E ven from her position in the far corner of the hall in the cooking area, Kristen could see the four large carts leaving the yard through the open doors at the other end of the hall. Two of the carts contained the prisoners, another carried their guards, and the last was empty. All four carts would carry back loads of the big stones from the old ruins where they were going. If not for a quirk of fate that had made the Saxon lord think she was their leader, Kristen would be going with them today.
And today might be the day they would escape. There were only nine guards for sixteen men. Something could happen, the chance they needed, and then they would be gone from here. And she would be left behind to suffer the consequences.
She had told them not to worry about her, that the Saxon lord would not kill her. She had said he was angry because he had whipped a woman. But what else could she say to force them to think of themselves first? To say that it was just as likely that he was angry because he had made a fool of himself in thinking she was their leader would make some of them hesitate to leave her behind. And with her separated from them, they would lose their chance if they tried to free her to take with them. They had to go without her.
Kristen was feeling rather sorry for herself as she watched the gates close on her friends. She had spent a wretched night in a dismal little room on a hard pallet. She should have been delighted, since it was such an improvement over the cold ground, but she was miserable instead, and lonely. Hardship was much easier to bear when shared.
Not that she had such hard labor to do now. She had never minded helping to run the household at home. In fact, when the worst storms came in the winter, the servants were not expected to venture from their warm quarters by the stables. Kristen and her mother did the cooking and the cleaning for their family. Well, more Kristen than her mother, because her mother had never liked what she called "women's work." Brenna would laugh and wink, and swear she used to think she was a boy. But Kristen didn't mind "women's work." It was the sharp, terse orders that she minded at Wyndhurst, given by servants who looked down on her.
"Does it hurt very much?"
Kristen glanced to the side to see a little girl now sitting at the end of the long table she had helped to set up for the morning meal. The child was at least six feet away from the table where Kristen was forming pastry crusts for the strawberry tarts to be served later. She had a pretty little face, all clean and pink, and two neat braids of dark brown hanging over small shoulders. Large green eyes met Kristen's, so she assumed the question had been directed at her.
"Does what hurt?"
"Your ankle. 'Tis bleeding."
Kristen looked down at her ankles. Sure enough, blood was dripping into the shoe on her left foot. She was annoyed with herself, for it was a thoroughly stupid thing for her to have done, to stubbornly refuse to put cloth under the iron bands this morn. A childish thing, done with the express hope that she might make a certain Saxon lord feel a small measure of guilt when he saw that her skin was wearing away from his cursed shackles. Whom did she hurt but herself? He certainly wouldn't care, for they were his shackles, after all.
She glanced back at the little girl whose expression was so raptly attentive. "Nay, it does not hurt," Kristen assured her with a smile.
"Truly? Do you not feel pain?"
"Surely I do. But, truth to tell, I have so many other things on my mind, I did not notice a little pain way down there." And she indicated her feet.
The girl giggled at Kristen's reference to her height. "Does it feel strange, to be so tall?"
"Nay."
"But to be taller than a man—"
Kristen's chuckle interrupted her. "In Norway, 'tis very rare for that to happen."
"Oh, aye, the Vikings are all big men."
Kristen grinned at the wonder in the child's voice as she stated that fact. "What is your name, little one?"
"Meghan."
" 'Tis such a nice day. Why are you not out chasing butterflies and making flower garlands, or finding birds' nests? 'Tis what I did at your age. Would that not be more fun than staying in the hall?"
"I never leave Wyndhurst."
"Is it not safe?"
The child glanced down at her hands, which were resting on the table. " 'Tis safe, but I do not like to go alone."
"But there are other children here."
"They will not play with me."
Kristen was moved by the sad note in the little girl's voice. But it was Eda, coming to stand beside her, who supplied the reason for it.
"The other children are afraid to play with the lord's sister, and you should not be speaking to her, either," Eda hissed in her ear.
Kristen gave the older woman a frigid look. "Until 'tis forbidden, I will speak to whomever I please."
"Will you, wench?" Eda retorted. "Then do not be surprised if 'tis forbidden immediately, for he looks none too pleased."
Kristen had no time to wonder what Eda meant, for her shoulder was pinched in a cruel grip that spun her about to face a very angry Saxon.
Royce had no thought for his sister, for he had not even noticed that she was in the hall. When he entered the long room, his eyes were drawn directly to the tawny head in the cooking area. He had not seen her since she left his chamber yesterday, for he had taken his evening meal with his cousins in Alden's room, deliberately staying away from the hall, where the wench would be.
