Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set (115 page)

Elienor nodded, her gaze reverting to Alva. The older woman shook her head at them, made a face, and sighed.

“Good,” Nissa said, and satisfied that Elienor would comply with her wishes, she left to supervise other duties. Elienor felt only relief watching her go. At once she set about the task assigned to her, lifting up the hen.

“She’s a haughty one!” a voice declared. Elienor glanced up to see the one called Alva ambling to her side. “Thank goodness the jarl has returned!” the woman exclaimed. “He will return the shrew swiftly to her place.”

Elienor couldn’t help but flash a smile at that very accurate description of Nissa. “Set her in her place?” she ventured. “Who is she, then... if not his wife?” She ignored the tiny jolt in her breast as she asked the question. She knew better than to be so intrusive, yet if this was to be her home, she would know her situation.

It had absolutely naught to do with her curiosity over whether the jarl had a wife.

She didn’t care.

Liar!

At any rate, she doubted Nissa was his wife... unless here men and women didn’t share the marriage bed.

“She’s Ejnar the Dane’s daughter,” Alva revealed, peering up at the door where Nissa had departed. “Her father has long sought a union betwixt the jarl and his daughter, yet the jarl has never shown the least interest in her. Still, her father is a powerful man and ’tis best not to make discord with Nissa.”

Elienor glanced at the door as well. “She’s not his mistress, then?”

“Humph!” Alva exclaimed, gratefully overlooking the unseemliness of the question. “Not his mistress, nor his bedmate—though certainly not for her lack of trying! The woman’s as ceaseless as the sea! Still,” Alva relented, “one must grant her allowances. I believe she’s not so wicked deep down—mind you, you wouldn’t know it to speak with her, though I fear she is as vulnerable as you are, my dear.”

As vulnerable as she was? Snatched from her home—forced to share a bed with a man not her husband. Unlikely! “How so?”

Alva shook her head a little sadly. “She seeks so desperately to please her father—and to no avail. The man is cruel.”

“Why do you tell me this?” Elienor asked.

The woman glanced at her slyly, and said cryptically, “The jarl has never brought a woman home before.”

“I’m his captive, nothing more!”

The woman raised her brows, nodding. “Of course you are, my dear.” She chuckled, glancing down abruptly at the chicken upon the table. “Here,” she said, seizing the hen from Elienor to demonstrate what to do with it. “I would venture to say you’ve never done such a chore as this before. ’Tis really not so difficult—”

“But I have,” Elienor broke in.

The woman looked at her a little skeptically.

“It has been a time,” she ceded. “But I remember only too well how ’tis done.”

Alva raised both brows. She drew Elienor’s hands into her own, turning them for her appraisal. “I see,” she said approvingly, “well, then, ’tis best to busy yourself. Until the jarl can speak to Ejnar’s daughter, she will make your life miserable lest you comply with her wishes.”

Elienor glanced at the door and was momentarily surprised to see Clarisse being led in by Nissa.

Nissa pointed the girl in Alva’s direction, and then watched to be certain Clarisse obeyed. In that instant, Elienor met Nissa’s gaze. At once she looked away, unwilling to provoke the woman further. It was obvious Nissa liked her not at all.

“How is it that Nissa has the right to remain unwed in Alarik’s household?” Elienor asked Alva when she could.

“Alarik?” Alva smiled knowingly at the way Elienor addressed him. “Nissa abides with her eldest sister who is wed to Ivar Longbeard, one of the jarl’s men.” When Elienor’s brows drew together, she added, “She came here to Gryting years ago to help with her sister’s birthing, and stayed—to everyone’s dismay!”

“A... Alva?” a soft voice inquired.

Elienor set the hen she was working on down upon the table and glanced up at Clarisse, heartened to see that the girl was truly well.

“That is me,” Alva said cheerily. She turned toward the white-faced Clarisse. “You are to work with me, I presume?”

“Aye, madame,” Clarisse replied quietly, her gaze shifting uneasily between Alva and Elienor. “M’lady,” Clarisse said, her face screwing pitifully as her eyes pleaded with Elienor to understand. “I am sorry to have caused you so much pain!” She hung her head in shame.

