‘He is here.’ Margaret clapped her hands together before running off to drag her elderly husband in front of Edith. The farmer stood there, silently twisting his cap.
‘Margaret tells me you are in trouble, Owen the Plough.’ She held out her hand. ‘If I can help, I will.’
‘I knew you would do something, my lady.’ Margaret’s face became a wreath of smiles. ‘Didn’t I say my lady would help us, Owen? She will make the barbarian see sense.’
Edith cleared her throat as a distinct prickle went down her back. ‘How do you know Brand Bjornson is a barbarian?’
‘He is a pagan Norseman, what else can he be?’
‘He reads and writes Latin,’ Edith said quietly. ‘Which is more than Father Wilfrid can do.’
‘The more is the shame, then. He should know what is right and proper. Everyone knows that the corn must be blessed before it goes in the ground. It is in the good book. Father Wilfrid says so,’ Owen the Plough proclaimed. Tears filled his eyes. ‘Please, Lady Edith. Help us. Soften his heart.’
Her shoulders felt like a heavy weight had been placed on them. If Owen the Plough believed this, how many others would believe it as well? And the last thing anyone needed was more trouble, particularly around planting time.
‘Have you told Lord Bjornson how you feel?’
The colour drained from Margret’s face. ‘We could never...’
‘I understand.’ Edith pressed her hands together. She had to do it. Somehow she had to make Brand understand what was at stake if he persisted in demanding the concession.
* * *
‘Here I find you! I’ve been searching everywhere for you. No one knew where you were,’ Edith said when she finally discovered Brand in the exercise yard.
The sight of him in his shirt sleeves with his tunic plastered to his chest took Edith’s breath away.
‘Where else would I be?’ Brand tilted his head to one side. ‘I’ve no wish for my skills to get rusty. It is where I am every morning. Not to be here would be wrong. The men need to be put through their paces.’
‘I understand you have ordered the corn planted immediately.’ She took a deep breath and continued, aware that she had stared a little too long at his chest, rather than saying anything coherent or deeply meaningful. ‘Without having a blessing of the seed on Lady Day. It simply isn’t done. It will be a catastrophe otherwise.’
He tossed a wooden pole to one of his men and strode over to where she stood.
‘You have a problem? The year is getting on. If the corn isn’t planted soon, we will have nothing to eat come autumn. Why wait when the soil is ready?’
Edith resolutely kept her gaze from where his tunic clung to his muscular arms. But every particle of her being was aware of him and the fact that he stood close enough to touch. It made her thinking all woolly. Her entire speech vanished from her mind. She stole another glance at his arms before continuing.
‘One of the farmers came to me with tears in his eyes.’ Edith hated that her voice seemed breathlessly at odds with her words. She swallowed and tried again. ‘He is very upset about being asked why he has failed to plant and being told that if he does not plant, you will take the corn away from him.’
His jaw became set. ‘No one has complained to me.’
‘They fear you.’
He raised his eyebrow. ‘What are you saying, Lady Edith? Why have you interrupted my sword practice for superstitious nonsense?’
Edith struggled to take a deep breath. Superstitious? ‘The blessing means a lot to the farmers. It has always been on Lady Day when the rents are paid.’
‘Times change.’
‘Have you ever actually planted corn?’
‘My father farmed.’ His eyes became hardened points of blue ice. ‘I grew up on a farm. We planted corn when the ground was able to be worked, whether or not Freya’s priest had given her blessing. The soil can be worked. I pointed this fact out to the priest when he came bleating the other day.’
Edith tapped her foot on the ground. Hot anger flowed through her. He wasn’t even going to listen to her or consult her, despite telling her that she was to be his adviser. And he’d insulted Father Wilfrid. She could imagine the priest’s jowls quivering at being informed that he behaved like a pagan priestess. ‘When did you speak with Father Wilfrid?’
‘Do we have to discuss this now?’
