Paying the Viking's Price

by Michelle Styles

  Edith patiently waited until everyone had departed from the yard. She clenched her fists. If Brand thought he could ignore her and their agreement, he had another think coming. The culprit had been unmasked. True, it wasn’t strictly entirely her doing, but he should honour his part of their agreement.

  Perhaps now he could see why she needed to be a steward. If she had nothing to do, she would go mad.

  Without giving herself time to consider, she strode into to the hall. Her feet came to a sudden stop. Brand sat at the high table, looking at the accounts with an intent expression on his face.

  Edith cleared her throat. He glanced up.

  ‘Have you come to gloat?’ he asked, turning the page.

  ‘To thank you for listening to Godwin. The true culprit has been unmasked, but you have lost your right-hand man. I can’t believe your men would have had him killed for such a thing.’

  ‘I know what happened. I was there.’ He frowned slightly as his finger travelled down the page. ‘You were not entirely honest here about the salt cod, were you? You really did not trust your husband. You mention it was disposed of.’

  ‘You can read?’ Edith’s mouth dropped open. Astonishment gave way to quick anger. He had made a fool of her. He knew how to read. Here she thought she was being clever and he had used the accounts to help him find the hidden stores.

  ‘Like you I learnt my letters a long time ago.’ His eyes twinkled and he did not appear in the least repentant. ‘It saves time when people are less than honest.’

  Edith sat down on a bench, trying to collect her thoughts. Brand Bjornson could read. He’d played her for a fool as she stood reciting the stores. She’d been arrogant and condescending yesterday in assuming that he was an ill-educated barbarian. Edith shook her head. In retrospect she probably deserved it.

  ‘You should’ve told me. It would have saved trouble.’

  ‘And spoil your fun? Hardly. You seemed to enjoy showing off.’

  ‘How well do you read?’

  ‘Better than most scribes and I can write as well.’ He gestured towards the book. ‘I’ve no need of a steward, Lady Edith. I’ve no plans to leave this place. I’m through with wandering and fighting other men’s battles. Time to beat my sword into a plough.’

  ‘Battles will always need to be fought. Your king will demand it.’

  ‘Halfdan will have to find other men. I intend to hold this piece of land for him.’

  She pressed her hands together. ‘We had an agreement. You and I.’

  ‘If you had succeeded, you would have your reward.’

  ‘Would have?’ Edith crossed her arms and attempted to control the fury which coursed through her veins. First he misled her about being able to read and now he dared say she remained his concubine despite everything.

  ‘I wagered your freedom against gold if you unmasked the culprit.’ He tapped his fingers together. ‘I will not ask you for the gold as the culprit has been found.’

  ‘How very generous of you,’ Edith said through clenched teeth.

  ‘I thought it was. We have reached an impasse, you and I. No one won in my view.’

  ‘But I did...or rather I helped.’ Edith tapped out the points on fingers. ‘It was only through my intervention that Godwin spoke up.’

  ‘It was Godwin who provided the clue and, knowing the boy, I suspect he would have come to me in due course.’ He raised his brow. ‘Are you going to argue with that?’

  Edith raised her chin, rather than reeling from the blow. Despite everything, she was to remain his concubine. It was only a matter of time before he discovered how truly unfeminine she was and what then?

  ‘You mean I am to remain in our present arrangement,’ she said slowly, unable to frame the word—concubine. ‘To sleep in your bed and all it entails.’

  ‘The idea does not excite you?’

  Edith ran her tongue over her parched lips. Excite her? She was terrified of proving less than adequate! But she wanted to taste his mouth again. What did that make her? ‘Not in the slightest.’

  She waited for him to call her a liar. He turned the page of the book. ‘A pity that.’

  ‘Do you truly think?’ She pressed her hands together. ‘I think you only wanted to make a point. I was never supposed to agree and now you are stuck with an arrangement that you do not desire.’

  ‘You are seeking to put words in my mouth?’

  ‘Merely to clarify yesterday’s events. It is why you offered to woo me.’

  Something flared in his eyes. ‘It might not have happened how you planned it, but Hrearek was discovered before he could truly undermine me.’ He closed the book with a slam. ‘That is worth something. You need to be rewarded.’

  ‘I don’t have to be your concubine?’ Edith bit her lip. A wild surge of happiness went through her, swiftly followed by a curious depression. She wanted to feel his arms about her and his mouth against hers, particularly after how he’d kissed her early this morning.

  ‘You may retire to your own bed at night.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Since I assume you do not wish to go to a convent, consider yourself my adviser...for now. It should make things easier for you.’

  Her heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sending her to a convent. She was going to remain here as she had wanted. A faint prickling came at the back of her neck. He had not mentioned anything about sharing his bed in the future, but she’d worry about that later. ‘Do you mean that?’

  His eyes became the colour of the lake in summer. ‘I do not make the offer lightly.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘When I have need of you, I expect you to come to me. Day or night.’

  Edith gave a little laugh. ‘You can hardly have need of an adviser at night.’

  He shrugged. ‘Those are my conditions.’

  The back of her neck prickled. He was up to something. But her heart argued that it didn’t matter. It was a small price to pay for the entire issue of her being his concubine to vanish as if it had never been. He never need find out what a failure she was at bed sport.

