Blind Allegiance (27 page)

Noelle disappeared behind a far wall and changed into the clean dress she had packed. He nodded approval and reached inside his pocket when she emerged. Much to her delight, he had her morning gift. The stones reflected beautifully in the torchlight. He hooked the necklace around her neck.

“I feared it was lost forever.” She fingered the stones lovingly.

He smiled. “Not a chance.”

Both his wife and the necklace had cost him a small fortune and he’d be damned if he’d lose track of them again. His heart pounded furiously as he stepped back and admired her.

After a long moment, his smile faded. Unfortunately, there were more pressing things to discuss.

“After I left, I decided it was time for my mother to answer for her crimes. Many have gathered to hear her testimony. My father, who hasn’t left the privacy of his home in many years, found it important enough to travel with her. Few nobles face a judge—especially in a kinsman’s court.”

This news should make her feel better. Instead, her eyes darkened and Noelle looked away.

Randvior took her hand. “I may ask you to testify.”

She faced him again and visibly stiffened.

“No one will ever harm you again, I swear it.”

His tiny Valkyrie had killed a man with no fear and stitched up his body without batting an eyelash. But she hated being the center of attention, especially in a public setting. Randvior moaned and pictured her tiny hand plunging that knife into the man’s back. It sent shivers up his spine. He had no right to make more demands, especially where his mother was concerned. Noelle had been a victim of her viciousness for weeks. Yet, he believed his people would respect her more if she had the courage to speak up.

He placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “I will be your strength.”

Chapter 21

The Reaping

This was the moment Noelle had waited for—assuming the role as mistress over her husband’s household. It was an immense responsibility she had only considered in theory—until now. Familiar faces and strangers alike were gathered to witness this spectacle of a trial and to greet Randvior’s father.

She cast a worried glance at her husband, who kept a firm grip around her waist as they walked. Women and children congregated along the back wall and slaves stood wherever they could find space. That diminutive chair next to Randvior’s throne was adorned with flower wreaths and pine boughs. Decorated for her? A single strand of silver medallions, similar to the ones that adorned his chair, was draped across the back.

“Your seat is ready, my lady.” Her husband made a sweeping bow.

She could scarcely take her eyes off him. After weeks of feeling the outcast, she was no longer considered the vile English harridan. Everything she wanted was looking her directly in the eyes. His love surpassed anything she’d ever known. And this house . . . She adored it, feeling a connection stronger than that of her birth home.

As often practiced in her homeland, her new steading deserved a name. “
Steingard
.
The Stone Farm
,” she whispered in Randvior’s ear
and he nodded approval.

“Which stones inspired you?” he asked wickedly while he helped her onto the dais.

Mortified by his question, she jabbed him in the ribs. Movement in her periphery grabbed her attention. The man she spotted needed no introduction. Their eyes met. His were as beautiful as Randvior’s.

“Flesh and bone you say?” she teased looking between them. “You grossly under-described your sire—the resemblance is uncanny.”

Anundr chuckled and offered his hand. She leaned over and affectionately cradled it in hers, feeling as if she’d known him all her life. If she couldn’t gain a mother, please let this man be her second father.

“My son didn’t exaggerate a bit.” He eyed Randvior. “Your wife is as beautiful as the
alpenglow
.”

Too embarrassed to admit she didn’t understand the word he used to describe her, Noelle simply smiled.

“’Tis a great shame she cannot fully appreciate my compliment.
Alpenglow
is the golden-red light that illuminates the mountains at sunset,” he explained. “It’s nearly as radiant as Gabriel’s golden mantle.” He turned his face to Randvior. “Hire a tutor to teach her our language.”

She appreciated the biblical reference. “You flatter me overmuch.”

“No,” he said most seriously. “Once, long ago, I too brought an English girl home.” Anundr gazed at something far away. “She was nearly as breathtaking as you. But . . .” He sniffed. “Lauga interfered, and I’m afraid I lost her.”

