Chapter Three
Ella surveyed the soldiers filling the Great Hall for the midday meal from the small table near the dais where she had been regulated to sit. Ivar wouldn’t deign to give her a place of honor on the dais, but he wanted her presence to be seen as a reminder that she was a princess-hostage. Thankfully, none of the servants had given away her real identity.
Over the course of the past month, a new semblance of order had taken place at the fort. If Aelle were to attempt a coup, the news would be quickly related via the relay system of soldiers that Ivar had stationed at regular five-mile intervals in the countryside surrounding York. A rider could gallop his horse for that distance, deliver his message, and a new rider with a fresh horse would ride the next segment. It was much the same strategy that the legendary King Arthur had used when her own people had invaded post-Roman Britain several centuries before.
It soon became obvious, though, that Aelle had hunkered down for the winter north of Crayke, probably as much to join forces with the deposed Osberht and gather a larger army than due to the cold, harsh winter months that made fighting difficult. And so a somewhat stable peace had settled over the fort.
The Saxon soldiers that had tried to defend the fort were given the option of pledging fealty to the Viking prince or remaining in the dungeons below. Ella was not particularly surprised how quickly most of them acquiesced. Defending their single daily piece of bread and stale water in the damp, dank darkness against rodents or having hot meals and a pallet to sleep on was hardly a choice. They were given no weapons though; instead, being assigned to menial tasks such as mucking out stables.
It was probably for the sake of those hot meals—and clean laundry—that Ivar had also issued an edict that any village women who returned to do those tasks would not be molested. However, Ella had noticed—again, with little surprise—that a number of the younger women were more than willing to curry favor with the soldiers by warming their beds.
And she wondered if Lynet and Deira were warming Bronwolf’s bed. The maids had been sequestered in a room adjoining Bronwolf’s and seldom seen. Nor had Ella had a chance to talk with them. Although she had the freedom to move about, a guard always trailed her. Even after a month, Bronwolf didn’t trust her not to help them attempt to escape again. Or maybe he was enjoying their nightly company too much to want to give them up.
The thought—and the sight of Bronwolf entering the hall—made her slam the pewter goblet she’d been holding with a bit too much force and she spilled ale unto the table. Ina sauntered over with a linen to wipe it up. She gave her a sly smile as she noticed what held Ella’s attention.
“Aye, the captain is a fine figure of a man.”
Ella tore her gaze away. “I don’t know who you mean.”
The girl laughed. “Your eyes tell no lies.”
“I—”
“You may play at being a princess,” Ina went on, “but you are as common as I am.”
The girl had just reminded her that her masquerade was tenuous. At any given moment, someone might let the truth slip. At least, Moire was still away. As a personal maid to Athelthrythe, she’d always resented Ella’s friendship with the princess, but she could not afford to act superior with any of the servants.
She forced a smile. “I will admit he is comely.”
The girl grinned, any adversarial tone gone. “Lynet and Deira haven’t voiced any complaints.”
She somehow managed to keep her smile frozen in place. “And what do they say?”
“’They say he forbids them to speak of what takes place.”
What was taking place behind his closed door? How was Bronwolf pleasuring them? Her stomach fluttered, but she kept her voice nonchalant. “They can hardly voice complaints if they say nothing, can they?”
Ina leaned closer to whisper, although it wasn’t necessary with the din in the hall. “They don’t have to say anything. ’Tis in the way Lynet and Deira look at each other and giggle whenever one of us asks how it goes.”
The flutter stilled, replaced with what felt like lead in Ella’s stomach. Obviously, she’d been mistaken that either of the maids would be devastated at losing their virtue.
These past weeks, there had always been a guard stationed at her door and she’d seen Bronwolf only at meal times and, while she’d caught him watching her from the dais, he had spoken few words to her. Now, she knew why.
• ♥ •
From the look on the princess’s face, whatever the serving wench had just told her didn’t please her. Bronwolf took his seat next to Ivar on the dais and wondered what the problem was.
Aethelthryth had surprisingly made no demands after that near disastrous first meeting with Ivar. She generally sat at her table quietly, looking at no one and speaking little. Not that she had anyone at the small table to converse with, but she rarely did more than acknowledge a maid with a nod when her food was brought.
