A Deal With Her Rebel Viking. Michelle Styles

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      The door of the byre swung open, revealing Lady Ansithe carrying a large bowl of porridge. Moir’s stomach obligingly rumbled. He had forgotten how good something simple like porridge could smell.

      It had gone very quiet after the horses departed and Moir had begun to wonder what was happening. If Lady Ansithe had been persuaded to sell them to the nasal-voiced Mercian warrior after all...

      ‘I have brought you and your men food.’

      ‘It will be most welcome.’ He took the bowl from her and passed it to the first of his men who drank some of the gruel before passing it on to the next man. ‘Most unexpected, Lady Valkyrie.’

      ‘I am not sure I like that name any more than I did a little while ago.’

      ‘You should. Where I come from it is a high compliment.’

      ‘Have you known other warrior women?’

      Unbidden the memory of his mother teaching him how to hold a sword and swing properly rose to the forefront of his mind. ‘Yes. My mother’s skill with the sword took my breath away. More than equal to any man’s.’

      ‘What happened to her?’

      Moir banished the unwanted memory. She had been a warrior until she met his father and had believed in his dreams, dreams which ultimately destroyed her. ‘Unimportant. That is all in the past. I live in the present.’

      ‘Living in the present sounds like something which is easier to say than to do.’ Lady Ansithe nodded, accepting his words. ‘Who are Valkyries, precisely?’

      ‘Odin’s handmaidens. Brave and honourable, but fierce battle maidens. They choose the warriors who will grace his table. All men admire them and seek to win their favour.’

      ‘And obtaining a seat at Odin’s table is something warriors long for?’

      ‘In my world, a seat at Odin’s table is the highest honour any warrior can achieve. For when Ragnarok arrives, Odin’s warriors will play their part in saving the world from total destruction.’ He frowned. ‘It is like achieving entry to heaven from what I know of the Mercian religion.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘Some women from the North seek to emulate Odin’s handmaidens. Yesterday, you achieved that status. A skald should compose a saga about your exploit.’

      Lady Ansithe dipped her head so all he saw was the crown of auburn braids. ‘You seek to flatter rather than to mock. My sister thought this, but I suspect an ulterior motive.’

      He gritted his teeth. He left with everyone or not at all. He refused to betray his men like his father had done. Loyalty to the felag showed he was a different sort of man.

      ‘I do nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘I heard you speaking to that Mercian, declining to sell us for what you implied was a paltry sum. I appreciate what you did for men you have every reason to hate and fear. We are in your debt. I firmly believe all of us wish we could turn the sands of time backwards. An impossibility, I know, but the desire is there.’

      ‘You heard everything?’

      ‘Enough to know you refused to sell us to a man with a nasal whine. He sounded the sort who will always seek to chisel and chip to get the most profit.’

      ‘My neighbour is notoriously tight-fisted. He would not give me the best price for you. He declared you were outlaws, possibly even wolfheads, rather than warriors who would command a decent price.’

      ‘But you remain convinced we are who we say we are. Not a worthless band of outcasts fleeing from justice.’ He leant his head back against the wall. A start, a glimmer of hope that there might be a way of convincing her to abandon her plan of sending them to Guthmann.

      ‘Can you prove it?’

      ‘Our swords and axes prove that we are who we say are, not some ragtag gang of outlaws.’

      ‘Any СКАЧАТЬ