“And where to, since my brother may now travel with them?”
“You said you escaped,” Slayde broke in. “From what or whom would you hide in a barrel for three days? I am inclined to consider my archer’s opinion, that you are of a questionable profession, have stolen from your owner, perhaps a panderer, slipped from his grasp, then have fled your country with his property. And God only knows what crimes your brother has committed.” The little fox drew a sharp breath, a sure indication that he had hit upon the truth. “If you sought anonymity, you have come to the wrong shore. Indeed, you have fallen into the wrong hands - mine. I am paid to keep Vikings, especially malfeasants, from the land of Kent, not to let them wash ashore in barrels. We have written procedures for cases such as yours and I am wont to follow them to the letter.”
Byrnstan looked worried as he tucked his hair behind his ear. “Tell us something, lass, to dispute a bad report. Say your only fault is that you are a Viking, that a nefarious past has not followed you. Perhaps you were forced to leave?”
However surreptitious her behavior of hiding in barrels and now in a length of linen might seem, she was not a ready liar. Slayde grew impatient for her reply.
“I should neither dispute nor agree to the ealdorman’s appraisal,” she finally said. “Since either might ... incriminate me.”
“When one pleads not to comment, I have found it is to hide the worst,” Slayde said. “And since the worst in your case deems you a whore, a thief, and a fugitive, and, of course your brother some sort of criminal, and since we have enough of these already among the Saxon population, it is my duty to immediately send you back to your beginning.”
This appeared to strike her hard. Impassioned, she reached out from under her cover and clasped Slayde’s hand with one of hers. It was a silky and flawless, an artful creation, hinting of nimbleness. As the wind ruffled the linen that hid all but her eyes and hand from sight, he noted that he had never experienced the laying on of such soft fingertips ... save perhaps his mother’s. He wanted … nay … needed this Viking’s hands to touch him everywhere. More than just her beauty, this woman seemed to possess exquisite tenderness. The gut-jolt that ensued reminded StoneHeart that to succumb to affection would cost him everything.
“I pray you not send me back!” Llyrica implored. “From yon money purse let me withdraw a sum. I will pay you to allow me to find my brother, and then he and I will go to East Anglia, to a Danish settlement, which is our destination. ‘Tis a simple matter, really.”
“Not so simple when you are a Dane, your brother has fallen in with bad company, and the money is not yours,” Slayde countered. As a test to prove himself impervious to her touch, he allowed her to keep hold of his hand. “Or deny it now and say that what is in the sack is yours, unfettered by obligations. Then perhaps in addition to shipping you back, I will not also investigate from whom you might have stolen.”
She withdrew her hand and pulled the linen tighter around her. “Where those monies came from is complicated and I cannot tell you all. But I will say that I have earned them through my own labors, though the sack is not now wholly my possession ... though through no fault of my own.”
“You see there, Slayde,” Byrnstan said in her defense. “She said through no fault of her own. Consider she has been a victim.”
“She talks in riddles, now, Byrnstan.” Slayde reached for the money purse. “Let us have a look inside for a clue.” He untied the knot in the drawstring and opened the sack, pouring its contents onto the deck floor.
“Your interrogation leaves her little wiggling room,” Brynstan said leaning in. But his hopeful expression turned to disappointment at the sight of the damaging evidence.
Slayde shook his head in disbelief as he viewed the small fortune. “Coins from across foreign lands.” He sifted through the pile. The jangling of loot and the sun reflecting from precious metals raised curious stares from his rowing crewmen and brought Ailwin to stand behind his ealdorman. “Gems, bracelets and brooches of all sorts. And rings.”
Llyrica inhaled audibly. Slayde picked out two silver bands, twins save their difference in size. He recognized at once the insignia on the rings, but made no comment aloud.
“What labors procured you this treasure,” Slayde asked as he returned the rings to the pile, “which is usually reserved for merchants or travelling kings? Until you tell me otherwise, I suspect this is ill-gotten by such services for which certain women are paid well. Or that it is indeed stolen. How else would you come by such?”