For the past month, he’d been kept busy—or, to be honest he’d kept himself busy—riding out to the relay stations, so he seldom saw her except for meal times. Even those intervals were agonizing enough. From that first night when he’d lunged to catch her before she got her hands on a weapon, he’d wanted her. That brief moment of their bodies touching had felt like a lightning bolt. Had she not been the princess, he would already have made her his.
To avoid that disastrous temptation, he’d put his most trusted men in charge of guarding her so he could keep his distance.
Bronwolf studied her now. Something didn’t seem right about the whole situation. The princess who’d put up a fight to defend her maids, who’d had the tenacity to call Ivar a barbarian to his face and defy him to boot was at odds with this passive woman who sat with a usually calm expression on her face. Had she taken his words to heart that it was wise not to anger Ivar? Somehow, he doubted it. A wildcat with her fiery temper didn’t turn into a house kitten. She was probably plotting something.
Which was the reason he kept her maids sequestered in the chamber next to him, although by Thor’s hammer, they’d nearly turned him into a berserker with their caterwauling the first two days. He’d told them he’d do no harm, but they apparently hadn’t believed their virtues were safe. It was nearly a sennight before they ceased wailing when they saw him and were calm enough to listen. They were under his protection and would remain untouched. All he asked was that they told no one of their arrangement. The transformation from harpies to beaming colluders was nothing short of amazing. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d ever understand women.
“You might want to turn your attention to the food,” Ivar said.
He tore his gaze away from the princess. “What do you mean?”
The prince pointed and Bronwolf looked down. When had a maid set the trencher with its steaming stew down? By Odin, a man could have put a knife in his back just as well. He grimaced. “I—”
“No excuses.” Ivar smirked. “You aren’t the only one who would like to get Aethelthryth in bed.”
That got his attention. If Ivar was thinking of taking her… Bronwolf felt like he’d swallowed a hot coal. There wasn’t much anyone could do if the prince decided to have his way with her. “As a hostage, she is more valuable left untouched.”
“Mayhap.” Ivar shrugged. “But she’s shown herself to be fierce. I wouldn’t mind subduing her in bed first—teach her not to defy a man.”
He forced himself to draw a calming breath. “Aelle will never honor a truce if he finds out his daughter is ruined.”
The prince raised a brow. “I don’t especially wish a truce with Aelle.”
Unfortunately, Bronwolf was all too aware that Ivar and his brothers wanted the Saxon king dead. He’d make no judgment calls on that, given the Saxons had shown no mercy when Ragnar’s ship foundered on their rocky shores. “That may well be, but we still have to capture Aelle. Would it not save many of our men’s lives if we didn’t have to fight to get to him?”
Ivar frowned. “Capture Aelle without a fight? That won’t happen.”
“Why not? Many Norsemen are settling in the areas where they raided. You did with King Edmund in East Anglia just this year. We could offer the same to Aelle to lure him in.”
“He’d never agree.”
“Not on his own, perhaps, but we do have his daughter.”
Ivar looked contemplative. “Capture the Saxon king without bloodshed? It would be quite the tale for our skalds to tell on a winter night.”
“A feat that would rival the wooden horse of Troy,” Bronwolf said. “The story would travel far and wide across Briton by their bards as well… how Prince Ivar avenged his father without shedding a drop of Viking blood.”
“It is a possibility.” Ivar shrugged again. “But why should that stop me from ravishing the princess, meanwhile? I think I may want to make her acquaintance myself.”
Bronwolf took another fortifying deep breath. “Aelle is no fool. He will want to see—and speak—to his daughter first.”
Ivar grimaced. “I suppose you have the right of that.”
He was smart enough not to say he knew he was. “Why take the chance? If the princess tells him she came to no harm, Aelle will be more likely to believe you truly desire a truce.”
The prince narrowed his eyes, then he nodded. “I see the benefit. Princess Aethelthryth is safe.” He paused. “At least, for now.”
For now.
• ♥ •
The first thing Ella noticed when she entered the Great Hall for the evening meal was that her table was not in its usual place. She looked around, not finding it anywhere. Did the Viking prince mean to have her sit at one of the tables with his men? If so, she’d beg to take her meals in her chamber.
“Princess Aethelthryth?”
She turned to the young soldier who’d addressed her. “Yes?”
“The prince requests your presence at the dais this evening.”
