by T S Florence
“Neither was I,” Isla said with a wink. “But be careful, if you become pregnant, you’d best want a husband,” she said.
11
Ragnar
Rangar’s shoulder was still healing from the short exhibition he took up north to quell an uprising. The tip of an arrow had glanced off his shoulder, with his armour taking most of the force out of the blow. His maids had bandaged it up and now crusted blood signalled a healthy injury. It was better than puss and inflamed skin, he thought.
It was early morning and Ragnar had dressed himself in his war glory, as if preparing for battle, which in a sense, he was. He was going to the Sunday markets. Shortly after his trip to the Sunday Markets, he would be heading south with a convoy of men, to investigate rumours of a raid on a small seaside village.
But first, he had to satisfy his curiosity, and see for himself how Rose was doing. He went to his stables, where his horse was already saddled.
“Lucy seems real lonely now that Miss Rose has a new Horse,” the stableboy said.
“Yes, well Lucy is lucky to have you, lad,” Ragnar said, realising that he had that in common with the horse - they both missed Rose.
Ragnar hauled himself into the saddle, and started on his way to the markets. It was mid-morning, and the streets were already crowded with people. Most stalls were only four or five feet wide, but when he looked over to Rose’s market stall, it was three times the length of any other stall. It was at least fifteen feet wide, and the whole front of the stall had brightly coloured clothes hanging from a line.
Rose
Rose saw Ragnar get down from his horse and walk towards her stall. “You’ve got more space than last time I saw,” he said.
Rose couldn’t stop her wide-eyed expression; the shock was too much. Her hand went to her stomach, feeling the baby kick, for the first time, but moved her hand to her side not wanting Ragnar to catch on.
“Yes. Yes, we’ve been doing quite well,” Rose said.
“I’ll be camping out for a couple nights. I need a blanket,” Ragnar said, his eyes moving down to her stomach. She knew that she looked bigger than last time he’d seen her. But only in the stomach. Would he notice?
Rose packed a large, dark blanket into a hessian bag.
“Either you’ve been eating very well in the last couple months, or you’re eating for two,” Ragnar said.
Rose’s nostrils flared, and her hand went instinctively back to her stomach.
“I knew it,” he said. “When were you going to tell me?” He asked.
“When were you going to see how I was doing, living out on a farm?” Rose shot back.
“I know how you’re doing,” Ragnar said.
“Your loyal man Torsten reporting every word back to you, is that why he hasn’t been going on any exhibitions with you lately?” Rose clipped.
“Yes,” Ragnar smiled.
Rose shoved the bag into Ragnar’s chest. “Free of charge,” Rose said.
“I don’t want the mother of my child to go hungry,” Ragnar said, pulling gold out of his saddlebag.
Most men were far more cautious when they carried gold, and they certainly didn’t pull it out in crowded places so brazenly. But most men weren’t Ragnar the Destroyer, Earl of Fyrkat. He handed her what would have been fifty times the price of the blanket, but Rose refused to put her hand out and take the coins.
He smiled, and put the coins on the counter. “I think I’ll bring some sheep back from down south and start up my own wool shop,” Ragnar said.
Rose took the coin, her face red, and her brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t dare,” She said.
“No, I wouldn’t want to put my future wife out of business,” Ragnar laughed.
“Excuse me?” Rose said, her voice low.
“It won’t be long before you’ll need a husband to go with that baby, and no man will be game to marry you if they know you’re mine,” Ragnar laughed.
“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left in the whole of England,” Rose clipped.
“You’re not going to have much choice,” Ragnar said, his bear paw like hands on the counter of her market stall, his face, inches from hers. He withdrew, keeping his eyes on her, as he mounted his horse and slung the hessian bag over his back. People cleared a wide path, careful not to catch his attention.
Rose focused on slowing her heart as she watched as Ragnar’s horse slowly trotted through the busy marketplace, a stream of disciplined, savage warriors followed closely behind.
Despite her anger, she felt so much lust, so much yearning, that she struggled to contain herself. She wanted to pull him down from his horse and take him behind her market stall, on a bed of soft wool.
Ragnar
That was definitely now how he wanted the interaction to go. He knew he had made it worse than before. He cursed as he kicked hard into his horse, and rode at a break neck speed down the muddy streets of Newcastle. A couple nights under the stars would do him good.
[TIME STAMP HERE]
Too many rumours and not enough fighting, Ragnar thought, as he watched the silhouette of Newcastle come into his view. He looked to the left and saw Rose’s farm in the distance. People were working in the field. Don’t go there, not again, Ragnar thought. But then again, she did complain that he had not gone out to see her. He didn’t want her to use that excuse again. He took a left in the fork of the road, and headed towards Rose’s farm.
