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Paying the Viking's Price
‘Hilda,’ she called out as she entered the kitchen. ‘I need you. Immediately, if not sooner.’
At the sound of her voice, the tableau froze. The cook gesturing towards a black cauldron, and Hilda’s sulky expression while a variety of ladles and spoons lay on the floor as the kitchen boys cowered, told Edith everything she needed to know. Brand was right. The kitchen was no place for Hilda.
‘Hilda, it is time you leave the cook and his staff to do what they do best.’
Hilda stuck her nose in the air and marched out of the kitchen. ‘Me being a scullery maid was not one of your better ideas, cousin. That cook actually expected me to wash the cauldrons! Do you know how long it takes me every night to keep my hands soft? I was born a lady, not a thrall.’
‘Then you will be relieved to know that you are to be in the main hall tonight. Lord Bjornson has requested your presence at the feast.’
The colour fled from Hilda’s face. ‘You told him about me? You promised, Edith! What else have you done?’
‘After your little performance back there, I don’t wonder King Halfdan in Eoferwic doesn’t know about you!’ Edith crossed her arms. Hilda could not have it all her own way. ‘Try taking some responsibility, Hilda. Brand Bjornson saw us talking earlier. You should know that I do endeavour to keep my promises.’
Hilda had the grace to flush. ‘You should change the cook. He has not the least idea about proper respect.’
‘Fulke has been with us since before my father died, first as a kitchen boy and now the head cook.’ Edith took a calming breath. Screaming at Hilda wouldn’t serve any purpose. Hilda had never liked hard work. ‘In the kitchen, he is king. It has always been that way. What precisely did he do, besides ask you to clean the pots?’
Hilda picked at her sleeve. ‘If you must know, I became angry at that blasted cook for saying you were a Norseman’s whore. He had no right.’
Edith winced. She could well imagine the insults which were bandied about, but they were only words. Words only had the power to hurt if she let them. She’d learned that lesson long ago with Egbert. Inside she knew her reasons and some day everyone who mocked her would be grateful. ‘I believe that is what a concubine is.’
‘But it isn’t right. It hurts to be called such things.’
Edith drew in her breath. ‘All I have is your word, Hilda. Fulke has not dared say it to my face.’
Hilda blushed and Edith breathed easier. Hilda had spun another tall tale to get someone into trouble.
‘Did you know they are slaughtering two of the cattle? You refused Egbert cattle when he left. And Fulke wants the spice cupboard unlocked because Lord Bjornson asked if we had any cinnamon bark. Who uses such a thing?’
Edith fumbled for her keys, only to grasp thin air. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. ‘Fulke will have to ask Lord Bjornson for the key.’
‘He has taken your keys!’
‘The hall and all its contents belong to him.’
‘I can’t believe you, Edith. You are so calm about the whole thing. All your spirit is gone. I thought you were a Northumbrian through and through, yet you surrendered your keys. Your mother’s keys!’
‘Who can I fight, Hilda?’ Edith held out her hands. Somehow she had to make Hilda understand that it was dangerous to be belligerent. She was playing this game for the long term. No one would be helped if she broke down now. The gold, silver and jewellery were well hidden. You had to know where in the lord’s bedchamber to look. Brand Bjornson would never find it. ‘We are in this mess because Egbert decided to fight, rather than accepting my father’s pledge of fealty. The Norsemen would have left us alone if we paid that tithe. Yes, it would have been hard, but we could have done it.’
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Edith’s cheeks took on the colour of a spring dawn and her pale blue 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.
‘The estate is indeed productive. 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? What game was she playing?
‘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 have my pride.’
He waited a heartbeat and leant forward so that his breath interlaced with hers. She did know the game. The pretence ended here.
‘As my concubine.’
AUTHOR NOTE
On 1st November 866, taking advantage of a Northumbrian civil war, part of the Great Viking Army led by Halfdan captured the Northumbrian capital of York. The capture was relatively bloodless as all the nobles were at York Minster, attending the All Saints service. By March 867 the Northumbrians had settled their differences and tried to retake the town. The town was sacked and the Northumbrians comprehensively defeated. Aella, one of the Northumbrian leaders, suffered a particularly horrific death—being made a blood eagle. However, he had slowly poisoned Halfdan’s father, if the saga is to be believed.
