Chapter 18
“Cwenthryth!” Steinar hurried toward her as soon as she exited Aldred’s house. “Are you—”
“I’m all right,” she said, walking straight past him, her lips barely moving. “Let’s walk.”
She would have liked nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, but that would have to wait until they were out of sight.
If Aldred was watching her through the window, it would be better to appear as if nothing was wrong and behave as if she and the two brawny Norsemen stationed outside the house didn’t know one another.
Behind her she heard Wolf tell his son something in Norse.
No doubt he was explaining her way of thinking and urging him to calm.
The men followed her at a discreet distance, making sure to appear too engrossed in their conversation to worry about anyone else.
Once they reached the town square, she led them under the timbered market hall and behind a sturdy pillar.
Finally, when she was certain Aldred could not see them, she relaxed her shoulders and sagged against Steinar, who had appeared behind her as if by magic.
Had they been alone she would have turned around and buried her face into his chest, but as his father was here, she could not presume to—
The choice was made for her when two strong arms closed around her, drawing her exactly where she wanted to be, against a strong, sweet-smelling chest. Steinar cradled her a long moment, breathing in her scent as well, or so it seemed to her.
Since he didn’t seem to worry about what Wolf would think she allowed herself to enjoy this embrace to the full.
Against her ear she could hear the beat of his heart, faster than she’d imagined it would be.
Perhaps he had been afraid for her, more than she thought, as afraid as she had been when she’d understood she was talking to Astrid’s murderer.
After a while, reluctantly, she drew back and looked at him. There was such raw emotion in his blue eyes that she knew there and then her life would never be the same—and that it would include the tall Norseman holding her. Her heart fluttered in joy. This was just what she wanted.
“You’ve learned something,” Steinar said, sounding sure of himself.
“Yes. I’m sorry, it will not make for pleasant hearing,” she said, looking at him and Wolf in turn.
How was she to tell them the terrible news she had learned?
Her legs were still trembling from the shock of the discovery, and she was not the one who’d been married to Astrid. How would Steinar take it?
Eventually, she had no choice but to start talking. The longer she waited, the more worried he would get.
“We’ll be all right,” he assured her. “Just tell us.”
“I believe Aldred is the one who accused you of the murder.” She paused, giving the men time to absorb the news.
They seemed stunned, which did not surprise her.
What reason could the man have to do such a thing?
That was what she had not yet discovered, but it could wait.
“There is more. I’m afraid his message to the reeve wasn’t a complete lie.
Even though you did not kill her, Astrid was indeed murdered. ”
Father and son stared at her in stupefaction. “Murdered? But how?”
“Poisoned, from what he said.”
At first Steinar recoiled in denial, then he frowned, as if trying to reassess his wife’s last moments in view of this new, startling piece of information. It was clear from the way the gleam in his eyes slowly dimmed that he’d reached the conclusion it was not impossible, given the symptoms.
“Yes, she might well have been poisoned,” he finally said, looking horrified. “But by whom?”
This was the hardest part. Cwenthryth took in a deep breath. Would they believe her? She wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t, as she had no proof to offer, only intuition.
“I suspect Aldred himself poisoned her,” she said slowly, “though I’m not sure quite why.
But how else would he know that she had been poisoned, or even that she had died?
And how would he know you had been the one accused of the murder?
My guess is that she had told him she wanted to leave you and come to live with him, and he didn’t want to have his life disturbed so he got rid of her. ”
A tryst had been well and good, but he didn’t want anything more serious.
It was the only thing that made sense at the moment.
And it did make sense. They knew Astrid had planned to leave her home, because she had tried to ensure someone would be there to look after her children—Cwenthryth herself.
The timing seemed too close for it to be coincidental.
She and Aldred had been seeing one another for more than a year.
Why kill her now? Because she had suddenly decided she wanted more.
“I might be mistaken, as he didn’t offer any explanation, instead placing the blame for the murder on you in retaliation for their affair. But I really think he was the one who sent a message to the reeve to accuse you.”
Steinar was still frowning. Cwenthryth might be right, but something was amiss here.
“Why would he need or even want to accuse me of a murder no one was even aware of?” he asked her. “We all thought Astrid had died of natural causes.”
Cwenthryth made a helpless gesture. “The people in your village thought there was nothing amiss because Aldred had planned it that way. But he didn’t actually witness her last moments.
Something could have gone wrong. He could not be sure she died in manner that seemed natural, as he wasn’t there to see the effect of the poison.
If she’d started to talk about her entrails burning, for example, or had been examined by a healer who’d seen this poison in action before, then you might have gotten suspicious and start investigating. ”
Steinar shook his head. “We did not. She did seem to suffer a lot but we never thought to suspect it was anything other than a common flux…”
By the gods, the idea of what the poor woman had gone through was enough to chill his blood.
Her agony had lasted a whole day and night.
He was itching to go to find this Aldred and rip him to bits for what he’d made Astrid endure.
She’d died so that the bastard she’d chosen to bed could be free to fuck all the women who crossed his path. How pathetic.
Or… Did he have another reason for killing her?
Had Astrid fallen with child from their illicit encounters?
Had he panicked at the idea of her demanding that he provide for the babe?
She’d done what she could not to let her husband’s seed take root in her womb, but perhaps her lover was less respectful of her wishes, and after a year of bedding she had discovered she had missed her courses.
Steinar shook his head. Thinking like that would only cause him more pain, and change nothing.
He would have to keep his suspicions to himself.
Astrid had been murdered, it was all that mattered.
“Besides,” Cwenthryth carried on, “Aldred was not to know you were not aware of your wife’s affair.
He probably assumed you knew, or at least suspected Astrid had a lover.
Perhaps he was afraid you would come after the man who’d seduced your wife, eager to take your revenge for the humiliation.
He wanted to protect himself from a private revenge and possible accusation of murder.
Better to strike first and save himself than spend months worrying about being killed.
With you out of the way, he could relax. ”
This time Steinar nodded. Yes, this would make sense. Attack was always the best defense.
The day he’d come to town to see where Cwenthryth lived, Aldred had seen him across the street, looking at the house.
As his father had pointed out the day before, his looks were unmistakably those of an Icelander’s son.
It would not have taken the Saxon long to conclude that the Norseman stationed outside his house was none other than his late lover’s husband.
Fearing the worst, not knowing that Steinar had actually come to see about Cwenthryth’s tormentor, he would have assumed retribution was coming.
His father nodded in turn. “It makes sense. I’ve seen men kill for less.”
“Yes.” Steinar placed a hand on Cwenthryth’s shoulder. “You’re right. He was probably the one who killed Astrid and then sent the message to the reeve.”
This seemed the obvious conclusion. The fact that Aldred knew about Astrid’s death alone was suspicious.
How would a man who’d never set foot in the Norsemen village have heard about her sudden and unexpected demise?
She’d only been three-and-thirty, like him, and in perfect health.
There was no reason to think she would not live to an advanced age.
“But why would the reeve even bother himself with the murder of a Norsewoman?” he wondered out loud. Even if Aldred had sent him word to him, why would the man worry about it? Everyone here knows my father is in charge of the Norse community.”
Once again Cwenthryth shrugged. “This, I do not know. Maybe the two of them are friends? Maybe Aldred blackmailed him? Maybe the man hates Norsemen and saw an opportunity to rid himself of one?”
Unfortunately, this was all too possible. The Norse settlers had always been well accepted around here, working with the local folk, marrying their women, helping to build a thriving community.