Hearts Aflame (23 page)
“You see. You knew more than you thought you did.” Kristen grinned.
“Nay, there are other possible reasons. He has also been known to visit those lords he favors, simply to forget for a few hours or days the menace of the Danes. And Lord Royce is one who has always been in favor.”
“How nice,” Kristen replied with a degree of sarcasm. She was not so pleased with Royce in the clear light of morning, with him not near to confuse her thoughts and senses. “So what have you for me there? More clothes that do not fit?”
“Nay, these were ordered made for you, so they should be of an agreeable length.”
Kristen raised a questioning brow, and then frowned as Eda held the gown and chainse up for her inspection, for they were made of the same coarse materials as those that Royce’s dagger had removed from her yestereve.
“Ordered by Royce?”
“Nay, Lady Darrelle,” Eda replied. “She thought it indecent, the amount of bare skin that was exposed below your chainse. She was heard to remark that such exposure might prove to be a temptation to the less pious of our men.”
Eda’s lips twitched as she said this. Kristen grinned, and then they both burst into laughter. Kristen’s amusement fled just as suddenly when she found her shackles draped over Eda’s arm after the clothes were handed to
her. She said nothing, however, and snapped the iron onto her ankles herself. She had accomplished nothing in resisting Royce. She would accomplish nothing in continuing to show her abhorrence to this last part of her apparel. If she would never be free of the fetters, so be it. With them would eventually come the hate she needed to truly resist the Saxon’s hold over her.
The hall was nearly empty when Kristen and Eda went below. Most of the women were readying chambers for the King and his party. Royce and his men had gone hunting to supplement the store of meat. The men servants were working outside, moving most of the stabled horses to pasture to make room for those of the guests, bringing in extra hay and fodder, and rolling new barrels of ale into the hall.
The two women who had been working frantically by the cooking hearth left as soon as Kristen and Eda arrived. Kristen was so amazed that she did not even flinch as her other chain was secured.
“Are we expected to prepare food for everyone by ourselves?”
Eda chuckled. “They will return with the others as soon as Lady Darrelle is done with them above. She is always undone by royal visits, and has her women running hither and yon, but getting little accomplished. More would get done, and quicker, if the lady would take herself off to bed.”
“Eda!”
“Well, ’tis true,” the old woman insisted.
Kristen smiled to herself as they began to work side by side. Eda had revealed a new facet of herself this morn—humor. Other than what Kristen managed to see herself, which was slight, humor had been lacking in her existence since her arrival on these shores. It made her appreciate Eda all the more, and realize just how fond she had become of the old woman. With her gruff
ness, her ofttimes unwanted advice, and her care, she reminded Kristen of old Alfreda at home, who had been as bossy as a mother—not Brenna, but the mothers of Kristen’s friends—but a very dear friend too.
Not a few minutes later, Eda’s churlishness returned to the fore. “Would you not know it! Not a wench back yet to serve those three with a smile of welcome. ’Tis left to an old woman to do, as if I do not have enough else.”
Kristen followed her frown to the door, where three young men had just entered. “The ones who brought news of the King’s arrival?”
“Aye, and young lordlings from the look of them.”
The three men were laughing among themselves over some jest the tallest of them had made. They removed their short mantles, but not their weapons, as they made straight for the large barrel of ale across the room. Eda hurriedly swiped up tankards to take to the men, returning with an even deeper frown crossing her brow.
“I thought I had recognized that smooth-faced stripling. ’Tis Lord Eldred. Nay, wench, do not look!” Eda warned sharply. “You do not want
his
attention.”
Kristen already had his attention, and that of the other two as well. With the hall so empty, it was only natural that they would glance toward the only two women about. And once she was seen, it was difficult to ignore Kristen. She was just too different from what Saxons were accustomed to: too tall, too striking in appearance, and certainly too noble of bearing for an ordinary serf.
Kristen kept her eyes lowered as warned, but wanted to know “Which is he?”
“The yellow-haired one. ’Twas known he might be with the King’s party, but I wonder at his audacity to come here in advance, without the King’s protection. I wonder if Lord Royce knows he is here. Nay, he must
not,” she answered her own question, “for he would not trust that one alone in his hall.”
