The queen was small of stature but her commanding demeanor exuded strength as she sat in the wooden throne at the end of the large hall. A fire glowed brightly from a large floor brazier as Rowan walked forward.
Grunhilde looked to be in her early forties, still a handsome woman with deep auburn hair and large hazel-green eyes. She wore costly garments denoting her station trimmed in fur, her hair braided elaborately with sparkling beads woven into the bright mass. A slight smile curved her reddened lips as Rowan came to stand before her. Her hazel kohl-lined eyes narrowed slightly.
“Rowan the Bold returns to seek my favor,” the queen mused mockingly, her hand toying with the small sword held in her grasp. “Why have you come, mercenary? I recall the last time you were here. My thoughts have not changed. Do you kneel to me now, or do you die?”
Rowan stiffened at her blunt question, aware of twenty or so warriors at his back. “I will bend the knee if only for your help. I ask that we speak alone.”
Grunhilde nodded and snapped her fingers at her men who left the longhouse, leaving them alone. “What do you ask of me, Rowan?”
“I captured an Englishwoman in York during the siege. She is worth much in a ransom,” Rowan began. “I need you to handle the negotiations with the girl’s father. In exchange, you can have my portion of the ransom and I will swear fealty to you.”
“Why wouldn’t I just take all of the ransom for myself?” The queen raised an eyebrow and shrugged at his angry look. “If she is worth as much as you say.”
“I made a vow to my men they will get their part of the ransom and go on their way,” Rowan argued hotly. “I could have gone to Harald with this as easily as you. I trusted you more than him. Was I wrong in that?”
Grunhilde’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Watch how you speak to me, mercenary. I haven’t decided yet if the trouble is worth the effort to see you on your knees.”
“Her father is a powerful man in Wessex,” Rowan pointed out sharply. “He will deal with you fairly to get the girl back.”
Grunhilde eyed him speculatively. “Who is she?”
“She is Ambryn of York, Alton of York’s widow,” Rowan explained tightly, feeling humiliated by her demeaning words. “Her husband was killed during the siege. She is worth nothing to those in York, but her father would pay handsomely to have her back.”
“Are you fucking her?” Grunhilde smiled widely to see his handsome face flush at her crude words. “You don’t have to answer that. I can see that you are. That will stop. She is worth nothing to anyone with your bastard growing in her.”
“Will you handle the negotiations with Stephen of Whiltshire?”
Grunhilde debated his question as she toyed with the sword. “I will do it on one condition.”
“What would that be?” Rowan tensed at her cunning smile.
“The girl will serve me in my longhouse until she goes home,” the queen said in amusement, smiling wider to see his frown deepening. “It would delight me to have the Englishwoman attend to me and my women. She is no great lady here but the spoils of war and to be treated as such.”
“She is not to be harmed in any way,” Rowan said with a deepening scowl. “She is no mere thrall for you to give to any man who wants her. I gave her my oath she would be safe here.”
Grunhilde rolled her eyes with a disgusted sigh. “Very well, I will keep your Englishwoman away from my men, but you will stay away from her too. If I learn of you sneaking about with the woman, I’ll not help your cause. And she will not like what I will do to her. Are we clear in this, Rowan?”
Rowan nodded shortly, his face taut with anger. “It will be as you say.”
Grunhilde smirked at his angry countenance as she stood before him, the sword outstretched in front of her. “Now drop to your knees and say the words, and speak them slowly. I do enjoy this moment.”
~ ~ ~
Jarl Wilhelm sat at the high table, his dark eyes watchful as Grunhilde returned to his side after making the Viking mercenaries welcome. She smiled over at him, her hazel eyes questioning.
“What troubles you, Wilhelm?”
Wilhelm brushed a dark strand of hair from his eyes. He was in his mid to late forties and still a handsome man, his body hard and fit. He tossed back his wine, regarding her with an accusing look.
“You invite Harald’s wrath by your actions, Grunhilde. He will learn of you taking in more men. He would wonder at it.”
