Royce stood behind the lad, his own back blocking the post from the prisoners' view. Then, taking the dagger from his belt, he cut away the boy's thick fur vest down its center. The leather tunic he attacked next was so tight that he knew he probably cut the boy's back as he sliced it open from top to bottom, but not a single sound was heard in protest.
Soft white skin met his eyes, making Royce frown. There was no thick muscle to take the sting of the lash. And he had in fact cut the boy's tender skin. A thin streak of crimson ran from the shoulder blades halfway to the waist. This really was just a babe he was about to order whipped—if Thorolf didn't volunteer the truth about him.
Royce stepped to the side again so they could see what he had done. Thorolf cried, "Nay!" and shoved the spear away from him, trying to make his way to Royce. Ohthere pulled a spear from a guard's hands and with it knocked two others away, then dared anyone to take it from him as he too started toward the post in a murderous rage. Royce called for their attention and they stopped, seeing his dagger pressing against the soft white back. "The truth, Thorolf." "No one! A boy!" the Viking still insisted.
Waite brought the lash forward. Thorolf shouted, "Nay!" again and started to say something else, but the lad was violently shaking his head back and forth and Thorolf fell silent. Royce was enraged at that. Although he said not a word, the lad's wishes held sway. "That was stupid of you," Royce snapped as he came around the post so he could see the lad's face, as well as the now-quiet Vikings. "You will suffer, not he. You cannot tell me, but I will have him tell me you lead them. Tis obvious. I want it confirmed." He did not expect an answer from a mute, nor did he think his words were understood. He was angry that they would make him go through with this, and angrier still when those pretty aqua eyes peeked up at him for the briefest second, before the head was bent to where he could not see the face. Damned if that wasn't something a female would do. In fact, too many things about this boy smacked of femininity. If he didn't know it was impossible, he would be tempted to pull down the front of that tunic just to assure himself that his imaginings were groundless. Other lads were known to have long-lashed, pretty eyes and soft skin, until they passed that certain age to become men. This one just hadn't reached that age yet.
Royce nodded at Waite to begin. The lash fell and a soft whistle of expelled breath came from the lad. No other sounds stirred the quiet yard. Thorolf remained silent, though his fists were clenched and every muscle in his body was tensed to prevent him from moving. Royce nodded again.
This time the tall, slim body slammed into the post and then jerked back reflexively to the full stretch of the arms. The opened leather tunic started to slip down over the upper arms. The boy quickly pressed back against the post again without help from the lash, but not before a strip of white linen fell out from under the tunic. Royce bent to pick up the cloth, which looked very much like a bandage, except there was no blood on it. A knot was on one end, revealing that he had cut through it when he had opened the tunic. Two round indents had somehow worked their way into the cloth, almost as if the strip had been placed over. "Nay, I will not believe it!" But his eyes rose to that bent head, and then his hand jerked out and gripped the tunic, yanking it down. He sucked in his breath, then swore violently on seeing the evidence that turned the boy into a woman. His other hand came up and tore the bandage from her head, and he swore again as a long golden braid tumbled down her back.
A collective groan now came from the prisoners, but not a sound had she made, not a tear was in the eyes that looked straight at him now. What in hell kind of woman was she not to prove her sex to save herself a whipping? Or had she not realized that he would not whip a woman?
