Page 18 of Viking in Love

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

H elp came from the lone stranger…

Caedmon and Geoff had been sitting before a reduced version of the Witan, “holding court” at a long table in the solar for more than two hours and no end in sight. You would have thought they were being tried for some high crime.

When Archbishop Dunstan announced the meeting several hours after the king’s arrival, he said there were three things on the agenda. Geoff’s wedding to Lady Moreton. Caedmon’s betrothal to Lady Breanne. The disappearance and possible murder of Lord Oswald, earl of Havenshire. Why the king’s council would need to be involved in those first two was beyond Caedmon’s understanding, and he had told the members so, to no avail. Ealdorman Orm of Donchester, the royal magistrate, had informed him in no uncertain terms, “Lands held by the nobility in Britain may be gained by Odal rights, but they are still under the king’s sufferance.”

“I take exception! Geoff and I have both served you well, Your Grace,” Caedmon told the king, who was leaning back in his chair, indolently ex amining his fingernails. “You have no cause to think we have acted in any way contrary to your wishes, had we known of them.”

King Edgar was very short—coming barely to Caedmon’s shoulder—tow-headed, and pudgy, but he considered himself a prize to females, none of whom dared to disagree. Of late, he had been encouraging the title “Edgar the Peaceable,” because he had managed to avoid any new wars, no matter that he paid Viking brigands to stay away.

And he had been giving Dunstan free reign to build one monastery after another, reinstating the Benedictine rule of poverty, chastity, and obedience, none of which applied to himself, of course, whose style of living was anything but religious. Secular clergy were being ejected without warning, and to date he had built twenty-five new monasteries and repaired that many existing ones.

An odd dichotomy, really. A king with a legendary sexual appetite aligned with a priest who hated women.

“We do not question your loyalty, Caedmon. Nor yours, Geoffrey,” the king said, although his tone said otherwise. “But we do question your timing. Why the haste?”

“I fell in love on first sight,” Geoff said with a perfectly serious expression on his face.

“With a hunchback?” the king scoffed.

“Who lisps,” Lord Orm added, also with skepticism.

“Sybil is beautiful on the inside,” Geoff claimed with a long sigh.

Caedmon almost bit his tongue. Geoff was the most superficial man when it came to appearances, his own and his women.

“Well said, Geoffrey. A good sentiment,” Archbishop Dunstan said, impressed with Geoff’s piety.

What an idiot!

“Truth to tell, Geoffrey, I came here this morn, expecting to dissolve your presumptuous handfast marriage. There are others of more merit who could benefit from the Heatherby estates.” The king glanced pointedly at the two thanes, sons of his cousins, who sat on either side of him, sulking. “However, after some consideration, methinks that the marriage should go forward on the morrow.” Under his breath, he muttered to the two thanes, “And I wish him joy of her.”

In other words, the two thanes did not want the lands enough to bed a hunchback. Caedmon had no idea what would happen in future times if Geoff and a beautified Sybil ran into any of them. He supposed they could say that a holy relic rubbed over the hump had caused it to disappear. Bloody hell!

“That is not to say there will be no penalty,” Dunstan was quick to add. “Let us say, twenty mancuses of gold.”

Geoff was about to protest, but Caedmon squeezed his forearm in warning. Now was not the time to argue.

“Now, ’tis your turn, Lord Caedmon,” Dunstan said.

“You may leave us, Geoffrey,” Dunstan added.

“Oh, I do not mind staying,” Geoff started to say, looking to Caedmon for guidance.

“’Tis not necessary,” he whispered to his friend. “Make sure the women are ready.” Breanne and her two sisters were presumably sitting outside this room all this time, waiting for their own interrogation.

Once Geoff left, Edgar sat up straighter. Caedmon was fairly certain he had a cushion under his arse to give him height. “Last time I heard, and ’twas only a few months ago, you were adamant about not remarrying. Tell us of your relationship with the Viking princess? What made you change your mind?”

The two thanes bracketing Edgar sat up straighter, too. It became apparent to Caedmon that while Heatherby was no longer of interest to them because the hunchbacked Sybil went with the package, Larkspur was not so encumbered. They wanted his land.

Caedmon warned himself to tread carefully. “That is how I felt at the time, but then I met Lady Breanne.”

“Is she the one with red spots?” Edgar asked Dunstan.