Noelle nodded sympathetically. Never could she have imagined stomaching the idea of adultery. But for his sake, she did. An immediate kinship had been established between them. It baffled her how different Lauga and Anundr were. Randvior seemed disturbed by his father’s confession. Perhaps he never realized how much his father loved the girl. Not that it mattered any more, the poor girl was dead.
Another victim of his mother’s violence.

While Randvior and his men discussed defense issues at the high table, Fald Ovesen entered the hall through the back doors. He was alone. What blood vengeance might his old ally harbor after learning his eldest son had died for kidnapping his wife? Although his son had committed a grievous crime, the
jarl
was prepared to pay a generous
weregild
to pacify his friend and foster peace.

Their eyes met as Randvior stood. He did not perceive him as a threat. In fact, the older
jarl
opened his arms. Confused by this, he asked Noelle to stay seated. He went to his friend with hope in his heart.

“My brother . . .” Randvior greeted him. Fald gripped his shoulders. “What news has reached your ears?”

“Everything.” Fald bowed his head, pain evident on his face. “I know my eldest son is dead.”

Randvior felt his pain. If he could alter the past, he would.

“Much is changing in the Trondelag. Spies and backstabbers have infiltrated every court—traitorous fools who relinquish Thor’s hammer for a cross.”

Randvior nodded. “Are such men amongst us?”

“I cannot say. But two of my own fledglings are guilty,” he admitted. “The gods blessed me with three sons, and two are traitors. And I swear my youngest will never see the light of day until I am convinced the old religion is deeply rooted in his heart. Sveinn deserved death.”

Randvior couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Never had he witnessed a father disinherit his own son. Aye, times were changing for the worst. Fald stared over Randvior’s shoulder at his wife.

“Forgive me,” Fald said, walking around Randvior, toward Noelle. “My family owes you a penance of great measure. I will do anything to set things right between our families. Sveinn’s ambition drove him to madness.”

Noelle accepted his apology.

It seemed many people were keeping secrets in the Trondelag. Fald’s pained expression confirmed his innocence. Randvior believed he didn’t know what his sons were doing. Fald turned and addressed the crowd.

“My two eldest sons, Sveinn and Tyr, secretly converted to Christianity. They constructed altars dedicated to the White Christ and blackmailed my slaves. If any refused conversion, a painful death was promised as punishment. These tactics are openly taught by Olaf Haraldsson. He’s polluted the hearts of our children and has the balls to proselytize in public.”

Randvior’s world was unraveling right before his eyes. He never thought he would live to see the day when a father must choose between his gods or his sons. Instead of feeling betrayed by Odin, Fald embraced the truth. Randvior felt nothing but deeper admiration for him. Lesser men would have found relief in the bottom of an ale horn. But one thing still deeply troubled him.
“Where is your son, Tyr?” Randvior asked.

“Gone.”

Not dead.
He offered his friend a seat at the high table. Peace would remain between them. For now, a common enemy threatened them, the White Christ. Determined to flush out any remaining traitors, he looked to his own father for approval before he proceeded with his mother’s trial. Anundr nodded.

“Lauga Sigurdsson.”

Heads turned as Randvior’s mother came closer, looking her part, half mother and half Jezebel. She wore what Randvior considered her finest apparel.

“I am here,” she said.

“Aye,” Randvior acknowledged her. He should be cruel, but wasn’t. Instead, he mentally compared her to his beloved wife. Lauga paled in comparison. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Your captain, Aud Magnusson, has read me your charges.”

Randvior suffered a moment of disappointment when he saw that his mother remained stoic. Even under the strain of being formally charged with high crimes she managed not to crack.

“You claim to be in possession of evidence to condemn me. Don’t waste my time with these unnecessary formalities. Speak your mind—there is no proof, I assure you.”

For the first time, he saw her for the liar she was.

“No proof?” he scoffed. “Do you see the masses gathered in my hall today? Who amongst them is here to defend you? Let them come forward without fear of reprisal.”

Much to his surprise, many hands went up.

No matter. There were fifty men to the one who would swear allegiance to her. And they wanted nothing more than to rip her heart out and feed it to the pack of wild dogs roaming the forest.

