Miriam clutched at her chest, almost overbalancing. She was down in the cellar with Ruth, checking on the severely depleted stocks, and it gave her quite a turn to hear her daughter’s desperate cry for help.What was going on?“Are you all right, my lady?”She peered up at the auburn-haired woman, who was now Sigurd’s wife, wondering anew why she herself was so small.“Heartburn,” she lied. “It’s rarely been as bad as this.”Ruth tutted. “I didn’t realise you suffered so.”“In truth, I don’t. Lately, I – ”“Maybe a herbal tea will help,” her sister’s former maid interrupted. “No doubt Jenna can advise.”“A pity she never had children,” Miriam commented, partly to distract Ruth.“God has blessed her in other ways,” the woman said. Her piety was a byword. Strange how she had done little to change Sigurd, only tame him perhaps. He was a man settled to marriage and his role in Vercia.At least there was someone she could rely on. Hubert was not to be trusted. She felt it in her bones. Phi
Beyla was astonished to find she was seething rather than frightened when hands were laid on her high-born, soon to be royal, personage. The horse she had rather liked was sent on its way with a whack to the rump, though she was relieved to find no caves were in sight. “You are making a grave mistake,” she declared, refusing to play the victim from the outset. While she had never had any desire to be a warrior woman, Beyla felt she owed it to her family to return to them unscathed. If that meant presenting a bold front then she would do her best to promote and sustain that impression. “This one should fetch a king’s ransom. What d’you reckon, Sammy?” her captor said, forcing open her mouth and inspecting her teeth for some reason known only to himself. He was old – at least fifty – and his bald pate was covered in several bumps which complemented the pockmarks on his ruddy cheeks. “I think we should keep her as a skivvy, Tom,” his companion remarked with a leer. Though younger, b
Miriam was having a spiritual – hopefully more than imaginary – conversation with her late sister. Daphne was contributing in a halting way, which led her to believe that she really had passed. You never could tell with her sister.Ketil had agreed with her it might be some sort of ploy but was duty bound to meet King Harald.Her sister seemed to imply Hubert could be trusted, even though he had his own agenda. That was certainly enlightening.Something she had always wondered about was certainly hinted at. Daphne had started to resent her younger sister. While it might have been King Gregory’s idea to deprive her of the gowns and jewels, the Princess Royal had certainly flaunted them. It was a matter he seemed to have forgotten all about the day he came and told her about the Masked King’s intended courtship of her. Another lie; even if it had been forced upon him, she could never allow herself to forgive her father for that.And Sigurd. Out of the blue came a confession which warmed
Beyla was unsure why his father had kept her away from her betrothed, only that he had. Was there a problem regarding their impending matrimony? She really hoped not. Philip was someone she found easy to talk to and, like her, he was only a pawn in the politics of others.Wedding him would be no hardship. She began to wonder if King Hubert believed she was no longer pure. Submitting to a physical examination would be humiliating, especially since there was really no need.An unexpected ally came in the form of her mother. Miriam could be fierce when something was important to her.“Can Beyla not swear on the Holy Bible, Your Majesty?”“Is she a baptised Christian?”“No, but the opportunity never arose.”In the end, Mistress Ford was agreed upon. The years had been kind to the older woman she remembered only vaguely from her time at the palace. Beyla forbore to protest, and Miriam realised she had come round to the idea of this marriage.King Hubert cleared his throat while they waited
Njord saw the commotion from aboard ship. It wasn’t what he had been expecting and yet those dreams recently had shown him a figure with two opposing faces. With his father off the scene that could only mean it was someone he had yet to meet.Hearing the cries and screams, seeing the plume of smoke rising into the air – just one – he called his friends to arms.Everything was organised quickly and soon they were scaling the cliffs some distance away prepared to check things out before rushing in blindly. Who knew, maybe the Vercians celebrated their nuptials in this way, but he very much doubted it.He thought about Tyr then, who was often predicting his early demise. They had joked about it often, he and the other Norsemen, young and older alike. But what if the soothsayer had been right? There would be no male heir to Eggsor – he had vowed never to take up that mantle – and he would have lost a close friend and cousin.Beyla would be devastated. Princess Amber now, he corrected hims
Beyla looked up at Kaan, wondering what his motive was in all this. She had grown up with the notion that men from the east were not to be trusted.“You say that my father may be alive, but how can this be? I saw him fall with my own eyes.”“I have sources at the palace, pretty one,” he told her.“Why did you go along with it and bring me here?”“For your own safety.”She smiled, causing him to look at her quizzically. “Seldom have I known a man to answer a direct question without fudging the answer. So, thank you for that.”He gave her a small bow. “We are not all demons,” he said.“I trusted him,” she raged.“Philip was a strange one. That is why I told my men to hang fire and suggested they wait for my signal to sail. In some ways, I wish I had been wrong, Princess.”“Don’t call me that. I’m just Beyla, the Jarl’s daughter, from Eggsor.”“I’m afraid not, Princess. The marriage ceremony was completed, remember?”“You won’t take me back, will you?”“Never,” he vowed. “I’m not even in
Orm to the rescue. At least that was how it felt. With Sigurd not exactly incarcerated but still unable to walk about freely, it fell to him to cheer up Ketil. The latter loathed his own enforced inaction and was itching for news of his daughter.The only news which filtered through concerned the demise of King Harald.Why couldn’t he have passed away sooner?Miriam crossed herself. These days, she had plenty of sin for which to atone, but didn’t feel inclined to visit the priest. What could he possibly know of her life? Where had he been when her own father bartered her to a foreign mercenary, albeit one who was no stranger to Vercia.How awkward would it have seemed if they had been unable to communicate from the outset?She was experiencing something similar now. Yet in some ways it was enough to hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, as she lay beside him during the night.The very real worries for Tyr and Beyla never went away. But here, with his arms around her, she felt a measu
Beyla had nothing to wear other than the clothes provided for her by the woman she viewed as her jailer. Day after day she was locked in her room with nothing to read and a lack of anything to occupy her hands. There wasn’t even a view other than miles of empty sand stretching to the far horizon.The city was the gateway to Araby. Known as Damask it had its fair share of roses, cultivated with care by a figure down below. Because of the all-covering hooded garment it was difficult to tell if the person were male or female. She sniffed the aroma of the latest vased flowers. They were replenished each day, but failed to lift her spirits if that had been the intention of the provider.She suspected it was Kaan, though she hadn’t seen him since the day before yesterday.That had been an enlightening encounter. King Harald was dead, she had learned, while she herself was now a widow. It scarcely seemed real.“Have you changed your mind about the importance of a treaty?” she dared to ask.H