Page 37 of Viking in Love

Traveling with them was the young woman with yet another babe to be added to his Larkspur brood. Her father had said that no man in their clan would have Maire now. The babe’s future was uncertain, at best, unless the wayward Uhtred returned to his responsibilities. Why he should care, with all his other problems, was beyond him. Even in the Saxon lands, the nobility got rid of unwanted children, most often by sending them to a convent or monastery if they had wealth enough, or by abandoning them to woods or cliffs to die.

Rashid offered this thought: “Sunshine all the time makes a desert.”

To which he had suggested, sweetly, that Rashid store his advice where the sun never shone.

Wulf was calling him every kind of a fool.

He felt like a fool.

But what could he do?

A woman will do what a woman’s gotta do…

Caedmon, Wulf, Rashid, and the small troop of soldiers had been gone for two days. They would not be aware…thank you, gods!…that Ivan and Ivar had returned with a message from Tyra…an ominous message.

Breanne was on her way to the kitchen now for a meeting with her sisters to tell them about Tyra’s missive and to plan their strategy, in light of the news. Breanne had never thought she would be so anxious to go home to the Norselands.

Despite their extended trip, Breanne was not worried about the well-being of Larkspur’s master or his minions. They were well-trained fighting men, able to defend themselves. Even Rashid.

But she was worried about the fate of herself and her sisters, knowing that Caedmon was anxious to be rid of them. Which was impossible in light of…well, she would think about that after gaining her sisters’ counsel.

In truth, after chasing after Caedmon’s many children all morning, she wished she had been able to escape with Tyra. Even living under her father’s constraining roof held more appeal than this wild household.

Three of the children appeared to be legitimate, including the especially needsome nine-year-old Beth, whose mother had died when she was only a few months old; Beth desperately wanted a mother and had decided that one of the four of them would do, it mattered not which. In fact, she had taken to braiding her hair and wearing an open-sided ankle length apron in the Viking style. She was above stairs now, “supervising” the housemaids in putting clean linens on the beds. It was pitiful how hard the girling tried to please.

Then there were the rascally six-year-old twins, Alfred and Aidan, who thought their goal in life was to pester and taunt every living child and animal within their range. At the moment, they were having quiet time at two different sides of the chapel for tying apples onto the dogs’ tails, then releasing them into the pasture, where the horses could chase them for the tasty treats.

Breanne felt especially sorry for twelve-year-old Hugh, Caedmon’s oldest child, who had been sent home in disgrace from his foster family in Mercia. Whilst performing the lowliest chores about Larkspur as punishment, he had confided in Breanne about the perverted proclivities of one of the soldiers he had fostered under. He was too ashamed to tell his father about the man’s intentions, but Breanne would. You could be sure of that. If anyone should be ashamed, it was Caedmon for not trusting his son enough to have good judgment.

Eight-year-old Mina was another of Caedmon’s illegitimate children. The tiny, fragile-boned beauty had black-hair and dark cat eyes. Her mother, an Arab houri, had not wanted this ill-conceived child.

Her favorite was one-year-old Piers, the tow-headed boyling who had recovered very well from his bout with lung fever. She did not even mind that he followed her around like a shadow. Some said that he was not of Caedmon’s blood, but who could say for sure?

Mina passed Breanne in the great hall. She was holding Piers’ little hand in her little hand, teaching him to walk.

Breanne smiled at them both. “My sister is making honey fig custards for tonight’s dinner.”

They smiled back at her, though Piers would have no clue what she had said. In fact, he said, “Mama,” which was alarming. These children were all so bereft of love and discipline.

Just before she entered the corridor leading to the kitchen, she stopped to watch five-year-old Angus, whose bouts of temper matched his fiery hair. She would wager the boy had Scots blood in his veins. Not a bit of Caedmon could be seen in his features. At the moment, Angus was scrubbing egg yolks and whites off the castle walls after tossing them at one of his brothers for teasing him about his freckles, of which he had many. No one was sure who had done the taunting, everyone except Angus having magically disappeared from the scene.

“How are you doing, Angus?” she asked. “Do you need fresh water?”

He said something so foul to her that she jerked backward.

The only thing that stopped her from smacking the wretch on his little bottom was the tear tracks on his face and the realization that he probably thought she had been making mock of him.

In a far corner, she saw Oslac, Kendrick, and Joanna with their heads together, looking Angus’s way repeatedly. She veered off her path to the kitchen and went up to the three seven-year-olds, all born on almost the same day. Although Caedmon had accepted them as his own, word about Larkspur was that they looked just like three Welsh brothers who had been visiting at one time, nine months afore the births. These three were a gang unto themselves. Always engaged in mischief. Always sticking together.

Well, not for long.

“I know what you have done, and I am not amused.”

“Whaaat?” they said as one.

“You are all to go over and help scrub the wall. And not one word will you say to Angus, lest it be an apology. He did not tell on you, by the by.”

Grumbling, they went off to do her bidding. She stayed, tapping her foot impatiently, as she watched them closely. She was not fool enough to imagine they would stay once she had left the hall.