The archbishop nodded.

“How long will she have them?” Edgar wanted to know.

Why in bloody hell does he care? If he thinks to force her to his bed, he will have to plow through me first! “I have no idea. Is there a reason why you ask?” Caedmon’s voice was icy with affront. No one in the room could doubt that he was giving the king a silent warning.

Edgar tented his short fingers in front of his face, staring at him with barely concealed hostility. “Why should we give our permission for this betrothal?”

Caedmon would have liked to ask since when was a royal approval needed for anything involving this remote, small estate?

Just then, the door swung open and in strode a man clearly of noble stature. He was tall, his black hair sprinkled with gray, wearing a fine wool cloak over soft leather breeches and tunic. Gold shone from his shoulder brooch and belt. It was Eirik, earl of Ravenshire, kin-by-marriage to Breanne’s sister Tyra. Caedmon did not know him personally, but he had seen him at a distance in the past at royal events.

Geoff followed Eirik in and sat down beside Caedmon, whispering, “The women are primed for battle.”

“Please tell me that you jest.”

Eirik made a short bow from the waist at the “royal” table and said, “Greetings, Your Eminence. Greetings, Your Highness. I came as soon as I heard a meeting of the Witan was being called. I must have missed my invitation.” Without being asked, Eirik pulled a chair up to the table where the others sat. He turned then and winked at Caedmon, so quickly no one else saw it.

“This is not a formal meeting of the Witan,” King Edgar said in his usual whiny voice.

Caedmon had mixed feelings about Lord Ravenshire’s arrival. On the one hand, he resented the implication that he could not handle his own affairs. On the other hand, a good soldier never looked a gift horse in the mouth. Or, as Rashid would say, “Never look a gift camel in the mouth.” It was a sign of his melting brain that he was making up camel proverbs in his head.

“Continue as you were.” Eirik motioned toward them with a wave of his hand. “Do not let my presence inhibit you.” The latter was ludicrous, considering how uncomfortable he was making the other Witan members.

“King Edgar asked why he should give permission for my betrothal to Lady Breanne,” Caedmon explained to Eirik, whose eyes widened just the tiniest bit at the news of a betrothal. “I was about to say that I married twice to satisfy the crown’s wishes, and I vowed that I would ne’er wed again, but that was afore I met my lady love, a gentle, sweet lass. She is everything a man could want in a wife.” He was sure that Geoff and Wulf would laugh their arses off one day in recounting his description of his fierce Viking lass. Breanne would, too, for that matter.

“But she is a heathen Viking,” Dunstan protested.

“I told you afore that her family has been baptized.”

“Do not think that I am unaware of the Norsemen’s practice of being baptized as a convenience to travel in our lands.” Dunstan sneered. “They are no more Christians than camels.”

Good thing Rashid was not here. He would not like the maligning of camels.

“Have a caution whom you speak ill of, Your Eminence,” Eirik warned. “I am half Viking.”

Dunstan made a harrumphing sound.

“I understand the wench has a sizeable dowry,” Edgar said. “How much and how is it to be allocated?”

What he really meant was, how much would he get if he allowed the marriage? A marriage that would never be happening. What a mess!

“I have not even talked with her father yet. Until that happens, I cannot say.”

“What is this really about?” Eirik wanted to know. “The king, two thanes, an archbishop, and an ealdorman do not travel to the far reaches of the kingdom to discuss a betrothal that represents a pittance compared to the rest of the realm.”

Dunstan tapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “The murder of the earl of Havenshire…that is what this is about, and we have reason to believe his widow is the culprit.”

Eirik turned to Caedmon with mock dismay on his face. “Is this true?”

Caedmon shrugged. “I did not know they found a body.”

Dunstan’s face flushed with chagrin. “We do not need a body to know there has been foul play.”

“Are you saying that this whole flummery is being played over a murder that might not have taken place?” Eirik’s face was livid with outrage.

“Call in the women. Let us get to the bottom of this vile situation.” Edgar was probably bored by now. “Know this, Caedmon, any persons who helped Lady Havenshire escape are considered accomplices and will be judged and punished accordingly, and that includes you and the sisters.”

“Escape? How can someone escape when they have never been charged?” Eirik glowered at the other Witan members. “This is an exercise in stupidity, if you ask me.”

