Patricia Bracewell - The Price of Blood

The noise from two companies of men grew louder, competing with the terrified beating of her heart. Her mount began a nervous skittering, and she pulled hard at the reins to steady it as riders burst through the drifts of fog. In a moment she and Alric were surrounded, and it was only when he called out a greeting in what she thought was Danish that she was able to catch a shallow breath, for now she recognized Thurbrand among the riders.

He was as massive as she remembered – tall, wide-shouldered, barrel-chested, with a broad face framed by thin black locks. His beard was full and wild, and she shuddered to think what might be living in it. But his cloak was clasped with an intricate brooch of gold, and its fur trim rippled as he touched his fist to his shoulder in a gesture of greeting.

‘You certainly took your time getting here,’ he growled at Alric. ‘My men have been shadowing you ever since you left Grimsby, keeping an eye out, you might say. We had king’s men nosing about last month – mean-spirited bastards asking questions about a black-haired beauty.’ He turned to look at her then, and she saw his eyes travel from her bound breasts down to her toes. ‘My men sent word that you were garbed as a boy. I could hardly credit it, having seen you in your father’s hall.’ His mouth twisted in a leer. ‘I see I was wrong.’ He turned his horse to face back along the track from which he’d come. ‘But we must hasten. There are folk awaiting us at Ringbrough.’

It was hardly the courteous greeting she had looked for, but she had no chance to rebuke him. A moment later she found herself riding swiftly through the mist with armed horsemen on either side of her. She cursed under her breath. How could she have forgotten what a brute Thurbrand was? He had all the courtesy of a boar, and now that she’d seen Holderness, she would not be surprised to discover that he was not only uncivilized but half-mad as well.

Her decision to come to him for help seemed far less wise in this light, but it was too late to do anything about it. She could only wonder uneasily who was waiting for them at Ringbrough, whatever Ringbrough may be.

As it turned out, Ringbrough was a small manor – far smaller than she had expected. It was set within a palisade among fields of rye bordered by a forest of oak and ash. There was a hint of salt on the breeze, and she guessed that they must be very near the sea. The afternoon was far advanced as they entered the compound through a narrow wooden gate guarded by armed men. When she heard the latch close behind her she could think of nothing so much as a trap springing shut, and she felt a sudden tremor of apprehension.

As Alric helped her from her horse, she glanced towards the centre of the yard, where a timbered hall – half the length of her father’s – stood flanked by smaller buildings. It was not long, but it was tall, with a high, curved roof ornamented with soaring crossbeams carved in the shape of beasts gaping with fierce, open mouths, like the monsters on the prows of dragon ships. She did not like the menacing look of that hall, and when Thurbrand grasped her elbow and would have led her inside, she wrested her arm away and rounded on him.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve heard my father describe the massive stronghold of the mighty Thurbrand. This is not it.’

‘Aye, that’s so. But what we do today must have few witnesses, and those only men that I can trust. Get you in.’

Now her fear was as wide as a river in flood.

‘I will not,’ she snapped, ‘until you tell me what you are about.’ And likely not even then, if she could help it.

‘Lady Elgiva,’ he growled, taking her arm again and pushing her towards the open door, ‘I stand here in your father’s stead. You have nothing to fear.’

Yet she was afraid, for she saw her father’s hand in this, reaching out from the grave to bring her to ruin. She was afraid that some bastard of a Dane was waiting in there for her, and that the marriage she had tried so desperately to avoid was about to come to pass. But she was not strong enough to resist Thurbrand, who simply dragged her through the doorway as if she were made of straw.

Inside, the far end of the hall was lit by thick candles set on a trestle table, where four men sat laughing and drinking. She did not recognize any of them, and she turned around to look to Alric for help, but there was only darkness behind her. As Thurbrand propelled her towards the strangers their talk and laughter died, and she felt their gazes burn her skin. She was thrust none too gently onto a stool next to one of them. Volleys of words shot back and forth among the men, but she understood nothing.

When a servant appeared from the shadows to set a cup before her, she reached for it eagerly and took a long swallow, then coughed as the liquid burned its way down her throat. It was beor, a drink more potent than wine or mead, but she was thirsty. She wiped her streaming eyes, then drank some more while she peered at the faces around the table and considered her options. The usual tricks for cozening a man would be of no use to her here. She did not want to charm them but repel them. And if her men’s clothes and the stench from a week’s worth of travel filth did not do it, likely nothing would.

She decided that the fellow seated directly across from her must be their leader, for he was covered in gold. There were gold rings on his fingers and arms, and a heavy gold chain hung about his neck. Well, if he was to be her husband, he appeared to be rich enough to suit her, but, Jesu , he was ancient. Still, he might well die soon, and that would be an advantage.

His long hair, tied back in the Danish fashion, was stark white, and his face was so seamed and weather-worn that she was reminded of the chalk cliffs that she had seen on the southern coast. His black eyes scanned her as if he were calculating her worth, and when she arched an insolent brow at him, one corner of his mouth lifted, as if she’d amused him. He flicked a finger, and Thurbrand pulled the hood and woollen cap from her head, releasing the long braid that fell to her waist.

‘Do not touch me, you whoreson,’ she snarled, batting his hand away. ‘Who are these men? I came to you in trust and you have betrayed me.’

‘No betrayal, lady,’ he said smoothly. ‘I am merely completing the bargain that your father agreed to.’

‘But I did not agree to it!’ She stood up, knocking over her stool and glaring at him.

He responded by striking her so hard that she lost her balance. She would have fallen but for the man who occupied the stool beside hers. He caught her, and she heard him shout something at Thurbrand. But the blow and the beor made the room spin, and she was only dimly aware that in the moments that followed, her hands were clasped hard between a man’s calloused palms and more words were spoken that she did not comprehend.

‘It is done,’ she heard Thurbrand say then. ‘Greet your husband, lady. His name is Cnut.’

She looked up into eyes as dark as those that had bored into her from across the table. But these eyes belonged to a far younger man – younger even than she was, she guessed. His beard, like his hair, glinted copper in the candlelight while those dark eyes considered her with a steady, solemn gaze. He slipped a fat gold ring from one of his fingers and placed it upon one of hers. She studied the ring and dredged up a smile for him.

Then, still smiling, she spat in his face.

Elgiva could not say how long it took for her head to finally clear from a haze of confusion, anger, and beor. She remembered being bathed and clothed in a clean shift of white linen. Now she was alone, her hair combed and plaited, and she was lying on a curtained bed that was strewn with furs. Despite the fire that burned on the small hearth in the centre of the chamber, she was cold. She sat up and, wrapping one of the furs around her shoulders, noticed a cup on the table next to the bed. She picked it up, sniffed it, and tasted it. The liquid inside was hot – a herbal infusion of some kind, sweetened with honey. She sipped it gingerly as she tried to make sense of what had happened to her.