“Tell him this coin is an inheritance.” Byrnstan insisted on grasping at straws. “Or that you have some other talent with which you have earned this.”
“And why you then took the money, risked your life in a barrel, at sea, without food and without kin to greet you at the end of a desperate journey,” Slayde added.
Llyrica now addressed the priest, whom she must rightly perceive as an ally. “I agree that the circumstances of my arrival cast me in a guilty light, and fear bids me not admit or deny a crime which brought my brother and me here. But might I be forgiven, after which I will go and sin no more?” She molded the priest like clay. “Our Lord bestows this favor. Will you?”
Byrnstan answered swiftly. “Indeed, child. To forgive is my foremost duty.”
“But you will not go, save by my leave,” Slayde said. He tired of the debate after a long day, and the soft tones of her voice agitated him. “And then it will be on the next ship bound for Denmark. Whether or not you sin again is your affair.”
The time which elapsed during Llyrica’s silence was filled with the heaving sounds of men rowing and the OnyxFox surging through coastal waters. The ship neared the estuary that would take them to Benfleet, the home of StoneHeart’s living quarters and training ground for his troops. The Viking-built fortress, protected by the great earthworks surrounding it and the Saxons now living there, boasted the conquest over its Danish occupants just months before. The Saxon possession of this fortress was tenuous, on the very edge of Danelaw. It was muddy, treeless place, with a vast view of the sea.
Slayde thought that his would be the final words and he nearly arose to occupy himself elsewhere before landing. But Llyrica reached out of her peach shroud and touched Byrnstan’s arm, a gesture that made Slayde’s flesh tingle with damnable envy.
“Might I count on asylum within the Church, Father Byrnstan?” she asked. “Will my Christian faith be rewarded? I only pray for sennight to find my brother, who will be lost without me. Keep these goods and money as collateral and keep me under watch if you must. Allow me to be of service while I wait.” Now she turned to Slayde. “I have seen the faded condition of your men’s tunicas. I can see them put to right with redipping. As for the braid on those of your men who wear it ...” Her brief pause nearly made Slayde look down at his own tunica, battle worn, its braid no longer vibrant. “If I have not found my brother within the allotted time, you may put me on a boat and ship me out.” She took a deep breath. “I am only one woman, surely of no danger to you. In this, and in my efforts to makes amends, I vow reverently.”
“And if you do find your brother?” Slayde asked.
“I hope you will see that he is not much more than a boy, and will let us go to where we can be with our own. In Danelaw we will begin new and better lives.”
Llyrica proposed this arrangement with such reason and sincerity, Slayde wavered in his inclination to oppose it. The light in Byrnstan’s eyes, a twinkle of equal parts mischief and compassion, informed StoneHeart of the priest’s intention to overrule him.
“You are a testament to the redemption of the fallen woman, Llyrica,” said Byrnstan. “For your promise to reform, I give you my vow. Under my protection shall you find sanctuary. You will come and live under our roof. The roof of StoneHeart.”
Slayde did not jerk his head up in dismay nor burst out an expletive. Nor did he accuse his godfather of softhearted meddling. Nay, he hid his reaction to Byrnstan’s misguided charity behind a
facade of indifference, and a silence which stretched the limits of comfort. The muscle above his right eye twitched its provoking tick.
“I bow to your Christian sensibility, Byrnstan,” he finally said. “And I wash my hands of this matter, leaving her to you. But she will not stay under our roof and you know well why.” Slayde unfolded his frame to its formidable height, left the priest and Llyrica crouched on the floor of the deck. “But we will find a dwelling close by, perhaps the thralls’ quarters. I put her in your care and bid you take heed lest we awaken one morning and find she has absconded with our property. Or worse, that what she sought to escape will come to our door.”
“I have only just given her my word, son, that she stay with us. Should I snatch it back only seconds after it was given?” Byrnstan kept a tight hold of the woman’s hand.
Slayde could not dispute Byrnstan’s case, and in full view of his crewmen, he should not look to fear a woman’s presence. Slayde would not win this one. He shrugged and feigned interest at an indeterminate point at the coast.