While she stood at the end of the worktable, with her back to him, his eyes had traveled leisurely down her long frame from top to bottom. It was when they stopped on the iron about her ankles, clearly visible because of the unseemly short length of her chainse, that his ire rose. Even from across the room he could see the blood soaking the side of her cloth shoe.
His countenance was stormy now. "If you think festering wounds about your feet will cause those shackles to be set aside, you are mistaken!"
Kristen relaxed, knowing now what caused him to growl at her so abrasively. "I did not think it."
"Then explain yourself! You were told to pad that iron with cloth."
"I forgot to ask for the cloth," she fibbed. Then she added baldly, "I was shuffled down here before the sun even rose and set immediately to work. I confess I was more asleep than awake and not thinking of something that has become so much a part of me."
Some of the heat left his expression, leaving only a narrowed frown. She could see that he didn't know whether to believe her or not. This she found so amusing that she laughed, confusing him even more.
"Ah, milord, I see you thought I hoped to stir your sympathy. Be assured I am not so foolish as to think you have such tender sentiments."
He flushed with renewed anger, turning so livid she thought surely he would strike her. She had boldly insulted him, but doing it with humor to make it appear a left-handed compliment instead. Apparently he could not deal with such underhanded tactics from a woman.
He rounded on Eda, terrifying the poor woman with his expression. "Attend to her feet now, and see she does not forget to pad the irons again!"
With one last furious look at Kristen, he stalked away. Eda left to fetch the cloth, grumbling that she had enough to do without having to pamper a heathen, one who didn't have enough sense not to anger her lord. Kristen grinned, ignoring the old woman, her eyes following Royce until he left the hall. The Saxon was not so different from the men she knew.
"How did you dare laugh at him when he was so angry?"
Kristen had forgotten about Meghan. She looked over and smiled at her now, seeing those large green eyes filled with amazement and awe.
"His temper was not so terrible."
"You were not frightened even a little?"
"Should I have been?"
"I was, and he was not even shouting at me."
Kristen frowned. "Eda said he is your brother. Surely you are not afraid of him?"
"Nay . . . well, sometimes."
"Sometimes? Does he beat you?"
Meghan seemed surprised by this question. "Nay, he never has."
"Then why would you be afraid of him?"
"He might beat me. He is so big and looks so mean when he is angry."
Kristen laughed now in sympathy. "Oh, little one, most men look mean when they are angry, but that is not a reflection of how they really are. And your brother is big, aye, but my father is even bigger—just a little bit bigger, mind you—and he has a terrible temper, too. Yet there is no kinder man than my father, nor more loving to his family. My brothers have tempers, too, and do you know what I do when they shout at me?"
"What?"
"I shout right back."
"Are they bigger than you?"
"Aye, even the youngest, who has only seen fourteen winters, has passed me in height, though not by much. He still has some growing to do. Do you have no other family yourself, besides your brother?"
"I did have another brother, but I do not remember him. He died with my father when other Vikings raided. 'Twas five years ago."
Kristen grimaced. God's teeth, the Saxon did have reason to hate her and her people. No wonder he had wanted to kill them all at first sight. She was surprised he had changed his mind.
"I am sorry, Meghan," she offered lamely. "Your people have suffered much because of mine."
"They were Danes, those others."
"I do not see much difference. We came here to raid, too, though not your manor, if 'tis any consolation."
Meghan frowned. "You mean your friends would not have attacked Wyndhurst?"
"Nay, 'twas a monastery farther inland they were after, and that only as a lark."
"Jurro?"
"Aye."
"But 'twas destroyed by the Danes five years ago and never rebuilt."
"Oh, God!" Kristen groaned. "Selig dead and half the others, and all for naught!"
"Was Selig a friend?" Meghan asked hesitantly.
"A friend? Aye, a friend—and brother," Kristen replied brokenly.
"You lost a brother in the forest battle?"
"Aye . . . aye . . . aye!"
Kristen's fist smashed a pastry crust with each utterance, and when that did not relieve the anguish, she toppled the table. She was halfway to the entrance of the hall when Eda ran after her, trying to grab hold of her arm to stop her.
"Do not do it, wench," the old woman warned. "You will be punished."
"I do not care!"
"You will. I heard what you told the young one. I wish I had not stopped to listen, but I did. I am sorry for your loss, and I never thought I would be saying that to the likes of you, but I am. Hurting yourself now will not help any. Go back and clean up the mess you made and none need know 'twas done apurpose."
Kristen halted and stared hard at Eda before she finally nodded. She turned back to the cooking area. Seeing the shambles there, she sighed. Meghan was nowhere in sight now. Fortunately, no one else was, either, at this early hour.
"The child?"
Eda snorted. "Took a fright when you got violent. She will think twice ere she speaks to you again."
Kristen let out another sigh.