Judith was heartened when Magnus emerged from the Archbishop’s residence with a hint of a smile on his face. She’d become alarmed when most of the Montdebryk soldiers had ridden away with Dag, thankful Bendik and a contingent of men remained to guard the wagon.
Magnus’s apparent good humor persuaded her not to mention Theodoric.
“He seems happy,” Beatrice remarked.
“Mm,” she replied, thinking how devastating he would look if he laughed heartily.
He came straight to the side of the wagon. “Right. Now those details are taken care of we can proceed to my onkel Alfred’s farm.”
The pampered noblewoman inside Judith had looked longingly at the Archbishop’s residence, hoping wherever she was to spend the night might provide a similar level of comfort. Mention of a farm conjured visions of pigsties, stables and rustic dwellings. Her dismay must have been evident on her face.
“Don’t worry,” Magnus said with a smile. “Onkel Alfred is no longer alive, but my cousin, Brede, runs the farm. It’s one of the biggest in Rouen, on the banks of the Seine. You will love it. We’ll rest there a day or two while the longboat is readied.”
She felt her face redden. “You must think me a spoiled child,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes, the smile gone. “I never think of you as a child, Judith,” he rasped.
A pulse in his neck echoed the frantic fluttering of her heart. “How many cousins do you have?” she babbled, then it came to her what he’d said. “Longboat?”
He grinned, his eyes wide as took the reins of his horse from Bendik. “Aye. We’ll be sailing down the Seine.”
“On water?” Beatrice shrieked, hands clasped to her bosom.
Magnus frowned at the maid. “Sailing usually involves water.”
“Nay,” Beatrice croaked, her face ashen.
Judith had never known Beatrice show the slightest fear, yet it was evident she was terrified of the notion of traveling on the river. She put her arm around the trembling woman’s shoulders. “Have no fear. Magnus won’t let anything happen to us.”
This was the first time in their lives she’d been the one to offer comfort and reassurance, and it elated her that she believed she spoke the truth. It emboldened her. “Is it far?”
“A league or two,” he replied.
“Mayhap I can ride with you. This wagon is uncomfortable.”
He glanced quickly at the grinning Bendik, his face reddening, studied his boots for a few moments, then reached up to lift her down. “I suppose there’s no harm in it.”
~*~*~
Magnus was relieved when they arrived at the boundary marker of the Kriger farm. He’d been wrong. Judith’s tempting bottom nestled against his manhood had wrought havoc with his urges. To take his mind off his growing need, and the pressure off his loins, he shifted his position in the saddle. She giggled, snuggling closer, which sent more blood rushing to his groin. He hoped it was a titter of nervousness caused by a fear of falling, and not because she understood what the hard flesh beneath her meant.
He gestured to the far distance. “My onkel Alfred’s land grant from Rollo was substantial. The farm stretches further than the eye can see.”
The awed expression on Judith’s face filled his heart with pride as they rode by the first of the fruit trees.
“Look! Apples!” she cried.
“Wait until you see the apple orchards at Montdebryk,” he replied. “We have acres and acres grown from seeds and rootstocks my father and onkel Alfred brought from Norway.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “They brought seeds from Norway?”
Her innocent beauty took his breath away. He cleared his throat to take his mind off his growing attraction to her. “Which reminds me, we’ll replenish our apple brandy from their supply. Not as good as my father’s, but—”
She lifted her shoulders with delight. “Your apple brandy helped my sore throat,” she said. “Why did Rollo give your uncle land?” she asked.
“He gave a parcel to my father and the other to Alfred in return for their bravery during the battle of Chartres, and for the role they played in securing land from King Charles the Simple. You might not have heard the tale of a Viking warrior who caused the king to almost topple from his horse during the negotiations.”
She smiled, reminding him of Aleksandra’s wide-eyed delight when she thought to prove her father wrong. “Yes I have,” she replied. “The king insisted on Rollo kissing his foot as a sign of obeisance. Rollo appointed a warrior who grasped the king’s foot so quickly, Charles nearly fell off his horse.”
