Rescued By The Viking. Meriel Fuller

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СКАЧАТЬ bruised spot where the Dane had gripped her; she chewed on her bottom lip, resentful, annoyed at him, at the way he had unwittingly managed to spoil their plans.

      She sighed. ‘Tell me where Father is.’

      ‘He’s gone to the inn. The one in the market square.’

      Her heart sank, fluttered wildly. ‘But why, Marie? What could he possibly hope to achieve by going there?’

      Marie hung her head, a listless, defeated gesture.

      Gisela folded her arms, mouth compacting into a stern, forbidding line. ‘He’s gambling again, isn’t he?’ Darting to the corner of the cottage, she opened one of the three travelling satchels that were stacked against the wall, pulling out the few personal items that lay at the top and flinging them on the floor. Two cloth sacks full of gold coins nestled at the bottom of her father’s satchel.

      One sack was missing. ‘He took a third of the ransom money, Marie! A third! Why didn’t you stop him?’ Distraught, she turned back to her sister. ‘You know how long it’s taken us to save up that amount!’

      ‘I tried, Gisela. I’m so sorry.’ Marie hunched her shoulders, winding her arms across her chest. ‘But he was adamant; you know how he is.’

      Gisela knocked her fist against her head, straightened up. ‘Hell’s teeth, Marie! What does he think he’s going to do? The town’s awash with a Danish fleet that’s just come in! They’ll take it from him in an instant!’

      ‘He’s good at dice.’ Marie’s voice quavered with doubt. ‘He knows how to win.’

      ‘Maybe against these dim-witted townspeople,’ Gisela replied harshly. ‘But against the Danes?’ She stared fiercely at the floor, toed the packed earth angrily with her boot. ‘We were so close, we almost had all the money. We almost had our brother back. Why did he decide to risk this now?’

      Marie’s fingers fretted with the end of one of her blonde plaits. ‘He wanted to help, Gisela. He thought he was doing the right thing.’

      Gisela drew a length of coarse red wool out of her own travelling bag, wrapping it around her shoulders, a makeshift shawl. ‘I’ll have to go and find him.’

      Rising from the stool, Marie nodded. Reaching out, she snared Gisela’s hands with her soft fingers. ‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop him.’

      Gisela gave her sister’s hands a quick little squeeze, a gesture of reassurance. ‘You know we can’t let him lose that money. I must track him down before it’s too late.’

      A frustrated anger at her father’s behaviour drove her on, driving out her fatigue. Stepping out into the alley, Gisela held her heavy, mud-clagged skirts high above her ankles, her stride rapid and light through the maze of narrow streets. In the gap between the thatched roofs, the sky had darkened to a midnight blue, pinpointed with stars, a waxing moon. The cold, ethereal light picked out the street for Gisela as she hurried along, the constant roar of men’s voices drawing her towards the town’s main square.

      Something brushed against her ear; her headscarf had worked loose, slipping back over her silky hair. Ducking into a shadowed doorway, she un-pinned the brooch at her throat, quickly adjusting the material. As her fingers fumbled with the silver pin, she heard masculine voices, loud and strident, coming down the street, moving closer to her. Panic flared in her chest. Her nervous fingers dropped the brooch and it clattered down on to the muddy cobbles, the filigreed silver sparkling in the moonlight. As she dipped down to reach for it, a meaty hand scooped the brooch up before she had time to curl her fingers around it.

      ‘Give that back to me!’ Gisela demanded, straightening up.

      A flush-faced Saxon man peered closely at her. ‘Who do we have here, eh lads?’ He grinned at his friends, swaying in various stages of drunkenness around him. Before Gisela had time to stop him, the man snatched the scarf away from her hair and pushed his hand around her chin, forcing her head up so he could see her face more clearly. ‘A beauty, methinks, and no mistake! What are you doing out on your own, maid? Touting for business in this busy town?’

      They thought she was a whore! Her mouth was dry and she licked her lips, trying to find her voice, the blood hurtling through her veins in terror. ‘Get your filthy hands off me,’ she spat out fiercely.

      ‘William...’ a young man stepped forward, his mouth coiling with disgust. ‘Are you out of your mind? Look at her! Look at her neck! Someone’s dealt with her, good and proper. Why would you want to bed that?’

      The man’s gaze slid to the scar on her neck, the line of puckered skin that stretched from behind her ear to a point just shy of her windpipe. ‘Sweet Jesu,’ he muttered. His hand dropped away, the scarf and brooch dropping from his shocked fingers to the ground. ‘No wonder you’re out on your own, girl. No one will touch you, marked as you are.’ Turning away, he spat on the ground, ushering his friends away. ‘Keep moving, lads, before she gives us the evil eye.’ The men moved off down the lane, sniggering, jostling each other.

      She listened to the sound of their laughter, their whispering and tittering as they staggered off. Tears pooled in her eyes as the familiar shroud of humiliation descended; her skin hummed with shame as she bent her knees to retrieve the brooch and scarf. Why was she so surprised? What had happened then was precisely the reason she kept her scarf wrapped securely around her neck. She had experienced similar expressions of disgust aimed at her in the past, masculine declarations of snide revulsion; why should she subject herself to any more derision than was necessary? She knew she was ugly, that she would never marry or have children because of what had happened to her.

      Emerging into the open area from the narrow street, Gisela lifted her gaze across the cobbled square, across the smiling faces of Danes and Saxons, the tethered horses, the dogs trotting to and fro, sniffing the ground, eager for scraps. Even in the freshening breeze, the air was thick with the smell of ale and mead, roasting meat. Fires burned beneath iron skillets; glowing sparks flew up, reflecting against chainmail hauberks, jewelled sword helms. The small Saxon town had gone to a great effort to welcome these Danish warriors.

      Her feet teetered on the cobbles. She took a deep shaky breath, her flesh still trembling from her encounter with the Saxon men. Where was her courage? She needed it now, yet those men had driven it from her with their disparaging glances, their ugly words. Forget it, she told herself firmly, forget them. Your father needs you now. And yet, as she stared across the square to the inn, the sign of a gilded angel swinging above the entrance, her heart sank. Was she really going to have to fight her way across this crowded space to the inn and pull her father out? Suddenly all she wanted to do was to turn around and fly back to Marie. There was a possibility that her father might win more coin, after all, and return home unscathed.

      She pressed her lips together, hugging her arms about her middle, staring at the heaving mass before her. It was a remote possibility, at the very least. If she failed to retrieve the ransom money before her father lost it all, then her brother’s life would be in jeopardy. And it would be her fault. Come on, Gisela, she chided herself, you are made of sterner stuff than that; as a family, they had come too far and gone through too much to give up now.

      Snapping her shawl across her body, she ducked her head, plunging into the fray, squeezing and sliding her way through the crowds, her eyes pinned firmly to the ground. Nobody spared her a second glance, the huge blond Danes intent on slugging back their tankards of ale and singing their songs. Some had their arms firmly fastened around dark-haired Saxon maidens, claiming them already for the night ahead. Edging her way around the horses СКАЧАТЬ