by Susan Amund
He left and Julia rounded on de Beaumont. “If you bring a single Norman into these rooms, I will gut you.” She narrowed her eyes and waited until he nodded seriously. She wanted him to know it was a promise, not a threat. As she returned to the bedchamber, she overheard him ask Ulrich,
“Did she really kill two of Sir Robert’s men?”
“Four, by my count,” he answered.
The next two days were something akin to hell for Julia. She slept on the bed next to Eric, although William had provided a generous pallet for Ulrich’s use so that she could have the small bed in the antechamber. Instead, she offered the soft blankets and pillows to Sarah, who dragged them under the table and gave Julia and Eric privacy each night.
Her days were spent enduring the attentions of William’s chosen suitors. Margaret trailed after her as she walked through the halls with various Norman knights and lords, and afterward would comment on the women they were rumored to have romanced, the servants they were rumored to have whored, and how close they were to William’s inner circle. de Beaumont sat at her side at meals as she listened to her suitors drone on about their wealth and prowess. He whispered in her ear the veracity of each statement and pointed out the connections of his family, and if they were prone to drink or early baldness.
After each meal she returned to her rooms. First she would check on Skald and leave instructions with the maid, making certain Bjorn knew what she was supposed to do. Then she would relieve Sarah. She would bring a tray in to Eric, each time finding him more alert than the last. She assisted him with his food. His right hand had been cut too deeply to use for some time, and the left was awkward for him, at best. He told her stories of the early years spent with his parents in the Tatra Mountains in Vandalen, and of his father teaching him to use a sword and ride a horse. His father died when he was nine, killed in a skirmish with a Saxon army. His mother took him back to her people, to live in Norway with his grandfather. There he learned to sail and fight with an axe.
She told him of her childhood on the island. Funny stories of Simon sneaking into the bathhouse on the women’s day and Aelfreic trying to determine which of the twins had smeared honey across Galen’s sheets. She did not mention the Norman suitors, but shared with him her impressions of Margaret, and the outlandish things de Beaumont would say to stir up the court for his own amusement.
The third day came, and Julia dressed in the pale blue gift from Eric - cleaned and pressed to perfection by Sarah. He stopped her with a hand on her arm when she was ready to leave for the Hall.
“Do not worry so, Miláčik. I will take care of everything.” Julia almost broke down at the serious but tender expression on his face.
“I am not worried, Eric. I’ll be back soon.” She didn’t have to lie. She wasn’t worried. In truth she was resigned, and, somewhere inside her, a little sad. She had already decided which man she would choose. After she had declared her troth, she would retire and help Eric get his strength up. She would delay as long as she could, and keep the Norman who would be her husband at bay until Eric was well again. Then she would escape with him on the Raskdød. The islanders would understand. She would leave Sarah and Skald behind, and take what coin they would need, with as many men as would follow and leave Aurelius. She had done her best to encourage Margaret without telling her of the plan.
She hoped that in her absence, de Beaumont might be given Aurelius, which lay not far from the lands Dunholm had forfeited. William had already given that holding to his second commander along with Sollwold, and the guardianship of Margaret and her brother as well - although they were banned from returning to their father’s Hall. Margaret would be welcomed by the islanders, she was sure. de Beaumont was smart enough to learn what he could from Galen and Simon and leave the rest to those who knew their duties.
She could not be parted from Eric again, she was sure. He had wanted the woman and the lands - a Hall of his own. She hoped he would settle for the woman and enough gold to buy his own Hall. Although if his gifts were any indication, he had that amount in his treasury already. She loved him, and when she had thought he would die, when she knew for certain he had been poisoned , in that moment she knew that her life, her honor, her home were nothing compared to him.
During the Holmgang, he had shaken his head, almost stumbling across the circle. Dunholm had rushed him, and Eric was too slow. She watched the line of blood expand on his chest and she knew he had been affected by the Foxglove. Then at the end, he was in blood lust. She had seen hints of it before, but it was much worse at the Holmgang. Jens referred to it as berserker, and under its influence Eric had not seen anything but enemies. When she pressed herself to him, his blood smeared across her clothes and face, his heart hammered in her ear.
It was in that moment, her will broke. If he had died, she would have followed him. Nothing could have prevented her from pulling the knife from his wound and stabbing it into her own broken heart. She was nothing without him.
But he had recovered. Through the long afternoon and into the night she had cleaned his wounds, stitched his cuts, and held him down while he seized from the poison. She had prayed and he had recovered. She would not risk that again.
