R oyce watched his sister run across the hall and peek out the opened door, then turn around with a frown and run back toward the stairs where she had come from. He called her to him before she reached them. She came, not so quickly now, to the long table where he sat alone breaking the fast. She had already eaten with her maid, Udele.
Darrelle was still annoyed with Royce from last eve and would not sit with him this morn, but she watched from where she bent over one of the wounded men. It was not difficult to perceive Meghan's reluctance to approach her formidable brother.
It was something that tore at Royce's heart, Meghan's reticence toward him, and it was his own fault, caused by his deplorable behavior that first year after he lost so many dear to him in the Viking raid. Meghan was too young to understand what he was feeling, why he was surly with everyone, even her. She began to fear him that year and had never lost that fear, even though he had treated her with the tenderest of care once he realized what was happening.
She had developed many fears from that time—of strangers, of loud voices, of tempers—and he blamed himself for it all. He knew that she loved him. He was the first one she would hide behind when she felt she needed protection. But she was so terribly shy of him, so timid and meek in manner, as if she always expected him to chastise her or worse. She was in fact the same way with all men, but Royce took her behavior to heart.
"Were you afraid to go outside?" Royce asked gently when she finally stood next to him with bowed head.
"Nay, I only wanted to look at the Vikings. Udele said they were all bad men, but they looked like only hurt men to me." She peeked up at him to measure his reaction to this, then relaxed when she saw him smiling at her.
"You do not think they could be hurt bad men?"
"I suppose, but they still did not seem so bad. One even smiled at me, or I think he did. Can such young men be really so bad, Royce? I thought men had to live a long time in wicked sin to be really bad."
"These men have not the benefit of God to temper their wickedness, so it matters not how young they are."
"Udele said that they have many gods and that makes them bad too."
"Nay, that only makes them heathens who sacrifice to pagan gods. Are you afraid of them?"
"Aye," she admitted meekly.
Impulsively he asked, "What do you think I should do with them, Meghan?"
"Make them go away."
"So they can come back and hurt us again at another time? I cannot allow that."
"Then make them Christians."
Royce chuckled at her simple solution. "That is for our good abbot to do, not I."
"Then what will you do with them? Udele thinks you will kill them." Meghan shivered as she said this.
"Udele thinks too much aloud." He frowned.
Meghan lowered her eyes again. "I told her you would not, because they are not fighting anymore, and you would not kill a man unless 'twas in battle."
"Sometimes 'tis necessary—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind, midget. What say you we put them to work building our wall?"
"Would they work for us?"
"Oh, I think they will want to with the right incentive," he replied.
"You mean they will not have a choice?"
"Prisoners rarely do, midget, and do not forget that is what they are. If they had won the battle and taken you back to their land, they would have made a slave of you. They cannot expect less than the same for themselves."
He stood up, for the hour was growing late, and if he had not made up his mind before, he had now after talking with Meghan. "A word of caution," he added, smoothing the hair back from her cheek. "As long as they are here, do not go near them. They are dangerous men, whether they look it or not. I must have your promise, Meghan."
Meghan nodded uneasily, then watched him leave the hall. No sooner was he gone from sight than she ran upstairs to tell the grouchy old woman who was her maid that the Vikings were not to die after all.
The sun was high when he left the hall and walked purposely toward them. Kristen had been waiting for this moment as they all were, pondering her regrets: that she would never see her parents again, that she would never have a husband now, or children, or even see the morrow. She had determined she would not die cowardly, but she did not want to die at all.
Two of the guards stopped him to speak with them, then they both fell into step beside him as he continued crossing the yard. The little Saxon, Hunfrith, had been relieved in the middle of the night, but he had returned early that morn to continue goading them with descriptions of the tortures they could expect. He walked right up to Thorolf now and struck the prisoner's bare foot with the flat side of the sword he had drawn.
"My lord Royce would speak with you, Viking," Hunfrith announced importantly.
Kristen pinched Thorolf to urge him to stand up, but he struck her hand away, refusing. He was in a crouch, ready to charge the Saxons as the others were, if any move was made to single them out for torture. With only three men standing before them, it was not likely that the time was at hand, but he was taking no chances.
The dark-green eyes of the Saxon lord were casually moving over the group, as if seeing them for the first time. His expression, unlike yesterday, was inscrutable. Of course their deplorable condition was more obvious now in the bright light of midday, and he no doubt felt they offered no threat to him, or he would not have stood so close. His unconcern was almost a challenge.
He was not afraid, this Saxon, Kristen was thinking when his eyes slid over her and then came back abruptly. She quickly lowered her own, feeling an uncomfortable leap of her heart at being singled out by those dark eyes, fearing her disguise might have been revealed to him in some way.
She did not look up again until she heard him speak, but then her unease increased. She had not realized that being chained to Thorolf, who was the only one who could speak for them, would place her too close to the object of their attention. She quickly scooted behind him and hunched down, letting his broad back hide her from view.
The Saxon was looking down at Thorolf. "I was told you speak our tongue."
"Some," Thorolf admitted.
"Who is your leader?"
"Dead."
"The ship was his?"
"His father's."
"Your name?"
"Thorolf Eiriksson."
"Then point out to me your new leader, Thorolf, for I know you will have chosen one."
Thorolf said nothing to this, then finally requested: "Say slow."
Royce frowned impatiently. "Your new leader. Who is he?"
Thorolf grinned now and shouted, "Ohthere, stand up and make yourself known to the Saxon."
Kristen watched her cousin stand uneasily, for he had not understood anything that was said until Thorolf called to him. He was on the opposite side of the circle from her, but he had worked his way to her last night, dragging three men with him to do so. Both of his brothers were dead, but he was holding his grief inside, as she was. Being the oldest among them and also Selig's cousin, he was logically looked to as their leader now.
"His name?" Royce asked as he looked Ohthere over.
"Ohthere Haardrad," replied Thorolf.
"Very well. Tell Ohthere Haardrad that I have been persuaded to leniency. I cannot let you go, but I will feed and shelter you if you are willing to serve me. I need a stone wall built around this manor. If you choose not to work, you will not be fed. 'Tis that simple."
Rather than request the Saxon to repeat his words slowly, Thorolf said, "Talk," indicating his comrades.
Royce nodded. "By all means, confer."
Thorolf called the men into a huddle, but only as an excuse to drag Kristen into the center of it, where no one could see her talking. "Thor's teeth! What was all that about, Kristen?"
She was grinning from ear to ear. "He is not going to kill us. He wants us to build his stone wall instead."
"Nay, I will not sweat for the bastard!"
"Then you will starve," Kristen retorted. "His conditions were clear. We work for our food and shelter."
"As slaves!"
"Do not be fools!" she hissed. "This will buy us time to escape."
"Aye, and mend," Ohthere agreed. "Tell him now, Thorolf. No use making him think there are those of us not eager to accept his terms."
Thorolf stood up this time and called Royce back to him. "The chains?" he questioned first.
"They stay. Do not think I am foolish enough to trust any of you."
Thorolf grinned slowly, nodding. The Saxon was wise, but he did not reckon on Vikings well mended and fed and determined to escape.