Elienor resisted the inclination to embrace the girl, for she knew Clarisse would feel ill at ease to accept the affection. Alva watched them. “Oh, nay, Clarisse! I am pleased that—” She glanced at Alva.

Alva nodded for them to continue. “Don’t mind me!” she said cheerfully, yet she kept her gaze locked on them, willing to miss nothing of their conversation.

Annoyed at the prospect that her life might never again be her own, Elienor’s gaze reverted to Clarisse. She placed a consoling hand upon the maid’s forearm. “Truly, I’m only pleased you are well. I worried so!”

Clarisse’s face lifted, her expression remorseful. “I’m sorry, m’lady! I awoke to find you ensconced within the tent, and I wanted so desperately to go to you, but Sigurd would not allow it.”

“Sigurd?” Alva asked, her brows rising higher. “Truly this discourse grows more interesting by the instant—and yet…” She bent to whisper, “if you value yourselves you will work all the while you gossip.” She gestured toward Nissa, who was watching them intently. “Snatch yourself a hen, Clarisse.” Clarisse hesitated. “Come, come—don’t just stand there, my dear. Choose yourself a hen and set yourself to work!” Alva offered a smile. “Go on!” she prompted again.

“Aye, madame!” Clarisse exclaimed, and complied at once. “Verily, I’m sorry!”

“Humph! You are much too sorry!” Alva said reprovingly. She glanced sidelong at Nissa. “Yet won’t we all be sorry,” she said with a sigh, “if we do not busy ourselves at once. Come, come now! Work—work—both of you!”

I
f Elienor had thought the kitchen simply warm when she’d first set foot within, she was sorely mistaken. Hades couldn’t be so torrid! Wet strands of hair clung to her face and nape as she worked. She brushed them aside, smearing her face with the chicken grime from her fingertips.

Blinking to give her eyes respite from the heat, she glanced longingly at the walls, unable to believe there were no windows at all. Simple vented openings in the ceiling slicked up what smoke would be freed, and in this building, unlike the other, the walls were made of stone, trapping every last bit of heat.

The only wood to be found were the work tables, and those were set as far from the ovens as possible as a precaution against fire. Elienor felt utterly consumed by the intense heat. Hours later she felt near to swooning from the stress of it, yet she dared not rest under Nissa’s watchful eye.

She glanced at Clarisse and heaved a weary sigh. She’d spoken only sparingly to the girl, despite the fact that Alva seemed not to mind, and in truth seemed to encourage it. As Elienor watched, the older woman meandered from table to table, supervising, giving guidance, and laughing merrily with the women while they worked. From the way they all looked after her when she departed their table for another, it was obvious they regarded her highly, unlike the abhorring glances they sent Nissa’s way.

Yet, if Alva seemed overly friendly, no one else ventured near them. They proffered glances now and again, some amicable, others not; Elienor made an effort to befriend them all from afar—if not for her own sake, then for Clarisse’s, for it was evident Clarisse would not smooth the way for herself.

Elienor had long since decided that she’d be best served to concede to her circumstances, for despicable as it was, this was now her new home, much as she resented it, much as she wished it elsewise. Aside from that, it was best she showed a good example for Clarisse. Lamenting their circumstances at this point could do naught to ease either of their lots.

It was only in the one matter Elienor swore she would never yield—despite her traitorous mind and body.

Sweet Jesu, how dare she dream of him so shamefully!

And how dare she contemplate his kisses! If possible, her face burned hotter at the recollection of her dream. Against her will, she compared Count Phillipe’s clumsy attempts, the way his tongue had nearly gagged her. Truth to tell, he had disgusted her—her husband to be!—yet in her dream, she had dared to crave her enemy’s lips!

Her enemy.

Bones of the saints! What was wrong with her?

“’Tis but natural, m’lady,” Clarisse ventured. “You should not blame yourself for being attracted to the jarl.”