She entered the Hall, once again waiting for the guard to announce her while William’s court waited restlessly. This time there were no snide remarks, but rather admiration, jealousy, lust, even fear for the Lady who had denied the authority of a King. Lady Cruithne of Aurelius had a blood-thirsty madman who would kill anyone who stood in her way. This time she made the long walk to the dais alone, although de Beaumont was waiting by William’s side and Margaret stood at the front of the crowd. Ulrich waited for her near the base of the dais. He would escort her back to Eric when the audience was over.
She paused at the foot of the steps, nodding to the King. He could force her to say the words, the vows to bind her to another, but she would not bow.
“Lady Cruithne of Aurelius, welcome,” the King called out.
“Thank you, your Majesty. The welcome of your House is most...vibrant.” There was a long silence following her words and Julia knew they were weighing them to see if it was an insult to a man who allowed a guest to be nearly murdered.
“Ha!” William laughed out loud and de Beaumont grinned. Even FitzOsbern cracked a small smile. “My own wife could not have been more stealthy, Lady Cruithne.” He gestured to the smaller chair, once again placed next to his throne. “Be seated.”
She sat, and gathered her composure. She had to remind herself that these vows could be broken. Even in the eyes of God, a betrothal was not binding if it was not consummated. She had no intention of getting close enough to any of the Normans for that to be an issue.
“Lady Cruithne is in need of a husband. Her holdings are rich and hers by ancient rite. Who here will ask for her hand and the right to protect her wealth?” King William called out to the court, and immediately a man near the front answered,
“Sir Robert Belleme,” the knight announced. Julia was not surprised to see the lame man step forward. He had failed in his attempt to conquer Aurelius by force, but he had gained a grudging respect for the islanders during his imprisonment. According to Margaret, he was also a younger son and had poor prospects. Julia’s treasury would be very tempting to him, crushed leg or not.
William questioned his intentions and asked that he name his lineage, then repeated the call. Other men stepped forward as well. Most had tried to woo her over the last two days. Others were unknown to her. Some brought gifts, others promised to increase the wealth of the island. William questioned each man the same way, and the audience went on for nearly an hour before none answered the King’s call.
“As there are no more here who request the right to ask for her hand and protect her wealth-”
“Nay.” A deep voice boomed from the back of the Hall, interrupting the King. The crowd turned, looking for the source of the outburst, but from the raised dais Julia could easily see Eric’s head towering abov
e the others. Her heart stopped painfully, then thumped in double-time in her chest.
“What is it with you islanders,” FitzOsbern muttered in exasperation. “Always late, constantly causing commotion.”
“Is there another who answers my call?” William’s voice sounded far too jovial to Julia’s ears, but she was more concerned that Eric was out of bed and had walked all the way to the Hall in his condition.
“Nay,” he said again. The crowd parted for him, and Julia could see he had dressed in his usual black attire, his leather bracers secured over the bandages that circled his hands and wound down his wrists. “I do not request it. I claim it. I will protect not just her wealth. I will defend the land and people,” his eyes met hers and Julia knew her mouth had fallen open in shock. His golden gaze was warm, and she felt its heat straight to her core. “I will defend the Lady,” he finished. There, in front of the King he made his vows.
“What are your intentions for the Lady?”
“I will marry her, and she will bare my sons.” That was the most honest and bold answer that had been given that day, and laughter in the crowd was concealed with poorly executed coughs.
“And your lineage? What makes you worthy of the House of Cruithne?”
“My father was Vladislov Čierny, son of Gyula and Grandson of Stephan I, Grand Prince of Hungary.” The crowd sucked in a collective breath but Eric continued, “My mother was Brigit Gnarlsdottr, my grandfather Gnarl the Tall - half-brother to Harold Hardrada, King of Norway.” The whispers and murmurs broke out into shouts and exclamations that William finally had to calm by standing.
“Aurelius is a rich land, and deserves the protection of a monarch - not only a warlord. To whom do you owe allegiance, and who owes you their fealty?”
“I serve Vandalsson,” said Bjorn, stepping from the edge of the crowd.
“I serve Vandalsson,” called Skald in a strong voice. He remained near the wall, leaning on the English maid for support.
“I swear fealty to Vandalsson, Defender of Aurelius,” said Ulrich. Julia wanted to rub her eyes in disbelief. Her own man-at-arms had just pledged himself to Eric. “And there are others, many others, waiting outside and on our island who will declare the same before you, King William.”
“And your allegiance?” William looked to Eric, and again Julia felt she was missing something. The King’s bearing and words were serious, but a smile quirked the corners of his mouth and his tone was almost teasing.
Eric stepped forward, coming to a halt just short of the bottom step. “My King died at Stamford Bridge, I am without a liege.” A wave of excitement and denial rose up in the crowd. One of the suitors stepped forward.
