Her tears dried at will, though her expression was still suffering. “You are abusive!”
“Me! What do you call that petty insult you dealt the Viking wench?”
“What insult?” she countered defensively. “I stated the truth. Her height does make her a freak.”
“She is not as tall as I am, Corliss, so what does that make me?”
“You? But you are a man,” she pointed out needlessly. “’Tis natural you be as you are. But she is taller than most men. And that is unnatural.”
“Not most men,” he said tightly. “Most Saxons, true, but there are sixteen Vikings here that sailed with her, and every one is taller than she. Would you like to see them?”
“You jest!” she gasped.
“Aye, I jest.” He sighed. “I am sorry, Corliss. I am churlish when I am tired, and I am overtired.”
She ignored the hint. “But what were you doing with her, Royce?”
He gritted his teeth to hold back another curse. “You are not my wife yet, to concern yourself in my affairs.”
“And when I am your wife?”
His conscience pricked him, making him snap, “You will learn not to question me.”
Corliss did not take offense at this attitude, for it was no different from most men’s attitude toward women. But she disliked his tone and brought tears to her eyes again to make her complaint known to him. Royce, who hated tears and never let them affect him except with anger, walked away in disgust at the guilt her fresh tears made him feel.
Chapter Thirty-two
Food for the prisoners was late in being delivered that eventide. Eda, who cooked it, and Edrea, who usually carried it with Uland’s help, both disbelieved Kristen when she told them she was to be allowed to take it to them today. But Eda was cautious enough to hold off the delivery of the food until confirmation from Royce could be obtained.
So they waited until Royce came down from his chamber, and he was late in doing so. He had spent the whole afternoon there, after leaving Corliss by the door. Kristen had watched from her corner as he spoke with his betrothed. He was angry. Corliss cried. He left angry. Corliss’s tears dried as soon as Royce turned his back on her, and her expression denoted chagrin, not misery.
Kristen had shaken her head in disgust when the drama was over. She had too much pride to ever use such ploys herself, but knew some women found pleasure in the power of their tears. Darrelle was one. Corliss was obviously another, and Kristen could almost pity Royce, for he would never have an easy time with such a woman for wife.
Kristen did not spend the afternoon with gloomy thoughts as she had the day before. Her earlier contentment remained, and she tried not to wonder why. She succeeded, for she was kept busy making more nut bread.
Eda had tasted a chunk of the bread Kristen had made for herself and Meghan and liked it so well she had struck a bargain with Kristen. She would supply the nuts and Kristen could make half a dozen loaves for the prisoners, if she would make a like number for Royce’s guests. Kristen could not refuse, and even had Meghan’s company again to help her.
So the rest of her day was spent pleasantly. But she could not help fretting when Eda began to grumble as the hour grew late and Royce still did not come down. The prisoners’ stew thickened. Edrea now had other duties to attend to, as the guests were already being fed, so she could no longer take the prisoners food. And Kristen knew what Thorolf would think if she did not make an appearance today.
Kristen finally said to Eda, “Go wake him and ask him. He will not want to sleep this long anyway.”
“You keep saying he sleeps, wench. Why would he sleep the day away?”
Kristen looked away, shrugging. “Just do it, Eda. He will not be angry if you disturb him.”
Eda did, and came back a few minutes later, shaking her head. “Aye, he was asleep, and shouting why no one had roused him sooner.” Kristen grinned at this, and Eda gave her a sharp look, seeing it. “You spoke true, after all, but I cannot think why milord would let you…You can take the food, but you take two guards with you. And Uland will help you to carry it.”
Eda called the men over to instruct them. Kristen could not object. She was so looking forward to talking to Thorolf and the others that she could not stop smiling all the way to the prisoners’ quarters.
They were all inside the long hut. The door was open. The two guards in front, carelessly involved in a knife-tossing contest, barely gave her a glance as she approached with Uland and her own guards.
The reason for this laxity was made known to her as she heard the many rattlings of chains. It dampened her spirits somewhat to know that, unlike herself, they still were made to wear their chains constantly. But the moment she stood in the doorway, her spirits soared again.
Her eyes lit on her cousin first, and she dropped her basket of bread and fruit on the floor and flew into Ohthere’s startled arms. So many surprised shouts of her name met her ears that she knew Thorolf had told no one what had happened last eve, probably on the suspicion that she would not appear. Ohthere quickly lost his hold on her as she was grabbed by one and then another and another of her longtime friends. Squealing and laughing, she received bone-crushing hugs and greetings and teasings.
Uland, standing in the doorway watching this cheerful welcoming, could hardly believe his eyes. Edrea had professed that at least one of the Vikings, the one who always came forward to take the food from her, could not possibly be as savage as the others, for he frequently smiled at her. Foolish talk from a girl fascinated by a handsome man, Uland had reasoned. But this show of warmth and affection for the giant wench…God’s bones, it made them seem almost human, not the heathen monsters everyone thought them to be. In amazement, Uland set down the large cauldron of stew in the doorway and hurried back to the hall to regale his friends with what he had seen.
Inside the hut, Kristen at last came to Thorolf. Upon seeing him, her bubbling joy faded, for his expression was nearly solemn as he looked her over, and she remembered suddenly what Royce had admitted to telling him. A shyness came over her that was particularly uncomfortable inasmuch as she was so rarely shy about anything.
