‘The warrior woke in the night. We had quite a conversation. His sleep appears less restless this morning.’
‘You spoke?’ the monk asked curiously.
Cynehild briefly explained the gist of their conversation.
‘He has no idea how he came to be on that hillside? How convenient.’ Brother Palni tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe. ‘God preserve me from the treacherous Deniscan. He does not want you to know—or, worse, he wishes to forget all his misdeeds.’
‘Do you know the name? Kal, son of Randr, is not one I recall hearing.’
Brother Palni pretended an interest in straightening his monk’s robes. ‘Randr is a common enough name among both the Northmen and the Danes—as is Kal. But I can’t recall any Kal who is a son of Randr that I have heard of specifically.’
Cynehild almost sighed aloud. She knew that tone of voice. It meant she must not enquire too closely. ‘You are being overly precise in your words, Brother Palni. This isn’t one of your theological debates with Father Oswald. What are you keeping from me? I’m not some child who is frightened of the dark.’
‘I will meditate on it, my lady. I feel I should know the name...’ He screwed up his face for a long breath and then exhaled. ‘No, nothing. Moir used to claim that the only reason I remembered my own name was because I heard it so often, and that I ought to make more of an effort.’
‘My brother-in-law may have a point.’
‘Maybe his name was changed when he arrived on these shores. Maybe he created a new identity. Does he have a nickname? I’m always better with nicknames. For example, the man who holds your old lands is called Icebeard. I don’t recall his proper name or heritage. Everyone mentions his exploits in hushed tones—he is a warrior capable of physical feats beyond those of most ordinary men. His actions at Basceng live in legend. No one should have been able to withstand what he underwent that day and live. Without him standing firm, the conquest would have failed before it ever properly began. They named him after one of the legendary frost giants because of the ice in his veins.’
A shiver went down Cynehild’s spine. She hated to think about Icebeard’s fearsome exploits, his legendary ability with tactics and his responsibility for the Great Army’s winning. She knew she would loathe the man when she encountered him, but she’d control her temper and she wouldn’t do anything stupid—like spitting in his face or telling her people to rise up and drive him from these lands.
Early on in her marriage she’d learnt the wisdom of controlling her temper, instead of flying into what Leofwine had used to call ‘an ungovernable rage’.
‘The last thing I wish to do is to tweak Jaarl Icebeard’s nose,’ she said.
Brother Palni put his hands together. ‘Sense from you at last.’
‘I like to think I always speak sense,’ she said indignantly.
‘My lady, you’re too tender-hearted. Father Oswald has often remarked on it. But sometimes the secular world requires flint-like nerves to protect the weak.’ Brother Palni drew himself up to his full height. ‘We will go where we intended—to the church to deliver that blasted sword—then home again, without asking Icebeard to investigate who this man is or even mentioning his existence.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Leave this Deniscan to his fate in this cave. With food and water, naturally. He’ll be safe enough, I reckon. Your charitable duty ends here, my lady. Your life is destined to follow a different path from this man’s.’
‘You think Jaarl Icebeard had a hand in what happened to him?’
Cynehild glanced towards where Kal lay. His body had gone completely still, as if he was trying to listen to the whispered conversation. Brother Palni was right, and a more sensible person—the sort of person who was good at tafl, like Ansithe or Leofwine—would hold his words close to their heart and heed them. Except she couldn’t.
‘The Deniscan know their own,’ Brother Palni said, and then barked at the men to get moving as the day was wasting.
Cynehild clapped her hands and everyone froze. ‘Some of the villagers remained when my husband and I left—including my former maid Luba. We will try Luba first...see if she knows who this man is. She always seems to know everything almost before it happens.’
‘What if it turns out Jaarl Icebeard is searching for him because he has done something objectionable? Or he simply wishes to rid himself of an irritant? What will you do? Return him here, even if your former maid knows who he is? How will that help anyone? You will put everyone in danger. Whoever this man is, he’s far from tame or benign.’
