Chapter Eight #2
Trestle tables were arranged in a rectangular configuration. Polished metal torch stands formed a fiery ring around the celebrants. Slaves rushed in and out of the kitchen. The noble women seated at the tables wore colorful tunics and headdresses. Even the servants were dressed in finery.
One woman drew Rachelle’s undivided attention. The same blonde that Tyr had fondled stood near him, dressed in a charming green gown. Her lustrous tresses glistened in the candlelight. Remembering the passionate kisses she shared with the Viking in England made her jealous of his servant.
As guests shuffled around, Rachelle had an unobstructed view of Tyr’s profile.
He was seated at the center of the high table with Onetooth at his right and a man she didn’t recognize to his left.
Aaron reclined inelegantly in the chair next to the stranger.
Tyr’s impressive stature captured her interest again.
His thick hair was braided at the temples, adorned with silver and gold beads.
Wearing a black tunic, embroidered with gold thread over a burgundy linen shirt, the jarl looked the perfect nobleman.
His guest must be an important dignitary.
She lowered her eyes. This would be the last time she allowed that bullying swine of a man to get inside her head.
What remained of the wreckage of her life was more important than Tyr.
With renewed confidence, she slipped onto the landing.
Not one soul paid any attention to her. The loud noise and cramped conditions in the room would shield her from notice, she hoped. She made it to the doors.
“S?ster.”
Who said that? Although it was spoken in Norse, Rachelle understood clearly. So many women were here, why fear anything? She rested her hand on the metal latch.
“Sister,” the same voice called out in English.
The music dwindled. Afraid, she opened the door.
“Stopp den jenta,” someone called.
Her heart somersaulted inside her chest. She couldn’t look.
That order was directed at her. Fisting her left hand, she held onto the door so tightly her right hand went numb.
Then the sound of padded footsteps came.
Closer and closer. Until soft leather boots appeared in her periphery.
She wavered as a firm hand grasped her shoulder.
Twisting around, she acknowledged the man with a mere nod.
“Come,” he said.
The sentry’s soft smile was reassuring, but it didn’t dismiss her fears. Head hanging, she avoided the stares she felt on her back as they walked between the tables. She still refused to raise her head after they stopped in the center of the room. The guard tapped her shoulder.
“You’ve nothing to worry about, girl,” he assured her.
Yes I do. As soon as Tyr and Onetooth recognize me … Thank God the hood covered most of her face.
“If you’re disfigured in any way, sister, tell me, and I’ll leave you in peace.” That gentle voice had a calming effect, but that name he kept calling her—sister—irritated her beyond measure. She crossed herself.
“Ah …” The stranger stood. “A Christian. So I speak righteously when I call you sister. Come, shed your veil, and reveal your identity.”
The price she’d have to pay for leaving her room.
Lowering the hood, unruly, loose waves of hair broke free and tumbled down her back.
She met Tyr’s heated gaze first. She scowled.
He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
Onetooth looked away. Guessing the stranger to be nobility, she couldn’t possibly deny his simple request. Something had caught his attention.
Did she look that suspicious sneaking outside?
The visitor sucked in a satisfied breath. “Radiant. I’m never wrong. You’ve been hording this breath of joy, Jarl Sigurdsson. Not that I blame you.”
Tyr’s big hands opened and closed slowly. He sat close enough to grab ahold of the stranger’s throat. Something sinister flashed in Tyr’s eyes, making Rachelle swallow. He’d worn the same dire look when he’d tied the drunk to the tree in Durham.
“May I introduce, Rachelle Fiennes?” Tyr said, his tone reserved.
She curtsied, hoping to avoid Tyr’s displeasure.
“Saxon?” the guest asked, surprised.
“A halfling, Prince Edwin.” Tyr responded.
A prince … She should be relieved to be in the company of someone so civilized. This place could use a bit of refinement. And how clever of Tyr to figure out her parentage without asking. She frowned at him again.
“Jarl, you continue to impress—such diversity in your household.” Edwin complimented.
“This woman’s father was a simple gentleman. It’s through her father and mother’s lineages that we discovered her wellborn Norman blood.”
Tyr’s caustic tone, along with every word he spoke, hurt to the core. Her eyes burned, but she refused to give in.
“Sit with me, Lady Rachelle. We shall enjoy this meal together.” Edwin saved her.
A thrall immediately responded to his invitation by placing a chair next to the prince.
Rachelle didn’t bother seeking Tyr’s approval.
She stepped onto the dais, then passed between Edwin and Aaron.
Edwin rewarded her with a dazzling smile, took her hand, and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles.
“I look forward to getting to know you, sir,” she said with as much flare as she could muster. “Meaningful conversation and a good meal is a most welcome change.”
Bastard, you mean … Tyr focused on the largest fireplace across the room. He didn’t like being reminded of his mistakes with Rachelle. Overhearing every falsehood Edwin whispered set his blood on fire. What a preening rooster—fatherless weasel.
Of all nights, why did she choose this one to disobey him?
The prince’s pomposity continued. “I’ll provide an escort and give you a personal tour of the countryside.”
Over my dead body. “The lady stays here.” Edwin’s ridiculous suggestion needed to be curtailed before it went any further.
The nobleman frowned.
“I have yet to earn my host’s complete trust,” Rachelle explained.
Edwin’s dark brows slanted. “How could that be?”
Tyr was beginning to despise the man. “She’s a quarrelsome wench.”
“What if I personally guarantee the maid’s safety?”
As persistent as any pestilence. Tyr shook his head vigorously.
“Perhaps we can discuss this another time,” the prince persevered.
