Blind Allegiance (12 page)

A sweet scent drew her to the far corner. A ceramic bowl filled with dried rose petals and heather made her smile. She further explored. The suite consisted of three rooms: her bedroom, a sitting room, and a second bedchamber probably intended for Katherine’s use. The furniture looked expensive, likely imported from exotic lands. These rooms were intended for a woman the
jarl
wished to pamper. Her favorite spot was in front of the two large windows, along the west wall, where a carved table and matching chairs gave her a perfect place to sit and view the river.

Noelle opened drawers and cabinets. She found a jewelry box sitting on top of a bureau, and eyed it suspiciously. Perhaps something the last occupant accidentally left behind? She braced herself for anything as she opened the lid, imagined it contained a trinket that Randvior had presented to his last mistress. There was a card inside that simply read
min lille dukke.

Underneath the paper was a beautifully crafted gold bangle. It felt solid and heavy in her hand. The goldsmith had engraved it with the tiniest shapes. She walked to the windows and held it up, closely examined the intricate designs. Her Christian name was inscribed on the underside. She stared at it in amazement. When did he find the time to have this made for her? And exactly what did it mean?

She wanted him, and reveled in the memory of being close to him—his manly scent filled her head, nearly intoxicated her. Even the first day on ship together, before he touched her so intimately, strange warmth settled into her bones whenever he came close.

No. This was part of his plan. Make her vulnerable and weak, so she’d submit to his demands without a fight. One minute her heart ached for home, and the next she agonized over the man who took her away from everything she loved. The old belief that distance makes the heart grow fonder was an outright lie. What stood in front of her nearly consumed her soul. She must keep the memory of Ophelia alive and draw strength from it. Neither her father nor Margaret could still the whirl of emotions in her head and heart now.

Somewhere underneath the
jarl’s
rigid exterior was a man of limitless curiosity and passion. She noticed it on their voyage first—how he immersed himself in everything she told him. He asked questions, sometimes too many. He forced confessions out of her more efficiently than a priest, ones only God should hear. And now she regretted acting too hastily, asking him to find her a suitable husband. She slipped the bracelet on—a perfect fit—like their bodies.

She left England a prisoner and arrived in the north as Randvior’s mistress. He could deny it all he wanted to spare her feelings. But truth is truth. Flaunting her so openly in front of his mother reinforced her point. And now this extravagant gift.

Similarities existed between Ophelia’s lover and Randvior. Her mind twisted. His gentle hands had worked miracles with her body. And he saved her life on more than one occasion, too. Her sister’s lover was no saint; he had threatened to kill her father after he refused to allow them to wed. Both men killed for a living, whether for a king or themselves really made no difference to her.

And the Viking had killed his own conscript so she could escape. He never denied it. That man’s blood stained her hands, too. Noelle knew men killed for only a handful of reasons. To protect their lands, for sovereignty, or for the people they loved. The first two were irrelevant.

Randvior is a man, and they always do as they wish. One thing did separate him from most men, though. He revealed secrets so easily—spoke of his gods as if he walked and talked with them every day. A soulless man would say nothing, feel nothing.

What would Margaret say if she knew Noelle was considering a union with the man that nearly destroyed their home? Did it matter? Hundreds of miles separated them now. If she resisted, what benefit would come of it? And if she opened her heart to him . . .

Her thoughts bounced wildly back and forth. Should she choose loyalty for her family or allegiance to a man she hardly knew?

And for this reason, a man shall leave his father and mother’s house and cleave unto his wife . . .
To become one flesh.

She was full of reluctance. If the Viking ever offered her his love, she’d wait to choose.

“You are wrong about the girl,” Randvior spat, holding a glass of wine in one hand, banging the other on the table.

Lauga sat next to him, questioning him at every turn. She’d spoken no kind words or said anything useful from the moment he’d arrived home. If he mentioned Noelle, she refused to acknowledge her as anything more than a slave, and continuously referred to her as an English whore.

“If you will not send her away,” Lauga said, “relieve her of that English pride before she grows too proud to serve you.”

