Vikings: Deception (The Great Heathen Army series Book 2)

by Ceri Bladen

  “You cannot just leave. You are an important man in Ranaricii.”

  He tapped her hand. “I can for ye, my sister. Let me worry about that.”

  #

  When Rosfrith exited Ubba’s bed-closet, she noticed some of the thralls avert their gaze – but it didn’t stop their whispers. She hesitated. Her insides quivered. It was not nice to be talked about – especially by people she thought of as friends. Up until today, Ubba was always by her side to protect her from this. But he had to leave early, this morning, to sort out a dispute over sheep. She glanced around and again, and before they turned their backs on her, she caught the look of disdain in their eyes. she clutched her hands, and then made herself take in a breath. She needed to handle this herself, otherwise her life, when Ubba wasn’t around, would be intolerable. She closed her eyes, and pushed away the anxious feeling in her chest, chastising herself. She wasn’t naïve - she knew this would happen when the others noticed Astrid was gone and she was receiving Ubba’s attention – she needed to be more prepared. As a child in Dunwich, she was taught never to worry how people viewed her – she was the mistress; like it or not. She opened her eyes, and wondered what had happened to the self-assured little girl. Even when the heathens attacked her home, she had a determined streak running through her. But, somewhere along the line, insecurities, and circumstances made her want to fade into the background. Mayhap, it was because every time she stood out from the crowd, people remembered who she had been and tried to bash her back.

  Once the pain in her chest subsided, she knew her self-doubt was even affecting her relationship with Ubba, and she didn’t want that. He needed a strong partner. So, she took a deep breath and straightened her back. Let them talk; words couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t let them.

  She made her way over to the fire and noticed Asmund glance up from his food, before looking away to carry on eating without acknowledging her. She took in a quick breath, and grabbed her tunic. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Góðan morgun,” Rosfrith said, nodding to the people eating their dagmal. Some nodded back; some ignored her. She straightened up, poised, as a sureness surged through her. “I said good morning to you all.” She noted those who responded this time. “You, too, Eirik Ulfsson,” she prompted. It was difficult to swallow that Ubba’s most loyal men were the ones giving her the harshest treatment. They wouldn’t dare if their sire was here, but he wasn’t.

  “Morning,” Eirik replied, reddening at her slight.

  She picked up a bowl of yesterday’s stew and then sat in the seat Astrid’s usual used, besides Ubba’s. She heard the ripple of whispers. This time, she let it go. She needed to pick her fights carefully - she didn’t want them to hate her. She just needed to earn their respect.

  Chapter 2

  Early Summer 872 - Skåne

  Astrid, bored with her confinement inside the longhouse, wandered along the mud path, trying not to breathe in the foul-smelling air. There was animal waste everywhere. She scanned her environment and scowled. She hated being at Skåne - it was too remote. Even as a child, she’d loathed it. Skåne held no favoured memories for her to draw upon.

  When she reached a low stone wall, she sat, and brooded. Not long after, the sound of footfalls drew her attention. A lad nearer, clearly out of breath. She stood and blocked his path, nearly causing a collision.

  “Oh, I’ll be sorry, m’lady. I didn’t see you there.”

  “Where are you off in such a hurry?” Her eyes narrowed on his reddened face. “Don’t I know you?”

  “Ja, m’lady,” the lad spluttered out, trying to catch his breath. “I’m from Ranaricii.” He knew her alright, he’d watched her on many occasions. Got a slap on the back of his head from his Pa because of it, too.

  “And you’ve run all this way?”

  The lad laughed, but stopped when he saw Astrid’s scowl. “Nay, that’s too far. I’m off with my papa on our travels, and my sire, Ubba Ragnarsson, wanted me to give jarl Gunnar Hámundarson a message.”

  “Oh, and what would that be?”

  The lad hesitated. He was supposed to give it to Gunnar, but his Pa was waiting in the ale house - and that never ended well if he was left too long. “Um, Lord Ubba wanted to invite him to his wedding.”

  Astrid tensed. “When?”

  “By the next full moon.”

  “All right, thank you,” she said, dismissing the messenger.

