Surrender My Love by Johanna Lindsey
“I know naught of that. Lady Erika of Gronwood holds him prisoner—”
Kristen grabbed hold of the front of his tunic, jerking his face close to hers. She was several inches taller than he was, and likely as strong. He certainly didn’t try to find out by resisting her.
“Prisoner for what reason?” she demanded.
“He was caught spying.”
She let him go, confusion pushing aside her anger for the moment. “Spying? That is absurd. He went there as interpreter for a Saxon bishop. Spying?”
“I know not the why of it,” the messenger admitted. “’Twas Turgeis Ten Feet, my lady’s man, who sent me, telling me only to make haste, which I have done.”
“Is it ransom they want?”
“Turgeis did not say. But I am to lead you there, if ’tis your wish.”
“If?” Kristen snorted, then asked, “How long will it take to reach this Gronwood if we ride hard?”
“I came here in two days.”
“We will make it sooner than that. Be ready to ride again within the hour.”
“But my horse will not—”
“Choose another,” was all she said as she left the stable to shout for Ivarr and Thorolf to join her in the hall. She was already telling Eda what extra clothes to pack for her when they came up behind her.
“’Tis just like a woman to create delays—” Ivarr began to complain.
Kristen whirled on him with a warning. “Do not missay me, Ivarr, if you have a care for your ears.” That she was known to box them had him stepping back with a grin to placate her, but she had no time to waste on teasing. “Selig is found and we must ride to fetch him, but not where we thought. He is in East Anglia.”
“But that is where he is supposed to be,” Thorolf pointed out.
“As their guest, aye. But one of their women, a Lady Erika, has imprisoned him instead.”
Ivarr exploded. “Thor’s teeth, he smiled at the wrong damn wench, and now she will not let him go!”
Kristen smiled tightly. “My own first thought, but not so. He is accused of spying, and do not ask why, for the messenger did not say, merely that I should come for him.”
“With a hefty sack of Danegeld, no doubt,” Ivarr said, truly angry himself now.
“That was not mentioned either, though I will raid Royce’s coffer just in case. But it can no longer be just we three who go. Royce will be furious enough that I will go among his hated enemy, but he would have the skin from my back if I am not prepared for any eventuality, including a fight. So go quickly and see how many of Selig’s men wish to join us.”
“They will all come.”
She hadn’t doubted that. “Then tell them we travel light to travel fast, so bring only enough food to last for a day or two, for we will stop only to rest the horses until I have my brother free. I will gather a like number of Royce’s men to leave within the hour.”
“The Danes’ own tactics, for their many surprise attacks.” Thorolf grinned approvingly.
She shook her head at them, knowing them so well. “We are not looking for a fight.”
It was Ivarr who shrugged. “Then we will merely hope one finds us.”
Chapter 10
THE GATES WERE slammed shut against them as they approached Gronwood, but that was to be expected with a party as large as theirs, unidentified yet as friend or foe. The same would have been done at Wyndhurst. The same had been done at holdings they had merely come near on the way here. But then, they had twenty-five Vikings in their party, all large, impressive men, and another twenty well-armed Saxon warriors.
It was an odd sight to see the two riding together after so many years of war. But having an equal number of Saxons along had kept people on the Wessex lands Kristen’s party passed through from thinking they were being invaded again, and likewise, so many Vikings kept the Danes from taking up arms to ride out to meet them.
They halted a far distance from the walls, the men spreading out along the tree line fronting Gronwood. There was a short argument when Thorolf tried to hold Kristen back with the men, which he lost. She rode forward, with only Thorolf and Ivarr on either side of her, and the Gronwood messenger in the lead to explain their business.
They had to wait a while for someone in authority to be summoned. Kristen did not expect they would be invited inside, nor would they have accepted if they were. But neither did she expect the gates to be opened and a veritable giant to step forth, followed by a woman and four other men.
The smaller guards nervously kept their hands near their swords. Ivarr and Thorolf paid them no mind, but eyed the giant Viking warily, and the monstrous battle-ax strung across his back. Kristen made a low sound of disgust, having no patience for the male practice of taking each other’s measure, particularly in this case when there were doubtless dozens more up on the walls with arrows at the ready.
The woman was likely Lady Erika, though Kristen couldn’t even see her yet, with the Viking standing protectively in front of her. She nudged her horse forward, stopping midway of the half-dozen yards that still separated the two groups. She dismounted there, wanting the matter done with, wanting her brother freed immediately, annoyed that she must parlay first. That she came forward alone almost dared the other woman to do likewise. She did, putting a restraining hand on the giant’s arm to keep him from following.
She is too young to have imprisoned Selig, Kristen thought, seeing Erika clearly now.
She is a Valkyrie war maiden, Erika thought as she came near enough to experience Kristen’s full height of nearly six feet.
The messenger had announced who Kristen was. The rich embroidery and fine blue linen of Erika’s outer gown proclaimed her own status, as did her jewel-encrusted girdle and the silk ribbons entwined through her long double braids. She was without weapon, other than her eating dagger. She appeared perfectly at ease.
Kristen’s surprise at her young age was reflected in her first question. “Is yours the only authority here?”
