Ansithe let out an exasperated huff. Cynehild made it seem as though she hadn’t spent most of the night trying to work out a plan. ‘We don’t have to decide that yet, except it won’t be Cedric or his warriors.’
Cynehild rolled her eyes. ‘Have you ever thought that he might be doing it to impress you? He does want a betrothal with you, Ansithe.’
‘It is my dower lands Cedric wants. The income is a decent one.’
‘He swore it was you he wanted. People can grow to care for each other like Leofwine and I did. Seeing his excellent qualities took me until little Wulfgar was born. You should give marriage with a younger man a chance.’
Ansithe stopped listening to the lecture. Cynehild currently possessed an overly romantic heart. Simply because Cynehild had fallen in love with her husband after she gave birth to little Wulfgar did not mean every woman did. Ansithe put her hand on her flat stomach. Not that her womb had ever shown any sign of quickening. Her husband’s dying words about her shrivelled womb still hurt. And she could never confess the ache to Cynehild. The last time they had confided in each other was before their mother died.
‘I need to guard these prisoners until Owain can relieve me...unless you care to do it.’
Cynehild blanched. ‘You need to stop being so like a man, Ansithe. A woman’s place is in the home with children about her feet. Think about that while you are guarding those brutes.’
Ansithe sniffed the air. ‘Guarding beats burning the porridge.’
The door of the byre swung open, revealing Lady Ansithe carrying a large bowl of porridge. Moir’s stomach obligingly rumbled. He had forgotten how good something simple like porridge could smell.
It had gone very quiet after the horses departed and Moir had begun to wonder what was happening. If Lady Ansithe had been persuaded to sell them to the nasal-voiced Mercian warrior after all...
‘I have brought you and your men food.’
‘It will be most welcome.’ He took the bowl from her and passed it to the first of his men who drank some of the gruel before passing it on to the next man. ‘Most unexpected, Lady Valkyrie.’
‘I am not sure I like that name any more than I did a little while ago.’
‘You should. Where I come from it is a high compliment.’
‘Have you known other warrior women?’
Unbidden the memory of his mother teaching him how to hold a sword and swing properly rose to the forefront of his mind. ‘Yes. My mother’s skill with the sword took my breath away. More than equal to any man’s.’
‘What happened to her?’
Moir banished the unwanted memory. She had been a warrior until she met his father and had believed in his dreams, dreams which ultimately destroyed her. ‘Unimportant. That is all in the past. I live in the present.’
‘Living in the present sounds like something which is easier to say than to do.’ Lady Ansithe nodded, accepting his words. ‘Who are Valkyries, precisely?’
‘Odin’s handmaidens. Brave and honourable, but fierce battle maidens. They choose the warriors who will grace his table. All men admire them and seek to win their favour.’
‘And obtaining a seat at Odin’s table is something warriors long for?’
‘In my world, a seat at Odin’s table is the highest honour any warrior can achieve. For when Ragnarok arrives, Odin’s warriors will play their part in saving the world from total destruction.’ He frowned. ‘It is like achieving entry to heaven from what I know of the Mercian religion.’
‘I see.’
‘Some women from the North seek to emulate Odin’s handmaidens. Yesterday, you achieved that status. A skald should compose a saga about your exploit.’
Lady Ansithe dipped her head so all he saw was the crown of auburn braids. ‘You seek to flatter rather than to mock. My sister thought this, but I suspect an ulterior motive.’
He gritted his teeth. He left with everyone or not at all. He refused to betray his men like his father had done. Loyalty to the felag showed he was a different sort of man.
‘I do nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘I heard you speaking to that Mercian, declining to sell us for what you implied was a paltry sum. I appreciate what you did for men you have every reason to hate and fear. We are in your debt. I firmly believe all of us wish we could turn the sands of time backwards. An impossibility, I know, but the desire is there.’
‘You heard everything?’
‘Enough to know you refused to sell us to a man with a nasal whine. He sounded the sort who will always seek to chisel and chip to get the most profit.’
‘My neighbour is notoriously tight-fisted. He would not give me the best price for you. He declared you were outlaws, possibly even wolfheads, rather than warriors who would command a decent price.’
‘But you remain convinced we are who we say we are. Not a worthless band of outcasts fleeing from justice.’ He leant his head back against the wall. A start, a glimmer of hope that there might be a way of convincing her to abandon her plan of sending them to Guthmann.
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Our swords and axes prove that we are who we say are, not some ragtag gang of outlaws.’
‘Any man might pick up an abandoned sword and carry it.’ Lady Ansithe tapped her fingers together. ‘What else?’
‘We have our brooches. My jaarl knows which ones are ours. More importantly, he knows me. If you’d grant me permission to take—’
Ansithe slammed her fists together. ‘You go nowhere on your own until the ransom is paid. Until my father and brother-in-law have been freed.’
‘Accompany me to where the two armies meet. My jaarl is there. You and I together in the wilderness. Alone together.’
Her tongue came out and wet her lips, turning them to a sunrise pink. The action made him ache to taste them. He ignored the sensation. He required a willing woman in his arms, not a Valkyrie.
‘What say you?’ he whispered. ‘You and I out in the forest with the stars for our roof. The breeze at our back. A wood fire to guard against wolves when we stop.’
‘Why...why should I do that?’
‘It is the best way if you wish to get the full value for your prisoners. My jaarl is at the Mercian court. He will be there for the peace negotiations. It is where we were headed when we became...sidetracked.’ He muttered a curse. ‘The bee stings addled my brains yesterday. I should have thought of this. Explained it to you properly.’
A sudden great ache to see what was beyond the Forest of Arden filled Ansithe, making her soul hurt. An adventure, finally. Something to prove she was more than a dried-up husk.
A noise made her turn and peer out into the yard. The assistant swineherd hummed as he returned from his breakfast and the maids poured out the slops. Peaceful people doing everyday things, not warriors or great lords, but people who depended on her.
Going with this Northman anywhere was an impossibility. She had a duty to these people. She had destroyed their certainty once through her thoughtless actions and she refused to do that again. She was no longer an overly excited girl, but a mature widow. She knew her actions always had consequences.
‘You seek to spin fantasies to tempt me.’
A smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I’d prefer to be in your dreams.’