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Paying the Viking's Price
Michelle Styles


ORDERED TO THE VIKING’S BED! Feared warrior Brand Bjornson has finally got what he’s striven for—lands of his own, granted to him by his king. But his new estate, Breckon, holds more than a few surprises—not least the intriguingly beautiful Edith, former Lady of Breckon. Proud Edith refuses to abandon her lands to the mercy of Viking invaders, and impressed by her courage, Brand agrees she can stay. He has one condition—that she should become his concubine!







Edith’s cheeks took on the colour of a spring dawn and her pale blue 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.

‘The estate is indeed productive. 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? What game was she playing?

‘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 have my pride.’

He waited a heartbeat and leant forward so that his breath interlaced with hers. She did know the game. The pretence ended here.

‘As my concubine.’


AUTHOR NOTE

On 1st November 866, taking advantage of a Northumbrian civil war, part of the Great Viking Army led by Halfdan captured the Northumbrian capital of York. The capture was relatively bloodless as all the nobles were at York Minster, attending the All Saints service. By March 867 the Northumbrians had settled their differences and tried to retake the town. The town was sacked and the Northumbrians comprehensively defeated. Aella, one of the Northumbrian leaders, suffered a particularly horrific death—being made a blood eagle. However, he had slowly poisoned Halfdan’s father, if the saga is to be believed.

Halfdan and his warriors then left Northumbria to its own devices. In 876, after some unspecified disturbance, Halfdan decided to settle his warriors in the Yorkshire countryside. Up until this time the Vikings had mainly stuck to York. They settled as far north as the North Riding, rather than going up to what is now the county of Northumberland. There is a singular lack of Norse place names in Northumberland and Durham, so the conclusion is that they did not maintain permanent settlements.

The Vikings were not a literate people and left few written records—thus things can change as new evidence is uncovered. Late in 2011 a hoard of silver coins from the era was uncovered in Lancashire and revealed the existence of several Viking Northumbrian kings missing from the historical record. The Jorvik museum in York is well worth a visit. It is designed to be accessible to anyone from the age of five and up, and is dedicated to researching this highly interesting era.


Paying the Viking’s Price

Michelle Styles




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives.

An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape.

Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.

Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, and a blog: www.michellestyles.blogspot.com. She would be delighted to hear from you.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR

A NOBLE CAPTIVE

SOLD AND SEDUCED

THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

TAKEN BY THE VIKING

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER

(part of Christmas By Candlelight) VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE COMPROMISING MISS MILTON* THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS BREAKING THE GOVERNESS’S RULES* TO MARRY A MATCHMAKER HIS UNSUITABLE VISCOUNTESS HATTIE WILKINSON MEETS HER MATCH AN IDEAL HUSBAND?

*linked by character

And in Mills & Boon


Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE PERFECT CONCUBINE

Did you know that some of the novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


For exercise trainer Tracy Anderson and her online Metamorphosis community, particularly Leah, Patrizia, Tracy, Shaunna, Jenn, Katie and Kathy, in grateful thanks for showing me that exercise is something to be embraced and enjoyed rather than feared. The only fairy dust is truly sweat and you have to be persistent.

If you are interested in reading more about the Vikings in England I would suggest:

Ferguson, Robert, The Hammer and the Cross: A New History of the Vikings (2010 Penguin Books, London)

Haywood, John, The Penguin Historical Atlas of the Vikings (1995 Penguin Books, London)

Jesch, Judith, Women in the Viking Age (1991 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge Suffolk)

O’Brien, Harriet, Queen Emma and The Vikings—The Woman who shaped the events of 1066 (2005 Blooms-bury, London)

Magnusson, Magnus KBE, The Vikings (2003 Tempus Publishing Stroud, Gloucestershire)

Rosedahl, Else, The Vikings revised edition, translated by Susan Margeson and Kirsten Williams (1998 Penguin Books, London)

Wood, Michael, In Search of the Dark Ages 2


edition (2005 BBC Books, London)


Contents

Chapter One (#u03256d8a-d598-5075-9dc2-a26c7ef352f5)

Chapter Two (#u018e1024-ab40-54bb-be45-4a9ed2780c0a)

Chapter Three (#u5be6b200-057e-5d55-9e82-51bd258906c4)

Chapter Four (#u3327e146-48db-53ea-a0cb-1814df1a1a22)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Early March 876—North Yorkshire

His land. His and no one else’s, won by his sword arm and given by the grace of his king.

Brand Bjornson knelt down in the dark soil and gathered a handful of sun-warmed dirt. He squeezed it, feeling the richness of the earth between his fingers. After more than a decade of war and fighting, this, this was all he dreamt about—land to put down roots and to create his own piece of paradise on earth.

Finally. Instead of a landless mercenary whose only future was a quick death, he was now a jaarl with a large estate to prove it. Halfdan, once the leader of the felag to conquer Northumbria and now his king, had kept his word and given him worthwhile land, one of the finest estates in all of Northumbria.

Brand gave a wry smile as the rich loam coated his hand. Honouring a long-ago promise was a rare thing in Viking politics where allegiance and alliance shifted on the point of a sword or the jangle of a money bag.

He stood and surveyed the gently rolling hills where the new spring grass had started to push through the dry hassocks of winter. A river meandered. And it was all his as far as the eye could see. He’d fought hard enough for it, from Byzantium to the wilds of Northumbria. He’d earned it and he would be a good overlord. He’d encountered enough poor ones to last a lifetime.

‘Do we burn the empty barns and teach them a lesson?’ Hrearek, his comrade-in-arms and sworn sokman asked, nodding towards where the various ramshackle buildings stood. ‘There are rich pickings here which they are trying to hide from us with their lack of cattle, sheep and horses. Always the same, these Northumbrians. Same tricks and attempts at deception. They think we’re stupid because we don’t worship the same god as they do or have the same customs but I can sniff out stores and gold from ten paces. And this place has them, despite what they claimed.’

‘We’ve come to settle, not to raid. My sword time is over.’ Brand stood and wiped his filthy hand against his trousers. There was more than a faint hint of spring in the chilly March breeze. His face was towards the future, rather than his blood-soaked past. Reborn and renewed, he would remake this land to suit his needs. ‘It is time to plant and grow crops. They will learn it is wise to be on the right side of their overlord. Once they know me, they will be glad to have me as their jaarl.’

‘And you think they will give in like that?’ Hrearek snapped his fingers. ‘This was the heartland of the rebellion. They need to be taught a lesson which they will not soon forget.’

‘They have no choice. The rebels lost. My sword dispatched their leader and saved your life.’ Brand shrugged. War, when it came down to it, was merely a game. Afterwards, the winner had everything. It was the way of the world and the Northumbrians knew it. It was why they’d rebelled rather than accepting that they had lost all of their power when the Norsemen defeated their fathers and brothers in Jorvik ten years ago. ‘Halfdan is their king. Any rebel will be punished and their land taken.’

‘And will you marry? Send back home for the lovely Lady Sigfrieda? You have spoken so much about her.’

Brand looked up in the clear blue sky. Once the thought of winning Sigfrieda’s hand had driven his every move, now he had not thought about her in months. He’d been too busy helping to put down the rebellion and finally winning his land. He struggled to remember her face, beyond the dazzle her golden hair had given in the candlelight, and how regular her features were. She would be the perfect demure wife for him. Together they would breed strong sons.

‘That is the plan.’ He fingered the scar on his neck, remembering how he’d been turned away, bloody and beaten from his father’s house as his father lay dying. Then he’d been known as the bastard son of a cast-off mistress who dared speak his mind. ‘Once I’m settled, I will send word to her father. If fortune favours me, the lovely lady will be here before the autumn makes the passage difficult. I need sons to make sure what I have done is not written on the wind.’

His sokman nodded, accepting the statement at face value. Hrearek was not a friend, but rather a companion-in-arms and didn’t need to know the full history. ‘I’m impressed. You never falter or waver in your schemes. You are an inspiration, Brand Bjornson. I can only hope that fortune will favour me in the same way. By Frieda’s bower, I too would like a woman to open her thighs and bear me sons.’

‘My dream kept me alive on the blackest of days. Now it is time to live it.’ Brand gestured towards where the Anglo-Saxon hall stood, proud and defiant. The occupants were to learn a powerful lesson about who controlled this land.

‘Time to claim my land and see precisely how impoverished this Lord Egbert truly was.’

