Sunder (32 page)

“The sirens alerted the press! They’re parked outside the main campus wanting to know—” His eyes flicked over to the couch, where Shannan was sitting awkwardly in her loaned Agency uniform. “What the fuck is this?” He pointed to Shannan while stepping closer to Gabriel. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Carlo—”

“I’ve got a council president locked in a cell surrounded by armed guards and a parking lot full of press demanding to know if we found Isabella. So help me Christ, Gabriel, if you don’t give me some good news—”

“I know where Isabella is.”

Gabriel’s mumbled affirmation silenced Carlo’s rage. He took in some ragged breaths, as if that would somehow help his out-of-control blood pressure.

“Well that’s great. But that doesn’t explain why Alfredo fucking Jaramillo is—”

“I’ll explain everything, Carlo. Gather the council in the main chamber. We’re having a closed-door session and it may take a while, so if you need a snack, get it now.”

Carlo had never been terribly interested in anyone but himself, but he and Gabriel had known each other since university. After his last sentence, it seemed Carlo finally realized something was terribly wrong, and the big man’s face sagged, taking on a sober expression that Gabriel was sure matched his own.

“Gabe, what’s happened?” He swallowed hard, looking back and forth from Shannan’s face to Gabriel’s. “Is Isabella dead?” he whispered.

“This is bigger than Isabella.” Gabriel raised his eyes to Shannan, his eyes growing wet as he gripped the picture of Reyna tighter. “This is bigger than all of us.”

21

“Master Wyrtgeorn!” Thorstein shouted across the paddock. “Remove yourself from there at once!”

The unexpected sight of his lord’s first-born son standing ankle-deep in the mud of the horse paddock—a bewildered sadness shadowing his face—effectively jolted Thorstein out of the steady rhythm of his chores.  The winter days ended so early and he still had much to do in preparation for tomorrow’s hunt. His lengthy list of tasks yet undone buzzed through his head, but there was no way he could ignore the boy balanced so precariously on his crutch in the middle of the swampy horse paddock. 

I don’t have time for this. What is he doing in there?

“All of the horses are still out with their riders, Thorstein; there is no danger. I am not an invalid.” Tears choked his voice, and Thorstein regretted calling to him so loudly.

The bitter wind flung massive snowflakes into his face as he climbed the rails of the fence, moving quickly towards Wyrtgeorn. Being in the paddock was dangerous for the boy; one wrong move in the slippery and uneven mud could reopen the break in his leg, or possibly give him a new injury if he fell. As he approached Wyrtgeorn, reaching a hand out to steady the boy, his blotchy and swollen face made plain he had been crying in that paddock for quite some while.

“Young master, let us return—”

“My father says I can’t go on the hunt,” he blurted out, lowering his face in shame. “All the men are going, even the ones who will not go to battle. But I will stay here with the women.” He gave a pitiful laugh. “I have no horse to ride anyway.”

The horse.
At last Thorstein understood what had drawn the boy into the paddock. That beautiful colt had been a gift from Cædda, a symbol of his son’s emergence into manhood. Now Wyrtgeorn stood almost exactly on the spot where the carcass of the animal had been stomped into the earth.

The shame on Wyrtgeorn’s face renewed the ache Thorstein had felt when he heard Einar speak Norse. Distant though the memory was, he remembered how it felt to be a nobleman’s heir—the pressure of living up to your father’s expectations, the need for his love and approval. The slaves and his fellow free servants knew nothing of that world and they did not know the hardship Wyrtgeorn now faced. It was not only about being banned from the hunt—his whole future was at stake.

If Wyrtgeorn could not walk properly, how could he lead the fyrd into battle? If he could not obey his father in the simple matter of staying in the city, could he be trusted with larger responsibilities? For Cædda’s son to be seen weeping in the middle of the horse paddock while the other men rode out to hunt would only make his position in the city—and with his father—worse. Thinking too well of the boy to allow him any further shame, and having no authority to order the young lord out of the paddock, Thorstein resorted to the only trick he had in reserve—bribery.

“Master Wyrtgeorn,” he said with a smile. “If you return with me to the Great Hall, I will show you something amazing tomorrow morning after the hunters have ridden out.”

“You just want to deliver me to Hilde,” he sniffed, trying to fold his arms over his chest, but failing because of the crutch wedged in his arm pit.

“No, not at all. Tomorrow I want you to meet me at the stockade; but it must be kept secret.” Thorstein suppressed a smile at Wyrtgeorn’s intrigued face.

