Ragnar flushed. “That was not my fault,” he said. “I believed Antonia when she said the child was hers. She is fair like Antonia. Why should I have not believed her?”
“We do not hold you responsible,” Wulf assured him graciously.
“I must go,” Ragnar said, rising. Wulf’s manner was beginning to irritate him. “I thank you for the meal. I will certainly consider your words, Wulf Ironfist.”
As Ragnar departed Cadda-wic, his thoughts were somewhat confused. Wulf Ironfist had actually given him good advice. The lands to the south of him were rich, and most of the poor souls farming it could not withstand the force of his might. Those lands could be his for the taking, and with little loss of life on his side. He was not afraid of death, nor of battle, but there was something about this Britain that made a man desire peace more than war. He did not understand it, but neither did it make him unhappy.
Antonia, however, did not quite see it that way. “Why would you settle for less than you can have?” she demanded of him scornfully.
To her credit, he thought, she was not afraid of his anger. She knew herself safe as she was growing big with his child. He did not believe in beating a woman who was with child, though the gods knew this particular woman tried him sorely. His two Saxon wives were strong women as well, but they had a sweetness to them. Antonia was bitterly hard of heart, her only softness being that which she showed toward her son. The boy, Ragnar thought, was a cowardly little weasel, always hiding behind his mother’s skirts.
“What would you have of me, then?” he demanded irritably. “Why should I war with Wulf Ironfist over his lands, when the lands to the south are as rich, and easier pickings? Perhaps, Antonia, you hope that Wulf Ironfist will vanquish me and you will regain control of these lands for your son. Put such thoughts from your head,wife. Soon my brother and his family will join us. If I die an unnatural death, Gunnar will be here to avenge me, and to hold these lands for himself and our sons.”
She was astounded. This was the first she had heard of his brother, but used to deceit, Antonia covered her surprise with a sweet smile. “You did not tell me that you had a brother, Ragnar, or that he would be coming to join us. Has he wives and children? When is he to arrive? We must prepare a proper welcome for our family.”
Ragnar’s booming laughter filled their bed space. “By Woden, Antonia, you are clever, but I see through you! You were not expecting that I had additional family, but we Saxons are good breeders, as your belly attests to,” he told her, patting the place where his child grew within her. “You had some scheme in mind, and now, I have not a doubt, you will form another crafty plot to replace it. Very well, if it amuses you to do so. Breeding women are given to such vagaries, and it is harmless enough, I think.” He lowered his dark blond head and kissed her plump shoulder. His shoulder-length hair brushed her breasts.
Reaching up, Antonia thoughtfully stroked his beard. She hated him, but he was the most virile man she had ever known. “Do not be a fool, Ragnar,” she finally told him. “Take the lands to the south, for Wulf Ironfist has given you good advice. Even I will admit to that. Lull our enemy into a false sense of security, and when he least expects it, seize his lands as well! Why settle for being a minor lordling when you could be a king?”
At her words, the child within her kicked mightily, and Ragnar Strongspear felt the movement beneath his resting hand. “It is an omen,” he said, almost fearfully. “Why else would the child grow so restive in your womb, Antonia? Surely it is a sign of some sort.”
“Our son knows that I speak the truth, my husband,” she told him. “Or perhaps it is the gods who speak to you through the babe.” What a fool he is, she thought to herself. If the gods existed, and frankly Antonia was no longer certain that they did, why would they bother to concern themselves with one as foolish and superstitious as this great bull of a man who lay by her side contemplating the future?
“My brother and his family should be here in a few days’ time,” he told her finally. “He has just a single wife, as he has never been able to afford more, but now, of course, that will change. He is younger than I am by several years, but he fathered his first child on his wife when he was but fourteen. There are eight living children. Six sons.”
“What a fine family,” Antonia said dryly, thinking that this horrid hall he had built to replace her beautiful villa—the villa he had destroyed—was already badly overcrowded. The addition of ten more people would but add to the noise and the filth. The gods! She missed her bath with its lovely rejuvenating steam and its delicious hot water. How Ragnar’s other wives mocked her when she insisted on washing herself in a little oaken tub filled with warm water. But she didn’t care. She would wager that Cailin Drusus had better bathing accommodations, the bitch! “Ragnar,” she said to her husband, who was half dozing.
“What?” he grunted.
“If Cadda-wic is truly fortified so well it cannot be taken in battle, then we will have to think of another way to capture it.”
He shook his head at her. “There is no way. Wulf Ironfist has built strongly, and he has built well. Even the water supply is safely within his walls. I am not a man to easily admit defeat, Antonia, but Cadda-wic cannot be taken. It simply cannot be!”
“Let me tell you a tale of ancient times, Ragnar,” Antonia said patiently, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand.
“Another time, woman,” he said, and rolled her onto her side. “I have other things in mind for you, and then I must sleep. In the morning you may tell me your fable, but now I want to fuck you.”
“Your needs are so simple,” she taunted him, hissing softly as he penetrated her expertly. “If you are as good a warrior as you are a lover, my husband, you will have no difficulty in taking Cadda-wic once I have shown you how. Ahhh, yess, Ragnar! Yesss!”
Cadda-wic. He thought about it as he methodically pumped her. The lands were good, the hall sound, and Cailin would be an extra bonus. He had seen her several times, but he could not dismiss her from his mind. What fire and spirit she had! He imagined she would be as strong and sweet as his Saxon wives, and as lustful as Antonia. It was a perfect combination, and he meant to have her. There was time, however. Neither she nor Wulf Ironfist were going anywhere. They had made it abundantly clear that the land meant everything to them. He would have more than enough time to take the lands to the south. To settle his brother and his family on a nearby holding. To find Gunnar a second wife with a good dowry. Oh, yes, there was plenty of time.
The autumn came, and Nuala bore Winefrith a fine, big son, who was called Barre. It meant a gateway between two places. Nuala thought it appropriate, for Barre was indeed a bridge between the Britain of old and the new Britain. Cailin was present at the birth, and afterward marveled at the child’s size and how strongly he tugged upon his mother’s breast when he was put there to nurse.
“You’ll have a son of your own soon enough,” Nuala teased her. “Surely you and Wulf do not spend all that time in the solar just talking, cousin.” She giggled. “I know I wouldn’t!”
“Fresh from childbirth, and totally shameless,” Cailin said, pretending to be scandalized. “For your information, Wulf enjoys watching me at my loom, Nuala. And then, of course, we sing together.”
Nuala looked thunderstruck. “You jest!” she said.
“I assure you it is quite true,” Cailin replied sweetly.
“Indeed it is,” Wulf said, agreeing with his wife, whom he had overheard spinning her mischievous tale. “Cailin weaves a most marvelous spell about me when we are in the solar together, and sings passion’s song far better than any I have ever known.”
Nuala burst out laughing, realizing that they were teasing her. The infant at her breast hiccuped, and began to wail. “Ohh, see what you have done to Barre!” she scolded them, suddenly all maternal concern and caring. “There, my little sweetheart. Do not fuss.”
By the Winterfest, the lady of Cadda-wic was beginning to swell with another child, much to everyone’s delight. It would be born, Cailin told them, after Beltane.
“And it is a son, I am certain,” she assured Wulf.