* * *

‘The Norsemen! The Norsemen are here!’

The cry went up and echoed around the hall. Lady Edith stilled, her spindle falling into her lap.

She had expected this for weeks, ever since she’d heard the news of her husband’s death in the rebellion against the so-called King of Jorvik and leader of the Norsemen. Her counsel against the rebellion had fallen on deaf ears.

Now Egbert was slain in battle and she had to contend with the consequences of his actions. Silently she thanked God that most of the stores were stowed safely and the land showed its usual before-the-spring barrenness, nothing to alert the Norsemen to its true worth and productivity.

‘What will we do, cousin? The Norsemen are here! There is no one left to defend us. We’re doomed,’ Hilda asked, jumping up and spilling wool and spinning whorls all over the stone floor. ‘Doomed, I say!’

‘We must hope the Norsemen go as quickly as they came with the minimal amount of fuss.’ Edith carefully placed her spindle down on the wooden trunk. She gathered up the wool and the three spinning whorls that she could find. One, she noticed with a sigh, now had a crack running through it. Hilda didn’t bother to help, but instead stood wringing her hands and repeating her words. There was little point in panicking when her distant cousin did it well enough for the both of them.

‘Will they go?’ Hilda asked when Edith had picked up the final whorl.

‘Always.’ Edith tightened her fingers about the whorl. ‘The Norsemen never settle. They take what they can grab and go.’

The one thing she was certain of despite their conquest of Eoferwic, which the Norsemen now called Jorvik, ten years ago—the Norsemen did not settle inland. Instead they used the land for raiding, their own private larder of cattle, sheep and women, one of the main reasons why Egbert found so many recruits for his rebellion.

Edith wrinkled her nose in distaste. The Norsemen were barbarians with no thought for the lives they destroyed.

Against her husband’s direct order, she had made sure all the essential stores were carefully hidden, including moving all the silver and her mother’s jewels into the hidden cavity in the lord’s bedchamber. Unlike Egbert, she had been in Eoferwic the day the Norsemen first took that city and had seen how well they could fight. Despite Egbert’s words and posturing, she’d doubted that he could retake it with his ragtag army when so many others had failed. When they were first married, Egbert had won a few bouts with his sword, but he’d long since run to fat.

Her people would make it through until the late spring when food became plentiful again. She refused to allow any Norseman to starve them simply to increase his own bloated belly.

‘What will you do? They are bound to know about Eg...Lord Egbert and his part in the struggle. We will all be punished for it, just like you warned him!’

‘It gives me no pleasure to be right, cousin. You must believe that.’

‘But you know what they will do. They’ll burn, rape and pillage.’ Hilda’s eyes bulged with fear and her body shook.

Edith pressed her lips together. If she didn’t do something, her cousin would collapse in a heap on the floor, insensible to reason, one more problem to be sorted before the Norsemen arrived. Edith concentrated and searched for a soothing phrase, rather than screaming at Hilda to pull herself together.

She could never stoop so low as to scream at Hilda. She knew whose bed her husband had shared the last time he was here. Everyone knew it. The whispers had flown around the hall until she thought everyone had looked at her with pity. Edith despised pity. It did not mean she approved of her cousin’s affair with her husband. Far from it, but she knew what Egbert was like underneath the good humour he showed to visitors and people who might have been able to assist him. If Hilda had objected to his advances, he’d have raped her. Sending her away hadn’t been an option while Egbert was alive. And now there were the Norsemen at the door.

‘I will mouth the words of fealty if it comes down to it,’ Edith said in her firmest voice. ‘You will see, Hilda. All will be well once I do.’

‘You?’ Hilda put her hand to her throat and the hysterics instantly stopped. ‘But will this Norseman jaarl accept your word?’

Edith clenched her fists. Hilda should trust her. Hadn’t she looked after the estate, making certain it prospered while Egbert indulged his passion for hunting and whoring? ‘He will have to. This land has belonged to our family since time began. And I will not be the one to lose it.’

‘You mean you expect him to marry you.’ Hilda tapped her nose. ‘Clever. I wish I’d a dowry like that instead of my looks. You’ll be dressed in silks and ribbons and forget about us.’

‘I’ve no expectations,’ Edith said carefully. Marriage to a Norseman was the logical solution, even if she hated the thought of being married again. An unmarried widow with a large estate was too great of a prize. ‘But you’re wrong if you think I could ever forget this estate and its inhabitants. They are my people. Every single one of them.’

‘Your husband will be turning in his grave, cousin, to think that you of all people should swear allegiance to the Norse king.’

‘My father swore fealty to Halfdan in Eoferwic, ten years ago. Egbert broke that promise, not me.’

Hilda shook her carefully coiffured head and her bee-stung lips gave a little pout. ‘I expected more somehow. You were his wife for seven years. Are you sure the king won’t worry about that? You must have shared some of the same views.’

Edith raised her chin. How dare Hilda question her as if she was a common servant? Her entire being trembled with anger and she longed to tell a few home truths to Hilda. Instead Edith gulped air and concentrated on controlling her temper.

‘When did Egbert and I ever agree on anything?’ she said as steadily as she dared. ‘Lord Egbert is no longer the master here. He ceased to be when he breathed his last. The hall and its land were never fully his. We shared responsibility. I know the marriage terms my father negotiated. The hall and its lands were to be returned to me should anything happen to Egbert. And I intend to keep them safe.’

‘Cousin, this is no time for jesting.’ Hilda widened her pale blue eyes. ‘You know little of the art of war. Egbert always used to say—’

‘It’s the people of this land I must consider.’ Edith glared at Hilda. The last thing she wanted to hear was her late husband’s opinion on her many failings. ‘The Norsemen should accept my assurance and my gift. They should move on to the next estate, hopefully without burning our hall or forcing a marriage. We survive whatever happens. Survival is important.’

Edith wasn’t sure who she wanted to convince more—her cousin or herself.

‘They will take everything that is not nailed down, even if you don’t have to marry.’ Hilda turned pale. ‘You know what the Norsemen are like! Two years ago in the south before I journeyed to you, all the farms were ablaze and the women... Promise me that you won’t allow that to happen to me. I saw unspeakable things. You must protect me. Lord Egbert would expect it.’

‘I have taken precautions. My parents taught me well. The Norsemen have been a danger for years.’ Edith gave Hilda a hard look. ‘We survived before. My parents even entertained Halfdan in the early years.’

‘What should I do?’ Hilda wrung her hands. ‘Lord Egbert always made sure I had a special task in times of emergency. On second thought, I should be the one to speak first. Soften their hearts with a gentle word. You can be abrupt, cousin. Allow me to win their regard with a smile.’

Edith stared at Hilda in disbelief. Was she serious in her offer? Her entire being recoiled at the thought of Hilda greeting the Norsemen in her stead. And she’d been the one to think of employing Hilda in some task to save her from Egbert’s ire. Egbert could only be bothered with Hilda and her demands when it suited him.

Even now, Hilda had started to prance about the hall, practising the gestures she’d make as if she was the one in charge.

‘You see, cousin, how much better I’d do it?’

‘Hilda, I need you to go to the stew pond and make sure the various dams are closed. I’ve no wish to lose fish because the men are slack,’ Edith said, retaking control of the situation.

‘You mean...’

‘I will greet the Norsemen, dressed simply, and explain about our meagre circumstances. We have avoided being burnt out before. We may do so again. Trust me.’

‘You mean I might avoid the Norsemen? Altogether?’ Hilda stopped.

‘There is that possibility.’ Edith held out her hand. ‘You would be doing me this small favour, cousin. It would put my mind at ease to know this task was properly done.’

‘As you wish, cousin, you are the lord here now.’ Hilda made a curtsy which bordered on discourteous and left the main hall with her skirts swishing.

Edith sighed. There had to be some decent farmer that Edith could marry her off to. She’d provide a reasonable dowry so the man would take her. The question was who, given the common knowledge about her relationship with Egbert. Edith tapped her finger against her mouth. All that could wait until the current crisis was solved. She had to concentrate on the matter at hand and ensure that everything had been done. No mistakes made.

She adjusted her wimple so that her black hair was completely covered as she cast an eye about the hall, searching for things left undone.

The majority of the silver and gold were safe in the cavity. There was no need to check that. She was the only one who knew about it.

The pagan Norsemen were no respecters of churches or monasteries. If anything their wealth attracted the raiders. When her father showed her the hiding place, he recounted the story about the Lindisfarne raid and the countless other raids. However, he boasted about his alliance with Halfdan and confidently predicted she’d never need it.