‘It is getting near Lady Day. It is necessary to ask for Our Lady’s blessing. Then we plant it after the first full moon,’ she said, making sure that each word was clear. ‘It is very simple and effective. It is how matters are arranged here in the North Riding.’
‘I would have considered how warm the soil was to be more important.’
‘It is not what the priest says.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Am I expected to listen to that black crow? He has already given me a lecture about how my soul is in peril unless I dismiss all pagans from my retinue and make an act of contrition for acquiring good Christian land. He suggested a donation to his church.’
Edith winced. She found Father Wilfrid overly officious as well. And he had gone beyond the bounds of looking after his flock. ‘I didn’t know about this.’
‘It was not your problem.’ If anything, his jaw had become more set.
‘Did you assure him that you could look after your soul?’
His mouth dropped open. ‘How did you know?’
She burst out laughing. She could see Father Wilfrid’s jowls shaking with rage. She almost wished she’d been there. To see the priest meet someone who was not going to bend over backwards. ‘Because it is the sort of thing I would say.’
‘You are not overly enamoured of him.’
She waved an airy hand, suddenly realising that she was on shaky ground. She might not care for the priest, but his office was important. He did do good work in this parish and the last thing she wanted was for it to be undermined. ‘He takes his responsibilities very seriously and has certain set ideas.’
‘I told him that I was less concerned about how a man prays than the strength of his sword arm. It is none of his business how I pray or if I bathe.’
‘He dared speak to you about that?’
Brand crossed his arms and his brows drew together in a stubborn line. ‘He wished me to be a good example. My habit of bathing in the mornings has apparently been noticed and commented on.’
Edith rolled her eyes. She could well believe it. The priest, like the others before him, believed bathing was sinful and allowed demons in. It was better to wash, than to immerse. As a little girl Edith had asked why Jesus was baptised in the River Jordan if what the priest had said was true? Both her parents had hushed her, but ever since all priests had treated her warily as if she was a cross to be borne, rather than someone to be embraced. Father Wilfrid had much preferred Egbert’s company.
‘It doesn’t change the rightness of the argument about the corn. The farmers look forward to his blessing on Lady Day. They regard it as necessary.’
‘And my answer remains the same. The corn needs to be planted now. I refuse to have such a man bless anything.’
‘But...but...’
‘Consider it an order unless you wish to challenge for the right to be earl. I’m surprised you felt the need to intercede on this matter. How were you hoping to convince me?’ His gaze raked her up and down. Insulting, lingering on her curves.
She crossed her arms and tried to ignore the sudden heaviness in her breasts. How dare he imply she’d attempt to seduce him to get her own way. As if that would work!
‘You are making a mistake! A serious mistake!’
‘I think not.’ He gestured towards the practice area. ‘Now, unless you wish to join me in testing my sword arm, I will return to my task with my men.’
He turned
his back on her and picked up his wooden sword, calling to his men to start the bout again, effectively dismissing her and her arguments.
‘Won’t you even listen?’ she whispered, balling her fists. ‘I’m trying to help you. To keep you from making mistakes and harming these people.’
The set of his shoulders spoke volumes.
* * *
Brand scowled and picked up his opponent’s sword. Six men he’d faced since Edith stomped off in a huff and each time they had been painfully easy to disarm.
‘Shall we try again, Starkad? This time, attack like you mean it. You make things too easy. I expected more from a warrior of your experience.’
‘You have been knocking lumps out of us all morning,’ the grizzled veteran said. ‘Hrearek never worked us this hard, even when we knew we were going into battle. What is the purpose if we are not going to fight?’
‘Hrearek has no part in this. We need to be ready in case of trouble.’
‘I’m aware of that. You and I have fought shoulder to shoulder for too many years. You should know my worth.’
Brand narrowed his gaze. ‘I will not have either of our skills getting rusty, just because we are looking after the land now.’
‘But does it need this fierceness?’ Sigmund stuck his sword down in the ground. ‘I swear, Brand Bjornson, you should just bed the woman. It would save everyone a great deal of bother. Get on with it. What are you waiting for?’
