F ood for the prisoners was late in being delivered that eventide. Eda, who cooked it, and Edrea, who usually carried it with Uland's help, both disbelieved Kristen when she told them she was to be allowed to take it to them today. But Eda was cautious enough to hold off the delivery of the food until confirmation from Royce could be obtained.
So they waited until Royce came down from his chamber, and he was late in doing so. He had spent the whole afternoon there, after leaving Corliss by the door. Kristen had watched from her corner as he spoke with his betrothed. He was angry. Corliss cried. He left angry. Corliss's tears dried as soon as Royce turned his back on her, and her expression denoted chagrin, not misery.
Kristen had shaken her head in disgust when the drama was over. She had too much pride to ever use such ploys herself, but knew some women found pleasure in the power of their tears. Darrelle was one. Corliss was obviously another, and Kristen could almost pity Royce, for he would never have an easy time with such a woman for wife.
Kristen did not spend the afternoon with gloomy thoughts as she had the day before. Her earlier contentment remained, and she tried not to wonder why. She succeeded, for she was kept busy making more nut bread.
Eda had tasted a chunk of the bread Kristen had made for herself and Meghan and liked it so well she had struck a bargain with Kristen. She would supply the nuts and Kristen could make half a dozen loaves for the prisoners, if she would make a like number for Royce's guests. Kristen could not refuse, and even had Meghan's company again to help her.
So the rest of her day was spent pleasantly. But she could not help fretting when Eda began to grumble as the hour grew late and Royce still did not come down. The prisoners' stew thickened. Edrea now had other duties to attend to, as the guests were already being fed, so she could no longer take the prisoners food. And Kristen knew what Thorolf would think if she did not make an appearance today.
Kristen finally said to Eda, "Go wake him and ask him. He will not want to sleep this long anyway."
"You keep saying he sleeps, wench. Why would he sleep the day away?"
Kristen looked away, shrugging. "Just do it, Eda. He will not be angry if you disturb him."
Eda did, and came back a few minutes later, shaking her head. "Aye, he was asleep, and shouting why no one had roused him sooner." Kristen grinned at this, and Eda gave her a sharp look, seeing it. "You spoke true, after all, but I cannot think why milord would let you . . . You can take the food, but you take two guards with you. And Uland will help you to carry it."
Eda called the men over to instruct them. Kristen could not object. She was so looking forward to talking to Thorolf and the others that she could not stop smiling all the way to the prisoners' quarters.
They were all inside the long hut. The door was open. The two guards in front, carelessly involved in a knife-tossing contest, barely gave her a glance as she approached with Uland and her own guards.
The reason for this laxity was made known to her as she heard the many rattlings of chains. It dampened her spirits somewhat to know that, unlike herself, they still were made to wear their chains constantly. But the moment she stood in the doorway, her spirits soared again.
Her eyes lit on her cousin first, and she dropped her basket of bread and fruit on the floor and flew into Ohthere's startled arms. So many surprised shouts of her name met her ears that she knew Thorolf had told no one what had happened last eve, probably on the suspicion that she would not appear. Ohthere quickly lost his hold on her as she was grabbed by one and then another and another of her longtime friends. Squealing and laughing, she received bone-crushing hugs and greetings and teasings.
Uland, standing in the doorway watching this cheerful welcoming, could hardly believe his eyes. Edrea had professed that at least one of the Vikings, the one who always came forward to take the food from her, could not possibly be as savage as the others, for he frequently smiled at her. Foolish talk from a girl fascinated by a handsome man, Uland had reasoned. But this show of warmth and affection for the giant wench . . . God's bones, it made them seem almost human, not the heathen monsters everyone thought them to be. In amazement, Uland set down the large cauldron of stew in the doorway and hurried back to the hall to regale his friends with what he had seen.
Inside the hut, Kristen at last came to Thorolf. Upon seeing him, her bubbling joy faded, for his expression was nearly solemn as he looked her over, and she remembered suddenly what Royce had admitted to telling him. A shyness came over her that was particularly uncomfortable inasmuch as she was so rarely shy about anything.
Her reticence hit Thorolf like a blow, and he flushed, knowing he had caused the smile to vanish from her lips. He had spent the day in an agony worrying about her and had been so relieved to see that she had actually come, and that there was nothing wrong with her, that he was slow in bringing his anxiety under control. He was still looking for bruises where there were none, when he should have been expressing his joy in seeing her, as the others had.
