‘How did you know about the roof?’ she asked Moir quietly as they were leaving the room.
Lights sparkled again deep in his eyes and she wondered that she had ever considered them like ice. ‘In my experience, churches always need new roofs.’
‘Should anything change, you will be sent for, Northman.’ The priest’s voice floated after them.
Moir halted on his way towards the door. ‘Will Lady Ansithe indulge me in this?’
Ansithe nodded, understanding what he was asking. ‘You and your men will be given time to make your goodbyes to your friends should they be beyond saving, but my advice is to trust Father Oswald’s judgement.’
* * *
Moir grabbed his pendant and felt the smooth amber against his fingers as he left the infirmary. Duty before pleasure. A better man than his father. The last words of his mother. They steadied him. He knew what he had to do.
Moir slowed his steps as they made their way back to his prison. He touched her arm, halting their progress.
‘What is it now, Northman?’ Her hand inched towards her eating knife.
‘I owe you a great life debt for standing up to the priest and trying to save my friends. I know the power priests hold in Mercia,’ he said quickly before she panicked.
Her hand stilled. ‘Nothing special. I like to avoid unnecessary deaths.’
He breathed out. Crisis adverted. He tore his gaze from her.
‘Palni and I go back a long way. He is one of my oldest friends. He is only on this expedition because I asked him to come. I have enough blood on my hands without adding his death to the tally.’
He choked back the words, acknowledging that she had taken a chance in examining the men in the byre. Someone else might have considered it an escape attempt and refused to help. He winced as he thought about the loose stone at the base of the back wall. If they had succeeded in escaping, given the state of Palni’s leg, something he had not truly appreciated until he saw it in the sunlight, he would have been digging at least one grave before they returned to Andvarr. Contrary to his expectation, Ansithe had helped them and had fought with the priest to get the treatment required. She had treated them far better than they deserved.
‘We need to get you back to your men, so you can tell them that Father Oswald intends to save lives, rather than drink blood.’ She gave a strangled laugh and started walking briskly towards the byre.
If they made it there before he could explain, Moir knew the chance would have slipped through his fingers. ‘I promised to re-roof the church. I intend to keep that promise if you will grant me the freedom to do it.’
‘It is a big task for one man.’
‘Less for four. The men and I will work for our keep,’ he said before she dismissed the offer. If they could do this, it solved many problems. ‘We will work for our friends who are to be saved. Your buildings and lands cry out for attention. Let us help you get the manor ready for your family’s return.’
Ansithe missed a step. Moir instinctively put out a hand to steady her. Her eyes betrayed myriad browns, greens and a few blues. A man could study them for a long while and never discern all the exact shades. After a long heartbeat, she pulled away. ‘You will do what?’
‘Keeping us locked away will do nothing for you or your lands except cause men to be idle guarding other men who do not need to be guarded. There are urgent things which need to be done on this estate in addition to mending the church roof. More than enough to occupy my men and me until the guards arrive from court.’ He listed on his fingers ten items he had noticed during his walk there, starting with the sorry state of the byre’s thatched roof and ending with the unsatisfactory condition of the threshing barn.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘There are sound reasons why these things haven’t been done yet.’
‘Little reason for them to be delayed further. Your father will be impressed to see how well you have cared for the land while he was gone if they are done.’
She put a hand to her throat. Something flashed in her eyes, but was quickly masked. ‘My father would be proud of me? He rarely is.’
Her voice trembled on the word proud as if she suspected that he wouldn’t be. Moir frowned. After what she had done and the risks she had taken, her father should be. But it was not his place to become involved in her life. All his muscles tensed. Working was a way to keep his men fit and occupied for when the escape opportunity presented itself—after they had departed with the guards.
‘A well-managed manor and lands is always an asset.’
Ansithe chewed her bottom lip, turning it the colour of a summer sunset before a thunderstorm.
He forced his eyes to focus on his prison rather than the curve of her mouth. She was not for him. Ever.
‘And this will be how you repay your life debt? Fixing this estate?’
‘Yes. You need these jobs completed before your father returns. And you have my pledge that my men and I will not try to escape while we complete the tasks.’
Ansithe made her gaze sweep the yard and see the estate with fresh eyes. Not the cosiness of the place or how well everything fitted together or how beloved it was, but the way there was a gaping hole in the byre’s roof and the barn door hung by only one of its hinges and the walls about the sheep pens had fallen into disrepair. Shearing was coming up soon and the woods about the manor desperately needed coppicing or the trees would grow too big to be used.
Extra pairs of hands were needed. It would mean that these men were not just more mouths to feed, but contributing to the prosperity of the manor. It would also mean taking a risk and allowing them to move freely about the estate. Ecgbert would have argued against it and would have enlisted Cynehild’s aid in refusing it. But he wasn’t here. These prisoners were her responsibility so it was her decision to make.
Ansithe pressed a hand against her stomach and bade the sudden butterflies to be gone. Moir was right—if she could show her father that she was truly capable and the manor had prospered under her leadership, it would be one more reason why she should remain here as the trusted housekeeper, rather than being offered as part of an alliance to some lord her father wanted to cultivate.