“Silence!” He threw the goblet across the room. It hit the back wall and shattered. “You’re twisting words. That tongue is as destructive as a battering ram. I’ve been home for only five hours and you’ve managed to set this household onto a path of chaos.
The girl stays. It is not open for discussion
.”

From his seat at the high table, he could oversee all the activities going on in the hall. Occasionally, people gazed in their direction. Public arguments with his mother weren’t so unusual—only the current topic. Lauga despised the English. Randvior hoped she only needed some time to adjust to the idea of having Noelle around.

“Sleep with her then,” she said, rising quickly. “Bed her until your prick rots off.”

He slammed two fists on the table. “Sit down, now!”

Lauga shook her head. “I am not the one that turned this wonderful homecoming into a funeral feast. What would your father say if he knew you brought a Saxon home and deposited her in the most comfortable rooms in your house as if she were your own wife?”

“I said sit down.”

She flung herself into the chair.

“I’m sure my sire would congratulate me, considering our family’s own history. There seems to be an undeniable attraction between Norse and English that spans generations.” He instantly regretted dredging up old memories. But his mother’s wicked tongue sent him into a rage.

Her face burned.

“Go ahead,” she said venomously. “Make this an occasion to shame me in front of our people.” She stood again, sliding her chair back. “I will not be the target of your spite, Randvior. Furthermore, my dearest flesh and blood, I won’t allow you to make the same mistake your father did. Your loins are not the center of the universe—think with your head, not your cock. The choices you make today may have serious consequences for all of
us
tomorrow.”

He tried to wrap his head around the situation. She spoke some truth. The immeasurable damage inflicted upon his family after his father returned from a raid with a young English woman at his side nearly destroyed his family. His sire publicly declared the girl his mistress. A perfectly legal arrangement, but an immensely stupid risk for a man married to a woman of such renown. Within three weeks living under the same roof, Lauga had stabbed her to death.

According to the opinion of the Thing, the legal assembly that reviewed such cases, her action was completely justifiable. A wife has the right to defend her honorable position in her husband’s household.

“I have no wife,” he reminded her. “I am entitled to marry
whomever
I damn well please. I am lord
over these lands, not some adolescent who needs his mother’s permission to go here or there.”

Lauga nodded. “And I’m your mother, entitled to choose an appropriate bride for my only son. Is it not a tradition in these lands?”

Yes
, he thought,
but merely a tradition. The gods have willed this girl on me . . .
“Such traditions are broken all the time,” he said, lowering his head. “I’m of a mind to offer her a marriage contract.” For the first time in his life he cared deeply enough about a woman to worry about her future.

Lauga’s face lighted. “You’ve claimed her virginity and feel responsible? Is that what this is about?”

“Aye.”

“You don’t have to
marry
her. Find another man for her. She’ll be welcomed by anyone you choose. Preserve our bloodline, Randvior. Don’t let it be polluted by Saxon blood. I will gladly help you. She’s a spirited young woman and will easily attract a bevy of eager warriors. Imagine how much gold—”

His eyes opened at the suggestion of finding her a husband. He’d kill anyone who laid a bloody finger on her.
She belonged to him
. “Either respect my decision or leave my house until you’ve had sufficient time to change your mind.”

He had enough to contend with at the moment—repairing ships, overseeing the winter slaughter and stocking of his storehouses, settling civil cases, and now Noelle. Had his mother lost control of her senses? No woman had any right to make unreasonable demands of any man. Even if it was tradition for a mother to help select her son’s bride, it wasn’t written in stone. Odin commanded his hands and the girl his body. Perhaps even his heart.

He left Lauga standing alone and exited the hall. The majority of his men were still unloading merchandise from the ships. He had a list of tasks he intended to oversee before deep winter set in. He was already at a disadvantage because he arrived home so late in the season and needed to catch up.

Repairs to the vessels were the most pressing issue. His ships were housed in four buildings near the river over winter. He needed to get them into dry storage as soon as possible. One vessel would stay anchored for defensive purposes. Although longships were designed to withstand cold, the wood could warp or the hull could crack if temperatures dropped too low for long periods of time. They needed to treat the wood.

