‘He prefers Kal. Icebeard was the name of a frost giant who used to frighten him as a child.’
‘Kal the Icebeard wants more from you than you are prepared to give. I saw how he watched your hips move.’
‘First you tell me I’m a withered crone, unlikely to tempt a man, and now you say he is overcome with barely controlled lust. Do make up your mind.’ Cynehild rubbed the back of her neck. More than she was prepared to give? Was this Brother Palni’s mealy-mouthed way of saying Kal desired her? ‘I’m old enough not to have my head turned by a handsome face.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘Knowing who he is, is not the question; what’s more important is what we are going to do with that knowledge?’
Brother Palni played with his rosary and muttered about the follies of women playing politics.
Cynehild fought against the urge to scream. She’d experienced too much of that attitude from Leofwine as a young bride. In the interests of marital harmony she’d learned to swallow her opinions, but no one was going to silence her on this expedition.
‘Please remember who is in charge, and also that I possess a functioning brain.’
‘What are you hoping for with this, my lady? Was that woman right—do you want an actual betrothal with the Jaarl? Do you seek to become mistress of these lands again? Is that why you were so insistent that we travel here without your son? I know you were reputed to be a beauty, but that was some years ago.’
‘A betrothal to Kal was the last thing on my mind until it became clear that we needed an excuse to be together,’ Cynehild said. The betrothal had been a sudden inspiration, not part of some long-planned scheme. Surely Brother Palni of all people understood that. ‘Why do people persist in thinking that I have plans to remarry? Why should I want another husband? Why can’t I be trusted to make my own decisions?’
‘You haven’t entered the church.’ He shrugged. ‘Most women who wish to remain widows devote their lives to God, the church and good works. Father Oswald has spoken to me of this conundrum on several occasions.’
‘I’ve a young son who needs looking after, and I’ve little vocation in any case.’ She tried to repress a shudder. She had found Mass comforting when Leofwine was captured, but she knew the endless hours of kneeling, enforced silences and other rigours that nuns endured were not for her. ‘Allow me the privilege of choosing my own future.’
Brother Palni shook his head. ‘Even with the Deniscan at your side, you risk being blamed. This could yet end in your tears.’
Cynehild started, and quickly schooled her features. Brother Palni remained in ignorance about the true nature of her quest.
‘Must you always be pessimistic, Brother Palni? We could be gaining a new ally.’ She held out the pouch containing the coins she’d emptied out of the stone jar she’d discovered in the cave. ‘Give this to Elene to hide. Wulfgar may have need of it before long.’
‘The Deniscan take it ill if someone parts them from their gold.’
‘I seek to fulfil my promise to my late husband and I took precautions in case I had to...to bribe anyone,’ Cynehild finished brightly. Inwardly she winced at the lie, and steeled herself for more questions.
‘A healthy dose of scepticism has saved my hide more times than I like to count, but I will do as you say and ask you no questions on where you obtained these coins.’ Brother Palni pocketed the pouch before jerking his head towards the cottage. ‘I will return, my lady. Be prepared to depart when I do. Your business must be completed with no prevarication. And keep away from that hall.’
‘My “business”, as you term it, will be completed when I say it is.’ Cynehild kept her head held high and refused to show the hurt Brother Palni’s lack of faith in her had caused. ‘Go, before your presence here is discovered and our plans unravel.’
Brother Palni nodded. ‘Then you refuse to change your course?’
‘I gave my word.’ She lifted a brow as he continued to stand there. ‘The sooner you go, the sooner you can return.’
Chapter Five
Going back into the hut after Brother Palni and the bulk of her men had departed, Cynehild felt the enormity of what she’d done hit her and make the breath go from her lungs. She shook her head. Giving in to fears was what she had done before the Heathen Horde had arrived at Baelle Heale and she, along with her sisters, had defeated them.
Kal lay on the fern bed, staring up at the wooden beams. His cheeks were paler than she liked, but he was awake, and she had to hope coherent.
‘What other secrets are you hoarding?’ she mused out loud.
‘Secrets, my lady? I wish I knew myself.’ He raised himself up on one elbow. ‘What lies has that Northman been spreading? Ask me anything and I will give the best answer my memory affords.’
His voice sounded so eminently reasonable that Cynehild wanted to believe his sincerity. ‘What have you remembered? Surely you must know how you came to lead your war band.’
‘I held up the shield wall at Basceng. My entire being ached, but I planted my feet and started to inch forward. They broke and we overran them. After that they started to call me a giant, and I chose the name Icebeard because I wanted my enemies to be frightened of me.’
‘That is far too simple.’
‘It is the truth. People made up stories about me, but there was seldom any truth in them. When you are my size, few care to tangle with you.’
Kal turned his head. In the dim light his expression was inscrutable.
‘Did you require something else from me, my lady, or have I told you enough?’
‘Why did you keep your identity hidden from me? Why didn’t you warn me of the possibility of who you might be?’
‘I didn’t intend on deceiving you, whatever Brother Palni says. He does not possess the ability to read a man’s heart, for all his supposed piety.’
