Love's Fury (Viking's Fury #1) (13 page)

“And which direction shall we ride to reach my house?”

“Northeast,” she said. “I see smoke in the distance.”

“Aye,” he agreed, yet again impressed by her abilities.

A sheep path cut through the lush fields, then slowly meandered up a hillside. It was from the top that he first spied his holdings clearly. A cluster of thatch-roofed cottages located near a stream waited below. Sheep and horses grazed in an open pasture. And people were working in what Konal presumed were his gardens.

“Prince Ivarr has rewarded you well,” she observed. “The land is prosperous.”

With renewed excitement, he kicked his steed down the incline, more than ready to claim his property. Two men waited in front of the main cottage as he rode closer.

“Greetings, milord,” one of the strangers said. “I am Fiske, your caretaker.”

“A Norseman?” Konal dismounted, shocked to meet a countryman. “How did you know who I was?”

“We received word of your arrival days ago,” he said. “As for my presence, I was chosen by Prince Ivarr himself. A request for a volunteer from amongst our troops stationed far north of Jorvik came. I answered the call, after being promised my family could join me.”

The news pleased Konal and he grasped the man’s arm in friendship. “Your wife and children are here?”

“Settled a month ago.”

“And you?” Konal eyed the other man, knowing he was Saxon.

“Alfred.” He bowed.

“How long have you been here?”

“This is the only home I’ve ever known, milord. My father and grandfather were smithies.”

Never quick to trust, he’d treat the man with respect until he had a chance to speak to Fiske about him.

“Have any travelers passed this way?” He returned his attention to the Norseman, hoping his attackers had ventured here in search of him.

“No, milord. We rarely receive visitors. But if you require a messenger or wish someone to go to the market for supplies, there are twenty men ready to serve. And we house ten families in the guest cottages.”

“And the stable?” Konal wanted to examine the horses. Prince Ivarr was always in need of superior horse flesh. If the stock proved hale, it could be profitable to breed them.

“One of the sturdiest structures on the farm. Do you want to see it now or would you prefer to get settled first?” Fiske gazed at Silva, still perched on her horse.

Gesturing for his new friend to come closer, Konal shot a quick look at Silvia. “The lady is to be treated with honor. Though a thrall, I hold her in high regard. Assign one of the girls to serve as her maid. As for me, food and mead. I will meet my servants today, but not on an empty stomach.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Satisfied Fiske would follow his instructions, Konal returned to the horses and helped Silvia down.

“Did I overhear correctly?” she asked. “Your servant is from Norway?”

“Aye. The gods have once again favored me.”

He escorted her to the entrance of the abundant cottage that would be his temporary home. Inside, the central room served as the kitchen and hall. Constructed of wattle and daub as most structures in Northumbria, the south facing wall was made of gray stone. A fire pit with an iron kettle hanging over it was attended by an older woman. On the other side of the space, a trestle table with a dozen chairs offered the only seating. Several trunks lined the east wall.

“Tis clean,” Silvia said. “And I am sure the stairs lead to the master’s chamber.”

“Aye,” he said, accustomed to meager accommodations since he left Norway. “There is another doorway over there, perhaps a third room.” He pointed. “I will make some changes here.” Eventually Konal would ask his youngest brother to relocate and oversee the steading.

A few minutes later, Fiske joined them inside, with two women in tow. “Milord,” he bowed. “My own daughter, Saga, has asked to serve your lady.”

The girl stepped forward and curtsied. “Sir.”

“Thank you.” Konal smiled. “Silvia will be a kind mistress.”

“And this is Queenie,” Fiske introduced the second woman. “Her grandmother is the cook. But the old bird is deaf, so Queenie stays close by.”

Both women wore homespun dresses, patched and a drab brown color. And judging by their spare figures, they could use more sustenance. The bloody Saxons starved their servants. “I don’t want to interfere with your duties. Tis better to carry on as you would. Queenie…” he started. “Instruct your grandmother to serve a morningtide meal. Some bread and milk, and cheese if there’s enough.”

“Two meals for us?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes. I can’t afford for my servants to blow away in the wind.”