He cut her wrists loose, and she immediately shoved her tunic back up to cover herself. As soon as she had done that, he grabbed her hand and dragged her back to stand before the subdued Thorolf. "A boy, is she? No one? And you let me whip her! To hide what? That she is a woman? Why?" Royce demanded furiously. "To protect me," Kristen answered. Royce's eyes swung to her, but she did not flinch from the fury in them. "No mute, either, and another one to understand our tongue! By God, you will tell me why you did not open your mouth to stop the whipping!" "To protect myself from the rape of Saxon men," she said simply. He laughed cruelly at that. "You are too tall for my men to want, or did you not realize that? Nor are you a temptation in any other way, wench." It was his anger that brought forth those words, but they stung nonetheless. "What will you do with me now?" she dared to ask. Royce was chagrined that she ignored his insults. "You will serve in the hall henceforth. How you are dealt with will depend on their behavior. Do you understand?" "Aye." "Then make them understand." Kristen looked at Thorolf and Ohthere, who had moved to stand beside him. "He thinks to hold me as hostage inside his hall to ensure your behavior. You are not to let this affect your decisions. You must promise me that if the opportunity presents itself, you will escape. If just one of you can reach home, then you can send my father to me." "But he will kill you if we escape." "He is angry now because he whipped a woman. He will not kill me." Ohthere nodded sagely. "Then we will make our way to the Danes in the North if the chance comes. They will have ships to sail to the Northlands." "Good. And I will let you know how I fare if I can, so do not worry over me." "Enough!" Royce snapped, thrusting her at Waite. "Take her inside and have the women bathe her." As she walked away from him, he was able to see the red welts on her back, one that beaded with drops of blood, and it was all he could do to speak in a controlled tone to Thorolf. "I know she told you more than I bid her. I tell you this now. The first time you try to escape or injure one of my people, I will make her wish she were dead. And I do not make idle threats."
Chapter Eleven
.Kristen felt foolish and out of place, walking into the Saxon house. The hall she entered was long and bigger than her father's hall, but she had known it would be in a building this large. At home there was no floor directly above the hall, making it like a huge cavern of stone, so cold in winter that the family preferred evenings spent in the closed-off cooking area. This hall did have a floor above it, but the ceiling was still fairly high.
The cooking area was not closed off, either, as it was at home, something her great-grandfather had insisted on because the smoke bothered him so. Here the cooking was done in a long stone hearth that ran nearly half the length of the back wall on the right side, with stairs on the other side. There was another stone hearth, just as long, in the center of the longest wall on the right, but this one was cold and empty, undoubtedly not used in the summer months. Stone ran to the ceiling above the hearths, and for a few feet at the base of the hall, as well as around the high entrance doors.
The floor was made of wood and sounded hollow as Kristen walked over it, leading her to think there might be some kind of cellar beneath it. A thin square rug of the type Garrick had found in the East covered a small portion of the floor in front of two wide windows, this in the front of the hall and on the right again. Chairs and stools were placed on it, along with sewing looms and a tapestry stand. It was an area obviously reserved for the women, and three were there now working.
All the windows and the doors were open, letting in ample light and warm breezes. Opposite the women's area and in front of windows again, but more toward the center of the hall, there was a large barrel of ale with a spout on it. Benches and chairs surrounded the barrel, as well as several small tables set with gaming pieces. There was a rack of tools and another, longer table covered with weapons, stools, even wooden bowls, all in different states of completion. A man stood at the table working thin leather strips about the handle of a whip. Kristen cringed, the pain on her back suddenly more pronounced.
There were seven women in the hall, and every one of them stopped what she was doing when Waite stepped inside with Kristen. The combination of her male garb, half of it torn open and hanging on her, and her height, which let her tower over every woman there by half a foot or more, made Kristen feel like a freak. All
the other women were covered from their necks to their feet by their long-sleeved chainses, a few even wearing veils to hide their hair as well, while her arms were bare and her back was now exposed too. They were clean and tidy, while she was filthy from the dirt and mud she had purposely smeared on herself to disguise her smooth skin.
One woman, garbed more richly than the others, rose from her seat and called Waite to halt. Her light-blue outer gown was embroidered along the edges, even on the wide elbow-length sleeves over the white of her tight-fitted chainse sleeves, and girded about the waist to reveal a tiny frame. Her hair, golden-brown in color, was dressed in a net of woven beads. Her eyes were a light blue, very bright, like those of the man Kristen hoped she had killed.
