“Limb from limb!” Hild growled in agreement.
“Wolf!” Camelee admonished. “Please don’t speak like that around her.”
He promised not to in the future, but it was clear by the grins he offered Hild that he was proud of her.
“So, what do Vikings do for Christmas?” Camelee asked, wishing she had paid more attention to her history lessons.
“Because we are Christian, and belong to the Catholic Church, we celebrate the birth of our Lord. Many others practice the traditions of their Norsemen fathers, sacrificing to their gods for twelve days, burning wreathes and praying to trees. But some traditions they both share are drinking and singing, feasting and celebrating. Which we will be doing.” His smile widened into a salacious grin that made her feel drunk looking at it. “But you must stay close to me. Many will be deep into their cups, so stay close to me.”
She nodded and smiled like a love-struck imbecile. He wanted to keep her safe. This was his world, not hers. She intended on looking nice. She didn’t want to look like a poor slave, for her sake, and for Wolf’s. But some of the men here…Ivar’s furious growls when he struck her and grabbed her by the bra…some of the men were dangerous. She would stay close to Wolf. She didn’t have to be told twice.
She could try to learn the skill of defense many of the Norse women practiced. They kept themselves safe with techniques on how to bring a man down with or without a weapon. But this was a time of violence, not talking it out. There was danger around every corner, at least until you earned the men’s respect. She didn’t have the energy for that. She’d rather Wolf do it for her.
“What about—” Camelee eyed him and then Hild, hoping he understood.
He creased his brow and looked where she looked. “What about her?”
“She must have gifts in the morning. What shall we get her?”
“Get her? From where?”
Oh, right. There weren’t any toy shops around here.
“Maybe I’ll bake her a treat or two,” she murmured.
They came to one of the keep’s exits and stepped outside to the snow-covered inner yard. The few trees in view were gnarled and white. Wolf put Hild down in the snow, where she proceeded to purposely fall face down.
Camelee and Wolf both rushed to her and pulled up. Camelee realized as they doted over her that they were acting like a little family, and it felt more real than anything she’d had in her life.
Fearless of the cold, Hild loved making snow angels, but she loved building a snowman even more. After it became clear what they were doing, others joined in and built their own, until it looked like a village of various sized and shaped snowmen.
There was a great snowball fight with about thirty-five participants. Camelee and Wolf paired up and fought a good fight—until one of their opponents ran to get away from Wolf’s steady arm and passed the king, who happened to turn in Wolf’s direction at the very moment and was pelted in the face with a snowball.
Everyone stopped. Camelee thought for a moment that time had stopped. And then Hild’s laughter shattered the stillness. The Danish king’s laughter rose with hers.
Camelee could read the relief in Wolf’s face. Why? How much power did he have over Wolf? And if any at all, then wasn’t Wolf a servant, just like her? She would ask him later.
“Papa kiwt him,” Hild whispered.
Camelee heard her. So did Wolf. It was treason. But he appeared more shaken by emotion than fear. She’d called him Papa.
Camelee wasn’t about to correct her. Hild had been distant toward her once because Camelee told her that her mother wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Although she didn’t like how Hild’s opinion of her mattered so much. She wasn’t the child’s mother. No matter how much Wolf wanted it to be so.
She needed to get warm.
The king called out to Wolf and began walking over. Wolf bent and pulled Hild up into his arms then handed her over to Camelee.
“Who is this perfectly divine child?” King Cnut asked while snow melted off his long beard.
“She is Hild, a Saxon orphan,” Wolf told him.
The king’s clear blue gaze shifted to Camelee. “And this must be Camelee of Pendrey.”
“Yes,” Wolf answered.
Camelee smiled and curtsied with Hild on her hip. She stayed quiet, hoping to lead Hild by example.
“Let it be known here and now!” the king shouted his command. It echoed throughout the inner yard, and possibly the outer yard, as well. “Camelee of Pendrey and Hild, the Saxon orphan, belong to Chief Ulf Kristiansen and shall not be touched upon pain of death!”
