The Viking's Captive

by Julia Byrne

  She obeyed the summons with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Hope when she remembered the way Rorik had held her when he’d plucked her out of the sea. Trepidation because she didn’t know what he’d told Edward and feared it had been the stark, unadorned truth.

  Was that why she hadn’t seen him all day? she wondered. Because, unable to kill Rorik, Edward had sent him away, and he’d agreed to go out of a sense of honour? True, she’d spent most of the day sleeping, but now the sun was laying a shimmering golden path across the sea, and ‘I’ll find you wherever you are’ was taking on an ominous new meaning. As if some time was going to elapse before he started looking.

  She glanced down at herself as she followed Wulf through the camp, unhappily aware that, though she was grateful for the borrowed clothes, a mantle of Lincoln green and a primrose woollen gown were not the most seductive of garments.

  On the other hand, a modest appearance was probably more appropriate for her coming interview with the king. Especially given the way she’d behaved on the beach.

  She bit her lip, barely suppressing a wince. What had possessed her to speak to her liege lord and sovereign like that? She remembered Edward as a young prince when she’d first come to court. He’d been kind enough, in the distant, careless way of a much older cousin, but he’d been ruler for five years now; had ruthlessly held his crown against another cousin whom many felt had had a stronger claim, and she doubted he’d tolerate such licence again. If he’d been told the truth of her kidnapping, she wasn’t even sure which Edward she’d be facing. The kind, older cousin or the king whose ruthless ambition was to rule all England.

  She was about to find out. Wulf paused outside a large tent, pulled aside the leather flap across the entrance and motioned her inside. Heart thumping, she stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Ah, cousin.’ Edward rose from his chair behind a plain work table and came forward.

  ‘Edward, where is Rorik? What did he tell you? Where are the ships and all his men?’

  The minute the words were out, she closed her eyes in despair. ‘I…I mean…Sire!’ She sank into a deep curtsy.

  ‘Oh, don’t spoil it,’ he said with more than a touch of sarcasm. ‘I’ve been dealing all afternoon with people who should be grateful they’re keeping their heads, but apparently don’t share that view.’

  She looked up. ‘Who?’

  ‘Hmm. Still the direct, straight-to-the-point girl who informed me she’d accept my choice of husband for her as her way of fighting for my crown, but I’d better not forget it.’

  He motioned for her to rise and walked around the table to sit again. ‘Well, Yvaine, if it’s any consolation, Rorik told me what Ceawlin did to you. I suppose I should have sent someone to make sure you were well treated, but why in the name of God didn’t you write asking for help?’

  ‘I did,’ she retorted, frustrated that he’d ignored her question. ‘Ceawlin read the first letter and tore it up. When he made it plain that a messenger would be spared only if he approved my missives, I gave the next one to the priest. He returned it to Ceawlin and I was locked in the solar and starved for two days. The slaves were too afraid to help me, the churls likewise. Besides,’ she added, relenting a little as Edward grimaced, ‘’twas only that one time that he actually beat me.’

  ‘Aye, so Rorik said.’ He waved her impatiently to a chair. ‘Clearly, he knew what he was about when he carried you off for ransom.’

  ‘Ransom,’ she repeated, seating herself in obedience to his gesture. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep the tartness out of her voice. ‘I see. How much was I worth?’

  Edward waved that off. ‘The subject was dropped once the reason was given. Rorik merely said that he found his father dying, discovered his mother was English, and decided he’d taken enough revenge for his cousin’s death. He swore he was about to bring you home when his brother ran off with you. And, I tell you, Yvaine, I will never understand the Norse.’ He thumped his fist on the table, making her jump.

  She blinked at him, still grappling with this drastically abbreviated version of events in Norway.

  ‘The man decides to take revenge on his own people, killing off my soldiers year after year because Sitric’s stupidity got himself and his men hanged, and yet when I kill his brother, Rorik tells me he would’ve hanged Othar like the rabid dog he was, rather than give him an honourable death by the sword. Incomprehensible!’

