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“First.” Wulfhere took on a steely expression. “I would remind you that this is not our home, but my home. I am the one who determines who is welcome and who is not.”

Aisley clenched her hands. “You are consorting with the enemy.”

“Incorrect. I am forging agreements and creating pacts that will protect the people of Wiltshire.”

“Protect them from what?” Aisley could scarcely believe this conversation was happening. “The only threat to our people comes from the very invaders with whom you are choosing to associate. Have you seen what they have done in town? How they have robbed and plundered and raped? Do you even care? Even if you have no feelings for the people you are supposed to watch over, you are surely aware of their devastating losses in income. How do you propose to collect your precious taxes when the Vikings have left them with nothing?”

“Aisley! That is quite enough.” At her mother’s shocked scolding, Aisley turned to her.

“Forgive me, Mother, but I disagree. If Father were here, he would be doing everything in his power to assist those who have been crushed by the Norse marauders, and he would be fully supporting King Alfred in his quest to evict the Vikings from our land.”

“Father was a fool,” Wulfhere said. “He was killed because he gave blind obedience to an incompetent king.”

Tears pricked Aisley’s eyes. “Father knew he was dying, and yet he willingly went to serve his king because he wished his last acts to be those of courage, honor, and integrity.”

Wulfhere snorted. “You are as big a fool as he was. The Vikings are too strong. Look at what they have accomplished in Mercia and Northumbria. What makes you think Wessex is any different? We shall be living by Danelaw in no time. Our only hope for safety and security is to ally ourselves to the winning side.” His expression became smug. “And you, my dear sister, have secured that for each of us.”

As far as Aisley was concerned, the self-satisfied gleam in her brother’s eyes was far more terrifying than his earlier reddened face and flared nostrils. A frisson of fear shot through her, leaving her heart pounding. Her mother and sister were unnaturally quiet. Ignoring them, Aisley raised her chin a fraction. “I assume you intend to explain what you mean by that.”

“I shall spare you the details,” Wulfhere said, “but suffice it to say, Rangvald will return two days hence to add a ridiculously heavy purse to the pledge he has already made. I am to retain my position of power in Wiltshire in exchange for offering him my full support and for giving him my redheaded sister to wife.”

Aisley grasped the back of the chair Diera was occupying and clung to it with all her might. This could not be happening. It had to be a nightmare. “You . . . you would sell your own sister to a plundering heathen? To a man who cares nothing for our God, our people, or our customs?” Her voice broke. “To one who does not even speak our language?”

“In truth, Rangvald has a remarkably good grasp of the Saxon tongue.” Wulfhere acted as though he were discussing a toddler who had learned to talk earlier than most.

Two. Days. You. Name. The words echoed through her head in a mocking taunt. She turned to her mother, her grip on Diera’s chair so tight that her knuckles hurt. “Mother,” she cried. “Surely you will not allow this.”

The fabric in her mother’s hand trembled slightly, but she met Aisley’s pleading look with disturbing calm. “Neither Wulfhere nor I are willing to place our trust in King Alfred again. If it had not been for Wulfhere, you, Diera, and I would have been homeless and penniless after your father died. He is doing this to secure our future.”

Aisley stared at her in disbelief. “Do you truly care so little for my happiness?”

“You are strong, Aisley. Stronger than me or Diera. Marrying Rangvald may not have been your choice, but for the sake of your family, you will make the best of it.”

The best of it? There was no best—nor anything remotely good—in any of this. She was being sold to feed Wulfhere’s overarching desire for wealth and power. She looked to her sister. Diera’s face was pale, her eyes brimming with tears. But she said nothing.

“Wulfhere cares nothing about anyone’s future but his own,” Aisley said. “Do you not see that?”

“Enough!” Wulfhere growled. “The time for discussion is over. The agreement has been made.”

“Then unmake it!”

He curled his lip contemptuously. “You tout the virtues of integrity and would have me break my word to a Viking chieftain. I think not. My decision is made and will stand firm. You have two days to prepare for your departure. Be grateful for that. If it had been up to Rangvald, you would have left with him this very morning.” And then he offered their mother a token nod of acknowledgment, turned on his heel, and marched out of the chamber.

Complete silence fell upon the room. Aisley stood alone. One part of her heart ached with hurt; the other part was utterly numb. Diera sniffled.

Their mother cleared her throat. “Let us talk on a different subject entirely,” she said.

Both crushed and confounded by her mother’s emotional detachment, Aisley looked away. “You and Diera may take upon yourselves that task if you wish, but it is currently beyond my supposedly strong capabilities.” She walked to the door, keeping her head high even as tears threatened to fall. “Good day, Mother. Good day, Diera.”

Closing the door behind her, Aisley took two short steps before her first sob escaped. A second followed. With her shoulders shaking uncontrollably, she pressed one hand to her mouth and ran from the building.

CHAPTER 22

THE SUN WAS LOWERING IN the sky. Aisley did not know exactly how long she’d been sitting on the ground beneath the old willow. Long enough to cry herself into exhaustion only to rise from the damp earth with her situation unchanged. The small grove of trees located near her home had long been her place of sanctuary. As a child, she’d escaped there whenever she’d received a parental scolding or needed time away from her brother’s bullying or her sister’s pestering. Life had always seemed better after an hour among the trees. This time was different.

She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Soon it would become too cold to remain outdoors. Before she returned to the longhouse, however, she needed a plan. Her brother’s cruel edict might be in force, but she still had time to thwart it. Forcing herself to push past her personal anguish, she attempted to think things through logically. The chances of escape once she was in Rangvald’s custody would be slim. He was surrounded by men willing to do his bidding—no matter how inhumane. She shuddered. She would not leave with the Viking chieftain; she could not marry him. That meant she must leave Trowbridge before Rangvald returned. But where to go? Her resources were few, those who knew her well enough to take her in, even fewer.

Slowly, deliberately, she reviewed all that Wulfhere had said. There was more to this arrangement than simply a brother ridding himself of a sister he disliked. It was bigger than his significant financial increase. The agreement Wulfhere had struck with Rangvald shifted Wiltshire’s official allegiance at a time that King Alfred needed every able man fighting for the Saxon cause. Taber had kept her abreast of the news filtering through the towns. Alfred’s men were making regular raids on Viking encampments and were ambushing the invaders as they traveled the roads of Wessex. Their successes had done much to boost morale among the common folk, and speculation was running high that the king would soon be calling for the fyrds to assemble.