Caedmon stood and snarled at the king. “Accomplice? The injustice of your insult cuts deep. Do not threaten me, Your Highness, when I have done naught but give you good service over the years.”

Now it was Edgar’s turn to flush with embarrassment. Backtracking, he said, “My apologies, Caedmon. I do value your service. Understand our dilemma, though. A valued nobleman and close friend is missing, and the only clues to his whereabouts lie with the women under your protection.”

“Get the women, and let us be done with it,” Dunstan ordered.

And then the terrible trouble just got more terrible…

The longer they waited, the more nervous they got.

Breanne and her sisters had been sitting at the far end of the great hall, closest to the solar, for more than two hours, waiting their turn. The only thing that gave them hope was the arrival of Lord Ravenshire and his wife.

Lady Ravenshire, who asked to be called Eadyth, was a fascinating woman, and beautiful. Even though she must have been close to fifty, her naturally silvered hair and clear skin belied her years. In fact, she had once been known as the Silver Jewel of Northumbria because of her beauty. Right now, she was in deep conversation with Drifa and Ingrith about her beekeeping operation. She had already promised Breanne help in setting up her woodworking stall in Jorvik when she was ready.

Rashid sat with them, but he had been advised to remain quiet or stay as far away as possible from Dunstan, who hated Arabs almost as much as he hated women. Never mind that Rashid was a far-famed healer and comrade of some well-placed men. “Even the camel knows not to stand in a place of danger and trust in miracles.”

“What does that mean?” Breanne asked on a deep sigh.

“It means that Allah helps those who help themselves. You and your sisters have done well.” Rashid patted her hand. “Making yourselves scarce and unattractive. Huddling behind the shield of strong men. Speaking up when all else fails. You are fighters, all of you, and that is good in the eyes of Allah.”

“There is fighting, and then there is fighting. King Edgar does not play by the rules. He is a vile man,” Breanne answered.

Rashid shrugged. “An ass is an ass even if laden with gold.”

Hearing Rashid’s words of wisdom, Eadyth smiled, then took note of Breanne’s nervousness as her fingers kept going to her wart to make sure it was still in place. The kind lady said, “Do not fret over your disguises. Did I tell you how I fooled Lord Ravenshire into believing I was an old crone when we were first married? For months and months, by ashing my face, cackling, and using the transparent beekeeping net material, my husband never suspected. ’Tis my belief that men see what they anticipate seeing, not the real thing.”

“In other words, men are clueless?” Breanne said.

“Definitely,” Eadyth replied.

“I heard that,” Eirik said, coming up to them. He leaned down and kissed his wife on the cheek before telling them, “Time for you to go in.”

They all stood and Eirik turned away from his wife. “Oh, my God!” he said, taking one look, then almost jumping back in shock. It was the first he had seen them since his arrival when he had gone directly to the solar. Now, eyes wide with amazement, he burst out in laughter.

Breanne’s hair was braided and arranged on top of her head to expose more skin covered with the “contagious” spots. Caedmon had helped her apply her wart earlier in the kitchen, an exercise that involved lots of touching, very little of it near her nose.

Ingrith was in her fat costume and had even put wads of fleece inside her mouth to give herself puffy cheeks, which meant that she slurred when she talked, as if she was drukkin . Vana was all croned up with blackened teeth, bent posture, and a cane. And, of course, Sybil had her hunchback.

They all hurried toward the solar and what they hoped would not be their doom. Caedmon and Geoff stood outside in the hall, ready to escort them inside. The serious expressions on their faces would be enough to scare them witless, if they were not already at that point.

The women, along with Caedmon and Geoffrey, sat on benches facing the long table where Eirik had rejoined the other Witan members.

King Edgar’s beady eyes examined the women before he curled his upper lip with distaste. “Let us get on with it. I am hungry.”

Every person in the room knew what his appetite was for, even Dunstan, who whispered some admonishment in his ear. King Edgar just shrugged. He would do as he willed, then go build a church or two in penance.

Lord Orm, the magistrate, started the inquiry. “Where is Lady Havenshire?”

At first, no one spoke, but then Breanne realized her sisters were looking to her to be spokesman. “I do not know.”

“When did you see her last?”

Breanne glanced at her two sisters, each of whom shrugged.

“A sennight or two ago.”

She could tell that Lord Orm was getting impatient with her terse answers. Caedmon had advised her to volunteer nothing.

