Page 111 of Viking in Love

“What betrothal ceremony?” King Thorvald demanded to know, regarding the archbishop with as much distaste as the clergyman regarded him.

Dunstan glanced at Caedman and Breanne, an evil grin tugging at his thin lips, as if he had caught them finally in his wily trap. “Caedmon and Breanne, of course.”

The quicksand Caedmon had been sinking in for days just pulled him under. He could swear he heard the loud sucking noise. No way out of this mess! He was one dead Saxon duck.

The tic pulsing at the edge of King Thorvald’s mustache was the only clue he gave that he was ignorant of these happenings. “My darling Breanne and her beloved Caedmon? How could I forget?”

The sly king then smiled.

Beware a Viking’s wrath…

First things first.

Breanne, her sisters, her father, Rafn, Eirik, and Eadyth were in the solar. They drank cups of Eadyth’s fine mead, which she had brought with her from Ravenshire, and nibbled at manchet bread and hunks of cheese whilst catching up on all that had happened these past few sennights.

Geoff and Sybil were making arrangements to feed and house another hundred bodies in addition to those who had come with Dunstan and King Edgar. Adam and Rashid had taken little Adela for a walk to see some newborn lambs. The archbishop and his clergy were resting or praying somewhere in the keep. The ealdorman was off drinking ale to assuage his impatience over the way the Witan hearings were going, or not going. And Caedman, may the gods bless him, had taken the king and his cohorts out hunting with falcons. It was either that or let Edgar make merry with one or several of the Heatherby maids, willing or not. Besides that, he had been eyeing Breanne’s fading spots with suspicion.

“I do not blame you, daughters, for killing Havenshire,” Thorvald told them. “I only wish I had been there.”

“Not nearly as much as I do.” Rafn was feeling immense guilt over all that Vana had suffered, thinking him passed to the Other World. He had fallen in battle and had been presumed dead, but in fact he had been taken into slavery by a vicious outlaw band of Danes. His original wound, a deep sword cut to his thigh, had never been treated properly, and thus he limped slightly. “I but wish that Caedmon would tell me where Vana is hiding so that I can take her home with me.” And marry her was left unspoken, but inevitable.

“He honestly does not know, Rafn,” Breanne told him. “’Twas better that none of us knew. Be assured that she is safe under the care of Wulf. And Ivan and Ivar, as well.”

“We owe these people so much,” Rafn told Thorvald.

“Rest assured. We will reward them for their help.”

“I am not sure they will want or take a reward, Father, but this is a small estate, and they do not have the resources to feed all of you,” Ingrith pointed out, her mind ever on food. “There will be enough to last through the wedding feast on the morrow, but not much else.” The Norse troops were settled in tents in the fields beyond the castle, but they still needed food and drink.

“Rafn, send someone to the nearest market town for supplies.”

Rafn nodded.

“We will be going back to Larkspur right after the ceremony. Caedmon advised me that would be the best place for us to wait for Vana to return. She will have heard of our presence here in Northumbria.”

“I only wish it could be now. ’Tis hard to wait, doing nothing,” Rafn remarked.

“Father, Larkspur is not a grand estate, either,” Breanne said.

“We will worry about that when the time comes, daughter. Now, back to Oswald. Are you certain the body will not be found?”

“He is at the bottom of a privy…a very deep privy,” she remarked dryly.

Her father and Rafn gaped at her before breaking out in grins. Then Rafn asked, “How did you get him through the hole?”

Breanne and her sisters just rolled their eyes.

“Believe me, Rafn,” Tyra said, “I would have had no problem making a bonfire of him, beast that he was, but there was an easier solution.” She explained how they had disposed of the body and then pretended that Oswald had ridden out of the castle.

“Oh, Rafn, you should have seen Vana. Black and blue marks on her face, finger marks on her neck, a broken arm, and…” Drifa’s words trailed off as she saw the horror on Rafn’s face. “I am so sorry. I did not mean—”

But Rafn stood abruptly, appearing as if he might hurl the contents of his stomach, and staggered out of the room.

“Nice work, Drifa,” Ingrith remarked.

Drifa started to cry.

“’Tis not your fault,” her father said, pulling her onto his lap. “We had to learn the details eventually. Why the disguises?”