Vikings: Revenge (The Great Heathen Army series Book 3)

by Ceri Bladen

  “Yes, yes, I think it is.”

  He watched Rosfrith closely when he felt her excitement ripple through her body. She was clasping her hands in front of her face and blinking rapidly. He leaned down to whisper, frightened that the Saxons around them would overhear. “Calm, my love. We must not raise any suspicion, we still have not achieved what we came for.”

  The excitement fell from Rosfrith’s face as she masked her emotion. “You are right.” She nodded to herself.

  Edeva kept her gaze lowered when she stood in the majestic hall and concentrated on her feet. She felt nauseous, unused to being out of the confines of the camp. Every strange noise made her jump. They were trapped. Why has my Sire forced me to come? Surely my end will not be from the sword of my own kind? She wished that whatever was going to happen, would happen quickly. The anticipation was, in itself, killing her.

  She listened to the king’s voice, droning on, able to decipher some of the words — although she realised she was far from fluent anymore. When his address continued for an age, she started to relax. Mayhap this isn’t a trap and we aren’t going to be slaughtered? With that thought in her head, she raised her chin and flicked glances around at the people and luxury which surrounded them. Her heart stopped, before thudding back into life. Her hand flew to her chest, and her mouth fell open. The man standing near the king was the blond man she’d last seen in Wareham.

  Cynebald.

  She squeezed her eyes shut to control the emotions, which pounded around her body. She felt faint with the heat surge and wasn’t entirely sure what to do, having never had this reaction to anyone in her life before. Not that he was in her life. The only thing to stop herself from fainting was to concentrate on the king’s words.

  “We welcome Guthrum into the Christian faith to lead a life…”

  Once she managed to compose herself, and her heart started to calm down, she looked towards Guthrum. Her pulse picked up speed as she started to panic again. What happened if Guthrum or any of his men recognised the blond man as one of the prisoners? If they did, they would release that he’d escaped? No doubt, Guthrum would want to know how, and who was involved. It wouldn’t matter that she was his bedmate — a betrayal was a betrayal. She took a calming breath and tried to convince herself that Guthrum was too interested in his own changing situation to be worried about anyone else.

  Later on, she couldn’t resist looking at Cynebald’s fine face again. A flush of adrenaline tingled through her body. All of a sudden, she cared not if her emotions were obvious to others around her. She was overjoyed that he lived and was not slaughtered like the others. She had thought about him often — especially when Guthrum was on top of her. It kept her from going insane.

  “He will become my adopted son. He will cease to be known as Guthrum, and will now be known by his Christian name of Æthelstan…”

  Edeva barely heard the rest of the king’s speech. She turned her body to a position where Cynebald would be in her focus. She couldn’t stop looking at him — not believing he was alive — and not believing he still had a way of making her nerve ends tingle with attraction.

  “Æthelstan will leave for Cirencester after the celebration and then become king of the Danes in East Angles, ruling under Dane Law.”

  Rosfrith glanced up at Ubba after nudging his arm. She raised her eyebrows. “At least we know where Guthrum will be heading, after this ceremony.”

  Ubba grunted, concerned and annoyed that Guthrum had been named King of the Danes by a Christian King! “Ay,” he whispered back, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. He felt Rosfrith squeeze his hand.

  “We might be able to find our twins, now.” She offered him a questioning gaze.

  He nodded and wished he had the same mindset as her, to believe that everything would be all right. His gaze narrowed on her mouth as she gently bit her lip. He could tell she was worried, but her action had a familiar heat surge through him. He tore his gaze away and shook his head. He couldn’t be thinking about that now. A smile played on his lips – although to have a tryst in a darkened corner of King Alfred’s court did have some appeal. He lost his train of thought when Rosfrith nudged him in his ribs, again. “What?” His eyebrows puckered.

  “They have finished the sermon and are leaving.”

  Thór’s teeth! His mind was certainly occupied with thoughts of Rosfrith’s body, not to notice the commotion around them. He leaned down, keeping his face blank. “I will intercept Guthrum, somehow.”

  She glanced around the room, full of Anglo Saxon soldiers. She rubbed her hand on her trouser leg before she grabbed his hand. “Be careful, there are far too many soldiers here.”