A hand came up, fingers gently lifting her chin. "Forgive me, Kristen. The Saxon whipped you once. I was sure—"
"He would again?" she interrupted with a half smile. "I thought so, too, but he did not."
"Might he still?" he had to ask.
She thought for a moment about last eve. Royce had taken her swimming, a joy to her. He had let her come here to see her friends, another joy. And he had made love to her under the stars . . .
It was with complete confidence that she shook her head to Thorolf 's question. "Nay, it is already forgotten by him."
The Viking laughed then, throwing back his head and jerking her forward for one more bone-crushing hug. "Thor's teeth, that is good to hear!"
"What is, and what has been forgotten?" Ohthere wanted to know.
He and half the others were standing around Kristen. She thought briefly of giving some lie, for they could not know what she and Thorolf spoke of. But she couldn't lie to them. The explanation she gave of her attempted escape and why she was not punished for it was not easy, though, for it required skimming over so many parts and jumping ahead before questions were asked. But then she went on to tell them what she knew of Wyndhurst and Wessex, which was not much, but more than they knew till now. She told them where the horses could be found, where the Danish army was likely to be, which was, unfortunately, a far ways north. She also told them of the giant Celts she had heard of who were hostile to the Saxons and how they might help if the Vikings decided to escape to the west instead of north. It at least gave them an option in their planning.
Escape was never far from their minds. She heard grumble after grumble about how cautious the Saxons were. When she remarked how strong and able they all looked now, grinning as she ran her fingers over the increased biceps on several arms, Bjarni laughed and demonstrated his new strength by lifting her up over his head. She glared at him, when he set her down, but he did not look at all contrite.
"You are at least ready for escape," she remarked.
"Aye, so much stone lifting has done us no harm," Odell replied. "When I return home, plowing my fields will be child's play."
"These walls cannot contain us, Kristen," Ohthere said seriously. "But it would do no good to break them down, without an axe to sever these chains first."
"I have not seen one in all these weeks," she said thoughtfully. "Every other kind of weapon is at hand in the hall, but not a single axe. It would not surprise me if they are locked away somewhere, Ohthere, for the Saxon is overly cautious in that way."
"Then we need the key for the door and these chains."
"Do you know who keeps it?" she asked.
"The wall builder, the one called Lyman."
She remembered him, but had not seen him since her separation from the men. "He does not come in the hall. He must live outside the manor."
She could see how that news was met. Their disappointment became her own. God's teeth, none of this was fair!
Ohthere chucked her under the chin. "Come now, Cousin, do not fret yourself about it. We will find a way somehow. They grow used to us. Someone will make a mistake sooner or later, and we will have our chance."
"They grow used to me, too, but they still do not trust me." She frowned. "Today is only the first time I have been let out of the hall."
"There is the wench Edrea that Bjarni is wooing. Do you think she could be persuaded to help if he succeeds in winning her affections?"
Kristen's eyes widened and then she laughed. "God's teeth, you think of everything. But now you mention it, she did seem disappointed that she would not bring your food this time." She looked pointedly at Bjarni. "How do you woo a wench when you cannot speak her tongue?"
He grinned roguishly. "Thorolf is teaching me the words I need to know."
"Ah, those words." She grinned too.
"Does the wench have freedom to come and go?" Ohthere asked now.
"Aye, as far as I know. But of Edrea I know very little, so I cannot say if she would help—even for Bjarni's sake. The servants all fear me still and barely speak to me, except for the old woman Eda, but she is very loyal to her lord. I will try to speak to Edrea, though, and see if she does have some feeling for Bjarni. I can at least tell her what a fine, loyal, and faithful man he is."
Kristen said this with another grin, for everyone knew what a womanizer the young Viking was, including herself. Yet he was in fact the most handsome among them. If any of them could win a young girl's heart and make her betray her own people, Bjarni was the one.
They continued to ply her with questions, wanting to know who the young lords were who had come to look them over the other day. They were surprised to learn that one was the King of these Saxons and that he was staying at Wyndhurst for a time. She had to describe him down to a hair, for he would make the perfect hostage if he ever got near enough to them again so they could grab him. With Alfred of Wessex in their hands and threatened, they could demand their freedom, and hers as well. It would be the easy way.