Torsten’s red dreadlocks could be seen before the sheep, for the red was a stark contrast to the rolling green fields. Ragnar thought that Rose could sheer Torsten’s head and make a blanket out of those, too. A disgusting, lice ridden blanket, but a blanket nonetheless. Brenna would probably like it, he thought.
“Ragnar,” Torsten shouted, his grin a wide as his shoulders. “Did I miss anything,” he shouted.
“Only four days of riding and a peaceful village that had not seen a single raid in the last decade,” Ragnar said.
“Still sounds more exciting than these damned sheep,” Torsten said. Ragnar felt bad for making him stay behind, but he needed a man that he could trust close to Rose. And Torsten being with Brenna made him the perfect man.
“Any news?” Ragnar asked.
“Aye, nothing you would like, though,” Torsten said.
“What is it?” Ragnar said.
“She gets some unwanted attention in the marketplace,” Torsten said.
“How so?” Ragnar asked.
“Her belly is becoming visible. And her “husband” is never around. People are becoming suspicious that she’s a husbandless mother. A sinner,” Torsten said.
“Is she in danger?” Ragnar asked.
“Not that I can see. She will not tell you any of this, she tries to play it down. She thinks that it will just take time for the people to accept her. But she’s more one of us than she is English, these days. They don’t see her as English. They see her as a North woman at best, and a traitor at worst. The fact that she’s pregnant doesn’t help that,” Torsten said.
“Thank you, Torsten,” Ragnar said.
“She’s inside,” Torsten nodded towards the farmhouse.
Ragnar was beginning to feel sick at the thought of people turning against Rose. No matter how much he wanted her to come back to him, he did not want it to be because of people turning against her. He did not want her sad, let alone in danger.
He had sent his men to their families before he had entered Rose’s land. Once he arrived, he tied his horse off at the front of the house.
“Rose,” Ragnar shouted.
“Ragnar?” A quiet voice sounded from inside.
He opened the door without waiting for her. She was just several feet from the door, which she had obviously been on her way to open.
“Hello,” Rose said, looking up at him.
“If your safety is in question, then you must change your living arrangements,” Ragnar said.
“I am perfectly safe,” Rose clipped.
“It doesn’t seem that way,” Ragnar said.
“If Torsten has been telling you stories, it’s just because he is overly worried. He’s afraid of failing you,” Rose said.
“Torsten is a capable warrior. And part of a warrior’s job is to watch things carefully. To watch any potential outbreaks of fights. And he tells me he is noticing things,” Ragnar said.
“Ragnar-” Rose began.
“Your safety is of my concern if you are carrying my child,” Ragnar growled.
“If I feel unsafe, I will let you know,” Rose said.
“That is all I can ask. If I see something myself, I will be intervening,” Ragnar said.
“Ok Ragnar,” Rose said.
Ragnar rode his horse back into the dark city, where most people were in their houses, save for the large gathering of people outside a local church - at least one hundred people.
“And we must strike down all those who bear children with heathens,” An old woman said, his hand balled into a fist and shook above her head.
“Strike down the traitors,” other men and women started to agree amongst the crowd.
“We go tonight, we kill the treacherous sinners,” the woman shouted.
“Hang the sinners,” The crowd began to chant.
Ragnar, like any warrior, could see when a fight was about to start, but even a peasant could tell that trouble was imminent on that night.
He kicked his feet hard into his horse, his knuckles white from his grip on the horse’s reigns.
Rose
“This bread is lovely, Brenna,” Rose chewed on the crust of the warm bread, letting herself sink into the texture of the freshly baked goodness, mixed with the butter that she had gotten from a neighbouring dairy farm. She sat back, appreciating everything that had happened in the last six months. The only thing she missed from Fyrkat was Elder Ragnar. She was English in her heart, and being home made her feel more whole. She was Rose again.
“I’ve never eaten bread so good, my love,” Torsten gripped Brenna’s leg.
“Truly?” Brenna beamed at her viking.
“I look forward to eating this bread when I am fat and old and can’t lift a sword any longer,” Torsten said.
“So you will need to keep me around then,” Brenna smirked.
“Only if you will let me keep you,” Torsten said.
Rose rolled her eyes. She loved them, and she was glad that Brenna was happy, but it was non-stop. They were so over the top in love that it made her feel suffocated. How could two people be so happy together? Why didn’t they fight? Was it because Brenna was never Torsten’s slave? Or was it because Brenna never had to deal with being abandoned by Torsten?
