Page 7 of Viking in Love

CHAPTER SEVEN

C an’t we all just be friends?…

For about the tenth time that day, Caedmon crept into his bedchamber at the far end of the upper corridor to check on the sleeping princess from hell. Not only was she still sleeping, for six straight uninterrupted hours, but soft snores emanated from her open mouth.

’Twas a sign of his crumbling control that he found her snores charming. Not that he would tell anyone that, least of all this feminine plague on his life.

Rashid had insisted on a hearth fire so Breanne would not get a chill. As a result, the room was hot, and she was covered with only a thin linen sheet. There was no longer any question of her having caught the lung fever, she was just exhausted, according to the healer, who also promised the six remaining patients in his care would be on their feet, good as ever, within days.

With absolutely no hesitation, he lifted the sheet to stare at her nude body. She was slim but well proportioned, with small but firm breasts crowned with raspberry-tinted areolas and nip ples which were turgid even when at rest. The same red hair that covered her head comprised a curly thatch over her mons. Her arms and thighs were well defined with muscle due to the ridiculously hard labor she insisted on engaging in. Her over-generous mouth was too large for her face to be beautiful, but instead, to his mind, it gave her the sensual aura of a temptress.

Pathetic sod that he was, he smiled, knowing how much she would hate that image. Was he reverting to a boyling that he got his pleasures in such small-minded ways?

Nay, there was naught boyish about him at the moment. He would have to be a monk not to be aroused by her body, and he had ne’er leaned toward priestly abstinence. He adjusted his breeches to accommodate his thickening.

Caedmon had a problem, and not just the lust rising in him like summer sap, thick and warm. The problem was that this woman and her sisters, not to mention the talented healer, were doing too much good at Larkspur, and he feared his men and his people would expect that same standard when they departed, which they would soon.

He was closing the door softly when he noticed Lady Havenshire walking toward him.

“Are you going to the great hall for dinner?” he asked.

She nodded.

He held out his arm for her.

She flinched.

What? Did she think he was going to hit her? Ah! , he thought, recalling the bruises about her face and neck which were almost gone now, though her arm was still in a sling. That is precisely what she had imagined.

Before he had a chance to ask about that, she spoke. “M’lord Caedmon, I must thank you for letting us stay here under your protection.”

“Protection?” That word again!

Her pretty face, framed by almost white Norse hair in one long braid down her back, heated with color. Vana the White, she was appropriately called in her land. “Did I say protection? I meant hospitality.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“We will only stay until word comes from my brother-by-marriage Adam of Hawkshire or his kinsman Lord Eirik of Ravenshire. They will be arranging my safe passage back to my father’s home in the Norselands.”

Safe passage? Now there was another odd choice of word. “Why did you not go to Eoforwic in the first place?”

“Eoforwic? Oh. We Norse refer to it as Jorvik.”

“Ships leave from the market town’s port almost daily.” And Larkspur is way off course on the route from Havenshire to Eoforwic.

Her blush deepened from pink to deep rose. “Ah…uh…there were matters to be resolved first.”

Caedmon had a bad feeling about these “matters.” A very bad feeling. “I have not yet offered my sympathies on the death of your husband…or disappearance.”

She nodded her acceptance of his sympathy. Not surprisingly, considering Oswald’s character, she did not appear to be in the throes of grief.

“I assume those are the matters to be resolved…matters related to your husband.”

Her throat worked with visible gulps of distress. “We did think to stay at the monastery at Lindisfarne, despite the ill feelings there toward anyone of Norse background.”

Years ago, the first Viking assaults on Britain took place at Lindisfarne, also known as Holy Island. Norsemen considered church goods…gold chalices, bejeweled scepters, silver crosses…to be well-deserved plunder when taken from greedy clerics.

“But Rashid angered the monk healers when he tossed out a large pottery jar of leeches. Rashid and Adam do not believe in bloodletting.”

Caedmon had to smile, picturing the pompous monks being chastised by what they would consider a heathen healer and pagan princesses. But then he noted the continuing distress on her pretty face as she worried her bottom lip, staring up at him with fear.

He put a hand on her arm, ignoring her discomfort at his touch. “Is there aught I can do to help?”

“Nay! Just let us stay until help…I mean…”

He waved a hand dismissively. “You are welcome.” For a time. A short time. Most of all, he could not kick them out on their lovely arses without warning, since Breanne and Rashid had cared for Piers and the others inflicted with lung fever. He owed them.

“I promise that my sisters and I will do all we can to reciprocate your kindness.”

Oh, please, do not. Enough is enough. “M’lady, look about you,” he said as they entered the great hall. “My keep…every space in it…is cleaner than it has ever been, thanks to your efforts.” New rushes mixed with juniper tops crackled under foot and emitted sweet odors. Laundry was being done daily so that there were always fresh garments and bed linens. He would not be surprised to find one of the princesses hanging from the rafters dusting cobwebs from the high beams. To his consternation, even the swords and shields in his weapons room had been polished to a high sheen.