He chuckled. “That warrior was my father. I didn’t realize the tale had traveled as far as Flandres.”
She laughed out loud. “You must be proud of your family’s history.”
“Fiercely proud,” he agreed.
The wagon creaked as it rolled along; the lush grass muffled the horses’ hooves. The sun was warm on his back and he felt the heat of Judith’s body resting lightly against his chest as he cradled her. But thoughts of Aleksandra had unsettled his contentment.
“You reminded me of my daughter when you smiled,” he confessed, not sure why he had mentioned it.
“Aleksandra or Brynhild?” she asked.
It pleased him she had remembered their names. “Aleksandra.”
“I look forward to getting to know them,” she murmured.
Her innocent remark filled him with dread. He closed his eyes as a sharp pain struck the back of his neck. His spine ached from the effort of holding Judith far from his body. The sooner he got off the horse the better. “I’ll have to get to know them myself,” he rasped.
They rode in silence, until Bendik shouted words of farewell, and turned his men in a different direction.
She wriggled on his lap. “Where is he going?”
He was tempted to put his hands on her hips and lift her up a bit, but such an action might be misconstrued. “My father gave his parcel of land in Rouen to Bendik’s father, Torstein, but he decided to settle in Montdebryk, so he bartered a portion of the land to Sven Yngre, Raoul’s father—”
That was a whole other story he didn’t want to get into yet.
“But he kept part of it?”
“Yes. And Bendik’s brother, also named Alfred, farms there.”
“Another cousin,” she exclaimed.
Strictly speaking, Alfred and Bendik were his second cousins, but there’d be time enough to explain the twists and turns of his family’s history. To his surprise, he relished the notion of sitting by the Seine with Judith, recounting the tales of his family’s journey from Norway and the part they’d played in the establishment of Normandie. He enjoyed her company.
“Our family history is a glorious one too,” she said, so softly he barely heard her. “Except of course I belong to the illegitimate branch of the tree.”
The pain in her voice gave him pause. “Ha! Wait until I tell you the fascinating details of Torstein’s incredible story,” he said. “He was not only illegitimate, he was also a slave in Norway.”
She shivered. “I have heard Vikings enthrall their captives.”
Her fear shook him. “Don’t worry. I won’t enslave you.”
He’d intended to relieve her concern with his lighthearted remark, but she turned her big green eyes to him. “What are you planning to do with me?” she asked.
NO EASY ANSWERS
Judith wished she hadn’t posed the question regarding her future. There were no easy answers, and she shouldn’t have expected Magnus to provide one. Having recently lost his wife, he’d been forced to leave his grieving daughters and obey the call to arms.
She was a hostage, married to a foreign nobleman who was now confined to the residence of the Archbishop. They both had enough worries.
“Are you sure your relatives won’t mind us arriving unannounced?” she asked in an effort to change the subject and nudge Magnus out of his silent brooding.
It was heartening to see th
e smile return to his face as he brought the horse to a halt in front of a substantial thatched dwelling. “Absolutely not. Tante Hannelore has a heart of gold. Don’t tell her I told you, but she must be at least two score and ten years old, yet she scurries here and there like a spring chicken. She never seems to age and keeps Brede on his toes, though I have to admit, Alfred’s death hit her hard.”
As if conjured by his words, a diminutive gray-haired woman bustled out of the house, accompanied by a young man who looked like a smaller, stockier version of her Viking.
“Magnus,” the woman cried as he lowered Judith into the young man’s open arms. “Dag told us you were on the way.”
He dismounted and embraced his aunt. “Tante, it’s good to see you.” He stepped back and took Judith’s hand. “I want you to meet Judith, a noblewoman from Flandres. Judith this is my aunt, Hannelore, and my cousin, Brede.”
His introduction of her in such positive terms eased her fears, and she grew warm inside when he winked as he spoke the word cousin.
Hannelore threw her arms around Judith. “Welcome, welcome.”
