on, if it couldn’t result in such dire consequences. Dunholm leaned as far as he could into her space, but the high wooden arms of her chair prevented him from coming too close and only resulted in her scooting closer to Eric. When it became clear that Dunholm would attempt to get Julia to serve him, Simon jumped from his chair, insisting that the knight try the fish first. Simon dominated the conversation, speaking as though his commentary and banter was met with witty retort rather than short barks from Ulrich and irritated scowls from Dunholm. Even Julia, although she remained collected and serene, could not keep up a normal conversation. Eric did not speak at all, except to inquire after Julia in quiet Norse to which she responded softly. This seemed to bother the Englishman even more.

  He was stopped short of following them into the study, the review of the island’s finances and supplies an easy excuse to leave him cooling his heels in the Hall. When all but Julia emerged, he seemed enraged at first, but then grew sly. He eyed the one guard left at the study door and the empty corridor leading to the second entrance to the Lord’s chamber.

  Eric was not surprised when his door creaked open sometime after midnight. A single candle illuminated the knight’s face and his shock and frustration when he saw Eric sitting in a lone chair in th
e small chamber. The knight muttered something about the latrine, and slammed the door behind him. Eric barred the door after that, satisfied that Dunholm knew that Julia would not be left unguarded again.

  The two weeks since had passed in much the same manner. The only change in the routine was where Dunholm would lie in wait. Once they discovered him skulking in one of the drying sheds, waiting for Julia to make her inspections. While Eric was discussing repairs of the infirmary with his men, Dunholm followed Julia into the Legate’s House, only to find her enjoying a drink and a game of chess with Jens while two other men looked on. He snuck up on her where she sat on a rug in the high meadow, watching Ulrich and Eric train with Abjorn and some of the other men. He had just settled himself down when Skald and Balric seated themselves on either side of her, dominating her attention with descriptions of the Norse fighting style. He had followed her to the bathhouse, an armful of fresh towels in her hands and slipped inside after her two guards closed the door behind her and left. He was quite surprised when he entered the washroom and found a naked Vandalsson armed with a throwing axe. Eric couldn’t decide what had been more rewarding about that situation: Dunholm’s obvious dismay at seeing the Viking unclothed, or Julia’s breathy gasp when she came out of the furnace room to check on the commotion and was met with a view of his backside.

  When Dunholm tried to corner her in the village, he was presented with a screaming infant, whom promptly threw up on him. That had perhaps been Eric’s favorite method of getting rid of the man so far. Mary Ellery had seemed worried that the knight would take his frustration out on her child, but Abjorn had interceded and rescued the baby from Julia, soothing it with a gentle rub and words of praise for the child’s excellent aim.

  There were three more weeks until the Christmas mass. Dunholm would have to leave at Yule tide or risk missing Duke William’s deadline. Three weeks seemed impossibly long to Eric. It provided too many opportunities for Dunholm to slip through his defenses - they were tight, but no fortress was impenetrable. It also put a damper on Eric’s ability to court Julia. Of course, he was close to her every day. He slept just a few steps away through a door that was closed - but not barred. But the danger presented by Dunholm made him reluctant to press his courtship as he would have liked. When he truly began his plan to convince the Lady, it would be a distraction for her and, if successful, for him as well. They could not afford either, and he doubted Julia would appreciate him making their “agreement” more public than it already was.

  He listened to the rustle of clothing and pushed down the heat that was now a constant in his groin. She seemed to be under the impression that the islanders were unaware that Eric had any interest in her, in addition, she believed that Dunholm would view Eric as merely a hired weapon - a very immovable, intimidating man-at-arms. She was wrong, of course, but Eric would not disabuse her of the notions. Although he did wonder how hard she would blush if she realized that every islander was watching them covertly, and most were delighted at the idea that she might choose a husband that would make such an excellent defender of the island.

  He did not turn as she approached him from behind. The scent of lilacs and something else, he breathed deep, still unable to place the faint spicy scent.

  “I am finished.” Her voice was clear and relaxed. He found it odd, and strangely endearing that she could be vexed to near hitting him and then an hour in the bathhouse and she was like warm honey. Smooth and sweet and if he traced his tongue-

  “Hn.” He steered himself away from further fantasies, they didn’t have the time. Cook wanted to discuss the Christmas feast with her and Steward Galen had been pestering them all day to go over the storehouse figures. The man was beside himself with worry over how much Eric’s men consumed; although both Julia and Ulrich had assured him that the island had more than enough and the Steward was a legendary fretter.

  “I can bar the door and wait here, if you would like a turn?” He threw a glance over his shoulder at that remark. She was standing in the middle of the atrium, plaiting her hair and staring at nothing in particular. A grey woolen overtunic fell just past her knees. Intricate windows had been cut at the sides, neck, and down her arms. The patterns revealed the pale purple of her under tunic; this one in a heavier linen.