  ‘Very well, I accept your conditions.’ Edith held out her hand. ‘I shall sleep in my own chamber rather than waiting on your pleasure.’

  He wrapped his warm fingers about hers. The small thrill that always seemed to go through at the slight brush of his hand ricocheted through her again. Edith knew her cheeks burnt and that he was aware of the effect he had on her.

  ‘I...I will inform Hilda of the new arrangement.’ Her voice appeared to have gone all breathless. She screwed up her nose and tried again. ‘Immediately.’

  His smile deepened and he slowly removed his hand, making it seem like a lingering caress. She snatched her hand back and covered her fingers, but all it seemed to do was to make her more aware of his touch.

  ‘Why?’ The single word rippled over her nerves.

  ‘She will need to vacate my bed.’

  ‘That would be good idea. I dislike the idea of you sharing your bed with anyone else.’ He inclined his head. ‘Pleasant dreams, Edith.’

  She took a cautious step backwards. ‘It isn’t time for bed yet. I want to allow Hilda time to make other arrangements.’

  ‘Really? I gathered you had a disturbed night last night. You should rest as you do not know what tonight will bring.’

  ‘I doubt it will bring anything but peace.’

  ‘One can hope.’ He paused and a shadow of a dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘Peace is what one requires when one rests.’

  Edith hurried from the hall and pretended not to hear the sound of hearty male laughter. She knew she should be relieved that everything had worked out how she hoped, but it seemed like she had just made a bargain with Lucifer himself.

  Chapter Seven

  Brand took a cautiou
s sip from his mead and watched Edith as she took her place for the evening meal. Rather than sitting next to him, she stopped a few places away and sat down with a great flourish of her gown, dark blue shot with silver. And her head was bare. She carried herself like a queen.

  He smiled inwardly. The next part of his scheme was about to go into operation. He wanted to probe Edith’s mind and get to know her before he bedded her. He had little doubt that it would end in a bedding and not a wedding. He had chosen the sort of woman he’d marry years ago—biddable, excelling at homemaking and a woman who accepted his word was law. Edith was more akin to one of the Valkyries than the women he’d left behind Norway.

  The memory of her passionate response to this morning’s kiss haunted his brain.

  Edith might feel that she was no longer his concubine, but he knew differently. This title or that didn’t matter; it was the actual job which was important.

  She’d made a tactical error in accepting his terms, but he saw no point informing her of it. She would surrender to him...eventually. He looked forward to her next move. Playing this sort of tafl made him feel alive.

  Brand motioned to one of the servants, but made sure his voice would carry. He pointedly looked where Edith sat laughing with one of his men. She had no business laughing with Starkad. Starkad had more women chasing after him than there were stars in the heavens.

  ‘Inform Lady Edith, she is to sit next to me, rather than making merry with one of my men.’

  Edith reddened and moved quickly to sit beside him. She wore a dress which brought out the blue in her eyes. ‘I had assumed you’d wish to dine with your men. I find them to be quite amusing.’

  ‘You are to be my adviser, it is only natural you should sit here.’ He nodded, ignoring the implication that he wasn’t amusing. He could be as witty as the next man when called on. ‘In case I need advising. What is the point of having an adviser who is elsewhere?’

  ‘I will attempt to remember that in the future.’ She sat down with a natural grace. ‘I only wish to please.’

  Brand frowned, feeling that she had won the point without even trying.

  * * *

  Throughout the meal she ate very little and answered his questions in an overly sweet manner. Brand made his questions more and more outrageous to see if he could provoke a response, but her tone remained one of distant politeness.

  ‘You mentioned you play tafl? I’ve lost a most formidable opponent with Hrearek’s departure,’ he asked finally in desperation as the meal drew to a close and she started to rise.

  She sank back in her seat. ‘None of your men...’

  ‘My men offer little challenge. You, on the other hand, have potential.’

  Her body became instantly on alert. However, her eyes concentrated on the table, rather than meeting his.

  ‘My father taught me.’ Her voice was studiedly toneless.

  ‘But you haven’t played in a long time. Your husband failed to live up to expectations,’ he said, making a quick guess. ‘He lost to you.’

  ‘Unfortunately my husband felt it was a game for men, but I used to be very good.’

  ‘You liked winning.’

  ‘There is very little fun in playing a game to lose.’

  ‘I agree entirely.’

  Her gaze raised and he could see the hidden shadows of vulnerability in her eyes.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I would like to play with you and test your skill.’ He resisted the temptation to cover her hand with his. She wouldn’t thank him for it. Not yet. She had her wild expression in her eyes. ‘I like to make sure my advisers understand the rudiments of strategy.’

  ‘When?’ She tilted her head to one side.

  ‘Here and now.’ He gestured towards where one of his men sat tuning a lute. ‘A little music for the background, Starkad. “Ragnar’s saga”.’

  ‘That is the one where Aella was made into a blood eagle,’ Edith said with a faint shudder as she named the man who had done more than most to bring about the Norsemen invasion ten years ago.

  ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘My father did not think much of him.’