  ‘His own people?’ She shook her head. ‘Rorik didn’t know about his mother at the time of Sitric’s death.’

  ‘No, but you mistake my meaning. For a long time I’d thought of Rorik as one of us. Saints, there’s only five years between us, we were friends, God damn it. He’d even been Christened.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You didn’t know that?’ Edward’s brows rose. He was still a moment, then he leaned back in his chair, watching her. ‘Well, how should you? Unconscious, taken for ransom. Why would Rorik discuss such matters with you?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Yvaine said grimly. But she couldn’t afford the luxury of taking offence now. ‘The Norse have a rigid code of vengeance,’ she began.

  ‘Good God, girl, you don’t need to tell me that!’ This time the chair arm received a thump. ‘’Tis not so different from our Saxon wergild. A man’s blood-price should his life be taken. Saves on soldiers,’ he added with heavy meaning.

  Yvaine winced. Better get off that subject. ‘How did Rorik come to be Christened?’ she ventured.

  The king eyed her narrowly. ‘The subject interests you?’

  ‘I know ’tis not an unusual occurrence.’ Oh, aye, she could play the game of giving an answer without answering as well as anyone. Edward seemed to accept it, though, for his scowl eased slightly.

  ‘I suppose it began when my father signed that treaty with Guthrum years ago, creating the Danelaw. Guthrum became a Christian, and when Rorik signed on with him a few years later he was properly Christened as well. Guthrum only lived a month or so after that, however, and on his death some of his followers decided the treaty no longer applied to them. The Danes rebelled, and the Norse started raiding the continent.’

  ‘What did Rorik do?’

  ‘When Sitric went off to Normandy with the rest, Rorik came over to us. He was still young, only twenty, and had been used as a messenger between Guthrum and our court several times. My father took an interest in him. Indeed, ’tis a wonder you never met the man, but you were only a babe, and we were away more often than not.’

  She shifted restlessly; it wasn’t her childhood she needed to hear about. ‘And?’

  Edward shrugged. ‘Rorik divided his time between England and Norway. He’d just returned from a visit home when we heard there’d been a battle at sea against the Danes.’ His frown returned. ‘My father was building a navy so we could protect the coast, but this particular day was disastrous. The five vessels we had ran aground on a sandbar and the men were slaughtered like rats in a trap. Our soldiers had to watch from the shore, helpless. Their only redress came when the Danish ships were damaged as well, and the crews were forced to land.’

  ‘What happened?’ Yvaine asked, as Edward paused.

  ‘Father had the Danes brought to Winchester and hanged for treason. Somehow Sitric and his men were in the middle of it.’

  ‘So they were hanged, too.’

  ‘Aye. Rorik spoke for them but to no avail. He left, swearing vengeance.’

  ‘But he never threatened you or Alfred.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me look more kindly on his actions now?’ Edward demanded, thumping the chair arm again.

  ‘He did bring me back, and…and I should thank him for saving my life. Twice, if you count taking me from Ceawlin.’ She thought that was a nice touch. ‘If he’s still here…’

  ‘Oh, he’s here somewhere.’ Edward jerked an impatient thumb to indicate the camp. ‘You didn’t see the ships because Rorik’s Sea Dragon has been pulled up to the foot of the cliff and Thorolf has tak
en the other, and the crew, back to Norway. Since you insisted on sparing the lives of the vermin who served Rorik’s brother, they went with him, in chains. It was that or be left here without food and weapons when we break camp.’

  ‘Oh.’ She wondered if she was supposed to feel guilty for depriving Edward of a mass hanging. ‘I don’t even know where we are.’

  ‘Near Chester,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m thinking of restoring the town as a military base.’

  ‘Oh. Well.’ She managed a shrug. ‘I suppose Rorik will have to wait for Thorolf to return then.’

  ‘I suppose he will.’

  She winced at the short agreement. Obviously, leading up to the question she really wanted to ask was not the best way to placate the king’s temper. ‘Edward, will you please tell me what you’ve done with him?’