  “Hn,” he said again. He turned back to watch the keep while he waited for her, only to be interrupted by her smooth voice again.

  “I’ll take that as a no. You really need to try speaking more; you’re quite good at it when you do. It makes things so much easier to plan and understand. Don’t you agree?” She waited a beat for his response, and when nothing came she continued, “Of course, you may just not really be listening to me. Although it would be...” She continued on, and Eric did let his mind wander. He ignored her words but let the sound wash over him, imagining what other things she could say in that relaxed, honey voice. Things like ‘more’, ‘yes’, and ‘god, Eric’.

  “...sound like an erotic dream, but-”

  “What?” He whipped around, to find her startled and a flush rapidly rushing up her neck to her cheeks. Erotic?

  “I, ah, didn’t think you were listening,” she said, looking anywhere but at him. He stalked towards her.

  “I am now.” He trapped her hands between them where they were tangled in her braid and leaned close to her ear. “Say it again,” he whispered. Say it again and I’ll bar the door myself.

  “You, ah, didn’t seem to be listening to me. But I-I think,” she swallowed and he pressed a fraction of an inch closer, his lips nearly touching her skin.

  “Yes?”

  “You sound like...” Her eyes flicked to his and widened. She glanced around like a cornered animal and blurted, “You need a bath.” Eric sighed, and then smiled. It was probably a good thing she had taken the coward’s way out. Now was not the time to forget that they had more serious issues to deal with. He straightened and shifted uncomfortably. If she continued being so Julia, his problem was certainly going to become more pressing.

  “Cook wants to speak with you,” he said instead. “We’ll stop and collect Ulrich on the way, and I’ll leave you with him while I attend to other matters before the meal.”

  “Only one guard?” She smiled, and then promptly frowned. “What other matters?” He ignored her and gripped her elbow to steer her outside.

  “Ulrich has two of my men with him. They have been learning how to defend the inner ramp.”

  “Are we under siege?” she asked dryly. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your mysterious matters.”

  “Hn.” She continued to badger him until he left her at the ovens with three men to watch over her. He caught sight of one of the English, loitering about and watching their movements, and briefly considered pulling a fourth man to keep a distant guard. He shook his head and moved off to the lower bailey where the men were still practicing. He liked the idea, but any more soldiers in Cook’s domain and she was liable to burn the meat out of spite. He wouldn’t risk it. Julia would be safe enough until he returned.

  Julia listened to Cook’s excited voice go on about the plan for the Christmas feast with only half an ear. She knew it must have been a delicious menu as her guard’s English was mostly restricted to declarations of love and odes to the village girls’ beauty, but whatever Cook was droning on about made quite an impression. The poor boy was nearly drooling as he listened.

  Instead, Julia spent the time wondering what to do with Eric and fretting over the absence of her messenger to the Duke. She shook herself sternly. She shouldn’t be worried over Eric at all, not when Brother Caemon had been gone nearly a week longer than planned and no word had come from him or the Duke. She had sent Caemon with only two men, overriding Eric’s wishes. Julia knew if she wanted to negotiate for Paul’s release, she couldn’t offend the Duke by sending a large armed contingent to his camp in London. Simon sided with Julia - not that she really cared for his opinion in this matter, even weeks later she was still irritated with her
brother for the knowing glances he kept shooting at her. The innuendos had grown progressively blatant over the weeks as well. At least he kept those quiet enough that Dunholm didn’t hear them, although Eric certainly did. She had the suspicion that Simon had said even more to the Norse warrior, although she could not catch him at it.

  It might have been less irritating, even fun, to listen to Simon goad Eric if only they didn’t have so many other problems to deal with. She had told Eric to ‘convince’ her, had practically asked him to court her, before he left. Now...she sighed and nodded absently when she noticed Cook waiting for a response. It must have been what she wanted because she smiled happily and moved on to discussing their stock of kitchen herbs and spices.

  Julia could admit to herself that she had taken her flirting too far. She had been thinking of Eric while he was away, and when he returned in such a heroic manner, and then she found herself alone with him in the bath house. The exchange had had been foolish. She shouldn’t give the man such indications that his courtship was accepted, not when she wasn’t free to make that choice. Not yet... maybe not ever. She followed Ulrich as he led the way to the study for her meeting with Galen.

  She would not marry Dunholm - that was assured. For that respite she would be eternally grateful to Eric. But she could not know what the future would hold for her either. Simon had plotted and schemed with her so long that Julia thought he had begun to believe that nothing but the most optimistic of their plans would come to fruition. She knew that wasn’t the case. They might succeed in intriguing the Duke. It was likely that he would trade Paul for the Norman prisoner. If Dunholm returned to London unmarried, which would be the case if anyone on the island had any say in the matter, then it would be expected that William would summon her to meet him. Especially after he was crowned king, and that event would not be far off. London could not survive under siege much longer.