Cynehild stared again at where the man lay, peaceful for now. It was impossible to put into words the connection she had felt with this man when he’d touched her hand. Something long slumbering inside her had woken, and for a little time she had felt less alone. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she’d missed feeling part of something. She was not going to abandon him to his fate.
‘This Kal Randrson is a good man, Brother Palni. I will work out a way to keep him alive if it comes to it.’
‘How do you know that if he can’t remember himself what he has or has not done?’
‘My instinct tells me. Deep within me, I know I must do more to help him.’
Chapter Three
After Brother Palni had directed the men to pack up, Cynehild went over to where Kal lay and gently shook his shoulder. There was no response.
She leant down and shook harder. ‘Wake up. You need to wake up. Please wake up, Kal. I’m not going to leave you behind, but you must wake up.’
His hand shot out and grabbed her arm in a strong grip. She gave a strangled cry. The fingers relaxed and let her go so she stumbled backwards.
‘Kal? What is going on?’
‘I feared you were someone else, but just who that was has vanished from my mind.’ He put his hands together and made a vague semblance of a nod with his head. ‘Deepest apologies, my lady. I must have thought the enemy who did this to me had returned to finish the job. I keep dreaming of the voice that called me a tyrant. I know it must be connected to what happened, but I don’t know how.’
Cynehild rubbed her arm. Brother Palni’s warning rang in her ears. Kal was a Deniscan warrior and had a warrior’s instincts. ‘I woke you suddenly from a restless sleep. Always a dangerous thing to do to any warrior, my late husband used to say. I bear part of the responsibility.’
He pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘You offer a feeble excuse on my behalf, but it must serve. I thank you for your understanding, Lady Cynehild of Baelle Heale, and humbly beg your pardon. I hope to prove worthy of it.’
‘You remember my name?’
‘And our conversation.’ A smile tugged at his full lips. ‘Did you hope I would forget? Forget such a lovely-looking woman who gave me the secret to healing my broken heart? Already this morning my grief feels like a dull throb rather than the usual sharp pain.’
Cynehild gave a careful shrug. He didn’t think she was a crone and he had remembered their conversation. Maybe he was just an accomplished liar. She hoped she had not confessed anything untoward, and that he had not noticed her reaction to his touch last night. She needed to remember that, even though she’d promised to help him, he was still dangerous.
‘Do you fear being attacked while you sleep? Have you been attacked before?’
‘As a warrior, battle is my life.’
‘But we’re at peace now.’
‘Peace always requires vigilance.’
‘You sound like Brother Palni.’
‘I’m far better than any Northman.’
He struggled to rise and waved away her steadying hand. He eventually stood, swaying from the effort. He was even taller than she had imagined, his chest far broader, and his legs resembled tree trunks. In the morning light she could see the network of fine scars which he wore like
battle honours on his face and hands. Everything about him screamed of a competent and fearsome warrior.
‘I’m upright now and intend to remain so.’ His cheeks had an unhealthy pallor, and his mouth was pinched, but there was a determined set to his jaw. ‘How much danger are we in? I pledge you my sword arm, Lady Cynehild, to keep you from harm for as long as you need it.’
Cynehild forced a smile. The last thing she wanted was Kal fighting for her in this state when she might require him to be a sacrifice to Icebeard, if Brother Palni was to be believed.
Would he do that for her? Her stomach twisted. She hated it that she’d even thought about sacrificing another human being. Did that make her as bad as her enemy, Icebeard?
‘You remain injured and your sword is missing. You might already have a sworn liege lord. Save the pledge until your memory recovers.’
His slow smile in return warmed her through.
‘Wise. Sensible. Beautiful. The Fates were indeed kind to me when they made our paths cross. I’m better than yesterday, though not as good as tomorrow.’