Halfdan and his warriors then left Northumbria to its own devices. In 876, after some unspecified disturbance, Halfdan decided to settle his warriors in the Yorkshire countryside. Up until this time the Vikings had mainly stuck to York. They settled as far north as the North Riding, rather than going up to what is now the county of Northumberland. There is a singular lack of Norse place names in Northumberland and Durham, so the conclusion is that they did not maintain permanent settlements.
The Vikings were not a literate people and left few written records—thus things can change as new evidence is uncovered. Late in 2011 a hoard of silver coins from the era was uncovered in Lancashire and revealed the existence of several Viking Northumbrian kings missing from the historical record. The Jorvik museum in York is well worth a visit. It is designed to be accessible to anyone from the age of five and up, and is dedicated to researching this highly interesting era.
Paying the Viking’s Price
Michelle Styles
Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives.
An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape.
Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.
Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, and a blog: www.michellestyles.blogspot.com. She would be delighted to hear from you.
Previous novels by the same author:
THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR
A NOBLE CAPTIVE
SOLD AND SEDUCED
THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS
TAKEN BY THE VIKING
A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER
(part of Christmas By Candlelight) VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY IMPOVERISHED MISS, CONVENIENT WIFE COMPROMISING MISS MILTON* THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS BREAKING THE GOVERNESS’S RULES* TO MARRY A MATCHMAKER HIS UNSUITABLE VISCOUNTESS HATTIE WILKINSON MEETS HER MATCH AN IDEAL HUSBAND?
*linked by character
And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:
THE PERFECT CONCUBINE
Did you know that some of the novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
For exercise trainer Tracy Anderson and her online Metamorphosis community, particularly Leah, Patrizia, Tracy, Shaunna, Jenn, Katie and Kathy, in grateful thanks for showing me that exercise is something to be embraced and enjoyed rather than feared. The only fairy dust is truly sweat and you have to be persistent.
If you are interested in reading more about the Vikings in England I would suggest:
Ferguson, Robert, The Hammer and the Cross: A New History of the Vikings (2010 Penguin Books, London)
Haywood, John, The Penguin Historical Atlas of the Vikings (1995 Penguin Books, London)
Jesch, Judith, Women in the Viking Age (1991 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge Suffolk)
O’Brien, Harriet, Queen Emma and The Vikings—The Woman who shaped the events of 1066 (2005 Blooms-bury, London)
Magnusson, Magnus KBE, The Vikings (2003 Tempus Publishing Stroud, Gloucestershire)
Rosedahl, Else, The Vikings revised edition, translated by Susan Margeson and Kirsten Williams (1998 Penguin Books, London)
Wood, Michael, In Search of the Dark Ages 2nd edition (2005 BBC Books, London)
Contents
Chapter One
Early March 876—North Yorkshire
His land. His and no one else’s, won by his sword arm and given by the grace of his king.
Brand Bjornson knelt down in the dark soil and gathered a handful of sun-warmed dirt. He squeezed it, feeling the richness of the earth between his fingers. After more than a decade of war and fighting, this, this was all he dreamt about—land to put down roots and to create his own piece of paradise on earth.
Finally. Instead of a landless mercenary whose only future was a quick death, he was now a jaarl with a large estate to prove it. Halfdan, once the leader of the felag to conquer Northumbria and now his king, had kept his word and given him worthwhile land, one of the finest estates in all of Northumbria.
Brand gave a wry smile as the rich loam coated his hand. Honouring a long-ago promise was a rare thing in Viking politics where allegiance and alliance shifted on the point of a sword or the jangle of a money bag.
He stood and surveyed the gently rolling hills where the new spring grass had started to push through the dry hassocks of winter. A river meandered. And it was all his as far as the eye could see. He’d fought hard enough for it, from Byzantium to the wilds of Northumbria. He’d earned it and he would be a good overlord. He’d encountered enough poor ones to last a lifetime.
‘Do we burn the empty barns and teach them a lesson?’ Hrearek, his comrade-in-arms and sworn sokman asked, nodding towards where the various ramshackle buildings stood. ‘There are rich pickings here which they are trying to hide from us with their lack of cattle, sheep and horses. Always the same, these Northumbrians. Same tricks and attempts at deception. They think we’re stupid because we don’t worship the same god as they do or have the same customs but I can sniff out stores and gold from ten paces. And this place has them, despite what they claimed.’
