Paying the Viking's Price

by Michelle Styles

  The blue in his eyes deepened. ‘From what I have seen, it will not be hard to run it better...unless there is some reason to think differently.’

  Edith winced. He knew about her deception and was giving her the opportunity to confess. The Norseman was sharper than he first appeared.

  ‘My father trained me after my brothers died in infancy. I served first as his steward and then my late husband’s.’

  ‘Then they were both fools. This hall and its farms look miserable. A child could run them better.’ Brand Bjornson waved an impatient hand. ‘Save the stories for the children, Lady Edith. I’m in a generous mood, but that may change.’

  ‘Lady Edith speaks true, my lord!’ one of the servants burst out. ‘My Lady Edith runs this hall better than anyone. It is why the storage barns are overfull this year and our sheep are...’

  At Edith’s look, the servant’s voice trailed away. Edith bit her lip. Now the Norsemen knew they were not poor. How much chance did the food have of getting to the people who needed it the most? These Norsemen warriors would more than eat their fill and leave everyone else to starve, just as Egbert had once attempted to do.

  ‘The hall is more prosperous than it looks? Show me. Now. While you have a chance to undo your deception.’ Brand Bjornson took a step closer to her. She became aware of the power in his shoulders and forearms. He was definitely not a man to be trifled with.

  Edith shifted in her shoes, torn between a desire to protect what was rightfully hers and the knowledge that her unwomanly success might be the only thing to save her and her home. If she left now, she’d never be able to return. She’d seen enough refugees after the fall of Eoferwic ten years earlier to know her chances of survival. Who would give her shelter like she’d given shelter to Hilda? Anyone who might have helped her was dead or had lost their lands and had fled to the south. Edith curled her hand into a fist. She had no choice but to reveal some of her secrets.

  She had to show him the ledgers and the storage areas and hope that he’d understand what a huge undertaking this hall and lands were. He had to understand that she was essential and why they needed the food to stay here.

  Later, she’d figure out how to get rid of him. Vikings never stayed long. As long as she was here, there was a chance her lands would be restored to her.

  Edith raised her chin so she stared directly into his startling blue eyes. An awareness of him and the power in his shoulders filled her. ‘Yes, it is true, Brand Bjornson. I had no wish to give more than I had to. Can you blame me after the ravages that the Norsemen have wrought on the countryside?’

  ‘Show me!’ Brand ground out, regarding Lady Edith with her very Anglo-Saxon wimple, figure-skimming dress and proud tilt to her nose. He struggled to remember when a woman had affected him this much.

  Her figure was not overly curvy, but pleasing enough, her features were regular and even, but it was her long neck and the way she held her slender hands which held his attention. And she was tall, coming up to his nose rather than forcing him to stoop.

  Everything about her screamed arrogance and inclined to overestimate her own intelligence in relation to his. She was about to learn an important lesson in humility. She’d assumed that he should be kissing her feet in gratitude earlier when she offered to marry him. No, they did this his way. He had made his plans.

  ‘I am happy to show you the stores, but you must know they are depleted after the winter. You may inspect the ledgers and they will show you that they are in my hand.’ Her full lips turned up even more insolently. ‘Can you read Latin? Or do you wish to call your scribe?’

  ‘That is my concern.’ Brand retained a narrow leash on his temper. ‘I very much wish to inspect the entirety of my new lands.’

  He did not believe for one heartbeat that she could read or write. What sort of woman did? She merely wanted to show him up and gain time to remove whatever treasure she had hidden, treasure which now belonged to him. Egbert of Breckon had cut down Brand’s best friend, Sven, while crying for peace. Hrearek had reached him first and cut him down but Sven had been the closest thing he had had to a brother. He could never forgive the treachery that had cost him the one person he held dear.

  ‘I’ve nothing to fear from the truth.’

  He leant forwards so that their breath touched. ‘We start with the ledgers.’

