Page 11 of Viking in Love

That was a bit of a stretch of the truth, since Tyra’s husband, Adam the Healer, had been adopted by Selik, who had been a distant cousin of Caedmon. But Breanne was not about to correct her sister in front of the steward, who kept gaping at their garments…and appeared to be checking out their breasts. For riding purposes, she and Tyra both wore wool tunics, held in at the waist by gold-linked belts, over slim braises, and boots cross-gartered up to the knees. Fur-lined shoulder mantles with gem-encrusted gold brooches completed their attire.

Vana was running a fingertip over a greasy trestle table that also had no doubt been without a scrubbing in a good while. She was sniffing at the ill odors. “Why are no servants cleaning up this filth?”

“They will not listen to me. The master has been gone too long, and they question my authority.”

“We will see about that,” Vana said, tiptoeing carefully through the rushes as she headed toward a slovenly maid with bosoms the size of cow udders, sitting on a hirdsman’s lap. If there was anything Vana liked it was cleaning. This hall alone should occupy her for a sennight, which could be a good thing, considering all that must be on her mind.

The maid yelped when Vana grabbed her by the ear and began chastising her. “Where are the other servants? Gather them all here. They will not be given another bite of food or sip of ale if they drag their heels. Now go!”

Gerard was gaping at Vana, but then he smiled. “Thank God!”

“We have been traveling through the night,” Ingrith said. “When will the noon meal be served?”

A blush once more bloomed on Gerard’s face. “Cook has quit. We have been grabbing whatever is about, which is not much. I cannot recall the last time there was bread.”

Ingrith, who loved to cook, tsk-tsked and made her way, carefully, toward the scullery, which was separated from the keep itself by a long covered corridor, a necessity when fire was always a concern. Soon, her shouted reprimands could be heard by one and all. Apparently, the kitchen was as untidy as the rest of the keep.

“What is she doing?” Gerard asked Breanne.

“Putting your kitchen in order. There will be a meal tonight, that I guarantee.”

Gerard once again smiled and repeated, “Thank God!”

“I am going out to rescue Rashid and the men,” Tyra said, then turned to Drifa, who had remained quiet behind them. “Come with me and unload those cuttings you brought with you. Did you see the condition of the garden?”

Drifa brightened and followed after Tyra.

Left alone with the steward, Breanne started to speak, but a little boy was tugging at the hem of her robe. The child with unruly, wheat-colored hair could not be much more than one year old. He wore tiny leather half boots and a drooping linen swaddling wrap. That was all. Lifting the boy up into her arms, away from her body, she asked, “And who are you, sweetling?”

“That be Piers. He does not talk yet,” Gerard informed her.

She nuzzled him closer, but just his neck. Her heart nigh broke when she saw children who were so neglected. “Whom do all these children belong to, and why are they being permitted to run wild?” A half dozen or more youthlings of various ages were playing tag around the great hall.

“They belong to the master.”

“The master?”

“M’lord. Caedmon.”

“All of them?”

“Most of them.”

“Sweet Frigg!”

“Caedmon is a good man. He takes care of his children.”

“Not very well, by appearances. Where is he, by the by?”

A blond-haired god of a man emerged from one of the sleeping closets, closely followed by another buxom maid, this one much younger and fairly clean, though her bosoms were fair escaping the low neckline of her homespun gunna. The same had been true of the dairymaid outside. Do all the women in this keep have big bosoms? The man was shirtless, wearing only braies, which hung low on his hips. He smiled at her and said, “Greetings, m’lady. Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, chief hirdsman, at your service. And this is Emma.”

“I am Breanne, daughter of King Thorvald of Stoneheim,” she said, trying to ignore his half-clad body.

The rogue was well aware of her discomfort.

She handed the child to the maid and ordered, “Give this child a bath, and put some proper garments on him.”

The woman looked as if she had been told to stand on her head in a snowstorm. “Make haste now, Emma, and I want to see the boy when you are done.” The woman walked away with the now squalling child. Only then did she turn to the comely man…