Summer Of The Viking. Michelle Styles

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       Chapter Four

      Alwynn paused in the weeding of Gode’s garden the next morning. Sitting still and watching Valdar only kept the thoughts about the kiss they’d shared circling about her brain. She had ventured outside at first light, determined to do something productive.

      Thankfully Gode wouldn’t mind. More than anything Gode would welcome the weeds being pulled and the action always made Alwynn think more clearly.

      The day’s hot sun had dried all the damp from the flowers and the hum of bees made the garden alive with noise. Everyday noises which should reassure her that everything was normal and nothing was going to happen as a result of her impulsive behaviour last night. All she had to do was to forget it had ever happened.

      Trusting a stranger, particularly a warrior like Valdar, was madness. She could have put everyone in danger. And she had kissed him. Properly kissed him. The only other man she’d ever kissed was Theodbald. She needed to go back into the cottage and inform him that it was time to leave.

      Alwynn stayed where she was. Sending an injured man away wasn’t in her nature. The words he had spoken in another language last night had been caused by his injuries. They were fevered nonsense, meaning nothing. It was simply the language of his homeland, and the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night had made her own foolish mind read far too much into them. Valdar was not a Northman. Not like the kind that had attacked Lindisfarne and butchered the monks anyway. In the bright light of day she was sure of it. He’d given his word and she believed him.

      She dug her trowel into the warm earth. After Valdar had departed, then she’d inform Edwin. Maybe give him a day’s head start. Northumbria and Raumerike were not at war. How can you be at war with a country you have never heard of?

      The last thing she wanted was trouble. As reeve, Edwin needed to know about a stranger in their midst, but exactly when he discovered it was another matter.

      She shook her head. Finally she was becoming pragmatic. There was something to be said for her recently widowed state after all.

      ‘My lady.’ Oswy the Blount raised his hand in greeting. ‘Here I discover you.’

      Alwynn nodded towards the grizzled miller, but her heart pounded. The tension in her neck eased slightly when she saw the empty doorway. Silently she prayed Valdar had enough sense to stay hidden.

      ‘Oswy the Blount,’ she said in an overloud voice, hoping Valdar would understand the impending danger and hide. ‘What brings you to this desolate place? You surely can’t be looking for Gode and one of her potions, not after your wife proclaimed that the monks’ potions were far superior.’

      She gave a studied laugh. Oswy and her old nurse’s enmity was the standing joke of the village.

      ‘No, my lady, I came to see you, not that old crone.’ Oswy gave a shiver and then a hearty laugh. Once his hair had indeed been blond like his nickname, but now it was streaked with white.

      Although he had loyally served under her father and was considered the best gristmiller in this part of Northumbria, lately he always had an excuse to explain why his sacks of flour were light or delayed. The excuses were plausible, but Alwynn wondered—was he really that loyal to her?

      The current delay had been part of the reason why she’d been forced to scavenge sea coal.

      Alwynn carefully kept her head turned away from the cottage where Valdar lay.

      ‘What brings you here, then?’ She forced a light laugh. ‘Does your wife require another tablet-weaving pattern?’

      He shook his head. ‘She is well supplied at the moment, thank you kindly. I wanted to let you know that I’ve delivered the flour you require. Only the best for my lady. I know how you like the fine flour for your honey cakes.’

      She schooled her features ‘Fine flour? But only two days ago you told me that there was no possibility of it before the autumn harvest.’

      She had thought then that she needed a steward, someone to enforce her will with the point of a sword. But if she provoked Oswy, there was always a possibility that the others would follow his lead. The last thing she wanted was a rebellion. It would play straight into Edwin’s hands. The fine lady who could not adequately protect her tenants did not deserve any estate.

      Oswy and others saw her as a soft touch, Gode often proclaimed. Theodbald had been far too interested in his own pleasure to pursue the rents and Alwynn wasn’t altogether sure if Oswy respected her.

      The older man rubbed the back of his neck. ‘My son СКАЧАТЬ