Viking's Prize (24 page)

“I wish
you to give Nissa consent to remain at Gryting!” Bjorn appealed at his back.
Alarik had not heard his approach, and that fact only irritated him more. Damn,
he couldn’t afford to lose his faculties. In these times there were many who
would gladly cleave his back in two for the honor of his high seat
alone—not to mention his kinship with Olav. He didn’t bother turning;
Bjorn quickly overtook Sleipnir’s sluggish gait.

Alarik
tugged back on the reins, bringing Sleipnir to a halt. “I cannot.”

Bjorn
glared up at him. “Cannot... or will not?”

Alarik
shrugged. “Makes no difference. Will not, if you please.”

“Loki
take you, then!”

“She
oversteps her boundaries much too far already,” Alarik contended. “And the
blame falls to me for not removing her sooner. Forsooth, Bjorn, Nissa creates
discontent where’er she goes! Already she tries to usurp Alva’s authority, and
Brother Vernay—”

“She
cannot abide Brother Vernay!” Bjorn interjected in her defense. “He
assumes—and not so subtly either—he will convert every last soul to
Olav’s accursed faith! ‘Tis for that reason Nissa did not allow him within the
hall whilst you were gone.”

Alarik
eyed his youngest brother irascibly. “I would remind you, mine bror, that it is
not Nissa’s hall to banish him from. ’Tis mine, as you seem to forget, yet I
understand she also kept Vernay near imprisoned within the
kirken
during mine absence. I ask you
now... what right had she to assume such a thing? ’Tis little wonder Vernay did
not take his complaint directly to Olav rather than wait to address it with
me.”

“And
since when do you concern yourself with Olav?” Bjorn raged. “Ever have you
walked your own path. Might Hrolf be right? Might you have fallen for that
witch and her spine-weakening faith? It seems to me you have changed.” he accused,
and without waiting for a reply—knowing he would get none if Alarik chose
not to give it—he stalked away.

Alarik
whirled his mount about. He sat rigid in the saddle. “Wed with her, then,
Bjorn!”

Bjorn
halted, his back stiffening, and turned, his hands on his hips, his legs spread
insolently.

“Wed
with the shrew—take her off mine hands—and then I just may consider
your request.”

The
brothers stared at each other, at an impasse; Alarik because he could not afford
to relent more than he had, and Bjorn because he knew Nissa would stay only did
Alarik request it. She would not wed with him so easily as that, and they both
knew it. And he could not woo her once she was back under her father’s thumb;
she craved her sire’s approval far too much to walk against him, nor would
Ejnar so simply accept Bjorn’s suit. Bjorn had little to offer Ejnar’s
daughter. Olav was king to a nation, Alarik master of his own, but what did he
have to claim?

Not a
cursed thing!

“There
you are!” Olav bellowed as he approached them.

Both
Alarik and Bjorn turned at the sound of his voice. “I wonder if you two
bickering old women might join me in a jaunt to the
kirken
? I wish to meet this Elienor, at
last!”

Alarik’s
eyes narrowed.

“Alas,
you cannot fault me for being curious,” Olav defended.

“By
your leave?” Bjorn interjected, the courtesy anything but. His eyes were wild
with resentment and anger. He and Olav had never embraced as brothers, and he
wasn’t about to begin now simply because Olav chose to include him for once.
Pivoting, he made his way toward the longhouse, declaring, “I believe I shall
decline.”

With
furrowed brow, Olav regarded Bjorn’s retreating back an instant, and then his
gaze returned to Alarik. “You see that I try, to no avail,” he complained.
“What ails the whelp this time?”

Alarik’s
silver eyes shadowed. “The same as which drove you to wed Tyri, mine brother,
and Longbeard to Nissa’s sister... our sire to Astrid.” Alarik had no care to
add himself to the despicable list. He’d sworn he would never be led by his
groin, yet here he sat, striving not to appear overly eager at Olav’s request
to meet with Elienor. He’d been trying to come up with viable excuses to stop
in at the
kirken
to no avail. What possible reason could he have conjured when everyone,
including Vernay, knew fair well that he took great pains to keep his distance
from the little church he’d erected merely to appease Olav?

The
only possible reason was that he wished to see Elienor, and that he was
unwilling to cede.

Even to
himself.

Especially
to himself.

CHAPTER
23

“
Dominus vobiscum
.”

“The
Lord be with you.”

“
Et cum spiritu
tuo.”

Elienor
was silent a moment, not because she could not recall the meaning of the
phrase, but because she was tiring of Brother Vernay’s ceaseless
interrogation—at least that was what she felt it to be. She took in a
fortifying breath. “And with your spirit,” she replied wearily. “Brother
Vernay!” she protested, her eyes pleading. “I assure you I know this! How much
longer must we go on?”

After
her bath, Alva had dressed Elienor and plaited her hair and then had escorted
her the short distance to the vale where the small church of which Alarik had
spoken was erected. Dressed now in the exquisite sapphire silk Alva had brought
her, Elienor felt more like a Jezebel than a servant of God. In truth, never
had she felt so distant from her spiritual self, and though at the moment she
longed for the simplicity of her flowing white novice’s garb, and the safety of
the cloister, she resented her presence in this mockery of a church!