Dunstan slammed a hand on the table. “Where did you see her last? Why did she leave? Who traveled with her? Where was she going?”

She raised her chin bravely, trying her best not to be intimidated, but her voice came out wobbly when she started to speak, helped only when Caedmon surreptitiously squeezed her thigh. “Vana was grieving for her husband, who had disappeared, but she was being questioned in a threatening manner…as you are questioning us now.”

Every member of the Witan glared at her audacity, except Lord Ravenshire, who favored her with a wink and a small smile of encouragement.

“With no one to protect Vana, except for our two Norse guards, my sisters and I convinced Vana to come north with us to visit my betrothed’s estate.” She flashed Caedmon a simpering smile, and he reciprocated by lacing the fingers of one hand with hers. “After we were here a few days, Vana yearned to return to Stoneheim and my father’s care. Our Norse guards, Ivan and Ivar, accompanied her. Once her husband returns home to Havenshire, she will, of course, return.”

“Why did you and your sisters not go with her?”

“Because I wanted to spend some time with my betrothed, and my sisters agreed to stay until the wedding…or at least until the formal betrothal ceremony.” Breanne gulped over the lump in her dry throat. Lying drained a person, she found.

And King Edgar was still suspicious.

Breanne was repulsed by the Saxon king’s shifty eyes and loose lips, which bespoke a lecherous disposition. He was renowned for surveying every room he encountered for his next prey, sexual or otherwise. He was scare older than twenty-one, but his dissipated face made him look a decade older. Sybil had told them this morning of some of the punishments Edgar had levied in the past, sometimes on a whim: slitting the nose, cutting off hands or feet, plucking out eyes, leaving a body out in the elements exposed to the pecking of vultures. Thank Odin that she and her sisters and Sybil had had the foresight to make themselves unattractive. Now, if only they could convince him they were not guilty of murder.

“As for you, Caedmon, you have been a good soldier for me,” King Edgar was continuing, “but I am convinced that your princess knows more than she is telling. Which therefore follows that you know, too.”

Caedmon jumped to his feet and yelled, “You have no right to dishonor me.”

The king jumped to his feet, yelling back, “I have every right.” Pointing to two of his soldiers propped against a far wall. “Restrain him in the dungeon.”

Breanne stood, too, at Caedmon’s side. “If you put him in a dungeon, you will have to imprison me, too.”

“Shhh. Sit down, Breanne,” Caedmon told her, trying to shove her back down to the bench by pressing on her shoulder, to no avail. Then he hissed at her, “Your wart has fallen off.”

Turning her face away from the Witan, she reached into a placket of her gown, then attached another wart. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous. Sit down.”

“If Breanne is going to the dungeon, then I am, too,” slurred Ingrith, who stood with difficulty, considering her bulk, and folded her arms over her hugely padded chest.

“Me, too,” said Drifa, with a cackle, exposing her blackened teeth.

“We have no dungeons at Heatherby,” Geoff said, standing at Caedmon’s other side. “Do we?” he asked Sybil.

“Nay. Just a cold-storage room that we use for the occasional villain.”

“That will do,” Edgar said.

“Enough!” Eirik said, stomping over to hover above King Edgar’s much smaller frame. “You cannot imprison your subjects for an imaginary murder just because you suspect they know something.”

“I can do whate’er I want,” the king said petulantly.

Everyone started yelling and talking at once, including Dunstan, who was trying to calm down the king.

Thus it was, in the midst of all the chaos, that at first no one heard the guardsmen at the door announce new arrivals in great numbers on the horizon, coming to Heatherby. Mayhap as many as a hundred heavily armed horsemen.

“Who is it?” the king demanded to know. “Friend or foe?”

The guardsman said, “They are too far away yet. But they do carry a black flag with what looks like blood dripping from a stone.”

“Uh-oh!” three Viking princesses said as one.

As everyone rushed to get out of the door and up to the ramparts, Caedmon turned slowly to look at her. He lifted one eyebrow in question. “What now?”

“Vikings.”

“Vikings?”

“Stoneheim Vikings. And if they carry the banner, my father is with them.”

“Is that good news or bad news?”

“Well, let me just say, my father has seen more than fifty winters, and he has not left the Norselands in twenty years.”

It was Caedmon then who said, “Uh-oh!”