Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 (4 page)

Cathryn believed her newfound kinship with the Archbishop of Rouen had contributed greatly to the quick acceptance of Viking rule by the townsfolk. Her uncle seemed to genuinely like Bryk and it warmed her heart. He’d confided that he and many Frankish nobles had come to realize the town would fare better under Rollo.

The Viking leader showed real interest in Rouen and its people. He had instituted many projects to improve life, not the least of which was the ambitious and risky undertaking to divert the course of the Seine in order to make the many offshore islands more accessible.

Vikings were expected to learn to speak the Frankish tongue and he encouraged marriages between his people and the local population.

The Franks came to appreciate the Vikings as hardworking and resourceful, and did indeed intend to make their land flourish. Folk who had fled to the countryside or to other towns gradually returned.

Archbishop Franco was particularly impressed with Rollo’s pious devotion to his new religion and openly supported the campaign against the Bretons and the steady expansion of Norse territory.

Many Vikings snickered at the respect shown to Poppa by the local nobility, but acknowledged privately that her Frankish blood had smoothed the way to peace.

Nevertheless, Cathryn was amused at her uncle’s uncharacteristic nervousness when Poppa sent a messenger one morning announcing her intention to visit later in the afternoon.

Bryk had left earlier in the day, summoned by Rollo to a meeting of lieutenants to plot the next step in the campaign against the Bretons. Since Poppa must have been aware of this, Cathryn supposed she planned a gathering of females and would doubtless bring her retinue.

The household servants were busily preparing for her arrival. Cathryn fed Magnus and hoped he would sleep contentedly until Poppa left.

Apart from her uncle, Torstein was the only male left at the house, but he was tending the apple trees in the garden and would likely stay out of the way. Despite his freedom, he tended to prefer his own company. Cathryn worried for him and was glad Bryk had consented to teach him some rudimentary military skills. She had a suspicion it wouldn’t take the young man long to master those skills. Beneath a wiry exterior beat the heart of a tenacious wolf, she was sure of it.

Bryk had also suggested seeking a Frankish wife, but Cathryn had misgivings. Having been raised in a convent she knew no one of a suitable age. Her friend Kaia was still determined to wed Cathryn’s twin brother, but her father had raised objections to their marriage on the grounds life as a monk hadn’t equipped Javune to provide for a wife. He’d insisted the young man be trained in the military arts. Rollo had consented to his joining the Viking campaign against the Bretons. He was still in the west with the army.

She worried about him too. He’d had difficulty coming to terms with the revelation the man he believed was his father had adopted him as a baby. The man had then sent him off to a monastery when he and his wife had succeeded in siring a child of their own. One day, perhaps, she and her brother might get to know each other better. He was her only close flesh and blood, her twin.

Sounds of visitors being greeted by the maidservant interrupted her thoughts and she hastened to the entryway.

It took perseverance, but Sonja convinced her mother to allow her to go with Poppa in her stead to visit the Kriger household.

“But you don’t like babies,” Olga protested, looking down her nose. “And the mother is a Frank.”

Sonja chose her words carefully, not wanting to appear to have suddenly changed her opinions. Her mother might get suspicious. “It’s true I have no patience with babies, but—”

She sighed and looked at her mother wistfully.

“—I suppose I must learn.”

Olga’s face brightened as she squeezed Sonja’s hand. “How good to see you coming around, daughter. I told your father one day you’d mature.”

She resisted the urge to tighten her grip on her mother’s fingers, smiling sweetly instead. “And we must reconcile ourselves to adopting some of the Frankish customs.”

Olga clasped her hands to her breast and beamed the smile of a mother whose child has at long last come to its senses. “Of course you must accompany Poppa in my stead. But only if you take Puella with you.”

Sonja opened her mouth to protest, but her mother raised her hand in a gesture that indicated she would brook no opposition. “You can’t attend without a thrall. Do you want people to think we are without servants to do our bidding?”

Upon arrival at the residence, the women were ushered inside and welcomed by Kriger’s wife and the Archbishop. Sonja was surprised at her hostess’s fluency in Norse, though she quickly changed back to the Frankish tongue when addressing Poppa. The cleric withdrew with barely concealed relief once his welcoming duties were done.

The other women were indeed accompanied by thralls who were instructed by their mistresses to remain outside. Sonja glared a reminder at the sometimes-willful Puella to behave and not wander off. Pouting, the girl sank down to sit with the others.

Cathryn Kriger didn’t make any attempt to hide her disapproval of the situation, but recovered quickly, smiling sweetly at her important guest. Her face reddened considerably when Rollo’s wife embraced her warmly. “I wouldn’t be alive today were it not for the bravery of this young woman,” Poppa explained to her retinue.

Turning back to Cathryn, she said, “I want to see the library. I’ve heard you’ve accomplished a great deal.”

Cathryn shrugged nervously. “There wasn’t much else to do while Bryk was away,” she explained softly.

“Cathryn is a gifted illuminator,” Poppa told her companions. “The episcopal library was a disaster, but she has put it to rights.”