Randvior called the first witness. She came forward. The same woman who advised Noelle not to drink Lauga’s wine in the weaving room. He watched Noelle’s eyes blink nervously. Randvior patted the girl’s hand reassuringly. She was a talented seamstress, well respected among her peers, and had no reason to perjure herself.

The spaewife who attended Noelle testified next, and by the time she had finished speaking, half the crowd clamored for Lauga’s blood. More damaging testimony followed, although the finer details differed slightly from person to person, fifteen witnesses provided enough evidence to charge Lauga. The woman had a questionable history and a bad reputation for playing both sides of a coin, setting people against one another for her own amusement and benefit.

Before Randvior could leave to contemplate judgment, additional witnesses came forward and accused Lauga of consorting with Olaf Haraldsson. They swore on Odin’s head that they had personally seen his mother accompanying Tyr and other notable men to political meetings.

“When did you last see her?” Randvior questioned.

“Only three nights ago, she passed me on the road. I recognized her horse and the silver saddle she uses when she rides to distinguish herself.”

For once, her vanity would cost her dearly. A foolish act for sure. A plain saddle and dark clothing would have been wise if she wished to remain anonymous on the road. Perhaps she wanted to get caught, for his mother possessed the wisdom of a seasoned strategist.
How long had she held his people in a death grip and divided his household? He dismissed the last witness and turned to his mother.

“Have you anything to say in your own defense concerning these new charges before I pass judgment?”

Lauga nodded slowly. “Only this. Your wife worships the White Christ.” She pointed angrily at Noelle.

Randvior covered his face with both hands.
Yes, Noelle worshipped the Christian god, but no blood was ever shed over her faith
. “She is not a convert, nor is she guilty of treason,” he retorted.

“Does this make her any less of a threat? Can you guarantee she will never lead these people astray or try to convert your men?”

It would be well if his mother shut her mouth. Hatred welled up inside him. “She is an innocent, completely blameless—born into her faith.” He needed a drink to settle his nerves. “Bring me wine!” he commanded.

His ancestors would roll over in their graves if they heard their kinswoman speaking such falsehoods.
My mother is a heretic—a traitorous bitch
.
Who planted the seeds of deception and bitterness so deeply in her heart? An Englishwoman, you fool.
He stared heavenward.
I swear by my own life to never forsake the vows I spoke on my wedding day. Father Odin, destroy me if I fail to honor my wife.

“Your father raised you as carelessly as a wild ass in the woods.” Lauga scowled at Anundr. “See what comes from handling your child so liberally? A disloyal boy.”

“Enough!” Anundr silenced her immediately. “How dare you stand before us and offer these lies up as truth? For years, you fed me draughts of sleeping potion to keep me from discovering your corruption. My legs are crippled, woman, not my wits. I know your heart better than you. Salvage what dignity you can by admitting your guilt. Offer your prayers to whatever damned god you choose, but leave these children in peace. I gave them my blessings. What father denies his only son’s happiness? Look at them. What mother begrudges her child true love? You black-hearted wench.”

Randvior stood, but held his tongue. His mother’s eyes opened and closed, opened and closed.
How long had it been since his father spoke of any tenderness for his wife?
he wondered dismally.

“Plead guilty and I will consider leniency.”

Lauga was slow to respond. “Would it matter if I did?”

Randvior rubbed his chin wearily.

“You condemned me long ago. After years of loyalty—after delivering countless tenants’ children, healing the broken bodies of your soldiers with my own hands, this is the courtesy I’m shown? Do as you must,
blood of my blood.
Cut off my hands and feet and bury me alive as you have done countless times to your enemies. Whatever you choose, be quick about it.”

Hopelessness and despair filled Noelle’s heart. The memory of her own mother picked away at her thoughts and she tried to forget. It didn’t work.
I never had the privilege of knowing my mother and I mourn her loss every day.
She wished with all her heart she was bold enough to speak out and encourage her spouse to make peace with his mother before he punished her. Forgiveness . . . But the Norse rarely exercised mercy.