A Deal With Her Rebel Viking. Michelle Styles
stuck out her substantial bosom. Surely it had only been a few months ago that Elene was chasing after butterflies in the meadow or making a muddle of her weaving. ‘Treat me as though I am a grown woman, instead of a toddler.’
‘Your marriage is something that our father will decide,’ Cynehild said, developing a sudden interest in the rushes.
‘But I might be able to guide him.’
Ansithe exchanged glances with Cynehild. Elene would soon learn about their father and how he used marriage to further his own power, but she had also been their father’s favourite and he might be more inclined to listen to her pleas. Ansithe had had no alternative to Eadweard’s offer. She silently renewed her determination that her father would give way and concede her right to decide her own future after he returned. ‘If Ecgbert accompanies Elene, I am sure all will be well. It is the perfect solution to our present dilemma.’
Elene’s mouth dropped open. ‘You agree with me?’
‘It saves apologising to Cedric.’ Ansithe wrinkled her nose. ‘Besides, I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to do it properly. Don’t you agree, Cynehild, the insurmountable obstacle has been breached?’
Cynehild shrugged. ‘It seems as though you have a very good scheme.’
Elene took Wulfgar and danced about the room.
‘I will obtain the brooches,’ Ansithe said before Cynehild started issuing orders.
Elene did a twirl which made Wulfgar shout with laughter. ‘Ansithe has won over their leader. He admires her.’
Cynehild grunted.
‘It’s true—he thinks her beautiful.’
‘He respects my archery skill which is different.’ Ansithe concentrated on the rushes and hoped her sisters would miss her burning cheeks. However, Elene nudged Cynehild and they both burst out laughing. ‘What is wrong with that?’
‘Nothing, Ansithe. Your archery skill must indeed be what he admires about you,’ Cynehild said drily.
‘You two are impossible.’ Ansithe retreated from the room with as much dignity as she could muster.
The opportunities to escape were slipping through his fingers as surely as the dirt slipped through the brooch Moir was using as a makeshift shovel. Neither Palni nor Bjartr would be fit enough to climb through the holes in the roof and it was only a matter of time before that Mercian lord returned with an improved offer or, far worse, the Valkyrie sent word to Guthmann. Remaining in this place was no longer an option.
‘Can we do it? Release the stones, wriggle through the gap and steal some horses?’ Palni went over the gist of the plan in a hoarse whisper. ‘I don’t know how far I can walk on this leg. It seems to be swelling even more.’
Moir knew the plan had far too many holes, but it was their best hope. ‘We will obtain the horses. I heard them snuffling last night. Ideally, we’ll find more than three, but if it has to be only one with both you and Bjartr riding while we walk, so be it.’
‘How long do we have? It will take at least a day to dig our way out and that is assuming they fail to notice what we are doing.’
‘I have to try. I refuse to give up. I refuse to accept any member of this felag giving up.’
‘You mean like...’ Palni jerked his thumb towards where Bjartr lay curled up in a small ball. Bjartr had consumed the lion’s share of the gruel this morning and then collapsed down into apathy.
‘He’s been injured.’
‘You are being too soft on him. He needs to grow up, if he wants to lead a felag properly.’ Palni absently rubbed his bandage. ‘Once we are free, how are we going to make our way back to camp? We remain guideless, thanks in no small measure to him.’
‘Find Watling Street and follow it.’ Moir pushed his brooch in. The pin buckled. He cursed under his breath. He’d been fond of that brooch. ‘One step at a time. Freedom first.’
‘Without weapons.’
The stone inched forward. Moir smiled. When his Valkyrie came to check on them tomorrow morning, they would be gone. He sympathised with her plight regarding her family, but his first duty was to his men and his jaarl.
‘Someone comes,’ Hafual, who kept watch through a crack in the door, warned.
Moir rapidly rose and refastened his cloak. He moved so that his bulk would block any casual glance into their prison.
The door swung open. The Valkyrie with her hair arranged in a crown of braids stood like an avenging fury. Behind her the sky blackened. He heard the faint rumble of Thor hitting the clouds with his hammer and tossing lightning bolts. He forced his breathing to be steady. She could not know about their scheme.
‘Is this a good time for a social call? Thor appears to be losing his temper at Loki over something.’
Her brow knitted in confusion. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I refer to the thunderstorm—in my world thunder is Thor striking his hammer.’
‘Are your men well?’
‘They are recovering.’ Moir kept his gaze studiously from the stone at the back of the byre. This storm was his best chance to get the escape preparations complete, ready for the time when they could go. And keeping his men together would ensure that, when the opportunity struck, he could take full advantage of it. Bjartr and Palni were recovering, he knew that in his heart. ‘If I start fearing for them, I will let you know.’
The thunder rumbled again and still she stood there with a quizzical expression on her face. Moir frowned. ‘Is there anything else we can help you with, my lady Valkyrie?’
She held out a slender hand, one which seemed far too fragile to have wielded that bow and arrow with such deadly efficiency. ‘I require your brooches.’
‘Our brooches?’ Moir’s mind raced. He had figured they would have more time before Guthmann arrived. Had he miscalculated? Had the Mercian lord returned?
‘You stated that they would help prove your identity. You wanted to take them to your jaarl.’
He motioned to his men to remain where they were. There was no point in making a break for freedom unless all hope was lost and there was no other way to survive. ‘Yes, I wanted to take them myself. My jaarl will know them.’
‘But your jaarl will know them without you being there to tell him?’
Moir clenched his teeth. ‘True, but—’
‘Either a yes or no.’
‘Has the Mercian lord returned, offering you more money for us?’
The Valkyrie blinked twice. ‘Cedric? He seeks to exploit the situation to his advantage. He will return soon, but he hasn’t so far.’
‘Then why the sudden urgency? Has Guthmann sent another messenger?’ Moir’s brain raced. They could wait until the cover of darkness, then he could carry Palni on his back. The others could support Bjartr. He didn’t want to, but it was better than being sheep led to the slaughter. The gods had truly abandoned them.
‘I am sending my younger sister and steward to court.’ She pressed her hands together, but not before Moir noticed a slight tremor. ‘Your weapons and your brooches will prove your identity. Elene can hire guards from the new Mercian King who will then escort you back to court. A prisoner exchange, I believe it is called.’
Moir revised his opinion on their luck. The gods had smiled on them finally. Perhaps Thor with his thunder was signalling his approval. Perhaps his ordeal was about to end and he could finally regain his family’s honour,