But although Kristen obliged them in telling all she could, she doubted her Saxon would ever let his King that close to the prisoners for just that reason. He was careless with his own person, but he would not be with Alfred.
She finally chided them all for letting their food get cold, and they went for the poorly carved wooden bowls they had for their use, bowls that gave up as much splinters as food—except Thorolf. He pulled Kristen down beside him to sit against the wall, twining his fingers with hers, which he rested on his bent knee.
He did not look at her, but out at the room. Ohthere had made a point of not asking her how she fared, for he could see with his eyes that she was well in mind and body. Thorolf had no such reluctance in addressing a delicate subject.
He came right to the point. "It is true, then, what the Saxon told me? You like him?"
Royce was their enemy. He had enslaved them all. She knew what Thorolf was thinking. How could he understand, when she did not?
Kristen did not hedge words either, saying plainly, "When I look at him, I feel wonderful inside. That has never happened to me before, Thorolf."
"You would have him for your husband?"
She grinned ruefully, though he did not see it. "I would, but he would not."
His fingers gently squeezed hers. "I feared you did not know it, that you expected him to honor you."
"I did not lose my mind or reason along with my . . . I know exactly what to expect. He likes me well enough now, but—"
"Now?"
"He thought I was a whore at first. Nay, Thorolf." She smiled as his eyes swung to her angrily. "You are supposed to laugh. I did. And I let him think it. He was disgusted and it kept him from me for a while. But I came to regret that he did leave me alone. I was most willing when he finally . . . As I said, he likes me well enough now, but he will not trust me farther than he can see me. And yet he keeps other men from me. He even had my chains removed while these young lordlings are staying here at Wyndhurst, so I could protect myself when he is not near."
"So you have him, or half of him?"
"Aye, half of him, and I will lose that half when he weds. And yet . . ."
She sighed instead of finishing. Thorolf squeezed her fingers again to let her know he understood. He would not be a hypocrite and tell her she was wrong to want the Saxon. He knew he would do exactly as she if their positions were reversed and he found himself desiring his foe. He would take his pleasure, too, while he could, even of an enemy. That she was a woman and not expected to feel that way about it would make little difference to her. She was her mother's daughter, and Brenna Haardrad was a bold one who thought of herself before she thought of what was proper for a woman.
"Do not fret over it, Kristen."
"Not fret?" Her tone was soft, traced with bewilderment. "Logic tells me I should hate him already. I did have hope," she admitted grudgingly. "But that has been crushed now that I have seen his betrothed. And yet, God help me, Thorolf, he took me swimming after he caught me attempting to escape. Why would he do that?"
"I suppose he had no pleasure in it?"
"He could have had his pleasure anywhere. He did not have to take me to the lake."
"Well, there you are. The man is bewitched by you, and that is not likely to change."
"Bewitched? Nay, I am the one who is bewitched. I know I will hate him eventually, but I would rather it be now than later. I wish he would marry soon and have done with me."
Thorolf grinned at the sullen tone, then burst into laughter when she scowled at him for it. "I pity your Saxon, wench, I really do. Done with you? Odin be praised, it is the other way around. When you are done with him, let us hope he is not too heart-stricken."
Kristen giggled at the unlikely notion of Royce being heart-stricken, and then she laughed heartily too. It was too absurd, really, but she appreciated Thorolf's trying to bolster her self-esteem.
That was how Royce saw her when he stepped into the open doorway: sitting practically in the Viking's lap, their hands entwined and laughing together. His first urge was to tear them apart and thrash the young Viking to a pulp, but he tamped it down. He had forgotten how these Vikings felt about her.
The room grown quiet made Kristen look to see why, and then she groaned inwardly. "I think I have stayed too long."
Thorolf's hand tightened on hers when she started to rise. "Will he come in here and get you, Kristen?"
His question appalled her. "Look at him. That is not his pleasant look, I can assure you. You want him to drag me out of here?"
"I wonder what would happen if he tried."
In that moment her thoughts apprehended his and she cried, "Thorolf!"
"We can take him, Kristen," he said quietly, his eyes locked with those of the Saxon as he spoke. "He will do as well as his King as a hostage. In here they cannot fire arrows at us from afar to force us to release him."