‘You speak my lady’s language better than most, Deniscan,’ Brother Palni said suspiciously, coming to stand beside her. He bounced on the balls of his feet, as if he longed to punch Kal on the nose, even though the warrior was taller than him by several inches.
Kal gave a half shrug and examined his cloak, as if he were searching for clues. ‘For a time my father had a Saxon captive. I believe I learned it from him. He used to say I had a flair for languages. However it happened, the words flow easy and I’m grateful for it.’
‘What do you know of Jaarl Icebeard?’ Brother Palni jabbed his forefinger towards Kal’s chest.
‘Jaarl Icebeard?’ The colour drained from Kal’s face.
Cynehild caught her breath.
‘You see, my lady—’ Brother Palni began.
‘The name means nothing to me—I swear it,’ Kal said, far too quickly. ‘Who is this person Jaarl Icebeard? Why should I have heard of him? The only Icebeard I know is from a child’s tale my mother used to tell me, and he scared me half to death. Is he your enemy? Do I need to be your champion? Because this monk will refuse, my lady.’
Cynehild ignored Brother Palni’s scowl and the drawing of a threatening finger across his throat.
‘Icebeard is the name of the Danish lord in these parts, that is all. Perhaps he adopted it because he knew the story and wanted to be feared.’
‘You think this Jaarl Icebeard has something to do with my injury? That we quarrelled in some fashion?’ His brow knitted. ‘Beyond his fearsome name, what is his reputation? Is he likely to attack a man and leave him covered in gold, waiting to be robbed? Is this what passes for justice here?’
His words had unerringly hit on a weak point in their speculations. Cynehild had no real idea what Jaarl Icebeard was truly like, except that—like most of the Great Army—he had a love of gold. Why would he leave such a wealthy-looking man to be robbed by any passing stranger if he could have done so himself?
‘My lady is on her way to discover his true nature. On reflection, it is better we continue our journey while you remain in this cave.’ Brother Palni bowed low. ‘You will heal, and we will leave supplies for a few days.’ He turned to Cynehild. ‘He will be able to use his gold to purchase what he needs once he reaches the next village. Although perhaps he will want to head away from Icebeard’s holdings instead of towards them.’
Cynehild clenched her hands. Brother Palni was supposed to be her advisor, not her guard. He wouldn’t treat either of her sisters like this.
‘You refuse to allow me the option of travelling with you?’ Kal sat down and put his head in his hands before she could say anything. ‘I’ve pledged my sword arm to your lady until the danger you face has passed. And I know in my heart that Lady Cynehild is facing danger. She barely slept last night.’
Brother Palni tilted his head to one side. ‘Even though you have no idea if your sword is yours to pledge?’
‘You discovered me on my own. If I had a lord or lady I would have been with others. Clearly my people have turned their backs on me.’
Brother Palni scratched his cheek. ‘Perhaps they had just cause to do so.’
‘My friends would not abandon me—just as I would not abandon them in a crisis.’
‘How do you know that if you have no memory?’
‘Flashes of scenes...but they slip away before I can fully understand what they mean.’
‘Treat Kal Randrson with courtesy, Brother Palni,’ Cynehild said in her firmest voice, seizing control of the conversation.
The warrior-turned-monk sometimes resembled a mother hen with an errant chick, rather than show any understanding that she could make her own decisions about her welfare.
‘I have one condition, Kal. Will you tell me if you remember anything about your relationship with Icebeard before we arrive at the hall?’
Kal held out his hands and grasped hers. ‘With pleasure, my lady.’
Brother Palni rolled his eyes. ‘May the Good Lord give me strength.’
‘I want my memories to return more than you do.’ Kal’s glance flickered over Brother Palni in an insulting fashion. ‘Can a Northman even be a monk? My father used to tell me that you should only trust a Northman as far as you could throw him, and the best place to throw him was straight into a lake.’