He followed the pathway to the riverfront. Only enough time left in the day to coordinate with his men, inspect the storage buildings, and return to the hall for the homecoming feast. Regardless of his state of mind, the feast must go on. Odin deserved his gratitude. The gods delivered him safely home again—wealthier, mightier, and perhaps much happier.

Chapter 9

Feasting

The door opened without warning. Noelle twisted to her side and eyed Katherine standing at the doorway with a platter of food. How foolish to think Randvior would give her time to catch up on sleep.

“I suppose you’ve been instructed to stay with me at all times,” she commented sarcastically as she gestured for the maid to enter.

She climbed out of bed and inspected Katherine closely. “Turn around.”

The maid rotated slowly while her mistress ran her fingers through her auburn hair, which was swept back off her face. Everything seemed right. Noelle breathed a sigh of relief.

“I pray I never live to regret my decision to cooperate with these people.”

Katherine nodded and served the food.

“Your bedchamber is over there.” Noelle pointed at the door near the hearth.

“Thank you.” Katherine curtsied. “I promise to serve you well.”

“Of that I have no doubt. We shall act as each other’s eyes and ears. We are English above all things and will never accept being condemned to live anonymously in this strange country.”

“Might we find a way home?” Katherine’s hands trembled as she poured a glass of wine.

“Home . . .” Noelle repeated. Durham seemed as foreign a place as Norway. “Home is inconsequential at this point.”

Katherine’s face grew barren.

“I’d be a cold-hearted liar if I offered you false hopes. Believe me, if we had a choice, I’d choose England. The
jarl
holds legal documents that grant him custody of all of us. I reviewed the contract on the ship.”

She knew Katherine was clever enough to understand. “Then we must make the best of our new arrangements.” The maid offered her the glass of wine.

Noelle culled over the food—bread, cheese, and fruit. An hour ago, her stomach begged for sustenance and now she could barely handle looking at it. The only thing that appealed to her was blueberries, surprisingly plump and firm. She stuffed a handful ravenously into her mouth. Sweet juices seeped from the edges of her lips and ran down her chin. Katherine giggled and offered a napkin.

“I’m so tired of tasteless bread, and now even cheese.” She wrinkled her nose in rejection and turned from the table.

“I’ve been told to escort you to the bathhouse. The
jarl
promised he would leave soap and oil for us to bathe with.”

Noelle didn’t care if he offered her a puddle of mud—she wanted to go, and now. “Well, why are we still standing here?”

The maid tapped her fingers on the table as if she were mulling it over in her head. She smiled and followed her mistress out the door.

Below, the hall bustled with life. Men came and went, disappeared below stairs carrying cargo into what Noelle guessed were storage cellars. She wondered how many of those chests came from her father’s home. She searched for Randvior amongst the crowd, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Katherine led her across the room, passing by groups of men and women who stared curiously. Two doors were opened in the back and Noelle stopped and stared outside. Dozens of buildings stood in the yard. She identified the stable, horses were lined up outside and grooms were brushing their fine coats.

She spotted Randvior standing in a corner. His lingering gaze followed as she stepped closer to the kitchen. She stopped and fixed her eyes on his face. Could she possibly hide the feelings he stirred inside her whenever he stared at her? He lowered his head in greeting and turned before she could decide.

Curiously, Katherine passed the doors that opened to the courtyard and brought her to the kitchen. Noelle considered the lively room, careful not to disturb any of the women who worked so diligently at the counters and ovens. Racks of fresh bread were cooling near a back door and the familiar aroma of meat pie nearly made her salivate like a hungry dog.

No one bothered to greet her. Not a bloody word from anyone. She might as well be a spirit. Try as she might to distract herself from giving it any more thought, it made her feelings simmer. Every woman laboring away in a kitchen across the civilized world gossiped while preparing the day’s meals. She expected a certain level of animosity from the servants, considering where she came from. But something bothered her even more. Why did Katherine bring her here when they could have avoided this room altogether and gone straight outside through the doors in the hall.