Startled, Elienor glanced up at Clarisse. Again she cursed her tongue, and shook her head. “I... I don’t know what you mean,” Elienor replied, her face coloring traitorously. She glanced down at her hen, working zealously to remove the feathers.

“He’s a fine looking man,” Clarisse stated matter-of-factly. “’Tis the truth that I berated myself, too... at first...”

Elienor’s eyes widened as she met Clarisse’s gaze. “You cannot mean...”

“Sigurd,” Clarisse replied, without regret, nodding timidly. “He cares for me well, m’lady—in truth, better then I was treated at Brouillard. Verily, I am sorry for you... but for me...” Her eyes pleaded for understanding. “I can feel naught but glad they came.”

Elienor knew not what to say.

How could Clarisse so easily forget?

She sighed as her thoughts turned to Mother Heloise. Likely only the gentle Abbess would continue to fret over Elienor, for the old woman had been the closest thing to a family Elienor had.

She closed her eyes with pain over the memory of her mother’s execution and burial, and inadvertently, her fingers went to the place where the ring had lain against her breast. She wanted it back so desperately, but was afraid to bring it up to Alarik lest he ask its origin. She sighed, feeling an incredible emptiness over its loss, and made the mistake of glancing at Nissa in that instant.

The animosity in the woman’s eyes snatched Elienor’s breath away. She reverted her gaze at once to the bald hen in her hand, not wishing to provoke the woman any more than she seemed to have done already.

“She does not like you much, I think,” Clarisse gambled.

It was more than obvious, Elienor thought as she plucked the final feathers, cursing Alarik yet again, for her fingers were growing more raw by the instant.

Alarik stood in the doorway of the
eldhus
, one hand braced above him on the door frame, as he tempered his anger. He’d left the steading early to seek out Ejnar the Dane, only the harder he’d ridden, the more fiercely thoughts of the little Fransk had nipped at his heels. As it was, he’d failed to locate Ejnar, but was more resolved than ever to rid himself of Nissa—especially now that he could see to what extent she was willing to go.

She dared to counter his command that Elienor be left in solitude?

After finding Elienor missing from his chamber, he’d searched everywhere only to find her here, under Nissa’s watchful eye. The hair at the back of his nape prickled in anger as he stepped into the kitchen and made his way toward Elienor, giving Nissa a look of warning as he passed her.

“Who has set you to work here?”

Startled, Elienor glanced up to see Alarik advancing upon her, his gait menacing. She bit her lip nervously as she glanced about and found everyone staring. What? What had she done now? She set the hen upon the table and took a step backward in defense.

“Who?” Alarik demanded once more.

He wore a black kyrtle and leather-skinned breeches that hugged his legs indecently. Even his boots left naught to the imagination, for they were made of the softest leather and were naught more than laces that bound his well-muscled calves. Elienor could not help but stare. “N-Nissa,” she answered, unsure whether it was the right thing to say.

Nissa had followed Alarik and now halted behind him, watching.

Alarik turned to her, somehow sensing she was there. “You have put her to work here?”

“Ya,” Nissa admitted, backing away warily. “I did wrong?”

“Who gave you the order to do so?”

“Why... n-no one,” she stammered.

“From here on,” he informed her, “you will give no orders at all, Nissa. In fact, you will gather your belongings. As soon as I may speak with your sire, you will leave Gryting once and for all!”

“But why? What have I done?”

“You’ve overstepped yourself,” he said somewhat less harshly, though still unyielding. “You’ve gone too far,” he told her. “Aside from that... ’tis time you made yourself a home...”

“But—”

“Elsewhere,” he told her firmly, his eyes spearing her.

Nissa shook her head, her hand flying to her mouth. The color draining from her face, she turned, but not before casting one last baleful look at Elienor. Without another word she fled the kitchen.

Elienor’s gaze reverted to Alarik. She was wide-eyed with fear, for if he could banish one of his own, what would he do to her? She still had no notion what she might have done for him to look so wrathful.

“Come,” he demanded of her, his gaze foreboding, and without another word, he led her out from the kitchens and across to the great hall, now filled with boisterous men at drink and sport.