foolishly did today, that night I left the hut to walk alone and put my thoughts in order.”
“Again this walking nonsense?” Olaf said, shaking his head. “Perhaps it is a Briton custom. No Viking wife would be so unwise. And the Norman? Surely he was not putting his thoughts in order, too.”
“He came to warn me of the danger in my action.” She hung her head, realizing how rash she had been on both occasions. “We spoke, it is true. Nothing untoward passed between us. I thanked him for his caution and returned to the hut, where I slept the rest of the night at my nursemaid’s side.
I am innocent of disloyalty to you, my husband. Indeed, I am 90
The Briton
yet a maiden and as chaste as the day of my birth. You will discover the truth this night when you test my purity yourself.”
Without response, Olaf squatted by the fire and held his hands over it. He fell silent, and Bronwen knew he must be weighing her words against those of his son. More time passed than she imagined possible in such a situation. The man appeared to be hovering on the verge of his decision, testing it, forming a verdict. Some inner struggle ate at him as he rubbed his forehead and drew his fingers through his beard. At last, he stood.
“I accept your word as truth, wife,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You speak well and honestly.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Bronwen replied. Relief flooded through her. “I await you humbly now.”
His lips tightened as he studied her. “Tomorrow I return to Warbreck Wash where my men and I will repair the snekkar. From thence, I survey my borders. While I was at your father’s holding, word came to Warbreck that an army of Scots has attacked my neighbor to the east. My spies report that his hall is under siege. The lord requests my aid, and he is my ally. At dawn, I leave with my men.”
At the news of Scottish aggression, Bronwen’s ire rose.
Pushing back the furs, she left the bed and joined her husband at the fire. “Those coarse and hostile Scots believe this is their land now,” she said. “If I could have that Norman king in my power for one moment, husband, I would send him to London’s white tower and order his head lopped off. With his foolish treaty he has lost the best part of his kingdom to our northern enemy.”
“You know of the land grant King Stephen gave to Henry of Scotland?” Olaf asked.
Catherine Palmer
91
“The grant that includes both Rossall and Warbreck? My father told me about it, of course. It’s an intolerable situation.”
Rolling a few strands of his beard between thumb and forefinger, Olaf gave a low chuckle. “You astonish me, wife.
A woman innocent of personal danger, yet well informed of politics? This is a wonder.”
“I am to hold Rossall one day, sir, and I am prepared for the task.” She turned to him, aware that seeing her in the bed gown must surely encourage her husband to set aside his consternation about his bride, his son and his lands. If she were to win an alliance with the man, she must ensure that their union this night was pleasurable to him.
She touched his arm. “Your hurry to aid a neighbor betrays the seriousness of these Scottish raids. While you’re away, I shall see to the keep, my lord. You’ll find it secure on your return.”
Nostrils flaring and breath labored, Olaf jerked his arm from her touch and stepped away. “I must sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Bronwen indicated the bed. “Very well, husband. Come now and take your satisfaction.”
“Another night,” he said and turned from her.
Before she could speak again, he was gone. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed through the stone chamber. Breathless, Bronwen stared at the blank wall. Then she looked at the fire. And last, she gazed down at her bare feet on the icy floor.
“May the gods go with you, my husband,” she murmured.
The following morning Enit could hardly wait to tell Bronwen of the excitement among the servitors. Even
“Again this walking nonsense?” Olaf said, shaking his head. “Perhaps it is a Briton custom. No Viking wife would be so unwise. And the Norman? Surely he was not putting his thoughts in order, too.”
“He came to warn me of the danger in my action.” She hung her head, realizing how rash she had been on both occasions. “We spoke, it is true. Nothing untoward passed between us. I thanked him for his caution and returned to the hut, where I slept the rest of the night at my nursemaid’s side.
I am innocent of disloyalty to you, my husband. Indeed, I am 90
The Briton
yet a maiden and as chaste as the day of my birth. You will discover the truth this night when you test my purity yourself.”
Without response, Olaf squatted by the fire and held his hands over it. He fell silent, and Bronwen knew he must be weighing her words against those of his son. More time passed than she imagined possible in such a situation. The man appeared to be hovering on the verge of his decision, testing it, forming a verdict. Some inner struggle ate at him as he rubbed his forehead and drew his fingers through his beard. At last, he stood.
“I accept your word as truth, wife,” he said, meeting her eyes. “You speak well and honestly.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Bronwen replied. Relief flooded through her. “I await you humbly now.”
His lips tightened as he studied her. “Tomorrow I return to Warbreck Wash where my men and I will repair the snekkar. From thence, I survey my borders. While I was at your father’s holding, word came to Warbreck that an army of Scots has attacked my neighbor to the east. My spies report that his hall is under siege. The lord requests my aid, and he is my ally. At dawn, I leave with my men.”
At the news of Scottish aggression, Bronwen’s ire rose.
Pushing back the furs, she left the bed and joined her husband at the fire. “Those coarse and hostile Scots believe this is their land now,” she said. “If I could have that Norman king in my power for one moment, husband, I would send him to London’s white tower and order his head lopped off. With his foolish treaty he has lost the best part of his kingdom to our northern enemy.”
“You know of the land grant King Stephen gave to Henry of Scotland?” Olaf asked.
Catherine Palmer
91
“The grant that includes both Rossall and Warbreck? My father told me about it, of course. It’s an intolerable situation.”
Rolling a few strands of his beard between thumb and forefinger, Olaf gave a low chuckle. “You astonish me, wife.
A woman innocent of personal danger, yet well informed of politics? This is a wonder.”
“I am to hold Rossall one day, sir, and I am prepared for the task.” She turned to him, aware that seeing her in the bed gown must surely encourage her husband to set aside his consternation about his bride, his son and his lands. If she were to win an alliance with the man, she must ensure that their union this night was pleasurable to him.
She touched his arm. “Your hurry to aid a neighbor betrays the seriousness of these Scottish raids. While you’re away, I shall see to the keep, my lord. You’ll find it secure on your return.”
Nostrils flaring and breath labored, Olaf jerked his arm from her touch and stepped away. “I must sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
Bronwen indicated the bed. “Very well, husband. Come now and take your satisfaction.”
“Another night,” he said and turned from her.
Before she could speak again, he was gone. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed through the stone chamber. Breathless, Bronwen stared at the blank wall. Then she looked at the fire. And last, she gazed down at her bare feet on the icy floor.
“May the gods go with you, my husband,” she murmured.
The following morning Enit could hardly wait to tell Bronwen of the excitement among the servitors. Even
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