She had kept a few trinkets to appease the Norsemen, but they had to believe that they were poor and the farm was not well managed so that they would not demand an enormous payment. Her father had drilled that notion into her head since she had first toddled about the yard.

‘The Norsemen never stay long. Raiders rather than settlers. They move swiftly and overlook the well hidden,’ she whispered over and over as she tried to decide where she’d stand. She practised her gestures and decided against kneeling with hands raised in supplication. A bowed head would suffice. Welcoming, but far from subservient.

She could do this. She had to. Everyone in the steading was counting on her to save them from the Norsemen. There were no warriors to fight. No one but a barely bearded boy had returned from the rebellion. And he’d been burning with fever and had only survived a day or two after telling his story of the Norsemen treachery and Egbert’s final heroic stand. He had found his courage far too late, but she was glad that he had found it.

Heavy boots resounded on the stones outside. Edith pressed her fist to her stomach and willed the sick feeling to be gone. Far too soon. She hadn’t even had the chance to move the spindles or the whorls.

Why hadn’t there been more warning? Why hadn’t someone seen the fires that surely must be burning as the Viking horde swept through the countryside? Silently she cursed Egbert for taking every able-bodied man to fight in the rebellion. A pain tugged behind her eyes. Later, she’d investigate ways of improving the warning system.

She motioned towards one of her few remaining manservants to unbar the door. The elderly man shuffled forwards.

Before he could get there, the door fell to the ground. In the doorway stood one of the tallest men Edith had ever seen. Clean-shaven, but with dark blond hair flowing over his shoulders. The very epitome of a Viking warrior, he was dressed in a fur cloak and skin trousers. In his hand he carried a double-headed axe, but it was his piercing blue eyes which drew her attention, swiftly followed by the angry red mark about his neck. A barbarian warrior if ever there was one. A true pagan.

Edith wet her lips, but no sound beyond a shocked gasp rose from her throat. She tried again to mouth the welcome, but her voice refused to work. A sharp stab of fear went through her. Her hands shook as she lifted them.

In her mind’s eye she saw the hall blazing and its people killed with her unable to do anything to prevent the carnage. If she’d been born a man like her parents prayed she’d be, none of this would have happened. All she had were her wits and her tongue and both appeared to have deserted her. Silently Edith prayed for a miracle.

The barbarian advanced forwards, and his men streamed in behind him, filling the hall.

Edith retreated backwards. Her leg hit the wooden trunk, causing the spindle to tumble to the ground. The whorl rolled across the rushes, disappearing. Her favourite one. Worrying about a worthless whorl when her entire life hung in the balance! Typical. She gave a hiccupping laugh.

The sound cut through her panic. She stopped and squared her shoulders. She had an intellect equal to any man and that included this enormous Norseman who glowered at her, fingering his axe.

‘It is customary to wait for an answer before knocking the door down,’ she said. The steadiness of her voice gave her courage. She was this mountain of a Norseman’s equal, not his slave.

‘It is customary for people to greet their new lord with civility and speed. I thought the hall long deserted from my welcome.’ The Norseman’s rich voice thundered through the hall. It surprised Edith that he could speak her language so well. The Norsemen she’d encountered in Eoferwic, if they could speak it at all, spoke with accents so thick that she’d almost considered them to be speaking another language. But this one was different. His voice held only the faintest lilt of Norseman’s accent.

‘We had little warning of your arrival.’ Edith met his fierce gaze. ‘A proper greeting requires proper warning.’

‘It fails to alter the fact. Your new lord has arrived. I deserved a better welcome than having my door barred against me.’

New lord? Edith’s insides clenched as his words sank in. What did he mean? Had the Norseman king decided to marry her to him, then? A faint shiver went down her back. Despite her earlier conversation with Hilda, she had no wish to marry again. And certainly not to someone who looked like he could crush her with one hand. She wanted someone cultured who loved learning and music and who would respect her intelligence. She’d had enough of the brute with her first husband. Edith pushed the thought aside. Her feelings were unimportant. It was the estate which mattered.

‘You are the new lord?’

He inclined his head, but his eyes flashed with fire. ‘The king has decreed it.’

‘I am the Lady Edith, mistress of this hall as my father was lord before me. The Norseman King Halfdan has sent me no decree.’ She raised her chin defiantly. Thankfully, her father had had the foresight to bend his knee and kiss Halfdan’s ring ten years ago. ‘My father and your king were friends. He stayed here early in his reign after Eoferwic was burnt.’

The barbarian lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘You deny this hall belonged to the rebel Egbert of Breckon?’

Edith pursed her lips. ‘My late husband.’

‘He died rebelling against his king, in the foulest act of treachery I have seen in many years.’

‘The hall has always belonged to me and my family, going back as far as anyone can remember. My husband and I shared custody. When Egbert of Breckon breathed his last, the lands immediately reverted to my name and custody as there was no heir from my body.’

‘Is that so?’

‘When I married Egbert of Breckon, Halfdan promised to honour the agreement. I’ve a parchment with his seal.’ She kept her head up and knew she had to ask the question. She had to find out what Halfdan intended with this barbarian or she’d collapse in a gibbering heap. She had to know her fate. She had survived Egbert; she could survive this Norseman. ‘Do you mean the king intends that we marry?’

The Norseman’s mouth curled downwards and his gaze raked her form. Edith forced her hands to stay at her sides, but she was aware of her gawky frame and big hips. She wished that she was tiny with curves like Hilda, the sort of woman that men would marry in an instant, and not just to gain a fortune or lands.

‘Your husband broke fealty with my king. Why should he honour his promise to your father?’ he said finally. ‘Halfdan gave all of Egbert of Breckon’s land to me as a reward for my services.’

Had the mountain actually killed Egbert in battle? The boy had whispered of an ambush and a truce broken where all the true Northumbrians were slain. Edith put the thought from her mind and concentrated. This was far worse than she’d considered possible. Her entire life hung in the balance.

‘My husband acted against my counsel. We who are left never broke fealty. In the interests of peace and love he bore for my father, I’m certain Halfdan will have ordered some form of marriage.’ Edith held out her hand. ‘Show me his parchment.’

His blue gaze raked her a second time, more slowly, but leaving her in little doubt of her own inadequacies as a desirable woman—her figure was far too thin and angular, her chin too masculine and even her hands were stained with ink rather than lily white as a lady’s should be. Edith fought against the rising tide of heat which flooded her cheeks. It was bad enough that Egbert had taken great delight in telling her how few feminine charms she possessed, but enduring the Norseman’s gaze was far more humiliating.

‘There were no conditions to the gift, lady,’ he said, his voice thundering so all could hear. ‘The lands and all its possessions were in Halfdan’s gift. My need for a wife is not pressing. Halfdan knows my feelings about marriage and the sort of woman I wish for a bride.’

‘My mistake,’ she whispered and forced her legs to curtsy. Bile rose in her throat. One solitary look and he’d rejected her as marriage material.

‘Yes, it was. I trust the matter is now closed. I claim overlordship to this estate.’ He stepped forwards and brought the axe down on the stone flagging. The noise thundered through the hall.

Edith thought quickly. An overlord? There was always an overlord. It might be the best of possible worlds, the miracle she’d prayed for. She had been far too hasty in assuming marriage. ‘We will be happy to pay a tithe to you if you show me that your word is true. Forgive me, Norseman, but my experience with other Norsemen has been limited and sometimes the language has caused confusion. Do you have some sign, a scroll perhaps, which tells the amount we must pay?’

‘You wilfully misunderstand me, Lady.’ The Norseman fingered his axe. ‘Egbert of Breckon’s lands are forfeit. He rebelled against his rightful king. You have no rights here, but I bear no malice towards you. You may depart without molestation if you leave immediately.’

Edith heard the shocked gasps from the servants ranged behind her. Tears pricked her eyelids. This was her home, her land and her people. She’d never asked Egbert to rebel for all the good it had done her. This was absolutely wrong.

She bit back the words. Tact, not hollow words of protest, was needed here. Egbert had led the rebellion, until the bitter end. From what she understood, he’d been one of the last to fall. An honourable death, the boy had whispered.

‘The lands are in my name. I did not rebel. They remain mine until the king sends a scroll to tell me otherwise. I understand Halfdan is an honourable man.’ She crossed her arms. She had to play for time. ‘I don’t know how things are done where you come from, but here in Northumbria we do ask for more proof than a double axe and a broken door.’