“He is half-dead already, what says he has the strength to hold such a treasure, my King?” William was not given a chance to respond. There was a high-pitched whistle and the man cried out and dropped the small chest of gold he had carried to offer Julia as a betrothal gift. Eric’s throwing axe was buried in it’s lid.
“Even half-dead, I am more than enough for any challenger,” Eric said calmly. He turned back to William. “I am without a liege, and my liberty has been long wrought.” He fell gracefully to his knees, and Julia winced on his behalf when his bandaged shins must have hit the floor. “If you have need of another tool at your disposal, I would pledge fealty to you, William of Normandy, King of England.”
For a split second, silence echoed in the Hall. Then a great din broke out while Julia sat, unable to move, stunned. This Viking who bowed before no other swore himself to William so that he could have her. He had proven he would defend Aurelius with his life. Now it seemed he would give up that which he cherished most to do so. Julia was speechless.
“Eric Vandalsson, Captain of MØrket and Raskdød, Bringer of Darkness, Harbinger of Swift Death, Motvisbrica. Sea Calmer and Storm Rider. Defender of Aurelius. I accept your pledge.” William grasped the hilt of an ornate sword offered by de Beaumont, Julia wondered distantly why it had been so close at hand for such a surprising occurrence. The King stepped forward and placed the blade on one of Eric’s shoulders. “We are tied by the bonds of fealty.” He shifted the blade to the opposite shoulder. “As my vassal, I name you, Eric Vandalsson, Duke of Aurelius.”
Epilogue
“He named you Duke before we were even betrothed. Don’t try to convince me that you and he hadn’t spoken of it while you were recovering.” Julia snuggled into Eric’s good side, still mindful of the tender scar on his shoulder. They had pledged their troth amid the chaos of William’s court, and then spent another three days at Thorney Island before sailing back to Aurelius. The cold air had not been good for Skald or Eric, and both spent more than a day in bed once they returned.
Skald was still comfortably ensconced in a private chamber in the barracks, his new maid seeing to his health. Julia still had not quite forgiven the girl for the poisoning, although she hadn’t been complicit in the act, but she was warming to her. Mary Ellery was training the girl in simple healing, whenever the chandler had a few free moments between caring for her twins and enjoying a shockingly delirious happiness with her new husband. For Abjorn’s part, he was a recalcitrant as ever, but his smile came far more often when he pulled his wife to his side or held one of the two children he had given his last name.
Sarah spent nearly half of her time in the village, ostensibly helping Mary Ellery so that the newlyweds could spend some time alone. In actuality, she most often took her small charges on brisk walks as Spring came to the island. Her grandfather, Duncan the Tanner, had found himself in need of an apprentice after his injuries during the invasion. Paul the Saxon was turning out to be quite adept at leather crafting, although with fewer distractions from pretty blonde girls he would have probably been a journeyman before summer arrived. He did not seem to mind interrupting his training with Duncan to walk Sarah back to the village – or steal kisses from her behind Mary Ellery’s cottage. Julia suspected that she would need to return the bracers she borrowed from Sarah, and find a few other things to add to a bride gift, quite soon.
Eric had recovered quite well, having not eaten nearly as much of the stew as Skald, and spent much of each day discussing repairs and supplies, overseeing training, and generally irritating Julia.
“Hn,” Eric responded noncommittally. His good hand, no longer bandaged and the shallow cut scaring over nicely, trailed down her back to draw lazy circles on her hip.
“Since Aurelius is now a duchy, I believe you are not actually a Duke until we are wed.” As the wedding was only a week away, the point was rather unnecessary, but Julia made it anyway. She smiled into Eric’s bare chest and shifted to give him better access to more of her thigh and bottom as well.
“I am the Duke. You are not a Duchess until we are wed.” She sat up at his words and placed her hands on her hips,
“Are you saying this island is yours, Vandalsson?”
“Hn,” he agreed before tugging her back to his chest. “It has always been so.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and drew his fingers up her side, bringing the thin chemise with them. “ How could it not, miláčik? The Lady is mine, and she is the island.”
Julia threw one leg over his hips and sat astride him, reveling in the response his body immediately granted her. “She is yours, is she?” She leaned forward, pressing her breast into his waiting hand and brushing her lips across his, “Have you asked her?”
Eric squeezed her ample flesh, drawing a gasp from her, and traced her mouth with his tongue. “She called me her love, so she must be mine.”
“Your love?” Julia tried to sit up, but Eric’s arm trapped her against him as he shifted his knee to part her legs.
“Moja láska,” he whispered against her skin. She recognized the phrase he had used many times before. His good hand slipped between their bodies, testing her. Finding her ready, he positioned himself and entered her in a smooth motion. She gasped, and he smiled against her mouth, “My island. My woman. My love.”
Susan Amund, North Sea Dawn