  Her colour heightened, infusing her cheeks with a dusky pink. If she shed the wimple, she’d be beautiful, Brand realised with a start as his body responded anew to her nearness.

  Was there a reason she had deliberately wanted him to overlook her feminine charms? He wanted a willing bed partner, rather than one he’d forced. But then seeing how her breath quickened, she was not entirely immune to him either. Suddenly the possibilities became much more intriguing.

  He raised an eyebrow and the flush deepened. She dipped her head, breaking the contact.

  ‘Very well, the ledgers.’ She motioned to one of the servants and spoke to him in a low voice. The man bowed and hurried off. ‘It may take a little time, Lord Bjornson.’

  ‘I’ve time.’

  ‘Would you like to sit? I’m sure you and your men are thirsty. My late husband was always thirsty whenever he returned to the hall.’ She gestured towards a stool with a little wave of her hand before ordering one of her elderly servants to fetch some mead. ‘Please give us a chance to welcome your lordship properly. Now that we know who you are.’

  The gesture and the words reminded him of his father’s wife and the way she ruled his father’s steading, always making him feel like an outsider with no real right to be there. He’d left that past long ago. He was the lord and master here, rather than the son of a thrall who had no right to be in the hall. He’d earned the right to respect with his sword arm. Brand gave his head a little shake to rid his mind of the memory.

  ‘I have no problems with standing, but my men require some refreshment. The road brings a thirst and hunger. We must have meat.’

  ‘A good leader looks after his men first.’ Her smile did not reach her grey eyes. ‘Meat takes time. We live simply here and it is Lent. Nothing has been slaughtered since Michaelmas.’

  ‘Time we have.’ Brand inclined his head. ‘In due course after I have assessed the supplies, I will arrange for several animals to be slaughtered. My men need to celebrate my good fortune. They expect to feast well.’

  ‘The considerations of Lent mean nothing?’

  Brand considered the question. ‘Should they? My men do not share your religion.’

  ‘As you wish.’ She strode over to where a leather stool rested and sat. A queen or his father’s wife could not have done it better. ‘There appears to be little point standing on ceremony. My late husband used to enjoy sitting.’

  ‘I’m not your late husband.’

  Her neat white teeth worried her bottom lip and for the first time, he saw the shadows in her eyes. ‘No, you’re not. We must all consider you fortunate then.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Brand tried to remember what he knew of the man. Lord Egbert had obviously inspired men to follow him. The men left in the hall were the ones who were either too old or too young to fight. But he knew little of the measure of the man or how he’d dealt with his wife. He had been the one to break the truce. Hrearek was quite clear on that.

  ‘My husband died and you are alive. The hall now is under your rule.’ Her hands clenched together so tightly that the white knuckles stood out. ‘What did you think I meant?’

  ‘Thank you for the explanation.’ He’d allow the explanation to stand for now. But it was clear Lady Edith was no grieving widow. Were her earlier words about not supporting the rebellion true? Lately Halfdan had used marriage between the Vikings and the Northumbrians as a way of ensuring peace, but he’d kept her existence from him.

  Had Halfdan actually remembered about Brand’s plans for
the future? How he hoped to marry Sigfrieda? Brand narrowed his eyes. Or was there something else? Something that Halfdan knew about this woman that he had chosen to keep to himself?

  Lady Edith picked up a spindle, looking for all the world like a woman who had plenty of time and fewer cares. However, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead betrayed her nerves. Brand smiled inwardly. Her play-acting skills were no rival for the courtiers at the Byzantium court.

  ‘Shall we speak about the changes to Eoferwic...I mean Jorvik?’ She gave her spindle a fierce twist. ‘I understand King Halfdan has completely remade the city after the Norsemen burnt it to the ground.’

  ‘There we must agree to differ. It was the Northumbrians who burnt the city when they attempted to take it. I was there on the walls, my lady.’

  Her eyes flashed, betraying her annoyance. ‘It was our city. The Norsemen attacked on All Saints’ Day when we were at church. I was there with my mother and father. No civilised person attacks on such a holy day.’