She stared defiantly at the Norseman, trying not to notice his axe and the way he fingered the hilt. One stroke and her head would be rolling across the floor, like the rumours said the Norsemen had done to so many other people.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for the Norseman to respond.

A rumble of laughter resounded behind the Norseman, breaking the silence.

‘She has spirit, this Northumbrian lady, I’ll give her that,’ one of them called out. ‘There are not many who would stand before Brand Bjornson and argue.’

‘Maybe they should,’ Edith answered as steadily as she could even as her legs threatened to crumple under her.

Her luck had truly run out. Brand Bjornson claimed her land. He was reputed to be one of the fiercest Norseman warriors, a name that nurses whispered to frighten children. She waited, hardly daring to breathe. Her next heartbeat was sure to be her last, once he lifted that axe.

The Norseman regarded her with those fierce eyes, unmoving but speculative. She forced her gaze to match his.

His hand loosened on the axe and his shoulders relaxed. Edith released a breath. She was going to live. The thought filled her with giddy excitement.

‘I regret, my lady, but you’re wrong. This hall and land belongs to me.’ He reached into his belt and pulled out a piece of vellum. ‘The king did anticipate that some may be prepared to doubt my word. Everything is in order. His seal is set with the date. Call for your priest to read it out loud.’

‘There is no need. My father ensured I could read.’ At his questioning glance, she added, ‘He’d little love for our priest.’

‘Wise man.’

Edith stared at the parchment. The words swam before her eyes. All of Egbert’s lands were forfeit to Brand Bjornson, including the hall and its property. They were specifically named, but it was a general proclamation. The king hadn’t even bothered to address her. She truly meant nothing to him.

Tears stung at the back of her throat. Everything gone, just like that. She wished she could wring Egbert’s fat neck. Her father had been wrong for so many reasons when he forced the marriage because he’d thought she needed a strong warrior. She could have held the lands on her own.

‘You may have the estate, but will you have the hearts of its people? I have never seen a Viking warrior stay in one place for long. Undoubtedly your king will have call for your services,’ Edith said before she could give herself time to think and be scared. ‘After seeing your parchment, I’m happy to pay a reasonable tithe to you and promise to keep good order. I know these people and this land.’

‘And you have their hearts, now that their menfolk are dead? You can guarantee that they will no longer rebel against Halfdan or his chosen successors?’

‘I like to think so.’ Edith tilted her chin upwards. ‘My family has cared for this land since before the Romans left. The folk here are honest and loyal. Those who rebelled left with my late husband. Never to return.’

A sardonic smile crossed his lips. ‘I find a full belly guarantees loyalty far more than blood or tradition.’

A snigger came from the ranks of the Vikings. ‘What sort of man obeys a woman?’

Edith clenched her jaw and ignored the remark which reminded her of Egbert’s attitude. She had proved him wrong and, given half a chance, she’d prove the unknown Viking wrong as well.

She motioned for her servants to be still.

Where else could she go? Some convent? To work like a thrall? It was what would happen to her if she appeared without any money. Goodness knew Egbert had threatened it often enough. Death by a Norseman’s axe was preferable to death by slow starvation. She had one last chance.

‘You must give me a chance to prove my words. I could be useful here. You are a warrior. Do you know how to run a large estate? I do. Put me to the test!’


Chapter Two

Edith waited as her plea echoed around the hall. Her entire life hung in the balance.

‘There is no need for someone else to run it. I shall be here.’ Brand Bjornson’s lips quirked upwards as if she amused him. A loud laugh escaped his throat, swiftly followed by the other warriors’ laughter.

Edith frowned. Amusement was precisely the wrong reaction. ‘My offer is serious.’

‘My days of fighting are at an end. My king has another use for me. For too long this part of the North Riding has harboured a nest of vipers. It is my task to ensure peace. With force if necessary, Lady. I’ll allow you safe passage to the nearest nunnery as a token of the loyalty you and your father showed my king.’

‘And you know everything there is to know about this hall and its farms? How to run it most efficiently?’

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 out 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?

It wasn’t the future she’d envisioned this morning, but she had to do it. She had to be able to speak for those who couldn’t. In a year’s time, she could leave and even go to the relative safety of Wessex with a baggage train. If all went well, she could take those people who wanted to go with her. She wrapped her arms about her waist and tried to control her shaking.

She’d have to share his bed and keep him entertained. Something that in the past she’d singularly failed to do for a man. Egbert’s many accusations and taunts echoed in her mind—she possessed not one feminine attribute, was confrontational at the wrong times and the only thing about her which even remotely interested a man was her dowry.

She must’ve been mad. This little adventure would end the instant Brand Bjornson took her to bed. The entire world tilted. She put her hand out to steady herself. What had she done?

‘Cousin? Is anything the matter?’ Hilda asked, catching her arm. ‘At last I find you. I have been hiding, but heard no sound of battle so decided to come and find you. Have the Norsemen left? Is everything as it was? Your scheme worked, didn’t it?’

‘I...I...’ Edith struggled to find the right words.

Edith allowed Hilda to lead her to an alcove where they both sat. Hilda patted Edith’s hand.

‘You rest. You’ve done enough getting rid of the Norsemen and having everything hidden. You’re close to collapse, Edith.’

Hilda’s appearance served to emphasise Edith’s problem. Every movement Hilda made seemed designed to entice or make her more attractive. Around her, Edith always considered herself gawky and awkward.

If Hilda had been there, would Brand Bjornson have been so quick to make her his concubine? She dug her nails into her palm. She should be grateful for small mercies.

Hilda only thought of herself. She had no feeling for the land or its people. All Edith could do was to try to survive and play whatever game this Norseman was playing to the end.

‘Not yet. They haven’t left yet.’ Edith smoothed her skirt. The action calmed her jangled nerves. She’d go mad if she tried to think about what ifs and how the past could have been different. ‘But don’t worry, Hilda. I have a scheme. They will go in time and all will return to how it was. I have to believe that.’

‘Oh, no!’ Hilda stuffed her hand in her mouth and she began to rock back and forth. ‘A scheme? And time is something we don’t have.’

‘They will go eventually.’ Edith didn’t know whom she was trying to convince. ‘The Norsemen never stay long. War and the open sea call. Everything will go back to how it was. You see I still have the keys to all the stores? Trust me to make it right. We simply need to keep our nerve.’

She jangled the circlet of keys which hung from her waist. They’d belonged to her mother and every other lady who had ruled this house.

Hilda drew a deep shuddering breath and her eyes became marginally less wild. ‘If I must. Where will they stay? Will I have to encounter them and their barbaric ways?’

How their way could be more barbaric than Egbert and his men, Edith couldn’t say. She shuddered, remembering how powerless she’d felt in those few weeks before he departed. How hard she’d worked to shield various children from his abuses and what limited success she had had. Unlike Hilda, she hadn’t wept when she’d heard of Egbert’s death. She only wished it had happened before he had ruined everyone. All those countless lives lost and all the beatings she and others had suffered, simply because Egbert’s temper was uncertain. But he’d been unable to take the gold, silver and jewels. Some day she’d retrieve them from the lord’s bedchamber, but for now they were safe, stored right under the Norseman’s nose. The thought buoyed her spirits no end.

‘You’ll have to be civil, Hilda. There is little point in antagonising them. One must be practical about such things,’ she said carefully.

‘Will you marry the new earl? Did it happen like you predicted?’ Hilda watched her with narrowed eyes. ‘Is that what is going on? You can tell me, cousin. I can imagine the Norseman’s king doing that, not giving you time to properly mourn and seeking to secure peace on the land that way.’

‘No, my fate is something else.’ She paused and gazed directly at Hilda, whose golden-blonde hair, pale blue eyes and petite frame ensured men’s eyes followed her wherever she went. Hilda would learn soon enough. No doubt the entire hall buzzed with the news. ‘I’ve agreed to be Brand Bjornson’s concubine. I suspect the Norseman thinks it is an honour. And, yes, I do know how people will react and what they will call me but I did it for them. I hope to soften his heart towards my people.’

Saying the words out loud helped.

A tiny tingle went through her. It might be different with Brand Bjornson. When their hands had accidentally brushed as he regarded the ledger, all her senses became aware of him. Something that had never happened to her before. She banished the thought as wishful thinking and false hope. She’d endured Egbert’s touch and the bruises he had given her. She could cope with this Norseman. She was a survivor.