‘And you will give your pledge not to escape?’ She paused and searched her mind for the correct phrase to make him agree to her scheme. ‘As a life debt? Something which cannot be broken without dire consequences for your soul.’
He gave short laugh. ‘You know more about my culture than you want to admit, Kyrie.’
The nickname and accompanying laugh warmed her down to her toes. She took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the fluttering which had started in the pit of her stomach. She was supposed to be immune from such things. She knew the limitations of her physical charms and rejoiced instead in her practical nature, the strength in her arms which enabled her to pull a bowstring and the way her brain worked. But his look had her wishing that she was somehow wrong and that he could see beyond the purely physical.
‘I may not have travelled much, but I have listened.’ She fixed him with her gaze. ‘Will you swear your oath on penalty of death?’
‘I want those men to live. I want all my remaining men to return to our jaarl. I want to be able to look him in the eye and say that I did what I vowed to do despite the odds being stacked against me.’ He clasped one hand to his chest. ‘You willingly have my pledge, Lady Ansithe. My men and I will not try to escape from you.’
Ansithe locked eyes with him. There was a warm spark in the ice blue she’d missed before. It would be so easy to tumble into his gaze. She put a hand to her temple. She had to think sensibly, rather than wishing for impossibilities. Robust common sense had saved her from falling into folly during her marriage and it would save her now. Men were not interested in her, not in that way. ‘Why are you so willing to pledge that you won’t try to escape?’
His eyes slid away from hers. ‘I
made a promise a long time ago and I intend to hold to that promise despite the daunting task in front of me. I keep my men safe. I will do everything in my power to bring them back alive.’
She assessed him from under her lashes. There was more to this promise than he wanted to reveal.
‘Do we have a bargain?’ he pressed.
She tried to think of all the reasons why this was a bad idea, but right now they seemed trivial, particularly when she looked into his eyes. She held out her hand. ‘We have a bargain.’
His fingers gripped hers with a firm but oddly gentle grasp. It was the sort of hand which offered safety, rather than harm. It was the sort of hand a woman could believe in. It bore no semblance to the flabby handshake of her late husband or to Cedric’s damp one. He slowly raised her fingers to his mouth. His touch was butterfly light, but it caused a warm curl to develop in the pit of her stomach.
She hurriedly withdrew her fingers as if they were burnt. She had no business comparing him to her husband. At least her short-lived marriage had been advantageous to the family. Her desires were unimportant. Her duty was to her family, particularly after what she had done to them all as a young girl. She was the practical one. ‘Do not give me cause to regret this.’
Her voice was far more breathless than she wished. And she knew her cheeks were far too hot. She simply had to hope that he assumed it was from the sun’s final rays rather than any attraction to him.
‘I am merely pleased you have seen sense, Kyrie.’
She opened her mouth to object to the name again, but burst out laughing instead. ‘You are incorrigible.’
‘I like it when your eyes sparkle.’ A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘You like being thought of as a woman to be respected, a warrior.’
Ansithe sobered. How many times had she longed to be the warrior which her father desired, to replace the one who had been so cruelly taken when her mother fell from her horse and lost what would have been her baby brother? ‘That is something I can never be. I can never be the son my father desired. My sex precludes it.’
‘I will never understand why you Mercians do not permit their women to fight.’ The blue in his eyes deepened. ‘There again, had the Mercians had archers like you at Ashdown, victory would have come at a far higher cost for us, if it had come at all.’
‘Changing custom is beyond me,’ she said firmly. She had tried hard to be worthy by helping to protect the estate with her skills, but got more criticism than thanks for it. ‘Warrior women do not exist for Mercia. It has always been this way. My cross to bear.’
His slow gaze went from the crown of her head down past her meagre curves to her feet. ‘It is not how it is in the North. It is not how it is the world over. There is nothing unnatural about you.’
‘We are not friends, Moir,’ she said with a crushing firmness that was directed towards him and her own heart. ‘You belong to the North and I to Mercia. You are my captive. My only interest in you is the gold you and your men will bring when you are ransomed. My father’s welfare must be paramount. And when he returns, I will go back to being what I try to be good at—running this house, rather than being any sort of warrior.’
‘Are they worth freeing, your menfolk?’
She wrapped her arms about her middle. Her father—yes, without a question. Her duty demanded it. She could not be responsible for both her parents’ deaths. Nor could she be the one to destroy Cynehild’s happiness. She had heard Cynehild’s whispered prayers and how she longed for her husband to return. Maybe if Leofwine did return, Cynehild would forgive her for her part in their mother’s death. But Moir didn’t deserve an explanation. He’d never expressed a desire to hear her life story. She was not going to be one of those women who filled the air with noise.
Liar, whispered a little voice, she simply didn’t want him to see her as the mother-murdering monster that she was. After her mother died and before she’d married, her father had flung that accusation at her whenever he was in drink.