‘We’ve come to settle, not to raid. My sword time is over.’ Brand stood and wiped his filthy hand against his trousers. There was more than a faint hint of spring in the chilly March breeze. His face was towards the future, rather than his blood-soaked past. Reborn and renewed, he would remake this land to suit his needs. ‘It is time to plant and grow crops. They will learn it is wise to be on the right side of their overlord. Once they know me, they will be glad to have me as their jaarl.’
‘And you think they will give in like that?’ Hrearek snapped his fingers. ‘This was the heartland of the rebellion. They need to be taught a lesson which they will not soon forget.’
‘They have no choice. The rebels lost. My sword dispatched their leader and saved your life.’ Brand shrugged. War, when it came down to it, was merely a game. Afterwards, the winner had everything. It was the way of the world and the Northumbrians knew it. It was why they’d rebelled rather than accepting that they had lost all of their power when the Norsemen defeated their fathers and brothers in Jorvik ten years ago. ‘Halfdan is their king. Any rebel will be punished and their land taken.’
‘And will you marry? Send back home for the lovely Lady Sigfrieda? You have spoken so much about her.’
Brand looked up in the clear blue sky. Once the thought of winning Sigfrieda’s hand had driven his every move, now he had not thought about her in months. He’d been too busy helping to put down the rebellion and finally winning his land. He struggled to remember her face, beyond the dazzle her golden hair had given in the candlelight, and how regular her features were. She would be the perfect demure wife for him. Together they would breed strong sons.
‘That is the plan.’ He fingered the scar on his neck, remembering how he’d been turned away, bloody and beaten from his father’s house as his father lay dying. Then he’d been known as the bastard son of a cast-off mistress who dared speak his mind. ‘Once I’m settled, I will send word to her father. If fortune favours me, the lovely lady will be here before the autumn makes the passage difficult. I need sons to make sure what I have done is not written on the wind.’
His sokman nodded, accepting the statement at face value. Hrearek was not a friend, but rather a companion-in-arms and didn’t need to know the full history. ‘I’m impressed. You never falter or waver in your schemes. You are an inspiration, Brand Bjornson. I can only hope that fortune will favour me in the same way. By Frieda’s bower, I too would like a woman to open her thighs and bear me sons.’
‘My dream kept me alive on the blackest of days. Now it is time to live it.’ Brand gestured towards where the Anglo-Saxon hall stood, proud and defiant. The occupants were to learn a powerful lesson about who controlled this land.
‘Time to claim my land and see precisely how impoverished this Lord Egbert truly was.’
* * *
‘The Norsemen! The Norsemen are here!’
The cry went up and echoed around the hall. Lady Edith stilled, her spindle falling into her lap.
She had expected this for weeks, ever since she’d heard the news of her husband’s death in the rebellion against the so-called King of Jorvik and leader of the Norsemen. Her counsel against the rebellion had fallen on deaf ears.
Now Egbert was slain in battle and she had to contend with the consequences of his actions. Silently she thanked God that most of the stores were stowed safely and the land showed its usual before-the-spring barrenness, nothing to alert the Norsemen to its true worth and productivity.
‘What will we do, cousin? The Norsemen are here! There is no one left to defend us. We’re doomed,’ Hilda asked, jumping up and spilling wool and spinning whorls all over the stone floor. ‘Doomed, I say!’
‘We must hope the Norsemen go as quickly as they came with the minimal amount of fuss.’ Edith carefully placed her spindle down on the wooden trunk. She gathered up the wool and the three spinning whorls that she could find. One, she noticed with a sigh, now had a crack running through it. Hilda didn’t bother to help, but instead stood wringing her hands and repeating her words. There was little point in panicking when her distant cousin did it well enough for the both of them.
‘Will they go?’ Hilda asked when Edith had picked up the final whorl.
‘Always.’ Edith tightened her fingers about the whorl. ‘The Norsemen never settle. They take what they can grab and go.’
The one thing she was certain of despite their conquest of Eoferwic, which the Norsemen now called Jorvik, ten years ago—the Norsemen did not settle inland. Instead they used the land for raiding, their own private larder of cattle, sheep and women, one of the main reasons why Egbert found so many recruits for his rebellion.