“Whilst my brother is away, aye,” Erika replied, and looking beyond at the army in wait, she added, “You come prepared for war.”
It was an accusation, though mildly made, and it was certainly true. Even Kristen was prepared, having cast off her long-sleeved, narrow-skirted under chainse for convenience in riding and movement, and in deference to the warm weather of these southern lands, which she doubted she would ever grow accustomed to. That left only her sleeveless outer gown, which was shorter in length, falling above her ankles, and split up the sides. And under this she wore trousers tightly cross-gartered, which she had borrowed from one of the men close to her size, and her own fur-trimmed boots.
With her long golden hair in a single braid down her back, she could have been mistaken for a man from a distance, especially with the sword hooked to her saddle within easy reach and plain sight, and her most prized possession, her father’s long-bladed dagger secured at her hip.
This was clearly no eating dagger, as Erika’s was, but a splendid weapon, ivory-handled with a snarling dragon’s head at its base, and runes etched onto the blade giving it Odin’s blessing. Garrick had given it to her after hearing Royce recount the tale of how she had wounded his cousin Alden just after Alden’s blade had cut down Selig.
Kristen and her mother had both sunk low in their chairs during the telling, waiting for Garrick’s explosion, for he would never have given his permission for Kristen to learn the use of weapons, and didn’t know that Brenna had taught her in secret. His feeling had always been that it was his right to protect his only daughter. But Brenna believed it was Kristen’s right first, and her father could help after as he would. And he hadn’t been furious. He had handed her his own dagger instead, and she had sensed his pride in her, which made it all the more special to her.
“I come for my brother, at whatever the cost,” Kristen said, the warning unmistakable. “You hold him prisoner. I want him now.”
“You come quickly if you come from Wessex as he claim
The skepticism in her tone had Kristen snapping in annoyance, “You were a fool not to believe him. My brother is no spy. He came here on business your king would have found to his liking.”
“So he said, but there were enough circumstances to doubt him. However, you may have him back.”
“Without Danegeld?” Kristen sneered.
Erika shrugged. “You have verified his claims, so I will demand no ransom.” She turned to call back to one of her men, “Wulnoth, fetch—”
The giant interrupted. “I will get him.”
Erika was surprised by his offer, and a bit distressed that he would leave her with this horde at the gate. But then, it was only the Celt’s sister and two Norsemen who were near, the rest of their army far back, and she had four others with her—Celt? Nay, he couldn’t be that either, or not just that, not if this very obvious Norsewoman was his sister. Or mayhap he was not this woman’s ken. Possibly his lies had gone so deep as to bring someone else’s sister here to collect him.
Suspicious now that this had occurred to her, Erika suggested, “Mayhap I should verify first if ’tis actually your brother I hold prisoner, and not some man merely claiming to be him.”
“Selig is the most handsome man you will ever chance to see.” At Erika’s blush, Kristen added, “Aye, you have the right man.”
“But he does not look a Viking,” Erika pointed out. “He has the look of—”
“Our mother is a Welsh Celt,” Kristen said, not really paying attention now, watching the open gate instead, where that giant the messenger had named Turgeis Ten Feet would soon appear with Selig. “’Tis her he favors, except in his size, which we both have from our father.”
“I see,” Erika said, though she did not, nor did she particularly care. She hadn’t expected an army to come for the prisoner, but since one had, she wanted them gone the soonest. It made her uncomfortable just to stand near the other woman, whose larger, more thickly muscled and boned frame made her feel puny, even though she was not so many inches shorter in her own height.
None of which showed in her demeanor. She was secure in her own status, with her own army nearer to hand. She hadn’t as many men, what with Ragnar having taken so many with him, but these Norse Vikings and Saxons didn’t know that, which made all the difference. And once they had the prisoner, they would have no reason to tarry.
Inside Gronwood, in the pit where Selig had suffered the agonies of hell these past days, Turgeis nudged him awake to tell him, “The fever has been purged from you, and your sister has come. Do you walk, or do I carry you to her?”
Selig squinted at him, recognizing one of the faces from his nightmares. “You again? And you cannot carry me.” He stated what he thought was obvious, thinking no man could. “But you can give me a hand up.”
He was jerked upright too quickly. Turgeis had to catch him before he fell over.
“Give me a minute,” Selig requested, cursing the weakness that was still with him and much worse than before.
“I do not have a minute,” Turgeis replied. “I do not like leaving my lady alone with your people.”
The mention of the lady, her, brought back the worst of the nightmare Selig had just lived through, and with it, the helpless rage he had experienced. “They will not harm her,” he said. They would not dare. That right he reserved for himself.
Kristen was pacing in her impatience. Though it did not seem so, she was exhausted, having slept little the night the rumor first came to them, and not at all last eventide, having ridden straight through the night to get here. That had not been the wisest thing to do, she supposed. Her men were not so long without rest as she, though they wouldn’t be at their best either. But she couldn’t have done differently, not with Selig’s freedom at stake.