  ‘Done with him? You took care of that when you insisted I didn’t kill anyone. A rather rash request when you think what else I could do, but, putting that aside, I’d think you’d be more concerned for your own future.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re a wealthy widow, cousin. Or had you forgotten? You’ll need a husband to hold your lands. I intend to look into the matter.’

  She gaped at him, her voice rising in horror. ‘You’d send me back to Selsey?’

  ‘Why not? Ceawlin’s gone.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘A strong man, of course, to weed out any remnants of rebellion there. One who has no lands of his own to divide his loyalties. Not to mention one who can handle this tendency you’ve developed to make demands.’

  ‘But—’

  She couldn’t go on. Her throat was too tight. Dear God, how had it come to this? What was she to do? It was no use telling Edward she was already married to Rorik. He’d consign such a union to oblivion; dismiss it out of hand. She’d dismissed it, she remembered. A few heathen words over a cup of ale doesn’t make me your wife, she’d said, and Edward would agree wholeheartedly. And then marry her off with indecent haste in case there were any little consequences.

  She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t—

  ‘’Twill give you something to think about on your way back to Winchester tomorrow,’ Edward concluded.

  ‘What?’ She struggled to take it in. ‘Winchester? You’re sending me away? Tomorrow?’

  ‘Aye. In fact—’ He clapped his hands and Wulf stepped through the entrance. ‘You’d best be off. ’Tis a long journey and you’ll need to rest. I think we’ve said all we need to at present. I’ll send a message when arrangements are made.’

  It was dismissal. She couldn’t believe it. How could he arrange her future like that, and sit calmly waiting for her to leave?

  Dazed, sick to her stomach, Yvaine rose. Wulf was holding back the curtain. She barely had enough wit to drop a curtsy to the king before she followed the young man from the tent. Her legs were shaking; her mind hazed…

  No! She wouldn’t panic. There was a solution somewhere. She just had to find it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sun had vanished completely by the time Yvaine found Rorik’s tent. And though the soft, pearly light of the summer evening would last for an hour or two yet, a few fires had been lit about the camp. The scent of wood smoke drifted on the breeze, mingling with the mouthwatering aromas wafting from the cooks’ fires. Several men were strolling in that direction, thinking of their supper; others gathered around the largest fire where a noisy dice game was in progress. No one was paying her any attention.

  Hefting the bundle of clothes that was her excuse should anyone question her, she scratched at the leather curtain hanging across the front of the tent.

  ‘Enter.’

  A shiver went through her at the sound of Rorik’s voice. Her heartbeat picking up, Yvaine obeyed.

  He was standing behind a table, his hands braced on either side of a scattered pile of parchments as he leaned forward to study them. A pallet bed occupied the space to one side of the tent; a chest and two chairs the other. Though daylight prevailed outside, here the light was muted; the candles in the branched holder on the table had not yet been lit.

  He glanced up as she entered, then straightened and strode swiftly around the table towards her. ‘Yvaine. When I enquired of Wulf’s girl, she said you were like to sleep until morning.’

  ‘I woke up.’ She’d had some vague plan of throwing herself into his arms the moment she saw him, but he stopped abruptly a few feet away, his brows drawing together as he studied her.

  A cold fist uncurled in her stomach. She didn’t know what he was searching for, but she had the horrible feeling he wasn’t finding it. ‘I’ve been with Edward,’ she hazarded. ‘Or I would’ve come sooner.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be here at all,’ he said. His eyes narrowed further. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Aye. Although I know this bruise looks…’

  He moved abruptly; stilled. Then, as she hesitated, he came forward and touched his fingers fleetingly to her jaw.

  ‘You look as fragile as mist. But…that wasn’t what I meant. You shouldn’t be here, alone with me, at this hour.’

  Given all that had passed between them she had to smile, even as her heart sank a little. ‘’Tis not so late. I thought you might need the clothes you lent me.’

  ‘Aye. Thank you.’ But he made no move to take them; just stood there, watching her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body.