Kristen thought the woman would be very pretty if she didn't frown so, as she was doing now. She was probably the lady of this hall if she could halt the soldier with such authority in her voice. Kristen was not surprised that the Saxon lord would have a lovely wife. She could almost envy this lady such a fine-looking husband, if she were not the prisoner of that husband. "How dare you bring him in here?" the woman demanded of Waite after she took a few steps closer, but still left a long distance between them. "Milady, he is a she and Lord Royce orders the women to bathe her." "A woman?" the lady gasped, coming closer now, her eyes traveling from the top of Kristen's head to the chain still binding her feet together. She shook her own head. "Nay, 'tis not possible." Waite grabbed Kristen's long braid and tossed it over her shoulder for the lady to see. "Lord Royce had her whipped, which led to the discovery of her deception." Roughly he turned Kristen around." Tis not the back of a man." "A smooth back and long hair do not a woman make." Waite chuckled. "Milord made certain in another way, which you will see for yourself when she is bathed." The lady made a sound of disgust with her mouth. "And what are we to do with her after she is bathed?" Waite shrugged. "Put her to work as you see fit, milady. She is to remain in the hall." "What can Royce be thinking of," the woman wailed, "to keep a heathen in our home?" "He means to use her—" "No doubt!" she snorted. "In the same way those Vikings surely used her!" "Mayhap that, too." Waite grinned. "But used more for a hostage." "Oh, very well." A long-suffering sigh was forthcoming. "Send someone for the key to those shackles if she is to be washed thoroughly. But take her to the bathing room first and leave two men to watch her until I tell my women what they must do. They will not like this any more than I." Kristen was left with Uland and Aldous, though she didn't know which was which, for Waite had simply shouted their names as he passed through the hall. The small bathing room was partially under the stairs, with a door leading directly to the back yard, where water could be brought from a well. The other door was under the stairs, near the cooking area. There was a wooden tub inside, not nearly big enough for more than one person as the one in her uncle Hugh's bathhouse was. It seemed the Saxons did not share baths.
The two men Kristen dismissed as servants and ignored as such. They were both small and dark in coloring, one old, the other young, perhaps father and son. They watched her fearfully, as if they knew they would have trouble stopping her if she tried to leave. Kristen had no thought for leaving. She was very much looking forward to this bath, now that she no longer had to hide her femininity. The filth she had worn on her person until now had been a sore test of her endurance. She would probably have pleaded for this bath if it hadn't been ordered.
The blacksmith came in to remove her shackles, though he did not take them away with him. Kristen immediately sat down on a bench to remove her boots and inspect her ankles. The skin was chafed bright red, but not broken. It would mend soon enough if the foul shackles could be dispensed with. Kristen stayed where she was, busying herself with unbraiding her hair, while a line of boys began bringing in buckets of water from outside. It did not look as if they would bother heating any for her, as the tub was nearly full already. She didn't mind, though, accustomed as she was to swimming in cold water.
When five women crowded into the small room, not counting the lady who remained by the door, Kristen finally became annoyed and stood up. "I can wash myself, lady." "God's mercy, and here I thought I would have much trouble making you understand." "I understand perfectly. I am to bathe. I will do it gladly, but I do not need assistance." "Then you do not understand at all. Tis Royce's order that the women will wash you, and so they shall." Kristen was not one to take issue over something so minor. Nor would she give it another thought once she had conceded. She shrugged carelessly, waiting for the men to be sent from the room. When they were not, yet the women all began to crowd about her to remove her clothes, she shoved them back so forcefully that two of them fell, shrieking. "Listen, lady."—Kristen had to shout over the cries of the fallen two—"I will allow your women to wash me, but not in front of men." "How dare you tell me what you will allow? They are here to protect my women from you, for you cannot be trusted alone with defenseless women." Kristen almost laughed at that. Five women, six counting the lady, and they called themselves defenseless against one. Yet they just might be if they insisted on stripping her in front of serfs. And if the women were that afraid of her, it might not hurt to brazen it out. She pointed a finger at the two men, who were wide-eyed now at the prospect of having to subdue her. "They are the ones who will need protecting if they do not leave." The lady sputtered in anger and began shouting orders. Kristen picked up the bench she had been sitting on and threw it at the two men.