Hilda stared at her with shocked eyes and gaping mouth.

‘Thank you, cousin, for your silence.’

‘You’re serious! That’s your scheme?’

‘Would I joke about such a thing?’ Edith folded her hands in her lap. ‘I have to remain here in order for my plans to work. Leaving would have meant that I had lost everything.’

Hilda’s mouth dropped open, making her resemble a fish. ‘I’d rather kill myself. Brand Bjornson is a monster. His very name causes grown men to quake in their boots. And he sports an ugly red scar about his neck. They say that even his own mother tried to kill him but failed. The man sups with the devil.’

‘Unfortunately I didn’t have that choice,’ Edith said with a steady voice. Hilda was always overly dramatic, even as a young girl. ‘If I die, who will speak for the people who till this land or work in the kitchens? And I dare say Brand Bjornson sups with whoever sits down at his table.’

‘Stop trying to turn it into a joke, Edith. Why did you agree to it? How could you?’ Hilda shook her head. ‘Sometimes I fail to understand you, cousin. You should have drawn a knife, bared your breast and plunged it in. That is what any true Northumbrian lady would have done.’

Edith bit back the words asking why Hilda had agreed to be Egbert’s mistress, then? Even now, she refused to stoop that low. There were some things which were better left unsaid. She accepted that Hilda had had her reasons and overall had behaved better than some of Egbert’s other women.

‘Why, Edith?’

‘There were others to think of,’ she said finally when Hilda’s horrified gaze became too great to bear. ‘I refuse to abandon everyone for the sake of my honour. In this way, perhaps I can tame the Norseman and prevent him from destroying all that I hold dear. Mayhap in time he will come to trust me and will install me as the steward.’

‘As you say, it is your choice, my cousin.’ Hilda stood up and made a brief curtsy. ‘I wish you well. I mean that. I hope you know what you have undertaken. These men...they are not quite human. You are gently bred. You haven’t had to suffer—’

‘I believe I understand the rudiments of the position I now occupy.’

Hilda flushed. ‘No offence meant, cousin. I want to be certain that you know what you are doing. When I was in the south—’

‘Thank you, Hilda.’ Edith inclined her head. The last thing she wanted to hear was a horror story about how Hilda had experienced the habits of the Norsemen. If she did, her courage might give out. Right now, not thinking about what the night might bring was the only way she’d survive. ‘We have a feast to prepare. Busy hands mean neither of us will have time to think or consider.’

‘A feast? How can you think about eating at a time like this?’

‘The Norsemen will expect to be fed,’ Edith retorted, touching the keys to remind herself that she still had control. He hadn’t taken that away from her! ‘We must show them true Northumbrian hospitality. Thus far they have not started looting, pillaging or worse—something to be celebrated, surely?’

Hilda rolled her eyes. ‘You can be such an innocent, Edith.’

‘I prefer a realist,’ Edith said between gritted teeth. She wasn’t going to lose her temper. ‘I prefer this hall with four walls and a roof. I prefer to have a place to lay my head.’

‘And that’s it, the end as far as you are concerned?’ Hilda snapped her fingers under Edith’s nose. ‘You are giving up without a fight? You should have allowed me to speak to them. I would have fought them with my bare hands before I allowed them to take this hall. I never took you for a coward.’

‘I can hardly fight.’ Edith’s jaw ached and she tried to force her muscles to relax. ‘Egbert took every able-bodied man with him and not one has returned. How many widows did he leave in his quest for glory?’

‘And you believe you will be able to tame this Norseman warrior of yours?’ Hilda looked her up and down. ‘Do you have the womanly skills, cousin? You would be happier amongst the vellum and ink or out riding and looking at how the crops are doing. What do you know of the art of love? What will happen when this Norseman discovers you prefer learning to the arts of love?’

‘You forget yourself, cousin.’ Edith slammed her fists together. ‘You’re a guest here and asked for my protection, protection which I have sought to give. Always. Your behaviour here was your own affair and I’ve never questioned it.’

Hilda flushed scarlet and dropped her gaze. ‘Forgive me, Edith, for speaking plainly, but you must not hold on to false hope that you will be able to hold on to this place for the long term. Did you have another choice? Something that might save us both?’

Edith clenched her fists. She didn’t want to think about the night or what would happen when Brand discovered all of her inadequacies. She had to hope that he had another purpose in mind when he made her his concubine. Or that if Hilda had been there, she might have been the one he chose. ‘I will face that when I have to. These Norsemen may have different expectations.’

‘I hope for all of our sakes that they do.’ Hilda put her hand on Edith’s sleeve. ‘I really do, cousin. I just hope this one is worth it. That’s all. For once I don’t envy you.’

‘Thank you. It will be.’ Edith bowed her head and concentrated on the keys. It had to be. The alternative wasn’t worth contemplating.

‘Where do you expect me to be during this proposed feast?’ Hilda put a hand to her head. ‘You know how those Norsemen unnerve me. My mind goes all to pieces, but I want to play my part. Give me a job and I will do it, something out of the way. Just for a few days, until I know what they are on about and whether I need to find somewhere else to live.’

‘You may stay in the kitchen if the Norsemen upset you that much.’ Edith thought quickly. She agreed with Hilda that having her in the main hall would not do at all. Edith wanted to be able to concentrate on her role rather than wondering what Hilda might do next. ‘The cook can always do with another scullery maid. I doubt they will give you any bother there, so long as you don’t mind getting your hands dirty. I will have a word with him.’

Hilda’s cheeks reddened. ‘Thank you, cousin. I do appreciate your kindness. The kitchen it shall be. Should you need any advice...about...you know...I am happy to give it.’

‘It is kind of you to offer and I will remember it, should it come to it.’ Edith silently vowed that Hilda would be the last person she’d ask to tutor her in the arts of love. The humiliation would be far too great.

Hilda hurried off, her narrow hips swaying and her skirts swishing to give a glimpse of her ankles. Even the way she moved emphasised her sensuality and highlighted Edith’s own awkwardness.

Edith raised her fist. ‘I will do it. I will succeed. Or die in the attempt.’


Chapter Three

‘What are you contemplating, Lady Edith? You appear lost in your thoughts.’

Brand’s rich voice caused Edith to jump. He stood far too close to where she rested in the alcove. Where had he come from? And how much had he overheard? For a large man, he moved silently. She bit her lip. She’d have to remember that. Egbert had always announced his presence with heavy walking and a litany of complaints.

‘I was resting.’ Edith forced her hands to stay calmly in her lap, rather than gesturing wildly. Hilda’s story about Brand’s mother trying to kill him had to be a wild fantasy. No one surely could be that wicked. ‘The day has been traumatic for me. My entire life has been altered and it isn’t even midday. It has given me something to contemplate.’

‘You regret your decision now that you have had time to consider your position? You wish to leave for the nunnery, but worry about summoning the courage to inform me?’

The sun made it impossible for her to see his eyes. All she knew was that he wanted her to give up and admit defeat. That wasn’t going to happen. Retreating would be a defeat, not only for her but for everyone she cared about. Despite what Hilda thought, she could be a concubine even to a man like Brand Bjornson.

‘Not in the slightest.’ Edith tilted her chin upwards and met his penetrating blue gaze full on. ‘Were you searching for me? Has something happened?’

His dark blond hair fell in disarray about his shoulders and he’d shed his axe and overtunic, but that only emphasised the way his shirt clung to his chest. She was more aware than ever of the power in his shoulders. He was most definitely not a man to cross lightly. ‘Nothing unexpected.’

The strange warm tingling feeling invaded her body. This was the man she would have to play the concubine with, if she could. Her heart sank. Hilda was right. What had she been thinking of? The enormity of the task crashed into her. She should have taken the easy route out and saved her own skin. What if she didn’t please him? What would happen to everyone then?

‘It is good to know.’

He tilted his head to one side. ‘Did you think something would be wrong?’

‘Why should there be?’ She hurriedly smoothed her skirts and her hand touched the circlet of keys that she always wore. The tiny action gave her courage. She was doing it for her home. The keys were a comfort. She had them and it meant certain things were safe and hidden.

‘You are very quick with your answer.’ He regarded her with speculative eyes.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ she asked with a faint breathless catch in her voice, swallowed hard and tried again. This time her voice sounded firmer. ‘Is there something you require?’

‘Long enough.’

