“He gives us naught but pretense, milady,” Wulnoth said in the local dialect.
Erika had been teaching these people Danish, the language she wanted them eventually to use, but it was a slow process, and when she was not around, she knew they reverted to Anglo-Saxon. Wulnoth, in particular, clung to his own language even when she was present, and although she could understand it well enough, she refused to answer in kind, forcing him to switch to Danish or get no further conversation from her.
It was typical of the man’s character to play this little game of dominance with her every time they had words together. She supposed he hoped to catch her up at least once, to hear her answer him in Anglo-Saxon. He would feel he had won some sort of victory over herif she did. It was a source of satisfaction to her that she never made that mistake.
“He pretends ignorance of our language,” Wulnoth continued, “and he pretends to be so weak he cannot even stand, when you have only to look at him to see his strength.”
Erika was looking at him, and Wulnoth was correct. The strength was there, couldn’t help but be there, in a very wide and muscular chest, and in the arms that stretched so tautly above his head that every thick cord in them stood out. And unnoticed before, because Wulnoth had stood in front of him, was that his feet did not dangle just above the floor, as the position of the chains was supposed to ensure. The man’s feet were planted firmly on the ground and his knees were actually bent, suggesting that he would tower over the captain if he were standing erect.
So much for the puzzle of needing six men to get him here, Erika mused. A man this large and tall would weigh a very great amount, and these local men who now paid allegiance to her brother could not compare in size. But he was indeed pretending weakness. That, or mayhap he was just so exhausted he couldn’t remain awake. Less likely things were known to happen. Or mayhap Wulnoth had already tortured him vilely, though she was sure he would not dare.
His clothes were those of a serf, but that could be a disguise. His long hair hadn’t been altered, though. Raven-black it was, clearly suggesting Celtic origins.
She replied to Wulnoth in Danish, once again spoiling his hope that she might forget and speak his tongue. “The man could as like be tired as weak. And a Celt may not know your language, but a spy would of necessity know mine. Did you try mine?”
His reddened face told her he had not. And a new voice told her she had guessed correctly.
“You speak Danish?”
The prisoner had lifted his head to ask that, and Erika could do no more than stare and continue staring, until she realized what she was doing and color crept hotly into her cheeks. But she excused her bemusement immediately. Her eyes were not deceiving her. The man had a face so handsome it defied description.Beautifulwas all she could think to call him, and even that didn’t do him justice.
Oh, he could learn secrets easily enough—from women. But women rarely knew the secrets of war…Erika was appalled at how quickly she was ready to dismiss the charges against him because she found him handsome, incredibly handsome—unbelievably handsome. She would have to guard against that, judge him only on the facts.
She finally answered him. “What else would I speak? But you speak Danish well yourself, for a Celt. Of course, you would have had to learn it in order to spy here.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard her, for hisnext question was unrelated. “What is a Dane doing in Wessex?”
“Ah, so now we know for whom you spy.”
“Answer me, wench.”
Erika stiffened in something close to outrage, though she curbed it well, adding, “And that you are used to command. But we will ask the questions here. I am Lady Erika, sister of Ragnar Haraldsson, who holds Gronwood and these lands hereabouts. In his absence, I am the authority you must answer to, and you may begin with your name.”
“You sound as bossy as my sister.”
The grin he gave her had Erika blushing again and even forgetting the demeaning name he had called her. It also caused a warmth to uncurl deep in her belly. She couldn’t say why she felt his words to be a compliment, or why that should please her. And then she groaned inwardly. She was reacting to his handsomeness again, like some silly maid who had naught better to do than sigh and simper over his flattery. She could have none of that if she wished to maintain her authority.
“Your name?” she snapped again.
He sighed, and seemed to slump a bit farther down the wall. Why he would stretch his arms so torturously when he had only to stand up to relieve the pressure…?
“I am Selig the Blessed, of the Haardrad clan of Norway.”
Erika heard Turgeis stir behind her. He would be sympathetic to another Norwegian.She hoped he didn’t credit such an obvious lie, and it annoyed her that the man couldn’t have come up with a better one than that.
“Your looks betray you,” she scoffed, then heard herself offer, “I have heard the Cornish Celts are giants, and ’tis more like you are one of them. Why would you lie? We are not enemies with them. They have even helped our men against the Saxons.”
“How do you come to be in Wessex?”
His evasion infuriated her, as did the confusion he portrayed so convincingly. She had given him an identity that would have benefited him, could have allowed her to let him go, yet he hadn’t accepted it, had in fact ignored it. Loki take him, then, for she would be damned if she would attempt to aid him again.
“You are in East Anglia, as if you did not know, near Bedford.”
“’Tis not possible.”
Now he calledhera liar? Tight-lipped, she turned to Wulnoth. “Why is he accused of spying?” Her very expression warned him not to answer in anything but Danish, and so he did, and fluently.
“The returning patrol found him lying outside the wall, trying to escape their notice in the dark, and ’twas just opposite the wall where the changing of the guard was being discussed.”
