She is a Valkyrie war maiden, Erika thought as she came near enough to experience Kristen’s full height of nearly six feet.
The messenger had announced who Kristen was. The rich embroidery and fine blue linen of Erika’s outer gown proclaimed her own status, as did her jewel-encrusted girdle and the silk ribbons entwined through her long double braids. She was without weapon, other than her eating dagger. She appeared perfectly at ease.
Kristen’s surprise at her young age was reflected in her first question. “Is yours the only authority here?”
“Whilst my brother is away, aye,” Erika replied, and looking beyond at the army in wait, she added, “You come prepared for war.”
It was an accusation, though mildly made, and it was certainly true. Even Kristen was prepared, having cast off her long-sleeved, narrow-skirted under chainse for convenience in riding and movement, and in deference to the warm weather of these southern lands, which she doubted she would ever grow accustomed to. That left only her sleeveless outer gown, which was shorter in length, falling above her ankles, and split up the sides. And under this she wore trousers tightly cross-gartered, which she had borrowed from one of the men close to her size, and her own fur-trimmed boots.
With her long golden hair in a single braid down her back, she could have been mistaken for a man from a distance, especially withthe sword hooked to her saddle within easy reach and plain sight, and her most prized possession, her father’s long-bladed dagger secured at her hip.
This was clearly no eating dagger, as Erika’s was, but a splendid weapon, ivory-handled with a snarling dragon’s head at its base, and runes etched onto the blade giving it Odin’s blessing. Garrick had given it to her after hearing Royce recount the tale of how she had wounded his cousin Alden just after Alden’s blade had cut down Selig.
Kristen and her mother had both sunk low in their chairs during the telling, waiting for Garrick’s explosion, for he would never have given his permission for Kristen to learn the use of weapons, and didn’t know that Brenna had taught her in secret. His feeling had always been that it was his right to protect his only daughter. But Brenna believed it was Kristen’s right first, and her father could help after as he would. And he hadn’t been furious. He had handed her his own dagger instead, and she had sensed his pride in her, which made it all the more special to her.
“I come for my brother, at whatever the cost,” Kristen said, the warning unmistakable. “You hold him prisoner. I want him now.”
“You come quickly if you come from Wessex as he claimed to.”
The skepticism in her tone had Kristen snapping in annoyance, “You were a fool not to believe him. My brother is no spy. He camehere on business your king would have found to his liking.”
“So he said, but there were enough circumstances to doubt him. However, you may have him back.”
“Without Danegeld?” Kristen sneered.
Erika shrugged. “You have verified his claims, so I will demand no ransom.” She turned to call back to one of her men, “Wulnoth, fetch—”
The giant interrupted. “I will get him.”
Erika was surprised by his offer, and a bit distressed that he would leave her with this horde at the gate. But then, it was only the Celt’s sister and two Norsemen who were near, the rest of their army far back, and she had four others with her—Celt? Nay, he couldn’t be that either, or not just that, not if this very obvious Norsewoman was his sister. Or mayhap he was not this woman’s ken. Possibly his lies had gone so deep as to bring someone else’s sister here to collect him.
Suspicious now that this had occurred to her, Erika suggested, “Mayhap I should verify first if ’tis actually your brother I hold prisoner, and not some man merely claiming to be him.”
“Selig is the most handsome man you will ever chance to see.” At Erika’s blush, Kristen added, “Aye, you have the right man.”
“But he does not look a Viking,” Erika pointed out. “He has the look of—”
“Our mother is a Welsh Celt,” Kristen said, not really paying attention now, watching theopen gate instead, where that giant the messenger had named Turgeis Ten Feet would soon appear with Selig. “’Tis her he favors, except in his size, which we both have from our father.”
“I see,” Erika said, though she did not, nor did she particularly care. She hadn’t expected an army to come for the prisoner, but since one had, she wanted them gone the soonest. It made her uncomfortable just to stand near the other woman, whose larger, more thickly muscled and boned frame made her feel puny, even though she was not so many inches shorter in her own height.
None of which showed in her demeanor. She was secure in her own status, with her own army nearer to hand. She hadn’t as many men, what with Ragnar having taken so many with him, but these Norse Vikings and Saxons didn’t know that, which made all the difference. And once they had the prisoner, they would have no reason to tarry.
Inside Gronwood, in the pit where Selig had suffered the agonies of hell these past days, Turgeis nudged him awake to tell him, “The fever has been purged from you, and your sister has come. Do you walk, or do I carry you to her?”
Selig squinted at him, recognizing one of the faces from his nightmares. “You again? And you cannot carry me.” He stated what he thought was obvious, thinking no man could. “But you can give me a hand up.”
He was jerked upright too quickly. Turgeis had to catch him before he fell over.
“Give me a minute,” Selig requested, cursing the weakness that was still with him and much worse than before.
“I do not have a minute,” Turgeis replied. “I do not like leaving my lady alone with your people.”
The mention of the lady,her, brought back the worst of the nightmare Selig had just lived through, and with it, the helpless rage he had experienced. “They will not harm her,” he said. They would not dare. That right he reserved for himself.
Kristen was pacing in her impatience. Though it did not seem so, she was exhausted, having slept little the night the rumor first came to them, and not at all last eventide, having ridden straight through the night to get here. That had not been the wisest thing to do, she supposed. Her men were not so long without rest as she, though they wouldn’t be at their best either. But she couldn’t have done differently, not with Selig’s freedom at stake.
Erika stood near, arms crossed, composed, yet beginning to worry over what was taking Turgeis so long. Did the damned prisoner not want to leave? Were, in fact, his lies about to be revealed? Other men could be as handsome. It wasn’t impossible. That one description didn’t truly describe the man, or the allowance that he looked Celtic.