‘You trespass, Sigmund.’
‘You are worse than a bear who has been woken from his winter’s nap. Snapping here and there and demanding these endless hours in the exercise yard.’
‘Only because we need it. Remnants of the rebels remain. They might try to return here.’ Brand shook his head. Was his lust for Edith that obvious? ‘I refuse to have my relations with Lady Edith used as a cover for sloth and indolence.’
‘We have been through too much, you and I.’ Sigmund clapped Brand on his shoulder, rather than backing down. ‘I was with you in Norway before Byzantium. I saw you kill your first man.’
Not his first man. That had happened when he escaped from his father’s farm. It had been a case of kill or be killed, but Brand had been physically ill in a ditch afterwards. The second had happened on the battlefield and he’d managed to retain the contents of his stomach. ‘What of it?’
‘You need to bed that woman. It is a pleasanter way to pass the time, rather than seeking to knock our heads off.’
‘When I require advice, I will ask for it.’ Brand bent down, picked up the wooden sword and tossed it to Sigmund, hitting him squarely in the chest. ‘In the meantime, shall we have at it?’
* * *
Edith sat in the hall, trying to spin but inwardly fuming. Brand had dismissed her without listening to her arguments. What was worse was the horrible look he gave her.
‘You worry too much, Edith,’ Hilda declared, neatly finishing one distaff of wool as she grabbed more wool with her other hand. Edith watched the process with envy. Hilda seemed to excel at all womanly tasks, whereas Edith had managed to break her thread three times this morning and lost her spindle whorl once, only finding it when one of Brand’s dogs snuffled it out from under a bench.
‘On the contrary, corn is hugely important to this estate.’ Edith leant forwards, eager to explain her reasoning, everything she should have said to Brand but which she had thought of far too late. ‘What do you think you will be eating next winter if the corn isn’t planted at the right time with due consideration given to the local saints? And you don’t want the farmers muttering against you. That is when trouble happens. My father used to say that all the time. And he might not have always agreed with the old priest, but he never mocked him.’
‘Does the planting of the corn matter that much? A day here or there?’ Hilda snapped her fingers. ‘You should allow the men to do their job and get on with yours. Do you think they will dare complain, knowing Brand Bjornson’s reputation? Brand and his warriors are more than a match for any farmer who fails to comply and they know it. And that priest should never have made those remarks. He enjoys making people feel small. He’ll be the one stirring up trouble, rather than our new earl.’
‘He was doing his job as he saw it. But I agree with you. He’ll be causing trouble for the sheer pleasure. He was one of Egbert’s creatures. But Owen the Plough had tears in his eyes.’
Hilda adopted a pious expression. ‘Brand Bjornson is doing his duty, in the manner he wishes. When are you going to learn that it does you no good to argue with men, be they priests or earls? The other night, I kept sending you messages with my eyes and still you played tafl like you wanted to win. And then you pointed out the mistakes he’d made.’
‘I play to the best of my ability. To do anything else is to dishonour Brand.’
‘Your problem, Edith, is that you hate losing. Learn to lose gracefully. And if you win, make it seem like an accident, rather than grinding his pride into the dust. Men like to feel superior.’
‘It is one lesson I hope I never learn.’ Edith gave her spindle a vicious twirl. ‘And I know what the people who farm this land are like and what can happen. The priest has a certain standing and it is better to work with him than against him.’
‘You really do care deeply about this land. I hadn’t appreciated it,’ Hilda commented. ‘You take your responsibilities seriously.’
‘Always.’ A small sigh escaped from Edith’s lips as the thread broke once more. That was part of the trouble—knowing what the probable outcome was. They might not complain out loud, but the resentment would build. She’d seen it happen with Egbert and in the end he’d had to reluctantly admit that she did know what she was doing.