Edith rubbed the back of her neck. He’d overheard her conversation with Hilda, but she had to hope it was only the tail end. ‘It’s been a tiring day and your men will need to be fed. I have to make sure the servants understand the new situation. I wish to keep the incidents to a minimum.’

‘It is kind of you to be concerned, but my concubine doesn’t give the orders to any member of the household. She exists only to please me.’

Edith pursed her lips together—a subtle way of saying she lacked power. ‘I’d considered ordering a feast was pleasing to the master.’

She hated how the word stuck in her throat and how the sound of it brought home the precariousness of her position. She was little better than a shackled slave.

He raised his eyebrow. ‘It is good that you so readily acknowledge who I am. I had wondered if you would have to learn a hard lesson.’

‘I’ve never been a concubine before.’

A ghost of a smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. ‘I’d never have guessed, my lady.’

‘Spare the laughter and jest. I fail to find the joke amusing.’

‘Perish the thought.’ He inclined his head, but the twinkle in his eye deepened, turning his irises to the colour of the sky after weeks of grey cloud. A blue so vivid it hurt to look at it. ‘Maybe a little, but I enjoy teasing my women. But I remain serious about our bargain. I want you, Edith of Breckon, in my bed.’

Edith concentrated on a spot just above his shoulder, rather than gazing into his eyes. His woman. One of many? She could well imagine the sort of women they were. She had experienced Egbert’s parade and found positions and marriages for them after Egbert discarded them, so they wouldn’t suffer humiliation.

‘You should know that I am not very good at being a decorative object.’ She allowed her mouth to turn upwards. ‘I’ve never seen the point of flirtatious teasing.’

‘You’ll have to learn.’

‘I’m far too practical. If I see a thing that needs doing, I do it. I like to keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.’

‘But not with spinning. My men uncovered a number of broken whorls from the hall. Do they have a purpose?’

‘Spinning is not my best skill,’ Edith conceded with a shrug. Explaining about Hilda’s drama of this morning was beyond her. ‘I do try, but my mind wanders and the tread tangles. I prefer writing and reading.’

‘Unlike the woman who just left for the kitchen.’ His eyes flashed with barely concealed contempt. ‘I do not believe she makes a good scullery maid. Her dress is far too fine and her accent refined.’

Edith’s breath stopped in her lungs. He’d seen Hilda and her embroidered gown and guessed. Who wouldn’t? There was just something about the way Hilda moved. She attracted men like honeycomb attract the flies.

‘She was my late husband’s mistress,’ she admitted, dipping her head as her stomach clenched. Had she inadvertently delivered her cousin to another man’s bed? She felt sick. ‘Your men unnerved her. She had a traumatic time two summers ago and saw things no one, especially not a gently bred lady, should see. I thought it was for the best if she went to the kitchen and helped out there until I found something better for her.’

‘And you allow this former mistress a place here? Give her charity? Is that how you take your revenge?’ Something akin to disgust flared in his eyes, but was quickly masked.

‘Where else could she go? She is my distant kinswoman. I have a duty towards her.’ Edith pinched the bridge of her nose. The last thing she wanted to explain was how guilty and powerless she’d felt when Egbert made Hilda his mistress as if some of it was her fault. She’d promised Hilda that she’d be safe. But Egbert had seduced Hilda, promising her the moon. Before he’d left, she’d started to experience Hilda’s tantrums at being ignored and Egbert’s bad temper.

‘Not many women would be as generous as you.’

‘Hilda had little choice when my husband’s eye lighted upon her.’ Edith shrugged and hoped that he wouldn’t guess the pain she’d suffered because of it. The marriage had been one of duty. She had no right to expect anything, but she’d hoped that a sort of friendship might emerge. It never did. And she wasn’t cold or unfeeling as Egbert had claimed. She did feel things deeply. ‘I’d planned to send her away once things quieted down, marry her off to a farmer, but it will not be my choice now.’

‘Whose choice will be it?’

She made a careful curtsy and her keys jangled. The tiny sound comforted her. She might be a concubine, but she had privileges. ‘Why, yours as you are the new lord.’

His entire body stilled. ‘Are you always that involved with your household? Ordering their lives?’

‘Someone has to care for their welfare, but Hilda is my kinswoman and merits extra-special care. We share a grandmother. She lacks a dowry and everyone knows about her former position. It limits her marriage prospects.’

‘And what does she do here when she is not being a scullery maid? What does she prefer to do?’

Edith bit her lip, thinking quickly. Confessing about Hilda’s hatred and fear of the Norsemen would be a bad idea. She had to find a way to protect Hilda. She’d given her word that Hilda would not have to go into the hall today. In a few days’ time, she might feel differently and Edith could bring her back into the main household. ‘She works in the kitchens now. She prefers it that way.’

‘So then, this is the way you take your revenge?’ His face became colder than the moors on a winter’s day.

She squared her shoulders. Brand Bjornson did not need a further explanation. He’d already humiliated her enough for one day. ‘Hilda asked for the position. It suits her needs.’

‘No doubt she did.’ His mouth became a cynical white line. ‘Make sure she appears at the feast. In her best gown.’

‘Is that an order?’

His long fingers clenched at his side as if they were searching for the axe he’d carried earlier so he could bury it in her head. ‘If you will not do it any other way, then, yes, consider it an order. Seeing two Northumbrian women enjoying themselves will do much to allay the fears of the people who farm this place.’

‘Very well, I will inform her.’ Edith put a hand to her head. With each passing breath she knew her impulsive decision to accept his offer was more of a disaster waiting to happen than an inspiration. She touched her keys and drew strength. He wouldn’t stay. She would regain her position. ‘No more kitchens for my cousin.’

‘In future, leave the ordering of the household to me. No more giving disagreeable tasks to people you dislike.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will have your keys as well. You will have no need of them. The food shall be kept under my control.’

Edith struggled to gulp a breath of air. Those keys had hung from her waist ever since her mother had died. Without them, she’d be naked and the entire household would cease to function. ‘I’m not used to having idle hands. I am good at the practical things. I know where everything is, what needs to be done and in which order.’

‘Such as?’

‘Seeing to the accounts. I like being efficient and do it every evening. You need not worry. I’m no thief.’ She bit her lip. She had to admit it before they went any further. Seeing Hilda just now and the way she moved brought it home to her. She was no concubine, made for a man’s pleasure. She was the sort of woman that a man married because he had to and she had sufficient dowry. ‘You appear to have the wrong idea about me. I’ve no experience at being a...a concubine, but I can run a household.’

‘I run my own household.’ His tone allowed for no dissent. ‘The keys, Lady Edith. Or do I tear them from your waist?’

He would. The barbarian! Hilda’s story held more than a ring of truth. She could imagine him going berserk on the battlefield and slaughtering indiscriminately. Silently she undid them and placed them in his hand. Suddenly her entire being was lighter, but her waist felt naked and exposed. If anything, the bareness symbolised her new status as a slave. Edith schooled her features. She refused to burst into tears. She should have expected the request earlier.

He weighed the keys carefully and placed them in a pouch that he wore.

‘A large house is different from a warrior’s camp,’ Edith argued. ‘It takes a lifetime to master.’

‘I have a lifetime.’

‘I only wanted to help in case...’

His lip curled. ‘In case I was only fit for the pigsty?’

‘I never said that.’ Silently she prayed he’d see reason. Surely he couldn’t be that blind. He had to know that she could never play love games and that she alone should have control of the keys. Men did not control the keys.

If anything, his face became harder and more unyielding. It was easy to see why the rumours about his ferocity swirled about Northumbria.

‘I know what needs to be done and rest assured I will discover which door each of them unlocks. You will find I learn quickly.’

A shiver crept down her spine. He would discover precisely where she’d hidden everything. Instead of listening to Hilda, she should have been dismantling the key ring and retaining those keys she needed. Hindsight was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

‘And what do you suggest I do? Take up pig-keeping?’ She gave an arched laugh.

A distinctive heat came into his eyes. Bedchamber eyes. ‘It is always good to learn a new skill. You will see flirting will come to you in time. I’ve no intention of forcing you to keep pigs.’

Edith’s throat went dry. She swallowed hastily, trying to ignore the warm tide flowing through her. No man had the right to look that good. ‘A new skill! What sort of skill? And who will teach me? You!’

‘Having second thoughts, my lady? You can beg for the convent if you wish.’ He put his hands behind his head. ‘I might be open to begging.’