  ‘I’m glad Thorolf has gone back to Norway so quickly,’ she said into the silence. ‘Anna must be out of her wits with worry by now.’

  ‘Aye.’ He glanced towards the entrance. ‘I think…’

  Oh, no. He wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. Before he could take her arm, she slipped away from him, placed his clothes on a chair, then crossed the small space to sit down on the bed. She hoped Rorik couldn’t see how precarious was her calm pose of being at home in his quarters. Calm. That was a jest. How could she be calm when her entire future depended on this last desperate throw of the dice, when her heart was still beating too quickly, her mind a prey to fear and doubt?

  When he stood there by the entrance, that remote stillness cloaking him again, as though waiting to take her back to her tent.

  ‘Rorik, will you tell me…about Sitric?’ She closed her eyes, cursing herself for her cowardice, then opened them on the realisation that it might be better this way. If they could talk, dispel the distant air that had fallen over him…

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  She shook her head, pulled her thoughts together. ‘Why did you spend years avenging him when he brought about his own death?’

  He hesitated, as if contemplating the option of picking her up and removing her bodily from the tent, but he must have sensed her determination to stay, to have answers at least, for he turned on his heel and walked across to the empty chair.

  ‘’Twas Sitric’s men who were avenged,’ he said curtly, sitting down. ‘Not him.’

  She nodded. ‘I don’t think you could have killed Alfred or Edward, Rorik.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ He paused, shrugged. ‘At the time I was furious enough to kill anyone, but ’twas anger at Sitric as much as at Alfred. I felt betrayed by them both. By Sitric for turning his back on Guthrum’s peace, and by Alfred for condemning Sitric to the death of a common felon. To a Norseman, hanging is the most shameful of deaths. My father nearly went mad when he heard. It shattered his health.’

  ‘So you appeased his family honour with a vow of vengeance,’ she murmured. ‘Only to think he’d betrayed you in turn.’

  ‘I wasn’t exactly loath,’ he said dryly. ‘Sitric’s men didn’t deserve to die that way, since they’d only been following orders. For all they knew, outright war had been declared.’

  She had to smile. ‘Your male reasoning defeats me, but I suppose only a warrior can see different degrees of death. They all look rather final to me.’

  ‘I suppose they do,’ he said soberly. ‘When you’ve come as
close to it as you did this morning.’

  ‘But you were there. You saved me.’

  ‘After putting you at risk in the first place.’

  She frowned. ‘How so?’

  He gestured impatiently, indicating her bruised face, her borrowed clothes. ‘None of this would have happened if I hadn’t left you at Einervik that morning.’

  ‘As well say none of it would have happened if I hadn’t walked into the forest,’ she retorted. ‘Or if I hadn’t pestered you to seek out Thorkill.’

  A faint smile crossed his face at that.

  Encouraged—dear God, it didn’t take much; she would have stayed if only to savour these few precious moments with him—she pressed on. ‘How did you know where Othar had taken me?’

  The smile vanished. ‘An old karl who had sailed with my father recognised the ship some miles down the fjord. He thought it odd that ’twas moored at an island where there was no farm or village and suspected it might have been stolen. He arrived at Einervik soon after I got back from visiting Ragnald. And just as we discovered you were missing.’

  She squelched a twinge of guilt. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have walked so far, but, truly, I thought there was no danger.’

  ‘A mistake I made, myself,’ he said grimly. ‘And for which I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘Oh, no, Rorik. It wasn’t your fault. Were you supposed to know Othar’s mind?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ His tone said he should have. ‘Anyway, we spent some time searching for you. Several of the men had seen you start towards the forest, but then you apparently vanished like smoke. I decided to investigate the old man’s story. When we got to the island the birds were disturbed. Screaming and flying about. For a few minutes…I thought—’

  Her heart leapt. Surely it was more than desire for her that had his face tightening like that, his body bracing as if for a blow. She almost rose to go to him, but he sat forward suddenly, resting his forearms on his thighs and gazing down at his linked fingers.