Startled, she looked from him to the raised table. There was an empty spot to the prince’s left. And, next to it, sat Bronwolf. Her stomach fluttered. “Why?”
“I do not know, Princess.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. She focused on the prince as she was seated. “To what do I owe this invitation?”
Beside her, Bronwolf cleared his throat in warning. She ignored it, although every fiber in her being was aware of his presence. Even without looking at him, she knew his silvery-blue gaze would be intense. Reminding her not to agitate Ivar. As much as it chafed her inwardly, she reminded herself that appearing docile was a part of her plan to dupe the whole lot of them into a false sense of compliance. She gave the prince a pretty smile. “It is an honor, of course.”
“I am glad you think so,” Ivar replied and looked over her at Bronwolf. “I was just telling my captain earlier that I have been remiss in not making your acquaintance before this.”
Why would he want to do that? Ella had no wish to get to know him better. Observing from a distance was far more practical. And safer. Why did he look at Bronwolf? Had they been discussing her? Or worse, her future? She swallowed hard. “I assure you that I have been treated well.”
Ivar gave her a slow smile. “But perhaps not as well as could be.”
The smile was predatory. Ella fought a bubble of hysteria rising in her throat. Her status as a princess hostage should keep her from getting molested. Shouldn’t it? But what if Ivar had found out the truth? Had someone let something slip? She could only pray not and continue with her ruse. “Thank you, but I am quite content with the way things are.”
Ivar let his smile slip. “For now.”
She didn’t like the innuendo. Better to change the subject. Quickly. Besides, there was a question she needed to ask. “I am glad you invited me to sit with you this evening since I had wanted to inquire what your intentions are for Yule.”
“Yule intentions?” The smile came back. “What do you have in mind?”
Ella pretended not to notice the leer in his eyes. She leaned back so she could look at both the prince and Bronwolf. “Our people are Christian. The local priest would be most upset if he could not celebrate the Christ’s Mass.”
“Your priests have not yet convinced us to turn from our pagan ways,” Ivar replied. “Why should we grant such lenience?”
“It would please the villagers.”
“Why would I care—”
“Perhaps we could combine celebrations?” Bronwolf asked. “It was what my grandfather did when he settled in the Faroe Islands.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Several times.”
Ella widened her eyes. “Are they as beautiful and rugged as I’ve heard people say?”
“They are,” Bronwolf answered.
“Does your grandfather live there?”
“He does. In fact, it was Noddodd who discovered Iceland.”
“And what does that have to do with Yule celebrations?” Ivar sounded irritated.
Bronwolf seemed to understand the prince didn’t like the topic of conversation to veer from himself. “I simply meant to say my grandfather blended in our pagan ways—lighting the Yule log on the Solstice, keeping it burning for twelve days until the sun rises again in the North—along with the customs of the native peoples.”
Ella nodded. “We burn the Yule log, too. And we have the Boar’s feast the day after the Christ’s Mass.”
“We have that also,” Ivar answered. “The boar is companion to Frey, god of the sun and…” His gaze grew bold. “…fertility.”
Bronwolf intervened. “The animal is also revered as king of the forest because he is so fearsome. In Valhalla, warriors feast on the boar each night and each morning he comes back to life.”
“Well, when our warriors kill the boar, he remains dead,” Ella said and wasn’t quite sure why that made Bronwolf laugh. “There is a huge competition amongst our men for the largest one caught.”
“You expect me to allow your men weapons?” Ivar asked. “A clever idea, Princess Aethelwryth, but it won’t work.”
Ella tried not to let her disappointment show. If just one of the Saxon soldiers would be able to slip away during the hunt and get to Aelle…
She was all too aware that both Ivar and Bronwolf were watching her. She gave a shrug that she hoped was nonchalant. “I hardly expected that.” Of course, she had. Or hoped, anyway. “I’ve heard that Vikings are good archers. Is that true?”
“We handle all weapons well,” Ivar said.
“Then can we assume there will be boar for a feast?”
Ivar narrowed his eyes. “You can.”
Beside her, Bronwolf cleared his throat once more. This time, she heeded the warning and simply smiled. She’d steered the conversation from going down a path she didn’t want to take and she’d just gotten her people the feast they looked forward to every year.
Her smile widened. If she stirred up competition among the Viking soldiers, perhaps they wouldn’t notice a Saxon disguised as one of them slip out with the hunting party.