  ‘Your god is not Halfdan’s. Do you respect Thor’s feast days?’

  ‘That is beside the point.’ She gave the spindle a vicious twist and the thread broke, sending it bouncing across the floor. A small cry escaped her lips.

  Brand bent and retrieved it, holding the neatly spun wool in his hand. It was unusual for any woman to speak so boldly to him, but Lady Edith was refreshing. All too often women uttered inanities and deferred to him. Spineless, but calculating. He learnt that lesson well in Constantinople. Lady Edith had already revealed the steel she had as a spine. She was forged from the same metal as his father’s wife and he should never forget that.

  Lady Edith needed to learn that she no longer held any power in this hall. Her intelligence about the halls and its lands being more prosperous than it appeared failed to surprise him. He had seen the richness of the soil and suspected that the sheep grew thick fleeces. The very air breathed fertility.

  For how much was this woman responsible? And how much did she want to unjustly claim?

  Brand had met many capable women in Byzantium who were involved up to their pretty necks in palace intrigue, but he had never heard of a Northumbrian woman doing such a thing. Their priests frowned on it or so he understood. It was a mystery and he disliked mysteries, particularly ones which included beautiful women. Invariably they attempted to use their looks to gain what they wanted. Given the way the spindle bounced and the thread tangled, he doubted if Lady Edith spent much time spinning.

  ‘I wish to learn everything about my new estate,’ he said with a bow. ‘Perhaps we should converse about that while we wait rather than long-ago history which neither of us can change.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Her pale pink lips curved up into a superior smile. ‘Here comes John with the latest ledger.’

  The servant handed her the book. Lady Edith placed it on the trunk with a thump. With a slight tremor in her hand, she opened the pages and ran her finger down the neat figures.

  ‘Shall I explain what it all means?’ she asked with a honey-sweetened voice. ‘Or do you require me to demonstrate that it is my writing?’

  Brand carefully schooled his features. He could tell by the way Lady Edith arrogantly raised her eyebrow that she expected him not to be able to read Latin. The time he’d spent serving the Emperor in Byzantium had taught him both the value of an education as well as the value of keeping such knowledge to himself.

  ‘Both.’

  Lady Edith launched into lengthy but simplistic explanation, pointing to various notations and numbers. Her cheeks took on the colour of a spring dawn and her grey eyes began to sparkle, turning her face from pleasant to truly beautiful and desirable.

  Brand’s body responded anew to her nearness and her delicate scent. He tapped a finger against his mouth as a glimmer of an idea came to him. The perfect lesson for a proud lady. She needed to learn her new status and he needed to learn the secrets of this estate. This estate would belong to his descendants for all of time. It meant all of his struggles were worthwhile. He would succeed and prove his father’s wife’s words wrong. He was not worthless and fit only for the pigsty. This estate proved his worth, and he needed the right sort of woman to be his wife, someone who understood what it was like to be from the North.

  ‘The estate is indeed productive,’ he said at the end of Lady Edith’s lengthy recital about what she had done to improve the estate this year. ‘You appear well versed in all aspects of it. A surprising pastime for a lady.’

  ‘You see the value of keeping me as a steward?’ Her nostrils quivered slightly with tension, much as a high-strung horse might quiver before battle. She wanted to run the estate. Why was it so important to her? Running an estate was a thankless task. What did she want out of this? What game was she playing? His father’s wife had always played games.

  The saying he learnt in Byzantium—to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer—flashed in his mind.

  ‘Not as a steward.’ He paused, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘But I do wish you to remain on in this hall. You are an unexpected addition to the estate.’

  She licked her lips, turning them a deeper red. ‘As what? I’m no maidservant for your wife. I’ve my pride.’

  He waited a heartbeat and leant forwards so that his breath interlaced with hers. She did know the game. The pretence ended here. ‘As my concubine.’

  She drew back, her eyes widening as the colour drained from her face. ‘Your...your concubine?’