The queen shrugged away her lover’s dire warnings, her forehead hardly furrowed with worry. Her countenance was etched with more of annoyance at his chiding tone. “Now that York is won, they have no place to go. They will serve to protect my longhouse in exchange for the woman’s ransom. It is a small matter of dealing with the girl’s father. I gain much in having his men here to protect my people. And Rowan is now beholden to me.”
“Why do you need this mercenary?” Wilhelm was contemptuous when speaking of the Viking leader of the rag tag group that arrived that morning. “You would be a fool to trust him with your safety. Don’t you not worry he was sent by Harald to spy upon you?”
Grunhilde wore a frosty look during the exchange. “Rowan the Bold would never do Harald’s bidding. I know this man. He comes to me because he has no choice if he is to collect his ransom. Once the Englishman sends the gold, we send back the girl. Rowan pledged his fealty to me. It might mean nothing to another, but it is all to him.”
Wilhelm sneered, his upper lip curling. “Why would you ask it of him at all? The raids on your lands are fewer now that I’ve given you my patronage. You seem pleased by this Viking coming to beg your help. Should I be jealous of him?”
Grunhilde laughed, a low rich throaty sound, her hand reaching for his manhood under the table to stroke it fondly. “Don’t be jealous of the fact I need his sword to keep raiders from my lands. I will have yours later for my pleasure, my love.”
Wilhelm seemed satisfied by her explanation. “Have you thought to keep the gold for yourself? The man can hardly keep it if we seek to take it. He comes with only a small number of men, not the army that I have at my back. You would be better served to wrest it away from him. Think of what it could mean to us both”
Grunhilde listened thoughtfully to her lover, her hazel eyes narrowing at his words, the only indication he angered her. “I think not, Wilhelm. Rowan will get his gold. I’ve already agreed to it. We will speak of this no more.”
Wilhelm’s dark eyes grew angry. “Who is this man to you? I have stayed at your side for years while all abandoned you. This mercenary shows up and you forget all but your need to have him swear fealty to you. Does it make you feel more like the queen you once were to command men to their knees?”
“Be careful what you say to me, Wilhelm,” Grunhilde warned under her breath, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I will always be a queen. Make no mistake of that. I know you are angry but many of my warriors grow older. The younger ones went to fight when called up by Harald to secure York. I need him if I’m to hold onto these lands. Forget about the gold for a moment.”
Wilhelm sought to alleviate her anger, bringing the hand that now gripped his manhood threateningly to his lips. “My jealousy is misplaced, my love. Forget I said anything of it.”
She smiled at his show of affection, her anger diminishing. “So what tales do you bring me from York? Tell me of the battle.”
Wilhelm avoided her eyes. “It was short-lived and bloody. The Northumbrians fought to the last but they were crushed by Ivar and his brother’s forces. There is not much to tell of it. It was nearly over by the time I arrived.”
“Rowan said that Harald’s son was murdered in York the night after the battle,” the queen said with some relish. “Whoever did it has my admiration.”
Wilhelm cast her look of warning. “The walls have ears. To say such aloud would only encourage Harald that you had some hand in it.”
The queen grinned and gestured to a thrall to bring her more wine. “If only I thought of it first.”
“What else did Rowan the Bold tell you?” Wilhelm drank and eyed her closely.
Grunhilde shrugged. “He seems to think someone known to Gunthrum did it.”
Wilhelm absorbed her words and frowned. “Gunthrum was stupid. As drunk as he was that night, he left himself open to attack.”
Grunhilde considered his careless slip with a slight frown. How could Wilhelm have known how drunk Gunthrum was if he was not there? “Did you see Gunthrum while you were there?”
Wilhelm shook his head. “No, I only learned of the raid on the House of York after I arrived. He was gone when I sought out Ivar that night. Why do you ask it?”
Grunhilde shook her head, frowning slightly to know her lover very deliberately lied to her. “No reason, my love. Just curious to know why Harald’s son led the raid that killed the girl’s husband. He might have been stupid, but the Ragnarsson brothers will think it ordered by Harald. He managed to get his way in things by having his own man placed in York.”