The girl grinned appreciatively and immediately went to her grandmother.

Next he addressed Saga. “Is that a second bedchamber over there?”

“Yes, sir. A small one.”

“Have one of the stable boys help unpack the bags from the horses outside, then you and Silvia can get settled.”

“I will sleep here, milord?” she asked.

“Aye. Are you prepared to leave your family?”

“I am ready to do anything you ask, sir.”

“Good.”

Fiske beamed with pride and patted his daughter’s face affectionately. “She’s an obedient child, milord. You need only direct her hands.”

“I expect a meal set out within the hour,” he told Silvia. “Until then, I will be in the stables.”

Konal followed his servant outside, determined to make his new steading efficient and profitable. Ivarr had been generous to a fault, likely trying to entice him to stay on the island. For once he left, Konal planned on never returning. And now that he’d surmised his holdings, he hoped Silvia would agree to live here. She’d be safe and, in time, maybe happy.

If Fiske had a capable son, a marriage might be in Silvia’s future.

O
n the fifth
night at the farm, Konal instructed Silvia to prepare for a feast he was holding for his tenants. In order to foster loyalty and peace, he thought it worth the cost of a few fattened sheep and fresh vegetables. He expected her to wear one of the gowns Prince Ivarr had gifted her with and would sit with him at the high table. All in the name of establishing her as an important part of his new household. An honored position for any slave—as he so aptly reminded her before she went to her room to dress.

The idea of belonging to someone, the way livestock or property did, hadn’t sunk in. Nor would it. Freedom remained her true goal, the inspiration needed to wake every day with purpose. For the sooner she won her master’s trust and respect, the quicker she was sure he’d let her go. Then she could return to York with the scrolls, repair her cottage, and live the life of a recluse, or join a convent. The monks would give her letters of recommendation, maybe even find a cloister nearby so they could visit on holy days.

Saga encouraged her to sit on the stool so the girl could arrange her long hair. “If you wish to please the jarl, let me braid the sides of your hair in Norse fashion.”

She gazed at the girl, tempted to say she wasn’t a bloody Viking, but a Saxon. However, Saga had been so kind, staying close, and getting Silvia whatever she needed. “Do you think adorning my hair and body with pleasing things will help me win my freedom?”

She looked uncertain. “You wish to return to Jorvik?”

“I wish to return to my own life.”

“Living amongst the Danes?”

“Nay,” she said. “That is a tragedy I could do without. I miss the monks and my cottage. My garden and scrolls.”

Saga pulled a comb through the tangles in her hair. “What use are written words? A woman need only concern herself with pleasing her family and finding a husband who will provide for her.”

She couldn’t fault the girl for her beliefs. She’d been raised as most women, to serve men without question. But Silvia’s sire had given her a rare gift—knowledge—and nothing would keep her from it. Not even an axe-wielding giant.

“I’m afraid you will find me a great disappointment, Saga. My desires are not the same as yours. Of course I’ve dreamed of marriage and children, hoping to someday meet the kind of man who would appreciate my talents. But once they find out I possess the skills of a scribe, they disappear.”

“Jarl Konal hasn’t abandoned you.”

She met the maid’s gaze. “No. But there is a reason for that … I am a thrall.”

“No man has ever watched me the way our master watches you.”

Silvia chuckled. “He fears I’ll run away, nothing more.”

Saga’s deft fingers worked quickly, leaving four tight braids on either side of Silvia’s face, with tiny gold beads on the ends.

“And now for the dress,” she said, walking to the narrow bed where a purple gown had been laid out. “The embroidery is the best I’ve ever seen.” Saga held it up.

Silvia slipped out of her wool garment and allowed the maid to pull the new dress over her head. The soft linen felt good against her skin. Once the laces were tied, the maid stepped back and looked her over carefully.

“Once our master sees you in this, I think you might change your mind about why he watches you so closely. And if the jarl is only interested in keeping you here, then my brothers will surely compete for your attention.”

“Brothers?”

“Aye,” she said. “Both fishermen in Norway. But once we came here, they were forced to learn farming and how to tend sheep.”

“Do you miss your country?”

“Aye.”

