Michelle Styles - A Deal With Her Rebel Viking

The man’s complexion became a little more florid as the first pink rays of dawn appeared. ‘You have captured some outlaws, you mean. There are no heathen warriors in Western Mercia, my dear lady Ansithe, whatever this scum may have proclaimed. The peace settlement ensures that.’

‘I beg to differ. I have six Northern warriors in my byre. Father Oswald buried the seventh whom I slew yesterday evening.’

‘Whoever they are, I have come to take them off you.’ Cedric patted a pouch that hung at his side.

Ansithe raised a brow. Cedric was notoriously tight-pursed and overly concerned about being robbed in the woods. ‘You brought gold?’

Cedric drew his top lip over his teeth, making him resemble a startled rabbit. ‘It seemed prudent after the rumours I heard.’

She firmed her mouth. ‘Really?’

‘Someone might have mentioned it.’ His lip curled as he gave a withering glance to the byre.

That someone was most probably Ecgbert, the steward. She had longed suspected him of divulging their secrets to Cedric, but her father had refused to listen to any of her suspicions.

‘The captured Northern warriors are nothing like outlaws and they fight with the Great Heathen Horde.’ She gave a pointed cough. ‘One is the son of an important Northern jaarl .’

His eyes became narrow slits and she thought naughtily that now he reminded her of a rather florid pig.

‘Which jaarl ? Do you have any proof?’

She opened her eyes wide and pretended that she had not exaggerated slightly. ‘Is it necessary for you to know?’

The look Cedric gave her verged on pity. Ansithe took a deliberately steadying breath and hung on to her temper.

‘You are far too gullible, my lady. If I might examine their brooches, I could tell in an instant.’ Cedric held up the pouch and jangled it. She could tell from the sound that the purse contained some, but not a lot of, gold. ‘Many will claim such a thing, my lady. However, you will find they are just miserable outlaws and thieves once you properly investigate the claim. First monks and then outlaws. Whatever next?’

His troop of men obligingly laughed.

Ansithe ground her teeth. Did the man think she was somehow mentally deficient? The swords she’d recovered were far finer than anything her father or brother-in-law possessed. Their axes alone would command a higher price than the gold Cedric currently held in front of her nose. ‘I can assure you I know the difference. And they are my prisoners, not to be paraded in front of every fool who comes here proclaiming he knows best.’

He made a tutting noise. ‘I meant no offence, my lady. I know from bitter experience that you can be overeager at times and more than willing to believe others’ fantasies and fables.’

Ansithe crossed her arms. He made her sound like an impulsive puppy, rather than a grown woman. ‘We are quite busy here as you might imagine. These Northern warriors will command a high ransom, once we send word to their jaarl .’

‘Getting a ransom from a Northman can be worse than getting blood from a stone. I have had experience with this.’ His smile increased in smugness as he jangled the tiny purse again. ‘Go on. Take it. I would hardly like to think such lovely ladies as yourselves were being troubled with such ruffians. It should go some way towards getting your father released.’

‘Unless it goes all the way.’ She pushed the meagre purse away with impatient fingers. Cedric was the sort who’d sell his grandmother if he thought it would be worthwhile. ‘Guthmann demands a steep price for my father and Leofwine’s release and is not prepared to compromise.’

‘I risk my men if I were to transport the prisoners to the summer gathering. There must be something in it for me and my men, my lady .’

Summer gathering. It was where any prisoners would be exchanged. If she could get the Northmen there herself, she could command a much better price for them. Ansithe clenched her fists. She should have considered it long before now. Her father and Leofwine were even likely to be there. It was the way to keep Guthmann and his men from Baelle Heale. All she had to do was work out a way to get there, without involving Cedric and without enabling any of the prisoners to find an escape route.

‘Thank you for the suggestion, but everything is well in hand.’

Cedric’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. ‘I was prepared to help. Out of friendship for Wulfgar, your father.’

‘For a price...’ Ansithe pasted on a smile. ‘You do nothing for free, Lord Cedric. Forgive me if I think your charges are extortionate, but I respectfully decline.’

His florid complexion became that bit more like ox blood. ‘Seeing as you are convinced you are capable, I will leave you to it. I hope it works well for you, my lady.’

His tone left her in little doubt that he didn’t think it would.

‘It will.’ She gestured towards the gate. ‘I look forward to welcoming you when we have the feast to celebrate my father’s return. Unless you wish to take my prisoners by force?’

‘That would be a Northman’s trick, not mine, Lady Ansithe. I uphold the law.’ Cedric turned his horse around and rode out of the yard, swiftly followed by his men.

‘I heard everything from the hall. Are you sure you did the right thing? Leofwine needs to be rescued,’ Cynehild said in an urgent undertone, coming to stand by her after the last horse departed. Her blonde hair was unbound and she’d wrapped a fur about her body.

‘We agreed they were my prisoners and my responsibility,’ Ansithe said. ‘You’ve seen their collection of weapons. They are no outlaws, but warriors. Someone will pay gold for the weapons and for them. Far more than Cedric ever would. And his men would be spies, working against us. We’ll take them to the summer gathering and sell them there. Father and Leofwine are bound to be there as well. It stands to reason.’

Cynehild thoughtfully regarded the byre. ‘Without someone like Cedric’s warriors to guard them, how will you be able to get them to the meeting place without them escaping? Owain the Plough is hopeless.’

Ansithe let out an exasperated huff. Cynehild made it seem as though she hadn’t spent most of the night trying to work out a plan. ‘We don’t have to decide that yet, except it won’t be Cedric or his warriors.’

Cynehild rolled her eyes. ‘Have you ever thought that he might be doing it to impress you? He does want a betrothal with you, Ansithe.’

‘It is my dower lands Cedric wants. The income is a decent one.’

‘He swore it was you he wanted. People can grow to care for each other like Leofwine and I did. Seeing his excellent qualities took me until little Wulfgar was born. You should give marriage with a younger man a chance.’

Ansithe stopped listening to the lecture. Cynehild currently possessed an overly romantic heart. Simply because Cynehild had fallen in love with her husband after she gave birth to little Wulfgar did not mean every woman did. Ansithe put her hand on her flat stomach. Not that her womb had ever shown any sign of quickening. Her husband’s dying words about her shrivelled womb still hurt. And she could never confess the ache to Cynehild. The last time they had confided in each other was before their mother died.

‘I need to guard these prisoners until Owain can relieve me...unless you care to do it.’

Cynehild blanched. ‘You need to stop being so like a man, Ansithe. A woman’s place is in the home with children about her feet. Think about that while you are guarding those brutes.’

Ansithe sniffed the air. ‘Guarding beats burning the porridge.’

The door of the byre swung open, revealing Lady Ansithe carrying a large bowl of porridge. Moir’s stomach obligingly rumbled. He had forgotten how good something simple like porridge could smell.