“Ecgbert is just as malleable as this Alton of York,” Wilhelm assured her. “What difference does it make who sits in Northumbria? The man will do as he is told. That is all that they care about.”
“The brothers that I remember from my youth don’t take well to being betrayed, Wilhelm,” Grunhilde said coolly. “If they conceded to accept Ecgbert as their puppet king, it is only because they had no one else to choose from. It sounds as though Harald might have lost any future support from them with this folly.”
“Harald pledges nearly a thousand men to them,” Wilhelm reminded her sharply. “They will overlook the death of the Englishman.”
“Or maybe not,” Grunhilde said shortly and gestured to a thrall for more wine.
Wilhelm wasn’t listening to her, watching the English girl, his dark eyes gleaming with interest as he watched her go about her duties in the hall. He licked his lips at the prospect of getting the lovely blonde alone. There would be ample opportunities before she left for Wessex. He looked forward to them.
Grunhilde’s hazel eyes grew hard as she noted Wilhelm’s interest in the English captive, fighting the wave of jealousy to see him lust for the girl. She sipped her wine, listening to her lover regale her of his travels to York all the while her eyes narrowed coldly on Ambryn.
~ ~ ~
Wilhelm and several of his men arrived in Hedeby. He sought out King Harald. He entered the huge longhouse just outside the city. He found the king with his favorite bed thrall draped across his lap drinking wine in the hall.
Harald was older now, his body gone to paunch from his excesses. The once-raven hair was now streaked with grey. He smiled in warm welcome when he saw his visitor. He quickly extricated himself from the girl. He eyed Wilhelm pointedly when they were alone.
“What news do you bring? Does my dead brother’s wife plot against me?”
Wilhelm came forward and eyed him grimly. “I wanted to be the first to tell you of it. A band of mercenaries arrived from York. Gunthrum is dead.”
Harald paled slightly at the news his eldest son was dead. The only sign the news affected him at all, his knuckles went white where his hands gripped the armrest. “How did my son die?”
Wilhelm came near, his voice low so only Harald might hear. “He was murdered in a brothel the night after the battle. His throat was cut.”
Harald’s face grew mottled red with anger. “Who did this?”
Wilhelm explained the attack on the House of York and Gunthrum’s claim his father ordered it. The older man listened, his face growing taut to know the Ragnarsson brothers believed the tale. Gunthrum’s death was rumored to be in retaliation. Harald’s face was now etched with worry for himself.
“Did you speak to Ivar on my behalf? Did you tell him no such order came from me? It is a lie!”
“I tried to plead your case. I told him you did not plan the attack on the York’s. I cannot say whether he believed me or not. Gunthrum told Ivar’s son Wulfstan the plan changed at the last and it came from you.”
Harald stood and paced in agitation, his weathered countenance grim. “Something is wrong here. Ivar might have been angered at the loss of the York boy but he would not kill my son in such a cowardly manner. And over an Englishman! He would have stuck a sword in Gunthrum himself and not hide behind this as you claim he does!”
“It is all I learned from the mercenary,” Wilhelm said quickly, swallowing hard and thinking quickly. “I have other news. This mercenary took Alton of York’s wife captive. He ransom’s her back to her father. Grunhilde handles the negotiations for a share of it, a very large share.”
Harald stopped pacing and eyed him closely. “Who is this mercenary?”
“He is called Rowan the Bold,” Wilhelm answered shortly. “Do you know of him?”
“I know of him very well. I’ve used his services in the past.”
“This Rowan has pledged his fealty to Grunhilde, Harald. Thirty mercenaries and the gold he brings. This has to concern you.”
Harald rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering his words. “You will keep me informed of her plans. I have never known Rowan to drop the knee to any man, much less a woman. We will see how all of this comes together. Discover all you can about the exchange of the ransom.”
Wilhelm nodded and left him quickly, not seeing the king collapse back into his chair, his head in his shaking hands.
~ ~ ~
Ambryn seethed silently while all the women around her ridiculed her openly in their language, in both her looks and her dress. She cringed to think her talent with a needle might be exaggerated as they disparaged her new dress. Grunhilde twice called her a pale, unremarkable creature, making her women giggle and add their own insults of her person.
