“Truly? Then I suppose I should count myself lucky,” Royce remarked dryly.
“If you say true, Saxon, then must marry.”
Royce sighed at such doggedness. “I have a betrothed already, Thorolf, but even if I did not, I would not marry a heathen, nor a Viking, nor a slave, of which Kristen is all three. She already belongs to me. Give me one reason why I would want to marry the wench, and make it a reason that applies to me, not your impartiality.”
“Bjarni no jest. Kristen like what see in you. So be it. But no marry, no like for long. She choose you, Saxon. Make right or lose.”
“I cannot lose what I own,” Royce said confidently and left before he became annoyed with the Viking’s logic.
Thorolf moved to the doorway to watch the Saxon lord cross the yard back to the hall. Waite stepped up to escort him to the wall, but he didn’t spare a glance for the guard. So Bjarni was right after all. He had said he had observed Kristen watching this lord when she was still with them, and had never seen a woman more entranced.
If she had indeed finally made her choice, it was the wrong choice. And kept apart from them as she was, she had no friend to tell her so. The Saxon would never honor her. He was a man of power, she a captured slave. As a free man with several slaves in his own household, Thorolf could understand the lord’s reasoning. But then, Kristen was not a slave born. If and when she chose to resist her bondage, she would do so wholeheartedly.
He wondered why he had bothered to warn the Saxon how it would be with her. She was a Christian, though she obviously had not revealed that fact to these people. But she was a Norsewoman, too, with Norse pride and determination instilled in her. It might be better if she were more malleable instead, for Thorolf knew that it would not go easy for her if she did turn against her captor.
Chapter Twenty-two
Kristen uncoiled her long frame and stretched luxuriously. She grinned at the little bird perched on the window ledge whose song had woken her. It flew away when she sat up.
She was alone. She wondered if the door was locked and got up to test it. It was not. She grinned again, closing it. Aye, the changes had already begun. Royce was going to try trusting her. She would have to be careful not to disappoint him.
Her clothes and his as well still lay where he had dropped them last eve. She dressed quickly, then proceeded to set the room to rights. She felt like singing and did, a simple Celtic verse her mother had taught her as a child.
“So you know another tongue besides ours, do you?”
Kristen glanced up from smoothing the bedcovers to see Eda standing in the doorway. She smiled a greeting. “Aye, many.”
“Well, do not let Lord Royce hear you speak that one, for most Celts are enemies of ours.”
“Most?”
“Some live in Wessex side by side with Saxon, in Devon, and some even as close as Dorset. But those on the far west coast have always been our enemies, have even sided with the Danes against us.”
“What of the Celtic Welsh to the northwest?” Kristen asked, thinking of her mother.
“Enemies also, though they are too far away to cause us grief. It has been many years since they attacked Mercia in force and King Ethelwulf, Alfred’s father, was asked for aid against them. He led his army north and wrung promise of tribute from the Welsh. But the western Celts, they raid us still. Just two days ago a small band made off with some of our cattle. Lord Royce retrieved the animals, but though he and his men chased the thieves through the night, they still eluded him. So he would not like hearing that tongue from your lips now, and he knows it well enough to recognize it.”
Kristen smiled, then could not stop the giggle that followed. So that was why Royce had not come to her room the other night. She had been miserable thinking he had sought out another woman, while he was actually out chasing thieves.
“Your humor is not met, wench,” the old woman scolded.
“You would not understand, Eda,” Kristen said. Then she added, “But I am sorry Royce did not catch the thieves. I had not known the Celts were your enemies.”
Eda grunted. “There are others, too, even a few Saxons milord counts as his foes, and one in particular who lives not far from here. Lord Eldred would like naught better than to see milord dead. They have been at odds since they both lived at court.”
“Do you know why?”
“Aye. Lord Eldred resented the closeness between Alfred and milord. This was before Alfred became King, when they would all hunt and sport together on the royal manors. Most younger sons live at court. Milord did until his father and brother died. Now he goes only rarely, or when Alfred summons him. ’Tis only the threat of the Danes that has made them put aside their animosity for a time.”
“A wise decision. I would not like to think of Royce fighting with an enemy at his back too.”
“Do you care so much? Most lords set their slaves free at their death, as encouraged by the church.”
“I want my freedom, Eda, but not in that way,” Kristen snapped.
Eda snorted half in disbelief, half pleased with that answer. “Well, come along. Milord said to let you sleep, but naught about dallying the whole day away. You have missed one meal already.”
Kristen grinned and started for the door. Eda spotted the shackles she had thrown into the corner earlier and started for them. Kristen stopped her.