Edith wrinkled her nose in distaste. The Norsemen were barbarians with no thought for the lives they destroyed.
Against her husband’s direct order, she had made sure all the essential stores were carefully hidden, including moving all the silver and her mother’s jewels into the hidden cavity in the lord’s bedchamber. Unlike Egbert, she had been in Eoferwic the day the Norsemen first took that city and had seen how well they could fight. Despite Egbert’s words and posturing, she’d doubted that he could retake it with his ragtag army when so many others had failed. When they were first married, Egbert had won a few bouts with his sword, but he’d long since run to fat.
Her people would make it through until the late spring when food became plentiful again. She refused to allow any Norseman to starve them simply to increase his own bloated belly.
‘What will you do? They are bound to know about Eg...Lord Egbert and his part in the struggle. We will all be punished for it, just like you warned him!’
‘It gives me no pleasure to be right, cousin. You must believe that.’
‘But you know what they will do. They’ll burn, rape and pillage.’ Hilda’s eyes bulged with fear and her body shook.
Edith pressed her lips together. If she didn’t do something, her cousin would collapse in a heap on the floor, insensible to reason, one more problem to be sorted before the Norsemen arrived. Edith concentrated and searched for a soothing phrase, rather than screaming at Hilda to pull herself together.
She could never stoop so low as to scream at Hilda. She knew whose bed her husband had shared the last time he was here. Everyone knew it. The whispers had flown around the hall until she thought everyone had looked at her with pity. Edith despised pity. It did not mean she approved of her cousin’s affair with her husband. Far from it, but she knew what Egbert was like underneath the good humour he showed to visitors and people who might have been able to assist him. If Hilda had objected to his advances, he’d have raped her. Sending her away hadn’t been an option while Egbert was alive. And now there were the Norsemen at the door.
‘I will mouth the words of fealty if it comes down to it,’ Edith said in her firmest voice. ‘You will see, Hilda. All will be well once I do.’
‘You?’ Hilda put her hand to her throat and the hysterics instantly stopped. ‘But will this Norseman jaarl accept your word?’
Edith clenched her fists. Hilda should trust her. Hadn’t she looked after the estate, making certain it prospered while Egbert indulged his passion for hunting and whoring? ‘He will have to. This land has belonged to our family since time began. And I will not be the one to lose it.’
‘You mean you expect him to marry you.’ Hilda tapped her nose. ‘Clever. I wish I’d a dowry like that instead of my looks. You’ll be dressed in silks and ribbons and forget about us.’
‘I’ve no expectations,’ Edith said carefully. Marriage to a Norseman was the logical solution, even if she hated the thought of being married again. An unmarried widow with a large estate was too great of a prize. ‘But you’re wrong if you think I could ever forget this estate and its inhabitants. They are my people. Every single one of them.’
‘Your husband will be turning in his grave, cousin, to think that you of all people should swear allegiance to the Norse king.’
‘My father swore fealty to Halfdan in Eoferwic, ten years ago. Egbert broke that promise, not me.’
Hilda shook her carefully coiffured head and her bee-stung lips gave a little pout. ‘I expected more somehow. You were his wife for seven years. Are you sure the king won’t worry about that? You must have shared some of the same views.’
Edith raised her chin. How dare Hilda question her as if she was a common servant? Her entire being trembled with anger and she longed to tell a few home truths to Hilda. Instead Edith gulped air and concentrated on controlling her temper.
‘When did Egbert and I ever agree on anything?’ she said as steadily as she dared. ‘Lord Egbert is no longer the master here. He ceased to be when he breathed his last. The hall and its land were never fully his. We shared responsibility. I know the marriage terms my father negotiated. The hall and its lands were to be returned to me should anything happen to Egbert. And I intend to keep them safe.’
‘Cousin, this is no time for jesting.’ Hilda widened her pale blue eyes. ‘You know little of the art of war. Egbert always used to say—’
‘It’s the people of this land I must consider.’ Edith glared at Hilda. The last thing she wanted to hear was her late husband’s opinion on her many failings. ‘The Norsemen should accept my assurance and my gift. They should move on to the next estate, hopefully without burning our hall or forcing a marriage. We survive whatever happens. Survival is important.’