“‘Tis a large house, and a sennight is not so long,” he said. Byrnstan, Llyrica’s champion, patted the arm of his new charge, winked at her.
But Slayde set his jaw, knowing that now, and the days soon following, was not the time to have a woman ...this woman of intoxicating softness ...disrupting the order of his life and home. He had the state of the shire to attend to. His conflict with the East Anglian Vikings threatened to escalate to war, a probability for which he prepared himself and his men through weaponry and endurance training. King Alfred had also put StoneHeart in charge of the changing of Kent’s fyrd, when half of the Wessex laymen return to their civilian professions, while the other half take their places in the country’s militia. It was StoneHeart’s pursuit of the warlord Haesten though, which took priority over all else.
When I have rid the Kentish citizens of him I will have proved to Ceolmund I am a man. Maybe then I can live another life ...
If any woman could weaken a man and distract him from his duty, Llyrica could. Even now her presence made the crewmen of the OnyxFox slow their rowing to closer observe their ealdorman, judging his dealings with her. They would soon learn of Byrnstan’s arrangement. Perhaps they awaited the supreme male moment when Slayde upheld their ideal of man and coldly bedded the wench, then sent her packing in tears.
Or God forbid, they considered that she, a Danish whore, would be the one at last to soften the stone heart of ealdorman Slayde of Kent, diminishing his prowess. A man to be pitied, he would disappoint them with his fall from virile perfection.
He must set a precedence, here on his ship, before all, and put the woman in her place. None must doubt that the StoneHeart ruled his own emotions and body. Goading him now, dead Ceolmund’s voice sounded in his head. Each event in life is test of manhood.
Very well. Let the test commence.
Slayde bent, took Llyrica by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, leaving her wrapped in linen and taking her in his arms for the second time in an hour. The drape of fabric fell from her head, exposed damp flaxen hair and a lovely upturned face he was not prepared for. She showed not fear or surprise, but wonder, painted in a pale palette of twilight colors - lips and cheeks, a peach horizon. Irises, an aqua sky. Eyelids shaded of dusk violet. And skin, the color of the moon.
He looked upon her dispassionately. “Take care, little vixen. With me, you may find after all that a sennight is too long and my house too small for comfort.”
Her lips trembled slightly. “You will not even know I am there.”
Aware of the many eyes upon him, Slayde guarded his response to the supple form in his embrace and instead concentrated on the dynamics of the procedure, which was, after all, the purpose of this test.
Then he lowered his mouth to hers.
Slayde kept his lips slightly parted and pressed firmly as he cradled Llyrica’s head with one hand, pulled her closer with the other. She gave no resistance, nay, quite the opposite, allowed her soft flesh, from breast to thigh, to receive the unyielding contours of his body. No surprise, considering her profession, yet she achieved a convincing innocence, as beneath him, he felt her fall limp. Her lips surrendered sweetly, her small gasp sucking the breath from his lungs. This wrought a stunning effect. Like wax she softened in his arms in startling contrast to the hard ache of his arousal. His awareness of each enflamed place where their bodies touched ... thigh to thigh, breast to chest, lips to lips ... grew his desire to kiss every inch of her. She was made of wet silk, an agonizing allure. It drew from him a longing, deeper than sexual need, more akin to starvation for affection.
He withstood this torment though, and timed the duration of the kiss to further induce submission and to prove who was in control. A sweep of his tongue across her lips concluded the event.
He stepped back to survey the results, and left her swaying, eyelids fluttering, and leaning toward Byrnstan who quickly stood to catch her. A raucous cheer and stamping of feet sounded from his crew in appreciation of their ealdorman’s conquest.
But the hammering of Slayde’s heart roared in his ears, nearly drowning out the applause.
Chapter III
Blessed babe in health do lie, your life be hale and long.
Let Mother’s kiss console your cry and Father’s make you strong.