‘You know nothing of me.’ She crossed her arms. ‘I gave my word and will endeavour to keep it. I have always done so, regardless of what other people have done.’

‘Then what is the problem?’ He ran a finger down her cheek, sending a delicious shiver throughout her being. She attempted to banish the feeling, but it grew. Edith concentrated on a spot above his shoulder, rather than falling into his gaze again.

‘I merely wanted to warn you of my failings. Personally I have always found it most profitable to employ people where they were best suited.’

He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. The rest of her speech died on her lips.

‘I assume you know how to play tafl, sing and make amusing conversation?’ he asked in a voice laced with heavy irony. ‘That you are not devoid of culture in the North Riding?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Edith said, tapping her slipper on the ground. How dare the Norseman infer that she was some sort of barely cultured barbarian, instead of him! ‘Those are the things people do in polite society.’

He leant forwards until their foreheads touched. ‘You should have no problem in your new role. Keep in mind that you need to please me and we will get along well. I’m far from ungenerous to those who please me.’

‘But...’

His breath caressed her cheek. ‘You fear we won’t suit. That I will have no idea of your tender sensibilities as I have spent my entire life soldiering and sleeping on the ground rather than on a soft bed. You fear the barbarian.’

Edith shook her head quickly, too quickly. Her body tingled with awareness of him and his proximity to her. She tried to think straight, but all she could think about was the blueness of his eyes, the broadness of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. ‘I hadn’t really considered where you have spent the night. I have no idea of your needs.’

‘Shall I demonstrate? My needs are simple.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, preventing her from moving, even if she wanted to. Edith found her feet had turned to stone, but his touch was oddly gentle rather than rough. A warmth radiated outwards from his fingers, infusing her body.

Edith lifted her chin and met his sardonic gaze. He intended on teaching her a lesson. She shuddered slightly, remembering the lessons that Egbert had taught her and how her body had borne bruises for weeks afterwards. Swallowing hard, she screwed up her eyes and hoped.

‘Don’t be frightened of me,’ he murmured. ‘It won’t hurt. I never hurt my women.’

His mouth descended, brushing hers. Far more gentle than she had considered possible, but firm enough to be there and not her imaginings. Questing and seeking, rather than hard and demanding.

Her eyes flew open and she saw all traces of mockery or sardonic dark humour had vanished.

Her body arched towards him and collided with his hard muscular frame. Her hand reached up and her lips parted slightly. She tasted his lips and the warmth grew within her. She moaned slightly in the back of her throat.

He lifted his head. The kiss was over. He let her go, stepped away and eyed her with a cynical expression.

‘I have found the correct person for the position, despite your protestations.’

Edith knew her breathing was coming a little too quickly and her lips felt far too full. Shame washed over her. She’d done it again, responded inappropriately.

‘What was that supposed to prove?’ she asked, forcing her eyebrow to arch. She hated that her voice sounded breathless.

His lips turned upwards. ‘That you will prove to be an adequate concubine...in time.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ She clenched the folds of her skirt with her hand.

‘You don’t? Think on it. No doubt the answer will come to you, Lady Edith.’

* * *

Brand forced his body to remain still and unmoving as he sought to master his emotions. He never chased after a woman. They came to him. Lady Edith might stride away as though he represented the devil incarnate, but there had been something in her kiss. She’d be back, demanding more. He tasted his lips to see if the taste of her mouth lingered or merely the memory of honey-sweet lips.

Women were to be enjoyed for the moment, rather than taken into one’s heart and cherished. He’d seen what happened when you fell in love and bore the scars for daring to love a woman who was destined for his half-brother. Brand absently fingered his neck. He’d learnt his lesson early—never to rely on a woman, particularly one who declares her love in troubled times.

‘You think you’ll win, Lady Edith, but I know your type. You might have a pretty face, but you possess the same steel selfishness that my father’s wife had,’ he said softly, touching the pouch where the keys now resided. She hadn’t wanted to give those up! He would find what each opened and what she sought to keep hidden. Above all she’d learn that he was not to be treated like a fool. ‘You will learn who the master is now. And I will find out exactly what you think is not mine! I will unlock all your secrets.’

‘Ah, there you are, Brand,’ Hrearek said, striding towards him, his craggy features split with a wide grin. ‘You told me to find you when we discovered something hidden. We’ve found a locked storehouse.’

‘You admit I was right.’

‘The gods love you, Brand.’ Hrearek slapped his hand against his trousers. ‘The woman didn’t lie. This is a hugely profitable and well-run estate, even if they have tried to hide it well. You are truly fortunate. How do you do it? Time and again?’

‘The harder I work, the more fortunate I have been. It is the only secret.’

Hrearek frowned. ‘If that is the way you wish to play it, then so be it. I am sure there is more to your success. You must have been born under a lucky star.’

‘It only seems that way now. No one would have said that ten years ago.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘You should. Now, where is this locked storeroom? Hopefully you have obeyed orders and not forced the door.’

‘How will we get it open?’

‘I have the means. Lady Edith has been most accommodating.’ Brand pulled out the circlet of keys. He didn’t doubt that Lady Edith knew of the stash. Whether or not she was responsible for the estate’s profitability remained to be seen. Keeping it hidden from the casual raider was one thing, but keeping it hidden so that it could be used for another rebellion was quite another. ‘It belongs to me. Show me.’

‘With pleasure.’

* * *

Brand regarded the large quantity of sheep’s wool that Hrearek and his men had found carefully secreted in what looked like a disused hut. The barns and other storage areas had a few bits in them, but this hut possessed a great quantity of wool.

‘You were right, Brand!’ Hrearek exclaimed. ‘Some day you must teach me to read. That witch never mentioned this stash of wool. I listened hard enough and remembered. I don’t trust these Northumbrians. They’d steal and lie quick as you like. You are far too soft. There will be another rebellion unless they know we are the masters with iron fists.’

Brand fingered the wool, good wool which could easily be sold in Jorvik. ‘She expected us to leave after a quick inspection. We were supposed to take her offering and go. She had it completely planned.’

‘She doesn’t know you!’ Hrearek laughed. ‘You have a cunning mind.’

Brand frowned. This haul had been far too easy to find. There was something more here. Had to be. From a distant place in his mind, he recalled his mother explaining how, as a girl in Ireland, her mother had always made sure that any raiders would find some items easily and the family would not lose everything.

Had Lady Edith played the same trick? What was the true reason that she put staying here above her honour? She wasn’t a natural concubine, despite the passion in her kiss. She possessed a calculating mind. He looked forward to playing tafl with her, pitting his wits against hers and unwrapping her many layers. It added to rather than detracted from her appeal. He wondered what she’d be like in bed and why her late husband had deserted it.

‘I want the wool cleared out of here.’ Brand pushed the thought away. Bedding a woman always ended the mystery. It was as simple as that. He should look no further. ‘Find somewhere else to store it.’

‘Why?’ Hrearek widened his eyes. ‘It is safe and there is naught else here. It is absolutely pouring down outside. The wool will get wet.’

‘The wool will be safe enough.’ Brand tapped a finger against his mouth. ‘The Lady Edith has hidden something else here and I mean to find it.’

At his word, his men hauled the wool out of the hut and onto the muddy ground. The final bundle of wool revealed a trapdoor with a lock. Brand fitted several keys before finding the correct one. When he lifted the door the gut-wrenching stench of salt and fish filtered out—salt cod. A most surprising choice.

Financially, salt cod would do Lady Edith no good. It was difficult to transport and easy to acquire. He should know. He’d made a small fortune by transporting the stuff in the last few years. What else was there in that room?

‘Thor’s hammer. What does she want this stuff for?’ Hrearek put his hand over his mouth and started for the open air. ‘It makes me vomit. Let’s go.’

‘To keep intruders away.’ Brand smiled. Lady Edith was not as clever as she thought. ‘We go nowhere but forwards. We find everything. When I am finished, this hall will hold no secrets and this salt cod conceals something big.’

Hrearek stopped. ‘You amaze me, Brand. Even after all these years, your capacity to think ahead never ceases to astonish. Do you remember when we were stuck in Constantinople and you—’

‘Allow me. We need to see what lies behind this salt cod.’ Brand bent down and started to empty the hidden room. He had no time for reminiscences about what had happened. His past was behind him. He’d been lucky rather than clever. Others had died and he’d learnt once again that you could not trust a beautiful woman.

Behind the salt cod stood a short passageway that lead out to the woods. ‘You see, there is more behind.’

