“As to that,” Selig replied, “’tis more than likely that Guthrum will have his own interpreter on hand who can be used, while Elfmar and I merely stand present to assure that Saxon interests are protected. Either way, the deed would get accomplished.”
“Aye, well, ’tis a moot point, and the bishop’s decision to make.” And Royce grinned to show that what he was about to add didn’t reflect his own feelings. “He may prefer to return to Alfred rather than trust a Norwegian Viking to represent Saxons against a Danish Viking. You would be amazed how many Saxons do not differentiate ’tween the two.”
Selig laughed at those last words. “I recall clearly there was a time when you did not.”
“That was before I came to know this particular Viking.” And Royce hauled Kristen across the bench and onto his lap—without protest, Selig noted, and no easy task, for his sister was a giant compared with Saxon women. “She has away of making a man think of other than war.”
“And what are you thinking of now, husband?” Kristen asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“That the hour grows late.”
Selig grinned, watching their play. It was a fact that he and his family had had to accept, that she loved this Saxon dearly.
“Aye,” he said. “I needs must find my own bed if I am to be off to East Anglia come the morn.”
“Ifyou are,” Kristen retorted. “And make your choice quickly if you mean to share that bed. I do not care to hear them fighting over you as happened the last time, not when I have guests to be wakened by it.”
Selig rolled his eyes in protest. “That was not my fault, Kris. Edith had not understood yet that I will not—cannot—tolerate jealousy.”
“Aye, you would drive a jealous woman to murder right quickly.”
“Leave go, vixen,” Royce interjected, just managing to keep from laughing. “You have teased him enough this eventide. He begins to blush.”
“Him?” she scoffed, feigning disbelief. “He stopped blushing over his women when he was ten and five. My brother has no shame—”
“Since she will not heed her husband,” Royce cut in, lifting Kristen in his arms as he stood up, “I will see if I cannot occupy her mind with other things.”
Selig heard no complaint to that suggestion. Kristen said merely, “You will break yourback trying to carry me up those stairs again, milord.”
“God’s mercy, Ihateit when you throw out challenges like that.”
Royce did carry her all the way to their chamber upstairs, and if it was difficult for him—her extreme height guaranteed she was no lightweight—he would no doubt see that his wife made up for it with those “other things” he had mentioned.
Kristen was right, however, about her brother. There were too many women here to choose from, too many willing and eager to be that choice. And if Selig hadn’t spread himself around to all those who were available, he wouldn’t have such problems. Truly, he ought to be more discriminating…nay, he couldn’t be that selfish.
He grinned and crooked a finger at Edith. He should have picked another. She had fought over him—and won—but he had punished her enough by consoling the loser of that fight. Yet Edith’s jealousy and possessiveness were a unique experience for him. He had never had such feelings himself, and his women knew better than to succumb to them as well. If they wanted faithfulness, they would have to look to another for it.
“You want more ale, milord?” Edith asked as she reached him, a degree of sulkiness in her tone.
He gave her the smile that had won him the hearts of more women than he could count. “Just you, sweetling.”
She nearly knocked him off his bench, no easy task when he topped her by more than a foot and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Yet she threw herself at him with such force, he was unprepared for her, her mouth voracious on his, her hands already slipping beneath his tunic. He had to laugh. Mayhap jealousy was not such a bad thing after all.
Chapter 3
SELIG DEPARTED FOREast Anglia the next morn. As it happened, the old bishop was delighted to accept his services, and in fact knew a smattering of Celtic himself. Elfmar still joined their party, however, for the sake of clarity. Only the bishop, though, was looking forward to entering the land now ruled by the Danes. The others had all fought against them too many times to feel comfortable going amongst them, peace or no peace—except Selig, who had known Danes long before he knew Saxons, and bore them no grudges.
But it would be several days before they left the borders of Wessex behind, for, due to the bishop’s advanced years, their journey was slow, with many stops for rest at manors they came to, or along the roadside when there were none.
The slow progress didn’t bother Selig. His was a very easy nature, slow to temper, quick to laughter. And he hadn’t seen much of this land that he had decided to live in, other than when he had searched for Kristen and the others after he had recovered from the woundRoyce’s cousin had given him, and when he had joined the war. So he was enjoying the trip.
His sister had been there to send him off with a promise. “I will see that Ivarr and your men do not wreck your new home if they return before you. But you had better hope there are no women at Guthrum’s court, or they will not let you leave.”
He had merely laughed. She did love to tease him, though half of what she said was perfectly true and only meant to annoy, though it rarely did. His men did likewise enjoy teasing, calling him Selig Angel’s-face rather than Selig the Blessed, as he had been dubbed at his birth, a name which came not from a face that mesmerized women, but because the midwife had pronounced him dead at birth, yet his father had breathed life into him.
The second day of the journey dawned with a cloudless sky and a hot sun that had them riding even slower for the bishop’s sake. But the company was pleasant, the land lovely, with all the colors of fertility in full bloom.
As they passed through a small woods with welcome shade cast over the narrow way, Elfmar was amusing Selig with tales, and was now telling of a pagan goddess who had come down to earth in search of a mortal lover. But all the great and mighty warriors were off to war, and the only person she could find to bestow her favors on was a lowly swineherd. Yet this was no ordinary swineherd, was in truth a god in disguise, one who was so smitten by thegoddess that he would do anything to spend one night in her bed, even wallow in earthy muck. But the goddess had guessed the god’s trickery and—