“I wonder if she is as colorless under her skirts,” Grunhilde remarked cuttingly and sent her women into giggling. “Mayhap that is what the English like, eh? White meat with little taste.”
Ambryn didn’t react outwardly, knowing it was important they not know she knew their language. After what she learned from Helmet, she swallowed her anger to serve these women. Like any thrall in Grunhilde’s longhouse, she toiled bringing them wine and food, enduring their contempt with a downcast demeanor.
Grunhilde smiled widely as she accepted more wine. “What say you, girl? Are you as pale down there as everywhere else? Let’s see for ourselves.”
The woman seated next to her chortled behind her hand.
Ambryn stared at the queen in confusion, even when Grunhilde used the tip of her foot to swipe upward at the hem of her gown, whipping up her skirts to expose her bare thighs to all those in the hall. The women exploded in laughter. Ambryn remained rooted in her spot, looking at all of them without reaction.
“I can hardly believe Rowan even found you worthy of rutting, girl,” the queen went on snidely as she looked her up and down. “If not for your ransom I’d give you to my men to enjoy. Do you think your Christian god would save you?”
Ambryn seethed but kept a bland expression, offering the pitcher of wine again.
Grunhilde grew bored with the game and waved her away. She scurried away, burning with shame over their words and snickers at her back. Rowan took her aside before they came into the longhouse. He warned her of what her new role in Grunhilde’s longhouse would be.
Ambryn was furious she would have to serve Grunhilde during their stay, recalling Rowan’s words of warning to keep from slapping them all soundly.
“You must earn your keep as we all do while here. The men and I will hunt and train with her warriors. We will be out patrolling her lands much of the time. I cannot be here to watch over you,” Rowan had warned her under his breath before they went inside. “Grunhilde will enjoy humbling you for her amusement. Make her think you bow to her and she will tire of the game. Never show that you understand them, Ambryn. I need your ears here more than your tongue.”
Ambryn was startled at his request she spy upon Grunhilde’s household. “Do you think she will betray you when my father sends the ransom?”
Rowan looked down at her grimly that day. “Let us just say I don’t trust those she surrounds herself with. Helmet has little liking for this Jarl Wilhelm. He said the man uses Grunhilde for his own purposes.”
Ambryn reminded herself how important her task was when one of Grunhilde’s women called her back to the table. She cuffed her in the ear sharply with the back of her hand, demanding she move more quickly to serve the wine. She bit back any comment and made little show of any defiance, knowing these women could be cruel if they chose to be.
Thinking of her safety and knowing Rowan could do nothing if this queen decided to take her life she slid into the role of a serf. She was forced to clean the floors, to launder these women’s clothing, to cook and serve, until she fell into her pallet in exhaustion each night, with little more than a tattered blanket for warmth.
Ambryn blushed to think of what went on in the night, hearing Grunhilde’s warriors bedding her female thralls, hearing Grunhilde and her lover Wilhelm having loud vocal relations beyond the curtained area where the queen slept. Rowan and the men made their beds in the stable.
In the morning, she rose before it was light to assist in making the fast with the other thralls, doing what she was shown to do, pretending not to understand them all the while, knowing she couldn’t trust them. The thrall named Hede disliked her the most. She felt the hateful girl’s eyes upon her constantly.
They would only seek Grunhilde’s favor by informing on her, especially Hede. They regarded her with open mistrust, seen in the way they levied the most distasteful of duties to her from the onset.
Ambryn endured all those first few days knowing the ransom demand was sent by courier bird the moment they arrived. The English scribe the Danish queen took captive wrote out the missive dictated by her. Her father would receive the missive from a bird handler loyal to Grunhilde who resided in York. The man would travel many days to deliver it to Stephen of Whiltshire and send back his answer.
It could be weeks before they received an answer. In the meantime, she was careful to do all that Rowan told her. He promised to find a way to meet with her. She was watched closely during the day and evenings. That left the wee hours of the morning.