  When she turned away, the lad’s face fell, where was his coin? He used curse words his father regularly used, and swore under his breath. All that haste for naught but sore legs. He kicked a stone in anger as he made his way back to the Inn. Mayhap he didn’t like her anymore!

  Astrid hurried back to the longhouse. After the initial shock of hearing the news, her mind whirled with plans. Ubba was wedding Rosfrith as soon as he could. If they joined in wedlock, she would have no chance to win him from the thrall. She needed to find him. Her lips thinned, she shouldn’t have listened to Gunnar - regardless of what her brother thought - she needed one more shot at getting Ubba back. Before it was too late.

  From the darkened corner of their family’s longhouse, Astrid watched her brother eat his food. She was going to tell him that she was returning to Ranaricii and, hopefully, he would come with her for support. She needed to stop the marriage. With no time to waste, she made her way over and sat on the bench nearest to him. “Brother, I’ve heard Ubba is marrying that thrall soon.”

  Gunnar raised his eyebrows before shrugging and returning to his meal. “Ye knew it was coming. There is nothing ye can do to stop it.”

  Annoyed he wasn’t responding the way she wanted, she tried again. “Are you going to the wedding celebrations? He has invited you.”

  Gunnar let out a low grunt. He placed his bowl down and turned to look at his sister. “Nay, after what he did to ye, how can I wish them luck?”

  “But I would like to go?”

  “And cause a scene? Nay.”

  Trying not to panic, she tried another tack. She needed him to go with her because it could be too dangerous for her to travel alone, especially in her condition. But she would chance it, if needed. She needed to tell Ubba about their baby, so they could get back together. She had no doubt they would. Even the wandering soothsayer had told her she would be united with Ubba in the future. The barn would make him change his mind about her. He would unquestionably choose her and their child over some thrall.

  “Astrid. I don’t’ know what is going through your mind, but we are not going back to Ranaricii,” he said in a serious tone. “I’ll have no more discussions about it. That barn of yours will be brought up as a Hámundarson and supported by your family, not Ubba.”

  “But then the barn will be a bastard.”

  Gunnar shrugged. “Better to be brought up loved than chance being rejected by its father.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  Gunnar held his large hand up. “Enough. This isn’t open to discussion. Ye and the barn are to stay here in Skåne. My wife, Hallgerar, will help you look after it.”

  Astrid scowled at her brother. Over the years, he hardly spent any time with his shrew of a wife, why would she want to? Saying nothing, she stood and walked away, determined to get to Ranaricii, one way or another.

  #

  “Thór’s teeth!” Gunnar gave a loud grunt, pushing his hand heavily over his scalp. His sister had stolen away during darkness. His teeth ground together. Not only had Astrid put herself and her unborn barn in danger by travelling alone, but now everyone in Ranaricii would know about her condition. And if Ubba rejected her child, he would be the one to deal out the consequences - again. He had no choice, he had to return to Ranaricii.

  Chapter 3

  Summer 872 – Ranaricii

  Ubba stood in the mead hall of the main longhouse and considered the lad in front of him. They needed privacy to talk - a difficult ask in a communal space. He glanced quickly at the people gathered there, pretending not to be interested in them, so he
motioned the lad towards a quiet corner, away from eavesdropping ears.

  In an attempt for privacy, he sat on a bench in order to be level with the lad. “Did you give Lord Arter Guader of Dunwich my message?” Out of respect to Rosfrith, he’d sent a message to East Angles a couple of months ago, asking for permission to marry his daughter.

  The lad nodded. “I remembered it all, Sire,” he replied, a proud smile on his lips.

  “Good, what did he say?” When he noticed the boy’s stance change, his eye’s narrowed.

  “Nothing at first, then he talked to another.”

  “His son?”

  The lad shrugged. “I’m not sure, Sire, but he was younger than Lord Guader.”

  Ubba waved his hand, not worried who the man was. He was eager to find out the reply to his request. “It doesn't matter. What did he say?”

  When the lad broke eye-contact and toed the floor, Ubba tensed.

  “Um…”

  Ubba leaned forward in order to encourage the lad to get on with the message. The quicker he said it, the quicker he could go.