‘My father is a good man. His tenants love him. He tries to do right by his daughters even when it is difficult for him,’ she said instead.
There was a certain truth to her words. He had not abandoned her. He had permitted her to return after Eadweard’s death when her stepson had demanded she leave because her presence was disruptive. And he had tried to care for her after his fashion, but he simply could not help shuddering every time he saw her.
The dimple again peeked out of the corner of Moir’s mouth. ‘You are the most intriguing person I’ve encountered in a long while. And I will fight anyone who says you are less than worthy for being a warrior.’
‘We are at the byre.’ Ansithe dismissed the fluttering warmth in her stomach. Men flirted with her for reasons which had nothing to do with desire. ‘Tell your men about the oath you swore.’
‘With pleasure, my lady Valkyrie.’
Chapter Six
‘There are Northmen on the church’s roof.’
Cynehild hurried into the apiary where Ansithe had retreated after giving more orders to Owain and the others regarding the Northmen.
She’d decided that once her heartbeat was steady, then she’d inform Cynehild about her decision. However, the honeycombs from the destroyed beehives had had to be crushed and left in buckets to drain. Ansithe squinted up at the sun. The entire process had taken longer than she’d considered.
‘I know.’ Ansithe transferred the last of the combs into the bucket. ‘They are repairing it.’
Cynehild’s mouth dropped open. ‘You knew about this and didn’t think to mention it?’
Ansithe set the skep down. ‘I haven’t seen you to inform you. I assumed you would be supervising the weaving and I’d see you in good time. I became distracted...with everything I had to do here.’
Cynehild’s eyes narrowed. ‘You set men who tried to kill us loose around the estate and didn’t consider it important enough to let me know? Is it any wonder I despair of you and your ability to keep house?’
‘I ran it perfectly properly before you returned.’
‘People were far too scared of you. They thought you’d put an arrow through them if they dared disobey you.’
Ansithe slammed the skep down, absolutely furious. ‘Truly? The first person I ever put an arrow through as you call it was the Northman who attacked you. Before that, I believe people laughed at me for daring to practise my archery or wasn’t that what you told me on the morning of the attack?’
Cynehild put her hands over her mouth. ‘I don’t why I said that. I know you saved my life. You saved Wulfgar’s, too. Everyone. Forgive me, Ansithe? My tongue runs away with itself sometimes. I really need your help and didn’t know where you were.’
Ansithe concentrated on the skep. A lump formed in her throat. Cynehild hadn’t said anything new, but somehow it hurt more. ‘I need to get this skep fixed.’
‘Ansithe, please. I want us to be friends. I just want to understand what is happening.’
‘The only reason they are there is because Father Oswald desires the roof fixed before they make a start on the other jobs which need to be accomplished. We agreed that I was responsible for the prisoners and, in my judgement, this is the best use of them.’
‘I never said you weren’t responsible for them. It is why I came to find you—to make you take responsibility for what they are doing. They should not be there. They are disruptive and it is unseemly.’
‘Out with it, what is wrong?’
‘I wanted to pray to St Oswald and St Aidan for Leofwine’s safe return.’ Cynehild wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘As I always do, every day since we had the news about his capture, but it was far too distracting.’
It was news to Ansithe that Cynehild prayed every day. ‘Distracting?’
Cynehild frowned. ‘Warn me next time, but first come and see what I mean.’
&nb
sp; ‘I suppose I won’t get any peace until I do.’ Ansithe washed her hands in a bucket of water and followed her sister.
She stopped in the middle of the yard in front of the church.
Because of the heat of the day, Moir and his men had stripped off their tunics and were fixing the roof half-naked. Moir’s broad shoulders and well-defined chest muscles were particularly notable.
Ansithe’s mouth went dry. Her hand tingled from the memory of his lips brushing her palm.
She became aware that Cynehild had continued speaking to her and had looked at her as if she required an answer.
‘I see what you mean about the distraction,’ she said, taking a deep breath and hoping her answer made sense.
‘Yes, the noise. You can hear it from here. It makes my head spin.’
Ansithe tore her gaze from Moir’s torso. ‘The noise?’
‘Yes, the noise. What did you think I meant? I can’t hear myself pray.’
Ansithe licked her dry lips. ‘The noise. Yes. I will see what I can do about it.’
‘See that you do. I don’t want anyone to say that I didn’t do everything to get my Leofwine back.’
Ansithe covered Cynehild’s hand with hers. She had not realised that Cynehild was that concerned about what people might think of her. ‘No one who truly cares about you and whose opinion is worth caring about would say that.’
Cynehild smiled gratefully.
Ansithe went over to the church and called up to Moir. He immediately clambered down. Close up, the network of silver scarring which marred his gold-tinted chest was clearly visible, a reminder of what he was. And he wore an amber bead on a leather thong about his neck which moved with each breath he took.
‘It is not nearly as bad as I first feared,’ he said. ‘It will take only a day or two at most, provided you have thatch and new poles for the roof.’
A Deal with Her Rebel Viking Page 8