The woman’s genuine affection was overwhelming.
Brede bowed. “We are honored to have you as a guest, my lady Judith.”
How had she ever believed Vikings were barbarians?
Despite the sunny weather and the warmth of the welcome, Judith missed the heat of Magnus’s arms. She was relieved when he once again took her hand.
“We’ve come from Montreuil,” he explained to his kinfolk as he led her into the house. “Not far, but tiring. As you see, Judith’s maidservant has fallen asleep in the wagon.”
Everyone laughed, including Judith. “Poor Beatrice. She is a faithful servant who has taken care of me my whole life. But she is far from home, and terrified at the prospect of sailing down the Seine.”
Hannelore ushered her to a chair. “And what are you doing this far from Flandres?” she asked.
Judith recognized the question for what it was—a polite enquiry. But how to respond?
Magnus came to her rescue. “She travelled to Ponthieu as the betrothed of a nobleman from Abbatis. Things became difficult there after the invasion and our duke deemed it safer she accompany us to Montdebryk.”
Hannelore’s deep frown betrayed her true age. “You’re married?” she asked, her voice dripping disappointment, her eyes darting from Judith to Magnus and back again.
Magnus fixed his gaze on Judith, apparently uncertain how to respond.
This time Brede rescued the situation. “Enough questions, Mama. They’ve travelled far and are weary. Time enough for your interrogation after they bathe and eat.”
Judith wanted to kiss him. “A bath sounds wonderful.”
Hannelore sprang into action, bustling here and there, issuing orders for hot water to servants who appeared from seemingly nowhere. Judith smiled inwardly. Hannelore might believe she ruled the roost, but Brede had known how to redirect her.
Magnus smiled, looking as relieved as she felt. But if this first introduction to his family had been momentarily uncomfortable, what would it be like when they arrived at Montdebryk and had to face his parents and daughters.
~*~*~
The following morning Judith woke after a surprisingly sound sleep, given the amount of hearty food she’d consumed at Hannelore’s table the previous evening. Beatrice snored softly, curled up on a pallet at the foot of her bed.
She lay still, listening to the sounds of muffled voices, sheep bleating in some far-off place, pots banging, wood creaking. The vibrant color of the bed’s coverlet, the embroidered samplers displayed on the whitewashed walls, the carved turnings of the furnishings suggested the chamber must once have been the bedroom of a daughter of the family. The girl was probably married now, and she’d been happy in this simple chamber. Indeed, the entire house felt like it had been filled with love for many years.
Beatrice stirred. “By the saints,” she exclaimed, tumbling off the pallet. “I overslept. Must be well past dawn.”
Judith was tempted to remark that there didn’t seem to be any reason to be out of bed, but her maid was already shaking out a day dress she’d laid out atop the trunk Magnus had carried in last night.
“Such a thoughtful man,” Beatrice gushed, reading Judith’s mind. She hadn’t asked for her things. He’d understood her need for clothes.
Once their ablutions were complete and her maid had helped her don the frock, they made their way to the kitchen, drawn by the aroma of fresh baked bread.
Hannelore rushed to embrace her. “Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well.”
“Indeed,” she replied, “but please call me Judith.”
“But you’re the sister of a comte, Magnus tells me. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Nonsense,” she said with a smile, wondering what else Magnus had said.
Hannelore indicated the huge wooden table in the center of the kitchen. “Sit down, Judith, and help yourself to bread. There’s cheese, and Micheline can fry an egg if you like.”
They’d met Brede’s shy wife the previous evening. Judith smiled at the pretty blonde. “I’d love an egg.”
She glanced at her maid, hovering at the edge of the table, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Do you mind if Beatrice eats with me? We don’t want to offend your customs, but—”
Hannelore pulled out a chair. “Not a bit. Sit down, please, Beatrice.”
Looking relieved, her maid sat down daintily in the rustic wooden chair as if she was the Holy Roman Empress sinking into her throne.