  “Um.”

  Ubba threw his hands up in the air. “What did he say, lad? Spit it out.” He knew his voice was harsh, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

  “That… that… he didn’t have a daughter to marry off, Sire”

  Ubba let out a large breath and tore his eyes away from the lad, trying to regain composure. Disgust lodged in his gullet and anger in his heart. He clenched his fist. “You are to tell no one of this.”

  “Ay, Sire,” he replied, looking at the straw on the earth floor. Anything was better than Ubba’s icy gaze.

  “The package I gave to you?”

  “I gave to him.”

  “And you told him what it was for?” As was their Norse custom, Ubba had offered her father mundr - payment to her father for control of mundium, her protection and legal guardianship, which was held by her father until she married him. His jaw clenched. Not that her weasel of a father had worried about her protection since scuttling away to the Kings of Northumbria, and leaving his family to face the Vikings - alone. He snorted. He had been more than generous in his offer for her hand in marriage and hadn’t even requested a dowry, a heiman fylgia, from him, which was his legal right. Ubba was more interested in getting permission to marry his love, than any money or assets she would bring along.

  The lad nodded.

  Ubba let out a short breath and rubbed his beard. “Did he give it back for you to return?”

  The lad shook his head.

  Ubba sat back, as a wry smile played on his lips. Now, why didn’t it surprise him that her father not only didn’t have the decency to reply but hadn’t returned the arrha, the down-payment of the bride-price, bruðkaup, he sent in good faith. He was both saddened and angered at Rosfrith’s father’s lack of regard for his daughter.

  “Is that all, Sire?”

  Ubba nodded a dismissal and tossed a coin at him.

  “You can go.” He stood and watched the lad run out. Curling and uncurling his fists, he contemplated his next move. There wasn’t time to get another message back and forth to Dunwich because he wanted to marry Rosfrith as soon as possible. Their only option was for the wedding to take place, regardless of her father’s blessing. But, he wanted her to be happy planning their wedding, not worrying about her family abandoning her again, so he wasn’t sure if he would mention the latest news. If she asked, he would make something up. He’d present Rosfrith with the morgen-gifu, her morning-gift of clothes, jewellery, household goods, livestock, slaves, and land, on the day after their wedding - so she’d have possessions of her own. Even if her father didn’t want to look after her, he would.

  Determined in what he was going to do, he made his way out of the longhouse into the fresh air.

  #

  Ubba watched the two thralls place food in front of him, to break his fast. He wasn’t particularly hungry, this morning, having enjoyed nearly two weeks of feasting for the wedding feast. He was glad tomorrow was Friday and he could finally marry his love. His jaw tensed when he noticed the discourteous sidewards glance the servants gave Rosfrith when they served her. He considered them both. He wasn’t inclined to turn a blind eye to their attitudes, but if he made an issue, he could make matters worse for Rosfrith. She needed to settle in as his wife and joint ruler of Ranaricii, then she could discipline the servants any way she saw fit–even dismiss them if they didn’t show her respect. He rolled the bread between his fingers as he glanced around the room at the people there. There would be many who needed reminding of their place. Feeling protective, he reached over and squeezed her hand, making sure the thralls saw. “My love, I cannot wait until tomorrow when we become husband and wife.”

  Swallowing the piece of fruit she was chewing, Rosfrith nodded. “Neither can I.” Her eyes sparkled with joy.

  “What have the ladies planned for you, today?”

  Rosfrith blew out a short breath and laughed. “Hilde has a bunch of your traditions lined up.” She smiled when she thought of her oldest friend at Ranaricii.

  “Our traditions. You are Norse, too

  “Of course.” She nodded. It had been so long since she’d been on England’s soil, or mixed with Anglo-Saxon people, she’d forgotten most of her own customs. “I know; I feel it.” She squeezed his hand, before picking up another piece of fruit. “I know a trip to the bathing house is planned.”

  Ubba snatched the fruit out of her hand, and fed her himself. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “I wish we could forsake all these rituals and get to the one in my bed-closet.” His chest rumbled with a chuckle. “I want you badly.” He heard her quick intake of breath.