“’Tis the least I could do.”

I shudder to think what the best might be. He led her up to the high table and seated her next to Drifa, her half-Arab, half-Norse sister of the petite body and slanted eyes. She was the one obsessed with gardening.

Nodding to Drifa, he remarked with dry humor, “I noticed that you swept the dirt in the courtyard today and planted more rosebushes.” And disrupted my men in their military exercises every time you bent over. Not only had she planted more bushes, but she had erected little knee-high spiked-twig fences around them to prevent the dogs from lifting their legs there.

Like her sister, she blushed prettily and announced, “The kitchen herb garden is flourishing once again,” as if she were handing him a pot of gold. While he was appreciative, he would have preferred the pot of gold.

“Next I am thinking of a grape arbor.”

Help me, God! He made his way to the center of the table and plopped down next to Wulf, who was staring fixedly at the food lined up before him.

“Now what?” Caedmon inquired.

“Look at this. Even King Edgar does not have such fine fare when holding a grand feast.”

He surveyed the table and sighed. Thanks to Ingrith, yet another of the princesses, his kitchen was, indeed, now producing mouth-watering dishes fit for a…king. Usually, the regular evening meal included bread, water or ale, a companaticum or whatever happened to be in the broth simmering in the huge kitchen cauldron, and, if they were lucky, meat, fish, or whatever was available in season. Instead, he saw slabs and joints of mutton and venison, vinegar-brined sea trout, pigeon in lemon wine sauce, lentils with scraps of lamb, baked lamprey sprinkled with dill, mashed turnip, and a sallat of beets, shredded cabbage, nuts, and apples in a mustard-looking aspic.

“What is that?” he said, dipping his spoon into one wooden platter, then licking his lips at the delicious taste.

“Do you know nothing, Caedmon? ’Tis blank-mangere . Chicken in cumin cream.”

“Where would I have ever learned that?” he asked indignantly. “How did you know?”

“I asked Ingrith.”

He smacked him on the arm, then remarked, “Ingrith?”

“Yea. Ingrith and I have something in common.”

“What, pray tell?”

“Skin.” He laughed.

“You can make mock of me, and all this,” he said, waving a hand to indicate his great hall with all its cleanliness and fine food, “but it all poses a problem for me, which is no laughing matter.”

“What?”

“Some of the higher-born men in my ranks are thinking about inviting their wives for extended visits.”

“That could only be good for Larkspur.”

“You would think so. Men longing for home do not make the best soldiers. But that presumes that conditions would stay the same here at Larkspur, and that presumes that the princesses will stay, which is not going to happen.”

Digging into a melt-in-your-mouth apple tart covered with sweet cream, Caedmon closed his eyes to relish the flavors.

“There is an even worse problem,” he said then. “What if word gets out that I set a finer table than the royal house of Edgar the Greedy?”

“He will be here faster than a dog on a bone. But think, Caedmon, what will he do when he sees four beautiful princesses here?”

“Bloody hell!”

“Edgar the Depraved will take them to bed, sure as sin. All of them. Mayhap even all of them together. Willing or not.”

They both observed a moment of silence, taking in that mind-picture.

“If Edgar had no qualms about raping a nun and keeping her captive, princesses would pose no obstacle,” he concluded. “We have to get them out of here.”

“We?”

“We.”

“When?”

“On the morrow.”

“I cannot wait to see this. Wake me if I oversleep.”

“By your leave, m’lords, I could not help but overhear,” Rashid injected from Caedmon’s other side. Caedmon had forgotten he was there. “Remember, after the game, the king and the pawn both go in the same box.”

“Thank you for that wisdom,” he said politely to Rashid, then turned to Wulf, mouthing silently, “What does that mean?”

Wulf shrugged, then smirked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“’Tis not nothing. What amuses you so?”

“You.”

“The princesses will need more than one day to depart,” Rashid interjected again.

“Why?” he and Wulf both asked at the same time.

Bypassing their question, Rashid went on, “May Allah weep, but the princesses are in need of a friend. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Huh?” he and Wulf asked together, again. Like minds and all that. Or like lackwits, more like.

Caedmon frowned, trying to figure out what the Arab was implying. “Are you saying that the princesses and I have an enemy in common?”

“As you say.” Rashid stood, seemed to touch his forehead, nose, mouth, and chest in one quick motion, then bowed from the waist at both of them, before walking away.

He and Wulf looked at each other, then both gasped.

“Edgar,” Wulf guessed.

“Bloody hell!” Caedmon exclaimed, pounding his empty cup of ale on the table. “Bloody, bloody hell!”

And then the you-know-what hit the medieval fan…

Breanne awakened slowly in a dark room, except for the light from a single candle on a nearby low table and the embers glowing in the fireplace hearth.

She should feel guilty, having slept all afternoon and into the evening, but she felt wonderful. As she sat up, raising her arms high to stretch, the thin sheet covering her fell, revealing her nakedness.