Their haste allowed Broder only a glance back over his shoulder, though too much distance had been spanned to see any sight of her, or the disaster, even should he take more time. He did catch a last glimpse of the Saxon patrol ships lingering in the bay. They had chased their quarry to the shores of Danelaw, saw the tattered fleet moored, its foolhardy sailors disbursing.
“Keep going lest they decide to pursue us on foot! It is all left to the StoneHeart, now, comrade!” The lanky redheaded youth yelled at him as they ran. “Even the booty taken from the merchant’s knorr!”
Even Broder’s sister was left to the StoneHeart. Broder’s conscience pinched at the trouble he had caused her.
He recalled the events of days before, the day Llyrica fell into the hands of a flesh peddler and was hauled in Dyre’s ale lodge. Solvieg had joined Broder that night with plans to help Llyrica escape. They arrived in time to see her crawling out of a hole she had just kicked open in the rotted wall. She had also just crawled out from under an unconscious Xanthus, the money purse again in her possession. After vomiting from her experience with the paunchy slaver, Llyrica said she would commit a few crimes that dark night, though it was not in her nature as it was in her brother’s. Solvieg provided two skins of water and two loaves of bread and showed them on which merchant ship they would find a barrel of their wovengoods. Llyrica bade Broder steal a two-man faering and the barrel, tasks she quipped he would be good at. Also in his list of talents was setting things on fire, which she suggested he put to use on Xanthus’ ship, the BoarsJaw. Broder and Llyrica then rowed along the River Trene to where it emptied into the sea. As she firmly insisted, Broder hid her in the barrel and hailed a ship to take them to the Isle. To Danelaw. She seemed to have a specific goal in mind, but did not share it.
Less than an hour ago, Broder had pushed her barrel from a burning ship, seconds before he jumped in the water. After much chaos, he had found himself saved by unknown hands, sprawled half-drowned on a deck, then came to, joined to the others in a hasty escape. If he could swim, perhaps he would have dived in and returned to Llyrica, stayed with her and shared her fate.
Now he deemed it too late, especially since this band of roughnecks swept him along. Let things settle a bit, then he would figure a way to get to her.
“Where are we bound?” Broder called in return. With any luck it would not be so far that Llyrica would come find him.
“Those who have homes, have gone on,” the boy answered. “Those of us who have not, return to our king and surrogate father, lord Haesten. His fortress is up the Lea to where we will soon return. Now we are encamped near the village of Olavby.”
The name
of the man, whose lore preceded him, caused Broder to break from his trot for a moment, and forget Llyrica entirely. Few young warriors had not heard the legends relating to Haesten’s adventures across the Mediterranean and Francia or his grand feats of warfare. “The same Haesten who killed sixty men in a day? Then escaped capture by leaping from a cliff top onto his horse below? Was it he who sent you out today against the StoneHeart?” Broder looked up the trail through the fen, saw timber dwellings ahead and wondered if he soon would encounter the myth in the flesh.
“Aye the same! But Loki’s Foot! He did not send us to the task today! We thought to prove ourselves worthy of his army by storming the StoneHeart’s Gate. No doubt he will put us to sharpening spears when he finds out our folly.”
“I would cut rushes for his floor to enlist in his army!” exclaimed Broder. “Will he take me with the lot of you?” This would prove an even better fate than coming upon fellow miscreants and witnessing a sea battle, though it ended badly and in flames. And with the separation from his sister.
“He will, so join us ... the six of us. I am Egil. Look there to Lunt, Erik, Kalmin, Gunnar, and Ragnar.” Broder glanced at the boys to each side of him. “Tell me how you are called and how you came to be on the merchant’s knorr.”
Broder told of his search for adventure, a partial truth that need not include Llyrica. As the young bloods ran on, he pieced together the events that had separated him from his sister. This band of juvenile marauders had planned the exploit, and after spreading the word around local villages, had obtained ships from various sources. They had hoped to become heroes by charging through the Gate of StoneHeart, and along the way, for added sport, they had pirated the merchant ship, the same on which Broder and Llyrica journeyed.
But a new venture now presented itself to Broder, one that would fill his insatiable need for excitement. One that would occupy him until Llyrica came ... as she always did.
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