  He looked at her hands, clutching his. He raised his eyebrows, his head tilting to the side. “That’s not being careful.”

  She took them away swiftly. “Point taken. Be careful.”

  “Always am,” he whispered before walking into the crowd.

  Ubba stayed on the sidelines waiting for a chance to talk to Guthrum. It was impossible, at the moment, as he was surrounded by others. He’d just have to wait. There didn’t seem to be any trouble brewing between the Anglo-Saxons and Vikings, so he moved towards the tables, groaning under the weight of food. He was starving.

  He waited a while, until he noticed Guthrum heading to the exit of the room. He would be going somewhere to relieve himself. He threw the piece of meat in his hand to one of the dogs waiting around his feet and followed the Dane, glad that no one else seemed to be.

  Ubba noticed surprise fill Guthrum’s eyes when he turned and saw him standing in front of him. Ubba relaxed fractionally when a smile broke on his former friend’s face

  “Ah, Ubba Ragnarsson from Ranaricii.” Guthrum stepped forward and grabbed Ubba’s two arms in a powerful grip.

  Ubba broke the contact and smiled back. “Guthrum,” – he nodded – “or is it Æthelstan, King of the Danes?” He raised his blond eyebrows.

  Guthrum laughed. He understood the sarcasm in Ubba’s voice. “Well, what can I say?” He looked behind and checked they were not being overheard. “Besides, if it allows us Vikings to live here peacefully, how could I refuse the offer?”

  “Even if it meant giving away your chance to go to Valhalla?”

  Guthrum shrugged. “We shall see which God or Gods I believe in when I am knocking on death’s door.” He laughed again, exposing his yellowing teeth. “I might end up in Hell, anyway.”

  Ubba displayed a wide grin until he noticed a frown appear on Guthrum’s face.

  “Why are you dressed as an Anglo-Saxon?”

  “Trying to blend in.”

  “Why?”

  Amusement danced in Ubba’s eyes at Guthrum’s confusion before it died and a hard expression appeared on his face. “I have unfinished business in Briton, and found myself outnumbered by the other side.”

  “I know that feeling.”

  Ubba’s tone grew serious. “I need to find information on the whereabouts of Bard Klaussen.” He noticed Guthrum tense.

  “Why?”

  “He had left trouble in Ranaricii.” He omitted the information about his children, hoping that Guthrum would willingly admit the information himself.

  “Ay, Bard certainly has a knack for leaving trouble behind him.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  He shook his head.

  Ubba tried for patience. His jawline tautened, flexing with suppressed anger. “But, he was with you for a while?”

  Guthrum let out a short puff of air. “He left — like a rat leaving a sinking ship. He scurried away when our fortunes changed.”

  “Did you expect anything different?”

  Guthrum shook his head. “Never trusted him.”

  Ubba widened his stance, resting his hands on his hips. He was angry and didn’t attempt to conceal it. “Why did you allow him to stay?”

  “Keep your enemies close. Surely you haven’t forgotten that piece of advice from your own father?” He tilted his he
ad to the side.

  “I have not.” Ubba tore his gaze away, lifting his chin a fraction higher. He never forgot the teachings of his father — when he was around. He narrowed his gaze and looked back towards the main hall, wondering what he was going to say to Rosfrith. Guthrum obviously wasn’t going to admit his involvement with the rat and Bryan. His gaze returned to Guthrum’s, turning icy. “In fact, he took with him something very precious to me.” He noticed Guthrum’s face pale. “Two things.” He fingered his sword.

  Guthrum put his hand up. “Let’s not be hasty, Ubba. I know of what you talk about.” He let out a long sigh. “I did what I did, for at the time, I did not fully trust your brother, Halfdan Ragnarsson, to keep his word, and I needed a way of keeping all of Ragnar’s sons at bay.”

  “A son of Ragnar Lothbrok always keeps his promise.”

  “That I know now, but at the time…”

  “So,” he hesitated, suddenly afraid to ask the question. “Are they still alive?”

  “Ay. They have been well looked after.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. What wonderful news to relay to Rosfrith. “When can I pick them up?” He frowned at Guthrum’s hesitation. “What is the problem?”