Kal held out his hand towards her, his dark eyes beseeching her to believe his words. She hated it that a significant part of her wanted to believe in him, even though he was her enemy.
‘You must see that,’ he said. ‘It would have served no purpose to keep my saviour in the dark. And I needed to be sure. What if I had told you what I feared and you had insisted on us travelling to the hall? What if I had been wrong? From what you said of Jaarl Icebeard, I assumed him to be unforgiving of anyone claiming dominion over his lands.’
‘And are you unforgiving?’
‘I have to hope any action I take will be tempered with mercy, particularly when my saviour angel is involved.’
Saviour angel? That was a blatant appeal to her better nature. A lock of dark blond hair tumbled over his forehead, making him appear like a young boy rather than a warrior who enjoyed a fearsome reputation. And his tale was of exactly the sort of thing she would want Wulfgar to do—use a strong reputation so he didn’t have to fight or risk his men.
Her fingers itched to smooth the lock of hair away, as she would to Wulfgar—except her feelings towards Kal were anything but maternal. Cynehild firmed her mouth. Both Luba and Brother Palni had put ideas in her head which had no place being there, particularly after she had so grandly informed Kal of her complete lack of interest in him.
She clenched her fingers about her belt and did not move closer into the room. She was a widow, not some giddy maiden inclined to forgive a pair of darkly fringed eyes any manner of transgression. Those sorts of feelings had gone into the grave with her husband.
Her love for Leofwine was undying. She’d sworn the same thing every morning since she’d first recognised her feelings for what they were. It bothered her that she’d forgotten to do that this morning, because she’d been too busy getting the covered cart ready. She immediately repeated the words of undying love to Leofwine in her mind. However, to her dismay, they seemed more like the mouthing of mere words rather than a deep and meaningful utterance.
‘Just remember I’m on your side,’ Cynehild said, and busied herself with carefully sorting through the dried herbs once again—self-heal, rosemary, raspberry leaf and mandrake root.
Her cheeks heated. Luba had not paid any attention to Cynehild’s claim of not being attracted to Kal and had included the raspberry leaf as a simple precaution against pregnancy. Her fingers hovered over the leaves before she swept them into a small pouch on her belt, intending to return them to Luba.
‘Is something wrong with the herbs?’ Kal asked.
‘Luba has made a mistake and I didn’t want to do something in error. Stop trying to change the subject.’
‘How can I change the past? What I planned to do before we met has no bearing now.’
‘Brother Palni swears you will find a reason for me to go to your hall. He thinks it would be a grave error.’
‘My hall contains my unseen enemy and is no place for either of us until your men return.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps the monk is not the meddling fool I considered him.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. ‘I hope you mean that in a good way.’
‘Brother Palni thinks you’re one of those men who twist women about your little finger. He’s heard your sort of blandishments many times before.’
‘I’d like to meet the man who can twist you about his finger. You are far too strong-minded.’
Cynehild pleated her gown between her fingers. ‘You don’t know me at all.’
‘I know you better than you think.’
His gaze travelled from the crown of her head to the tips of her boots, which just peeped out from under her gown, pausing on the curve of her chest and where the gown flowed out over her ample hips.
Did he think her lacking in common sense or incapable of logical thought as he gave her that sort of look? Leofwine had. Often. She’d loathed it when Leofwine had done it.
Cynehild gripped the table until her knuckles shone white. What was wrong with her? Forgetting to swear her oath of undying devotion that morning... Questioning Leofwine’s long-ago pronouncements and behaviour... That sort of thinking had caused arguments early in their marriage. But she’d soon learned to curb her tongue, and her reward had been a loving and attentive husband. She could not have wished for a better man than Leofwine when they were fleeing the Great Heathen Horde.
She forced three calming breaths and made her hands relax. When she had her emotions under control, she turned back to where Kal lay, cocooned in a variety of furs and with his head on a feather pillow. He was watching her intently, waiting to see if she had accepted his easy reassurance.
‘Tell me this—do you already know who your enemy is, Jaarl Icebeard?’ She tapped her foot against the rushes and kept her arms tightly crossed. ‘Do you want to mock me or play with me for your own purposes? Or worse? For pity’s sake, I’ve a young son. He needs me, Icebeard.’
‘To you, my name is Kal. It is true I was once Icebeard, but I wish to be Kal again—particularly to you and your men,’ he said, with a soothing note in his voice, as though he spoke to an overly nervous horse. ‘You were the one to suggest we play at being betrothed. My future wife would call me by my actual name.’
‘Point taken, Kal.’
‘I’ve been lying here thinking about our betrothal and I’m convinced there is more to it than you are telling me. Why were you so willing to do this for me once you knew who I was? What is it that you want on my lands? Why is it necessary for you to bring that sword to the church? What did you expect to happen there when you did? I’ve not asked these questions of you before because I trust you and your sincerity, even though you don’t wear a wedding ring.’
Cynehild regarded her bare hands. ‘I’m honouring my husband, no more, no less, and my ring remains at Baelle Heale for safekeeping.’
‘You saved my life, Lady Cynehild. I owe you a great debt in return. I do pay my debts. Some day I hope you will trust me enough to tell me the true reason for your journey.’
