“Then bring him here to me.”
Thorolf shook his head. “He will not come. He trusts no Saxon.”
“You came!”
“Aye.” He grinned. “But I trust in your ability to keep your man from slitting my throat. Your father has not witnessed the power you have over him, as I have.”
She was angry enough to say, “For minor things, mayhap, but not over something that pertains to the safety of his people!”
Thorolf was not daunted. If he was going to be cut down, it would have been done already. But the Saxon just stood beside them, his face inscrutable. He did not even seem impatient to learn what they were arguing about.
“Do you tell him?” he asked. “If I have to, he may not understand clearly.”
“Thorolf, please! This cannot happen. I love them both. There can be no winner for me!”
“I do not think that has been taken into account. Sixteen of us have been enslaved, forced to labor for these Saxons. Not all want revenge for that. A few would even like to stay and settle here, if they could do so as free men. But those who do not want revenge have brothers and fathers here now who do.”
“Oh, unfair!” she cried. “’Tis the risk they took when they raided here!”
“They do not see it so.”
“God’s teeth! Did my mother not speak to my father at all?”
“They spoke long—or, more like, argued. It was afterward the decision was made.”
“Did my mother approve this?”
“Nay, she did not, but like yourself, she had no say in it. As Jarl, your uncle is in command. He has the final say, and he agreed. And your father was chosen unanimously, the feeling being he bears the most enmity against the Saxon because of your involvement. Now tell him, Kristen. The hour grows near.”
She looked at Royce. Her face was stark, bloodless. Abject misery poured from her eyes. How could she tell him? She had to tell him. God help her, she was going to be destroyed this day.
Her voice was hollow. “You are challenged, milord. They have chosen their champion and you will fight only him. Do you defeat him, they will leave.”
Royce trampled on her heart by smiling at her. “This is better than I could have hoped for, Kristen. Why do you look so? Do you fear I cannot win?”
“There is that,” she said wretchedly.
“Very well. What will happen if I am defeated?”
He exuded confidence. She could not meet his eyes. “Alden will still have me to bargain with. ’Tis my uncle Hugh who is in command. He does not think you will kill me, but he is not so sure about another Saxon. Hugh will not risk my life. They will leave if I am given to them. Your people will be safe either way.”
“So ’tis only me they bear malice against?”
“Aye. A Viking would rather die in battle than be enslaved, for there is no honor in capture. You forced on them what they hate the most.”
“And yet they will be satisfied if I win?”
“They are fighting men, Royce. They fight for sport or the slightest insult; it matters not why. Men die at our feasts from what could begin as a simple argument. Friends fight friends—’tis the challenge they thrive on. But the victor is always revered as the better man. They send you their best. They do not think you can defeat him, but if you do, you will have proved your strength and be respected for it.”
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “Yet this still distresses you? Do you want me to refuse this challenge?”
She groaned. “You cannot. My mother must have told them you will not harm me no matter what. As I said, my uncle is sure of it. They will attack your hall if you do not fight, Royce. You have no choice if you want to spare your people.”
“Then they could attack even now, yet they challenge me instead. ’Tis fair, Kristen. So do not fret so. I cannot lose.”
She choked, then turned and ran toward the stairs. Royce frowned after her until she disappeared above. Then he glanced sharply at Thorolf.
“What did you tell Kristen that has upset her so?” Royce demanded.
