A Deal With Her Rebel Viking. Michelle Styles
Читать онлайн книгу.
something. She dredged her late husband’s words from the depths of her memory—the ones he used to explain to his son why he had no fear of ever being made a cuckold by her—clever, capable but lacking in that certain something which made men’s blood hot. It was why she had been the perfect wife for a man who was well past his prime and more in need of a nurse and housekeeper than a wife. She hated the tiny piece of her which still argued her late husband had been wrong about many things.
‘Liking has nothing to do with anything.’ She glared at the byre wall. Why did he persist in thinking that because she was a woman, she could be flattered and cajoled into doing anything she didn’t want to?
His laugh resounded through the wall, rippling through her and reminding her of her dream about the golden-haired warrior. She wondered if his eyes crinkled when he laughed. ‘You are the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long while.’
‘I am not a thing. I am a person and I had fully intended on ensuring you were fed even before your pathetic attempt at flattery,’ she said to the wall and imagined him standing facing her with his ice-blue eyes and a contemptuous expression on his face.
Silence from him. She breathed easier before she dusted down her gown, straightening the pleats. ‘Dawn has broken on a new day. I trust it will be a less eventful one than yesterday.’
The yard rang to the sound of horses’ hooves before she had gone five yards from the byre.
Ansithe’s heart plummeted. Her neighbour, the ealdorman Cedric, with several of his warriors in battle dress trotted into the yard. She had sent word that they were under siege before the Northmen arrived, but there had been no offer of help, no explanation, just silence in return. Now this, bristling Mercian warriors ready to save the day, but many hours too late.
She had to wonder if it was deliberate and Cedric had been hoping to find them missing or dead or if he truly was all shiny sword and no action as her late husband had always claimed.
‘Lady Ansithe,’ Cedric said from his horse after they had exchanged pleasantries. ‘I understand you experienced trouble yesterday. I was away hunting, but came as soon as it was practicable.’
Anger rose in her throat. Hunting? All day and night? She forced it back down.
‘We did have some trouble, but we managed to cope perfectly well. We do not require your assistance now, Lord Cedric.’ She gestured about the still yard. ‘As you can see, everything is at peace.’
‘A false alarm, then. Monks again? Like when you were a girl and were convinced Mercia was about to be overrun by Danes?’ His high-pitched laugh grated. ‘You cost your mother’s life that day.’
‘Not a false alarm, a plea borne of desperation.’ Ansithe blew on her nails to show she wasn’t intimidated, but the familiar claw of guilt twined about her entrails. Cedric did speak true—her excited warning about enemy Danes approaching who’d turned out to be monks had resulted in her very pregnant mother’s death along with her father’s much-desired son’s. It was why this time she had to finally save the family instead of nearly destroying it. ‘But I was wrong about one thing—no help or assistance was required. I...that is...we captured a number of Northern warriors.’
The man’s complexion became a little more florid as the first pink rays of dawn appeared. ‘You have captured some outlaws, you mean. There are no heathen warriors in Western Mercia, my dear lady Ansithe, whatever this scum may have proclaimed. The peace settlement ensures that.’
‘I beg to differ. I have six Northern warriors in my byre. Father Oswald buried the seventh whom I slew yesterday evening.’
‘Whoever they are, I have come to take them off you.’ Cedric patted a pouch that hung at his side.
Ansithe raised a brow. Cedric was notoriously tight-pursed and overly concerned about being robbed in the woods. ‘You brought gold?’
Cedric drew his top lip over his teeth, making him resemble a startled rabbit. ‘It seemed prudent after the rumours I heard.’
She firmed her mouth. ‘Really?’
‘Someone might have mentioned it.’ His lip curled as he gave a withering glance to the byre.
That someone was most probably Ecgbert, the steward. She had longed suspected him of divulging their secrets to Cedric, but her father had refused to listen to any of her suspicions.
‘The captured Northern warriors are nothing like outlaws and they fight with the Great Heathen Horde.’ She gave a pointed cough. ‘One is the son of an important Northern jaarl.’
His eyes became narrow slits and she thought naughtily that now he reminded her of a rather florid pig.
‘Which jaarl? Do you have any proof?’
She opened her eyes wide and pretended that she had not exaggerated slightly. ‘Is it necessary for you to know?’
The look Cedric gave her verged on pity. Ansithe took a deliberately steadying breath and hung on to her temper.
‘You are far too gullible, my lady. If I might examine their brooches, I could tell in an instant.’ Cedric held up the pouch and jangled it. She could tell from the sound that the purse contained some, but not a lot of, gold. ‘Many will claim such a thing, my lady. However, you will find they are just miserable outlaws and thieves once you properly investigate the claim. First monks and then outlaws. Whatever next?’
His troop of men obligingly laughed.
Ansithe ground her teeth. Did the man think she was somehow mentally deficient? The swords she’d recovered were far finer than anything her father or brother-in-law possessed. Their axes alone would command a higher price than the gold Cedric currently held in front of her nose. ‘I can assure you I know the difference. And they are my prisoners, not to be paraded in front of every fool who comes here proclaiming he knows best.’
He made a tutting noise. ‘I meant no offence, my lady. I know from bitter experience that you can be overeager at times and more than willing to believe others’ fantasies and fables.’
Ansithe crossed her arms. He made her sound like an impulsive puppy, rather than a grown woman. ‘We are quite busy here as you might imagine. These Northern warriors will command a high ransom, once we send word to their jaarl.’
‘Getting a ransom from a Northman can be worse than getting blood from a stone. I have had experience with this.’ His smile increased in smugness as he jangled the tiny purse again. ‘Go on. Take it. I would hardly like to think such lovely ladies as yourselves were being troubled with such ruffians. It should go some way towards getting your father released.’
‘Unless it goes all the way.’ She pushed the meagre purse away with impatient fingers. Cedric was the sort who’d sell his grandmother if he thought it would be worthwhile. ‘Guthmann demands a steep price for my father and Leofwine’s release and is not prepared to compromise.’
‘I risk my men if I were to transport the prisoners to the summer gathering. There must be something in it for me and my men, my lady.’
Summer gathering. It was where any prisoners would be exchanged. If she could get the Northmen there herself, she could command a much better price for them. Ansithe clenched her fists. She should have considered it long before now. Her father and Leofwine were even likely to be there. It was the way to keep Guthmann and his men from Baelle Heale. All she had to do was work out a way to get there, without involving Cedric and without enabling any of the prisoners to find an escape route.
‘Thank you for the suggestion, but everything is well in hand.’
Cedric’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. ‘I was prepared to help. Out of friendship for Wulfgar, your father.’
‘For a price...’ Ansithe pasted on a smile. ‘You do nothing for free, Lord Cedric. Forgive me if I think your charges are extortionate, but I respectfully decline.’
His