  ‘I have no need of a wife, but there is a current that runs between us. You can feel it as well as I.’ He stroked a line down her face. Her flesh quivered deliciously under his fingertips. ‘One year will be enough to satisfy my desire.’

  ‘And after the year?’

  ‘I will provide you safe passage to wherever you wish to go. You will be handsomely compensated for your time. I’m a generous master. None of my women have ever complained.’

  A shocked gasp ran through the hall and he heard the soft swish of his men drawing swords. He ignored the sounds and concentrated on Lady Edith. Everything depended on her answer.

  ‘You are asking me to forsake my honour and become your whore for the promise of an unspecified payment?’ She swallowed hard and kept her body rigid, far too rigid.

  Brand narrowed his gaze. Had he misjudged her earlier expression? Impossible. But as her cheek continued to be pale, he relented slightly and gestured towards the door.

  ‘You are welcome to go to the nearest nunnery if the terms do not suit you. My men will ensure your safe passage, but you leave immediately with only the clothes on your back. If you meet my terms, you will be able to choose where you go. My men will even escort you to Wessex if you so desire, but only after our bargain is complete.’

  Her gaze narrowed. ‘With baggage? And any of my people who wish to go?’

  ‘With whatever belongs to you at that time.’

  Emotions warred on her face. Was her love of treasure greater than her honour?

  She glanced over her shoulder at her servants who now wore furious faces and gave a quick shake of her head. Her lips curved up in a false smile. ‘When you make an offer like that with such grace and tact, how can I refuse, Lord Bjornson?’

  ‘You can’t, mistress!’ someone shouted. ‘We will fight for your honour. Allow me to be your champion!’

  The entire hall broke out in an uproar. Brand slammed his axe down on the stone flagging. The ringing sound silenced everyone.

  ‘I can and I will!’ Lady Edith retorted. ‘This Norseman has left me with no other choice. There will be no blood spilled in defence of my honour. I forbid it. It is a pale and worthless thing compared to one of your lives. Each of you is precious to me.’

  Instantly the shouting stopped. Lady Edith stood, proud and alone, with more than a hint of vulnerability to her mouth. She held o
ut her trembling hands.

  ‘And what will you do, Lady Edith? I want the words,’ Brand said. ‘For all to hear. I will not have it whispered that you were forced.’

  ‘I will be your concubine, Brand Bjornson. I do this of my own free will and at your asking.’

  ‘For an entire year?’

  ‘You will have me for a year and no longer.’ Her voice was colder than a Norwegian winter. ‘Then I leave for a place of my choosing with those things which belong to me and those people who wish to join me in exile.’

  ‘You have chosen, my lady,’ Brand said softly, not taking her outstretched fingers. There would be time enough to seal their bargain properly later. Without the benefit of onlookers.

  He refused to feel sorry for her. Whatever was hidden here meant more to her than her body or her so-called honour and virtue. Sending for a wife could wait until he concluded his business with Lady Edith. It would be short, sweet and ultimately pleasurable for the both of them, but such dalliances never lasted long. After the passion was spent, women ceased to intrigue him.

  ‘Then it is done?’ Her grey eyes appeared troubled. ‘Settled?’

  ‘It is done.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I will hold you to your word. What is mine stays mine. And you are mine for an entire year.’

  * * *

  His concubine. For an entire year. The enormity of what she had done, in front of everyone, thudded through Edith. She leant against the kitchen’s outside wall, trying to get her racing heart to slow down.

  She’d agreed to be Brand Bjornson’s mistress. Not even his wife, but his mistress. Hilda could have made a better fist of it. Shackled to him as little better than a bed slave!

  The scared faces of her household had made the decision simple. She couldn’t abandon them to life under Norseman rule while she made her way to the relative safety of a nunnery.

  Who knew what Brand Bjornson might do to some of them—people who had given their lives to ensure she and her family lived in comfort? What good would her honour be if she abandoned those who were ready to lay their lives down for her?