Her nudity was of no concern. Most folks slept that way, except in the harsh winter cold. But how she got to be unclothed was a puzzle. Last she recalled was the loathsome lout picking her up from Pier’s bedside and carrying her here. Is it possible—

Just then, the door flew open and said loathsome lout stood there, legs braced in a defiant stance, fury dancing in his hard blue eyes.

“Eeeeek!” she yelped, pulling the cloth up to her shoulders. “Get out of my bedchamber.”

“’Tis my bedchamber.”

She glanced around. “Oh. Then, get out of your bedchamber whilst I put on some clothing.”

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the door frame. “I think not.”

“Well, I am not getting out of this bed until you do.”

“Mayhap I will join you.”

“You would not dare.”

“I would dare much in my present mood.”

“What has your bowels in a knot this time?”

“Do not push me, wench. I am beyond angry.”

“Why?”

“Get your arse out of that bed. I want you and the rest of your princess brood out of my keep and on your way.”

“Brood?”

“Brood, horde, troop, herd, flock, passel of trouble, whatever you want to call yourselves, it matters not to me. Just begone.”

“That is not nice.”

“I am not trying to be nice.”

“Are you not even a little bit grateful that we nursed your children and servants back to health?”

“I am very grateful. That is why I will provide six men to guard your way to wherever you want to go.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Something has happened.”

“You could say that.”

“What?”

“I know your bloody secret.”

Her heart skipped a beat, then began racing. “You do? Who told you?”

He shrugged.

Well, he was bound to find out sooner or later if they remained here. “You could at least offer sympathy for our plight.”

“I could also turn you over my knee and paddle your arse.”

“You are such a coarse creature.”

He just stared at her, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

“We did not mean to kill him.”

“What? ” Caedmon’s eyes nigh bulged with horror, and his jaw worked, unable to speak, at first.

Oooh, this was not good.

He sank down into a chair and stared at her as if she had sprouted horns. “You killed the king?”

“Do not be silly. Of course not.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. But then, his still angry gaze stabbed her. “Who did you kill?”

“You rat! You told me that you already knew.”

“I knew that you had done something to annoy the king. How was I to guess your secret was murder?”

“Well, that is not exactly true.”

“Why is that not exactly true?” he asked wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

How to make our dilemma more palatable? Hmmm. I hate pleading our cause to this lout. “The king might not know…yet. Perchance, if the gods shine favor on us, he will ne’er know.”

“Firstly, who is ‘us’?”

“Me and my sisters.”

“What is it that you and your sisters have done?”

She mumbled her answer.

“What did you say?”

“I said we killed the earl of Havenshire,” she nigh yelled.

He put his face in his hands and appeared to be counting under his breath. When he raised his head, he demanded, “Tell me everything.”

Must I? “I would feel better if I were clothed first.”

“I would feel better if you had never come here.”

Me, too. She glared at him, then told him the entire story. By the time she was done, he appeared stunned.

It was a stunning story, she had to admit. “Someday you will tell this story to your grandchildren, and you will probably laugh about it.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” He stared at her, then shook his head with disbelief. “You put a Saxon nobleman at the bottom of a privy?” Then, “How did you fit him through the hole?”

Men! They homed in on the most irrelevant details. “It was a new garderobe, just being built.”

Caedmon smiled, then went serious. “This is the worst thing that could have happened.”

Dost think so, lackbrain? “I know!”

“I was not referring to you. My hold on Lark spur is tenuous at best. Edgar could take it away on a whim. My hiding the killers of one of his noblemen would constitute more than a whim.”

“I did not think of that.”

“I daresay you did not think at all.”

I wonder what would happen if I dumped a pitcher of water over his fool head. Oh, I forgot. I would have to get out of bed first. “There is no need for sarcasm.”

“M’lady, you have no idea—”

A knock interrupted what further vitriol he was about to hurl at her.

Wulf stuck his head in the doorway. “I was sent up by the three princesses. They are worried about what you are doing to their sister.”

“As well they should be.”

Wulf glanced her way and grinned his greeting, amused at her state of undress, no doubt. Then he arched his brows at Caedmon.

“’Twould seem that the lovely princesses are actually cold-blooded murderesses.”

“Oh, please, Caedmon. I cannot wait for your explanation.”

“He exaggerates,” she said. Though not by much, unfortunately.

“Hardly,” Caedmon disagreed. Turning to his friend, he said dryly, “The five princesses killed Lord Oswald and buried him in a privy.”

“How did they get him through the hole?”

“Men!” Breanne rolled her eyes. “We chopped him up into little pieces. How do you think?”

“Well, Oswald always was a piece of shit,” Wulf quipped, then immediately added, “Excuse my language, m’lady.”

“’Tis no more than we have all said of him at one time or another, with gentler language.”

Wulf was silent for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Really, Caedmon, being around you is such fun.”