“To look at that Dane?” Wyrtgeorn’s eyes lit up. “Father wouldn’t let me.”

Doubt gnawed at his stomach as Thorstein considered his possible punishment if Lord Cædda discovered his actions, but he forced it away.
He’ll never find out.
 

“There is something else at the stockade I think you will enjoy, but we can look at the prisoner while we’re there. He’s to be executed soon, so there’s no harm.”

Above all things, Wyrtgeorn needed his confidence restored, and Thorstein knew that the gift the Lord and Lady had hidden away in the jailer’s pens would be just the thing to raise his spirits. It was a happy coincidence that Thorstein planned to spend his day at the jail anyway.

Grinning with excitement, Wyrtgeorn turned as gracefully as he could through the muck and began to limp towards the paddock gate, seemingly trying to use the crutch as little as possible.  “What is it you want to show me?”

“Patience, Young master. We can meet when the hunters have gone and I promise you, what you see will make you happy.”

Thorstein reached out and gave him a firm slap on the back, just as Redwald had done for him in his hour of need. Delighted to help the boy feel better, Thorstein trotted as best he could through the mud clinging to his feet and opened the gate for Wyrtgeorn to walk through, the darkening twilight reminding him of his lack of time.

“You’re a good man, Thorstein,” Wyrtgeorn smiled at him as he passed through the open gate. “Deorca was stupid not to marry you.”

The unlordly tactlessness wiped the smile from his face and there was an audible click as his jaw clamped shut. The boy meant no harm, but it still took several moments to exhale the angry tightness from his chest.

“It was not the right time to ask her. She had just returned from a terrible ordeal and was facing your father’s punishment. I will ask again when the moment is right,” he forced his mouth into an assuring smile. “And then she will say yes.”

Wyrtgeorn shook his head. “No, Father is sending her home before the new year. I heard him talking about it with Selwyn.”

The layers of slippery mud beneath Thorstein’s feet gave way as he skidded to a halt, causing his arms to flail wildly for a moment as he grappled for his balance. “Home? What do you mean? Her family cast her off! This is her home now.”

A nervous smile fluttering on his lips, Wyrtgeorn shrugged his shoulders slightly as he stopped his own slow trek. “Father asked Selwyn to arrange for a ransom.”

Why would Lord Cædda agree to ransom her after explicitly stating he would not give her up, even to Redwald?

“Does your mother know?” Thorstein’s voice trembled slightly as he fought to keep a respectful tone of voice.

At the mention of his mother, Wyrtgeorn’s smile twisted into a scowl—a wounded, venomous look that startled Thorstein into taking another step back.

“My mother is injured and shouldn’t be bothered with such t– trivial matters!” Spinning clumsily on his able leg, Wyrtgeorn turned away from Thorstein and hobbled as quickly as he could back towards the hall, not even giving a wave as a farewell.

The boy’s stutter on the last words did not go unnoticed, and as Thorstein watched him retreat towards the hall, he knew something must have happened. Given Annis’ atrocious behavior that morning with Deorca, he could only imagine the holy terror she had unleashed on those closest to her. He felt better than ever about showing Wyrtgeorn his present tomorrow morning. 

Was Annis the reason Lord Cædda planned to send Deorca away?
Perhaps he is only making inquiries. Perhaps he has not fully decided.
With a sinking heart, he recalled the lord’s whispered comment to Sigbert this morning, “It would be best to be done with before it gets too cold...”

But if Deorca and I were engaged, he couldn’t send her back.

An icy gust of wind jolted Thorstein out of his reverie. He still had work to do—quite a lot of it—and he could just as well think of ways to woo Deorca while he made preparations for the hunt. Bending his legs to bring feeling back into his toes, Thorstein closed the gate to the paddock and jogged back toward the barn, determined to be engaged to Deorca before any ransom letters could be sent.

***

Isabella watched Thorstein from her hiding spot in the corner of the goat paddock. Shielded from both Wyrtgeorn and Thorstein’s notice by the retreating winter daylight, she strained her ears to hear their every word. Balled up next to the slumbering goats and the lone dog who had wandered in after her, Isabella had held her breath, restraining herself from moving closer as she heard Wyrtgeorn announce Cædda’s plan to send her “home” soon. Could it be true?

Thorstein’s sputtering response, his childish refusal to accept Wyrtgeorn’s words, once more made the panic rise in her chest and she pressed herself more firmly against the split rail fence as the boys departed the area. Neither the hope of being sent home nor the security of her old faithful hiding spot quieted the fear of what tomorrow held for her. Now that Thorstein suspected he was short on time, did that place her in even more danger?