The bread was delicious, the cheese soft, and the egg mouthwateringly good. “Delicious,” she declared, “I don’t remember the last time I ate an egg.” Her words elicited a grin of pleasure from Micheline.
Hannelore took the chair across from her. “Magnus tells me your husband is in the Archbishop’s residence.”
“Yes,” Judith replied nervously, staring at her food. “I’m not sure why.”
“A good husband is he?”
Beatrice paused in her noisy chewing.
Judith had no idea how to answer, and was relieved when Hannelore said, “Never mind. Magnus more or less told us.”
More or less?
Beatrice resumed her enjoyment of the food.
Minutes went by, punctuated by the occasional loud shout from outside. She thought she might have recognized Magnus’s voice.
“Consummated, was it? The marriage?”
Judith should have been affronted. Her throat tightened. How dare this woman ask such a thing? She understood from Magnus that his forebears were of noble Norse stock, but—
“No,” she replied hoarsely, wishing Magnus was present to help fend off these enquiries. She had to ask the question dancing on the tip of her tongue. “Where is Magnus this morning?”
“Huh!” Hannelore grunted. “Up at the crack of dawn and off to check on his men. As if Dag can’t take care of things. Which he can, and they’re camped in one of our best fields, close to the river, for bathing.”
She winked impishly. Judith’s face was on fire as the image of Magnus bathing naked in the river rose behind her eyes.
“He’ll need to bathe again,” Micheline interjected. “He was on his way back when Brede waylaid him. They’re preparing to force the sow into the field closer to the barn.”
Hannelore gaped, her face creased with worry. “The pregnant one? She’s a devil.”
The chunk of bread Judith had been enjoying suddenly lodged in her throat, the vision of Magnus replaced by one of a sow with horns and a pitchfork. “A devil?” she spluttered.
“Sour tempered at the best of times,” Hannelore explained. “Now she’s ready to drop a litter, she’s as mean as Beelzebub.”
Judith grasped her crucifix. “Why would Magnus help with such a task? Surely you have peasants who—”
“Hah!” Hannelore cackled. “He loves playing in the mud, our Magnus. The Kriger boys are farmers at heart.”
Mu
d? A memory of Magnus emerging from the fog at Saint Riquier came to mind. There had been torrents of mud. Had he relished it? This was a side of her Viking she’d never seen. “Are they nearby? Can we watch?”
Beatrice choked on whatever she was eating. “My lady,” she gasped.
“Come along,” she retorted, pulling her maid to her feet. “A little mud won’t kill us.”
THE PIG
Magnus eyed the big black pig as it chomped contentedly on the lush grass of the meadow. “She looks like a barrel on legs,” he said to Brede. “Her belly is dragging on the ground.”
His cousin scratched his head. “That’s why I want her nearer the farm. Too many hidden dangers for piglets out here.”
Magnus looked to the distant barn. “It’s far.”
Brede pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it to the ground. “It is, and she won’t go willingly. She loves sweet grass. The pen near the barn is muddy, and she knows it.”
As if aware of their discussion, the sow lifted her head and stared at Magnus. She grunted, grass dangling from her snout. Enormous ears obscured her beady eyes, but the defiance was unmistakable. He took a deep breath then followed Brede’s lead and stripped off his shirt, relieved when six farmhands sauntered into the meadow.
Brede signaled for the men to form a half circle. The peasants stretched out their arms. They’d evidently done this before. “Don’t shout,” Brede warned. “It will make her nervous.”
Magnus pressed his lips together. He had no intention of being flattened by an angry pig. Some of the tenant farmers at Montdebryk kept pigs, but there were none on the family farm. A memory surfaced of a tale his father loved to tell of Viking warriors with no farming experience trying to land a pregnant pig from a longboat when they’d first come to Francia. At least here they were on dry land.
The men inched towards the animal, moving their arms up and down slowly. She moved gradually towards the barn, apparently engrossed in her grass.
Magnus grinned at his cousin as if to say, Nothing to it.
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