“Oh, poor dear,” Genevra cooed. “You know some parents cannot—”
Camelee held up her hand to Genevra. “Please. I’ve heard it all. None of it matters at the end of the day. They didn’t—” She paused. She didn’t know it was going to be this difficult to speak of it, to say the words, or why she was telling them to this perfect stranger. Was it because Genevra seemed like a mother to all? Something about her was comforting and Camelee wanted to tell her everything. “They didn’t—love me enough to keep me.”
Genevra’s large eyes were striking in color. They seemed to illuminate the morning in flashes of silver and blue. “Mayhap, they had to give you up,” she said softly and without hesitation, as if the words were there all along, waiting to come out. “If they had not, you might have died.”
Camelee stared at her as they stepped beneath another giant tent. This one though, had no sides, only a roof.
“What, Genevra? Like what?”
“I do not know,” the older woman said as she smiled regretfully. “I have not lived the kind of life where, if I had a babe, I would be forced to give her up.”
“Forced?”
“Mayhap,” Genevra answered.
Camelee shook her head, and then turned her wide gaze on the Viking men. All of them were sitting, shoving food into their faces, or covering half their faces with a cup. Both men and women Saxons were serving.
She pulled Genevra and Hild toward another tent, where the women were cooking food. They all greeted Genevra with solemn hugs. Most asked how she was after losing her lord. She assured them all that she was well, though Camelee doubted in her heart that she was.
“This is Camelee of—” Genevra began to introduce.
“New York,” Camelee told her.
“York. She belongs to the chief—”
“No. I—” Camelee interrupted.
But Genevra’s voice overrode hers and she kept her gaze on Camelee. “So, if anyone harms her, they die.”
It was to keep her safe. Yes. She got it. This wasn’t her world. In this world, she needed the chief—or to belong to the chief, for safety.
“And this is Akkar,” Genevra continued, “the chief’s guard, who has been commanded to guard her.”
Akkar nodded to them and then sat at the table. Camelee sat next to him.
“So,” she said to Genevra now that things had quieted a bit. “Your name is Italian, isn’t it?”
“Aye, Italian and Welsh,” Genevra said with a smile. “In my case, Welsh.”
The others swarmed Hild next. They knew her. They had known her mother. It was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. This entire community offered to raise her. It was good to see, but there was also the fact that their friend was dead, mauled by a bear. She wondered how many of them didn’t believe that story.
Camelee had grown up alone. Her parents traveled often on business. She was raised by nannies most of the time. It was in their care that she mastered the art of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Someone well put together. But the truth was, she couldn’t escape the fact that even the parents who’d adopted her had abandoned her.
Finally, Genevra guided Hild into a chair between Camelee’s and her own.
They were served, a thoughtful gesture the captives offered to Genevra and Hild. Camelee didn’t feel worthy of their servitude and asked Genevra to bring her to the portable kitchen later that night after dinner to help clean up.
It wasn’t something she would ever do at home, but she wasn’t home. Things were very different here. She must learn to either fit in or die.
“All will be well,” Genevra said, smiling at her and reaching across the table to pat her hand.
Camelee knew how to smile while the truth in her thoughts fluttered through her. “We will see.”
They ate lukewarm mutton stew with stale bread. They were served a skin of water, cooled in the snow outside. There was also ale for the men. Camelee chose to have the ale.
“Tell me about yourself, Genevra,” Camelee requested warmly. “Or tell me about your…uhm…lord if you would like. Some people like that.”
Her smile was so inviting that, for a moment, Camelee wanted to fall into her arms.