But why would he make plans to propose again if he knew I was going to be killed?

Every time new certainty of Thorstein’s complicity reared in her mind, another doubt came to accompany it and Isabella had to steady herself with a deep breath.
It doesn’t matter. Just live through tomorrow and everything will be all right.

“I thought I might find you here.” A rumbling voice sounded from behind her, jolting Isabella violently away from the fence. She skidded through the straw on her backside and her arm shot behind her back, reaching for the dagger Selwyn had given her. The dog, every bit as startled as Isabella, jumped to its feet and growled at the intruder.

Sigbert blanched and lurched back, his eyes immediately widening at the snarling dog.

“Oh,” Isabella breathed out in relief. “It’s you.” Her hand shaking, she leaned forward to gently stroke the dog’s head. “It’s okay, Simon.”

Sigbert remained frozen a few paces from the fence, his eyes locked on the dog and his hands balled in massive fists as he watched the long-snouted hound relax, the growl turning into a brief passive whine.

“You... you have a new friend,” Sigbert said, looking distressed.

“He just followed me in here. I saw him earlier at the well too. I’m sorry I spooked him. I was, uh...” she wiped the fine sheen of sweat from her forehead. “I was lost in thought. I didn’t hear you come.”

“All is well,” he gave a nervous smile, one she had never seen before. “I will be sure to announce myself properly next time.”

She nodded at him, smiling a bit as she resumed her sitting position next to the fence. Given how many dogs ran through the city, it never occurred to Isabella that Sigbert, or anyone else for that matter, would be afraid of them.

“Simon?” he gestured at the dog, who circled twice before plopping down once more next to Isabella.

“He looks like a Simon,” she shrugged.

The tenuous smile finally reached his eyes as he gave a short appreciative laugh. His shoulders relaxed and he walked up the fence, setting his jaw in an expression that signaled to Isabella she should make no more mention of the dog or Sigbert’s reaction to it.

“How long have you been there?” she asked, trying to quiet her blush.

“A fair few minutes,” he said, grabbing hold of the fence with both hands and heaving his legs over the side, propelling him into the paddock with an easy athleticism.

Kicking an overturned bucket to the side, Sigbert made a space for himself next to Isabella, taking a moment to stamp the straw down before lowering himself to the ground. His hand fell on her shoulder, as if needing support as he sat down. She relished the sensation of his body heat, even as she glanced beyond the fence to see if anyone was around to see them. She so badly wanted to drop her head onto his shoulder, to feel as safe as she had when he carried her up the hill. The darkening skies and the deserted paddock gave them some protection, but the consequences for Sigbert would be dire if someone came by and saw them touching.

“You have no chores to hide from, Deorca.” Sigbert’s voice softened, as it always did when he spoke to her. “Why are you making your bed with the goats?”

“I just wanted to be alone. But then Thorstein came and I— did you hear Thorstein and Wyrtgeorn talking?”

“You mean did I hear young master Wyrtgeorn belting out that you may be returning to Asturias?” Instead of looking at her, he reached over her lap to give Simon the dog a hesitant pat on the head, his shoulder brushing against her chest.

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” she whispered, directly into his ear. “Why would he suddenly agree to send me back? After making such a fuss about me not being worthy of freedom?”

“Is it not obvious?” Sigbert leaned back again, a stormy look gathering on his face. “Allowing you to live in Shaftesbury as a freewoman would make him look weak, as if he were rewarding disobedience. That is why he could not free you to be Redwald’s apprentice.” Sigbert’s voice was clipped and, despite the deepening darkness, Isabella could see the intense frown on his face as he kept his eyes trained on the dog in her lap.

“To alleviate his burden, this morning I told him to send you home instead. You will have your freedom, as you rightly deserve, and he will remain the strong, just lord he has always been.”

“You told him to send me home?” The tightening knot in Isabella’s throat squeezed her words as they came out. “You want me to go?” Heedless of the happiness and relief Isabella told herself she
should
be feeling, tears sprung up in her eyes.

“Oh, Deorca.” Finally raising his eyes to hers, Sigbert wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Though Isabella had the threat of being seen by others still in the back of her mind, it was clear Sigbert did not. Resting his face against the top of her head and breathing gently into her hair, Isabella could almost feel him sinking into her and any barrier between them fading away.