  Guthrum waved a hand. “I told you, for the last five winters, they have been well looked after. I am trying to figure out what I will say to the thrall I have looking after them.”

  “What, you have a soft spot for her?”

  “Something like that.”

  Ubba let out a grunt. Guthrum’s affairs were his own. He waved his hand. “That is your problem. We will arrange a time for me to pick up the children preferably before you depart for Chippenham.” He couldn’t wait to find Rosfrith and impart the good news.

  After they discussed some finer details, they shook hands to seal the deal.

  “I will see you, later, Ubba. I will leave before somebody notices my absence.”

  When Guthrum moved to leave, Ubba put his hand out to stop him. “One last thing. As a way of repayment for keeping my children.”

  “Ay?”

  “Did I hear King Alfred mention you were going to rule East Angles?”

  “Ay.”

  He felt his senses heighten as he felt an adrenaline rush. He tried to hide the smile on his lips. He couldn’t seem too eager. “Well, I know of a very important Lord you might want to take down a peg or two if you don’t want any trouble from him.”

  “Who?”

  “Lord Bryan Guader of Dunwich Fortress. He lives there, but it is my estate.”

  “You know him personally?”

  Ubba smiled. “He’s my wife’s brother.” He laughed at the confused look on Guthrum’s face.

  “One that has done me wrong.”

  “That explains it.”

  “At the time that I heard of his betrayal, my wife wouldn’t let me kill the scoundrel, and I promised to leave him alone until his father dies, but I have a feeling he is up to something. His father was barely alive when I was there, winters ago.” He put his hand on his hip. “He sends coin and ledgers, but barely enough for such a large piece of land. I think he thinks he can fool me with false accounts. I would deal with him, myself, but Bard Klaussen plays heavily on my mind. Him, I need to see die.”

  “All right, what would you like me to do when I arrive at East Angles?”

  Ubba smiled, and stepped forward, putting a large arm around his friend. “This.”

  Edeva stayed out of the way of prying eyes. She felt sick, hiding in a doorway waiting for Cynebald to pass her. Never had she been so bold, but her desire to speak to him was clouding her reasoning. She watched him stroll out of the main hall to check on the soldiers who were guarding the gates and followed, unsure of what to say to when she did speak to him. Her mind was being too flighty to think of consequences to her actions.

  When he neared enough for her to touch, she stepped out of the doorway, surprising him. She stood firm when she noticed alarm cross his face. He reached for his sword and within seconds, it was pressed under her chin, forcing it up. She noticed his eyes narrow on her and the pressure of the tip decrease.

  “What is the meaning of this, woman? You should not surprise a soldier, for he knows not whether you are friend or foe.”

  She refused to stop staring at him, willing for him to recognise her. She knew she looked different in her smarter clothes, but she hoped she’d been a little more memorable to him.

  “It’s you.” Cynebald lowered his sword and took a step back. He glanced around, they were alone, so he sheathed his sword. “You are the servant from Wareham? Guthrum’s servant.” He stepped nearer. “I need to ask you; was it you that helped me to escape?”

  Edeva nodded and lowered her eyes from his, suddenly unsure if admitting her actions would cause her bother. She felt a gloved finger push her chin up. She had no choice but to focus on him.

  “Thank you,” he said, giving her a slow, lazy smile.

  “That is all right,” she murmured, more interested in how near his face was getting to hers. His nearness was having an odd effect on her breathing.

  “I need to thank you,” he whispered, getting nearer.

  She knew she could have moved, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to experience a kiss off someone she wanted to kiss her. His mouth descended with excruciating slowness, the fanning warmth of his breath caressing her quivering lips. While his gloved hands framed her face, hers stayed by her side — clenched into fists. Only when his lips touched hers, expertly sampling and tasting, did she start to relax.

  A crunch of gravel behind her broke their kiss.

  She watched Cynebald flick his gaze over her shoulder. He stepped away but grabbed her hand.

  “Follow me.”

  She blindly followed as he dragged her into an empty house. The occupier, no doubt, in the main hall with the rest of the villagers.