Rose caught herself in the middle of her thoughts, and recognised that she was feeling jealous, more than anything. She would have loved to know what Ragnar thought of the blanket that she had given him, before he went south. She didn’t want to ask him when he came to her farm, for fear of looking desperate of his approval. His compliment of her expanding marketplace had made her whole week. It made the horrible comments seem insignificant in comparison.
One of the sheepdogs began to bark into the night. “Do you hear that?” Torsten asked, his voice cautious.
“The dogs are always barking at nothing,” Rose said.
“No, I hear something too,” Brenna said.
Rose sat up, taking more care to try and hear any noise. Sure enough, a faint sound of voices began to find its way across the surrounding fields. It was still too far away to make out any words.
“Probably just travellers passing by,” Rose said, though her stomach began to turn on itself, and she thought of the baby.
Torsten went to the door and looked out, “There’s people coming. They have torches lit. There’s a lot of them,” his voice was low and serious.
“Get up, quickly. We need to hide,” Torsten said.
“I will not hide,” Rose said, despite the feeling of fear prickling across the back of her neck.
“You will hide,” Torsten growled. For the first time, he was not careful and kind. His mind had switched to his training.
He buckled his sword belt around his waist, and put a hand axe through a loophole.
“Brenna, are you ready, my love?” Torsten asked.
“What do they want?” The white of Brenna’s eyes shone out through the room, her fear palpable.
“This is a mistake,” Rose said, more trying to calm herself. She noticed that her hands were over her stomach, which is where they seemed to go most of the time, of late.
“Rose,” Torsten said, urgency in his voice.
“Very well,” Rose said, agreeing with Torsten, “where are we going?”
“In the fields behind the house,” Torsten said.
“We’ve done nothing wrong, we should not be hiding,” Rose whispered, as they watched people enter the house without knocking. “They didn’t even knock,” she said, shocked.
“They don’t care what we think we have or have not done, and they did not bring good manners with them tonight,” Torsten said quietly.
Rose’s skin broke out in goose bumps. Her mother. She made out her mother’s face in the torchlight. She could hear her addressing the crowd.
“They are near. They are likely hiding in the darkness, with the devil, putting curses on us as we stand here. Search! Search the fields for them,” Elsbeth commanded the group.
A soft cry left Rose’s lips. Her own mother was out to get her. But what was her intention? Did she wish to scare Rose into becoming religious? Or was it something more sinister?
Men began to walk in a line, slowly closing the distance between their three dead-still bodies, lying in the field.
“We’re in trouble,” Brenna said.
“When I say now, I want you to both run into the darkness. Aim for the woods. I will take care of these men,” Torsten said.
“My love - you cannot, there is too many of them. They will kill you!” Brenna said.
“This is not a time for discussion,” Torsten growled, “this is a time to obey,” he said.
“You cannot command me, I am not your slave,” Brenna said.
The word made Rose flinch. “Rose - I’” Brenna began.
“It’s ok, we have more important things to worry about here,” Rose said, as she gripped Brenna’s hand.
“I see something,” one man said, as he began to pick up his pace towards them.
“Now,” Torsten shouted. He leaped from his position and pulled his sword out with lightning speed. In the blink of an eye his sword was in the man’s stomach, and the man who had found them was now whimpering, holding the blade and looking at his own stomach in disbelief.
“Say hello to your god for me,” Torsten said in his native tongue, before he kicked the man backwards.
The advancement of men with torches stopped, and Rose and Brenna jumped to their feet.
“I said go,” Torsten said to the two girls, without taking his eyes off the men.
These were not trained soldiers, even Rose could tell. These were normal everyday people, and… Egbert. Egbert was here too. Rose was not surprised that he had come, more so that she had recognised another face in the crowd. There was more, she was sure, than just Egbert and her own mother, who had come for her blood.
“No,” Rose said. She stopped running.
“We stay?” Brenna asked
“We stay,” Rose said.
“Then we all die,” Torsten growled, as he levelled his sword, preparing for a battle.
Another man came forward, swinging a scythe, in a low and clean sweep, but Torsten was too quick. He stepped back, and whipped his sword forwards, slicing through the wooden handle of the scythe. The aggressor, wide eyed, looked up at Torsten and realised his failure. He was not a battle-hardened man. A short poke, and Torsten’s sword pierced through his eye, causing the man to howl in pain.
But the aggressor’s attention was elsewhere. A thunderous noise echoed through the night
air, and became louder with each breath. More torch lights. They would not see another day, Rose thought. What a fool she had been, running from Ragnar, the one man who wanted to protect her, she thought. And her unborn child, the one living thing that relied on her for its life, and she had failed it before it was even born.
“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered silently, as she clutched her stomach.