Kristen wondered herself as Eda pushed her to the end of the table so she gave only her back to the hall. It was too soon for her to have forgotten what Eda had told her about Lord Eldred. He was Royce’s enemy. Why indeed would he ride into his enemy’s stronghold nearly alone? To show he did not fear Royce? Or was he counting on the King’s coming to prevent any altercations from arising? Eda had said they were at a truce, these two, because of the Danes’ threat. But how secure could that truce be if animosities ran deep?
She pictured Lord Eldred in her mind’s eye as she had seen him from across the hall. She imagined that if he came close, she would find him to be as tall as herself. That made him not a small man, except in comparison with Royce.
He was mayhap a year or two older than his adversary, but not nearly as powerful in build. Yet he was still a man in fine condition from the rigorous training for war. And he was by far the most handsome man of face she had ever seen, save for her own brothers. But it was men with bodies like Royce’s that pulled the string of attraction in Kristen, so she felt nothing but a mild curiosity toward Eldred and his companions.
“You have lost the wager, Randwulf. ’Tis not a man in woman’s garb, but a woman indeed.”
Kristen gasped at the first word and swung around. Eda would have warned her of their approach, but she had so hoped the three men would change their minds. They did not.
“’Tis a wager I do not so much mind losing,” the dark-haired Randwulf replied.
He flipped a gold piece to Eldred, but did not take his
eyes from Kristen. The coin fell to the floor, for Eldred too was fascinated by their find.
“Tell us, wench, why do they chain you?” Eldred asked her pleasantly enough. “Is your crime so great?”
It was the wrong thing for him to mention, for instead of making Kristen wary of them, it made her ire rise. “I am a dangerous woman. Do I not look it?”
“Oh, aye,” one of them replied, then all three began to laugh.
“Tell us true, wench,” Eldred persisted.
“I am a Norsewoman,” she said stiffly. “What more explanation need there be?”
“God’s breath, a Viking!” the third man exclaimed. “I can well see the need for chains.”
“Too bad she is not a Dane,” Randwulf lamented. “Then I would know how to treat her.”
Eldred grinned. “You are a fool, Randwulf. What matters who she was? She is a slave now.”
His hand rose to touch Kristen’s cheek as he spoke. Kristen turned her face away. She was feeling a definite nervousness now. They were crowded round her, too close, and she had the table at her back, preventing any retreat. But how far could she retreat with the long chain binding her to the wall?
“Have done, milords,” she said tersely. “I have work to do.”
It was a bold move, turning her back on them and hoping they would accept her dismissal. It was the wrong move. A hard body pressed into her back, and two hands came round to fasten on her breasts.
Kristen’s reaction was swift. She only had to turn partially to shove the man away from her. It was Randwulf, and he stumbled back with an expression of amazement that was almost comical.
“You dare, wench?” he blustered once he got his balance. “You truly dare!”
Kristen looked at each one of them. Eldred was amused; the other two were not. God help her, if only she had a weapon to ward them off. But not even a small cutting knife had she ever been allowed to use while she worked. The other women did all the cutting.
“I am not here for your pleasure, milords. I am used as hostage, to assure the behavior of the men I came here with. Royce would not like me to be ill used.”
She was bluffing, for she had no way of knowing what Royce would do if these men raped her. He might not care if they did, but he might also use that excuse to challenge Eldred and be glad for it.
Eldred took particular interest in her words. “‘Royce’? You call your lord by his name? I wonder why.”
“Because she shares his bed, no doubt,” Randwulf sneered. “And if he can have her, so then can we.”
“Nay!” Kristen shouted, but it was at Eldred she glared. “Do you risk what he will do to you? He will kill you!”
“You think so, wench?” Eldred smiled. “Then let me correct you. Your Royce will do naught, because Alfred does not like his nobles fighting amongst themselves, and Royce never displeases Alfred.”