Sonja had never seen a library, and had no notion what an illuminator was, but sought some way to attract Cathryn’s attention. The Frankish woman was obviously embarrassed by Poppa’s claims concerning her talents. “Yes, will you show us?” she asked quietly, drawing stares of rebuke from some of the more senior Viking women who immediately echoed the request.

Cathryn led the noisy gaggle along the corridor to the library. Poppa’s attention was diverted by one of her friends. Sonja seized the moment to sidle up to Cathryn. “I understand you have a twin brother,” she whispered.

Cathryn looked at her curiously. “
Ja
. I do. Javune. He is in—”

The strident wailing of a baby interrupted. Cathryn glanced away nervously. “I must collect Magnus,” she said. “The library is just there. I will be with you momentarily.”

The confined space, paneled entirely with lime-washed planking, reeked of old parchment, leather and oil. Cramming a bevy of overly perfumed Viking matrons inside did nothing to improve matters. Sonja’s throat constricted. She was trapped in an airless brown box.

Cathryn bustled in, bouncing her distraught son on her hip. “May I introduce Sister Ekaterina from Saint Catherine’s Abbey,” she said, a little out of breath. “She is assisting with the refurbishing of the library.”

Sonja wasn’t the only one who seemed puzzled until an ancient nun emerged like a wraith from amid parchments piled haphazardly in one corner.

“
Da!
” the crone exclaimed, her gnarled and ink stained hands reaching for the babe.

An unmistakable trumpeting noise followed her halting progress across the room. The women frowned first at each other, then at the elderly nun. Cathryn’s face reddened further. Sonja’s eyes watered as the air soured.

Desperate for an opportunity to flee the library and fearing the woman was too frail to bear the child’s weight, she seized the babe before the nun had a chance to secure him. “Let me,” she insisted, heading for the door with her charge.

Magnus stopped fussing and stared at his new bearer.

“He likes you,” Cathryn said with a smile of relief. “Can you walk the hall with him for a few minutes while I explain some of the improvements we’ve made?”

“Certainly,” Sonja replied, surprised she was comfortable with the task. She walked away from the library and paced the corridor for several minutes, expecting the others would soon find an excuse to escape the fetid air. She smiled as the babe fingered the ties of her headdress. He was heavy for a newborn. “You’re a big boy,” she crooned, delighted when he gurgled his agreement.

She decided to go in search of Puella. Better for her and the slave to take turns carrying the child until Cathryn reemerged.

Exiting the house, she discovered to her dismay that the disobedient thrall wasn’t with the others. One of them scrambled to her feet and cocked her head towards the garden. “She’s gone to the garden behind the house.”

Sonja was tempted to hand the babe off to this thrall while she went in search of Puella. But Cathryn had entrusted the child to her. She hoisted him awkwardly over her shoulder and strode off in the direction of the garden, feeling his weight.

Near a grove of fledgling trees, she stopped dead, her heart in her throat. Puella was talking to the young man with the silver buckle from the cathedral. He was leaning with both hands on the long shaft of a gardening implement, stripped to the waist, sweat glistening on his sun bronzed skin. His hair was short for a Frank, something she hadn’t noticed in the church. Slicked back and tied behind his nape, it was as sleek as oiled ebony.

He laughed at something the slave said, throwing his head back. A shiver raced up her spine as her eyes followed the curve of his long neck. She must have gasped, or perhaps the babe drew his attention. He caught sight of her and smiled hesitantly.

There was nowhere to flee. Mortification mingled with jealousy. Puella’s defiance of the rules would reflect poorly on Sonja’s family. How dare she speak to Cathryn’s brother before Sonja had a chance to introduce herself?

She must apologize and assure the young man the slave would be punished, if only her heart would stop fluttering like a caged bird in her breast. She willed her body to move towards him, but her boots mired in the rich brown earth. The man’s smile turned to a frown. The babe tightened his grip as she lurched forward.

Torstein flung the hoe aside and raced forward, regretting the sharp cry of distress from Puella. He must have hit her with the handle, but it was vital he get to Sonja before she fell face down with the babe in her arms. A fall in the soft earth wouldn’t injure her badly, but she’d be heartsick if she hurt Magnus.

He’d caught sight of Sonja as Poppa’s retinue was approaching the house and had made up his mind to watch for a glimpse of her as she left. Now she’d seen him at his worst, half naked, sweaty and chatting with a thrall. He cursed that he’d allowed Puella’s wanton gazes and giggles to distract him. She’d never made any secret of her desire. He should have sent her packing. Thralldom was a life he had to leave behind.

He bent his knees to catch the baby as Sonja stumbled forward, panic marring her lovely face. Holding the child to his chest, he snaked an arm around her waist and held fast, praying her momentum wouldn’t take them all down.

The breath whooshed from her lungs as her hips collided with his. He braced his thighs to keep her upright, hoping she didn’t understand the significance of the rigid flesh at his groin.

She clamped a hand on his shoulder, her face redder than a winter beetroot. “I thank you, sir, from the depths of my heart. I feared I would drop the babe,” she said breathlessly.

She was no longer in danger of falling, but still held his shoulder. Her gaze seemed fixed on his mouth. Her thighs moved against his.