Her mind and body screamed nay, but her voice spoke reason. "I know him, Thorolf. Listen to me well. His people and his duty come first with him. He has it set in his mind that slaughter will be done if you are freed. He cannot be convinced otherwise. He will sacrifice himself before he will give the order for your release."
Thorolf had reasoning of his own. "His guards will not listen if his life is threatened."
"It will not work, I tell you!"
"Your cousin disagrees. Look at him, Kristen. Ohthere has already reached the same conclusion as I. If your Saxon is foolhardy enough to come in here to get you, then he deserves what happens."
God help her, she could almost hate Thorolf for forcing her to choose between them. If she ran out of here now, no one would stop her, but she would be denying her friends their chance for freedom, and there was no guarantee they would ever have another chance. But if she stayed . . . if she stayed, Royce could very well die.
Thorolf divined some of her thoughts, probably from her anguished expression. He loosened the grip on her hand which had kept her by his side. He was making her choose, leaving the decision wholly with her. But softly he said, "We will not kill him, Kristen. That would serve no purpose."
His words made no difference. The choice was no longer hers, for Royce's patience had run out. Instead of closing the door and forcing her out in some other way, his arrogance—his cursed, foolish arrogance—brought him forward. It was as if he walked in his own hall, with only his trusted servants surrounding him. That was how relaxed and at ease he was as he closed the distance between them.
Ohthere obviously did not believe this could happen. He had waited to see what Royce would do, but now that he had done the unlikely, Ohthere stood there doubting his own eyes. Thorolf must also have doubts now, for he rose, pulling Kristen up with him, his expression much less confident. Yet she felt the tension in his hand, still holding hers. He was still going to go through with it and try to overpower Royce. And she could not warn Royce, for that would only make it happen sooner, now that he was in the midst of them.
Vikings were by nature a superstitious lot. For men who would not step foot on a ship that they knew inside and out without making a sacrifice to their gods first, Royce's boldness, which bordered on sheer madness, had to unnerve them. It allowed him to walk through them without a single man moving to stop him. He had done it before and they had not believed it then, even with his guards standing about with arrows at the ready. But now, alone, with his sword still in his scabbard, with his hands empty . . .
He reached Kristen and Thorolf, stopping to stand in front of them. Thorolf released her hand. She expected to feel Royce's hand next, his long fingers curling about her wrist to drag her outside. His expression was nearly bland, yet she knew he had to be in the grips of a terrible rage to do what he had done.
She was past revealing emotion herself, her stomach tied up in knots, her nerves gone dead, numb, waiting . . . waiting.
Royce's hand shot out, but it was Thorolf he grabbed. In a move that was so swift it was almost a blur before her eyes, Royce was behind Thorolf and had the prisoner's neck twisted at an odd angle inside the arm he had circled round it, his other hand braced against the Viking's head. It would take no more than a second to give the twist that would break Thorolf's neck.
"Royce—" she began.
He cut her short, without looking at her, his tone, to her astonishment, dry. "Mayhap now you will leave, wench?"
Thorolf made a sound in his throat that drew her eyes worriedly to him, but what she saw made her emotions come back to life with a vengeance. He was choking on his own laughter! God's teeth! If he could think it was funny that his own plan had been turned around and used against him . . .
She gave the two men her back and stomped over to Ohthere. "Do you let him go, or do you let him kill Thorolf? Thorolf might think it amusing to find himself outwitted, but the Saxon does not share his humor. He will kill him."
"So I see," Ohthere replied, and then he too somehow found it amusing. With a grin he added, "The Saxon will leave, with no help from us, I think. Thor's teeth, he is ever a source of entertainment, that one. Let us be amused a bit more to see how he does it. Go on, child, take yourself out of here. I am sure he will follow after you."
He gave her a hug before he let her go, for it was unlikely she would be allowed to see them again after this incident, and they both knew it. Then he pushed her toward the door. She went, getting farewells and whacks on her bottom as she passed the others, just as she used to at home. Were they all mad to see the humor in what had happened, instead of nurturing the disappointment?
Well, while they were all laughing about this later, she would be dealing with Royce, and she had every reason to believe it would not be pleasant. She wasn't going to stand around and wait for his anger to wash over her. He had told her to leave. She did, making her own way back to the hall.