He had moved closer as he spoke, and so did the others. Because she had all three to watch at once, she was caught off guard by Eldred. His hands clamped on her wrists and shoved them both up behind her back, forcing her breasts hard against his chest. He tried to kiss her, but he could not keep her face still when he held both hands. He thought to remedy that by holding both her hands together with only one of his. It was his mistake, her strength underestimated.
It was no measly slap she gave him when she broke one hand loose, but a solid blow with her fist that struck the side of his head and staggered him with dizziness. But the other two immediately laid hands on her to subdue her own. Eldred was now furious, a dark rage contorting his handsome features, turning them ugly.
“You will pay for that, wench,” he promised her. “I will demand your life—after I am done with you.”
“Enough!”
They all turned to see Alden coming toward them, with Eda close on his heels. Kristen could have kissed the old woman for bringing someone, even him.
“Stay out of this, Alden,” Eldred warned. “The wench struck me.”
“Did she? Well, ’tis no surprise, for she is no common wench.” Alden moved around them to the stake in the wall that held Kristen’s long chain, pointing at it with his sword tip. “Why think you she is chained?”
The question was ignored by Eldred. “I warn you, Alden, I mean to have her.”
“Aye,” Randwulf agreed. “So do I.”
“Do you fight us three?” Eldred grinned now.
“Me?” Alden feigned surprise. “I will not have to. The wench fights her own battles, and she does it very well. And in all fairness, she must be allowed to.”
Before they knew what he was about, Alden broke the chain from the wall with his sword point. His action brought no concern to the three men. They still watched Alden, sword drawn and only a few feet away, so Randwulf was again taken by surprise as Kristen jerked her arm away from him and bent to pick up the length of chain.
The third man could not release her other arm fast enough, now that she had this weapon in her hands. She twirled the loose end of the chain round her head, forc
ing the circle of men back. They could not get near her now without gaining some hurt.
Randwulf was bold enough to try, though, thinking that if he could get the chain to wrap about his arm, he could yank her off her feet with it, since it was still connected there. He was prepared to endure the pain, sure the chain would strike on the fleshy part of his arm and be no worse than a stinging blow. He was not prepared to have it slip below his raised arm and strike his rib cage.
One rib cracked. The sound of it was lost to Randwulf in the horrid sting of iron meeting flesh. His skin felt torn away, the pain shooting instantly to his brain. It was so bad he nearly fainted and was unaware he rolled on the floor screaming.
Kristen felt not an ounce of remorse for what she had done. She was fully prepared to do it again. Eldred was the first to realize this and motioned the other man back. But he was not done himself, and turned on Alden.
“Make no mistake, the King will hear of this. He sent us here—”
“To ill use one of my cousin’s slaves? I think not. And if I were you, Eldred, I would concern myself with what Royce will do, not what Alfred might do.”
“She has injured a man. She must pay for that.”
“My cousin will pay the fine.”
Eldred snarled at that and stalked away to cool off outside. It was left to the other man to help Randwulf away.
Kristen did not relax until they had all left the hall. Then she turned on Alden. The chain lay at ease in her hand now, but it was still in her hand. He looked into her eyes, divining her thoughts.
“Would you really, wench?” His question was soft. “Even after I just aided you?”
“I did not ask for your help.”
“But you needed it.”
She fought a battle inside herself, then finally nodded. “Very well. For that—” She dropped the chain to the floor, indicating she would not attack him with it. “But what you did before—I can never forget.”
Alden sighed. “I know, and I am sorry for it.”
Kristen turned her back on him.
W
hen the women began returning to the hall, no one made mention of Kristen’s partial freedom. But then, few had time even to notice, they were kept so busy in preparation for the planned feast. Kristen herself barely had a free moment to think about what had happened. After tucking the long chain through her rope girdle so she wouldn’t drag it noisily about, she had resumed her work.
Not more than an hour later, however, she was embraced again, taken completely by surprise when arms slipped around her from behind to lock about her waist, squeezing gently. She felt a moment’s panic, but it was nothing compared with the chagrin that followed, that they would dare accost her again. This time all the servants were about, as well as Darrelle, who looked on with a curious frown.