  “Ubba!” She reddened.

  “Why so self-conscious, my sweet?” He chuckled. “I have seen all of you.” He grabbed her hand and gave the palm a kiss. “All of you.”

  Rosfrith glanced around at the thralls who were pretending not to eavesdrop. She let her hand linger. She’d endured enough gossip and freezing looks since she’d got her collar taken off, let them chinwag, if they wished. Tomorrow, she was Ubba’s wife, and she’d have the authority to do something about them.

  Unconcerned, as they weren’t going to damper her mood, she turned away from the serving girls and met his blue eyes. Heat burned within them. She took in a breath to steady the emotions he had kick-started with his blatant longing. She refused to be timid. “I cannot wait either, my love.” It was enough that this man had chosen her - be damned with what others thought was right or wrong.

  He turned her hand over in his and squeezed. With his free hand, he waved towards the table. “Eat, get your strength up...” He gave her a side glance, wiggling his eyebrows. “For later.”

  Rosfrith giggled and carried on eating.

  Ubba glanced up from his food when a commotion by the doorway caught his attention. His eyes adjusted to the light streaming in. When he recognised who stood there, a smile plastered his lips. He placed his knife down and tapped Rosfrith’s thigh. “It’s my brother, Sigurd Snake in the Eye.”

  A hesitant smile appeared on Rosfrith’s lips.

  “Come, meet him,” Ubba urged, standing up to greet his brother.

  Rosfrith gave him a faltering smile. “Nay, you go and catch up. I will become acquainted later.”

  Confused at her hesitation because they’d discussed him on numerous occasions, a frown furrowed his brow. He glanced between them and then remembered. It was strange how he had separated that small Briton girl from his adult Rosfrith. He leaned towards her and whispered into her ear. “I will never let him hurt you again.”

  “Go.” She waved her hand at him, believing him. “Go, enjoy your male time. I will see you at the ceremony.”

  Ubba bent and kissed her before striding towards the entrance.

  “Welcome to my home, dear brother,” he said as he neared Sigurd, arms out-stretched. “You have missed same of the celebrations.”

  “Ay, but not the
important ones.”

  They hugged and patted each other, eyeing each other solemnly, before smiles broke out on their faces. They grasped each other’s forearms.

  “You, my brother, have not aged,” Sigurd said, flicking a gaze towards Rosfrith. “It must be the love of a young woman.”

  “Ay, that it is. What about you, my brother? How is that English wife of yours?”

  “Blaeja? A little demanding at times.” He shrugged. “But our four children keep her busy.”

  “Four?”

  “Álof, Thórra, Aslaug and now, Helgi Sigurdsdatter.”

  Ubba laughed. “Seems like you’ve been keeping her busy.” He nudged his brother towards one of the wooden benches and indicated to a passing thrall to give them some ale. It might only be morning, but they had celebrating to do. “Get your men to bring your things inside. We have some catching up to do.”

  “Pray, tell me. Have you news of our brothers?” Ubba asked when they’d settled down.

  “Ay. Ivar the Boneless left the army, just after you came back here. I’ve heard that he is now in Repton.”

  Ubba’s eyebrows rose. He was surprised Ivar had left the Great Heathen Army, but their sire’s death had been avenged, so Ivar had completed what he’d set out to do by killing King Ælla. “Halfdan?”

  Sigurd leaned back and took a sip of ale. “Ah, Halfdan. He took over from Ivar when he left.”

  “Did Ivar take many men with him?”

  “Some, but The Great Summer Army arrived from Scandinavia, and joined our Great Heathen Army.”

  “Led by?”

  “Bagsecg. King of Denmark.”

  Ubba nodded, “Ah, Bagsecg, he’s a good warrior.”

  “Was. Or so I heard. He died at the Battle of Ashdown on the North Wessex Downs.”

  Ubba’s eyebrows rose. “Fighting who?”

  “A West Saxon Army, led by King Æthelred and his younger brother, Alfred. Rumour had it that King Æthelred of Wessex was busy praying in church and refused to fight, so his brother took command.” Sigurd shrugged. “But, whatever, they won.”