  ‘Then we shall have the Lindisfarne one with Haakon the Bold. It might be ancient, but I still enjoy it.’

  ‘You would have it sung here!’ Edith seemed genuinely shocked.

  ‘To the victor, the spoils.’ Brand raised his glass to his lips. ‘The man who led the raid was an ancestor of mine through my father’s line. They say I take after him.’

  ‘And you are proud of that?’

  ‘He was a great warrior.’ He quickly moved to set up the pieces. ‘If you are ready to begin?’

  ‘You will need to explain the rules as I’ve only played according to my father’s.’ Her long lashes swept down, covering her eyes. ‘I would hardly wish to make a mistake, given the ferocity of your ancestor.’

  The back of his neck prickled. Sometimes she was far too transparent. Edith wanted to win—not this game of tafl, but this game between them. She was fighting her instincts, and only allowing her personality in short bursts. He should have seen it earlier.

  ‘Modesty does not become you, Edith. You are trying too hard.’

  Her mouth gaped opened and her hand froze in the act of moving her piece. ‘What do you mean? I haven’t even begun to play.’

  Brand leant towards her so that his breath caressed her shell-like ear. ‘Relax. You’re trying too hard to be pleasant. You really want to tell me to go to the ice cold of Hades, particularly as I brought up Lindisfarne. You were hoping to depart before I trapped you into this game and now you are afraid that you are going to enjoy this.’

  ‘Hell is hot.’ She folded her hands in her lap and adopted a falsely pious expression. Only the gleam in her eye gave her away.

  ‘Not where I come from.’ He motioned for more mead. ‘Now admit I’m right about the game.’

  She laughed, the first genuine laugh he’d heard from her. ‘Yes, you are right. I do enjoy pitting my wits against you.’

  * * *

  Edith regarded the tafl board. Another move and she’d win. Her fingers trembled on the carved ivory piece. Did she dare? She hated that she had enjoyed herself far more tonight than she had in years. It was as if that horrible time with Egbert had never been and she could be herself.

  Hilda had sent her several warning glances. Edith had tried to pay attention to her words of wisdom from just before supper, but it was proving impossible. All the joy she’d once experienced playing with her father came crowding back. She wanted to play to win, rather than allowing Brand to win as Hilda had advised.

  ‘You might be right. A man might like to think he is superior, Hilda,’ Edith muttered under her breath as the saga reached a screeching finale. ‘But it doesn’t have to mean that I cave in—but I can do something.’

  ‘Did you say something?’ Brand enquired, leaning forwards.

  ‘I believe it is my game and the match,’ she said, giving in to an impulse and making a move that was reckless. If he was good, Brand could still win.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Brand’s hand stilled hers. ‘You’ve not won yet. I have one more move.’

  ‘You think that will save you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He moved his piece. ‘My match, my lady. It does not do to become overconfident.’

  She looked at him open-mouthed. He had done it. Egbert had always failed that test. ‘You’ve won.’

  His eyes turned serious. ‘Edith, promise me that you will never again be tempted to just allow me to win again.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth and a hot flush crept up her cheeks. ‘Can I claim the music put me off?’

  ‘Your eyes gave you away. I saw your cousin’s nod.’ His hand covered hers. ‘I prefer my opponents honest. It makes the
victory sweeter.’

  ‘Enjoy the feeling while it lasts.’ Edith withdrew her hand and started to set up the pieces. ‘I demand a rematch! This time without a saga as background noise.’

  ‘That is easily done.’ Brand moved his first counter. ‘Shall we set everyone a challenge as well? Something to keep them occupied.’

  ‘What sort of challenge?’

  ‘I will give a bag of silver to the man who produces a song which is pleasing to your ear.’

  ‘Do warriors play music?’

  ‘You should have faith, my lady. We Norsemen can carry a tune as well as any other man. I don’t want you claiming the music is bad just to get out of playing me at tafl.’

  * * *

  Edith marked the fourth tafl win down on her diary in as many days. It was not a bad tally and she was beginning to gain ground on Brand. She looked forward to their nightly matches. After Brand had issued his challenge about the music, the hall reverberated to the sound of lyres and flutes as the warriors attempted to outdo each other.

  ‘Lady Edith, I had hoped to find you here.’ Margaret, Owen the Plough’s wife, lumbered in. Years ago, Margaret had served as Edith’s nurse, leaving only when she married the farmer after his young wife died in childbirth. She had never approved of Egbert and had stayed away.

  Edith put down her book and held out her hands. Margaret enfolded her in her warm embrace.

  ‘Margaret, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Edith asked after they had finished their greeting.

  ‘Father Wilfrid has been to see us.’ The elderly woman’s brow creased. ‘The new lord has ordered the corn be planted now, rather than waiting until Lady Day. Owen is afraid we will have no crop if it is not properly blessed. Father Wilfrid agrees with him. What am I to do, my lady? If my husband angers our new lord, he could lose everything, but he dares not displease the priest.’

  Edith rolled her eyes. Father Wilfrid was stirring up trouble—nothing overt, just a few words in appropriate people’s ears and suddenly people started questioning the decisions. She had battled him before. She did not envy Brand. ‘Where is Owen?’