  He slammed the door shut and ripped the gloves off his hand. When he neared her, he grabbed her hand and kissed the palm before moving it down his body. “See what you do to me?”

  She reddened but refused to remove her hand. She was no maiden to become embarrassed. She was going to enjoy this experience — it might be the only chance she had to be with someone of her choosing. She squeezed, and while wild flutterings continued inside her stomach, she lifted her chin and looked directly at him. “I am yours to have.”

  Cynebald didn’t need any other encouragement.

  “I can’t find her, Ubba.” A frown crossed Rosfrith’s forehead.

  “Who?” He shrugged, confused. His mind was still on the conversation he’d just had with Guthrum.

  “Edeva, my sister.”

  “Ah, I see.” He looked around at the crowd, his height allowing him a good view. “I cannot see her, either.” He glanced back at Rosfrith, a wide grin on his face. He wasn’t concerned about Edeva, he had good news to tell his wife. He reached for her hands, for once, not worrying about those celebrating around them. Everyone was enjoying themselves too much to worry about watching two soldiers. “I have spoken to Guthrum and indeed, he has our twins.” He watched Rosfrith’s face light up.

  “He has?” Her head twisted around. “Are they here?”

  His eyes sparkled when he imparted the next piece of information. “Nay, but they are close. He has agreed to give them back to us. Now he is the Danish King of East Angles, he has nothing to fear from me or my remaining brothers, so he doesn’t need them as collateral.”

  “When can we get them?”

  He let go of her hands when he noticed a few strange stares. Mayhap, they weren’t out of danger yet — they were still supposed to be Anglo-Saxon soldiers. He leaned nearer to whisper. “We are to meet him after dark. He will arrange for one of his warriors to escort us to the camp.”

  “But it could be a trap, Ubba, a way to rid himself of you.”

  Ubba shook his head. “I have his word. Besides, he is sending the woman who has cared for them with us. He said she would not be happy, but k
new she was just caring for them for a while. Now we just have to wait around until after dark.”

  “There you are, where have you been? It’s dark outside.”

  Edeva jumped guiltily at Guthrum’s angry voice. She glanced down at her tunic, hoping everything was in place. “Just around, Sire.”

  He grunted. His eyes narrowed on her. “You’re flushed, are you all right?”

  She thought quickly “Ay, Sire. I have just come in from outside, so the heat is making my cheeks heat.”

  He grunted again. “I’m going to tell you something, now, you might not like it, but I need you not to make a fuss.”

  She suddenly did feel hot. “What, Sire?”

  “Those twins I gave you to look after?”

  She felt dizziness creeping in. “Arter and Brigitta?”

  “Ay. They are to be returned to their parents.”

  “But…” She stopped when Guthrum picked up his hand.

  “You have no say in the matter. They were yours to look after, besides,” – he looked her up and down – “haven’t I given you enough babies to care for?”

  Her stomach churned. “Ay, Sire.” She lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering there. It broke her heart to think her babies were going to leave her — even if it was to their parents.

  He looked over her shoulder. “Ah, here he is now. Here is their father, Ubba Ragnarsson.”

  Time felt like it had slowed down — her pain so great. Her chest constricted and she forced herself to listen to Guthrum’s voice.

  Suddenly, something penetrated the fog in her brain. Ubba Ragnarsson? Wasn’t he the man who had helped attack Dunwich — the one that had taken her sister when she was left with Ivar-the-Boneless? Her pulse increased. Mayhap he knew what had happened to Rosfrith? She bit her lip. Would he be offended if she had the confidence to ask him? When she saw the large man striding towards them, she faltered. She didn’t want to offend him in any way – he looked dangerous. Her eyebrows puckered.

  Guthrum watched Edeva, as he was concerned about his favourite bedmate. He tried to gauge her reaction about meeting the father of the twins, but she seemed quiet, albeit tense. He was pleased that she didn’t seem to be making too much fuss about them going – she was a good thrall. Mayhap he would continue to bed her regardless of his promises to King Alfred at his ceremony? He noticed the frown on her face, so he flicked a glance at Ubba. He mistook her reason for surprise. “Ah, he is dressed as an Anglo-Saxon soldier, but he is one of ours. A true-blooded Viking.”