Hrearek wiped his hand across his face. ‘We could have been murdered in our beds.’

‘If they had advanced through the salt cod and the wool...’ Brand said drily.

A faint noise sounded outside the hut. Hrearek immediately reached for his sword. Brand shook his head and went out of the hut.

‘Who goes there? Show yourself!’

‘Me, Godwin,’ came a small voice from the trees.

Brand crouched down and held out his hand. ‘What are you doing there?’

‘There are bad men coming. The lady said. I wanted to make sure that they didn’t come through here.’ Godwin gestured towards the hut. ‘The lady told me not to worry, that she’d taken care of it, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.’

‘There is no need to hide. All the bad men are gone. You are safe now. You are under my protection.’

‘And you are?’

‘Brand Bjornson.’

A young boy of no more than seven years came out, dusty and dishevelled. He held out his hand. ‘I will accept your protection.’

Brand took it gravely and shook it. The expression in the boy’s eyes reminded him of his youth. ‘And what do you do, Godwin?’

‘I serve the lady.’

‘Lady Edith?’ Brand crouched down so his eyes were level with Godwin.

‘That’s right. My da said I had to as he went with Lord Egbert. Only Lady Edith told me that she didn’t need any help.’ He scuffed his foot in the dirt. ‘Except she can’t watch for the bad men like I can.’

‘I can imagine.’ Brand rubbed his temple. Whichever bad men Godwin feared, Lady Edith had feared them as well. The passageway was blocked deliberately.

‘There you are, Godwin!’ Lady Edith called out, hurrying forwards. ‘Your mother is looking for you.’

‘I fear I detained him, Lady Edith.’ Brand put a hand on Godwin’s shoulder. Lady Edith knew. She had more spies than one boy. ‘He has been enlightening me.’

She put her hand to her neck. Several tendrils of black had escaped from her headdress and framed her face. ‘He is just a boy.’

‘I know what he is. What is his role here?’

‘He is the son of one of my husband’s retainers.’ Lady Edith nodded to Godwin. ‘Your mother has been searching everywhere for you.’

Brand put his hand on Godwin’s shoulders. ‘He was here, watching for the bad men. I’ve explained that no bad men are here and he is under my protection.’

Edith faked a smile as her stomach knotted. How much had Brand guessed? She had to hope that he hadn’t discovered the blocked tunnel. She’d blocked it so that Egbert could not sneak back and catch them unawares after he’d left for the rebellion.

‘Godwin, come with me, your mother is worried. She wants you to look after your baby sister. You are the man in the family now.’

Godwin screwed up his face. ‘I want to stay here with the warriors.’

Edith glanced at Brand. He had made a conquest.

‘You should do what Lady Edith requests, Godwin. A good warrior always looks after his women.’

Godwin scampered off, leaving her alone with Brand. Edith regarded the piles of wool and salt cod, rather than looking at his broad frame silently looming before her.

Her prayers had gone unanswered. Even when John the tallow maker’s son had told her about the find, she’d hoped that he had not uncovered the salt cod or the passageway.

‘You discovered my hiding place,’ she said when the silence grew too great.

‘The salt cod had spoilt. The wool remains good.’

Edith pressed her fingers together and tried not to scream as the rain started to fall heavier, soaking her to the skin. He enjoyed prolonging the torture. He knew about the passage. He had to. But she couldn’t blurt out about it in case by some miracle it had gone unnoticed. ‘And you are an expert in salt cod?’

‘My father was a trader and I learnt at his knee.’

‘I see.’ Edith wiped the rain from her eyes and the end of her nose. ‘I obviously made a mistake. It won’t be the first time.’

‘It is good to know you can admit to mistakes.’

‘I’ve no trouble taking responsibility for my mistakes.’ She raised her chin defiantly. ‘Ruined salt cod is not good. I paid good money for it and now it has no purpose except to go on the rubbish heap.’

His face grew thunderous. ‘You didn’t come to find Godwin. You came because you knew the wool and salt cod were discovered. What else is there, Lady Edith? What should I be looking for? What was worth spoiling a year’s supply of salt cod for?’

‘You’re wrong.’ Edith forced her shoulders back. She had excellent reasons for keeping quiet about the salt cod and the wool. ‘Godwin’s mother asked me to find him as she worries. I happened to search here.’

‘A happy coincidence, then.’

‘Yes. That’s right. Is there anything else?’ She waited with bated breath for him to ask about the passageway.

‘I wish you to look your best for the feast. You should be attending to that rather than searching for a lost child.’ Brand’s lips turned upward. ‘Your cousin might be able to help you with your hair if you are not used to such things. Now if you will excuse me, I have an estate to explore. On my own.’

Edith clenched her fists as her confidence plummeted. He enjoyed baiting her and he hated her wimple! She would keep her secrets. Her people were counting on her. Somehow the thought lacked comfort.


Chapter Four

The sound of Hilda’s outraged shrieks combined with the pandemonium of cauldrons crashing and heavy objects falling filled Edith’s ears even before she reached the kitchens. Edith gritted her teeth. Hilda never liked to make things easy.

‘Hilda,’ she called out as she entered the kitchen. ‘I need you. Immediately, if not sooner.’

At the sound of her voice, the tableau froze. The cook gesturing towards a black cauldron, and Hilda’s sulky expression while a variety of ladles and spoons lay on the floor as the kitchen boys cowered, told Edith everything she needed to know. Brand was right. The kitchen was no place for Hilda.

‘Hilda, it is time you leave the cook and his staff to do what they do best.’

Hilda stuck her nose in the air and marched out of the kitchen. ‘Me being a scullery maid was not one of your better ideas, cousin. That cook actually expected me to wash the cauldrons! Do you know how long it takes me every night to keep my hands soft? I was born a lady, not a thrall.’

‘Then you will be relieved to know that you are to be in the main hall tonight. Lord Bjornson has requested your presence at the feast.’

The colour fled from Hilda’s face. ‘You told him about me? You promised, Edith! What else have you done?’

‘After your little performance back there, I don’t wonder King Halfdan in Eoferwic doesn’t know about you!’ Edith crossed her arms. Hilda could not have it all her own way. ‘Try taking some responsibility, Hilda. Brand Bjornson saw us talking earlier. You should know that I do endeavour to keep my promises.’

Hilda had the grace to flush. ‘You should change the cook. He has not the least idea about proper respect.’

‘Fulke has been with us since before my father died, first as a kitchen boy and now the head cook.’ Edith took a calming breath. Screaming at Hilda wouldn’t serve any purpose. Hilda had never liked hard work. ‘In the kitchen, he is king. It has always been that way. What precisely did he do, besides ask you to clean the pots?’

Hilda picked at her sleeve. ‘If you must know, I became angry at that blasted cook for saying you were a Norseman’s whore. He had no right.’

Edith winced. She could well imagine the insults which were bandied about, but they were only words. Words only had the power to hurt if she let them. She’d learned that lesson long ago with Egbert. Inside she knew her reasons and some day everyone who mocked her would be grateful. ‘I believe that is what a concubine is.’

‘But it isn’t right. It hurts to be called such things.’

Edith drew in her breath. ‘All I have is your word, Hilda. Fulke has not dared say it to my face.’

Hilda blushed and Edith breathed easier. Hilda had spun another tall tale to get someone into trouble.

‘Did you know they are slaughtering two of the cattle? You refused Egbert cattle when he left. And Fulke wants the spice cupboard unlocked because Lord Bjornson asked if we had any cinnamon bark. Who uses such a thing?’

Edith fumbled for her keys, only to grasp thin air. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. ‘Fulke will have to ask Lord Bjornson for the key.’

‘He has taken your keys!’

‘The hall and all its contents belong to him.’

‘I can’t believe you, Edith. You are so calm about the whole thing. All your spirit is gone. I thought you were a Northumbrian through and through, yet you surrendered your keys. Your mother’s keys!’

‘Who can I fight, Hilda?’ Edith held out her hands. Somehow she had to make Hilda understand that it was dangerous to be belligerent. She was playing this game for the long term. No one would be helped if she broke down now. The gold, silver and jewellery were well hidden. You had to know where in the lord’s bedchamber to look. Brand Bjornson would never find it. ‘We are in this mess because Egbert decided to fight, rather than accepting my father’s pledge of fealty. The Norsemen would have left us alone if we paid that tithe. Yes, it would have been hard, but we could have done it.’




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