‘Brother Palni is a trusted friend,’ Cynehild said, before the quarrel between the two men broke out in earnest. They were behaving as if they were even younger than Wulfgar. ‘We are fulfilling my promise to my late husband. This is my expedition.’
Both men stared at her open-mouthed.
* * *
Palni grasped Cynehild’s elbow after Kal had been helped into the covered cart. ‘Before we leave, you must hear me.’
She tried hard to suppress her sigh.
‘I distrust him more than ever,’ he continued in a low voice. ‘Far too smooth for my liking. He knows more than he lets on, and he only required one arm to make it into this cart, so he is clearly stronger than he appears. My duty is towards you—not some adventurer.’
‘Going to Luba to see what she might know is the best solution for now,’ she said. ‘Hopefully his memory will be jogged along the way. It is quite possible Luba will know nothing and your concern will be unwarranted.’
Cynehild willed Brother Palni to understand.
‘I’ll not abandon an injured man simply because it seems expedient. How could I ever look my son in the eye again? How can I instruct him to be true to his heritage and the best sort of Mercian, honourable and decent, if I leave someone to die when I could save him? Explain that to me, Brother Palni, for I’m certain this simple woman cannot work it out.’
Palni bowed his head and gave his long-suffering sigh. ‘My lady, I used to think your sister Ansithe was the most determined of you, but now I see my mistake.’
* * *
The swaying motion of the cart made the pain in Kal’s head worse than ever. The journey to the cart had been excruciating, but he’d forced his body to do it. After taking the first few steps, all he’d wanted to do was collapse down onto the ground, but he knew the monk would have found a reason to leave him there.
Lady Cynehild remained his only hope of getting through this alive.
The cart hit a deep rut and swung wildly. Kal put out a hand to steady himself.
‘Carts take some getting used to,’ Lady Cynehild said, breaking the awkward silence which had sprung up between them since she’d sat down. ‘Everyone thinks they are the easy option, but they can be hard on the bones. Pay attention to what I do, and you will soon acquire the knack.’
‘I can see you have it.’ He gave what he hoped was a winning smile, but suspected was more of a grimace. ‘I doubt I will get used to the motion.’
‘Normally I avoid carts wherever
possible.’
‘Why travel in one this time?’
‘I want to demonstrate to the Jaarl Icebeard that I retain some standing in this world.’ Lady Cynehild sat up straighter, keeping her body carefully away from his. Her eyes shone with barely suppressed hazel fire. ‘I do it to honour my husband, Lord Leofwine, who once ruled these lands.’
Lord Leofwine. The words sent another pulse of uneasy cold coursing down Kal’s spine. He should know the name. His instinct told him that Lady Cynehild travelled towards danger. However, given the fierceness of her expression, he knew better than to voice his concerns. He flexed his hands. When danger came, he would have to be strong enough to defend her, as he did not consider any of her men capable of doing so.
The cart lurched again. Lady Cynehild overbalanced and gave a sudden cry of alarm. Kal put out his hands to keep her from tumbling to the floor. Her breasts accidentally brushed his arm, making him aware of their inherent softness as well as the curve of her mouth.
He set her back on the bench and tore his mind away from such thoughts. ‘You must heed your own advice, my lady.’
She bent her head and carefully rearranged the folds of her gown. ‘I rarely fall like that.’
‘The road’s fault.’ He shrugged. He pointed towards the fine sword which had fallen into the footwell. ‘Yours?’
‘My late husband’s.’ She gathered it up and placed it behind the bench. ‘His dying wish was to have it returned to the church where his forebears are buried. Despite the danger which everyone keeps telling me about, I organised this expedition in his honour. I think my father thought I’d return before I had been gone three days, but my goal is in sight and I won’t give up now.’
Kal pinched the bridge of his nose. It occurred to him that Lady Cynehild’s journey had something to do with why he’d been out on that hill. But as quickly as the thought arrived, it vanished again into the dark abyss.
Betrothed to the Enemy Viking Page 4