Erika stood near, arms crossed, composed, yet beginning to worry over what was taking Turgeis so long. Did the damned prisoner not want to leave? Were, in fact, his lies about to be revealed? Other men could be as handsome. It wasn’t impossible. That one description didn’t truly describe the man, or the allowance that he looked Celtic.
Neither woman was expecting the baggage wain that plodded slowly through the gate, dividing Erika’s four men, who had been standing before it. Kristen was forced to move back as well when the long wagon passed near her, leaving her horse and sword on the other side of it. She didn’t even notice that. She was frowning, her suspicions aroused at the sight of the driver, the giant Viking, but no sight of her brother.
Behind her, Erika was also frowning, and demanded of her man, “What means this, Turgeis?”
Kristen didn’t wait for his reply. The end of the baggage wain had reached her and she leapt up onto it, pushing back the rough hide that covered the top half of the bed, her heart in her throat, fearing she was going to find her brother’s lifeless body. What she saw was nearly as bad.
She barely recognized Selig, he had lost so much weight. The hand she picked up gave back no reassuring squeeze. He had the beginnings of a beard, which he never sported. His hair was matted to his skull; his skin was loose, pale; his eyes were sunken. They were open, and she read the relief in them, but also the pain—and the anger.
He spoke, but it was such a whisper, she had to bend down for him to repeat it. “Take her—for me.”
“The Danish lady?”
There was the barest nod. “I owe her for this.”
Kristen didn’t need to hear any more. She could see for herself that they had starved him, broken him. And she hadn’t felt such mindless rage since she had thought him dead, killed before her eyes. That rage didn’t take into account her precarious position, so close to the walls of Gronwood, or the other alarming consequences that could result from what he asked her to do. None of that mattered next to the words I owe her for this.
She lifted her head, swinging around to see that the giant Viking had tied off the reins and was about to jump down to join his lady. Kristen jumped first, her movement so swift and unexpected that no one had time to react, least of all Erika, who found that long-bladed Viking dagger pressed to the tender cords of her throat, and a steely arm around her waist that she didn’t dare attempt to remove.
Chapter 11
KRISTEN HELD THE Danish woman pressed tight to the front of her, but that left her back exposed to Gronwood’s right wall and however many men manned it. Yet it was those just in front of her whom she was most concerned with at the moment, in particular the giant Turgeis, who topped her by more than a foot and was too close for her peace of mind.
“Get back,” she told him, nodding in the direction of the gate.
He didn’t move. “I cannot let you harm her, lady.” His voice was calmness itself, though a deep rumble.
Kristen’s was filled with fury. “I will kill her if you force my hand!”
Erika tensed as the blade pressed closer and she felt the blood trickle to the base of her neck, but it was the rage she sensed in Kristen that put the alarm in her voice. “Do as she says, Turgeis!” Erika beseeched him.
He did, but not quickly enough to suit Kristen. It terrified her that Selig was completely exposed to those arrows on the walls, and the giant was closer to him than she was, could turn the tables on her in the blink of an eye by threatening his life.
“Away from the wagon!” she shouted at him.
“What goes here, Kristen?”
It was Thorolf who asked, with Ivarr beside him. They had come up to the front of the baggage wain, but she didn’t glance their way. “Selig is nigh dead from what they have done to him,” she told them.
They both moved their horses to the end of the wagon to see for themselves. Thorolf sucked in his breath. Ivarr started swearing.
Turgeis cut in to that, answering Kristen’s charge. “Nay, lady, he was injured before he came here.”
“He says she owes him for his condition,” Kristen snapped, “And ’tis my brother I will believe, not you.”
Turgeis did not give up so easily. “Bu
Kristen heard Erika’s gasp, if no one else did, and hissed in her ear, “He lies well to protect you, or do you also claim innocence? That my brother came to you with an injury, likely seeking help, and you imprisoned him instead?”
Put that way, Erika was damned no matter which she claimed. The circumstances and Wulnoth’s disclaimer of the man’s previous injury wouldn’t dismiss her responsibility, or lessen her guilt in the sister’s mind. And no answer was all the answer Kristen needed.
The hiss came again in Erika’s ear. “Tell them not to ride after you, or your fate will be settled by me, rather than by my brother once he is recovered, and I tell you truly, lady. If he dies, you die.”
Erika closed her eyes briefly. She did not doubt those words, but she couldn’t believe the man would die either; she had to believe this would be straightened out and she would be released. But something was not right. She wanted to ask Turgeis how badly the man had been whipped, but she did not dare, for he must have been whipped severely for his condition to be so dire the sister thought he might yet die.
Was Turgeis lying for her? He must be, for she couldn’t believe that head injury, real or not, had felled the man, since he had appeared no more than exhausted when she had questioned him just four nights ago. She wished Turgeis hadn’t kept it from her. It would have been better to know, despite how terrible she would have felt over it. She could have at least attended the man’s hurt herself, to make amends. But Turgeis had tried to spare her, and now, with a dagger at her throat, she would have to cooperate for the time being.
Loudly, so there would be no mistake, Erika told her men, “I will go with them for the nonce. Await my brother’s return and tell him what has occurred.” But to Kristen, softly, she felt it fair to warn, “This could lead to war.”