“There are other issues of importance we need to focus on, Jarl Sigurdsson. If you’ll reconsider supporting me, and make a public oath that you recognize me as one of my late father’s legitimate heirs, I promise to increase your holdings.
As you know, my mother’s family hails from this region, less than a day’s journey northward.
We are connected by more than just duty, we are brothers. ”
“And sisters,” Rachelle added.
Tyr sucked in his laughter when he realized Edwin had missed her sardonic tone. Exchanging a quick smile with her, Tyr’s heart cheered at her audacity.
“Yes.” The prince patted her hand. “Women are welcome, too. Anyone from the Trondelag who endorses me will find favor in my eyes. My beloved father misjudged the intentions of the northern lords. These aren’t barren lands. Odin’s spirit is alive everywhere I go.”
“But you’re a Christian,” Rachelle suggested with surprise.
“I’m open-minded, dear,” Edwin boasted. “And prepared to share my lands with anyone who seeks sanctuary here. I’ll ask very little in return.”
“With the exception of our money,” Onetooth blurted.
That raised enough laughter from the lower tables to cause the prince’s face to flush. He deserved it. Tyr knew he’d never traveled farther than Oslo in his pathetic forty years of pampered life. No king allowed his bastards to be seen. “Forgive my captain, his prejudices parallel your father’s.”
“Aye.” Edwin acknowledged. “It will take time and patience to reverse the damage done by such misconceptions.”
Tyr would expose this fool’s treachery. If he guessed correctly, as soon as Edwin had received the news of his father’s demise, he’d raced to Oslo to reunite with his half-brother.
Norwegian law didn’t specify standards for the maintenance of illegitimate children.
Hardrada’s holdings were considered a private estate.
How he divided his wealth amongst his vassals was his choice.
Instead of deflating Edwin’s ambitions, Magnus must have seen a strategic use for him.
Appoint him as an honorary minister and send him on his way.
Out of sight, off his mind, and out of his way.
Now, the ingrate was abusing his newly forged alliance to rally support for a claim on the throne. Not a bloody chance in Hel. If Norway was divided into thirds, it would cripple the country. Hiding his true feelings, Tyr raised his goblet in salute. “To our distinguished guest …”
For a moment, Rachelle thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in Tyr’s voice.
It seemed odd to her that he offered a toast. He obviously didn’t care for the opinions or presence of Edwin.
She shifted her hips, sitting at an angle where she could give her full attention to the prince, while keeping an eye on Tyr at the same time.
She began a new conversation with the prince.
“How long will you be in this part of the country?” she asked.
“I’ll stay until I prove myself to these hardened warriors.”
“It seems we are both in need of a little hope to see us through our troubles.”
Hugging her with his gaze, he asked, “How did you become a guest in this house?”
A question she wasn’t sure she should answer.
Knowing the jarl was monitoring their conversation, she looked up.
The jealousy in Tyr’s eyes made her nervous.
Surely, he didn’t care if she told the truth.
Her family history had been made public.
Why not her misadventures with Tyr? “Jarl Sigurdsson found me on the battlefield near York.”
“Found you?” Edwin repeated. “And what was a frail creature like you doing out there? Where’s your father? Does he know you’re here?”
Tears formed in her eyes. She leaned forward, then touched Edwin’s arm. “My sire is long dead, sir.”
The prince snatched her hand, then squeezed it. “Who takes care of you?”
His touch didn’t bother her. Those dark consoling eyes had a peculiar effect. It must be more than the mere fact they both lost their sires. Perhaps this man had the same gentle spirit as Onetooth. Naturally, she’d be drawn to that type of character.
Rachelle could feel the unease rising around her. Although she spoke softly, she knew Tyr overheard everything. The more information she volunteered, the more flustered he became. She didn’t care. Tyr had assumed responsibility for her without seeking her approval.
Eyes narrowing, she wondered if his duties included telling her whom she could form friendships with.
So this is how a man reacts when he feels threatened by another.
Sexual attraction existed between them. That teasing rogue made sure she didn’t forget it.
Surely, he didn’t consider Prince Edwin a rival.
These two men differed in every possible way.
The jarl expressed himself through brutality.
Edwin communicated on such a higher level, relying on intelligence and grace.
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that question directly,” she said solemnly. “After my parents died, my uncle assumed responsibility for me. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the war ended. I fear the worst.”
The prince seemed genuinely concerned. He released her hand, then leaned back in his chair.
“I’m sure Jarl Sigurdsson felt mightily compelled to provide protection for you once he learned of your unfortunate circumstances.
” Turning to Tyr, he continued, “I now have a deeper understanding and respect for you. I didn’t realize how gallant you truly are. ”
The compliment was met with a moment of total silence as Tyr leveled his stare at the prince. “Save your praise for someone more gullible,” he snarled.
Rachelle gasped. Why in God’s name would he show contempt for a nobleman? Such mood swings. Tyr drained his cup, then poured another serving of wine.
“I apologize for any misunderstanding,” Edwin said.
Tyr waved him off.
“Shall we concentrate on the purpose of my visit?” the prince asked. “Although Rachelle is a pleasant diversion, there is the matter of recording your account of what happened—”
“If Magnus requires a full report, I’ll pen it myself and have one of my captains deliver it posthaste.”
“Jarl Sigurdsson,” Edwin addressed him sincerely. “I understand the delicate nature of all this. Believe me. My father is dead. My brother intends to find out what went wrong. His order supersedes all else. Perhaps if I spent the night, we could revisit the subject in the morning.”
Tyr bellowed with laughter. “That’s not going to happen.”