Paying the Viking's Price. Michelle Styles
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to demonstrate that it is my writing?’
Brand carefully schooled his features. He could tell by the way Lady Edith arrogantly raised her eyebrow that she expected him not to be able to read Latin. The time he’d spent serving the Emperor in Byzantium had taught him both the value of an education as well as the value of keeping such knowledge to himself.
‘Both.’
Lady Edith launched into lengthy but simplistic explanation, pointing to various notations and numbers. Her cheeks took on the colour of a spring dawn and her grey eyes began to sparkle, turning her face from pleasant to truly beautiful and desirable.
Brand’s body responded anew to her nearness and her delicate scent. He tapped a finger against his mouth as a glimmer of an idea came to him. The perfect lesson for a proud lady. She needed to learn her new status and he needed to learn the secrets of this estate. This estate would belong to his descendants for all of time. It meant all of his struggles were worthwhile. He would succeed and prove his father’s wife’s words wrong. He was not worthless and fit only for the pigsty. This estate proved his worth, and he needed the right sort of woman to be his wife, someone who understood what it was like to be from the North.
‘The estate is indeed productive,’ he said at the end of Lady Edith’s lengthy recital about what she had done to improve the estate this year. ‘You appear well versed in all aspects of it. A surprising pastime for a lady.’
‘You see the value of keeping me as a steward?’ Her nostrils quivered slightly with tension, much as a high-strung horse might quiver before battle. She wanted to run the estate. Why was it so important to her? Running an estate was a thankless task. What did she want out of this? What game was she playing? His father’s wife had always played games.
The saying he learnt in Byzantium—to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer—flashed in his mind.
‘Not as a steward.’ He paused, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘But I do wish you to remain on in this hall. You are an unexpected addition to the estate.’
She licked her lips, turning them a deeper red. ‘As what? I’m no maidservant for your wife. I’ve my pride.’
He waited a heartbeat and leant forwards so that his breath interlaced with hers. She did know the game. The pretence ended here. ‘As my concubine.’
She drew back, her eyes widening as the colour drained from her face. ‘Your...your concubine?’
‘I have no need of a wife, but there is a current that runs between us. You can feel it as well as I.’ He stroked a line down her face. Her flesh quivered deliciously under his fingertips. ‘One year will be enough to satisfy my desire.’
‘And after the year?’
‘I will provide you safe passage to wherever you wish to go. You will be handsomely compensated for your time. I’m a generous master. None of my women have ever complained.’
A shocked gasp ran through the hall and he heard the soft swish of his men drawing swords. He ignored the sounds and concentrated on Lady Edith. Everything depended on her answer.
‘You are asking me to forsake my honour and become your whore for the promise of an unspecified payment?’ She swallowed hard and kept her body rigid, far too rigid.
Brand narrowed his gaze. Had he misjudged her earlier expression? Impossible. But as her cheek continued to be pale, he relented slightly and gestured towards the door.
‘You are welcome to go to the nearest nunnery if the terms do not suit you. My men will ensure your safe passage, but you leave immediately with only the clothes on your back. If you meet my terms, you will be able to choose where you go. My men will even escort you to Wessex if you so desire, but only after our bargain is complete.’
Her gaze narrowed. ‘With baggage? And any of my people who wish to go?’
‘With whatever belongs to you at that time.’
Emotions warred on her face. Was her love of treasure greater than her honour?
She glanced over her shoulder at her servants who now wore furious faces and gave a quick shake of her head. Her lips curved up in a false smile. ‘When you make an offer like that with such grace and tact, how can I refuse, Lord Bjornson?’
‘You can’t, mistress!’ someone shouted. ‘We will fight for your honour. Allow me to be your champion!’
The entire hall broke out in an uproar. Brand slammed his axe down on the stone flagging. The ringing sound silenced everyone.
‘I can and I will!’ Lady Edith retorted. ‘This Norseman has left me with no other choice. There will be no blood spilled in defence of my honour. I forbid it. It is a pale and worthless thing compared to one of your lives. Each of you is precious to me.’
Instantly the shouting stopped. Lady Edith stood, proud and alone, with more than a hint of vulnerability to her mouth. She held out her trembling hands.
‘And what will you do, Lady Edith? I want the words,’ Brand said. ‘For all to hear. I will not have it whispered that you were forced.’
‘I will be your concubine, Brand Bjornson. I do this of my own free will and at your asking.’
‘For an entire year?’
‘You will have me for a year and no longer.’ Her voice was colder than a Norwegian winter. ‘Then I leave for a place of my choosing with those things which belong to me and those people who wish to join me in exile.’
‘You have chosen, my lady,’ Brand said softly, not taking her outstretched fingers. There would be time enough to seal their bargain properly later. Without the benefit of onlookers.
He refused to feel sorry for her. Whatever was hidden here meant more to her than her body or her so-called honour and virtue. Sending for a wife could wait until he concluded his business with Lady Edith. It would be short, sweet and ultimately pleasurable for the both of them, but such dalliances never lasted long. After the passion was spent, women ceased to intrigue him.
‘Then it is done?’ Her grey eyes appeared troubled. ‘Settled?’
‘It is done.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I will hold you to your word. What is mine stays mine. And you are mine for an entire year.’
* * *
His concubine. For an entire year. The enormity of what she had done, in front of everyone, thudded through Edith. She leant against the kitchen’s outside wall, trying to get her racing heart to slow down.
She’d agreed to be Brand Bjornson’s mistress. Not even his wife, but his mistress. Hilda could have made a better fist of it. Shackled to him as little better than a bed slave!
The scared faces of her household had made the decision simple. She couldn’t abandon them to life under Norseman rule while she made her way to the relative safety of a nunnery.
Who knew what Brand Bjornson might do to some of them—people who had given their lives to ensure she and her family lived in comfort? What good would her honour be if she abandoned those who were ready to lay their lives down for her?
It wasn’t the future she’d envisioned this morning, but she had to do it. She had to be able to speak for those who couldn’t. In a year’s time, she could leave and even go to the relative safety of Wessex with a baggage train. If all went well, she could take those people who wanted to go with her. She wrapped her arms about her waist and tried to control her shaking.
She’d have to share his bed and keep him entertained. Something that in the past she’d singularly failed to do for a man. Egbert’s many accusations and taunts echoed in her mind—she possessed not one feminine attribute, was confrontational at the wrong times and the only thing about her which even remotely interested a man was her dowry.
She must’ve been mad. This little adventure would end the instant Brand Bjornson took her to bed. The entire world