Worse still, she didn’t know what her job was. She had spent so long running the estate that being here, spinning and gossiping with Hilda, felt alien. She seemed to be all fingers and thumbs, rather than completing her spinning quickly and efficiently. Perhaps she ought to investigate going to a convent, but somehow something always came up.
‘There are some things I know about and one is the correct time to plant corn on this estate. And we have always used a priest to invoke the blessing. Tradition.’
‘Traditions are made to be broken, I say.’
‘And when did this new attitude towards our conquerors come about?’
Edith narrowed her gaze. Hilda wore a new shawl, one which brought out the blue-green in her eyes. A little twist of jealousy curled around her insides. She wasn’t going to ask who had given it to her. It was not her business if Brand had found another woman to warm his bed.
It bothered her that she looked forward to their nightly tafl game. He made her think.
Hilda flushed slightly and tightened her shawl. ‘All I know is that it is not in your interests to quarrel with the new lord. Didn’t you learn anything from your experience with Egbert? A man likes to be flattered, not have his pride ground to dust under your heel. You insisted on trying to win at tafl and now you berate him for making hard choices.’
‘Why are you being so sympathetic to the Norsemen all of a sudden? Do not attempt to change the subject, Hilda. I know you too well.’
Hilda gave her distaff a twirl. ‘Some of them are quite mannerly. Starkad has the sweetest singing voice. He sounds like a robin in spring. He was the one who sang the saga of Lindisfarne the other night but he prefers other more romantic songs. He sang me the one he is working on for Brand Bjornson’s challenge. It brought tears to my eyes.’
‘And how do you know this?’
Hilda made a little moue. ‘We met and he sang me a song. Pure poetry. I have no hesitation in admitting that some of the Norsemen might be different. He smiles more than Egbert ever did. And you are right about the scars. On some men, they give a face dignity.’
‘Lady Edith, Lord Bjornson requires your presenc
e in the stables.’ One of the servants rushed in before Edith could question Hilda further. ‘Immediately. You are to give no excuses.’
Edith’s heart leapt and then immediately the doubts crowded in. Why now after their quarrel? Had he uncovered another of her hiding places? Or provoked more unrest with the priest? ‘I’ll go to him. Since he asks so politely.’
‘You should go slowly, cousin.’ Hilda put her hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t want him to think you were too eager.’
‘Hilda!’
‘I was only saying,’ Hilda protested. ‘I’ve seen how he watches you like you were some sweetmeat ripe for eating. Whatever you two quarrelled about, and I refuse to believe that it was about corn, you should get it sorted out. If the jaarl is in a good temper, the entire household benefits.’
‘And who says Brand is in a bad temper because of me?’
Hilda made a little tsking noise in the back of her throat. ‘You are blind, sweet cousin, blind.’
Edith rolled her eyes and left before she was tempted to say harsh truths to Hilda. Snapping at Hilda wasn’t going to solve her immediate problem. When she got outside, she picked up her skirt and ran towards the yard, trying to keep her imagination from seeing the worst.
Chapter Eight
To Edith’s surprise, Brand stood in the middle of the stable yard. He wore fresh clothes, far richer and more ostentatious than the ones he’d worn earlier to exercise in. The red cape trimmed with fur and gold arm rings screamed that he was a nobleman. Water sparkled off his hair like diamonds.
Edith smiled. He had obviously bathed in the lake again. Her heart gave an odd little thump.
He stood with one hand on her mare’s bridle and the other holding a much larger stallion. She pinched the bridge of her nose and ruthlessly suppressed the sudden leaping of her heart. Simply because Meera was saddled, it did not mean that she was about to be invited for a ride. There were so many possibilities, far more sensible reasons why he had Meera ready.
‘Is there some problem? Hilda and I are hard at work with the spinning. It needs to be done.’ She clenched her hands. She was not going to apologise for earlier either. She’d been right to confront him about Owen the Plough’s fears. ‘Are you leaving for parts unknown immediately? And you intend on using my mare as a packhorse? I will have you know that she is high spirited and needs care when handling.’
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