“Then surely you can sympathize with me—Jorvik is the only place I’ve ever lived. No matter how kind Jarl Konal is to me, or how helpful you are, I long for the familiar sights and sounds of my own home. So many have died, and now more than ever…” Tears burned her eyes, but she wiped them away, realizing her words were lost on a girl from the very place her captor came from.

“Why did you stop speaking?” Saga asked.

“Some thoughts are better left unsaid, Saga. I am a Saxon. You are Norse. Your loyalties will always be to the jarl and your family.”

“That doesn’t mean we cannot be friends.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But it surely signifies our limits. You will be expected to report anything suspicious I say to Konal.”

The maid nodded. “Yes.”

Someone knocked on the door then. “Jarl Konal wants you to come out,” a man called.

Silvia sighed. Unaccustomed to wearing such finery, she felt as if she were in an entertainer’s costume instead of a gown. She walked to the door and opened it, finding a stranger waiting for her. He bowed.

“I will escort you to the table,” he said.

The hall had been transformed. Torch stands were positioned in the corners, illuminating the space in soft light. Bundles of flowers tied together with colorful ribbons decorated the walls. A second trestle table had been set up on the far side of the room and that’s where Konal waited. As she passed by the men and women at the lower table and standing about, they acknowledged her with smiles or a bend of the head.

What had the jarl done to prepare his servants to accept the daughter of a scribe from Jorvik as an honored guest? For though most of his tenants shared her blood, the leaders in York often overtaxed farmers, creating deep contention.

Konal stood once she reached the table. “Silvia.” His eyes gleamed with desire.

She curtsied, then greeted the men and women at the high table. All members of Saga’s family, including her two brothers.

Seated to Konal’s left, she accepted a cup of mead from him. “Thank you,” she said, taking a tentative sip.

He leaned close. “The color of your gown suits you, Silvia. But I’m afraid it makes me want to rip it off your perfect body.”

This time she gulped the mead, needing something to steady her nerves. Whenever he spoke so boldly, her blood boiled. His hands and lips were temptations she knew she must resist.

Freshly bathed, beard trimmed, and wearing a dark tunic with breeches, the jarl appeared a new man. A thick silver chain hung about his neck, matching bracelets on his wrists.

“I could say the same to you, milord.” Perhaps if she returned his sentiments with equal ardor, he’d cease teasing her.

His eyebrows rose and he studied her closely. “Is that an offer?”

“Tis merely a compliment. I have never seen you without armor.”

“Then I thank you,” he said. “But remember, I have seen you without clothes and prefer it over any of the finery Ivarr has given you.”

Her cheeks flushed, but gratefully, the women serving the meal approached the table, stopping the conversation.

“Milord,” Queenie spoke. “The meat is ready.”

Six trenchers were placed on the two tables, filled with mutton and gravy. Fresh bread, beans, carrots, and turnips were also offered. The jarl helped himself first, filling his plate, then cut a generous piece of meat for Silvia. A servant refilled his cup with mead and he sampled it, then stood up, raising his vessel high.

“Tonight, I open my home to all of you not only as your master, but as a friend. Those who live in peace thrive. War has crippled this land. Violence has claimed thousands of lives, Northmen and Saxons alike. But here, away from Jorvik and the bloody Danes, I offer you another way to live. I will not condemn you if you don’t judge me. I will protect you from the swords of your enemies if you swear allegiance to the house of Konal the Red. These lands will always hold a special place in my heart for it marks the beginning of a new time for me. I am no longer just a second son, but a jarl. And I protect what I care for.”

She didn’t miss the quick look her master gave her at the same time he said those last words. The same promise he’d made her before, only now it extended to the families living on his steading. And once again, Silvia found herself caught up in the passion he exuded, believing every word her natural born enemy spoke.

“After you have filled your stomachs and drank your mead and wine, I will offer all the men in this room the chance to take an oath of allegiance. Those who refuse are free to go.”

Applause followed and Konal grinned. “Aye,” he continued. “Let the whole bloody world burn down around us, but peace will be kept under this roof.” He sat down again, scooping her hand off the table and gave it a squeeze. “Did I not promise to take care of you?”