Brother
Vernay shook his head apologetically. “I beg your pardon, my sister. ’Tis but
that I cannot read much myself, and I must be certain you fully comprehend the
tongue before we can begin transcribing. You see, I cannot be certain I can
verify all your letters,” he explained gravely. “I could not allow you to copy erroneously
for ’twould be a sin to alter scripture so. I, for one, would not relish
burning in the fires of hell for such an avoidable transgression, and alas,
neither could I bear the thought of you consumed by those flames as well! Alas,
we must continue!”

He
lifted up the volume he’d been reciting from, opening it to a familiar
page—Elienor could tell by the comfortable expression upon his face. Then
he set the tome down on the bureau before Elienor. “Read to me here,” he
demanded, indicating with his finger.

Put so
Elienor could not refuse him. She sighed, scrutinizing the page before her a
long moment, her vision slightly blurred for the hours she’d spent staring at
the papier ‘a lettres.

“
Domine Deus...”
Her voice faltered with fatigue. She rubbed her temples. “...
Agnus Dei, Filius
Patris: qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis
.”

She
lifted her gaze to find that Brother Vernay had moved behind her and was now
peering over her shoulder.

“Very
good,” he commended. “Now do you perceive what it means?”

Elienor
nodded, and translated without bothering to reexamine the paragraph, “‘Oh,
Lord, Lamb of God, Son of the Father: who takest away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.’ ’Tis from the Gospel of John, I know it well. How is it,
Brother Vernay,” she expressed with exasperation, “that you can recite from
memory—can even know where each can be found in your volume—yet you
claim you cannot read?”

Brother
Vernay moved away from her, his face reddening. He turned his back to her. “I
can read,” he disclosed softly, hesitantly, turning to face her somewhat
diffidently. “’Tis that I sometimes confuse my letters, is all. They do not
always appear the same to mine eyes,” he added plaintively. “And so, because it
confuses me... I read little and remember much.”

“Oh?”
Elienor replied, chagrined over the accusation that had darkened her tone. “
]e m’excuse
for
questioning so discourteously,” she said softly, running nervous fingers across
the page; she could almost feel the letters rising up from the hallowed parchment.
“There was a time when I made these words my life,” she told him pensively, her
voice distant. “I suppose ’tis that I take exception to being forced to read
them now.”

She
lowered her head meekly. “I... I ask your forgiveness for the impertinence I’ve
shown you.” She lifted stark violet eyes to find Brother Vernay staring, his
head cocked in compassion.

“God
doth have his own plan, my sister,” he said cryptically, studying her a long
moment. “Alas, you must listen to your heart. ’Twill not mislead you, I think.”

Her
eyes were shadowed, filled with torment. She shook her head miserably. “I wish
it were so,” she replied softly, blinking away the sudden sting in her eyes,
“but I fear did I listen to my heart, Brother Vernay, then I would perceive naught
but hatred.”

And did
she listen to her treacherous body, she amended silently, averting her eyes in
shame, she would be nothing but the Jezebel she felt to be in this leman’s
gown!

Elienor
was confused.

She
could not comprehend what it was she was supposed to be, to feel. Everything
had been so clear... until this morn. And now she was afeared she knew naught,
she trusted naught. Nevertheless, there was some comfort to be had in the
familiar scriptures, and she vowed to put her heart into it from here forth.

If
naught more, it would save her from foolishly giving it elsewhere.

The
door opened suddenly, startling both Elienor and Brother Vernay, though upon
seeing Alarik, Vernay at once eased and smiled in welcome.

Elienor’s
face flushed at the sight of him, yet she did not avert her eyes in shame. She
dared not, for Brother Vernay had turned toward her and was watching them
curiously. She tilted her chin up deliberately, fighting the urge to turn away
as Alarik’s tawny brow rose. He said nothing as he removed his crimson cloak,
this one not so fine as the one he’d given her to wear. Behind him entered
another man who Elienor sensed watched them both, as well. For a disconcerting
instant, the silence of the chapel was interminable as she and Alarik stared at
each other.

And
then the stranger spoke. “Do we make progress?” he asked of Vernay.

Elienor
turned to regard the man at once, and at the sight of him her heart vaulted
into her throat. To her shock, he was near the image of Alarik—like him
in most every detail but for the darker shade of hair and his startling green
eyes. She shook her head, doubting her sight, and blinked. When the pair did
not unify, she squeezed her lids shut until she was certain the vision had
vanished.

“Why,”
the man said. “I’ve not seen one so dark and yet so fair since mine days in the
Danelaw!”

Elienor
opened her eyes, her face growing more pallid with each second.

The man
laughed. “Forsooth, bror! I’ve seen many a look accorded us for our semblance,
but never one so terrorized! What have you done to the poor girl?” he chuckled.
“She looks as though she might perish at the notion that there are two of you.”