Cynehild ground her teeth. She hated being patronised in that fashion. Leofwine had—She stopped. She normally struggled to think about any time she had criticised Leofwine since his death, and yet now she had nearly done it twice in as many breaths.
She forced her body to relax. It was coming back to these lands—that was the problem. These lands reminded her of the headstrong girl she’d used to be before she became Wulfgar’s mother and Leofwine’s wife. But she didn’t miss that impetuous person who’d constantly quarrelled with her husband. A harmonious household led to a contented life.
Brother Palni had tried to warn her about what coming here might do to her nerves. Bless him. Being unsettled had always caused her to make unwise decisions. Forgetting that simple fact had led to her current predicament.
‘My marriage has nothing to do with you, Kal. Consider the matter closed.’
‘I hope to show you that I’m worthy of your trust,’ he said into the silence. ‘Your brain and your forthright manner are two things I like about you. I suspect you are a formidable tafl player.’
‘Only two things?’
‘Are you fishing for compliments? Shall I mention how the colour of your dress makes your eyes shine or how it flows so delightfully over your curves?’
‘That you respect my brain is enough. But I don’t play tafl.’
‘Pity...’
She concentrated on sorting out the grains to make porridge. She saw Luba had thoughtfully put in a distaff, spindle and some wool at the bottom of the basket. Despite what her family thought about her obsession with cloth-making, Cynehild actually hated the process of making cloth—from the careful carding of the wool, the loading of the distaff and setting the spindle whirling, the balling of the thread, the twining of the thread into workable wool ready for washing, the dyeing and most of all the weaving. What she loved was the satisfaction of creating something practical from nothing, and the way feeling the thread develop between her fingers calmed her thoughts. She put the wool aside for later.
It would be easy to send one of the men to recall Brother Palni, she thought. She suspected he was loitering on the road, waiting for such an eventuality. She could almost hear his voice, telling Moir and Ansithe the tale of how Cynehild had managed to become entangled with a Deniscan and that he’d had to come to the rescue. They could leave Kal here and Luba would find him when she called in the morning—if she called.
‘My lady, you fall silent. Have I offended you? I like hearing your voice.’
‘I don’t understand anything about what the Deniscan aim to do now that they control so much of what used to be Mercia, or what political games they are playing. I’m a widow who rarely goes to court. This pretend betrothal was an impulsive suggestion—something I’m not known for.’
‘You already regret making me the offer?’
‘Alas, regret is not in my nature. Pig-headedly stubborn, my younger sister calls it.’
‘Your stubbornness means I live.’ He reached out a hand. ‘I’m asking you to continue saving my life. Like your former servant, Luba, you’ll be well rewarded if gold is what motivates you.’
The walls of the hut pressed in on her. She required Leofwine’s gold, not Kal’s. It was his parting gift to their son, the child he’d had very little time for. It would be something tangible for Wulfgar from his father. She wished she could explain the difference to Kal, but the words stuck in her throat.
‘We need to regain your hall before you start speaking of rewards. My being able to fulfil my promise to Leofwine and return to my son will be reward enough.’
‘Women are a mystery to me—they always have been. My mother died when I was young. But they do have their uses.’
He shrugged his shoulders. Typically male...dismissing her concerns as if they were inconsequential, just like—
Cynehild
winced. What was wrong with her? She’d spent every moment since she’d learnt of his capture refusing to think ill of Leofwine. Except he had been human and not a saint, a little voice reminded her.
‘I won’t be used like some counter in a political game.’ Cynehild struggled to keep her voice from shaking with rage. ‘My father did that when he married me off to Leofwine and arranged my younger sister’s first marriage. He seeks to do it to my youngest sister too, but I will find a way to prevent it.’
Kal turned towards the wall. ‘You told me before that your marriage was an arrangement of convenience—and yet you fell in love with him. It makes me feel quite jealous.’
‘The arrangement worked for us. Leofwine and I were happy together.’ She reached for the spindle and felt its familiar calming weight in her hands. ‘Why should you be jealous? You and I are strangers.’
He turned back. His dark gaze caught hers, enticing her to tumble into its velvety depths.
‘Because I’ve seen the devotion you give his memory. My late wife would never have done the same for me.’
Cynehild rolled the distaff between her fingers. Kal was only jealous of the devotion she showed Leofwine, rather than the fact that he’d been married to her. Something else entirely. A tiny pang went through her. When would she learn that she was an overlooked widow now, rather than a vibrant woman to be pursued romantically?
‘That’s pure speculation,’ she said.
‘It’s the truth. Ranka and her older sister Toka were two peas in a pod. Beautiful to look at, but dark ambition lurked in their souls.’
‘You knew her. I did not. Perhaps you have misjudged her. When you woke, you were undone with grief for her.’
‘It was guilt I felt. When I left her to go to market Ranka told me that she knew I would fail to return in time, that our child would die. She was right. Our child lived only a short while after I came back, and I lost my wife as well. I vowed on their graves that if I ever acquired land I’d ensure it would prosper before I took another wife.’
Betrothed to the Enemy Viking Page 8