Royce could hear the shrieks and screams as he approached the hall. He entered just in time to see Uland literally tossed out of the bathing room. Aldous stumbled out right after him, and then tripped over the younger man and went sprawling too. By the time Royce reached the room it was much quieter, though Darrelle was still making shrill noises in her anger. "What the devil is going on here?" Royce bellowed from the door. "She would not let us bathe her!" "Tell him why, lady," Kristen managed to gasp. She was lying flat on her back on the floor, with four women sitting on top of her. They had come at her from behind just as she chased the old man from the room. Tripping her to the floor, they had pounced on her immediately. She could barely breathe now, with one on her chest and another on her stomach. "God's breath, Darrelle!" Royce stormed. "I give you a simple thing to do, and you make a shambles of it!" "She started it!" Darrelle protested. "She would not let them undress her. She lives alone with dozens of men night and day, yet she is shy now in front of two serfs." "My order was for the women to bathe her. I said naught about men." "But she is a Viking, Royce! You certainly could not expect us to be alone with her." "God's breath, she is just a woman!" "She does not look like a woman. She does not act like a woman. And she attacked those two cowards with a bench! And you want to leave her alone with us?" "Get off her!" he growled at the women as he walked to Kristen, jerking her to her feet as soon as she was free. "You cause any more trouble, wench, and I will deal with you myself. You will not like it." "I was ever willing to have the bath, and glad of it." Royce frowned at her calm reply. "Then have it," he said. To the oldest woman in the room, he instructed, "Eda, bring her to my chamber when you are done with her." "Royce!" Darrelle protested. "What?" he snapped at her. "You cannot mean to—to—" "What I mean to do is question her, Darrelle, not that it is any of your concern. Now, be about your business. They do not need you to supervise a scrubbing." Darrelle's cheeks brightened as she stalked out of the room ahead of him. But Royce was in no mood to placate her. Of all the ridiculous things! A simple bath could not even be accomplished without an uproar.
Alden was still waiting for Royce in his chamber upstairs, still standing at the window where his cousin had left him. "You saw it all?" Royce queried. "Aye, though I could not hear what was said," Alden replied. He added curiously, "Did you see what I think you saw when you pulled that tunic down?" Royce grunted. "A lovely pair of breasts the lad has." Alden started to laugh at his expression, but he flushed instead, realizing. "'Twas bad enough when I thought a mere lad had brought me low, but a woman!" "Be consoled, Alden. She ju
st sent two serfs flying out of the bathing room. She is like no woman we know." "Mayhap. She is uncommonly tall for a woman, tall enough to have fooled us this long." "But why would they bring a woman on a raid?" Royce wondered. Alden shrugged. "Why else? To see to their needs on the ship. She was late come to the battle. I would guess she was left on the ship, but saw the attack from there and thought to help. After all, if the Vikings were all killed, she would have been left alone. Tis no wonder she fought so hard along with them." "Aye. She would even have taken more of the lash, rather than reveal she was a woman. She said 'twas to protect her from the rape of Saxon men." He laughed harshly at that. "Men are men. What has a whore to fear of a different breed?" "She would be loyal to her own, and loath to lay with their enemy." "I suppose. I can see now why they went to such pains to hide her sex. They would have been locked up alone with her at night very soon. But, God's breath, what they see in such a big, manly woman is beyond me."
Chapter Twelve
Kristen's whole outlook on her adventure-turned-disaster took an abrupt turn the day she entered Wyndhurst for the first time. No longer did she only have to worry about keeping her mouth shut and her hair hidden. Now she faced the problem that she had only tried to avoid before: How would these Saxons see her as a woman? Would she be an abomination to them because of her height and the fact that she was their enemy? Or would they find her as desirable as the men at home did?
The Saxon lord had said she offered no temptation to his men. If this was his opinion, then she could assume that a man would not want to make love to a woman who was taller than he was, because he might feel inferior and less in control. Very well, that left her safe from all but two men that she had seen in this place. The one she hoped was dead. The other was the lord himself.
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